Dreaming With a Broken Heart

"It's all crap!" Dash exclaimed, ripping the paper in half furiously and tossing it to the ground. She and Pierre were sitting down in the basement of the Simple Plan house. Dash had been in BC for three days and finally, she was able to tear Pierre away from Alex for a few hours. The two boys had been in a writing frenzy the past few days, but Alex had decided to spend the day roaming Vancouver with Jeff and Chuck, leaving Pierre to Dash. "All of it! Fuck, it's actually fucking horrible! Je suis une défaillance d'un écrivain!"

"You're not a failure, just calm down, Dash," Pierre said, softly. "You're trying to hard to crank the words out. You know just as well as I do that everything sounds horrible when you try to force it out." He pulled her writing journal over to him and flipped through the first few pages. "You've got a bunch of unused stuff in here. Why not try using something you've already written? Start with something that you've already got and build around it?"

He shifted forward, picking up a clean sheet paper. "Why not start with this? This is a good line: The standards are low, but the requirements high; to feel like you're worthy, even if only for the night. We could run with this."

She shook her head. "It's horrible. It sounds stupid. It sounds like every damn song on the first album: partying, alcohol and sex. It means nothing."

"You know that's not true, Dash. There are, like, two songs about sex."

Dash laughed lamely and rolled her eyes. "I don't want this album to be like the last one, Pierre."

"Then what do you want it to be?"

What did she want it to be? She had been so excited about everything that surrounded the first album, that the majority of the tracks were upbeat numbers. The last thing that Dash felt like writing was an catchy pop rock song about another night of partying.

"I just want it to mean something. To me. To Kane. To Spence and Ezra and Hunter. To the kids that are going to listen to it. I want it to strike a chord with them," she finally said. Dash looked over at Pierre, who was staring at her intently. "I just want it to be more than the last one."

"We've all been there, Dash," Pierre said softly. "I'm sure every band out there has experience this pressure of writing a second album. Between the label and the fans and your own mind putting this insane strain on you, it can be overwhelming. But you truck on through it, Dash. You dig deep inside you and figure out what you want to say and you just go from there. All you can do it hope for the best. There's no exact recipe for a successful second album. Now," he pointed to the words she had scribbled in her journal months ago. "You didn't like the last line I picked out. How about this? Is this a chorus?"

She leaned forward, reading the words aloud. "The embers spark and crackle and dance; the world keeps revolving; and I'll keep waiting, waiting for you. Yeah, yeah, I was thinking that it could make a decent chorus for a song that isn't written."

"Then let's write it."

Pierre plucked a few chords out on his guitar, humming under his breath. "Did you have any ideas for a melody?" When Dash shook her head, he continued playing. "Maybe that's something I can help with. You've got a chorus, let's try a verse. What's in your head?"

She stared blankly at the page. The only set of words going through her mind were the words that Pierre had scrawled at the top, words that she had written previously. Come on, Dash, she told herself. That chorus has the potential to be a part of a great song. Do something.

Dash let out a heavy breath that she didn't realize she had been holding. The writing was not coming as easily had she had hoped it would. Secretly, Dash had prayed that merely being in Pierre's presence would help to get her creative juices flowing. However, every line that Dash had contributed that afternoon was useless.

"This is useless," Dash finally said after staring blankly at a sheet of paper. "If anything I'm just getting more frustrated with all of this. Maybe it's time to give up for today."

"I think that you're right," Pierre reluctantly agreed. "How about we go out for some food? There's this really nice restaurant that just opened up down the street? My treat."

She sighed and stood up. "Sure, just let me run upstairs and change out of these sweats." Dash left Pierre to straighten up the untidy mess of papers they had left and headed up the stairs to the room that the boys had been letting her sleep in.

It was purely frustrating for her. Never had Dash had to struggle to write music the way she had the past few weeks. No matter what lyrics Dash managed to come up with, nothing seemed right, no melody seemed fitting. It was true that the label was starting to put pressure on the band to get started on their sophomore album after a semi-successful debut album and though she and Ezra had worked through a few songs on their tour overseas, now they didn't seem to fit the direction she wanted to go in musically. It was just all so confusing and frustrating.

She pulled off the ripped and over-sized Coors Light t-shirt that she had been wearing all morning and flicked through the closet, stopping when she found the long white sweater she had been looking for. Dash pulled it over her head, wrapping her arms around her body as she felt the soft material. As a thank-you for doing a photo-shoot this past summer, the clothing company Glamour Kills had sent her and the band a few pieces from their fall line. That sweater was by far Dash's favourite piece.

"Jesus Christ, Dash, what are you doing up there? Making the clothes yourself?" She heard Pierre's voice carry up the stairs.

"Coming!" Dash called back, pulling her cowboy boots out of the bottom of the closet and pulling them on, not bothering to change out of her dark skinny jeans.

"You look nice," Pierre commented as she trotted down the stairs. She noticed the tint of surprise in voice.

"And you're surprised why...?"

Pierre shrugged, pulling his jacket around his body. "I mean, it's just since you've been here, you've just been hanging out in sweats all day. It's nice to see you dressed up, I guess."

"Excuse me for wanting to be comfortable," Dash retorted, rolling her eyes and pulling on her coat. "I wasn't aware my choice of attire was any concern of yours."

"It's not," he replied, evenly. "It was a stupid comment. Let's just go."

Dash stopped in front of the door, crossing her arms. "Don't think I haven't noticed, Pierre."

The front man turned to look at the small girl, who had a look of anger on her face. "Now you've lost me."

She rolled her eyes again, moving her hands to her hips. "You. Baz. All the guys. You all look at me like I'm going to blow up any second. Like I'm some ticking time bomb. I'm fine, okay? I can only imagine what Kane told you before I came out here; he's been looking at me the same way. I'm fine. Everything is fine. So you, and everybody else, can stop tiptoeing around me and biting their words, because everything is okay. So just stop."

Dash closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before opening her eyes again and bending down to pick up her purse. "Now, lunch, right?"

Pierre nodded, following Dash out the door. He had not been expected Dash to rip into him like that. If he was being honest, he was slightly relieved. "She's coming back," he murmured. The old Dash was still in there somewhere.