The Hush Society Presents..., Izzy Matias [cat reading book .TXT] 📗

neck. Beneath the big black, bold letters of the band name ELCO is a thick red highlight with white letters with the Willowfields Music Festival logo and the word Artist.

Lewis. Lewis is opening for Marmont!

My ex-band mate was now a national rising artist.

He must have had this lined up for months—even when we were still together!

This is what he left me behind for.

It’s a massive punch to my gut. Every time I put myself—my music—out there this sort of thing happens. And here I thought I was over comparing myself to other bands—other artists.

"Cameron…" Cassie begins, but even her gentle, calming voice does not help. She leans in for another kiss, but I don’t need a kiss out of pity. I can’t do this now.

I let go of Cassie’s tight grip.

"Now, mate… take it easy," Benji says.

"We should have left," Eric says, but this only makes it worse. They saw Lewis and were trying to shield me. They knew I’d blow up. They knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it. My own best mates…

The voice I thought I’d shut in the deepest corner of my mind resurfaces. The kraken unleashes. The darkness ready to engulf me once again. I turn back to the crowd, shutting out everything around me.

You’ll never be enough.

Lewis left you for this.

Look where you are.

You’re nothing but a sod loser.

A fake.

Everyone is making it but you.

"Cameron!" My mates and Cassie call after me, but I shake my head. I need to be alone. I need silence.

Lewis must have gotten this slot even when we were a duo.

"Leave me alone," I shout, sounding like the world’s biggest arse. "Enjoy the set. Stay."

In this moment, I can’t bear to be surrounded by music. It’s too much.

I push past the crowd. Shoulder against shoulder. Against the current moving, moshing forward, the cheers and screams. It’s as if their cries of joy are the ropes tightening around my chest and neck. The heat slows me down.

Once I reach the campsite, I find no solace. The empty tents make me lonelier. There is the distant echo of the music festival.

I hike uphill, away from the music, the crowd, the camp. Up and away from everything. I walk until my legs are about to give out and almost pass out on the grass.

Be the better lad, I tell myself, but it’s so hard when the world is red.

I lie on my back for what seems like hours observing the sky.

My heartbeat is back to normal and my head clearer than the cloudy sky looming above. Every time things get tough, I retreat to nature and seek clarity. It’s then I realise the most important thing in my music career: what if things haven’t been working out because of me?

My College band with Alex saw its final stint when majority of the band decided they’d had enough of uncertainty. On our last day of practice, one of them said to me, "When things get tough, we can’t just quit, but everyone else has given up, so what’s the point?"

Elliot had lied to me about settling down, but I was the one who suggested to call it quits instead of working around Elliot’s change of priorities.

And then there was Lewis. He and I always clashed musically. But it was more than that, too. He hated the way I reacted when things didn’t go the way I envisioned them to be. Had I given up on my band with him, too? What if they all left or kicked me out because of my fight-then-flight attitude when it came to roadblocks in music? Because I react and make excuses instead of being proactive to situations that are beyond my control?

It is my own bloody fault things haven’t worked out, then. Not Alex’s. Not Elliot’s. Not even Lewis’.

What time is it? How long have I been up here?

My left hand pats my pocket only to find it empty. I check all other pockets, but they’re empty as well. I start to panic, but then remember that I left my mobile in the locker area. I rely on the colours of the sky to tell me that it’s been a couple of hours, since the sun is setting. It would be reckless of me to stay when it gets dark, especially with no light source on hand, so I begin the slow descent down.

I look for the signs pointing to the parking lot to grab our gear from the van. Once in front of my locker, I open the combination and reach for my mobile to message Eric to give me the keys and meet me at the van. There are more than ten missed calls and seventeen unread messages.

Alarm kicks in. Benji, Cassie, Ella, and Eric have all called and messaged me.

Benji: WHERE ARE YOU?

Cassie: Come back, Cameron. You won’t want to miss this.

Eric: WANKER! COME BACK.

Ella: I know you’re off beat and on a funk, but this show will be the best night of your life!

Benji: THE GRAMOPHONES ARE BACK WHERE ARE YOU

Eric: THE GRAMOPHONES PLAYED RIGHT AFTER MARMOT

Benji: MATE WHERE ARE YOU?

Ella: This is the best festival yet ever! Callum even gave The Fortunate Only a shout-out during their set! The universe conspires with you!

Cassie: You’re missing out on a historical music moment. Cameron, don’t let your anger and bitterness get the best of you. We are here for you. Let the music call you back home.

Their messages are from two hours ago.

I throw my mobile down and it hits my right foot. "Ow!"

No! No! No!

I missed The Gramophones comeback show! I’ll never get a chance like that again.

I punch the metal door of the locker and cry out in pain as my flesh collides with metal. After I grab my mobile—covered in mud and grass—from the floor, I message Eric to meet me at our van.

What a lovely day this has turned out to be.

Get over it, Cameron. The Gramophones are back. There will be plenty of opportunities to catch