. keep me on fire

[lily mccarthy]

Is time even passing? The grandfather clock resting against her wall betrays her every moment she glances at it, pacing nervously between the careful curation of her living room and the gleaming counters of her kitchen to try to force its hand. It had felt so monumental, typing and backspacing words before catching her heart in her throat and pressing send, a gentle step in a direction they'd been falling into from the moment he'd appeared on her tour. It was easier to admit that now, removed from the haze of her shows and the are they aren't they that plagued them. Are they? Aren't they? She was about to find out. Lily's hands tremble as she shifts the pale dahlias on her counter for the hundredth time, forcing a thick, unsteady breath. It's just Zac, she thinks passively, as if she could placate her nerves. As if it was that simple, as if Joe's words weren't echoing in her head like hollowed rounds. As if she wouldn't hear it a hundred more times, as if everyone wouldn't have an opinion, as if... "Stop," she finally murmurs out loud, dragging another deep breath. Trying to clear her mind, dark eyes jumping from the door to the clock to the mirror tilted lazily in the corner. Tracing the black leggings and scrunched socks, the scoop of her matching tank top and haphazard braid and fresh face. Funny how what could be a pivotal moment in her life would happen so casually. It's just enough to break her incessant worries, hearing the familiar grate of her gate pushing open and the telltale signs of a car engine shutting off in her driveway. Waiting a final few seconds before pulling her front door open, leaning against the frame with a genuine, easy smile plastered on her face. "Hi."

[isaac mcavoy]

Sweat pours out of every pore as Isaac sits in the sauna at Soho Warehouse. It had become a ritual since he had entered recovery, a spiritual, intentional continuation of the withdrawal sweats. A continuous purge. He sat there for too long every time, his hair damp, cheeks flushed as people came and went whilst he sat, immobile. It was hard to tell if this was a form of therapy or self-flagellation. Finally he emerges, the room temperature air hitting him like ice after so long in the heat. Reborn once again.  He could well have stayed there for another fifteen minutes, but time marched onward and he had furniture to collect. Buoyed by the prospect of being useful, he headed into the showers and rinsed quickly, efficiently, wicking the sweat away and cleansing himself once more. It was strange how much meaning had started to imbue itself in his everyday actions, and he wasn't entirely sure this new reverence for ritual was all that healthy, but it beat the numbness to reality he had experienced for so long.  Dressed in a black t-shirt, black jeans, a short sleeved shirt and military boots, he briefly fusses with his hair in the mirror before giving up. He spends slightly more time putting on a variety of rings, a watch and a bracelet, his signature chain never having come off in the first place. One spritz of cologne and before he can even register what he's doing, he's pulling up outside Lily's place, the woman herself stood in the doorway. He offers her a grin. "Hello. Beautiful day to meet strangers off the internet, don't you think?"

[lily mccarthy]

Every time she opened her front door it felt like turning a page. A gentle reminder that she'd progressed in some fashion, made some changes, made a name for herself. Enough to warrant thickening media attention and curious glances from strangers, double takes all too familiar in her peripheral vision. Enough to turn off almost every notification on her phone, silent to the social noise that had consumed her so early on. She'd grown up - and could make decision, and mistakes, all on her own. Could want if she wanted. Her eyes flicker up and down as he approaches, full lips curling quietly into a laugh. "Why do you think I brought backup?" Lily quips, grabbing the keys and sunglasses she'd placed conveniently by her door before drawing it shut behind her. A hint of his cologne washes over her in its wake, frenetic energy alight in her system as dark eyes dart over his shoulder, confirming the gate is firmly closed before her arms pull tight around his neck. "Maps says about two hours," she murmurs in his ear, feeling the expanse and shutter of her breath before she pauses, pulls back, hovering dangerously close with a slice of a teasing smile. "And I do still think you should ask me out in person, not over fake Reddit."

[isaac mcavoy]

Despite the ongoing chasteness of their relationship, the energy between them had shifted on its side sometime between the last time he saw her and now. As her arms slip around his neck he turns his head to face her, inhaling her scent as deeply as he can in the brief embrace, his lips pressing a firm kiss into her smooth cheek. He hugs her back, lifting her slightly off her feet and spinning to drop her beside himself. "It's a shame I'm no good in a fight, but I'll try to survive so I can avenge you."  He hits his keys and the Jaguar beeps back at him. Isaac had long since given up on pretending to be modest about these things, owning three sports cars and a ridiculously sprawling mansion in the hills. Why pretend? He winces at the time, "a four hour round trip, Jesus Lily, this better be some dresser." In the car he prioritises the music situation, syncing up his phone and hitting play on his 'On Repeat' playlist, causing Ride by Lana Del Rey to hum into life. "Hmm, is that right? What if I'm not totally sold just yet?"

[lily mccarthy]

"Oh c'mon, you're supposed to sacrifice yourself valiantly for me." Lily leans into the familiar comfort of their teasing conversations, grounded in the way her nerves had calmed. If she was being honest she wasn't sure how this day was going to go, offers too late and too honest to take back. But this was them, as easy and honest as it had become, and she welcomed the banter as much as she welcomed the crossed line that burned brightly on her cheek. The cherry red F150 gleamed in her driveway before them, a day rental she had strangely become invested in as she rounded her way to the driver's seat, lenses flicked down over her nose as he fiddled with the radio. Lily took the extra moment to tug the sweatshirt she'd left in the seat over her head from that morning, a worn through Albuquerque emblazoned over her chest as she adjusted the rear view mirror one final time, engine coming to life with the flick of a key and a rev of the gas pedal. She almost misses what he said, so focused on not hitting his Jag, but as they turned onto the winding road of her neighborhood she finally rolls her eyes. "Luckily I have some time to be convincing," she begins, eyeing the directions on the dashboard screen. "One hour, fifty eight minutes to be precise. So hit me with your first hold up."

[isaac mcavoy]

"I'm in no position to save anyone." What he had intended to be a lighthearted continuation of their banter came out rather more melancholic, an example of an unintentional flair for the dramatic that Isaac had possessed since childhood. It was a trait that his bandmates often made fun of, staging impassioned recreations of his melodramatic hangovers when they were bored between shows. "Tell my mother I loved her," he can remember the exact intonation Taylor adopted, his hand held to his forehead like a damsel in distress. Zac feels a pang for times long since passed and he wonders briefly if they'll ever be able to recapture those moments now that he was on the mend. Unlikely. Not with him sipping soda, his bandmates tiptoeing around him guiltily not enjoying their beers. And not if what he wants to happen here, with Lily, were to happen. Pushing all thought of consequences from his mind (a skill he had a black belt in), he lets Lily's infectious enthusiasm bleed into his melancholy, like tie die bleeding into a white t-shirt. She teases him and he doesn't have the heart to admit a real hang up, inwardly worried that it might disrupt the balance. Instead he pretends to think, rolling down his window and resting his elbow against it. "Hmm. Well, for one, you're a terrible driver. You almost hit the Jag back there and that would have been an immediate, permanent dealbreaker."

[lily mccarthy]

"Just yourself," Lily says simply, refusing to put stock in the darkened response being purposeful. She had become so accustomed to his over exaggerations that it was his more heartfelt, quiet responses that threw her these days. Held more weight, like the kiss on her cheek or the thread of his fingers through hers. Lily lacing them together for a brief moment, a tiny pulse, before slipping away to the driver's seat. Briefly, she wonders how this drive will be. They'd spent immeasurable hours together crossing state lines but he'd always remained a step behind, showing up one day into rehearsals or flying in last minute for a show, her only notification he was there being the update he'd picked up his guest pass. Sometimes backstage, sometimes in her designated section - he kept her guessing, the longing taking hold after hours and moments she still kept close to the vest. A photo booth printout, the last picture curiously torn away. Here they had the present, hours of enclosed space and the possibility of upending everything - yet it felt fragile, Lily's breath tight even as she rolled her eyes at the jab. "Not my fault you parked on a diagonal," she grumbled, eyes flicking to her rearview as she seamlessly changed lanes. "And no, you don't get to call me out for speeding." She navigates the next few turns in musical silence, shoulders easing as they merged onto the highway. "This song's looping, by the way," she points to the dashboard, album cover hovering as the progress bar slipped back to zero. "Hangup of my own, poor DJ skills."

[isaac mcavoy]

Zac doesn't say anything more. Guilt is stirring in the pit of his stomach and he wonders if that's going to be a permanent fixture in his relationship with Lily, since he can't remember the last time he spoke without something weighing at the back of his mind. Constant reveals, each one inching the rug out from under her feet that tiny bit more. It was a marvel to him that she still bothered with him at all, but then he was prone to bouts of self pity and it was something he had been chastised for in therapy, both before and after his recovery.  "Now now, it's easy to blame other people," he says with a laugh, shaking his head as she deflects blame. She seems more self assured than ever and it's a buoying sight, easing some of the angst he was still carrying. He turns to her at her call out, his face slack with mock offence. "You don't think that's intentional? You don't want to give Lana the space she deserves?" He switches it to her album, a perverse punishment that he knows will make her skin crawl. "You're right, we should give up and coming artists a chance. Listen to this girl, I think she's gonna be the next big thing, mark my words."

[lily mccarthy]

This could be any other day, if she played it right. Stepped away from the forwardness of their earlier exchange, revoked her invitation, kept the distance that had blipped in and out of their radar. It wasn't even that long ago that he'd thrown her at Chloe's wedding...then her drunken confession that had burned him to the quick, and the frosty, chilled silence that had followed. The return had been strained but swift, suddenly back in his orbit and a focus in his life. Sometimes, she wondered how long she could hold it. "I'd just like to hear her variet-no," Lily objects sharply, already knowing what's coming but able to do little to change it, familiar color scheme now displayed permanently on the screen. Her arms brace rigidly on the wheel, expression wincing as drums give way to a composition she could recite in her sleep. "This is torture," she grits, thumb stabbing at the 'next' button until "On the Fire Escape" flits onto the display. The one easiest for her to withstand, throwing him a glare before a wandering thought softens her gaze to curiosity. "What's your favorite song then? If she's such a rising star to you you must have a favorite."

[isaac mcavoy]

A low laugh escapes him as he watches what's happening dawn on her. He knows that horror, the toe-curling embarrassment of turning on a radio and hearing your own voice meet you. They were both perfectionists and it benefitted their art at the expense of their comfort. "Come on, one song!" Her vocals slip through the speaker, smokey and silky at the same time, an old fashioned with a sweet edge. As much as he was teasing, it was true that she was a true talent. He watches as she skips ahead, knowing which song she'll settle on and finding himself proven right. "See, even you know this is a good one."  "Lily McCarthy, are you fishing for compliments?" Before he answers he fishes in the inside pocket of his leather jacket, fishing out a box of cigarettes. "Holy Smokes. But you knew that already. On that note, can I smoke? I'll pay if the rental company complain." Wind rattles through as they gain speed, not yet crippled by LA traffic. He leans his head back against the seat, listening to the song in a way that he rarely did; not with a critical ear, not trying to provide any feedback, just enjoying her honeyed vocals like they were actually those of a stranger. "God, you can really sing, you know that?"

[lily mccarthy]

"I sing the least on it, that's why I can manage it," she groans back, yet grows quiet as the song swells into the haunting, foggy acoustics she'd been aiming for. One of the few songs she didn't nitpick apart on her album or mix much when she was on tour, it had been a rare time she played something back and felt almost at ease with it. The hushed vocals, the dreary, lingering guitar notes. It was beautiful in its own right, not one everyone always talked about but one that often reminded her most of the nights on the road, or the empty, limitless midnights she battled in her insomnia. Tangible at its core. "You and everyone else, because they all think it's about you...and fine, fine." She waves in affirmation to his question, lowering part of her window down as well. The wind whips sharp against her cheek but it's balmy, leaning into the coveted sunshine for a moment as the miles stretched on. Heart beating in blissful contentment, one with the long, open road and the company she was keeping. Content that if this was it, she'd take what she could get. But it's not, registering the compliment spoke with such reverence her cheeks pool hot, eyes flicking down in bashful embarrassment. "Thanks," Lily manages to murmur, song fading as static swoops into her ears. "I'm alright. Always more to be done...think I'm going to learn piano next year."

[isaac mcavoy]

Retrieving a matchbox from one of the many stops they made on her tour, he lights a match and in turn his cigarette, taking a deep drag and chucking the extinguished match out the open window. He lines up his favorite track to play next, which it does as he takes another drag. "You can borrow one if you like," he teases, alluding to lyrics that follow immediately after he's made the offer. "Anyway, don't lump me in with other people. I think all your songs are about me, I like this one on its own merit." One of his most sincere pleasures was watching Lily hear praise, her smooth cheeks flushing rose, her eyes darting away from contact. It was a glimpse of a Lily of yore, the same girl who would blush every time she stopped by the garage where her brother and his bandmates were practicing, barely able to speak when Isaac would blatantly try to flirt with her. Funny to think that was so long ago, and sweet to see her still in there, deep down. "You need to relax and enjoy your success more. Have you tried heroin? I've heard great things." The nicotine is settling his nerves, though he has no reason to be nervous in the company of one of his oldest and closest friends. "Anyway, is that a confession or a denial? Is Holy Smokes about me? I think I deserve a straight answer, I promise not to tell Rolling Stone."

[lily mccarthy]

Lily stares sharply in his direction, watching another song of hers queue up. "I'm actually in hell," mumbled under her breath at how easily he syncs in with her lyrics, half expecting him to harmonize and send her into another dimension. Luckily he takes a drag instead, and she drums her grip on the steering wheel to avoid creasing the leather with her fingertips. "You like the lighter flicks, don't you," she assumes, listening to the crackled, familiar sound blend in and out of the backbeat, of her voice. It was a last minute add and her finger hurt by the time they got the right sound, dedicated to a specific Bic lighter whose wheel dug into her thumb because it sounded so familiar. Another thing she liked about music - taking a static sound, a mindless mechanic, and giving it a beat. It's how she listens to the world these days, always searching, often stuck in her own head one way or another, only crashing down when someone's attention skewed her interest. Or, in this case, when a joke hit sour, face scrunching as she shoved his shoulder. She could follow with a solemn comment, an I've seen bad things, but he seems light in his approach so she accepts the ribbing at face value. Debating the answer to his next question, the practiced answers and real truth waging wars up her throat until she shifts her shoulders into a shrug. "Could be, if you wanted it to," Lily lofts, cat got the canary smile on her face as she accelerates into the fast lane. "You think all my songs are about you apparently, so sure. I guess by that logic it is."

[isaac mcavoy]

"I do, but you're going to have to re-record now I've found a new affectation," he says, holding up the match box. Isaac was a create of habit, unfortunately for him, and switching things up did not come naturally, so when he did manage to the changes tended to stick. He'd probably eschew lighters for matches for at least another decade, before one day he would decide that actually, that had been cringe all along, and he'd revert back to the faithful Bics. As it stands he enjoys it, enjoys collecting the matchboxes from the few venues that still offered them, enjoyed selecting one based on his plans that day, enjoyed the crackle of the match against the sandpaper. Today he had selected one from a motel in Tennessee, a shitty little place he had to stay in after leaving his decision on whether or not to surprise her too late to get anything else. He laughs as he's hit, glad she doesn't take it too seriously. Joking about addiction was a huge part of his support groups, with most people using dark humor to process and manage their recovery, and he wanted her to be comfortable with that too. In answer to his question she shrugs and he's disappointed by it. "Ah, the death of the author route. A popular choice." He'd used it enough himself over the years. Asked if a song he'd written years before had been about Alessia or Chloe, he'd make the point that it didn't really matter, that it could be either or neither or both. That what mattered was how the listener felt about it, who they wanted it to be about. But that wasn't true - it had been about Alessia. He switches the music to Bill Callahan. "There, you're off the hook."

[lily mccarthy]

"Guess I'll have to do an acoustic version," she muses, half in jest until the idea unintentionally takes off in her head. Cautioned so many times on overworking or overdoing herself, to Lily it felt second nature to create this way. Envisioning imaginary chords, crackling microphones, the quick flick of a match against its rough counterpart. Fleeting thoughts, all filed away as she focuses on the road, fingers itching to write it down. "Do you write by hand, still?" Her thought bubbles up to the surface, trying to parse together old memories from the early days. By the time she'd grown close to Isaac the band had been on a break, and she couldn't remember what, if anything, she'd seen from him lately. "Or has it all just gone to voice memos or the notes app?" Sometimes, she wonders if they ever will get back together. Likely never in the same capacity they'd been at, something that pulls an ache in her heart at what they'd had - but also knowing it was careening toward a cliff that way. Or at least Zac had been, so blindsided sometimes at the one she could see now versus the one she'd sometimes encounter then. At some points she wonders if he ever remembered seeing her some nights, so off his face and chasing the next high. Now she wonders if he knows that she thinks about him most nights, pausing as she figured out how to articulate her answer. "I just think people should find their own association with it. If it's overtly about someone, or something, it gets so boxed in and direct...so, yes, could it be about you and I smoking at a Cat's Cradle afterparty on April 8th of 2018? Sure. Could it also be about someone's best friend needing some fresh air outside and meeting a stranger, sharing a cigarette and a moment? Also, sure. It all deserves to breathe." Lily thinks it's a sound enough answer, settling back into her seat as the song finally, mercilessly, changed. "Thank you. I wish I knew what it was...maybe because it's not me live, but I dislike it so much."