Songs of Our Breakup: Playlist, #1

By Jay E. Tria

Every breakup has its playlist.

 

How do you get over a seven-year relationship? 21-year-old Jill is trying to find out. But moving on is a harder job when Kim, her ex-boyfriend, is the lead guitarist of the band, and Jill is the vocalist. Every song they play together feels like slicing open a barely healed tattoo.

 

Jill's best friend Miki says she will be out of this gloom soon. Breakups have a probation period, he says. Jill is on the last month of hers and Miki is patiently keeping her company.

 

But the real silver lining is Shinta. Having a hot Japanese actor friend in times like these is a welcome distraction. This gorgeous celebrity has been defying time zones and distance through the years to be there for Jill. Now he is here, physically present, and together he and Jill go through old lyrics, vivid memories, walks in the rain, and bottles of beer.

 

Together they try to answer the question: what do you do when forever ends?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jay E. Tria
• Release date: Apr 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201785741

Book preview

Playlist #1

Songs of Our Breakup

Jay E. Tria

Songs of Our Breakup

Jay E. Tria

Every breakup has its playlist.

How do you get over a seven-year relationship? 21-year-old Jill is trying to find out. But moving on is a harder job when Kim, her ex-boyfriend, is the lead guitarist of the band, and Jill is the vocalist. Every song they play together feels like slicing open a barely healed tattoo.

Jill’s best friend Miki says she will be out of this gloom soon. Breakups have a probation period, he says. Jill is on the last month of hers and Miki is patiently keeping her company.

But the real silver lining is Shinta. Having a hot Japanese actor friend in times like these is a welcome distraction. This gorgeous celebrity has been defying time zones and distance through the years to be there for Jill. Now he is here, physically present, and together he and Jill go through old lyrics, vivid memories, walks in the rain, and bottles of beer.

Together they try to answer the question: what do you do when forever ends?

New Adult. Heat level 2.

Copyright

Songs of Our Breakup

Jay E. Tria

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any semblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2015 by Jay E. Tria

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Contact the author: www.jayetria.com, [e-mail]

Cover design by Tania Arpa.

Photography by Mark Christopher Bayot, featuring Ace Tria.

Books by Jay

Playlist Series: Songs of Our Breakup | Songs to Get Over You | Songs to Make You Stay| Songs You Come Back To | Songs to Your Beat

Flair Book 1: You Out of Nowhere

Young Adult: Blossom Among Flowers

Young Adult/Urban Fantasy: Majesty

Anthologies: Make My Wish Come True | Promdi Heart | Summer Crush | Second Wave Summer

Contents

April 20, Monday, night

April 21, Tuesday, midnight

Nevermind

April 21, Tuesday, morning

August 18, Friday, three years ago

April 21, Tuesday, night

January 1, Saturday, four years ago

April 23, Thursday, morning

All the Way

April 26, Sunday, morning

November 11, Saturday, three years ago

April 27, Monday, night

January 11, Thursday, two years ago

April 30, Thursday, afternoon

May 8, Friday, night

February 10, Saturday, two years ago

May 10, Sunday, night

Slipstream

March 21, Wednesday, one year ago

Awake

May 11, Monday, midnight

May 11, Monday, morning

February 20, Friday, morning

May 15, Friday, morning

A Habit to Break

May 16, Saturday, morning

May 22, Friday, night

Bright Side

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Excerpt from Songs to Get Over You

April 20, Monday, night

Jill cupped her hands around her eyes: no difference. It was still the same purple haze. She had to concede that it was a pretty thing, this dark blanket of black sky. But a hopeless romantic liked to blink back at the stars. A stupid romantic like her, even more so.

From somewhere behind her there was a crash of steel against metal; the unmistakable sound of guitars being tuned to life. Jill stretched her legs, the soles of her worn sneakers gliding down the Beetle’s lime green paint. In the heat of the summer night, beads of sweat threatened to appear inside her shirt, but the mild breeze held them at bay.

She heard the sound of rubber soles crunching lightly on gravel. Jill lay stone-still, her back balanced on the hood of her car, waiting.

You’re late, came Miki’s voice.

No, I’m not, Jill retorted.

He perched on the hood beside her. We’re up next and you’re the only one missing.

I’ve been out here for over an hour. She looked up. Still those stupid pinpricks of lights were a no-show.

Miki inclined his head. His cropped hair swayed over his head like a mini-wave, then kept still. Jill had long wondered how Miki’s hair would look if he grew it out—how thick and massive and dark it would be. But he never wore it longer than it was now. Miki preferred constancy.

The roadie has his hands on Julia, he said. 

Jill bolted upright. Let’s go.

She jumped off the hood and started down the gravel drive, past rows and rows of cars, some new, some battle-scarred.

You know one day you’re going to give that shiny new Beetle a scratch, Miki said, keeping up with her easily.

Of course not. Hurt her beloved car. She wasn’t high.

That’s what Kim said about his Honda.

Jill grunted; the official response to any mention of her ex-boyfriend. Miki crunched over the worn stones with measured steps against her heavy stomps.

Two months and three days since the breakup, he said clearly.

Jill shot him a glare. I thought I had to stop counting.

You do. Miki shrugged. I’m irrelevant.

Jill growled under her breath. The sound was quickly swallowed by loud chatter when they crossed the braided metal gate. Miki grinned. Of course he still heard it. A few more steps in they were met by a loose crowd assembled around plastic chairs, and wood-and-wrought-iron tables under a canopy roof.

Commute Bar was occupied by its usual work night crowd—a mix of giddy college students and stressed out yuppies, out to celebrate the end of another Monday. Jill and Miki received handshakes, returned high fives and shy smiles from people they knew and people whose names they might remember one day.

A stranger stepped forward and shook Jill’s hand. She cringed as the guy’s cheek hit her cheekbone with a soft thud. She never liked this part of the job.

Miki opened the door to the bar, waited a second for Jill to move, then gave her back a quick shove.

Jill stumbled, the heat and the noise of the feedback enveloping them both. She straightened her feet, thankful she remembered to wear something without laces tonight.

The stage was across the entrance, but it really wasn’t much of a stage as it was on the same level of the tiny circular tables and iron stools. The same level as the crowd of patrons that was already on their feet, some stumbling on the cords and the line of speakers littered on the floor.

Late, Son said, spinning to face her with his bass guitar hanging from his neck.

Always the grand entrance. Nino peered at her from behind his drums, one stick taking a practice swing at the cymbals.

Jill stuck her tongue out at them both like a proper 21-year old adult.

A loud orange shirt moved up from an amplifier, separating from the dancing glare of the little red, blue, and yellow spotlights. Kim gripped the neck of his guitar, his dark eyes meeting hers for a fleeting second.

Let’s go, he said.

Her breathing stopped.

Kim faced the crowd, and the crowd pushed closer to the mic stands, calling their names and cheering. Nino counted off—ahonetwothreefour—but to Jill the entire cramped space was a vacuum.

Miki elbowed her side gently. Your weapon for war, soldier. He swung the seafoam green Les Paul’s strap over her head.

Jill saw the eager, sweating faces and closed her eyes as nerves crawled through her skin. She recognized the pounding of the drums and realized the exact moment when she had to pluck the strings, press the bar, and sing out the words.

The vacuum broke. Everything moved again.

The floor shook around them, bodies crashing against each other. Julia, the Les Paul Classic electric guitar, sang with Jillian Marie, the lead vocalist. Julia’s metal pitch wove in the humid air with Jill’s raspy mezzo-soprano, and together they danced. With Miki and Son they danced, hearing with acute precision Kim’s deep, raspy voice as he echoed the words to the chorus that he and Jill wrote together.

Jill opened her eyes, swinging Julia’s neck to Nino’s fast, angry beat, and shooed the vacuum farther away.

THEY CALLED THEMSELVES Trainman. Son was addicted to manga and anime in high school—an affliction that only got worse when he had money to spend without needing to skip lunch and forgo his fare home. It seemed funny at the time, but then most things do when you’re sixteen. By the time Miki met Jill in their Economics 100 class at university and he too joined the band, the name was set in stone.

Why Trainman? asked the girl sharing their table.

She was another one of those classmates-slash-orgmates-slash-neighbors-slash-strangers-from-Mini-Stop that Nino invited to the gigs. Always the petite type, always not his girlfriend. His actual girlfriend was currently killing her youth away in an advertising assignment in Canada.

Jill and Miki exchanged looks. Son plunked his chin on his arm on the table, beer bottle dangling from his hand. He liked acting drunk when the conversation went this way. They think it’s his coping mechanism.

After four years you’d think people would have moved on to the next thrilling question. But maybe for the life of an indie band, four years still made them a baby.

Because Densha Otoko would have been a mouthful, Son explained, one hand raking through his mop of curly hair, beer spilling down the front of his shirt.

And no one would get it, Miki added.

Excuse me? the girl called out, moving an ear closer to them.

Son grinned and gave Miki’s bottle a shaky toast. In the pounding sound of a 90’s grunge hit playing from the speakers, and the heightened decibels of voices of people still striving to have a conversation in this racket, a newbie like this Nino fangirl would never hear.

Kim likes trains, Miki hollered.

Oh. The girl nodded. Of course. He’s the leader of the band, right?

Sure. Miki nodded like a yo-yo.

Just like in Asian boybands, Jill added, copying the yo-yo.

J pop rules, Son slurred.

Jill sipped her beer through sealed lips. Kim hated the train. He thinks it’s too cramped. His skinny ribs could never take the constant elbowing. His idea of a commute was hailing a cab, but only when his Honda was injured, and only as a last resort.

I like the songs they play there too, the girl shouted over the noise. MRT radio. It plays a good mix. She beamed, like a kid waiting for the teacher to hand out a gold star.

Miki, Jill, and Son looked at her. They picked up their beers in unison and drank deeply.

Good for you, Miki said after a gulp.

Jill held on to her bottle and downed the remaining half in two seconds. She brought it down the table with a slam, Son’s wary eyes on her, then stood in one abrupt movement.

Really nice to meet you, she said to the grinning girl.

Jill stalked off, weaving through the thick band of people. It was midnight, Commute’s primetime. At least two more bands were in the lineup and nobody here was thinking of surrendering to sleep, another work day tomorrow be damned.

She found Nino outside the door, inhaling the second-hand smoke. He preferred that than lighting one himself. Kim was the orange shirt beside him.

Your new girl’s fabulous, she hissed in Nino’s ear as she hopped off the last step.

Her name’s Lisa, Nino supplied with a grin. Jill cocked one eyebrow at him. Of course you don’t care.

Nino was a big guy, six-foot tall he claimed, to no one’s protest. He was the tallest of them