The Redhead, and The Dreamer.

I had to get my own ride.

I had to tune my guitar again and again until I got it right.

I had to smile and not keel over from the weight of what was happening.

I had to play alongside someone I was never going to be good enough for.

I had to sing about him with him looking over my shoulder into a crowd full of girls ten times as beautiful as I was.

I had to stand without shaking...crying.

I had to be strong.

But I was strong...

And so, we were crowded. They all flocked. People. They followed us around, asked us about our songs, who we were, where we were from. Were we dating, they asked us. We shook our heads. Hell no. At this point we weren't even really friends. That's okay though. That just meant every whore and her sister could crowd even more. He never mentioned Crystal though. I would've said something, but mentioning a girl he was cheating on anyways seemed rather...pointless.

We had groupies. Well, to be honest, Ethan had groupies. I just had a few sleaze bags hang around and ask me to go somewhere more private every few minutes. I guess that means even people who know nothing about me were seeing me as easy now. I surprised myself when I realized that really annoyed me, because somewhere along the line I'd subcontiously decided that wasn't who I was anymore. I'd changed. Again. I guess that just kinda made me bipolar and stupid.

I have no clue where Mitchell came from, but I did however know he was the type of attention we were gunning for as soon as I saw him. Dark hair. Suit and tie. Distinguished even on just a glance. He was young for the business. He couldn't have been older than his mid twenties. There was an air around him though. It breathed success, oozed it almost. He was obviously someone we needed to listen to.

Make a demo.

Not alone.

Band.

Band?

Oh, okay.

Is that alright with you two?

Uhhhhhh...sure.

I suppose that's how things happened. Started. I miss when things were that easy though. I kinda miss back then though. Less annoyances. Less characters. Less stress.

Damn.

What the hell happened to me?