It was Mikko who helped him organise things. Because Ville struggled on some days to complete a task without becoming exhausted or distracted or both he got things together. Without him hardly realising, a spacious cabin was arranged for him; a flight up to Jyväskylä Airport and a car to take him to the local town. It seemed perfect, a fool-proof arrangement for everyone but Ville who, days before his scheduled leaving, doubted whether getting away so completely was going to suit him. Would the solitude have an adverse effect? Did he need to be surrounded by people to amuse him, distract him from those thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him.

Mikko said no. Several times. He was the most insistent that, looking at Ville's character and how people had behaved with this kind of thing in the past, it was better for him to be alone, if that was what he wanted. But if it wasn't- it was, Mikko had assured him. It was. And besides, he'd added, the place was three-bedroom, spacious, modern; there was television and even an Internet connection sometimes if he wanted. Ville felt like he wouldn't use any of that, though; all of that provided a connection with real life, difficult life, the life that went on. In going away he wished to escape the truth that his fate lay in life without her any more. Perhaps if he got far enough away from the city he would believe that it had never happened, and when he eventually remembered that it had he would be okay about it, reconciled, maybe little indifferent. Wasn't freedom what everyone so desperately reached for, ached for, even? And here he was, having it offered to him, having his worried label representatives telling him he needed to chill out before he broke down. He should take the opportunity, take it and be happy for it, he knew.

They were all mind-games. Ways of making it better, playing with himself, check-mating his mind into a place where he believed everything would be okay. But it wasn't. No matter how much he thought and thrashed it about in his mind, his reality would get him every time, it would throw him down on the floor and hold him mercilessly by his throat. And those were the moments where he'd weaken, where he'd break down in sobs, become half the man he was supposed to be; and those were the times, just like the morning he left to go to the airport that he needed Mikko there, beside him.

There goodbyes were fond but brief. Ville felt that if he sentimentalized it too much that it would feel like something big had changed- which it had- and that it would bring it all back. And he didn't want that. He just wanted to feel like he was holing himself up there to record, perhaps, his own personal album of his experienced, a short break from the band. Yes. That was how he had to think of it, definitely. That was what he would tell people, too, if they asked, just so he didn't have to speak its horrid truth out loud: he'd tell anyone that asked that he had retreated to write some music, give time to himself. It seemed like a hippy-ish, rock-and-roll thing to do, going clean, being with nature.

And so boarding the plane was not to difficult, because if he put a positive spin on it like he was doing now it seemed to be all better. And despite the few people with cameras waving books at him to sign, he felt lifted, lifted and alone but hopeful; hopeful for the first time in perhaps two weeks since she had been, so cruelly, taken from him.

so, this is the first chapter! hope you like this. i have a plan, and that it's no part will take more than twenty-five minutes to write not only because that's the only time i can find but because i think it's easier sometimes to read something in itty-bitty bitesize chunks than in one big go. yes? comments are absolutely wonderful, and i promise it'll get more interesting in the next chapter or so!