Title: leave me high and dry
Summary: blank stares at blank pages; theres no easy way to say this./ or, André's not content to lose his sunshine. Tandré
Disclaimer: I don't own Victorious. Or the ability to write happy things.
Give me a hero.
Maggie Harris was the sunshine in André's life. She always knew how to fix any problem, and when she danced, glitter and sunshine rained down.
She taught him to play piano, fingers flying across the keys.
B/l/a/c/k, w.h.i.t.e, b/l/a/c/k, w.h.i.t.e- a perfect harmony, always in tune.
He felt he learned from the best.
One fateful Monday, May 2nd, he got called to the office.
And that was never good.
"Your mother was in a car accident, André. She didn't make it."
The principal looked at André sadly, the world went crashing down,
And André lost his sunshine.
He found solace in his instuments, teaching himself on all of his mothers old ones. His free time was divided between music and watching over his grandma, who also was his guardian.
He felt lost. When he was thirteen, he tried pot, drinking, and a year later, sex.
He hated all of them, because he knew his mother would too.
When he was sixteen, he found another sunshine, and her name was Tori Vega.
Contrary to his friends' belief, he wasn't lusting after her the day they met.
But she quickly became his best-friend and vice-versa.
And then he fell in love with her.
&
For a year, he waited. He watched her, not in a stalker-esque way, but in a way of appreciation.
He sometimes wondered how the hell someone could be that intoxicating, beautiful, and pure at the same time.
&
Set the scene-junior prom, lights glittering, Jade reluctantly dancing with Beck, Cat talking to Robbie, Tori sitting on a bench, alone.
At least five guys came up to her, and she turned them all down.
She fake-smiled and pretended to be content with being alone.
She fiddled with her black dress and twirled her hair, watching happy couples dancing and kissing on the dance floor.
He watched her intently, building up remnants of hope and courage to just fucking walk over.
She grasped his hand, and it reminded André of piano keys. B/l/a/c/k and w.h.i.t.e.
Even though Tori was tan.
&
The night was somewhat unforgettable, and they sat at a picnic bench, counting stars in a starless sky. The inky black glittered only for the moon tonight. André appreciated the singularity.
"Then I defy you, stars." Tori whispered,quoting a tragedy.
She glittered in the bleak sky.
&
When you meet someone,someone that can defy stars and shine without sun and glitter in the rain, you know they're perfect for you.
Or, you think they are.
&
The razor left small pink bumps, scars he caressed and she ignored.
"It's in the past now."
But even shiny Tori Vega lies sometimes.
&
With these girls, harassment ran much deeper than Jade's sarcastic inputs.
She wanted him to see she was hurting, and he *did*, but she refused to do anything or let him do anything
She left, and he didn't know. Chief Vega released torrents of officers on her trail, to no avail. It was determined a runaway case, but she was too close to eighteen to bother.
So senior year trailed on, André watched as a previous seniors locker was cleaned off and then Tori's.
Every memory, every whisper, every motion she'd ever made pounded through his head and into his fingertips.
Seven sheet music pages and ten ragged fingers later, ink smeared out a song. And though after a week, no one cared who Tori Vega was or where she went, that song was Tori. It embodied her vision and her soul.
And yet he felt he went in with a blank canvas and came out with one too.
(She's still not back.)
&
"You've got a deal,kid."
And he strummed and banged and sang until he was no more.
"You're gonna be big."
He just wanted Tori to come home.
&
They said he was a star, which suited him fine. He was a star, twinkling in a dark sky.
(He'd lost his sunshine again.)
He didn't realize it meant Hollywood and people that glittered more than Tori, even if these peoples' glitter was false.
/
They really shouldn't have let him name the album, let alone help with cover art.
"I want it called Songs about Tori."
They went on about copyright and Maroon5.
"Just call it Tori Vega."
They grinned greasy smiles and told him it was great, angsty.
He saw it on a shelf a month later, her name stenciled in black ink, her image faint beside his.
"She's a model."
&
He didn't even have the number anymore. It just rang.
"Hello?"
She sounded the same.
/
"I can't stay." She wore a green apron embroidered with a Starbucks logo.
"Of course you can." He ushered a cup of warm cocoa towards her.
"You're so skinny."
"Yeah, well they say Floridians don't get fat."
"I think that's French."
"I know."
She doesn't give him an explanation, and he doesn't need one.
"You know you should go see your parents."
"Not yet." And she falls asleep on his couch.
He removes her work visor, and her glossy chestnut hair is the same as ever, falling in everlong waves.
He grabs her wrist, and he notices the scars are fresh this time.
&
Her voicemail rings in his ear, her melodious voice ringing through the phone.
"Hey, Tori, you should really answer this. It's me. Uh...call back.
I love you."
Click.
She calls back.
"Ditto."
&
"I still wanna be a singer."
He hands her another a cup of cocoa.
"We can make that happen."
"I didn't go to college."
"You didn't get a diploma."
"I did."
He gets her in front of producers the next day, and they had her in the recording studio the next day.
/
Weeks later, shes the equivalent of Miss America and he's forgotten.
"Did you forget who got you here?"
"No.." Her nails are painted and she sips a vanilla Frappe, ironic, because she used to be the one making
them.
"Are you going to?" He stared at her with disbelief, her glittering façade finally shattering.
"I'm not."
He so,so wanted to believe her.
He should've told her he loved her* before* she left.
But he (didn't).
It was like in a horror movie, when the Jaws-esque music starts playing and you know somethings going to happen to this character and you want to yell at them but instead you hide behind your pillow.
She shouldn't have gone. Not when her head was fogged with frustration and music and she couldn't think straight.
It was right in front of a Starbucks,too.
The glass was shattered on the windshield and her purple shirt was now stained with blood.
He couldn't cry. He couldn't touch her. The guy behind the wheel was crying, and André knew Tori had done it to herself.
"You're so stupid." He whispered to her, a lone tear finally snaking down his cheek.
He wanted to kiss her, just press their lips together once more before she turned cold, but the blood was clotting around her rosebud lips,too.
The EMT's tried to pull him away so they could try to charge her, but even he knew she was gone.
He hated that the last screen on her phone was a unsent text to him.
(I love you. I hope you remember that.)
She wore a grey dress and black sandals, and he thought she was too cold.
"She's not there anymore, André" Cat whispered, her hair suddenly a sullen, striking black.
If asked, she'd tell you before, it looked too much like blood.
/
Even Jade cried, though she'd spent all of high school acting like this was her dream.
Only her parents had the guts to go up and say something. André stood to say something, but broke down at the podium.
He was ushered away by gentle pats on the back.
&
It was weeks of avoiding paparazzi, all five of the group.
He sat on the bed in the large-yet-empty bedroom, enveloped by the last traces of Tori's vanilla perfume and her glittery makeup.
(And she shined like the sun with all her glitter, but once again, the sunshine was gone.)
He couldn't see the light of day anymore.
&
"Give me a hero, I'll write you a tragedy." He thought, the gun raised to the side of his head. _
So maybe he wasn't a hero. But this certainly was a tragedy.
BANG!
A/N: I don't know what this is. Review please. Even though I can't write anything but tragedy...