Believers Never Die Pt. 1
Growing Up
The drive back home was painstaking. All I wanted to do was get home. I wanted to see my family. I wanted Mom to be proud of me, of how much self-control I had.
I imagined that she would greet me at the door. No, she would be waiting for me. She would see the car pull up. She would see me open the door and get out of it. I would look up and see her standing on the front steps, beaming, so excited to finally have me home with her again. I would close the car door and take two steps before she would come rushing at me with her arms open, inviting. She would embrace me tightly. She would cry a little bit, and she would tell me how sorry she was for sending me away when nothing was wrong. She would tell me how much she missed me. I would tell her it was okay and that I loved her. She would say she loved me too. Then, she would take me inside, and the whole family would eat dinner together. We would be happy again.
When we finally neared the house, I could feel the anticipation mounting within me. My hand gripped the door handle. The second I heard the engine stop, I flung the door open and leaped out of the car, but there was no one there. There was no car in the driveway. No one was standing on the doorsteps waiting for me. All the lights in the house were off. As Von walked around to the back of the car to get my bags, I looked at him and smiled a little.
"Maybe they're al inside waiting," I said with a small, disheartened laugh. I still am not sure if I really believed that or if I was just trying to convince myself.
I walked up to the door of my Los Angeles home, and I let myself in. It was empty and dark. It just seemed... lonely. The walls were barren, stripped of their paintings. As I further explored my once beautiful home, I found that all of the movable furniture was gone. On a counter top in the kitchen was a note:
Dear Maxim, I have bought another house in Beverly Hills. Your father and I are getting a divorced. Sincerely, Dominique.
Underneath was a fifty dollar bill. So not only was I fresh out of rehab, I was now a thirteen-year-old with no parents and no house. I shoved the fifty in my pocket and ran back outside. I met Von at the door. He gave me a wide smile. "So how is everyone? Well?" he asked me.
My eyes stared to water and the smile was swept off of Von's face. I showed him the note. He took me back to the car with my suitcase and sat in there with me while I tried to call my brother.
It turns out, my brother and my nanny were at the Hot Fuss building, waiting to speak with Charlie about the situation. Apparently, my dad went back to work with his band. My mother left and was now focused on my little sister, Carolina.
I had never met Carolina. My parents had an odd way of keeping all of us separated. I never met my two younger sisters. My mother was always so focused on me that she couldn't be bothered... and come to think of it... it seemed like our roles had been reversed.
As much as I had claimed to hate the attention my parents gave me, I couldn't help but feel betrayed. The whole car ride over to the building, I felt this burning sensation tearing through my chest. Pain seared through my body, and my eyes stung with tears. I bit my lip, face twisting into a scowl. How could this happen? How could they just forget about me? I was their child. I was supposed to be the favorite...
It wouldn't occur to me what my mother had wanted until a few days later. I began to realize that my mother never cared. She hadn't wanted kids in the first place. She just got lucky and a bore herself a golden ticket back to the limelight. She was using me for fame, attention, and money. As soon as it looked like I was going to crash and burn, she had abandoned ship and continued riding somebody else's coat-tails. This time, it was my little sister's turn. One part of me wanted to warn Carolina, but the other part of me didn't give a shit. I wanted to her to be hurt. I wanted her to feel the same exact way I felt now.
When Von pulled up to the building, I fought off my tears and regained my composure, rushing inside, catching the elevator and demanding I be let into Charlie's office this instant. Every body was terrified. They hadn't ever seen me like this before. I was usually docile and shy, but I was raging. I could feel all the nasty, bitter words I wanted to say to my mother on the back of my tongue, ready to leap out of my throat. I was ready to pounce, but when Charlie opened the door, I could do nothing but burst into tears on the spot.
He took me inside and sat me down. Charlie asked me what happened, and as I explained, he remained stoic. He did not look angry. Why wasn't he as frantic as I was? Did he not understand? Of all people, I had assumed Charlie could help me, but maybe not. I was ready to leave just as he opened his mouth again. "I know what you can do," he told me. "Kid, don't worry about a thing. Everything's gonna be alright."
They were the most comforting words I had heard in a long time.
It turns out, Charlie had a spare apartment in Los Angeles that he had bought but never used. He allowed Evander and I to live in it, as long as we kept it clean, which wasn't a problem considering I was compulsive about cleanliness. He was more than happy to give us the keys. I felt a sense of a freedom, but also a sense of fear. Those keys were the key to unlocking another part of my life. They would give me my independence, and somehow, I wasn't sure if I could handle living on my own. I had always relied on my mother, I had no friends, and now, at twelve years old, I was living in an apartment, just my twin and me.
For a month or so, I tried to figure out ways to make money. I needed to pay rent somehow. I felt bad making Charlie do it. I was drawing blanks. I didn't have any skills. I didn't even have social skills; I would never survive an interview. The only thing I knew how to do was perform, and I swore to myself that I wouldn't put myself back into that life, that I wouldn't do anymore damage to myself than I already had done. With frustration, I crumpled my blank list and tossed it into the trashcan, sitting down in front of the TV. I turned it on. It had been left on the Disney Channel. Then, I saw it.
"Hi! I'm Carolina Chastain from Crazy for CoCo, and you're watching Disney Channel!"
I hated her. I hated her skinny little body, her round eyes, her white smile, and her blonde, curly hair. That should have been me on that television, not her. I felt a jealous rage wash over me, and I felt a sudden drive, a motivation. Without warning, I turned the TV off and stormed into my room. I wrote four songs in two hours and immediately called Charlie.
Five days later, I was back in the recording studio with thirteen songs to record. I was going to take back my throne, and I was finally going to do it on my own terms.
I imagined that she would greet me at the door. No, she would be waiting for me. She would see the car pull up. She would see me open the door and get out of it. I would look up and see her standing on the front steps, beaming, so excited to finally have me home with her again. I would close the car door and take two steps before she would come rushing at me with her arms open, inviting. She would embrace me tightly. She would cry a little bit, and she would tell me how sorry she was for sending me away when nothing was wrong. She would tell me how much she missed me. I would tell her it was okay and that I loved her. She would say she loved me too. Then, she would take me inside, and the whole family would eat dinner together. We would be happy again.
When we finally neared the house, I could feel the anticipation mounting within me. My hand gripped the door handle. The second I heard the engine stop, I flung the door open and leaped out of the car, but there was no one there. There was no car in the driveway. No one was standing on the doorsteps waiting for me. All the lights in the house were off. As Von walked around to the back of the car to get my bags, I looked at him and smiled a little.
"Maybe they're al inside waiting," I said with a small, disheartened laugh. I still am not sure if I really believed that or if I was just trying to convince myself.
I walked up to the door of my Los Angeles home, and I let myself in. It was empty and dark. It just seemed... lonely. The walls were barren, stripped of their paintings. As I further explored my once beautiful home, I found that all of the movable furniture was gone. On a counter top in the kitchen was a note:
Dear Maxim, I have bought another house in Beverly Hills. Your father and I are getting a divorced. Sincerely, Dominique.
Underneath was a fifty dollar bill. So not only was I fresh out of rehab, I was now a thirteen-year-old with no parents and no house. I shoved the fifty in my pocket and ran back outside. I met Von at the door. He gave me a wide smile. "So how is everyone? Well?" he asked me.
My eyes stared to water and the smile was swept off of Von's face. I showed him the note. He took me back to the car with my suitcase and sat in there with me while I tried to call my brother.
It turns out, my brother and my nanny were at the Hot Fuss building, waiting to speak with Charlie about the situation. Apparently, my dad went back to work with his band. My mother left and was now focused on my little sister, Carolina.
I had never met Carolina. My parents had an odd way of keeping all of us separated. I never met my two younger sisters. My mother was always so focused on me that she couldn't be bothered... and come to think of it... it seemed like our roles had been reversed.
As much as I had claimed to hate the attention my parents gave me, I couldn't help but feel betrayed. The whole car ride over to the building, I felt this burning sensation tearing through my chest. Pain seared through my body, and my eyes stung with tears. I bit my lip, face twisting into a scowl. How could this happen? How could they just forget about me? I was their child. I was supposed to be the favorite...
It wouldn't occur to me what my mother had wanted until a few days later. I began to realize that my mother never cared. She hadn't wanted kids in the first place. She just got lucky and a bore herself a golden ticket back to the limelight. She was using me for fame, attention, and money. As soon as it looked like I was going to crash and burn, she had abandoned ship and continued riding somebody else's coat-tails. This time, it was my little sister's turn. One part of me wanted to warn Carolina, but the other part of me didn't give a shit. I wanted to her to be hurt. I wanted her to feel the same exact way I felt now.
When Von pulled up to the building, I fought off my tears and regained my composure, rushing inside, catching the elevator and demanding I be let into Charlie's office this instant. Every body was terrified. They hadn't ever seen me like this before. I was usually docile and shy, but I was raging. I could feel all the nasty, bitter words I wanted to say to my mother on the back of my tongue, ready to leap out of my throat. I was ready to pounce, but when Charlie opened the door, I could do nothing but burst into tears on the spot.
He took me inside and sat me down. Charlie asked me what happened, and as I explained, he remained stoic. He did not look angry. Why wasn't he as frantic as I was? Did he not understand? Of all people, I had assumed Charlie could help me, but maybe not. I was ready to leave just as he opened his mouth again. "I know what you can do," he told me. "Kid, don't worry about a thing. Everything's gonna be alright."
They were the most comforting words I had heard in a long time.
It turns out, Charlie had a spare apartment in Los Angeles that he had bought but never used. He allowed Evander and I to live in it, as long as we kept it clean, which wasn't a problem considering I was compulsive about cleanliness. He was more than happy to give us the keys. I felt a sense of a freedom, but also a sense of fear. Those keys were the key to unlocking another part of my life. They would give me my independence, and somehow, I wasn't sure if I could handle living on my own. I had always relied on my mother, I had no friends, and now, at twelve years old, I was living in an apartment, just my twin and me.
For a month or so, I tried to figure out ways to make money. I needed to pay rent somehow. I felt bad making Charlie do it. I was drawing blanks. I didn't have any skills. I didn't even have social skills; I would never survive an interview. The only thing I knew how to do was perform, and I swore to myself that I wouldn't put myself back into that life, that I wouldn't do anymore damage to myself than I already had done. With frustration, I crumpled my blank list and tossed it into the trashcan, sitting down in front of the TV. I turned it on. It had been left on the Disney Channel. Then, I saw it.
"Hi! I'm Carolina Chastain from Crazy for CoCo, and you're watching Disney Channel!"
I hated her. I hated her skinny little body, her round eyes, her white smile, and her blonde, curly hair. That should have been me on that television, not her. I felt a jealous rage wash over me, and I felt a sudden drive, a motivation. Without warning, I turned the TV off and stormed into my room. I wrote four songs in two hours and immediately called Charlie.
Five days later, I was back in the recording studio with thirteen songs to record. I was going to take back my throne, and I was finally going to do it on my own terms.