Chapter Six: Rhythm Changes
The walk home had been a blur of streetlights and humiliation, but the silence of his apartment was worse. It was 2:00 AM. Alex sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor, Linda's voice replaying in his head like a corrupted audio file. "You're invisible, Alex."
His phone buzzed. He ignored it. It buzzed again. And again.
He finally picked it up. Sarah.
He slid to answer, his voice cracking. "Hello?"
"I am going to slash her tires," Sarah said. No greeting. Just pure, unadulterated rage. "I am going to buy a pocket knife, find Linda's stupid luxury SUV, and I am going to destroy her tires."
Alex let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Sarah, don't. It's not worth it."
"Not worth it? Alex, she humiliated you in front of everyone! That comment about... about your personal life? That was evil. It was unprofessional, cruel, and completely uncalled for."
"She wasn't wrong, though," Alex muttered, rubbing his temples. "About the virgin thing. It's... it's true. That's why Erica left. I was too slow. Too careful. I'm just a disappointment."
"Stop it," Sarah snapped, her voice softening immediately after. "Erica didn't leave because of that. And being a virgin doesn't make you a disappointment. It just means you haven't met someone worth your time yet."
There was a long pause on the line. Alex could hear Sarah breathing, a rare hesitation in her usually confident cadence.
"For the record," Sarah said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I am too."
Alex blinked, sitting up straighter. "What?"
"I'm a virgin too, Alex," she said quickly, as if ripping off a band-aid. "I'm twenty-one, I play in rock bands, I wear leather jackets, and I've never done it. It's not a badge of shame. It's just... circumstance."
"I... I didn't know," Alex said, stunned. Sarah always seemed so composed, so worldly compared to him.
"Well, now you know," she said. "So Linda can go to hell. We aren't invisible. We're just selective."
Another pause. Heavier this time. Charged.
"Alex?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you..." She cleared her throat. "Do you want to not be? Selective, I mean. Or... you know. A virgin."
Alex's heart hammered against his ribs. "Are you asking what I think you're asking?"
"I'm at my apartment," Sarah said, her voice rushing now, nervous but determined. "My roommate is gone for the weekend. I don't want to do this with some random guy from a bar. And I hate seeing you beat yourself up over something that doesn't even matter. I trust you, Alex. Do you trust me?"
"Yes," Alex answered immediately. "More than anyone."
"Okay," Sarah said. "Come over. Give me thirty minutes. Oh, and Alex?"
"Yeah?"
"Stop by the pharmacy. Bring... you know. Thingies for your thingy."
Thirty minutes later, Alex stood outside Sarah's apartment door. He had checked his pockets three times to make sure the box he'd awkwardly purchased at the 24-hour drugstore was still there. He knocked.
The door opened.
Alex's breath hitched. Sarah wasn't wearing her usual band t-shirt or oversized hoodie. She was wearing a black button-up shirt that fit her figure perfectly, tucked into dark jeans. It was the same shirt she had worn for the band's promotional video shoot months ago—the one that made her look sleek, professional, and undeniably dangerous.
She had unbuttoned the top two buttons.
"Hey," she said, leaning against the doorframe, trying to look casual but failing to hide the blush rising on her cheeks.
"Hi," Alex managed. He looked her up and down, his guitarist brain short-circuiting. "You look... wow. That shirt. You look really cute in that. Like, incredibly cute."
Sarah smiled, stepping back to let him in. "I figured I should dress up a little. Since it's a special occasion."
She locked the door behind him. The apartment was dim, lit only by a few lamps and the glow of her keyboard setup in the corner. The tension was thick, but it wasn't the bad kind of tension he felt around Marcus. This was electric.
She walked over to him, standing close enough that he could smell her perfume—vanilla and old books. She reached out and took his hand, her fingers interlacing with his.
"You got the stuff?" she whispered.
Alex nodded, patting his pocket. "Yeah."
Sarah looked up at him, her eyes searching his face. She took a step closer, pressing her body lightly against his. She took his free hand and guided it slowly up her waist, over the fabric of the black shirt, until it rested over her heart, cupping her breast.
Alex froze, his hand trembling slightly.
"It's okay," Sarah whispered, leaning her forehead against his chin. "I know you look. I've seen you staring at them during rehearsals. Watching them bounce when I'm playing the heavy parts."
Alex's face burned hot. "I... I didn't mean to be disrespectful, I just—"
"I didn't say stop," she interrupted, looking up at him with a dark, hungry look in her eyes. "I liked it. I wanted you to look."
She kissed him then—tentative at first, then deeper, pulling him toward the bedroom.
The weeks that followed were a strange, secret summer in the middle of a cold autumn.
They didn't tell the band. They didn't tell Marcus. At rehearsals, they maintained a professional distance, though occasionally Alex would catch Sarah's eye across the room, and she would give him a microscopic smirk that made his knees weak.
They started hanging out constantly outside of the band. Not just for the physical side of things—though that was a revelation for Alex—but just to be. They studied together at the library. They sat in her apartment listening to records. Alex realized he didn't just need an ally; he had needed a partner.
One Tuesday afternoon, Alex was on campus. He had an hour to kill between classes, and the noise in his head was too loud. The frustration with Marcus, the lingering sting of the "Purple Rain" incident, the confusing joy of Sarah—it was all mixing together.
He found an empty practice room in the music building. It was a small, soundproof box with a piano and a music stand.
He plugged his PRS into the small practice amp provided by the school. He didn't play "Purple Rain." He didn't play any of the band's songs.
He just played.
He closed his eyes and let his fingers run. He played fast, aggressive runs that bled into soft, jazzy chords. He played with a dissonance that resolved into beautiful, complex harmonies. He was pouring all the anger Marcus had suppressed into the fretboard.
He didn't hear the door open.
"Whoa."
Alex jumped, his hands silencing the strings instantly.
Standing in the doorway was a guy with dreadlocks and a saxophone case slung over his shoulder. Behind him stood a girl holding a bass guitar case.
"Sorry to interrupt," the sax player said, stepping into the room. "We were walking past and heard that diminished run you just did. That was tasty, man."
"Oh. Thanks," Alex stammered. "I was just... venting."
"Venting sounds good," the bass player said, smiling. "We're heading to the ensemble room down the hall. We've got a fusion combo going—keys, drums, sax, bass. But we've been looking for a guitar player who actually understands harmony and isn't just trying to play power chords."
The sax player extended a hand. "I'm Julian. This is Maya. You want to come jam? We're working on some Snarky Puppy type stuff, maybe some Chick Corea."
Alex's eyes widened. Jazz fusion. Real music. Complex, challenging, expressive music. The kind of music Marcus called "a waste of time."
"I..." Alex hesitated. His instinct was to check his calendar. "I'd love to, but... I have a band. My manager, he sends out schedules pretty late. I don't know if I can commit to—"
Julian waved a hand dismissively. "It's not a contract, man. It's just music. Come play. If you're busy later, you're busy. But right now? You're here, and you've got chops."
"Don't think too long," Maya added gently. "The room is booked for another hour. We'd love to hear what you can do over a 7/8 groove."
Alex looked at his guitar. Then he looked at the open door leading down the hall.
"Okay," Alex said, unplugging his cable. "Let's play."