Chapter 6 #2
“Rumor is she’s new to the industry, no experience. Not only that, but she’s your stepsister, daughter of the one and only Auguste Gaillard of LG Records. Sounds like either genius marketing or a lawsuit waiting to happen. Will she be the magic solution to righting your scandals?” He chuckles.
My blood boils. Who the hell is leaking this shit?
I stare straight into the camera and pray that Haven sees this and turns her ass around—because having her near me again won’t be good for either of us.
“She’s not here to save me, Jack. Don’t let the sweet, doe-eyed act fool you.
Haven Gaillard is a Grade-A bitch. A leech in lip gloss.
She plays innocent well, but she’s poison.
She wraps herself in morality while stabbing you in the back with a smile.
Haven Gaillard isn’t some industry fixer, she’s poison.
She’s the kind of person who watches you drown just to write a blog post about it.
If this is supposed to be our redemption, I’ll take damnation. I bet she won’t even last a month.”
Eren groans. Ledger sighs. Ash rubs his face. Vex smirks but shakes his head in disgust.
“Wow, very strong feelings, alright then,” Jack chuckles nervously, still grinning. “Sounds like we can expect some juicy confrontations from this pairing. We’re going to close out the segment with a performance of Burn Me Beautiful. You guys ready?”
“Whatever,” I mutter, standing.
A stagehand holds out my guitar. I sling the strap over my shoulder, and my body sags as if it weighs a thousand pounds.
The intro plays. My fingers move. I open my mouth to sing the first verse, but the words hit the back of my throat like jagged shards of glass.
We are halfway through the first chorus before something inside me breaks wide open.
Heat surges up my spine, and my vision goes white at the edges.
The lights needle in my skin and my brain as the ringing returns louder than before.
My stomach flips inside out, and I swallow to keep from throwing up.
Taking off the guitar, I pass it to the nearest stagehand. Yanking off the mic, I drop it on the ground and walk off the set without saying a word. The crowd gasps, but I keep walking.
I don’t look back. Behind me, the band falters before Ledger picks up the slack and sings the song. We can all sing—a requirement to join the band, but he’ll still be livid. They all will.
“Cyrus! Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Declan’s voice chases me through the corridors.
“You think this is a joke? Walking out mid-performance and trashing your PR rep on air. You just handed the press a loaded gun with your name carved into the side! Christ, you don’t even know what you’ve done! ”
I don’t stop. Don’t look at him.
We push out the back exit door, and the lights from the cameras are blinding. Dozens of them. A strobe-light nightmare exploding against my skull.
My bodyguards jog over and lead the way, cutting through the swath of people.
“Cyrus! Are you high?”
“Is the band breaking up?”
“What happened in there?”
“Do you hate your stepsister?”
“Who was Patrick to you? Was he a secret lover?”
Declan throws an arm out, blocking a camera that has a zoom lens so big it could take an image of inside my pores up this close, from hitting my face.
“Back up! Clear the way!”
It’s no use. I stumble. My boot catches on the curb, and I go sideways, slamming into the side of the bus with a hard thud. Declan’s arm comes around my waist, holding me up. Voices rise, the sound a swarm of wasps.
“You want a statement, call the label. This is harassment,” Declan barks, but they don’t care. They have what they came for—me unraveling.
I yank the bus door open and climb up, each step heavier than the last. Declan stays outside, holding the mob at bay with the guards.
Inside, I drop into the front lounge seat and let my head fall back. My shirt clings to my sweaty chest, and my hands are shaking.
The band storms in minutes later.
“What the fuck was that?” Vex barks. “I’m all for being a dick, but you just fucked all of us.”
“You bailed on a live show,” Ash snaps. “Who does that to their band?”
“We had one job today,” Ledger growls. “One fucking job and you get so goddamn hammered that you can’t pull it together for a whole fifteen minutes? Do you even want to be in this band anymore?”
I don’t answer. I lick my lips but can’t get air past my throat. It’s as if my chest is caving in.
“Talk to us,” Eren says, quieter. “What’s going on, Cy? You look…you look like shit.”
I swallow as I blink up at the ceiling.
“My head,” I whisper.
“Maybe if you stopped partying like you’ve got nothing to live for, you wouldn’t be fucking sick,” Ledger snarls.
Same fight, different day. He hardly drinks and hates the parties, but he shows up to save face.
I’ve been better, but last night I fell back into an old pattern of destructive behavior.
The thing is…this is no hangover. Something else is wrong, and I don’t want to look too closely at the cause. I’m fucking terrified.
“Back off,” I snap, pushing to my feet. “You think I want to be like this?”
“You walked off the Jack fucking Malone show, and blasted Auguste’s daughter on national television,” Ledger says, exasperated.
“You think he’s just gonna shrug that off, even if he is fucking your mother?
And what the hell did Haven ever do to you anyway?
As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been a dick to her for no reason. ”
“Fuck off. Don’t bring her into this right now,” I growl. “I’m sick, not hungover.”
I stumble to the back of the bus, dragging my hands through my hair.
“Bullshit,” Vex spits.
“I fucking swear I’m not drunk or high,” I mutter and lick my lips. “I didn’t ask to be sick.”
“No one asks to be a wreck, Cy,” Ash says. “But we clean it up anyway. It’s not a gritty headline anymore. It feels like we’re repeating history.”
Declan storms onto the bus, face red.
“Someone explain to me what the fuck just happened?”
“Can’t do this right now,” I say, slurring as my lips go numb.
“You’d better find a way. They’ve got pictures. They’ve got footage. They’ve got screaming audio from inside this goddamn bus. This is a PR nightmare. Holy fuck, I never thought I’d feel sorry for anyone more than me, but good luck to Haven,” Declan snarls, glaring at me.
“Just do your fucking job and spin it,” I spit. “Isn’t that what you’re paid to do? To be our goddamn shield?”
Declan glares, but his rage falters, replaced with concern.
“You’re really fucking pale. You look like you’re about to collapse.”
“Maybe I am,” I say with a shrug, yanking open the door to the back sleeping area and slamming it behind me. I sink onto the floor, legs sprawled, head in my hands as the room spins violently.
The press will say it was a meltdown. Just another dramatic moment from a strung-out rockstar, but the truth is, I’ve been falling apart for a long time. Something is wrong. Something the doctors are missing while they stare at me with their blank expressions and judgemental eyes.
Outside, the world burns. Inside, I’m already ash.