Things Can't Be Bad When You're Famous... Right?

Ashley's POV

We all sit around the practice room. Our gear set up and tuned there is only one thing missing. Andy. Where is he?

I sigh. "Do you want me to call him?" I ask. Just then the door opens and Andy strolls in. Wait, not strolls. He is walking sort of hunched over and as if he's trying to to fall over at every other step.

"Hey And!" CC attacks him with a bear hug. Andy's face contorts in agony for a second before he forces another smile.

"Hi CC, sorry I'm late guys. Lost track of time." He walks over to the mic set up in the center of the room.

"We're stopping practice at around 3:30 to set the stage up." Jinxx says before him and Jake strum out the first couple notes of Knives And Pens. CC and I follow their lead as Andy waits for his cue to start singing.

After practice and stage setup I hear Andy start to walk off.

"Where are you going?" I call after him.

"I need to put on warpaint." He calls back.

"Oh, me too." I jog after him and we walk side by side to the dressing room. I quickly apply the face warpaint in the mirror and pull of my shirt to apply to body paint only to look over at Andy to see his is spending an extra long time on his face paint. I give him a questioning glance and he just shrugs. I finish and leave the room. I start to walk away when I realize that he must be hiding something. I open the door quietly and peer back it. A shirtless Andy stands in front of the mirror and I loo at his reflection. Bruises. Countless bruises cover his torso. I swallow a gasp and just keep watching him gently dab foundation on them before painting some black design over their ghosts. I rip my eyes away from the sight and quietly shut the door. Where did he get those bruises? That question swirls around my mind until I notice something else. I sink down the wall next to the dressing room door and put my head into my hands. He is impossibly skinny. His ribs jut out more than they used to and his legs looked even tinier. Who the fuck did this to him? I start to stand when I hear the dressing room door open and Andy walks out. I jump to my feet quickly and he shoots me a weird look. He's not wearing his jacket anymore and the skin on his arms looks flawless. I gently grab his wrist before he can walk away, pulling him back into the dressing room. Before I stop myself I tug him into my arms. I feel tears on my cheeks but I wipe them away before Andy sees. I loosen my grip on his shoulders and lean back to look into his stunning ocean eyes.

"Andy..." I have no idea how to ask this. I think for a minute before swallowing my doubts and proceeding. "Why do you have bruises again?" His eyes go incredibly wide and he opens and closes his mouth, trying to find words to fit.

"Please don't tell anybody, Ash." His voice is so quiet I pull his against me again and try not to burst into tears.

"It's Ronnie isn't it?" I ask. I searched my mind, racked my brain for someone else it could be but there wasn't one. It can only be Ronnie. I hear him let out a broken sob. I gently tug him to the ground so we're both sitting on the ground and I have him wrapped in my arms and crying into my shoulder.

"He won't let me leave, Ashley. He said I can't break up with him." He says in between his helpless cries. I stroke his hair. He is back in the same place he was as a kid. Back with somebody who hurts him mercilessly and acts like he's their personal punching bag and I won't let it go on any longer than it has to.

"I'll get you out of there Andy. This is not happening again." I whisper against his ear and hold him until he stops crying. When he leans back, the warpaint he had done earlier is now running down his face. I look at the clock against the wall. It reads 4:30. Enough time to redo his warpaint. I smile and grab the makeup remover out of my bag and start to wipe and the smeared black and white mess until its all gone and the four bruises on his face clearly visible.

"Oh Andy." I hug him again then pull back and rest my forehead against his. "I promise I'll get you away from him." I press my lips to each bruise quickly before dabbing the white base on and drawing his signature black decorations.

"Are you good?" I ask him. He nods silently. "You don't have to do this show if you don't want to." I point out as we walk back to the practice area where the rest of the band is waiting.

"I want to." He croaks, voice raspy from crying. I look around and see a vending machine to my left. I drag Andy over, buying a bottle of water and handing to him. He smiles thankfully and downs the whole thing before we even get back to the practice room.