The photo session between Billy and Natasha Thomas was, to some extent, what we might call a test shoot—fresh in style, showing skin, exchanging close and somewhat intense glances, both well made-up. There were no sparks, though. Natasha was rather indifferent, yet the way the photos were taken created a real visual confrontation.
- So, now that the schedule is out of the way, you have to go eat at that damn restaurant you fought so hard to get into. We have everything set up for you to upload a short video, photos, and your thoughts on your blog. – said Michael Ocklars.
- Alright, let me get changed. – Billy replied, noticing the blonde watching him closely. It was seven in the evening; he'd probably party until morning before heading to the next city.
- Want to grab something to eat with the team? – Billy asked Natasha, who looked at him with those big, doe-like eyes.
- I have to check with my agent. – she murmured with a hint of secrecy, but she returned ten minutes later. To his surprise, Connor was waiting for him with Spencer; they had decided to enjoy a private dinner. The whole city was stirred up by Billy—after all, he had just finished a concert that had roused everyone around into continuing their idyllic night, one that would feel youthful even to those who still carried music in their hearts.
- I think I can go. – she said in a slightly raspy English. Though she was known for singing in the language, speaking it was different from performing. Surely, the differences were all about how people behaved under pressure.
- Then let's go. – Billy said, taking a moment to breathe, almost as if trying to catch any mistakes or nerves in her demeanor. Every feature of her being, every factor that shaped her presence, the way she absentmindedly adjusted her hair—he took it all in.
…
- It's delicious, though I prefer Spanish food. – Billy replied.
Connor muttered an inaudible complaint as he tasted his meal—rye bread with various cuts of meat, each requiring different bites at different angles, with sides of coleslaw and a touch of Western culture rooted in the United States, yet more common in barbaric regions. The dish had been updated with some of the soups Europe had sought over the past thirty years; it was almost nostalgic.
- Well, this place is popular, but not as much as you'd expect… There are better spots. You could say the food here is somewhat modernized. – Natasha commented.
Billy studied her.
- So, where would you say is the right place? – he asked.
- Well, that always varies, but there's a place that sells the best sandwiches in the city. They're exquisite… though maybe I'm biased, but I had them a while ago. – She murmured.
The photos had been taken, and Billy had shared his thoughts.
- Maybe we could sneak away from here, go wherever the wind takes us. A good hat might help us blend in—it's almost the escape we need. Only time will tell if those sandwiches are as good as they claim to be. – Billy said.
She smiled.
- We could take a motorcycle. Turns out I know how to handle that kind of luggage. – Billy said, stepping closer.
- We can't do that. It'd be crazy. – Natasha replied.
- Just do it already. How else can we know if those sandwiches are really as delicious as you say? I almost want to taste that melted meat you mentioned. – Billy said.
Natasha slipped away to get the keys to her companion's motorcycle, who had no idea his keys were now missing from his hanging jacket. A moment later, she approached Billy, who whispered that as long as everyone else was thinking differently, he could drive, and they could have an adventure before the night was over. Using his phone, he sent a message to Connor.
She hesitated for a moment, then they walked off together, slipping out through the back door. They opened a window and climbed down the emergency stairs, ending up on a side street. Billy pulled out a hat and adjusted it as he zipped up his jacket. They hopped on the motorcycle and disappeared into the traffic.
- Let's stop at the corner and buy another helmet. – Natasha said, holding onto his back. Billy handed her a card.
…
Connor received Billy's message saying he'd be back in an hour. All he had to do was wait long enough for him to return.
- I'm afraid the music… – he heard someone say beside him. He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of an unshakable inevitability, a moment of failure accepted through circumstance. He took a deep breath.
…
- It's pretty greasy. – Billy commented, sitting on the motorcycle, trying to put into words the tenderly cooked meat, the food always touched up with just the right amount of salt and sauce. He sipped from his cup, waiting until she was done before starting the engine again. The goal was to seem normal, nothing suspicious, nothing that would make people approach him. He had to blend in. Though some seemed to recognize him, it felt almost unreal—he just had to act like an ordinary guy, someone who wouldn't attract attention.
- Better or worse? – She asked.
- Better in some ways, but different. I don't have the palate to compare, but I like the flavor. – Billy answered.
- We could go to my country house. It's a bit farther out than what we usually consider, about two hours away. It's a good opportunity to do something more than just eat a sandwich. – Billy said, taking her hand.
He took her there on his motorcycle. It was his way of making it happen, of embracing the consequences. They were almost at their destination… He nodded as he took in the scenery. It had started to rain, drenching them in the cold, refreshing air. When they finally arrived, the place was well-kept—a cabin, perhaps two stories tall, with surrounding land and secured grounds.
He sent his agent his location while he lay down in a room, sharing space with Natasha, both of them exhausted from the long night.
- So, what do you two do? –
- You talk too much. Just get close and don't say much. Sharing silence is important too. When you think about too many things at once and talk nonstop, it's completely annoying. – she responded. – When you say too much, it's because you have too much to say. Calm down… Someone with a voice like yours should only say what's necessary. –
Indifferent.
The night was indifferent to everyone while Michael Ocklars was frantically searching for Billy, doing so quietly to avoid causing panic. It was one of the most stressful moments until Connor arrived two hours later and sent Billy's location—he was with Natasha Thomas, one of the last people they had expected.
- Sorry, but you know how he is… Apparently, he borrowed a motorcycle and rode off to a cabin far from the city. – Michael sighed. – I didn't even know he could ride. I thought he was supposed to get his license when he arrived in the States. –
- Maybe he learned as a kid. It doesn't really matter. Talk to the girl's agent and get the kid's number. Pick him up tomorrow night… Let him rest for now. The day after tomorrow, he has his second show, and then we're off to Iceland, Norway, and Poland. – Jerry responded, knowing full well that Billy's rebellious nature was his way of escaping his loneliness. A loneliness that he wrapped himself in, refusing to accept help from anyone. He was a little disillusioned with life—lost, neither here nor there.
- As long as he doesn't have obligations, let him be… Responsibility comes with freedom. Someone who works and earns his own money deserves not to be restricted—it will help him find balance in life. – Jerry said. He watched over Billy, seeing in him contradictions of all kinds—good and bad, rational and irrational, childish and mature. He was surprisingly unpredictable. Different from the rule.
- Yes, sir. – Michael Ocklars replied.
Billy took a hit from the joint Natasha Thomas handed him. She watched him intently as he exhaled a long plume of smoke, then took a drag herself. They hurried up the mountain, though it was nearly midnight. The streetlights cast a glow over the dark path until they reached a small lagoon, no more than ten meters wide, fed by a gentle waterfall.
She undressed. Her slender body, made for love, was shaped by the water as it moved around her.
Billy followed her in. They swam, floating under the stars. It was October, and the cold was at its peak—he'd probably catch a cold, but he didn't care.
- I like this… Watching the stars, feeling at peace. Sometimes, living in one of the safest capitals in the world has its advantages. Just being able to rest, read a book, and let the fire warm your body. –
Billy looked at the shy, quiet girl—she was different from what he had expected in a woman.
Gazing at the starry sky above his head, it felt like a predestination. Thousands of songs ran through his mind, music made to express feelings, to turn back time, to set a new goal, or simply to exist. "Miss Murder" by AFI came to him—a pure rock song. Like a soft whisper, he sang to himself, his clear voice carrying under the moon as he closed his eyes, lost in memories of the past that haunted him. Dreams were forgotten yet perpetual. He was depressed—of that, there was no doubt. What was going through his mind?
🎵🎶🎵🎶🎶🎶
Hey (hey), Miss Murder, can I
Hey (hey), Miss Murder, can I
Make (hey) beauty stay if I
Take my life? Oh
With just a look, they shook
And heavens bowed before him
Simply a look can break your heart
🎵🎶🎵🎶🎶🎶
🎵🎶🎵🎶🎶🎶
The stars that pierced the sky
He left them all behind
We're left to wonder why
He left us all behind
Hey (hey), Miss Murder, can I
Hey (hey), Miss Murder, can I
Make (hey) beauty stay if I
Take my life? Oh
Oh
🎵🎶🎵🎶🎶🎶
🎵🎶🎵🎶🎶🎶
Dreams of his crash won't pass
Oh, how they all adored him
Beauty will last when spiralled down
The stars that mystified
He left them all behind
And how his children cried
"He left us all behind"
Hey (hey), Miss Murder, can I
Hey (hey), Miss Murder, can I
Make (hey) beauty stay if I
Take my life? Oh
What's the hook, the twist within this furthest mystery?
I would gladly bet my life upon it
That the ghost you love, your ray of light will fizzle out
Without hope
🎵🎶🎵🎶🎶🎶
🎵🎶🎵🎶🎶🎶
We're the empty set just flowing through our empty skin
Ever-searching for what we were promised
Reaching for the golden ring, we never let go
Who would ever let us put our filthy hands upon it?
Hey (hey), Miss Murder, can I
Hey (hey), Miss Murder, can I
Make (hey) beauty stay if I
Take my life? Oh
Hey (hey), Miss Murder, can I
Hey (hey), Miss Murder, can I
Make (hey) beauty stay if I
Take my life? Oh
🎵🎶🎵🎶🎶🎶
-That song is good,- Natasha remarked, watching him closely. The loneliness cut through her soul, and tears slipped from her eyes like raindrops. She was moved—Billy's presence stirred something deep inside her, touching her very essence. What was it that she was seeing?
Billy stepped closer and kissed her. Somehow, she understood now—Billy Carson, the star. Hearing him sing, seeing him in person, was like witnessing a man made of rock itself. Every move he made was enough to drive women wild.
That's Natasha Thomas, for those who didn't know her—just a breeze and the clear, starry sky.
....