The Distraction
The kitchen air hung thick and heavy, tinged with the unmistakable, acrid scent of burnt toast – a culinary casualty from a breakfast that had clearly gone awry. Jade sat hunched at the counter, the oversized sleeves of her black hoodie pulled down to completely engulf her hands, her fingers silently, listlessly poking at a bowl of cereal that had long since surrendered to the milk’s relentless assault, becoming a soggy, unappetizing mass. The sharp, unforgiving rays of the morning sun sliced across the linoleum floor in stark, angular patterns, but they offered no real warmth, failing to penetrate the chill that seemed to emanate from within Jade herself.
Across the small breakfast bar, her mother sat ramrod straight, sipping black coffee from a delicate china cup, perfectly coiffed and impeccably dressed for a day about which Jade had neither asked nor cared to know. The silence that stretched between them was palpable, thick with unspoken words and a profound, uncomfortable tension that had become their default setting.
Then, without any preamble, her mother’s voice cut through the stillness, quiet and surprisingly direct. “What’s wrong, Jade?”
Jade blinked, her gaze lifting slowly from the sad state of her cereal. The question hung in the air, an unexpected intrusion into their carefully constructed wall of silence, almost as if it didn’t quite belong in their usual dynamic. “Seriously?” she asked, her tone laced with a mixture of disbelief and weary sarcasm.
Her mother nodded, her gaze steady and unwavering. “You’ve been… off. I’ve noticed.”
Jade gave a short, humorless laugh, the sound dry and brittle. “Off? What gave it away? Was it the part where I haven’t uttered a coherent sentence in days, or maybe the part where I look like I haven’t slept a wink in the past week?”
“You’re deflecting, Jade.” Her mother’s voice remained calm, devoid of any accusatory edge.
“No, Mom, I’m being me. You’ve just finally decided to pay attention.” The words were sharper than intended, a knee-jerk reaction fueled by weeks of unspoken hurt and resentment.
Her mother exhaled slowly through her nose, the soft hiss of breath the only sound in the quiet kitchen as she carefully set her coffee cup back down on its saucer. “Look… I may not always say the right thing, and I’m certainly not here as much as you probably need me to be. But I am still your mother, Jade. And despite everything, I know when something’s eating you alive.” Her gaze softened slightly, a flicker of genuine concern momentarily piercing through her usual polished exterior.
Jade’s eyes flickered away, her jaw clenching tightly, the muscles along her temples contracting. She stared intently at the chipped paint on the opposite wall, anything to avoid the unexpected vulnerability in her mother’s gaze.
“Did something happen?” her mother asked again, her voice softer now, the earlier edge completely gone. “With Beck?”
Jade shook her head, a small, almost imperceptible movement.
“Then what, Jade?” The question hung in the air, a gentle but persistent probe.
A long, heavy silence stretched out between them once more. Jade picked up her spoon, the ceramic clinking softly against the side of the soggy cereal bowl as she let it fall back in with a dull, lifeless sound.
“It was someone else,” she finally admitted, the words barely above a whisper, feeling strangely foreign on her tongue. “Not Beck.”
Her mother tilted her head slightly, her expression carefully neutral, a silent invitation for Jade to continue. “Okay…”
Jade bit down on the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit she resorted to when grappling with difficult truths. She could have kept it vague, could have offered a carefully constructed lie, a deflection that would have maintained the familiar distance between them. But the words tumbled out instead, a torrent of pent-up emotion that had been desperately seeking release. “It was Tori.”
Her mother blinked once, then twice, her composure momentarily disrupted. But to Jade’s surprise, she didn’t interrupt, didn’t offer a sharp retort or a judgmental comment. She simply waited, her gaze steady.
“We… we hooked up. She told me how she felt. And I…” Jade’s voice cracked, a raw, unexpected sound that betrayed the carefully constructed walls she had so diligently maintained. She swallowed hard, regaining a fragile control. “I hurt her, Mom. I pushed her away. And then she left. Australia.” The single word hung in the air, heavy with unspoken regret.
Another pause, this one less tense, more contemplative.
“Is she… is she the one in that video you watched on repeat for two hours last week?” her mother asked, her voice surprisingly devoid of judgment, tinged instead with a quiet understanding that caught Jade completely off guard.
Jade’s face flushed crimson, the heat rising up her neck. She nodded once, a small, shame-filled movement.
Her mother picked up her coffee cup again, her gaze distant as she took a slow, deliberate sip. “Do you love her, Jade?”
The question hung in the air, stark and unavoidable. Jade didn’t answer immediately. The word felt too big, too terrifying to utter aloud. But eventually, her voice barely a whisper, she confessed, “Yeah.”
Her mother sat with that admission for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she spoke, her voice softer than Jade had heard it in years. “Then maybe… maybe it’s not too late.”
Jade’s head snapped up, her gaze sharp, her heart pounding with a sudden surge of something akin to hope, quickly followed by a bitter resentment. “You don’t get to say that, Mom. Not when you don’t fight for anything. Not when you just… let things go.”
Her mother flinched, the unexpected barb hitting its mark. But instead of snapping back with her usual defensiveness, her shoulders slumped slightly.
“You’re right, Jade,” she said softly, her gaze dropping to her coffee cup. “You’re absolutely right. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”
Jade stared at her, her heart thudding against her ribs, a confusing mix of shock and a dawning understanding swirling within her.
She didn’t say thank you. The words felt inadequate, insufficient to convey the unexpected weight of her mother’s admission.
She didn’t need to. Because for the first time in a long, long time… her mother had truly seen her.
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The Sydney sun streamed through the large studio windows, casting the room in a warm, golden light. Tori sat perched on a worn-out, slightly lopsided couch, her legs crossed, an acoustic guitar resting on her lap, her fingers lazily strumming a series of chords that lacked any real conviction.
Across from her, Justin leaned against a mixing board, his perpetually tousled dirty blonde hair falling across his forehead, his ripped black jeans and faded band tee a familiar uniform. The same easygoing charm that seemed to effortlessly draw people to him was evident in the relaxed curve of his lips as he watched her.
“You’re distracted,” he observed gently, his gaze following the hesitant movements of her fingers on the fretboard.
Tori didn’t look up, her eyes fixed on the strings. “I’m just tired.” The excuse felt flimsy even to her own ears.
“Liar,” he teased softly, pushing himself off the mixing board and settling onto the couch beside her, close but not too close. “You’ve been off all week, Tori. Even when you’re singing, it’s like your head’s a million miles away.”
She sighed, a long, drawn-out exhalation of unspoken thoughts, and leaned the guitar against the soft cushions of the couch.
“Want to talk about it?” Justin asked, tilting his head slightly, his green eyes filled with a genuine, non-demanding concern.
Tori hesitated. He had been nothing but kind, patient, even sweet. He hadn’t pressured her for anything more than she was willing to give, respecting the invisible boundaries she had unconsciously erected. But still… the words felt heavy, difficult to articulate.
“It’s complicated,” she said finally, the understatement of the year.
“Was it someone back home?” he asked, his tone gentle, not pushing, but somehow reading the unspoken narrative that lay beneath her carefully chosen words. He seemed to possess an uncanny ability to decipher the subtle nuances of her emotional landscape.
Tori nodded slowly, her gaze distant. “Yeah. Her name’s Jade.” The name felt foreign and familiar all at once, a phantom limb that still ached with a dull, persistent throb.
Justin didn’t flinch at the mention of another woman. “The girl from the song you wrote?”
She looked at him, surprised by his intuitive understanding. “You… you knew?”
He gave her a small, knowing smile. “I’ve listened to enough heartbreak songs in my life to know when they’re real, Tori. Yours… yours felt like a knife wrapped in silk.”
Tori laughed softly, a bittersweet sound that held more than a hint of pain. But she smiled anyway, a small, brave attempt at normalcy. “She kissed me. I told her how I felt. And then… she went back to her ex.” The stark simplicity of the summary belied the emotional wreckage it had caused.
Justin didn’t say anything for a long moment. He simply reached over and gently took her hand, his touch warm and reassuring.
“That sucks,” he said finally, his voice quiet and sincere. “I’m really sorry, Tori.”
Tori looked down at their intertwined hands. She didn’t pull away, appreciating the simple comfort of his touch. But she didn’t squeeze back either, her heart still stubbornly guarded.
“It’s not that I don’t like you, Justin,” she said honestly, her gaze lifting to meet his kind eyes. “You’ve been… really great. More than great, actually.”
Justin nodded, his understanding evident in his gentle expression. “But I’m not her.”
She exhaled, a wave of guilt washing over her. “No. You’re not.” The admission hung in the air, a quiet acknowledgment of the emotional barrier that still stood between them.
He gave her a sad but accepting smile – honest, kind, and completely devoid of bitterness. “Then don’t pretend, Tori,” he said softly, his gaze unwavering. “If she’s still got your heart… don’t give me half of it. I deserve more than that. And… so do you.”
Tori blinked, stunned by the clarity and selflessness of his words.
“Do you think… do you think she regrets it?” she asked, the question barely a whisper, a fragile tendril of hope reaching out into the unknown.
Justin smiled faintly, a hint of wry amusement in his eyes. “If she doesn’t, Tori… she’s a bigger idiot than I thought.”
------------------------------------
The small red light above the recording studio door blinked off, signaling the end of the take. Tori stepped out of the soundproof booth, pulling the heavy headphones from her ears, her voice still echoing faintly through the large monitors in the control room. The sound engineer behind the glass partition gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up, a silent acknowledgment of a job well done.
“Clean take,” Justin said, leaning against the wall outside the booth, his worn acoustic guitar slung casually over his shoulder, his green eyes warm and encouraging. “That last line… it really hit hard, Tori.”
“Thanks,” Tori replied, a hand instinctively reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair away from her flushed cheek. The raw emotion of the song still lingered within her, a bittersweet echo in the quiet studio. “It felt… final, somehow.”
They walked out into the main hallway, the air hushed and still, broken only by the distant, muffled thump of another band rehearsing with fervent energy in Studio B down the corridor.
For a brief moment, they walked in comfortable silence, their footsteps falling in sync, their shoulders brushing lightly against each other, a casual intimacy that had blossomed in their shared creative space.
Then, Tori stopped abruptly, her hand resting lightly on Justin’s arm, halting his stride.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said, her gaze fixed on some unseen point in the middle distance.
Justin turned to face her, his eyebrows raised in a slight but open question, his expression attentive. “Dangerous territory, Vega.” A playful smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
She mirrored his smirk briefly, a fleeting smile that quickly faded, replaced by a more serious, contemplative expression.
“If Jade really regretted what happened,” Tori began slowly, choosing her words with care, each syllable weighed with the gravity of her internal struggle, “she would’ve called. Or texted. Or… something. Some kind of sign. But she hasn’t. And maybe… maybe that’s my answer.” The realization hung in the air between them, a quiet acceptance of a painful truth.
Justin remained silent, offering her the space she needed, his presence a steady, unwavering anchor in her emotional storm.
“I spent so long hoping she’d change her mind,” Tori continued, her voice soft but surprisingly steady, the raw edges of her past hurt beginning to smooth over. “But I don’t want to be stuck in what-ifs anymore, Justin. I want something… someone… that wants me back.” Her gaze finally lifted, meeting his.
“So…” she began, a hesitant smile playing on her lips, a flicker of newfound hope in her eyes. “What are you doing tonight?”
Justin blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before a slow, genuine smile spread across his face, the charming dimple appearing on his left cheek. “You asking me out, Vega?”
Tori offered a small, half-hearted smile, a tentative step forward into the unknown. “Yeah. I am.”
His smile widened, radiating a warmth that chased away some of the lingering shadows in her heart. “Then yeah, Tori. I’m in.”
They resumed walking down the hallway, their steps lighter now, and for the first time in what felt like a long, drawn-out period of emotional limbo, Tori didn’t glance over her shoulder. She didn’t instinctively reach for her phone, half-expecting a message that would never arrive.
Maybe it wasn’t forever. Maybe her heart still carried fragments of Jade, pieces she hadn’t yet figured out how to fully release. The imprint of that intense, complicated connection might linger for a while.
But for tonight? Tonight, Tori Vega was consciously, deliberately, moving forward.
The little café Justin chose was tucked away in a quiet corner of Newtown, a haven of understated charm. Dim string lights cast a warm, inviting glow over the mismatched collection of vintage furniture that somehow coalesced into a cozy, welcoming ambiance. It was the kind of place where anonymity reigned, where no one cared about your past or your potential fame, only about the genuine sound of your laughter.
Tori sat across from him, a tall glass of something fizzy and vaguely citrusy sweating in her hand, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, her makeup soft and natural. She looked lighter, a subtle shift in her demeanor. Not weightless, but as if the heavy cloak of her past heartache no longer held such a firm grip.
Justin was mid-way through a ridiculously entertaining story about a particularly chaotic Night Lizard gig where the overzealous smoke machine had malfunctioned, threatening to trigger the venue’s fire sprinkler system.
“And Rex,” he added with a wide grin, recounting the tale with infectious amusement, “our drummer – that man ran straight off the stage. Like, full-on cartoon sprint. Didn’t even bother to grab his sticks. Just… vanished.”
Tori laughed, a genuine, uninhibited sound that filled the small space between them. “Okay, Justin, that’s actually amazing. I wish I could have seen that.”
“It was pure, unadulterated chaos,” he agreed, shaking his head with a fond exasperation. “Our bassist started beatboxing to try and stall for time. We’ve never quite lived it down.”
She smiled, shaking her head in disbelief. “You guys are weird. But like… the really good kind of weird.”
“Coming from the resident Hollywood Arts alumna, I’ll definitely take that as a compliment.” He grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
A comfortable pause settled between them, not awkward or strained, but simply a quiet acknowledgment of the easy companionship they had found.
Tori stirred her drink with the straw, her gaze flicking down to the condensation on the glass for a fleeting second before she looked up again, her question soft and sincere. “Why’d you say yes, Justin? When I asked you out tonight?”
Justin looked at her, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. “You serious, Tori?”
She nodded, her gaze steady, seeking genuine understanding.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze unwavering. “Because I like you, Tori. You’re honest, even when it’s probably easier not to be. You’re real. And yeah,” he admitted, a hint of vulnerability in his voice, “maybe a small part of me hoped that someday, you might look at me the way you probably used to look at her.”
Tori blinked, the honesty of his admission catching her off guard.
“But I also knew,” he continued gently, his gaze softening, “that you might never. And I still… I still wanted to try. I wanted the chance to get to know you better, regardless of what the future might hold.”
Tori bit her lip, a wave of guilt washing over her. “That’s… that’s not entirely fair to you, Justin.”
“I’m not asking you to forget her, Tori,” he said softly, his voice earnest and without any hint of resentment. “I’m just asking for a shot. Whatever that shot might ultimately mean.”
Tori reached across the small table, her fingers brushing lightly against the back of his hand. It wasn’t a promise, not yet. But it was something. A tentative step forward.
“Okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the low hum of conversation in the café. “One shot.”
Justin’s smile widened, genuine and warm, the charming dimple deepening.
And even though a small, quiet part of her heart still resided in the space where Jade once stood, a lingering echo of a complicated past – tonight, under the soft glow of the string lights in that unassuming Sydney café, Tori Vega allowed herself to smile back.