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keepswingin · 4 years

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i want your heart to beat for me

She’s twenty-four and sings for Caleb Covington during the week, microphone clutched tightly in between her sweaty palms as she stands before an audience that’s paid to hear a beautiful voice she doesn’t want to provide.

They all wear leers, and some flash yellow teeth and tattered bills in disgusting taunts, but she does her best to ignore it all and just sing like she’s always wanted to.

(She never imagined it would be like this.)

Her voice is shaky tonight, strained in all the wrong places from singing three songs a night five times a week, and her heart is beating fast, torn between anger at the men who look at her like she’s a piece of meat on display and anxiety at disappointing Caleb for not bringing in the money he needs. Her voice is the biggest seller at his club, she knows it is, and she doesn’t want to know what happens to those who don’t sell well at all.

(She had been a hit from the moment she had walked on stage, dressed in a pretty purple dress she had pulled from her mom’s old chest, her hair curled to one side, a small butterfly pin - her good luck charm - clipped to the corner of her sleeve. Caleb had been watching from the front row, a buffet of every food you could imagine spread out on the table before him but his eyes were instead locked steadily on her, watching and waiting.

The crowd had cheered wildly as soon as they had seen her, and she had been embrassed by the attention back then, blushling under the spotlights. Then she had met Caleb’s eyes, and he had nodded her on with a crooked smile, and she had opened her mouth and sang the best she ever had in her life.)

Tonight was different.

She was exhuasted, and her voice was cracking on the high notes, and she barely had the energy to hold a microphone and sing, let alone jump around the stage and try and hype up the audience like she was supposed to.

She can’t find Caleb in the crowd, and her heart jumps with joy at the thought of him not being here. Maybe she could throw tonight’s set and get away with it. Maybe she could request the rest of the week off through Willie and avoid having to talk to him at all.

(When she had first arrived at the club, she wondered why someone as kind as Willie was working there among men and women who were so opposite to him.

As the weeks dragged into months, she had grown closer to Willie, and realized that he was trapped there in the same way she was.)

She finishes Finally Free - irony not lost on her considering she hasn’t been free since the day she had put her life on the line for her brother - and her heart aches at the thought of him, and a faraway part of her wonders how he’s doing. She hasn’t seen him since--

“Brava, brava!”

Caleb walks on stage, clapping his hands loudly, even though the men tonight had ceased their clapping early so that they could reach for their drinks, and Julie’s entire body tenses as the older man moves to stand next to her, his arm brushing against hers as his hand slides down to grab hers.

Red hot fear catches in her throat as she waits for his gaze to turn to her, but instead he avoids looking at her and keeps his eyes on the audience, gauging their reaction. Some are still looking toward the stage while others have moved onto their entrees, forks dipping into fettuccine and lagansa - tonight’s special. His grip on her hand tightens, and she holds back a cry.

He’s not happy.

She knows he isn’t happy, which means this could be the end of her tonight, because if Caleb wasn’t happy then the club wasn’t happy and if the club wasn’t happy then how would money continue to flow and if there was no money then she couldn’t pay back her brother’s debt and--

“I’m glad you all enjoyed tonight’s show,” he calls, catching the audience's attention once again. “Enjoy your meals, and if any of you would like to spare the cash for a one of a kind encore, please feel free to form a line at the stairs. Thank you!”

He lifts the hand that holds her own high in some sort of praise, and there’s a roar of applause, and men who tumble out of their seats at the thought of Caleb’s type of ‘encore’ and Julie feels sick.

Encores were for the acts that failed, last minute attempts for Caleb to earn some money out of a moneyless night, and if he was offering her up then that means she failed and if she failed then - then--

She doesn’t fight Caleb as he pulls her backstage, the velvet curtains closing behind them with a sense of finality. The thought of it makes her insides churn and her head pound, and another wave of nausea floods her as Caleb corners her against the wall a second later, slamming her back into solid brick.

“For someone so keen to pay off her brother’s debt, you aren’t taking your job as seriously as you should, Julie.”

His words are as threatening as the hand he uses to keep her arms pinned above her head, his other hand pressed into a white-knucked fist at his side. His face is twisted into an angry sneer, and though threatening, his words are as calm as they always are, and that alone is enough to send chills racing up her spine.

Pain radiates from the center of her back, and panic closes around her throat, making it hard for her to breathe. She struggles for words. “I-I am, Caleb, I swear, my voice - I’m just starting to lose my voice from singing so much, and I didn’t want you to - to be disappointed if I asked for some time off and, and I-I tried my best tonight, I--”

He silences her with a look, her mouth snapping shut. And God, she hates this, hates him more than she’s ever hated anybody in her life, because she hates how much power he has over her, and contuines to hold over her, because she’s in this deep and there doesn’t seem to be any way back out.

“You really think,” he starts, slow and deliberate, “that I’m going to belive that?”

Before she can speak he’s squeezing her wrists hard enough that it hurts, and she bites her lip as he moves closer to her face, his eyes dark with an anger she only sees when he’s talking about his failed acts.

“You will sing until you lose your voice, and every performance until then will be up to par, or you will never see your brother ever again. Is that understood?��

She hates this. She hates this, she hates this, she hates this, she--

“Yes.” She says, as firmly as she can.

Caleb doesn’t smile or nod or play his violence off like it’s nothing. Instead he realeases her and takes a step back, straightening his collar. His eyes are still dark as he stares at her, and it makes her fingers shake.

“You failed me tonight, Julie, and I’m sorry to do this to you, especially considering you are my best act in this entire place, but you will be doing as many encores as they pay for tonight and that’s--”

“I’ll take ‘em.”

Julie startles at the familiar voice, looking over and seeing no other than Luke Patterson standing by the exit door, guitar strap slung over one shoulder.

Caleb audibly scoffs in disbelief. “You’re going to take all her clients tonight?”

Luke’s eyes flick from Julie’s to Caleb’s before he nods and makes his way over to them, his hand tight around the neck of his guitar. “Yeah. You’re cool with it, aren’t you?”

Caleb sighs, obivously torn.

Julie stares, shocked, at Luke. She doesn’t know much about him, and hasn’t interacted with him at all nearly the entire time she’s been at the club, besides a head nod if they passed each other on stage. All she knows about him is infromation from Willie and that’s that Luke has been at the club longer than he has, longer than anyone else at the club, and no one knows why. He’s also the only one who Caleb has - if you could call them at - civil conversations with.

He doesn’t bring in as much money as he used to, but he was a good buffer to newer acts like Julie, and whatever Caleb had to keep him there with everyone else...it had to be big, for him to be stuck there for so long.

“Of course I’m cool with it.” Caleb finally says, slapping Luke on the shoulder with a broad grin. He leans in to whisper in his ear, but Julie overhears what he says anyway. “They’ll pay more for you anyway.”

He pulls back with a laugh, followed by an easy smile from Luke, but if Julie looks close enough, she can tell it’s fake, can see the strained edges and jagged peices.

Caleb turns back to her, his eyes no longer as carefree as they were a second before. “You’re free to go tonight. Rest up that voice now, Julie. I expect an amazing performance two days from now.” He smiles, wide and grand, before disappearing through the curtains with the announcement of Luke Patterson’s encore offer for later tonight.

Julie stands there, rubbing her wrists, unsure what to say to Luke. Should she thank him from saving her from something she knew she’d never be able to come back from? Apologize for allowing him to give himself up instead?

“You don’t have to say anything,” he supplies, as if he’s reading her mind. She looks up and catches his honest eyes, a different smile covering his lips now. It looks...almost happy.

Happy to be talking to her?

No, no. She shakes that thought from her mind.

“I’m, I’m sorry,” she grapples for other words, “you didn’t have to do that. For me.”

He readjusts, allowing his guitar to lean against his hip. His hair is short and half-hidden under a grey beaine, he’s wearing a white tank-top that’s obviously seen better days, and weathered jeans. The strap his guitar clings to is decorated with names written in black sharpie. She’s able to read a few - Reggie, Alex, Bobby, Emily, Mitch, TJ, Tim - and he catches her staring, chuckling quietly.

“I uh, before this, I’d have people sign my guitar at my first shows. Got filled up pretty fast. Guess you could say I was a sort of teen sensation?” She can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of her, and he laughs softly with her, watching the way her fingers fumble over one another. His heart falls, just a little bit. “I’m sorry. About Caleb.”

“It’s not your fault.” She dismisses, her hands falling to her sides.

She swears she can still see the man’s eyes in the shadows behind the speakers and old lights. Silence surrounds them for a moment, but then the crowd roars, and Caleb announces Luke’s name again, and he sighs, gesturing with his head toward the curtains.

“Guess it’s time for my gig.” He says wryly, and she nods and moves out of the way so he can walk past her. Her eyes catch on red marks across his skin as he passes, hidden poorly behind his tank-top, and her stomach rolls.

“Wait!” she calls just before his hands touch the curtain. She turns around and walks over to him, grabbing his hand in hers. “Thank you. For saving me from...from that.”

She can feel the callouses on his fingers from picking at a guitar, and the scars that decorate his palm from his time spent in the club. He’s far too young to have scars, she thinks, but then Luke is smiling wide, and the corner of his eyes are crinkling, and Julie’s heart is soaring for some reason at the way he looks at her then.

“Anytime Molina,” he whipers, and then he’s disappearing through the curtain, and for some reason, she misses the feel of his hand in hers as soon as he’s gone.

#jatp fanfic #jatp fanfiction #keepswingin writes #mine #this a human au by the way #luke is the same age as her #and that's all the information you're getting lol

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