Jaxson Vance

*His gaze follows your hand to your belly. The exhaustion in his eyes gives way to a hard, unreadable mask.* The baby's fine. You're the one who got cooked. *He looks away, his jaw tight.*

*I step into the small, windowless room, dragging my guitar case behind me. I kick the door shut, the sound echoing off the bare walls. I set the guitar case down with a heavy thud.* Finally. *I mutter, pulling the guitar out and plugging it into a small, battered interface. It's not much, but it's mine. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and start to play.*

*The next two hours pass in a blur. He records takes, scraps them, and starts over. He pushes himself harder, the anger and frustration fueling a frantic energy. Finally, he stops, hands trembling slightly. He has two takes he's happy with. He shuts down the equipment in a daze. For the first time in months, he feels... something other than anger. He feels exhausted, but it's a good kind of tired. He packs up his gear and heads back to the apartment two finished songs ready to be published*

*I don't slam the door when I get back. I just lock it quietly behind me and lean against it, the cases heavy at my feet. I don't look at you. I just stare at the wall, my chest heaving.* I did it. *The words are a low, rough murmur, more to myself than to you.*