Ceaseless Chains Copyright © 2020 xXMopelXx All Rights Reserved.

Chapter posted - July 19, 2020

Teagan Parisa Manning Aesthetic for y'all ^ 

Enjoy the following Installment, Babes. No update for EB because I've had a crappy personal week and couldn't write anything worth updating. I have 2/3 of CC pre-written, hence the weekly updates. 

Playlist Song: Ben E. King - Stand By Me

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C H A P T E R  3

Teagan

"You look beautiful," Elisa said, her tone laced with a hint of awe.

She watched me quietly from the doorway. I blushed hard; trying to remember the last time someone genuinely complimented me and coming up short.

"Thank you."

Elise folded her arms across her chest as she padded further into the bathroom. "What time is your audition?"

"In approximately an hour. I'm leaving in five minutes."

"Are you nervous?"

I stared at the girl in the mirror. Her makeup was dark, yet soft. Her features were schooled in determination, yet slightly weary. Her armour was on, yet it was chipped from years of fighting battles that shouldn't have needed fighting.

"Nah," I whispered to my reflection. "Not nervous."

"Are you ready?"

I gave her a little twirl, showcasing my flouncy, black sequin top, black leggings, and wedges. For good luck, I wore my favorite complimentary gold bangles, given to my by the gentlest soul I ever had the pleasure of knowing.

"What do you think?"

"Perfect," she whistled. "But I meant mentally?"

Well, it was now or never. I'd say I was good.

I'd spent as much time needed warming up my vocal cords. Mentally, I'd been ready since last night if I were being super honest.

Singing had always been my passion, before I traded it in for a half-complete economics degree.

I had no aspirations of being a popstar. I just enjoyed music and singing since I was a kid. My parents had gifted me singing lessons in my teen years but forced me to stop going when they got scared I'd get sidetracked and wouldn't continue with higher-level education. Back in Boston, this had taken a backseat. I exercised my voice occasionally at karaoke bars with some friends, but that was the extent of it.

Now that I was back home with plenty of time on my hands – I had nothing to lose.

There was a reputable restaurant slash speakeasy bar that was looking for a part-time lounge singer. It wasn't very far from Elsie's bakery, so I submitted my application online last week.

This was really my chance to pursue a bit of my passion on the side and give my parents a mental fuck-you. I wasn't a waste of space, despite what they thought. I had a life and could do whatever I wanted with it – econ student, waitress and lounge singer.

Not that they'd ever know, considering they didn't talk to me. Hadn't spoken to me in four years.

"Els, I'm ready."

"Then go show them what you're made of. My baby cousin is a fucking star."

* * *

The main reason why I was doing this wasn't entirely because of my free time – I needed the extra cash while I figured out my living and schooling situation.

I didn't want to tell Elsie I needed more money, because she'd freak out and try to increase my wage when she was already overpaying me. I didn't want to overstep my welcome either; she'd already done so much for me.

I had to get on my own footing and start saving up again.

Located at the corner of the Fredview strip, 1001 Nights' sign was portrayed in old cinema style lights, complete with a small red velvet carpet and ropes at its entrance. It was primarily a lavish restaurant, but the top floor was a speakeasy bar lounge for patrons to indulge in overpriced drinks and a sensual night of singing and dancing.

I heard they were looking for a versatile singer, one who could sing slow jazz and bring to the ambiance a hint of glamour that was reminiscent of the 1950s and 1960s.

It was still early, so there was no line-up, seeing as the upstairs bar hadn't opened yet. However, people drifted in and out of the bottom restaurant portion. A few burly looking bouncers smoked cigarettes outside, with the sunsetting sky as their backdrop.

I walked up to them and informed I was here for my audition with Mickey Alvarez.

One of them – a robust, bald affair – nodded at me to follow him. The entrance door to the actual speakeasy bar was 'hidden' on the side of the restaurant, disguised as a flower wall with a multitude of silk red roses covering it.

I climbed up the stairwell, poured in fluorescent red light, before we arrived at the top, leading to a large expanse of space.

The upper portion could only be described as classy – spacious, amber flooring, ornate mirrors along the walls, massive crystal chandeliers, dark red accents, and mahogany booths and tables were scattered in the bar.

I knew speakeasys were kept dimly lit due to their nature, but the lights were fully on while the staff members prepared for the night, mopping the floor, and wiping tables.

The bouncer, who's name I learned to be Rob, rasped in a gravelly tone that hinted he smoked too much, "There's Mickey. He's waiting for you."

My stomach was filled with a new burst of butterflies. It hit me that this was no longer a thought, but the potential of becoming my reality if I played my cards right.

I was really going to do this.

Mickey looked to be in his mid-thirties. Dark hair dotted with salt and pepper streaks at the sides, tanned skin that crinkled at the corners of his eyes, a hard-set jaw, and a designer-tailored, brown three-piece suit.

This so-called Mickey sat on a chair, front facing a raised golden platform housing a stool and microphone. He assumed a power-position with his right ankle crossed at his left knee.

There was a pen and notepad in his lap, and he was shaking his leg out of impatience and checking his Rolex in a way that screamed 'make it fast and worth my while'.

Before Harvard and the countless presentations I'd had to endure in front of my classmates, I used to be a ball of nervousness in situations like these. Now that I'd conquered that fear, I wasn't put off by men like Mickey Alvarez.

"You start in two," Rob said, before his voice grew distant. "Mickey doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Luckily, Mickey hadn't spotted me yet. Taking a deep breath, I called for every ounce of empowerment inside of me and counted my blessings that 1001 Nights had even bothered to call me in for an audition.

About to make my way towards my potential future employer, something strong bumped into me from behind and I almost went toppling over.

"Omph." A sound of distress escaped me, before big hands banded my arms, jerking me upright.

As soon as I caught my footing with the help of the mysterious presence behind me, I turned around to face the stranger...

...who ended up being Oliver.

"Oh," he murmured, eyes trekking the length of my body.

He released my arms like my skin scalded him. I shivered lightly, goosebumps erupting at the contact.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

I faced his chest, watching it bow with an inhale. "I'm sorry, too."

Not sure what I was saying sorry for since he was the one who'd plowed into me.

His brows furrowed, but those golden eyes of his – a shade of warm whiskey – deepened in intensity as he soaked in my presence.

Suddenly, there was thickness in my throat. I wanted to tamper down this feeling he brought on, considering I didn't feel intimidated to perform in front of Mickey. Yet with Oliver...I kept my gaze fastened on him despite the turbulence in my chest cavity.

"Teagan."

The way he dropped my name, so low and rumbly and without disdain – unlike in the past – was enough to cause a pang to travel through my heart.

It was so reminiscent of the days we'd spent cuddling together in his bed, where we conversed in hushed, soft tones, because the world didn't need to hear our thoughts. Only we did.

I grasped the moment to commemorate this Oliver into my memory. A small part of me desperately tried to erase the old image of Oliver with this one – like a new wallpaper covering an old canvas.

Tonight, he wore loafers with black slacks that hugged his legs and a white dress shirt that emphasized the strength of his muscles. The whole ensemble was complete with suspenders and a slightly glowering scowl. His golden eyes stared at me like he was trying to figure something out, as he brushed a strand of his black, chin-length dark hair behind his ear.

Time had been kind to Oliver, as I mentioned. He'd grown in every way that mattered, including his impressively built frame.

It was futile though. I could never forget the old Oliver.

"Yes?" I returned, getting my bearings once more.

"What are you doing here?" Thankfully, he didn't bring up the fact that I just ogled him like he was a piece of my favorite candy.

"I'm here to sing – to audition," I expressed with a touch of a smile.

Recognition flickered in his gaze. "Ah. I see. So you still sing? That's good."

The fact that he remembered that detail, coupled with the fact that he was being civil, caused a smile to bloom over my lips. I wanted to press pause to this setting, and to ask him: Do you still play the guitar, Oliver? Do you remember the days where you'd gently strum a beat while I filled the air between us with melodious words?

But life, despite feeling like an ongoing cassette, didn't have a stop button. And we weren't at a place in our lives where I could ask him these questions.

Our friendship – or acquaintance, whatever – felt like a bittersweet song. First verse was complete. Chorus check. Verse two done. Chorus again with some stumbling and now we were at the bridge...

"I do," I murmured. "And I should probably get to it before I miss my slot."

Nodding with understanding, he jutted his chin towards the awaiting platform designated for me. "Good luck."

Before I could utter a thank-you, he'd already headed for the bar, clutching a crate filled with glassware.

* * *

"You got a minute to tell me something about yourself, and two minutes tops to sing. If I raise my hand, you act like this is American Idol and stop singing. Got it?"

Mickey was clearly in a surly mood. Don't know what pissed him off, but the truth was I've dealt with a lot of wannabe-macho-egotistical men at Harvard, thinking they could one-up me because I had a vagina. This man didn't intimidate me. I knew how to deal with his kind. I was the goddamn wolf, but I'd hide in sheep's clothing. For now.

"Cool," I quipped, settling myself on the stool, crossing my legs. "But, I only need less than a minute to impress you."

His eyebrow arched at my insolence, but the rough smirk on his mouth said otherwise.

A few employees stopped working. One stayed standing with his mop and two others, along with Oliver, rested against the bar, watching our exchange play out.

I got the impression that not a lot of people here dared to throw sass at Mickey Alvarez.

Tapping three slow beats with my foot, I prepared myself with a breath, before letting my words pour straight out of my gut, my heart, my throat...

I sang a jazzy rendition of can't take my eyes off of you that I'd mastered in my mezzo-soprano, giving it a womanly, sultry flow.

It left Mickey and his three workers stunned within thirty seconds. Except Oliver.

He already knew what I was capable of.

No one stopped me. I went over the two minutes until the song was complete.

Claps carried out amongst the employees and one whistled at me. I broke into a pleasant grin.

Mickey shook his head in approval, almost like he was resisting doing so. The smirk was barely flirting with his lips, but I saw it. It felt like the closest equivalent to a verbal yes.

Reluctantly, Mickey clapped as well, uncrossing his legs, and rising from his chair. "You're not all bark, I see," he rasped. "You've got a big bite. You're good."

I blushed under his appreciative gaze. "Thank you."

He straightened his suit and held out a hand for me so I could easily step down from the platform. "You still didn't tell me anything about yourself."

He gestured to a corner booth. We sat down and he spent about twenty minutes actually conducting a proper interview. Mickey seemed genuinely interested in my educational background.

Then he asked the million-dollar question: Why are you here; what happened to Harvard?

I dodged it as always. Taking a break from school indefinitely, because my 'family needs me'. I didn't elaborate and he didn't ask.

"We'll be in touch," Mickey concluded, shaking my hand a tad bit too long, his fingers lingering. "Thank you, Teagan."

He walked me to the staircase, and an employee who was moping the floor gave me a salute.

After a quick goodbye, I descended the stairs.

The sun was setting once I stepped out, Fredview strip bathed in beautiful orange and pink hues.

A couple of workers stood at the front entrance, some smoking with the security guards before their shift began.

I spotted Oliver, at the same time that he spotted me.

It was ironic, really. So much history lay between us – not all bad – and here we stood, with nothing much to say.

I thought we'd play the avoidance game as usual. Yet Oliver stepped away from his group of co-workers and walked the short distance to me. "Hey."

"Hey."

He scratched the dark stubble at his cheeks. "That went well."

"You think so?" Hell, I know so. But, if he felt the need to incur small talk, I wouldn't stop him.

This was us bridging.

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "You sang beautifully. Mickey is never taken aback. That takes a lot to do."

"I hope that means he'll give me the position." It did feel a little bit awkward having this conversation with so many of his coworkers in earshot.

A light breeze whipped past us, sending my long waves past my shoulders and tousling Oliver's strands. I loved how he wore his mop artfully shaggy, the longish look suiting him.

It made him look more rugged and a whole lot manly.

"I'll make sure I put in good word for you."

I was shocked because these weren't the words I was expecting from him, but this whole evening has unfolding into one big wonderful surprise.

I wanted to thank him, but before those words could work past my tongue, Oliver's gaze fell down to my hands. An odd gleam entered his eyes as he assessed the numerous gold bangles I was wearing.

I'd never been without them for long; they were a part of me.

Tenderness flooded Oliver's expression, causing his features to soften.

"Thank you, Oliver." I said. "I will appreciate it more than you know."

He nodded in understanding, and said nothing else, as if trying to make sense of something. Me, maybe.

It was time to head back and start my shift at Elsie's.

"I...I hope you've been well, Oliver. Truly," I murmured, knowing we couldn't invite anything more into the conversation. But, at least, I could try. I hoped he didn't hate me anymore. "I should go now."

Without waiting for his reply, I whirled around and walked away, a small bud of hope blossoming within me.

The chords of stand by me played in my mind as my heels ate the distance between me and my next destination, watching the sunset bleed into a new evening. 

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A/N's: I'm so excited for us to start exploring the dynamics between these two. I hope you babes are enjoying the story so far. I've never written such a strong heroine like Teagan and I'm loving her. What are your thoughts on Teagan and Oli's relationship so far? Teagan as a lounge singer? Teagan and Oli living together in the future? x

Twitter: MajestyMarzy

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Chapter goal: 300? x