Whittle Myself Into Something

I smile at the crowd, waving and laughing, pretending I'm okay, because I know better than anyone else that it doesn't do to show your fans your fear, your depression, your sadness in anything that isn't a song. They will judge you and they will hate you for showing weakness. It was something I had witnessed, something I used to hate, something I tattooed on my bicep.

'Growing up means watching your heroes turn human'. The Wonder Years, Hoodie Weather. One of my favorite songs, one that I would blare into my ears until all thoughts left the brain that my evil thoughts called home.

I don't know who I was more angry with. Garrett, for just coming back into my life and thinking that I wasn't going to flip out, that I wasn't going to push him away and cry and make him suffer for what he did to me, or with myself, for doing all of the above.

That wasn't to say that I didn't miss Garrett. I would look back on that summer and would wonder what happened to that happiness, that carefree Rebecca who just didn't care. And then I remember how it all ended, how everything was taken away from me and how I ran. And I didn't stop running.

I was still running.

I stepped off the stage, my smile melting instantly to a frown as Erin jumped beside me, rambling about the show and how happy she was. How fucking happy fucking Erin always was. I loved her to death, and I was infinitely jealous of her. She was happy and I wasn't. And sometimes that got unbearably real and I had to ignore her beautiful smile and put on my fake one.

“Come on, Becks! We have a signing to do!” Erin said happily, leading me over to the tent without noticing the way I stroked my friendship bracelets, the way my eyes darted around to find Garrett and run.

It was my fatal flaw. I would always run. I hated making things real, adding feelings and the real world and making it all mean something. It was impersonal and cruel but I didn't care because my emotions were too much for me to handle. It's why the songs I wrote were so heartbreaking, I suppose. I know what it's like to hear the worst news in the world and have to keep smiling.

A fan, young and full of hope, approaches me with a pad of paper, Erin's signature covering the artistic “Dressed to Kill” the fan had done. I smiled at her, genuinely. “That's a really cool drawing,” I said, pointing to it as I scrawled my name over it, messy and careless. The girl smiled, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Thanks.” She went to walk away, and stopped, turning back around. “Can I ask you a personal question?” She asked, and I noticed how Erin, beside me, stiffened a little, but kept smiling and signing. I shrugged, deciding, what the fuck? You only live once. “What's the hardest song for you to sing live? Like, the one that just makes you so sad?” She asked, and I chewed my lip, and decided to answer honestly, something I rarely did.

“'Three Cheers for Five Years', especially since we usually do it as an acoustic,” I said, and smiled a sad smile. “It's hard to sing live because of all the songs, that one holds the most memories,” I said, and the girl smiled, tucking more hair behind her ear.

“I like that you're flawed, by the way. I mean, like, sad,” She blurted, and I raised my brows. She looked down. “It makes it easier to deal with my sadness,” She murmurs, and I gasp slightly, holding the girl close for a hug, which is technically against Warped rules but I don't care because this girl is a little me.

And that fucking terrifies me.

As all the fans cleared out, Erin turned to me, recognizing my face. “Is that true? 'Three Cheer's is hard for you to sing?” She asked, raising her brows as we began to walk back to the bus, where my foul mood had returned to haunt us all. I chewed my lip angrily.

“Yeah.” One word answers, for the win. I'd blow it off as being tired and hungover, which usually worked because if I wasn't drunk, I was hungover. And I rarely slept at night, which Erin always yelled at me for.

She seemed to battle with a response, and finally came to the worst she could have done. “It's because it's about that summer before I met you, right?” Erin kept going. “The summer before our senior year, and you really became dedicated to our music?” She said, and I finally snapped as we reached the bus door.

“Yeah, and guess what song we do every fucking tour?” I say, and see the hurt over her face but I don't care, I don't want to see anyone anymore and I just want to sleep and never wake up.

Instead, I drink an entire bottle of bourbon and pass out in the front lounge.