Requiem.

"My name is Matthew and I sing for a band called The Getaway Plan. This is a cover of a song by Lana Del Ray called Video Games." I spoke softly, with some words almost crinkling at their ends like newspapers burning in a bonfire.

I sung low and sweetly, changing the song into something that would break any heart. I stayed near the same tempo but the point of a cover song was to make it your own and that was exactly what I planned on doing. I let every pain and tear that had stung me over the last few weeks dissolve into the song and mix with the matter before it became mine. As I strummed on my acoustic, I reflected on every single little thing that she had done to me. The intense anger and resentment I had hidden, the love I had nearly died to show her, the fact that she could still care less about me and what I had done for her, what I had felt about her.

"It's you, it's you, it's all for you." The room I sat in, surrounded by people and cameras and microphones remained deathly quiet. If I hadn't been playing, you could have sworn someone had died. Perhaps I had.

"They say that the world was built for two, only worth living if somebody is loving you and baby, now you do." I rang the last few chords out and looked down, breathing in deeply and letting it all flood back again.
-
"Matt, you know she's no good for you. Why do you stay around with her?" Clint nudged my shoulder and made me look at him. I stared him down, anger slowly building up and emitting through my veins. I felt my neck and face heat up from the emotion and seethed at him to get my message across.

"Because I love her. I'm engaged to her, we're going to get married one day and because she loves me. Pretty sure any five year old could work that out, Ellis, but obviously you're a bit thicker than I thought." Admittedly, I felt pretty bad once I'd spat out the words that could have ruined our friendship completely and I nearly did judging by the frustration on my friend's face. But, he'd just questioned my whole existence. She was what I lived for. How could I not get pissed off?

"You're the idiot, Matthew. She cheated on you with some junkie guy from a club." He stood there and watched as the words sunk into my heart and my skull like grenades. It was as if he could see the blood splattering the walls behind me as he quickly changed his expression of "Fuck you, asshole" to "Oh, shit."

"She what?" I stuttered out, rushing my hands through my hair and pulling at it to make it hurt. Clint hugged my shoulders and waited for the show to really begin but I froze. I stopped speaking, I closed my eyes and I breathed hard and fast. I hugged myself as he let go of my shoulders and watched, frightened. I sat down and crossed my legs, beginning to rock myself into a numb state of mind.

"Matthew, I- I didn't want you to find out like this, nobody did."

"You'd prefer it if I had simply let her go? I was fucking engaged to her, Clint. When would I have ever let her go?" He stared at me, dumbfounded as I was.

"We just thought it'd be best..." he trailed off and shuffled his feet awkwardly. What did he mean we? Did he mean the band? Did he mean Kitty and my parents? What if he meant every single person I knew? I opened my eyes and swallowed the sick feeling in my stomach that wanted to force everything out.

"Fuck...FUCK! I can't believe she'd do this to me. She said-" Clint interrupted, "she said a lot of things, Matt. She was a liar, always has been and always will be." I thought about what he said.

The kisses of welcoming me back from tour seemed less and less loving. The conversations started going nowhere. The random smiles and murmurings of love had stopped altogether after the last two tours. The Piano grew dustier as she had told me to stop now while I still had a chance three tours ago. She hated when I surprised her by coming home early, she hated that I wanted to meet up for coffee and go to the cinemas and buy her dinner, even. The sex had been uneventful at best and she went to sleep, angry, every time we'd finished. Why hadn't I seen the signs?

"Why didn't I realise, Clint? She was- she is a dark and cold heartless bitch. Did you-" he cut in again and I looked up to him as he answered, exasperated by the ordeal.

"Yeah, mate. We all knew she was a bitch. But the way you looked at her, talked to her...How could we ever tell you when you really, truly loved her?" I looked down.

So, this was my fault. I'd driven her away with touring and she'd never really loved me the last two years. We were never going to get married. There would be no future. She didn't love me. I'd fallen in love because I was blinded by my own stupidity. I got up and Lent my head against the wall. I smacked my hand hard against the corner and felt the pain. I could still feel, there was a plus side. How come I hadn't felt us drifting apart?

"So, what are you going to do?" He questioned behind me. I didn't even bother to face him, he didn't need to see me like this.

"I'm going to write her a letter. Tell her it's over. Get back to work as usual. It's the only thing I can do, isn't it?" I sighed and he nodded as I turned around.

"Thanks for telling me, man. Even if it was just because I'd been a shithead." I smiled weakly and he laughed. We shared a brief hug and he left, while I went to my room and turned on Radiohead before grabbing a pen and a pad of paper. It was going to be a long night.
-
I mailed the letter the next day. She didn't call me until three days later. I don't even remember half of what we said, but I do remember her apologising and me quickly excusing the apology. I was weak. I should have told her to fuck off, to go back to the junkie one night stand. I should have keyed her car.

I should have had her locks changed while I still had her key so she could come crawling back and stay at mine until it was all done and hopefully realise the error of her ways and fall back into my always inviting arms. No. No, that would have been stupid. Plus, the guys would have killed me for having not done something like trash her house or spray "SLUT" on her front door and windows. They would have locked me up in an asylum for wanting her back. But a part of me still did, even though the rest of me knew she was a lying whore.

I lay in bed for the next week, smoking cigarettes and littering my floor with the ashes and butts before drowning my sorrows and woes and our love in bottles upon bottles of vodka. I thought of all the restless nights I'd had on tour, imagining her next to me in the van and wanting to call her but deciding against it because I didn't want to wake her from her slumber. My worry and feelings for her had gone to waste, all because she thought I wouldn't find out about a night out that didn't mean anything to her or him but nearly destroyed me.

I remembered the last time I came home from tour, happy just to see her again and be able to sleep next to her, listen to her rhythmic breathing and watch her chest rise and fall with every intake of breath. But I hadn't been able to. She'd picked me up from the airport and dropped me at my house before going out to a party with her friends. She didn't arrive home until 2am, drunk and angry, throwing fists at my mouth and my chest. I held her and brushed back her hair, looking into her spinning eyes and waiting for the apology.

She looked at me with what I thought was sincerity before showing me just what she'd consumed on the night and crying before falling asleep in my arms, vomit drying and crusting around the sides of her mouth and dangling from her hair. I had laid her on the lounge, kissed her forehead and cleaned her up with a warm, wet cloth and placing a bucket by her head. She repaid me the next morning by allowing for one hug and a demand of painkillers before leaving the house again, still reeking of the night before. I'd been hurt, but I figured she would make it up for me. This was just a game, she'd had something else planned to welcome me back, surely. But she never made it up and the coldness grew and grew.

I called Dave and Aaron a few times, 100% inebriated and crying like a small child who wanted their mother to return home from their holiday. I didn't want to annoy Clint with the break up anymore, but they brought him anyway. They calmed me down and nearly broke down my door to get in and sober me up with the hard hitting truth. They very nearly would have, too, if I hadn't got up to unlock the damn thing within three seconds. Admittedly, five to ten seconds would have been better considering the drunken and then dizzy state I was in. It takes longer than three seconds for a drunk person to unlock a door, I can assure you.

I finally played the Piano again, which made them all happy. I never played while they were here, but they had seen the dust removed and could tell I'd used it more in the past week than I had in the past six months. I mainly smashed at the keys angrily. 'This had been why we'd fallen out of love. This was to blame.' I thought, every time I got near the piano or my guitar. I nearly threw the guitar out the window one night but then remembered how much it cost and how broke I'd been in recent times and decided against it. I almost suffered from Melaphobia, even hearing the phone go off made me uneasy and tense up into a broken ball of a boy on the living room floor. I stopped bashing the keys of the piano and took up throwing myself against the wall, the loud thuds reminding me of each time she'd treated me like I was a worthless item she could throw away into the corner of her mind, the pain reminding me of why I had to stay away from her.

When the guys tried to organise band practice that month, I came up with excuse after excuse as to why I couldn't come. I was hungover or still drunk, I'd had a flu or cold and didn't want to risk giving it to them. I'd just gotten to sleep, I'd just stopped throwing up, I couldn't get up. Anything to avoid having to suffer through the sound waves. Even the thought of feedback from the amps half-scared me to death and looking at my guitar made me suffer from violent panic attacks that finished with me passing out in my room. When I'd made up the excuse of insomnia, they organised practise for 3am and stuck to their word of showing up at mine to play. Watching the instruments pile into my small home was Hell, let alone setting them up and playing. The moment Dave slipped his arm against a cymbal by mistake nearly threw me overboard and I screamed, clasping my ears tightly and throwing myself onto the floor.

"STOP IT!" I'd screamed repeatedly until I realised the room had gone silent except for the rattling noise coming from a corner. I then realised that rattling noise was my breathing. I closed my eyes tight and the guys watched in confusion and despair, unsure whether to get down and pick me up or leave me to be by myself. I stood up and smoothed my shirt, wiping a stray tear off of my cheek and stepped quickly, soundlessly back to my room.

That was when they decided the band (though it was mostly my fault) needed a break. Our last tour was traumatic but the in-ears helped. Every time I played A Lover's Complaint, I lay bent over the keyboard for a good minute or so extra, needing to recover from the pain that returned as I thought about who it was originally written for and stared at the Gold, glittering band still present on my ring finger and the regret that had come with it. The people in the crowd noticed, someone even screamed out "what happened to your girlfriend?" at one of the shows. I couldn't do anything to stop the pain, though I'm sure jumping down and killing the guy where he stood there and then would have been somewhat relieving.

The Melaphobia disappeared once the tour had finished, but by then it was too late. We'd called it quits and I'd practically ruined my link to everyone in the band. I didn't even go to Aaron's place for New Years with the guys, a tradition we'd held since the band had formed. I just stayed in my room, writing songs and stocking up on cigarettes and alcohol every second week or so. The ash pile on my floor grew to the edge of my bed by the end of January and I felt at peace with the world finally by February.

After a particularly late night, I observed the papers lying on the other side of the floor to the ashes and rummaged through them, playing through each individually to hear which was actually worth using. My cigarette stuck to the side of my mouth as I looked critically over each song, before I finally found the three I wanted. The Reckoning, S.T.A.R.S. and Requiem were strewn out before me and I inhaled deeply from my cigarette before marking a corner of each of the pages with a cigarette burn. I would need these later. The others were scrunched up and pushed under my bed, one or two placed under my pillow. I'd work on them when I couldn't sleep, but for now they were to remain hidden.

I perfected the three songs, calling my sister Kitty over the phone to ask for help. As she entered through the door, she didn't say a single word. She simply threw herself at me and hugged me tightly, rubbing my back and smoothing down the back of my hair.

"You need a shower and a haircut." She murmured, muffled by my shoulder. I chuckled and let myself fall into the embrace, recalling the floral perfume she wore and taking it in.

"I need your help with some songs. They won't be perfect unless you tell me what to do with them." I stated and she nodded. She had always been the best person to speak to about music and how to fix songs. I knew if they were to ever sound like I wanted them to and ever work properly, it would be because Kitty knew what to do with them.

"Okay. Shower and haircut first, though."
-
Kitty stayed at my place for a month. She made me shower every night and banned alcohol completely whilst she was present. I'd only gotten drunk once, when she'd gone out to get groceries. Unfortunately, I passed out with a bottle of vodka clutched tightly to my side and she'd found me like that. Her punishment was to sober and wake me up, by throwing a bucket of ice cold water onto my face. I decided I should probably follow the rules from then on.

We finished writing the songs and she let me recuperate alone in my room after each individual song was finished. She never questioned the lyrics or delved into their meaning, letting me adjust them as I felt necessary. She assisted with the accompaniment side of things and the arrangement of the piece as a whole. They turned out exactly as I planned and with Kitty's input, they were able to get across the meaning and feelings behind each word perfectly through the shape and size of the piece as a whole.

If it weren't for Kitty, I would have gone mad or shot myself. Who knows, I might have even gone back to her.

Once the month was up, Kitty extended her stay. I'd started playing on the piano again, smoothly and without attempting to damage the keys each time I played. She sung along and stared into space while I played. We decided to form another band and started touring after the two month gap of making and releasing an ep and album from what we called Young Heretics and my dramatic breakdown. We Are The Lost Loves saw us tour the small club circuit around Australia, playing shows with nobody some nights to playing shows with up to fifty or one hundred people in the room. It brought me back to the days of when The Getaway Plan started up and I knew I had to consider making up with the guys. We'd been through a lot and they were still like my brothers. I also met one of Kitty's friends, Kirsty. She seemed nice enough and she made me laugh sometimes, but the thought of her still lay in the back of my mind and I didn't want to risk being hurt like that again. It was worse than anything I'd ever had to endure and I didn't feel like going for round two just yet.

After we wrapped up the last tour, and with coercion from Kitty, I called Clint and asked him to bring the guys over to figure out what we were going to do. Our new manager had just organised for us to do a one time only show for charity and we hadn't practiced or really spoken to one another in at least a year. He agreed and the following morning, the guys showed up at my doorstep as promised. I let them in and they stepped through, still waiting to see if I would combust out of some unknown pain or anger I may have still felt.

"So, um. We've got a gig in two weeks time. We haven't spoken in a year. I've been kind of an idiot and not seen you guys at all within that time. Maybe we should try and get back on track and I should grow some balls and just, you know, get over everything." I started and Clint looked like he was about to say something smart that would almost certainly make me want to hit him but a single quick look made him stop and hold back from letting anything out.

"As you guys have probably heard, I've been able to get over both her and the melaphobia she brought out within me. I've written three songs I think we should use later, but I want to have another song for the charity show. I also wanted to apologise. When the band broke up, I'd practically been driven insane by...everything. I left without a second thought as to how you guys felt about it and I know now I shouldn't have.

"It was heartless and selfish on my part and I can never say enough that, I'm sorry. I was acting like- like...I don't even know how I was acting, to tell you the truth. Well, that's wrong. I do know how I was acting and it was like half the man I know I can be. I know I treated you guys like shit and I'm sorry most of all for that. I should have been talking to you guys or at least trying to fix things with everyone over the past year, but I chose instead to wallow in self pity and alcohol. Kitty came along and helped me realise what a complete and utter asshole I'd been. You can thank her later, I'm sure she'd be more than proud to hear it.

"I know now that no amount of love is worth the isolation I put myself through and the anger and confusion I'm sure I placed you guys into was definitely not worth it. But, I'm hoping that with these next couple of practice sessions and the charity show that, even if we don't get together as a band, we can at least return to the brotherhood we shared. Because I think that's what I've missed most of all. Not her, not the love, not even the stages and crowds from each city, but you guys. You make it all worth it and I treated you like dirt and I'm so, so sorry." I finished and sighed, looking around with tired eyes at their faces slowly calculating the apology and where to go from here.

"Well," Aaron began, "you were an asshole. But, in the end, you're our asshole of a brother and family stays together, blood or not." Dave and Clint smirked and Aaron laughed before I drew them into a group hug.

"I missed you guys, too." I laughed and we all broke from the embrace before I ran to my room, grabbing The Reckoning.

"I want to do work on this song first and foremost, but I've got another special one in mind that we could all work on. It's the one I want to use for the charity show, to really make our presence known," I said quickly before running back to my room and grabbing one of the papers from under my pillow.

They had all been complete but this one was just the skeleton of the song and I knew I couldn't do it without them.

"This is to be dedicated to every single show we play from now on. It's called Coming Home. It needs a lot of work, though. I knew I couldn't finish it off without you guys there writing alongside me." I stated and shoved the paper onto the middle of a nearby table.

I'd bring the other two finished ones out in due time, but this one needed to be done immediately, just so we knew that we were still as strong, if not stronger, than before.

The guys looked over it and I sat at the piano, playing what little of the song there was from memory as they peered at the piece of paper, heads almost touching to try and read the scribbles I'd put in my half intoxicated, half sleep-deprived state. Finally, as I hummed the last word, they lifted their heads and smiled.

"I think I know what we can do." Dave stated and looked around at everyone's waiting faces before grabbing a pen from the side of the desk and adding to the blotted scribbles.

Clint shook his head and scratched something out and Aaron fixed what was missing. I'd missed this so much. It felt good to finally have my brothers back.
-
The charity show came and went and a second show occurred before we decided a second album and a comeback would be the best idea. The idea of going back onstage with the guys made me happier than I'd been in a very long while. As we booked the flights to Las Vegas and Toronto, we considered who'd we work on the new album with. We discussed it fleetingly between writing and catching up on everything we'd missed out on the past year and finally decided upon using David Bottrill. We flew out to Canada and from April through to September, we recorded what would become Requiem, the album to signal our glorious return into the music scene and my chance to redeem myself for my acts against those I love.

In July, vocal recording started. I'd finally brought the other songs out to the guys and they said they needed to be on the record. Every song so far had been easy enough to do, however S.T.A.R.S. was a daunting task in itself. As I listened to the click track start up, I breathed in deeply. I looked at Clint twiddling away on his guitar outside the recording booth and felt my hands start to shake. The memories of what I'd had with her started up again and the anger and resentment grew with each word. I kept my breathing as even as possible but when I looked out again I could see David and Clint both looking in, worried by the tone of my voice. I felt hot tears swell at the bottom of my eyelids and kept singing, knowing this would be the best thing to do. Maybe I could finally get over her through this song.

"But I was never enough. No, I could never measure up. But I will love again, and I will breathe again. No, I was never enough and I could never measure up!" I fell to the floor and started weeping, shaking with rage and frustration. I pulled at my hair and seethed, feeling my body shake with each deep sob I let out.

I couldn't finish the song, not today at least. I heard David stop the track and feet rush towards me as the heavy booth door opened.

"Matthew, are you okay? Matt, you gotta get up, buddy. You're stronger than this, you know you are. Stand up, look at me. Talk to me, Matthew." Clint shook me as he held my shoulders and I just kept crying, feeling the salt liquid dribble down my cheeks and watching the useless tears like kamikaze planes drop and seep into the carpet floor.

She'd left me a broken, feeble boy. I could never forgive her. I don't know why I did in the first place. She'd been as heartless then as she'd been when I first met her but I still couldn't see it, hear it in her voice. I cried out in frustration, at my own stupidity and ignorance all to achieve a selfish and lonesome love. Clint shushed me and I heard more heavy footsteps as Dave and Aaron entered the booth. They stopped dead in their tracks as they saw me curled up on the floor, shaking like a winter tree and slowly breaking like a porcelain doll.

"Shit," Dave breathed out and I felt the space I was lying in get smaller and smaller as they crouched down next to me, not knowing how I'd react or how volatile I may have been.

David came in with a box of tissues and a shot of Vodka. I took a tissue and downed the shot, feeling the stinging sensation caused by my own despair change into one of heat in my throat from the pure alcohol. I gasped and David laughed, placing the tissue box into my lap and rubbing me on the back.

"Let her know how you feel with this song. It'll help." David said, before rounding the guys up and forcing them all out while I sat up in the booth.

I thought about what he said and realised it was possibly the best advice I'd ever had with songwriting. I breathed in deeply, still slightly sniffly and wiped the stray tears away with the back of my hand.

"Okay, I'm good. Let's continue from there." I told them through the mic and David nodded in the booth, clicking the mic button.

"I'm going to keep that last take. It was perfect note-wise and emotion-wise. Pick it up from the coda." David told me before I heard a three second count in and the boys choir play in my ears. I waited and start to sang. This was the verse that was written for me by Kitty the night I'd passed out on the lounge. She hadn't let me seen it until she e-mailed it to David and told him give it to me on the day the song was to be recorded.

"It doesn't matter where you are, when you look up at the stars. You can forget all that you know and let the spirits guide you home. Even when the sun is gone, you'll find the strength to carry on." I sang strong and without any recommendation on how it should be done from the guys or David. This was my song, my way to tell her I was through with everything she'd put me through and could get through life just fine without her love.

I think they could tell it had come out exactly as I'd planned, as I looked into the tracking booth and saw impressed expressions on their faces. I thought of Kitty and how she must have felt when she wrote this, thankful and privileged to have a sister who cared as deeply as she did and wanted to see me get over and out of this Hell.

I heard the reel in the other room slow to a stop as the track finished recording and heard clapping emerge from the room. I looked up with a smile to see the same smiles reflected back through the guys' faces.

"Was it good?" I asked, genuinely concerned for the end result and they nodded, instantly calming me.

"Good? It was amazing, perfect in every sense of the word. She's gonna come grovelling back to you in no time, Matthew. Whatever she's done won't be half as bad as what you'll do to her through this song." David grinned at me and faltered slightly, as a confused look forced its way back onto my face.

"Um, I'm not sure I'd want her to come back. I don't think I'm willing to be in a false relationship like I was again anytime soon, I just want her to feel the same pain I felt when we grew apart, but know that I don't need her anymore." I shrugged it off and the guys all released a collective sigh of relief. I laughed and pulled out my phone, messaging her in warning.

"Look out for our new album in a couple months time. I wrote a song, partially for you and somewhat for me. It's called S.T.A.R.S." I texted her and she replied with "Will do :)."

Seeing the smile at the end and the happiness she would have felt at a song being written about her (partially) nearly made me sick to my stomach and I felt the bile rise up again. The guys looked at me as I sat down and put my phone in my pocket.

"She's a bitch. She'll get what's coming to her. That smile will soon fade when she realises she'll be left isolated by our album and our future as a band. If she grovels back, I'll kick the dirt she's crawling in straight into her face and push her out of my life forever. And no more meltdowns. Promise." I smiled at the guys and they uneasily nodded, still unsure just what had happened but never daring to ask.

"Are we doing Flying Colours next?"
-
The album, Requiem, was finished by November fourth. We did signings and the Reclamation tour and I felt more at peace than I'd ever expected to be. It reminded me of the old days, when the band was starting to get into a comfortable place in the music scene and I hadn't met her. I smiled at the thought and was considering the future festivals in January and February before my thoughts were broken by a vibration in my pocket.

I pulled my phone out and answered it. She was on the other line.

"You're an asshole. How dare you write a song like that, a song that was so spiteful and cruel, almost like you wanted to destroy what we'd had. You were enough, Matthew, you were more than enough. I loved you more than I ever thought I could love anyone else. Why did you have to write that song?" She hissed down the phone line and I gripped my hand tightly to the chair I was sitting in.

"I wrote it as revenge. You broke my heart and shattered me completely. I thought we were going to get married, we were meant to get married. I was engaged to you for God's sake, I was thinking about life after the band with you and had nearly put a bank deposit down on a house for us, you bitch. So don't get angry at me when you spurred me on in the first place." I exclaimed back and she stayed quiet.

"I see. Do you think public humiliation will actually work? You think your songs are going to be heard by millions of people? Matthew, grow up. I didn't break you. You broke yourself with the band, I simply woke you up to the realisation that being in a band sucks and will force you to abandon love like I did with you. I'm glad we went our separate ways, you were never around when I needed you because you were always on tour. You always put music and life on the road first, I was never a priority with you. You left me long before I left you." She finished and I was practically fuming, the phone in a death grip against my ear.

"You were always my number one priority. I called you every night at 8 to check up on you, talk to you and eight times out of ten, you ignored the calls or simply didn't reply. When I came home from tour, I never spoke about it with you because I could see how bored you got when I did. You never told me you missed me, you never even said I love you. How could I have kept you my number one priority when I was just your doormat and an arm to cling to in order to try and make other men jealous? Why couldn't I have been your number one priority? Did you ever think maybe I wanted to spend the rest of my life living for you?" Dead silence took over again and I was shaking.

"Well?" I demanded and still, she said nothing.

"I hate you for what you did to me, but honey, karma's a royal fucking bitch just like you. You deserve everything you're going to get from Requiem and I hope you lose the one you thing you love just like I did with you." I finished and she took in a sharp, quick breath before finishing our argument.

"Matthew, you're a good for nothing loser. I'm glad I cheated on you and I'm glad we're over. I won't be seeing you at your next show. Have a good life growing old, dying, bitter and unaccomplished and most importantly, alone." She coldly replied and the phone line went dead. I stood up and threw the phone against the wall, where it smashed into tiny, indecipherable shards of glass and plastic. I slid down into the chair and breathed in deeply, in and out, in and out, waiting for myself to calm down enough to go and see Kitty and ask her for help again.
-
"Matthew, you're not a loser. She's just a lonely little girl who's angry at the world because she ruined the one good thing she had. Don't spend another thought on her, she's not worth it. Listen to me, I'm your sister, you have to." Kitty tried to comfort me, hugging me on her lounge as I recalled the phone call.

"Do you think I handled it well?" I asked, cautious about the reply.

"You handled it better than well, it was brilliant. You shot her back down to earth every single time and I'm so proud to call you my brother. I'm almost grateful for her breaking you, because you've become the older brother I knew I could respect for his courage and intelligence rather than the one I had to look after. Now, I've called the guys and they've said they'll be over in five minutes. Do you think you can be okay by yourself between now and then? I've got to go and see Kirsty about a photo shoot she wants to do for my band," she explained and I recalled the memory of the brief times I'd spent with Kirsty, remembering the time she photographed me whilst I slept and woke me up with the flash before taking another photo of my foggy eyes while she still had the chance. I nodded and thought of Kirsty's pretty little smile and laughter as she did it.

"Tell her...Tell her I said hi," I murmured and she looked at me with a quizzical look before nodding and exiting the small cottage.

The guys came over as they'd promised and I told them all about the phone call. They were happy, proud even that I'd been able to handle it so well and hadn't done something drastic like demand she return to me immediately so we could patch things up. I told them about Kirsty and they looked at me curiously.

"Are you sure you want to start something serious again?" Clint asked and, with the memory of her smile in my mind, I replied with a yes.
-
Kirsty and I got together by the end of that month. We hung out together when I had breaks from touring and when I visited home on tour. She always greeted me with a kiss, placing her arms around my neck and swung us around in broken circles. It was the kind of kiss she'd never even thought about sharing with me. But Kirsty wasn't her, and she was an entity within herself. She laughed at my jokes and took photos of me to have whilst I was on tour. She did lunch runners with me and planned our future, starting with an engagement but taking it steady by having a Kitten together named Bob first. She'd brought me more joy in one month than she had ever even tried to bring to me in a year. Every time I played the song Oceans Between Us, I thought of who it was for and made sure I sung it directly to her if she came to the show while we were in town. I didn't think it was possible for me to love anyone as much as I did with her, until Kirsty came along and showed me I hadn't given her even half of the love I held within myself.

I had finally escaped my Hell and come back to life, thanks to Kirsty, Kitty and the guys. I was no longer the frail little boy but a strong, independent man who felt on top of the world every day and had started to publicly display my happiness, through jumping into the front row at crowds or even being happy during meetings with fans or the band in general. I no longer felt pain as I sang S.T.A.R.S., instead I grew stronger each time we performed it knowing I'd never have to deal with her ever again and could love someone who loved me, too, like it should have been in the first place.

In the end, my world didn't revolve around one single person, but rather every other person I'd previously ignored and avoided and I wouldn't have had it any other way.