"Stolen"

[skellig]

Prologue: Betrayal Is Just A Word

*It was just a piece of paper. What was written on it shouldn’t have mattered.*

They say there are only two kinds of looks that can really break your heart. The first one is one of disappointment and betrayal mixed into one, bringing them together to form an emotion so powerful that not even the strongest of defences can stop from slowly tearing you apart from the inside out. Perhaps the most common of the two, it is also the most painful. But the second one has a different kind of impact: the damage is done also to the mind, rather than just to the heart. The second look is a look of when fear and repulsion become one. It is an emotion that redefines “torture of the soul”, for when used, it is as a form of rejection.

Francesca Sandford experienced both in the space of ten seconds.

She still saw the chain of events in her mind. She saw, a little too clearly, Hannah reach for what the blue-eyed member had assumed to be song lyrics. She supposed she couldn’t really blame Hannah for picking up the wrong sheet, not when she couldn’t tell the difference herself. Too late, she had realised what, exactly, it was that Hannah was holding in her hand. Instantly, both members froze, one in fear, the other in shock. A soft “Oh, God” eventually shattered the strained silence.
“Were they really… how could you… is this real?” Hannah stammered, her blue orbs flicking from the piece of paper to Frankie, then back again.

“It’s not what you think.” Frankie pleaded softly, her hand outstretched as if to take the offending paper away from the younger girl. However, Hannah stayed frozen to the spot, avoiding Frankie’s desperate gaze as if by doing that, reality would only become a bad dream to which she could wake up from. Suddenly, Frankie found herself wishing it had been Stacey who had found the solo contract instead of Hannah. Stacey kept her emotions to herself, displaying them so rarely it was hard to tell when she was feeling and when she simply didn’t care. Hannah wasn’t like that. Hannah wore her emotions on her sleeve. Somehow that made the situation even worse. Hannah looked like someone who had just been told their idol was actually a failure, and who, by being that, had in fact destroyed her perfect illusion of a perfect world.

Perhaps, Frankie thought, that was exactly what happened.

“When were you going to tell us?” Hannah’s voice was so soft and vulnerable that for a moment Frankie was reminded of the first time she had seen past Hannah’s shield, when she had seen a side that Hannah rarely let anyone know if it’s existence- a young girl desperate to know what made her special in the band.
“I don’t know.” Frankie confessed. Hannah laughed bitterly, making Frankie wince slightly under the glare.
“Were you going to tell us?” Hannah asked. Frankie closed her eyes, and prayed to a God she suspected didn’t exist for her anymore to grant her the strength which, without a doubt, was going to hurt Hannah.
“No,” Frankie whispered. “No, I wasn’t.” When she looked into Hannah’s eyes, she saw pure and uncensored betrayal and disappointment in the blue eyes.

Frankie hadn’t really realised how painful having her heart broken was until then.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Hannah seemed to be gasping for breath, though Frankie suspected it had nothing to do with the fact they just had dance rehearsals right before. “I’m sorry,” Frankie offered. Hannah didn’t say anything, her gaze now fixed on a spot on the floor, the solo contract held loosely in her hand. Frankie was struck by a vision of the past, when Hannah had realised her relationship with Matt wasn’t going to work, and how defeated and tired the young teenager had looked at the time.

Frankie stepped towards Hannah, her arm outstretched. Instantly, Hannah took a step back. And once again, both members froze at the time same. Only this time, the emotions were different. This time, it had been Frankie who had frozen in shock, not Hannah. Hannah had a look of disgust and surprise written almost too clearly across her face. Frankie would have liked to think that the blue-eyed member was disgusted by the fact she had stepped away. But she knew better than that. Hannah hadn’t stepped back because she had been surprised by what Frankie was doing. Surprise wasn’t the emotion she had been feeling the most. That title belonged to repulsion. Hannah had looked disgusted because Frankie had tried to touch her.
For the second time in her life, Francesca Sandford felt her heart shatter into a million pieces.

[skellig]

Chapter 1: All You Ever Wanted And More

*How are we supposed to live with less?*

“I’m sorry.” Frankie whispers to me later that night. “It didn’t mean anything, Hannah, I swear, it didn’t mean anything. I’m so sorry…” And suddenly the older girl is crying in my arms, crying as though she had been caught in the rain but has stopped caring how wet she gets. “I am so sorry, Hannah. If I could turn back time, I would, you have to know I would have done anything to spare you the pain. I never meant to hurt you…” Frankie trails off. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to drown out her words. If she didn’t mean to hurt me, why did she sign the solo contract? Why is she still leaving the band?
“Don’t speak.” I whisper. Frankie stiffens and pulls back, confused. “Please, don’t say another word.” Frankie nods, her eyes shining bright with unshed tears, the confusion clear on her face. “I am not her,” I whisper again, this time so softly I have to wonder if she even heard me at all. “I am not that girl, Frankie. Please, just don’t expect me to be who I’m not.”

Don’t speak. It’s just a simple request, really. I just want her to stop all of this, stop all the lies before she even begins. I don’t need to hear how sorry she is right now, how the look in my eyes is slowly killing her, tearing apart her fragile heart for which I am already being held responsible for breaking. I don’t need to hear that she never thought about what this would do to me, to us, to the band. How if she could change one thing she would change everything. I don’t need that. I don’t need these false truths to move with my life. I don’t need her to sleep at night. I don’t need any of that at all.

I only want one thing. I want us to haunt her.

I want Frankie to toss and turn and scream with agony until she wakes up from her treasured beauty sleep. I want her to wake up at 3 am in a cold sweat with the band’s name on her lips. I want each song that plays on the radio to remind her of us. I want the band to be in her every breath, her every thought, her every vision. I want her to look into a crowd, searching for the ones she knows aren’t there. I want us to be the one thing that keeps her breathing. I want us to be the light in her life. I want us to be the only thing she sees, the sole element in her life she craves. I want it all because we had it all. How does she expect us to live with less?

I don’t want her to remember the look of hope in my eyes before she answered my question. I don’t want her to remember the sound of her voice causing me to smile ever so softly. I don’t want her to remember that. I am no longer that girl.

I am the wronged, the innocent she crushed along her path to the top, all in the name of quest of guilty pleasure. I am the blood that stains her hands, that will never go away no matter how much water she finds. I am her consequence of a thoughtless, careless action. Do not ask me to forgive you, Frankie. I am not that girl anymore. I am not the girl I once was. I cannot go back to the innocence of life without you because you took that part away from me when you signed the solo contract. I cannot turn back the hands of time to erase from my brain the haunting images of everything we once shared.

I cannot be that girl because as much as I wish she could exist again, she won’t. You made sure of that, Frankie, the day you signed that contract.

I am the girl before you right now, Frankie. This is me. This is who I am. I am the girl desperately trying to piece back together the shreds of her broken trust. I am the girl trying to understand what happened to make us only second best, for there was a time when we were all that you ever wanted, and more. I am the girl trying to understand what went so wrong that you chose to run. I am that girl, Frankie, alone, and scared. That is my blood on your hands. This is who I am. This is me.

I am not someone else.

I will not jump up and down waving my hands in front of you to get you to notice that I even breathe, Frankie. I will not do that. I will not let go of what happened to forgive all your wrongs, just to have you smile back at me. I will not stand by you, and pretend not to notice your eyes shift around the room, searching for what you really want. I know what that is. Do you, Frankie?

It is us, Sandford. Your escape is us, the band, But you chose to give us up in the time it took you to sign your name. We could have had it all, Sandford. We could have had it all but you chose to abandon us, me, instead.

Why?

[skellig]

Chapter 2: Lie To Me

*Shouldn’t walk away but did. Shouldn’t make a mistake but did. Shouldn’t lie but does.*

I will sway. I will not crack and break. I will just stand here and pretend with each breath she takes my heart doesn’t shatter just that little bit more. I can do all that, it’s just a matter of coordinating pretending and breathing. I can do this, I can get through the night without her looking into my eyes and seeing me like this. Numb. Alone. Vulnerable. I can make it through the night without her knowing.

Then I will walk away and never look back, knowing she now knows what it feels like to have your heart broken into so many different tiny pieces you can’t even begin to tell them apart. To be abandoned, left alone by the ones I thought would always be there. I want her to know, to understand. To feel. If only it were that simple. But then, when was life ever simple? My resolve goes down when I see the betrayal burn in her eyes. And I forget to breathe.

All I have to do is pretend.

Just pretend to her, and everyone else, that the band isn’t really for me, that this isn’t in reality my end at all. They are not the one reason I get up in the morning or the reason I live the life I’ve always wanted. Just pretend she isn’t in front of me, daring me with her eyes to give them the one thing I cannot surrender. I can pretend she isn’t right here looking at me like that. Just pretend, girl. That’s all you have to do. Just pretend.

Just pretend and breathe.

It is all I can do to survive. Just let them go. Let her go. They don’t want me and I don’t need them. She isn’t right here in front of me, talking to me but staring at me. I too can pretend that she is blinded by the glare in my eyes or the defensive posture I have adapted without even realising it until now. They are no longer enough for me and I am nothing to them. I can pretend when I dream, I dream of being a solo star and not in a group with people I have shared more memories with than anyone else. I can pretend I won’t dream of their laughter, their smiles, and their voices. I too can believe that when I sing I will be by myself in the studio, and not wishing, praying they will walk through the door to save me from the loneliness.

“You really hurt her, you know.” Daisy’s voice, laced with the unmistakeable Cokney accent, breaks my chain of thoughts. I glance at her as I finish packing the bags. She sits down on the bed, watching me yet avoiding my eyes. “I’m not just saying that because she’s my best friend, or because what you did was really low. You know all of that, and I’m not going to lie to you. What you did to us, to her especially, there aren’t any excuses for that. Hell, Frankie, there aren’t any reasons for that either.” Daisy tells me.
“You wouldn’t understand.” I snap. Daisy half shrugs, watching me from the corner of her eye. The almost lazy grin on her face sends a very clear challenge- so make me understand. “God, Daisy, you just wouldn’t understand what I’m going through…”

“I know exactly what you’re going through!” Daisy suddenly yells. “Stop always being such a martyr, Frankie! I know, ok? I KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE! I never once lied to you, so please, just tell me the truth for this. Why are you doing this to us? Do we really mean that little to you? Do you not even care what you’re doing to Hannah? Do you?!” She demands. I stay silent, knowing it will only encourage her anger, but I cannot, and will not, bring myself to answer her question. I don’t have to look at Daisy to know there’s clear disgust in her eyes.

“Hey, Daisy?” I call out as she reaches the door. She turns around to face me, and for the first time, I notice she’s actually crying. “Lie to me.” She smiles sadly though her tears.
“You want me to lie to you?” She asks. I nod, and Daisy hesitates a moment, staring at the floor. When she looks up again, her eyes are filled with pity.

“She’s going to forgive you.”


Chapter 3: Girl With The Perfect Smile

*Behind the perfect smile, the perfect star is crying.*

Push further. Work harder.

Hannah only releases her anger during dance rehearsals.

As a dancer and her best friend, I’m annoyed I haven’t picked that up before.

But, now that I’ve seen it, I’m surprised I hadn’t seen it before. There’s a burning fury which is buried deep inside, but it only appears when the band is doing a choreography. One, two, three, each movement is clear and precise, adrenaline running through her veins, brought on by a cold hatred towards a certain brown-eyes singer. “Sandford,” as Hannah refers to her now. Not everyone, but especially Hannah, can bring themselves to call her by her first name. To say it out loud would be to acknowledge what happened. It would mean we would actually have to forgive Sandford. It would mean Hannah would have to forgive Sandford for walking out on her.

I’m not entirely sure she can.

I notice the way Hannah clenches her teeth when someone mentions Sandford. A muscle tightens in her jaw, and she starts running a hand repeatedly through her hair. Anger and frustration. Hatred and confusion. Certitude and regret. Hannah is torn when it comes to Sandford. She wants to hate her, she’s justified in wanting that, but can she really do it? Can she really just forget the close relationship she had shared with the older girl?

But in a way, it doesn’t matter. Fran… Sandford still abandoned her. She still abandoned us. How on Earth are we supposed to just forget that? How are we supposed to come to terms with the fact she never really wanted us?

I’m startled by Hannah’s transformation. She always had the craving of perfection within her, if she didn’t, she wouldn’t have lasted into the first month. The band craves perfection as much as an addict craves his drug. Without that high, we cannot work, we cannot function. Condemned to always being second best, now even being number 1 is not enough. It will only be enough if we’re perfect. That drive had always been in her, but only surfaced after Sandford’s departure. She wants to prove, both to Sandford and to herself, that she doesn’t really miss the brown-eyed singer at all.

Push further. Work harder.

One, two, three, four. Clench teeth, ignore the pain, ignore the stares. Five, six, seven, eight. Stop looking at the door every time someone walks into the room. She’s not coming back. She’s. Not. Coming. Back. One. She’s. Two. Not. Three. Coming. Four. Back. The choreography ends, Hannah’s standing there, her hair slightly damp with sweat, her eyes flashing with anger, breathing heavily but not quite panting for breath.

“I’m going out for a run,” Hannah announces. I turn around, startled.
“But we’ve only just had dance rehearsals.” I protest. Hannah scowls, annoyed.
“If you’re tired, Daisy, then don’t come.” She growls. “Besides, I didn’t invite you.” I’m taken back by the coldness in her tone. I glance at Stacey, who in turn nods, encouraging me to go.
“I’m coming with you.” I tell her. She shrugs, and then takes off at a run. Her footsteps echo on the pavement, and I can see her summoning the rush from within her. Maybe this is what she needed. Maybe Sandford’s departure actually brought out from within her what had made her the girl with the perfect smile. Hannah is more than that now.

Push further. Work harder.

People staring at us as they see the two teenagers rush past. Eventually she slows down, and the desperate pounding against the gravel evens out, becoming what one could almost describe as a rhythm. Ignore the pain, ignore the stares, ignore everything but the betrayal Sandford causes.

Push further. Work harder.

Be better.

[skellig]

Chapter 4: Everything She Wished You Were

*It’s harder to live when you wished you were dead.*

I hate the way Hannah looks at me.

So much anger, so much pity. Conflicts going on solely in her head and yet reflected in her eyes. On some level, she blames me for… for Frankie’s betrayal. I’m sorry, Hannah, but I am not as strong as you are. I cannot simply distance myself from someone I’ve knows most of my life. I’ve known Frankie longer than you have, Hannah. I’m her best friend. Yes, Frankie betrayed you, but then she betrayed all of us that day. I know that, and I also know that no amount of pretending is going to take away the fact the band should have noticed something was dangerously wrong, but didn’t.

I suppose, though, that Hannah is justified in blaming me. I know… knew Frankie the best, I should have seen the symptoms. We all should have. None of us did, though. Maybe it’s because we just didn’t expect Frankie to be the one to run. No one knew it was going to be you, Frankie, had some part of you suspected that? Did our blind faith in you make it easier for you to simply abandon us?

That was harsh, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.

I know you must have your reasons for running. Despite what the others believe, I don’t think it was the solo contract which made you flee. Hannah suspects there’s something deeper behind your departure, and she’s probably right. There’s so much more to your departure than meets the eye. To a casual observer, one might think you ran because of primal instinct, because of basic need to get away. That’s what you told us, anyway. You looked at me straight in the eyes and told me the only way you could find yourself again was to go with the solo contract.

It was in that moment that I knew, for the first time in our friendship, you had just lied to me.

Do you know, Frankie, your lies are forcing Hannah to become the very person she hates? Yes, Frankie, that’s right. Hannah’s becoming you. She’s becoming everything she wished you were. You were the master at pretending, but you already know that, don’t you? After all, you used your skills on us. How long had you been pretending for, Frankie? Was there ever a moment when you weren’t pretending with us? Were you pretending when, that cold November morning, the chemical equation was finally completed? You must remember that day, Frankie. It was the day we saw, for the first time, all that the band could be. You claimed you had never experienced anything like it. You claimed it left you completely, utterly, 100% breathless. You claimed the feeling changed your life.

Ironic when one thinks about it, especially since it ended up being a feeling you caused that changed our lives: betrayal.

Ever since you left, everyone has changed, and for some I’m not sure it’s for the better.

Do you remember the carefree Daisy from before your betrayal? Well, the band lost her the day you left. She’s spiralling downwards in her own tormented darkness, all in the quest of numbing every emotion that the thought of you evokes. Do you know what it’s like to watch one of your closest friends slowly dying, and being totally powerless to stop it? Yes, actually, you probably do. You watched yourself begin to die, and you chose to run instead of finding the cure. And now it’s Hannah who’s desperately searching for something she can’t seem to find.

It’s scary how much Hannah reminds me of you. She really is becoming you. The strong one. The untouchable one. The golden one. The unreadable one. Now that I think about it, you were always so hard to read. And now Hannah is falling into the comforts of the same mask, so much so that at times I’m afraid she too is pretending. She is, though, but in a different way. You pretended you were fine. You had us fooled. And now Hannah has to pretend she’s also fine, and that the pain she feels in her chest every time she breathes has nothing to do with you. Too bad Hannah will never be able to master the art of fooling her closest friends as well as you did. Her eyes give her away, the pain so freaking clear in her greyish blue eyes that I have to wonder if maybe the pain she is feeling is somehow more than just physical. Maybe on some level it’s deeper for her, since she was the one who found the so-called reason you ran away from us. The solo contract. It haunts our every thoughts, it haunts her every breath.

I hate the way Hannah looks at me. As if she’s dying inside just to become everything she wished you were: perfect.


Chapter 5: All That You Left Behind (Stacey)

*When did talking to you become so hard?*

To: [e-mail]
From: [e-mail]
Subject: Questions and Answers

Dear Frankie,

What is there to say? Whatever it is, I’m sure it shouldn’t be said in an email. But, if I were to be honest, I’m not sure I would be able to tell you these words face to face. You would watch me, curious, wondering why I wanted to talk to you after all that’s happened, and I would be desperately trying to find the right words to say. However, since you and I both know the words I’m looking for don’t exist, that may explain why I’m doing this in an email to begin with.

Some people feel I should be thankful you’re gone. You and I were lead female singers, and now that you’re gone, that title belongs only to me. Should I really be pleased? I mean, sure, I get the vocals now. “They’re all yours,” you told me as you left. But no, I’m not pleased. To be honest, I miss the unofficial rivalry between us in the recording studio. You can pretend everything else never happened, but the rivalry between us is one thing that can never go away, no matter how good you are at that game.

We were rivals over many things, but it was a healthy rivalry. We’re both competitive, and on some level, everything was a competition for us. Who could learn the dance moves the quickest. Who could hit the best note. Who could get the highest grade on the quiz. Anything and everything was fair. Including Hannah. Frankie, you cannot deny we both competed for Hannah’s approval. Never before had you met someone like her. You never used to care what other people thought of you, and then one day this wide-eyed 10-year-old kid walked through the doors at the auditions, and your whole attitude changed. You needed her, but that wasn’t enough for you. You wanted her to need you too.

Hannah misses you, despite all you put her through. Do you know that? We all miss you, in our own special ways. None of us actually have to say anything when we do, for some reasons the others just know. It’s kinda like the way you would always know when something was wrong with one of us. Except this time it’s more than a simple case of missing our family. It’s deeper, darker, and far more powerful. We really miss you, ya know? We miss you like someone misses an arm, or at torso, or something like that. Little thoughts running through our minds, thoughts that alone mean nothing but together mean everything. Who are you with? What are you doing right now? Where do you go to escape? Are you thinking of us?

Poetic way of saying you’re often on our minds, really.

I never thought I’d miss you, and the fact that I do, concerns me. We were never that close. Sure, we were friends, and I’m not going to say we never were. We liked each other, enjoyed the other’s company, but we never really got around to really knowing each other, if ya get what I mean. Sure, I know your favourite colour, and when your birthday is, little stuff like that, I already know. It’s the other stuff I want to know. The answers to the questions we never got the chance to ask.

What do you feel when you’re on stage, Frankie? You once claimed you felt alive on stage, but now I think you were lying. I make a point of never looking at anyone when they’re on stage. But one time I made a mistake in the choreography, and looked left instead of right. And instead of being seeing Daisy’s blond hair, I got a clear view of your eyes. And the emotion I saw in your eyes wasn’t anything that even came close to being defined as ‘happiness’, Frankie. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have sworn you looked miserable. It was the first time I’d seen you look that miserable. It was also the last time I looked at you on stage.

Why did you feel you had to lie to us, Frankie? Surely you must have had more faith in us than that. You must have known, even if it was only in your subconscious, that we wouldn’t have cared. Actually, no, that’s not true. We did care. But we would also have let you leave if you told us that was what you need to make you happy. Your happiness meant everything to us, even if it is no longer with us. We would have let you leave, Frankie. You didn’t have to lie to us. You didn’t have to put us up on pedestals only to push us off them. You didn’t have to claim we were everything to you, only to have us discover we were all that you left behind. You took everything with you that night. And I’m wondering if maybe, just maybe, you left a little bit of yourself behind as well. Did you, Frankie? You claimed the solo contract was the key to your happiness, that you needed to get away from us.

But if that’s the case… why do you still look so miserable on stage?

Bye,
Stacey
PS: I’m still here if you need someone to talk to.

I look at the email. Rereading it once, I stare at the screen before shaking my head. It won’t work, those aren’t the words needs to hear, nor are they what we’re really feeling. In the distance, the vacant echoes of whichever song happened to playing just moments before creep into my mind, and for a moment, I’m lost in the song. I sigh, trying to find the right words all over again.

Ctrl. Alt. Delete.

Dear Frankie….

[clairebear]

'Brilliant' doesn't fit what that is

Neither do 'perfect' or 'amazing'

'Deep' is what it is but it isn't strong enough to describe that. It doesn't justify it.

'Powerful'?

[skellig]

Chapter 6: Drowning (Tor)

*Thou shallst not feel*

“Frankie…” I breathe. My younger sister turns around, and I’m taken back by the uncensored misery and loneliness I see in her eyes. It frightens me that I’ve known her for her whole life but right now, she’s looking at me like she would look at a complete stranger. No emotion, no feelings, except maybe defeat.
“Yeah?” She asks. It sounds forced, creating the illusion that now even breathing is rapidly becoming something she has to do, instead of something she wants to do.

“You’re not really ok, are you?” She doesn’t even register surprise at my question. She could barely even feel it. It’s more of an ‘oh, that’s different’ kind of feeling. Frankie might be able to completely fool society into believing she’s fine, but I know it’s just one of her many defence mechanisms. Pretending she can’t feel seems to be her favourite these days.

“I’m recording the single tomorrow.” She tells me, completely ignoring my question.
“I know,” I say. “I thought you’d already be in the studio.” Where else would she be? Her other sanctuary was taken away from her.
“I’ll go later.”

Ok, I get it. She doesn’t want to talk about how she’s feeling. She doesn’t want to talk about why she ran and she definitely doesn’t want to talk about what happened with the band. What she really wants is to be left alone.

She’s not going to get that.

“I don’t want to talk.” She tells me, hoping I will get the hint and leave her alone.

I do, but I also ignore it.

“Sometimes I miss them. Him. Her. All of them really.” She quietly whispers, so softly I’m sure it was just meant to be a thought. It is, in a way, such a simple statement. But there are so many meanings behind it. She sighs, turning her attention back to the scattered pictures laid out on her bed. “What do you want?” She asks, quietly, softly, and almost timid. She was never good at this; Frankie had always preferred to keep her emotions quiet, to herself.
“I don’t want anything,” I answer truthfully. She seems surprised at the sincerity in my voice.

“Tell me about them,” I request quietly. She blinks. Apparently my question caught her off guard. She stares at the wall, and starts to fidget nervously with her hands.
“What, what do you mean? What do you want to know?” She asks, almost shyly.
“I don’t know. Tell me something no one else knows. Something that happened with just you and the others.” I shrug, feeling a little embarrassed. “I thought…” I trail off slightly. “I thought, maybe, it might help. I don’t know. Everyone has been asking you how you are and wanting to know what really happened that night that I thought, maybe, you just needed to talk about them.”

I don’t know if I’m right. I hope I am. Maybe if Frankie just talked about them, she wouldn’t hurt so much. She wouldn’t feel that stab in her chest every time she took a breath. She’d finally be able to look people in the eye when she’s in public. She shakes her head slowly, her hand shuffling the already scattered pictures. And I understand, it doesn’t seem right for her. It might help her, but it wouldn’t feel right. Talking about them, remembering them, it would only hurt her more. Frankie is about to break, and I can’t lose her now, not when she’s about to lose everything all in the name of pretending she’s going to be ok.

She gazes at me, her jaw set in determination, and I can sense her inner-battle taking place. Slowly, she slides off the bed, the sudden weight shift causing several pictures to fall.

“It feels like I’m drowning,” She whispers, making sure I can’t see her tears. “There’s no other way to describe this, Tor. It feels like I’m drowning, and now I can’t even breathe.” She pauses, her fingers tracing the pictures. It’s so subtle I doubt she’s even aware of it. But just when I think she settled back into the silence she has condemned herself in, Frankie speaks again. “There’s water all around me, it’s in me, it’s surrounding me, it’s everywhere and I’m suffocating.”

Frankie takes a deep breath, and another, and another. I’m strangely reminded of Frankie about to go on stage, when she’s summoning the rush from within her, commanding the adreline to take over her body. But today is different. There is no stage, no cheering crowds, and no music to dance to. She is alone, exiled by her own will to a land haunted by scattered pictures. Frankie’s eyes fall on a picture of Hannah and her, both of them laughing at something off-camera.

And for the first time in 15 years, Frankie breaks down and cries.


Chapter 7: Your Every Breath (Frankie’s pretend boyfriend, David)

*He only wanted her heart…*

“You’re so quiet lately.” Frankie looks up, surprised at my statement. A moment goes by before she speaks.
“No, not really,” she disagrees, a quick half-smile flickering across her face. “I’ve just had a lot of my mind, that’s all. It’s nothing serious.” She tells me. She shrugs briefly as she gets ready to go to class. “Sorry, David, can’t stay. Have a Spanish quiz to get out of the way.” She confesses as she leaves. I nod, watching her as she walks out of the cafeteria.

“You’re the one dating Sandford.” There are several things which confuse me about the teenager standing in front of me. His statement wasn’t a question, but more of an accusation. The second thing is the use of her last name- Sandford. It’s as if he knows who she is, and yet, she’s a complete stranger to him as well. He’s refusing her but he’s accepting her at the same time. He couldn’t hate her more, but there’s a part of him that maybe, just maybe, has fallen just a little bit in love with her. He’s running, but he’s standing still.
“Yeah. I am. My name’s David, by the way.” I tell him. The teenager nods, but his eyes give away only what he wants me to know- nothing. Underneath the roar of the cafeteria, his voice muffled by the scarf which surrounded his neck, he murmurs the words which send chills down my spine ‘You’re the one who stole her away from us’. But when I look at him, he’s simply watching me, an almost curious expression on his face.

“Who are you?” I ask. The teenager looks into my eyes, his emotions hidden behind a hazel wall of stone.
“Nobody.” The faintest shimmer of a smile flickers across his face, but it’s gone so quickly I can’t help but wonder if maybe I imagined it. “I’m nobody without her.” He leaves, as silently as he came, his eyes scanning the cafeteria for the one he knows he won’t be able to find. His presence isn’t menacing, just imposing. He’s the kind of guy you can’t help but notice. He has that something about him, something which makes him seem so powerful, so in control. All he has to do is say “jump”, and everyone around him will ask “how high?”

He doesn’t act like he owns the world, just as though he belongs to a place no one else does.

The complete opposite of Frankie, really.

Frankie used to look like someone who had just experience Heaven but hadn’t yet come down to Earth. There used to be a softness in her eyes, but that has been replaced by sadness ever since the day she left the band. She doesn’t look defeated, just tired. Not lost, just wandering. Not miserable, just lonely.

Not shattered, just broken.

She pretends she’s fine because confessing what she’s really feeling inside is harder than she thought, so maybe it’s simpler to smile and nod than it is to ask for help. Just tell me, Frankie, tell me what needs to be done to save you, even if it is from yourself. I know I’m not the one you want to be saved by… But I am still your boyfriend, I can help you. I get that I’ll never understand you the way they could, so effortlessly, so easily they made it seem almost natural. I know I’m not them, Frankie. I know I can’t read you as well as they could. But they’re not here, and I am. Surely that must count for something.

Frankie will never… She will never be with anyone the way she was with them. They had no trouble reading her mind, and I can barely read her words. She’ll never miss someone the way she missed them, and no amount of pain can compare to that. They were her eyes when she couldn’t see, her air when she couldn’t breathe. She’ll never need anyone like she needed them.

No, wait. I take that back.

She’ll never need anyone like she needs them.

Am I jealous? Yes, I am. I’m jealous they’re still everything to her, even if she did give them up. I’m jealous of the way she smiles when they’re on her mind. I’m jealous that I have to compete against people who aren’t even there to get her to notice me. I’m your boyfriend, Frankie. I’m your boyfriend and I’m right here. They’re far away from you and no distance is great enough for them.

Or are you so blinded by regret that you can’t see that?

I hate the fact they’re still everything to her, after all that’s happened. They still mean the world to her. How can that be? Explain it to me, Frankie, please. Explain to me how the very people you gave up mean more to you than I ever could. Explain to me what are the words you need to hear, the words they didn’t say and the words I can’t seem to find. Explain to me what they had that I don’t, because that’s the only way I could ever begin to understand why your heart will only belong to them.

Explain to me, Frankie, why there’s always a trace of hesitation in your voice when you answer the phone. Are you expecting them? Are you still waiting for them to walk through the door? Because they’re not, Frankie. They’re not coming back for you. Why can’t you seem to understand that? They’re not going to come back for you! We’re all that you have left. And I hope that’s enough for you, for if it’s not, then, well… I just hope we’re enough for you. I know we can’t promise you the world, and they could –and would, if you asked them to- give you the universe, just because they would have thought you deserved more than just the world, you would have needed the planets, the stars, the sun, the galaxies, just because you meant that much to them.

We, your friends, can’t offer you that. We can offer you our friendship, we can be your shoulder to cry on, we can be anything you need, we just can’t be them. We can’t give you the world, but is that what you really want? You had the world, but you chose to give it up. So explain this to me, Frankie: if you want the world that badly, why did you run away from the only people who could give it to you?

Explain to me the significance of the inscription written on the inside of the ring: ‘me siento tan vacio sin mi almo’. You know the one I’m talking about: it’s the ring you play with when you miss them so much the pain steals your every breath.

[skellig]

Chapter 8: When I Dream Of You (Calvin)

*He only has to touch her arm before she’s turning to him as if he’s her North Pole*

It’s here, in the recording studio, that we’re hidden from the world. In here we keep the tears and the laughter and everything else in between close to us concealed with FBI worthy security measures. But somehow she made it through, and she’s in the studio too. She hasn’t seen us yet, but she knows we’re here, because she knows how we think and therefore knows us. And I know that, and think that maybe my greatest wish right now is that she doesn’t know us. I want to protect the others, and especially Hannah, from Sandford and people like Sandford. Prevent the band from getting cut to shreds on the jagged shards of glass protruding from Sandford’s mind.

The band feels like the faded stars in some low-budget, but well-shot, early movie from the golden era of silence and monotone. I hate this world I’m in, surrounded by people yet overcome by loneliness since she’s been gone. Noise, shouts all around us, but we still haven’t heard the words we need to hear. Say them, anyone, just please. Simon, Gary, Sally, Mary, Jo, anyone, just please, please stop the loneliness from taking over. Tell us we can survive without her, because we’re starting to believe we can’t. I want to shatter the glass winder in the recording booth, I need to watch the destruction happen first hand, proving both to myself and to the others that we can’t ever slot all the delicate pieces of glass back together as they should be so maybe we just shouldn’t try.

I hear someone enter the booth behind me, and as I turn around, I’m shocked to see Sandford standing behind to me. I don’t get why I feel so surprised. I should have known it was her. I watch her helplessly, wondering what she wants with me, if the others know she’s in here, and if she knows the effect she has on me. I need her as much as I ever did; despite knowing that need that strong will one day destroy me.
“I’m sorry,” she stammers. “I thought… They said… The booth was supposed to be free… I’ll just go now.” She turns to leave, obviously extremely nervous. “Sorry,” she repeats. “I didn’t mean to walk in.”
“Stay,” I tell her. She looks at me, questions in her eyes. “I wasn’t using it. You can stay.” Her eyes, which once shone with confidence, dart from my face to floor. As I walk up to her, she takes half a step back. “Are you afraid of me?” I ask her. She hesitates, and for the first time, looks at me in the eyes.
“Only when I dream of you,” She whispers as she steps towards me. “Only when I dream of you.”

At my touch on her arm, something in the room seems to shift. The atmosphere’s still tense, but there’s a thunderstorm on the horizon. An explosion to kill the air, to produce a new sense of calm. It promises intensity, but I wish it promised continuity. Different drugs for different realities, but we still need crutches to get through life.

She shivers as my fingers move slowly, surely over her clothes, placing no pressure on her skin. Rubbing and stroking over flesh and cotton; it’s the feel of me quietly staking my claim on her. Nothing could ever compare to the way I’m touching her. And in her weakest moments… I feel her needing me, too.

Something in me needs to taste this, needs to prove that what I can feel and sense is her. Or maybe I just need to discover what ‘her’ is. Discover for the first time, discover all over again. I’m not sure, but my movements are born out of necessity, not choice, and it’s never been any different where she’s concerned. Because suddenly my lips are on hers, and there’s a sharp moment of pressure and blazing heat between us.

But as soon as I’ve leapt backwards from her lips, dragging my mouth away from hers, burnt by the heat of the emotions ignited between us, she moves her head forwards, demanding my breathe as a price of what I said earlier. And I submit because I still feel wrong about it. She must know what she’s done to us, has to, everyone else has, but I need to try and make her feel better because that’s simply what she does to me.

But kissing each other to forget reality won’t make it any better.

She lies to herself that it might, that the loneliness and misery come tomorrow will hold a different kind of pain to now, that it might even reduce the pain into more manageable proportions. It has to. She needs this, to be set back, to stop the pounding residing in her head. To feel what the brick walls and layers of iron won’t allow her to feel when she’s being Frankie. So she pretends there’s a limit on the amount and type of pain and heartbreak she can feel although there isn’t, and she knows that.

“Let me in,” I murmur. “I can help you. I could even save you.”
“No,” she whispers. “No, you can’t.” She glances at me before crushing her lips against mine. I wish her kisses didn’t mean so much. She puts all her emotions into each kiss, and you feel exactly the same emotions she’s feeling. Every bit of pain, of heartbreak, of loneliness is in each kiss. It’s powerful, almost overwhelming. Her kisses make me feel helplessly vulnerable, more so than I’ve ever felt before. Though I know if I had to choose I’d choose her kiss every time, the sweet hint of strawberry in her lip balm, the way she tilts her head just so.

The nerve endings in her legs were burnt numb long ago, and I’m not too sure how she’s still standing. Except that my arms are tight around her, forcing her close to my stomach, gripping her shoulder. She couldn’t collapse even if she wanted to. The kisses are hard and desperate and long, we’re giving everything into them, kissing like there’s nothing else we can do to save ourselves so we might as well lose ourselves in each kiss.

The sound of my phone ringing shatters the intimacy we had been sharing up until that moment. With a casual gesture of the hand, I turn off the phone and watch her struggle to get back the breath stolen from her with a simple kiss.

“What do you want from me, heh Calvin?” She murmurs, her voice an octave deeper than usual. “What do you want from me?” She looks at me, the expression in her eyes not something I’m used to seeing: incertitude. I’m taken back at how tired she looks. “I hope you get it soon,” she tells me honestly as she leaves.
“Wait!” I call out. She turns around, and I catch a glimmer of hope flicker in her eyes. But it’s gone, as quickly as it came, and I’m left with the same feelings of loneliness ever since she left

“What I wanted from you?” I gesture at nothing in particular. Then I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter. We can’t have it anyway.”

[clairebear]

Still... i really like it. I like the way it's wrriten. I like the language. I like the deepness. The desperation. The longing...

[skellig]

Chapter 9: Gotta Keep Movin’ (Ellie)

*She knows that if she stands still, her flawless masquerade will slip.*

Hannah’s sleep is a restless one, tortured by visions of what was and what is. Her nights are filled with violent flashes, images whose sole role is to replace her dreams. She stopped dreaming the day Francesca left. Actually… She didn’t just stop dreaming, she stopped believing. Believing in the band, believing in hope, believing in herself. She just stopped, for the simple reason the bearer of her faith had chosen to run.

Hannah doesn’t know where she’s going, doesn’t really care either, all that matters is that she’s moving. If she stands still, then her sadness can catch up with her. As long as she’s moving, there’ll be a distance between herself and the pain. Gotta keep movin for the mask to stay in place, can’t afford to let it slip, can’t afford to let Francesca see just how miserable she is without the brown-eyed singer. She can’t afford Francesca finding out about the nightmares, the truth behind the tired eyes. She can’t afford Francesca finding out just how much she misses her.

Exactly 2 weeks, 3 days, 18 hours and 42 minutes after Francesca left, Hannah pleaded to have auditions for another member, The others eventually gave in to her requests. But they rejected everyone they saw. And I think I know why. They were searching for someone who wasn’t there. Wait, were? No. They still are. Yes, Hannah, I know. I’m your sister; do you really think I wouldn’t guess? I know you’re waiting for her. I know that, although you wanted the band to haunt her, it’s more her who haunts the band. I know she’s the reason you can barely sleep at night.

I know it’s her name your murmur when you’re having nightmares.

It’s kinda ironic, really, that Hannah only calls Francesca “Frankie” when she’s trapped in a nightmare. It’s as if it’s only when she’s surrounded by darkness that she’s forgiven the brown-eyed singer for simply walking out on the band. They hate Francesca for doing that to them, for making them second best. They’ve been forced to settle with second best all their lives, but as long as they were second best together, the curse was bearable. But then Francesca chose a solo deal over them. She made them second best.

Being second best hurt a lot more when it was in Francesca’s eyes.

The recording studio is their sanctuary, their one place where the demons from their past and present do not have access. No one is allowed to go inside the actual booth. There isn’t an actual rule, carved in stone. Yet everyone respects it. No one goes in. Sally doesn’t, and she’s their chaperone. Carrie’s access is denied, despite the fact she’s their vocal coach. The music is the one way for the pain to remotely begin to fade. The band needs the music, in a way, it’s with the sounds of the Spanish guitars and the pianos that the scars can begin to heal. It’s amongst the drums that they whisper softly to Francesca that they would forgive her if not for the stabbing pain present in their every heartbeat.

They can’t forget her, no matter how hard they try or how talented they are at pretending. They tried replacing her, but at the same time, they can’t bear the thought of someone else taking her place. They hate the fact she’s their conscience. They aren’t supposed to need it and they definitely aren’t supposed to need her. But they do, and she doesn’t. The chemical equation which had brought them together fell apart when she left. It’s no longer balanced. As if on cue, Francesca approaches me. They say that people who are exposed to cameras have a different aura to them. And looking at Francesca, the faded star, whose presence no one can help but feel… I have to agree.

“Where are they?” I stare at Francesca, who stares back at me, her eyes not blinking. She’s trying to hide it, but the rage bottled up inside of her is creeping to the surface. Her whole attitude speaks of power and control. Her voice, low and tainted with a slight Essex accent, is quiet, but there’s no doubt in either mind that she’s expecting an answer. “Where are they, Ellie?” She asks again, this time more forcefully. “Tell me where they are!”
“In the booth,” I stammer. “But you can’t go in there.” She turns and outright glares at me.
“The hell I can’t,” she growls, her eyes flashing with fury.

“What are you doing here?” Stacey could not hide the surprise in her voice in time as Francesca comes into the room.
“I was in the neighbourhood. Thought I’d drop by.” A quick, nervous smile. Francesca’s confidence is fading.
“You’re dropped. Bye.” Despite Daisy’s accusation behind directed at Francesca, I can’t help but feel part of it was also aimed at me. Daisy probably holds me responsible for Francesca stepping on their turf. For allowing the solo star another chance of hurting them all over again, reopening the scars which had just begun to heal.

“What do you want from me?” Francesca sounds so lost, so miserable that for a moment I’m tempted to cry. The band stares at her in confusion, wondering what the hell happened to transform the confident pop star to a lonely teenager in the time frame of about 12 seconds. “What the hell do you want from me? Tell me and I’ll give it to you. Tell me what the hell you want! I’d do anything for you, so tell me, what do you want from me!”

“You,” Hannah mumbles, her voice just quiet enough so everyone has to strain to catch it.
“What?” Francesca asks, bewildered. Hannah takes a deep breath, struggling to keep her anger in check.
“We want you, ok? We need you! There, you happy now? You won, Sandford. You freaking won. We tried to fight it, we tried to deny it, but we couldn’t. It’s you, ok? It’s always been you. You freaking abandoned us, but we couldn’t get over you. And trust me, we tried.” Even the deaf would have had trouble denying the bitterness in my sister’s voice. “So, congratulations. You won. We can’t do this without you. We just… can’t. So, when you ask us what we want, the answer is almost simple really: you.”


Chapter 10: How Can You Be Sure? (Becky)

*Silver is so much more than just the colour of her eyes*

It’s almost scary.

A hundred days ago they could have read Hannah’s mind. Now they can barely understand her thoughts.

I’d like to think that I know Hannah better than Daisy does, but to believe that would mean believing a lie. I may have known Hannah for longer, but there’s no doubt in either Daisy’s or my mind than the dancer understands the Newbury native better than I ever could. I know when something’s wrong. Daisy knows how to make it better simply because she just understands the way Hannah thinks. She understands because she thinks the same thoughts. Their connection is deeper. They never need to speak. The other just knows.

I used to be able to do that, too. I used to be Hannah’s only best friend. But then the band walked into her life, offering her the world she craved and giving her themselves. They gave her a part of them. She didn’t ask for it. She certainly didn’t want it. They just gave her their hearts because they had given all their love into making music, and since they made music with her, together, then it was only fit that had their heart. Some part of them had understood the chemical equation that had made them unique long before it would ever be completed.

But Francesca’s betrayal changed all that. The equation stopped making sense.

They didn’t understand why she ran away from them. They didn’t understand why Hannah blamed them for Francesca’s departure. But they rationalised with it in their own way, tried to make sense of it in their world. And they chose to let Hannah continue to blame them, because at least that way she continued to feel, and if she left, then she would never become like Francesca, who had fooled them into thinking she cared when she didn’t. If Hannah blames them, then she cares. And if she cares, she isn’t faking what she’s feeling.

Their logic is similar to that of a madman who had just realised sanity can never be attained. It has an actual name: desperation.

They are, in way. Desperate. They’re desperate for Hannah to forgive them for a crime they didn’t commit and they’re desperate for Francesca to forgive them for a crime they didn’t understand. They need her so much it scares them. She betrayed them, she used them, she broke them, and yet, after all that, they still need her.

They just can’t understand why.

Hannah’s wearing a grey jumper. It brings out the grey in her eyes. It also accents how… how sad she looks. And Daisy’s too caught up in her own misery and confusion to be able to help her. I’m about to step into the recording studio when Aaron stops me. He, too, looks absolutely miserable, but there’s an aura of defeat as well.
“You can’t go in,” He gently reminds me. “The scars can only heal if she’s alone.”

I had almost forgotten about them. The scars Francesca had opened when she stormed into the booth yesterday. The scars Stacey had exposed when Francesca’s entrance had taken her by surprise. The scars that will never heal, no matter how much the band wishes they would.

“All night long, I’ll be your song…” The haunting echoes of Hannah’s voice reach us, and Aaron turns around to watch her. He’s struggling to read Hannah, needs to be able to read between the lines to even begin to know how to fix “his” band. That’s when I get it. And it’s so bluntly obvious that I’m shocked the band didn’t manage to see it before I did. The chemical equation. Music. The recording studio. It’s all right here, in front of them.

Francesca is a part of them. To say she doesn’t matter to them anymore is to deprive their lungs of oxygen. She’s in them. And if she’s in them, then they must be in her. Chemical reactions need to be balanced, equal forces on both sides. Francesca thought she wasn’t enough for them, so she ran. But by running, she made them feel like they weren’t enough for her to stay. They try to make sense of what happened through their music, but Francesca is the key to understanding why music is so important to them.

She’s them. They’re her. Opposites. Equals.

Chemically balanced.

“I need your phone,” I tell Daisy. She looks up, suspicion in her eyes.
“Why?” She asks. “Who do you need to call?” I stop closer to her, my arm outstretched.
“Francesca,” I answer truthfully. She stares at me, frozen in shock. I stare back. Daisy eventually shakes her head as she hands me her phone.
“You’re crazy,” Daisy mutters. “Absolutely crazy. She won’t even answer when she sees it’s my number.”
“You still have hers,” I point out. “And in case you haven’t noticed, it’s blocked and/or deleted.”

Daisy lets out something similar to a growl.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “It’s not like she’s actually going to call me.”
“Right,” I roll my eyes. “Like Frankie wasn’t supposed to go into the studio yester-umpf!” Suddenly Daisy is right in my face, her blue eyes flashing with fury. I’ve never seen her experience emotions this intense. She’s furious that I used Francesca’s nickname in the band’s presence.

“You don’t get to call her that,” Daisy hisses. “You don’t get to use her nickname and you don’t get to go into the recording booth. That is our territory. You are on our turf. That means you play by our rules. You’re in our world, Rebecca.” She scowls at me. “Our world. Sandford isn’t in it. She hates us, remember?” She steps back, and I take the opportunity to take in her appearance. She looks defeated, miserable, and lonely. How can someone be this strong and yet look so vulnerable?

“No,” I eventually disagree. “She doesn’t hate you. She might hate what you’ve done to her, she might hate herself for betraying you the way she did, but she doesn’t hate you.” Daisy glances at me, startled.
“How can you be sure?” She whispers. “How can you be so sure?” Tears threaten to fall, but Daisy refuses to let them go beyond her eyes. The star refuses to let her weakness show to anyone other than Hannah.
“Because you can’t bring yourself to hate her,” I answer truthfully. “And if you can’t do it, she can’t either.” Daisy looks at me, confusion written all over her face. “It’s all in the chemistry, right Daisy? Chemical equations need to be balanced. One cannot function without the other. Chemistry, Daisy, it’s all in the chemistry.” I remind her.

Her eyes flicker from me to the phone. I don’t need to be the band to know what’s going through her mind. All her life Daisy has challenged Fate, has looked at Destiny straight in the eyes and said: “I will never let you control my future.” Daisy has rationalised every little thing that has ever happened to her. And for the first time, she really has to take a chance. This isn’t about getting through an audition or landing a place in one of the country’s best schools. This is about opening up to the one person she vowed never to get close to again.

30 miles away, a phone rings. A brown-eyed brunette glances at her mobile, a puzzled expression on her face. She vaguely recognises the ring tone. But by the time she moves to answer it, the phone is silent. The mysterious caller had hung up.

[skellig]

Chapter 11: The Search For Something More (Aaron)

*She should have known, better than the others, than what she was looking for didn’t exist*

I’ve seen Hannah cry when she broke up with her boyfriend, I’ve seen her fight with her sister, and I’ve seen her watch helplessly as one of her best friends walked out the door with absolutely no intention of ever coming back. But I’ve never seen her look as miserable as she does tonight.

Once the pain and betrayal begins to fade, the loneliness and misery start to settle in. Ironic, really, how Sandford could be so miserable with us and how miserable we are without her. The contrast between her and us: she’s a solo star now, and the last time she felt lonely was when she was with us. We’re in a band, and the first time we really felt lonely was when she was gone.

We miss her. We don’t want to, but we just do. Lingering thoughts which should have been banished from our memories haunt our minds. Sometimes a smell might remind us of you. The other day, Daisy smelt roses, and turned around to tell you the scent reminded her of you. But instead, she was reminded that you were gone.

It shouldn’t be this hard, letting you go. We shouldn’t keep turning around expecting you to still be there. We shouldn’t stay awake at night, listening for the sound of your footsteps. We shouldn’t keep our phones on us at all times in the naïve hope you’ll call us to tell us we’re on your mind. We shouldn’t keep thinking of you every time we struggle to catch our breaths. We shouldn’t keep being reminded of you no matter what we do, where we are, or why we’re even there in the first place.

We shouldn’t need you this badly. But we do.

The whole band is struggling to understand just what on Earth we’re supposed to be feeling. Surely there must be manual somewhere, because this can’t be right. There must be an invisible director somewhere out there who is controlling us, has to be, because there’s no way we would act like this normally. We would never just throw caution to the wind and let ourselves be exposed to this much heartbreak. And yet we seem to have done exactly that. Though I miss I had been able to see the script before hand, that way I’d at least be able to halfway understand why my band almost has to remember to feel. I hope whoever this invisible director is, is getting some perverted joy out of this, because we sure aren’t. What we’re feeling is illogical. It makes no sense. It cannot be explained.

And we need an explanation if only to understand why Sandford left us. We need to understand why we’re not ok without her. We need to understand why breathing seems so hard to do now that she’s gone.

Hannah stumbles into the music room, and even from the other side of the room I can smell the alcohol on her breath. Her eyes move restlessly across the room, creating the illusion she’s searching for something, something we both suspect isn’t there to begin with. The search for something more, I think ironically. Forever a search for something more.
“You’ve been drinking,” I accuse. A half-smile forms on her face.
“Yes,” she says, and even that one word seems slurred. I’m surprised, I almost expected her to deny that she’s been drinking, but then, Hannah was always most honest when drunk.

“Come here,” I tell her. Either she’s not as drunk as I originally thought or she can simply handle alcohol better than most, but she doesn’t waver as she walks towards me. There’s the faintest hint of laughter in her eyes, as if some part of her is finding this vaguely amusing. Given her drunken state, that’s probably the case.
“What is it, Aaron?” She asks as she puts her arms around my neck. The smell of alcohol is almost over-whelming. But she turns a blind eye to my discomfort, and moulds her body into mine. “Tell me, Aaron.” She pleads. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

I don’t answer her immediately. Should I really confess the big secret the band has to live with to someone who’s completely drunk? Granted, she probably won’t remember the conversation in the morning, but still. It just doesn’t seem right, telling her our fears when she’s been drowning her own in… Tequila?

“Do you think she misses us?” Hannah’s question snaps me out of my thoughts. I glance at her, wondering maybe if it’s the combination of lack of sleep and an undetermined amount of alcohol that’s making her seem so… Lonely? No, she doesn’t look lonely. Miserable, yes. Lonely… The band’s resident was always so hard to read, and now she’s drunk, it’s hard to know what is the alcohol talking and what is herself.
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully. Hannah moves to sit on the piano bench, and I move to be with her.
“I wish we weren’t the ones who made her leave.” She admits quietly, staring at the ground.
“I wish we were the ones who could make her stay.” I respond.

Hannah nods, her fingers poised above the piano, almost as if she’s trying to remember what tune she has to play. But then she abruptly stands up, and turns to me. I realise now I was wrong. It wasn’t loneliness or misery I saw in her eyes earlier. It’s something else. Something scarier. Despair.

“We can’t lose you, too.” I whisper quietly in her ear. “That’s the big secret the band is carrying around, Hannah. We’re afraid of losing you the same way we lost her.” Hannah looks at me, her eyes wide, almost frightened. Obviously she hasn’t realised how much she means to us. “We’re trying so hard,” I confess to her. “We’re trying so hard to save ourselves here. But to manage that, we have to save you.” I look into Hannah’s eyes, and what I see concerns me. Hannah’s deeply intoxicated, but in that moment, she looks absolutely sober.

“You can’t save everyone, Aaron,” Hannah says as she leaves. “Especially if it’s from themselves.”

[skellig]

Chapter 12: Read The Silence (Matt)

*They’re impossible to read even when they wear their emotions on their sleeve.*

Hannah’s already there by the time I get to the coffee shop, and even before I sit down I can tell she’s hung-over. Her eyes move restlessly over the crowd in the room, constantly scanning, constantly reading people, trying to get their life’s story into a couple of lines. Her eyes hesitate slightly on a silhouette outside the window. The girl is directly in the sunlight, and Hannah is blinded by the sun. Hannah tilts her head, trying to get a clearer view of the girl. But the stranger must have sensed someone was watching her, for she moves away, taking care to stay in the path of the sun.

“So why are you hung-over?” I ask. Hannah half-shrugs, playing with a napkin and a pen.
“I drank too much last night.” She answers, her attention more focused on whatever she’s scribbling on the napkin than her conversation with me.
“Why were you drinking?” I press. I glance down at her writing. Written in her traditional neat scrawl is the verse “You’re the shadow that I can’t escape from/ Everywhere I turn I see your face”.
“I can’t remember,” she says quietly. And I understand, I’m not Aaron or Daisy. I’m not one of them. I don’t know how to read between the lines. I don’t have permission to read the silence.

The band has condemned me to silence long before Francesca ever walked out of their lives. It didn’t start with her betrayal and it had nothing to do with the fact she chose a solo contract over staying with them. They’re very, very aware of that. They had always considered Francesca to be one of them, one of the gifted few who understood just what sacrifices they had to make just to be who they are. On some level they figured she might have even enjoyed their new identities. What they didn’t count on was her simply leaving them as if they meant absolutely nothing to her.

But that’s beside the point. What is important is that they’ve had a grudge against me long before the thought of a solo contract ever entered the brunette singer’s mind. I can still remember the exact date: February 10th, 2003. It was the day I met Hannah, and the band, at the school’s Valentines Day dance. It was the day the band realised someone apart from them could actually steal Hannah’s heart. It was the day the band realised they were, despite everything, still mortal, and therefore weren’t as immune to pain as they had assumed themselves to be.

It was the day they reminded me, for the first and only time, that I would never belong in their world. By simply being themselves, they told me very clearly Hannah was only with me thanks to their own grace. They never told Hannah she shouldn’t go out with me, manipulation of that standard was beneath them anyway and they were never that scheming to begin with. I doubt Hannah would have asked them for permission, she would have probably gone out with me even if they had said no, but their blessing helped. They probably did something really simple like nod and smile, and that meant it was ok. They could take her pain away with just a smile.

But it turns out the one who would hurt Hannah the most wasn’t a boyfriend they considered to be inferior but someone far more powerful. One of them. Francesca. But that’s just the amount of influence they have. They don’t need to be in front of 15,000 adoring fans to look like the most powerful teenagers in Britain. People will do whatever they asked them to. Not because of whom they are, but more because they just asked.

But now the one thing they ask for, no one can give them.

They want a lot of things, but they’ve been through enough in life to suspect they’ll never get it. They live in a world of flawless masquerades, so they know better than anyone they’ll never get the complete story behind the reasons why Francesca ran. They’ve been told enough lies to get that no one could ever possibly tell them the truth, be it why Francesca betrayed them the way she did or why they’re feeling the way they are. They want some peace of mind, but they’re smart enough to know the only place they’ll ever get it is in the recording studio.

In every sense of the word, that studio is their sanctuary. No one can touch them there. To go into the booth would mean confronting their personal demons. And no one dares. Except maybe Francesca. But then, she’s the only one who ever could. She is, after all, the only other person in the world who has experienced what they have. She is the only one who ever challenged them on their own turf. She is the only thing they can’t explain, no matter how smart they are or how hard they try.

But music, they can explain. Music makes sense to them, and at this point in their lives, it’s probably the only thing that does. They can justify why drums make them feel the way they do. They have a theory as to why they’re drawn to the haunting sounds of a Spanish guitar.

But for reasons no one can really understand, the piano is the only instrument which blocks them from feeling.

Yet in the studio, they feel. And that’s ok.

Because the studio reminds them they still have to breathe.

Because the studio belongs to them and them alone.

Because the studio reminds them they’re still alive.

Because the studio is the one place they can still be with her.

Because the studio reminds them they still have each other.

Because if they didn’t have the studio, they would have lost absolutely everything.


Chapter 13: Damaged Girl (Danvie)

*We’re all guilty of something*

Out of everything that happened that night, it’s the sound of a piano which haunts her the most.

It’s strange, really, when one thinks about it. One would have assumed it’s their winter silence which would haunt her more, but that isn’t the case. It bothers her, she’ll admit that much, but it doesn’t haunt her as much as the piano does. Their silence means the distance between the band and Frankie is growing bigger. The piano means there’s a memory she can’t quite place that’s stopping her from moving on.

I’ll always remember when we were at her house a couple of nights ago, and the way she just suddenly stopped and stared at the piano, the emotions on her face halfway between bewilderment and fear. Her eyes gave it all away. Whatever truly happened that night is in the piano keys, and is threatening to surface.

But a moment later, Frankie turns and walks out of the room. And the memory stays banished within the dark trenches of her mind.

She only looks back when we’re in her room, far away from the haunting reminder of all that she had lost. Her gaze strays from the door to the window, then to a guitar lying on the floor. She stares at it for a fraction of a second too long.

“I didn’t know you played the guitar,” I tell her. And I can’t help but wonder what other secrets my best friend has been keeping from me.
“I don’t,” she says. “It’s not mine.” The tone of her voice warns me to not ask any more questions. She doesn’t want me to try to understand what’s really going on inside her head. Which emotions didn’t get past the defensive wall of iron.
“Is it David’s?” I press. She shakes her head, tearing her gaze away from the guitar.
“No,” she answers, and there’s a warning in her voice.

No, stop asking questions. I won’t answer them.

No, don’t try to understand me. You can’t.

No, I can’t let go of my past. They’re in it, and I don’t want to give them up a second time. I already did that once, I would prefer dying that having to survive that kind of pain all over again.

You think your thoughts are unreadable, Frankie, but they’re not. You might have a perfect masquerade, and now so few people can read your thoughts. But you forget how close we are. And that means I know how to read you. You may have a perfect smile, blurring the difference between a fake smile and a genuine one. You may think the difference is in your eyes, but it’s not. There’s a very simple factor you forgot to take into consideration. One that makes all the difference.

You only ever really smiled when you were with them.

You’re a lot more empathic than you think.

But maybe that’s the problem. Frankie isn’t dumb, she must have known she couldn’t just walk from… whatever they are to her, and not feel a thing. She must have had some idea of the guilt she had cursed on herself. She might have even bargained on it.

What she didn’t bargain on was just how guilty she was going to feel because of it.

Yes, Frankie, I know you feel guilty. Everyone, and I really do mean everyone, knows you’re starting to hate the solo contract as much as you hate whatever made you run in the first place. But why did you do that? What the hell happened for you to give them up?

It wasn’t just a band you gave up. It was people as well. You gave up the only people in the world who truly understand you. Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered you consider me as your best friend. But, Rochelle understands you better than I ever will. Rochelle didn’t just share your dream, she lived it too, she experienced the exact same emotions you did. She knew exactly what it felt like to be on stage in front of 15,000 people. I don’t. I never could. Rochelle can. So why did you leave her behind?

Why did you leave Stacey behind? She brings out the competitive spirit in you. Even the outsiders, the ones who have never been on a stage in their lives and have never wandered into ‘your’ world; even they knew there was a rivalry between the Upminster kid and the Blackpool native. You may have fought with “Blackpool”, but she also brought out the best in you. So why did you leave that behind?

Why did you give Aaron up? He saved you once before, he could have saved you again, all you had to do was just give him a chance. He saved you before not because you asked for help, but because you were in the band. He would do anything, absolutely anything, just to keep the band intact. But you walked out, and forced him to see he couldn’t save the damaged girl he once considered as his guardian angel. You made him realise he can’t save the ones that hatter the most to him. How could you do something like that?

How could you erase Jay’s smile so carelessly? He’s the one who could make everything seem ok when in reality they were going really badly. He helped take away your pain, and yet in return you gave him just that. Why did you do that? You know you’re the one who took his smile away. You know he’s part of the reason you can’t sleep at night. You know he’s the reason your conscience whispers reminders of what you did. So why did you hurt him, knowing that in consequence night and day would have no difference?

How could you just walk away from Daisy without a backwards glance? You might feel like you don’t owe her anything, but that’s wrong. You did owe her a look. You didn’t slam the door and you didn’t look back. That takes strength I know you don’t have. That strength isn’t in you, not as a solo star. I’ve only ever seen it in you when you were with them. They’re your strength, Frankie. They’re the ones who made you strong. Daisy’s the one you could share your expensive shopping addictions with. Daisy’s the one who could trust to always be honest. Daisy’s the one who gave you strength. So why did you leave her friendship behind, knowing it will only make you weak?

But it wasn’t just Daisy’s friendship you valued, but Hannah’s as well. That kid, that blue-eyed angel, she was different, wasn’t she Frankie? She wasn’t like the others. You saw her emotions, didn’t you Frankie? Like the others in the band, you included, she was empathic. She could really feel. But she wasn’t as gifted as you or “Blackpool”. She didn’t know how to hide her emotions. You relied on that. You needed her empathy; it’s what kept you human. So why did you give her up, knowing that by doing that, you will lose your soul?

But it’s your dismissal of Calvin which confuses me the most. There had always been something between you two, anyone who has seen the two of you together would say the exact same thing. Whatever you and Calvin shared, it wasn’t friendship. It was too deep, too intense, too complicated to be something as simple as best friends. When you and Calvin were on stage together singing “Dreaming”, everyone watching you two perform was very aware of one thing- that song wasn’t for them. Admit it, Frankie. You guys never sang that song to the fans, it was always to each other. You, Frankie, you made it clear with just one look. You were in love with the boy with a guitar.

Oh.

My eyes stray back to the guitar. Oh. So that’s why she has a guitar.

That’s when I get it. All this time Frankie had let the world believe the band had stolen her happiness. Bur she had it all wrong. The band didn’t steal anything from her, except maybe her heart. They’ve never taken anything from her. They’re not the real thieves. Frankie is, since she’s the one who took their trust and ran. Yet they’re willing to take the fall because Frankie’s happiness means more to them than their own innocence.

Don’t get me wrong, Frankie. I’m thrilled you came back to Upminster. But now there isn’t a doubt in my mind that the only reason you’re here is because you’re running from them.

[mickeyrawks]

i love this fic its diff but brilliant too