Chapter 2 : Voices Carry

*Ophelia*

I stretch myself out on my stool backstage, sighing deeply. My back cracks into place, and I lean forward, sighing. I’m glad I convinced the bartenders to leave me a stool. My feet have been killing me all day from work.

I look towards the clock across the way, signaling the end of the set—another performance, another crowd that will never know me. I can’t help but sneak a peek between the gap in the curtains at Camila Monroe, taking in the applause and bows. She blows kisses and winks to those in the crowd.

I let out a quiet huff of air, watching her. It must be a dream, having all the people in a room stop everything they’re doing and face you, knowing you are talented beyond a doubt.

I can imagine the warmth of the spotlight shining down on me like the sun. The conversation would pause when they heard my name announced, and their hearts would stop at the sound of my voice.

It’s my dream. But I know better. Those cheers, the applause, the fans she’s collected? No matter how hard I wish for them, they will never be for me. Even when I go to sleep at night, wishing for a life like this, I know it’s not the life I’ll get.

These dreams are supposed to be ones that can come true, and I want them to be. It’s all I’ve ever truly wanted for myself: to be that singer that people love and stop and listen to, to finally step out of the shadows and be my true self.

I want people to hear my voice and feel the way my favorite singers made me feel as a girl. They have inspired me for decades and have remained my biggest heroes. I want to be that for someone else.

One of the bartenders slips through the backstage door, smiles at me, and hands me a glass of water.

“Thanks, Jeff,” I offer him a smile as I take a sip.

“I don’t get it, you know,” he says quietly. “She’s a good singer,” he gestures towards Camila. “But she’s kind of a stuck-up bitch.”

I cough out a laugh before I shrug off his words.

“She’s alright once you get to know her, I think,” I tell him. Do I believe my words? Debatable.

Camila has her moments of kindness, but they’re rarely directed at me.

Jeff gives me a sideways glance and I recognize the look in his eye. One that’s also rarely directed at me.

“I’d love to take you out to dinner if you’re free tonight? I get off in an hour.”

I look at him with his black T-shirt, stained jeans, and curly brown hair. He’s handsome in that boy-next-door kind of way.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve been on a real date. I’ve been so busy with staying afloat that I haven’t had time to even think about it or try.

I consider his offer, but the exhaustion from my day makes my shoulders ache and my soft bed is calling my name. At least I know where to find him if he’s interested in the future…

“Maybe another time?” I say sweetly. “Thanks for the water.”

“Sure. I’ll see you around,” Jeff smiles at me, and I return it genuinely before looking back at Camila, giving her final bow onstage.

I picture myself up there, bowing to the claps and screams for an encore.

But Camila’s return to backstage stops my hopes and dreams in their tracks. I turn away to avoid eye contact, but it doesn’t last long.

“Here.” An item is tossed in my direction, nearly hitting me in the face as Camila passes me. She grabs a towel she’d left back here, dabbing at the tip of her forehead. Then, as if a glowing movie star, she takes a sip of her seltzer water. “I guess you did a good job tonight.”

She looks down at what she’s thrown at me as she says it. It’s my payment for tonight’s performance, the same payment I get every time.

I know she doesn’t mean to compliment me, but I still give her the smallest of smiles that I can. “Thank you.” If that’s all the recognition I’m getting for tonight’s performance, it’s enough to make me feel just a little less small. Plus, it’s a constant kill-her-with-kindness conversation with Camila. If I sass her back, I’ll be in trouble. I have to remind myself to be grateful for this opportunity.

She rolls her eyes. “No need to get sappy. It’s just money. It’s the best of both worlds for you.” She crosses her arms, her seltzer still in one hand as she does so. “You get all the money and get to stay anonymous.”

Where does she get this idea from? How can she look at me and think that’s even slightly true?

“It’s not the best of both worlds, Camila.” I know she hates it when I argue with her, but today has been a long day, and I’m exhausted. “How much longer am I going to be your singing shadow? I thought this was going to be temporary.”

Camila tuts. “Not this again. Oh, Ophelia, you sweet naïve thing.”

I don’t say anything, but feel the familiar knot in my stomach twist. I’ve nicknamed it Camila’s Knot, though it’s not too creative. I don’t dislike the woman; she’s helping me out when no one else can. However, she gives me genuine anxiety, and I do fear her enough to stay silent.

Except the memory of her bowing to a cheering crowd knocks its way back to the forefront of my mind. I want to question her; I want to stand up for myself. But I know that’s not an option. Camila has always made that crystal clear.

And I’m not trying to wake the sleeping dragon tonight.

“You don’t seem to get it. If you want that money to continue coming in,” she points to the wad of cash sitting on my lap. “Then you continue to sing in my stead, without anyone else knowing about it. That’s the deal, and that’s how it’s going to be. We wouldn’t want your poor mommy’s medical bills to go unpaid now, would we?”

She smirks at these words, knowing how they bruise me.

“Don’t talk about my mother like that,” I growl before I can think better of it.

I hate that she thinks she can talk about my mother like that despite knowing that she may be right. Camila is the only reason that I can pay these bills.

While she’s using my voice as her own, she’s paying generously for it.

And all I have to sacrifice, no matter how painful, is my voice.

I’m like Ariel from the Little Mermaid. No one will ever truly know who I am. Camila has stolen my voice in order to make her career happen, and she knows I’ll give anything to help my mother get better.

I’ve watched Camila use me to grow in popularity. She saw someone who was desperate, and she’s taken advantage of me in the worst way. All I’ve wanted, my entire life, is to step into the spotlight. I want to sing the songs I’ve written. I want those cheers to go to me.

But Camila’s steel gaze continues to linger on me, keeping me quiet.

She’s not a bad person, I tell myself.

Just a bad singer.

“Okay, are we done here? Cause I have plans, and I do not feel like sitting here while you try to decide if you’re going to cry or not.”

Okay, so maybe she isn’t a nice person. But I need the money. I need the help. And I hate to say it, but I love to sing.

I just wish it was my voice that people knew, and not Camila’s.

“Yeah.” It’s all I’m able to say, but she knows the damage has been done.

She flips her long, curly hair back with a devilish smile. “Good then.”

Before she can exit, she picks up her purse and glowers at me. “You better continue to keep our secret, Ophelia,” she warns. “Because you don’t want me to be on your bad side.”

I don’t speak; instead, I choose to nod my head as she swings her ponytail in my face and walks out, her heels clicking on the wood floor.

And with that, I’m alone again.

I wait a couple extra minutes before I let the few tears in my eyes fall. I won’t let anyone see me cry, that’s always been my rule. Especially when it comes to Camila. She knows she has all the power, but I don’t need her to mock me any more than she already continues to do.

I wipe away the evidence of my pain and take a shaky breath, trying to imagine what good I’m doing. I’m helping my family. I’m the voice for the Camila Monroe. I work hard at my waitressing job, and I’m good at all the things I work hard at.

But I again look through the crack in the curtain towards the full room of people who rustle about now that Camila’s gone. Would they ever accept me if I told the truth? Even if it means not having money for Mom’s bills, would it be worth it? Camila isn’t wrong when she says it’s better that I’m anonymous. Because no one knows me.

They don’t know anything, and they never will. I’ll always be the voiceless Ariel selling myself to Ursula. But while she was gifted legs and lived her dreams of being on the surface, I’ll be choking underwater, in a position of life I never asked to be in.

I grab my things from the floor and make my way out the back of the building before I head inside over to the bar. At least I get free food out of performing for Camila.

I take a seat, sighing as I look absent-mindedly at the poster of Camila Monroe behind the bar. With my face staring back at me from the mirror, the poster sits to my left, and I stare at her perfect image and smile.

I don’t want to get lost in dreams I’ll never be able to have.

What’s important is my mom, and continuing to work hard.

After all, I’m not a princess, waiting for her prince charming to come. I have done everything my way. And even with Camila’s money, bullying, and taunting, I’m still standing.

And that’s what’s most important.