It's time for chapter two. Chapter three is half-written and will be posted by Sunday. (: Lyrics are from Slipped Away by Avril Lavigne. In case you comment on it, I know this is all a little not-in-canon. Let's just pretend that What's it like to be a Ghost and DGH never happened. Enjoy. (:

"The day you slipped away was the day I found it won't be the same."

42 Hours Earlier:

It's tragic, really, his story, the one of a watered-down rock star. He was pretty sure his life would be perfect for an E! True Hollywood Story, (if they hadn't done one already.) Two and a half years ago, he was famous; sought after and admired by all. He had a few hits, went to tons of parties, and got into some pretty harsh things. Every day was a blur of performances, sex, and drugs; the typical rock star life. He was having a blast, doing what he loved, playing music to millions of adoring fans. It didn't hurt that he made money doing it, too.

Looking back on it, it wasn't as fun as he thought it was at the time. After two years of nonstop fame, he hit rock bottom. Really, he wasn't quite sure what had saved him. He hadn't even thought about her in years until he saw a flash of red hair walking into a store. Ellie. Craig Manning had chased after a complete and total stranger, his face as bright as a child's on Christmas... Until she turned around. The lady had been rather sympathetic, but he'd only felt embarrassed and awkward and empty. Maybe it had been the drugs, but suddenly she was the only thing that filled his mind. Being high and lonely and reckless and stupid, he'd tried to use a cocktail of pills, coke, and alcohol to chase her away.

Needless to say, he was lucky to be alive. In his rush, he'd managed to wreck one of the recording booths in the studio. After demanding he be sent to rehab, his record company was chasing after some new shiny singer. They had no need for a stupid, egotistical, bipolar singer who was addicted to coke. It was depressing at first, but maybe he deserved it. His name quickly slipped from the public eye, from the glossy pages of tabloid magazines. It wasn't long before he lost his penthouse, too, and was forced to relocate to a small and crappy apartment in the slums of L.A. He booked what he could, mostly birthday parties and bat mitzvahs.

One night he was digging through his closet, searching for something. What it was wasn't important now, he couldn't even precisely remember what item was so pertinent for him to find. What was pertinent was the box he came across whichhe'd been trying to forget for so long. The box was full of letters, dated back three years ago. Some were from Manny, scented like lilacs, with his address written in careful calligraphy. Those were opened, the pages wrinkled from being read and reread. (Particularly the vague and depressing one in which she broke up with him. Most, however, were plain and unopened. The writing was simple, a little scrawl-y, but definitely hers. Ellie's.

The first year he was away, she sent him a letter every week. They were always the same, sweet and simple. Her untidy handwriting spoke of life without him, of how Jimmy, Spinner, Manny, and Ashley were doing. It was cute, really, (she usually was) but he'd been foolish and busy. She was an exceptional writer, even in low-key letters like the ones she sent to him. He could practically hear her words, laced with attitude and sarcasm, as she spoke in detail of the "excitements" of university life. Her words made him smile, and he even responded.

But time passed. It was exhausting to think of his old life, of Manny and garages and wedding gigs. Sometimes he laughed at himself and the situations he used to get into. He was so stupid back then. Part of him felt ashamed of what he did to Ellie, and the drugs just made the guilt worse. He could practically see her lecturing him. So he made it simple.

He stopped responding.

But that night he was in a particularly wistful and nostalgic mood, so he took a deep breath and decided to open the old envelopes. It was kind of like stepping into a time capsule. He read her life, or at least what she'd felt like she could tell him. The letters spanned out over several years, and her writing changed, becoming increasingly distant as the intervals between letters increased. One month. Three months. Six months. Her last letter was dated from roughly a month ago. Huh. He thought. He hadn't remembered receiving it. Curious, (and a little scared) he opened it.

Craig,

I guess I'm stupid to even be writing this, huh? After all, this is going to be shoved into an old box in your closet, am I right? (He felt guilty at that. She knew him to well, even after all this time.) It's kind of sad, really. I'm doing perfectly well. I'm the editor of Toronto's newspaper. I have my own apartment. I've even managed to keep a guy.

And yet I miss you.

God, I'm pathetic. Scratch that. You're pathetic. Scratch that. You're an asshole.

So what, because you're some big shot rock star you decide to abandon us all? It's not just me, Craig, it's EVERYONE. Did you know Jimmy got the stem cell surgery? Yeah, he can walk now. Not that you'd care. He finally married Ashley last fall. She's pregnant. Spinner's engaged. She's pretty, and her name is Jane. He's going to cop school. Manny's famous too, but at least she writes. She even calls me, sometimes. Marco's a university professor and Paige does makeup on fashion models.

See all this? It happened. It's happening. Don't you see? God, why am I even writing to you? It's not that you care. It's been three years, and you're still as inconsiderate as ever. Some people have feelings, Craig. I'd appreciate it if you stopped stomping all over mine. When you pull your head out of your ass, call me.

That is, if you still have my number.

Eleanor Nash

He sat in shock. It felt like he'd been kicked in the gut, and then forced to swallow bleach. His stomach churned and his head spun.

While he'd been away playing pretty-boy rock star, they'd all been changing, moving on, growing up. Ellie's word stung like knives. He felt more guilt then he ever dreamed he could, and even a little (or a lot of) depression. He reread the letter. He wondered who she was dating. (Was that jealousy he felt?) He bit his lip, unsure of what to do. He wasn't sure of anything as he grabbed his phone and called LAX, or when he booked the earliest flight for Toronto, which was leaving in approximately five hours.

Okay, so maybe he did know what he was thinking. At least, a little.

He needed to see Ellie. Now.