Sing Us a Song

Sing us a song, and we'll sing it back to you.
The girl's voice soared into the air, and she felt free, so free. She felt like she could do anything with her voice. Her voice of gold, a voice like magic and honey.
"Perfect, that was magic." The music producer said, the microphone turning his voice into grains that she imagined she could see. The girl just smiled, reliving her moment of freedom, holding onto that feeling as long as she could.

The girl was Hayley Williams, lead singer of Paramore, a girl with gorgeous hair, gorgeous features and an even more gorgeous voice. The fat man sitting in that room behind that thick wall of glass was David Bendeth, producer extraordinaire. He was the man with a plan, the one that would take this little band from Nashville and turn them into a star. The one that helped Hayley let her voice flow free for millions. He was her savior and her hero.

Hayley took off her headphones and flounced into the other room, still high off of the post-record adrenaline rush.
"I'm glad you liked it Dave!" Hayley said, plopping down onto Zac's lap. Zac absently patted her arm and went back to twirling his drum stick. She rolled her eyes, hating to be ignored like so many girls do.
"What Hayles?" Zac asked, seeing her eye roll. Hayley just shook her head and walked back into the comfort of the sound proofed room. She turned her back to everyone and let loose a scream, a ragged, sharp edged scream. It was a glorious scream, she thought. Too bad no one else had heard it. She loved Dave dearly, but sometimes she hated having her voice marketed. Coveted like an object, instead of the fragile and beautiful thing she knew it to be. Hayley sighed again; slightly worried that she had damaged her cords with that scream.
"Again!" Dave said through that grainy microphone.

She lay in bed sipping honeyed tea. The scream has left her voice broken and they had quit recording early. She wasn't allowed words for a week. A whole week, a week without singing. Tears spilled over her cheeks and buried themselves in her pillow. Her only freedom had been taken away. The only thing she loved anymore. The tour had taken so much out of her, had left her depressed when it was over. Singing was the only thing that had made it all better, made the ache for the bump of the road and the swaying of the bus less painful. She missed the excitement and the crowd screaming her name. She missed the funny set directors and the gossip of the hair dressers. She missed it all. Hayley drained the last dregs of tea from her cup and stood up, swaying slightly at the head rush. This wouldn't do, Hayley Williams was above this nonsense. Hayley Williams knew what she wanted and would not be denied it. She wanted to sing.
"We were born for-" her voice cracked painfully and sent her into a fit of coughing that sent spatters of blood to her hand. She went a bit pale. Hayley wasn't very good with blood, in fact she hated it with a passion, gory passion that she had had since she was a little kid. She had forgotten why she hated it, just knew that she did. She blacked out.

"Ripped vocal cords...nothing we can do...never gonna sing...ever...I'm so sorry..."
These words swam at Hayley through a haze of sleep. A fog created by pain medication and pain that even they couldn't sooth. All she heard was "Never sing again." This made her sit up and try to scream, until she found that she couldn't. Her throat was swathed in bandages but nothing was coming out. Never sing again? What was going on? It had just been one scream...one that apparently was going to cost her everything...no. This wasn't happening; this was a dream, a horrible, horrible dream. This didn't happen to people like her, people who had everything. This couldn't be happening...it couldn't. Hayley started to cry, huge tears that left fat streaks down her pasty cheeks, silent tears of course. She pressed her forehead to the hospital bed and began to cry harder, dark splotches spreading on the white sheets. She felt arms around her, Josh's, and tried to shrug him off. He refused to let go and soon more arms joined his. This was her fault, she had ruined the band.
"Baby girl," whispered Josh "It's gonna be just fine." She shook her head, pressing a shaking hand to her mouth, trying to stop her sobs. He didn't, couldn't understand. She had just lost everything. Her one true love, a passion she had had since she could talk. He didn't understand how she felt about singing. He never would, no one could. She pushed everyone away from her and turned to face to wall, blocking them all out. She heard a collective sigh and soft footsteps that told her they had left. Good, she thought, I hope they all rot.

She woke up to a dark room, only the neon orange of the Vicodin bottle visible and only just barely. The days events came crashing down on her like a wave, drowning her in their awefulness. She felt like she was choking, she couldn't breathe. She gasped for air and looked around her with wide eyes. They settled on the Vicodin bottle and she reached for it, caressing the cold plastic with her hands. She opened it slowly, her mind void of any emotion except pain, and the need to escape it. She nibbled on the edge of a pill, its bitterness throwing her pain into sharp relief. She swallowed it, and another one, and another one, not realizing what she was doing, what she had done until she started to feel light headed. She giggled and lay back on her pillows, letting the darkness consume her.