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Josh's POV

I felt like I had been hit by a car, and then forced to get up right away and run the marathon. All I actually had to do was walk through a long, winding and depressingly white hallway until I finally saw those three familiar faces, with their forced smiles and open arms. But my legs felt like two long pieces of paper.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten anything, and the last time I'd gotten any sleep was during that hour when I'd passed out a few days back. Of course, nobody was supposed to know, but they all did. I could tell they liked it. Knowing that I was going through hell every day, that I barely even knew what a "day" was anymore since it was always the same for me, always a nightmare.

But that was the point, wasn't it? To teach me a lesson. You do something bad, this is what happens. Action-reaction. Pure fucking physics. Like I even knew what that was anymore.

School was the last thing on my mind right then—not that I still had much in there. All I could think about was the importance of making it through that long walk without fainting. The crows were eyeing me with their deceptive white uniforms and fake smiles. One misstep could bring me right back to that prison cell. Not one of them even considered helping me out. It was a test. If I passed, I could finally be filed as "clean." And then it would all be over.

But one question still spun around in my head. Was I REALLY clean? Was this story finally over? If I actually managed to get out and live again, would the craving come back? All I had been able to really focus on for the past couple of weeks—or whatever amount of time that had been—was getting out of here. Once and for all. Clean or not. I hadn't felt the craving, but that was only because I was too exhausted to feel anything else but a huge desire to die. But now that this was—hopefully—over…

One of the crows took my hand then, pulling me out of my thoughts. "This way," she said happily. She was a ghost, a white shadow. They all were. All identical, all fake, all acting like they wanted to help us when all they really wanted was to make us suffer as much as possible. I loathed them, but feared them at the same time because I knew they were in charge. They were dangerous.

She pulled me forward, forcing me to walk faster. I tripped several times but miraculously managed to keep going until she finally let go. And there they were. My sister, my father and my crying mother—she didn't seem to do anything else in my presence lately—waiting for me to appear at the gates of hell, freed.

Even though I had seen them almost every day—especially my mother, who used all her spare time to visit me, which in my opinion was just wasting it—I felt like I was seeing them for the first time in a long time. Like the people who had come to see me during my two months of hell weren't my real family, because they always left without me, abandoning me into the hands of the ghosts. But this time they would take me too.

I felt a twinge of joy at that thought. This was actually happening. I was truly free.

My mother wiped her eyes, only to sob harder as she pulled me into a bear hug, squeezing the last bits of air out of my lungs. "Oh, my baby…" she muttered, stroking my hair. I hugged her back weakly, but my arms were so heavy I could barely hold them up.

Once my mother finally let go of me, it was my sister's turn. Her hug was far less rib-crushing and much shorter, but I could tell she was holding back. Good, I couldn't wait for this to be over so I could finally walk out of here and run away from this fucking nightmare.

My father ruffled my hair before hugging me so fast that by the time I registered what was happening, it was over.

"Well, all the papers are signed," declared a horrible voice I never wanted to hear again. "Your son is clean, and free to go. Here are his things." She probably handed my parents the pathetic suitcase that had been my only companion for past months, but I didn't see anything. I was too lost in the contemplation of the sky through the window. Finally, I would be able to see it without knowing that it would be taken from me too soon. Finally, I could breathe in the fresh air for as long as I wanted without being shoved back into the suffocating little white room like a prisoner.

My dad laid a comforting hand on my shoulder and led me towards the door. Oh my god. This was it. My mom opened the door for us, and light flooded my vision and blinded me. I suddenly felt so dizzy I couldn't tell up from down. I felt my legs finally give in, but I didn't feel anything else. The last thing I heard was that screechy voice, warning my mother not to neglect any signs of relapse on my part and to alert the rehab center immediately if anything happened.

My mom heard it as one last insignificant little detail, but I heard it as what it was meant to be. One last menace.

Hayley's POV

It's quite incredible how quickly things change sometimes. One moment I was a normal teenage girl, too stupid for school, too unlucky when it came to love and stuck with the second choice… Now don't get me wrong, Jack was an incredibly sweet guy, the kind of guy most girls dream to have—funny, understanding, not a complete idiot… But I was greedy enough to want more. I wanted… If only I could have had…

But I couldn't, and this wasn't the point.

The point was that I had gone from the average teenage girl to rock star in a matter of months. And now I was part of one of the biggest events in the world of punk rock. Woo, somebody pinch me.

Let's back up a little bit.

It all started when Jack and I discovered our genuine love for music—right after our sort of genuine love for each other—which resulted in us jamming together every day of summer for endless periods of time, during which we also talked a lot and did some kissing—and other things people who are in love usually do. Jack was a guitar genius, just like… HE had been, and the first few times I sang along to his melodies I had not been able to stop myself from thinking about HIM, and that Pearl Jam song…

But sooner or later, I got over it, and I was able to sing with Jack—and do other things with Jack—without always thinking about HIM. Eventually, Jack started plugging his electric guitar into an amp and his friend Jeremy joined us, his bass making us sound almost like a full band.

And then one day, my mother popped into my room to announce how she had talked to my dad and some of his "friends"—my dad was a manager with a fair amount of influence and a fair amount of acquaintances—and they had managed to find me a label who was ready to "take a chance with you, Hayley." My first reaction was a mix of surprise and pure joy, until I caught on. With YOU, HAYLEY? But what about Jack and his friend? And then my mother explained that I was actually supposed to pursue a solo career as a pop singer—a fricking POP singer—and I refused as violently as possible. Of course, my mom got angry and we had a big fight, but at least I won. As much as I loved my mom, I was not doing ANYTHING alone. And I definitely wasn't becoming a pop singer.

When I told Jack and Jeremy about that, they both jumped up from their seats, urging me to make my parents find us a label as a band. There was only one problem though. We WEREN'T a band. And besides, it would take a lot to convince my parents. My buds didn't give up though. On the contrary, they searched and searched my old school—the one I wasn't going to anymore ever since I was being homeschooled—for lone musicians who could fill the missing spots and in the end found exactly what we needed. The Farro brothers. A drummer and a guitar player, who filled the empty spots like the last pieces of an arduous puzzle.

Everything worked like a charm. The guys played together so easily you'd think they'd had for a lifetime. The Farros managed to get over the whole "female thing"—because apparently they thought it was awkward to be in a band with a girl. Whatever.

Jack helped me write my first song. The main theme was my parents' attempt to turn me into something I wasn't behind my back. Hence the title "Conspiracy."

And bam. We had our first song. We were a true band. And I wasn't even seventeen yet. Everything escalated quickly from there. My dad, finally convinced that I would not back down, almost signed us to one of the biggest labels out there, but in the end they passed us on to the brand new Fueled By Ramen. A young label for a young band.

And before we knew it, we had half-a-dozen songs and counting, all hot out of the oven and ready to record, and we were invited to that event I was talking about earlier. Vans Warped Tour. Yep. I still couldn't believe it.

The guys had taken a break from school to do this, all except Jack, who had decided this was going too far for his taste. The thing is, he was in another band at the moment, one that didn't seem to have as much success as ours, but seemed more important to him and he wouldn't let it go. I hated that, since I was now stuck on a tour bus—might as well have been the moon—with three guys I barely knew, and no one I could truly trust. My boyfriend had abandoned me.

Oh well. That didn't change the fact that I was so excited I could barely breathe. This was it.

This was Paramore