Ashes of a Once Perfect Romance

Chapter 3

My eyes were now not running with tears, but instead, my face felt like it was paralyzed as Mandy O'Connell took a deep breath. What was she saying? What was she thinking? I mean, nobody should have the guts to talk about her- the lonely, now unknown Mitchie Torres, also known as me or Shane's ex-girlfriend. Nobody should have even remembered my name. But now, she was bringing it up, in front of the millions of teenage girls who were obsessed with Shane Gray and watched Hot Tunes in their free time. Why was she saying all of this? Nobody would remember me. Nobody would have my albums, nobody.

"If anybody could find her well that would be a big accomplishment and help. To all of the girls watching this right now- Your task is, from me, from everybody- Go find Mitchie Torres and come bring her back to Hot Tunes. Wherever she is, bring her back. What has happened to her? Do you guys want to know? After all these years, what has she been doing? Where has she gone? What is she now? Does she still sing? We need to find her. Like Shane's song… I think that he needs to find her he just hasn't got the guts because of Olivia. I don't' mean to be harsh… But it's true."

Tears slipped out of my eyes. Gotta Find You. Did I still have the CD somewhere? No use looking for it if I did. I used to love that song. That was our song and now, Mandy was making, no, urging all the memories to come back as quick as lightning, back into my mind as I had to reencounter each one and remember what it felt like, which frankly I was hating. He used to sing me Gotta Find You on the guitar regularly. I used to always smile and say that he was the only one for me. He also used to sing me the new songs that the band was bringing out. I wonder if he still does that, but with that witch Olivia…

You know, sing to her. Sing to her acapella with that honey sweet voice, his guitar in hand. He would be really romantic. And I got to hear all the new songs, most of them related to me. We would then walk off the beach, hand in hand, and he would drive his own Chevy truck instead of his limo, and we would drive home, kiss feverishly, and that would be our date for the night. We would always have a date once a week. Sometimes, three times a week, because we loved each other that much back then. And Tess would always have her credit card ready…

"Please, Mitchie come back and explain to us what happened and why you left? Please. Just come back. I know that some of us still remember you. I know that you have to be somewhere out there, maybe even staring at this screen. Maybe you don't think you need us but we need you, your heartfelt songs and even Shane needs you." She pleaded. I could even see the tears in her eyes, sliding down onto her satiny top. "Please. Just come back to Hollywood. Make your fans happy. Remind Shane of what he has done. The wedding's in two months. You've got to do this, quick. If you want to find Mitchie…"She finally finished "Just do it now."

Hot tears cascaded down my cheeks as I finally found the remote and switched of the TV. I hugged my knees to my chest, so the tears slowly slid down my jean legs as I sobbed silently, my chest heaving for air. The memories, they kept on replaying. The first slide was all of them playing rapidly so I couldn't make out the details at first. Then, they went slightly slower, so I could make out some of the details, but not all of the memories were played. Eventually they began to play one by one, slowly, as if this process would help me remember everything, but did I want to?

The first memory was the first time I met him at Camp Rock. I had all that white flour covering my face, and my hands were also covered in flour. I had my chef's hat on, and I tried to look confident and ready. That was the day when I gave him a 'lesson in being polite'. He was complaining about all his food allergies- which he doesn't even have, considering the large amounts of food he eats which include peanut M&M's on chocolate sundaes and steak with mashed potatoes and with ice cream sandwiches, too.

I stood up steadying myself and walked to the bathroom just around a meter away, and stared at myself in the glass, I don't look like I did when I was 20. Instead of those nice bangs, I had cut them all of when I had arrived here in New York and I hadn't cut them again. I also let my highlights grow out, so now my hair was just a plain dull black, and I had streaked my hair red in some places. I also looked older and my face was red and slightly swollen from my drying yet stinging tears. I looked like, wait I was a broken turned Goth version of who I once was.

I mean, there were little streaks of my normal hair I just didn't look the same. I was a whole different person. Even in persona. I didn't have confidence. I had gone backwards. I wasn't making too much money. The only reason I could pay rent was because of the job I did at night… my singing job. It's good pay, I guess, for only three hours of singing my heart out to people who aren't even looking at me. They think I'm just some recorded gig or something. I mean, I don't even go by Mitchie; she's practically not part of me anymore. I'm Michelle or Shelly.

I mean, the little girls adore me. They streaked their hair red whenever they came to see me. They hugged me and smiled, telling me that I was the best singer ever, like my old fans who Olivia also stole would tell me. I taught them how to sing and I tried to be a good role model. However they were only little kindergarteners. The older kids, the people who used to be my fans, liked the other hot guy who played once in a while who looked like a younger version of the American Idol finalist, Matt Giraud. I was just the Goth like girl who was their entertainment, playing the piano and singing about my feelings having little girls hug my legs.

I am not the same girl. I'm not the same Mitchie Torres as I was then. I'm not the lovable girl I used to be who was strong and confident and could handle everything. I was the crybaby, sensitive, broken and unconfident girl who dressed in black most times. I now have a shell that has become unbreakable. I don't know what I have become. How would they ever find me when I'm not the same at all?

Anyways, just in case- I'm wearing a huge pair of sunglasses and fedora to work tomorrow. I mean, my boss, a young girl named Lena, won't care about what I wear. I just have to get my work done, and I have to get it done before I go home to wash up before my nightly job. I mean, the sun is intense at times. I don't want to be recognized. I don't want to go back to Hollywood, even though I do miss my old life. I don't want to get hurt again, even though I loved him so much.

Who am I kidding? I still love him but getting stabbed in the heart again is not an option. I don't want to be betrayed by everybody I had befriended. I thought that they cared. But they just turned away from me for Liv, just because she acted like, oh right me around them. However, she had specifically told me after I had packed my bags that she hated me. One of her goals was to get Shane. I told her that she had got all my life and that she could have it. I then ran away to my own truck and I drove off. I think I first drove home and then I drove all the way here, to New York.

I don't know why. I thought that New York would be the only place for me. So I could build up my career again. It was the city of dreams, I thought, so I drove all the way there from California. It was a better option than going to Las Vegas and becoming a stripper or something. I promised myself that I would never do that. I thought I could go to New York and become a club singer and a part time waitress or something like that. Maybe a girl who sat down at a coffee shop, playing Part Time Lover on her piano, but I never did and really at this point I don't care.

I may never come out of this world entertainment wise, but, at least I was happy. At least I had an apartment, and I least I wasn't living on the streets. Even if the apartment I owned was a service apartment. Even though I couldn't have a turkey each Thanksgiving, even the smallest one and my meals were scarce. I was still better off, not living on the streets like some of the old, men stuck in wheelchairs begging for money I see. I'm also really happy with my life, at the moment. I don't really care about where I'm heading.

I'm not going back, never. Not even if I win a million dollars and have to go back. I'm not coming back for my mother, either. Liv can take my place. My Mom practically loves her more than me. So I don't care if I don't trek to California to stuff my mouth with my Mom's world famous onion, celery and day old bread stuffing. Because, honestly, she's going to spend a lot more time talking to Liv then she is talking to me, talking to Liv about the wedding and stuff. And I will just be in the background, stuffing my mouth with stuffing.

It won't be the way it was before. I know that it won't be. I already have been through a lot. My mother practically doesn't love me. My father probably doesn't care. I lost my boyfriend to her. Truthfully, I didn't need such a ridiculous life. But there was one thing that I had made my mind up about- I wasn't ever going back. I'm going to plant my feet here in New York, even if somebody begs me to go for over a million dollars. Because I'm not going back, just to get rejected and get sent back here.

I might even go to the hair stylist to touch up my streaks. Maybe they won't find me if I have bright red streaks in my hair. That's not what the old Mitchie would have done. She would be carefree and she would be plain, showing her stupid 'natural' beauty with 'natural' makeup. That's what I, now Michelle, would do, streak my hair. She would outline her eyes in black and wear smoky makeup.

This is the new Michelle, not Mitchie. They would never be able to find me.

--

I pulled on one of my Beatles t-shirt, skinny jeans, a fedora and tied a black and white scarf around my neck, grabbing my keys. It was slightly chilly outside- I was glad I wouldn't have to go through my co-workers questions about my scarf. I closed the door of my so called apartment double locked it, and then pushed the button for the elevator to come up. Then, a single mother and her child- a small, sweet little girl named Laine- came out of their apartment, which was to the left of mine. I babysat Laine sometimes. She was a sweet, headstrong girl. She didn't need much taking care of.

"Mommy… She's the Mitchie girl… She's the Mitchie girl I saw on TV!" I stood there looking like I didn't know what she was talking about. "Are you Mitchie Torres? Are you, Miss? Are you that girl with the pretty voice? Are you the girl who is better than stupid Liv Montez?" She rolled her eyes when she said Liv Montez, and I almost let out a slight giggle, but took a deep breath to stop it from coming out.

"Now, Lainey, don't disturb Miss Michelle. Okay? She's got work to do, but she's going to babysit you later." Her mother, a young twenty-something year old girl named Sarah, told her. I knew her story. She loved a boy, and then he broke up with her for another, prettier girl… Lainey was put into the picture, as well. Lainey looked a bit sad as she shrunk a little bit, hugging herself tightly, making the straps of her backpack tighter around her.

"It's really fine, Sarah. We kind of do look similar. It's really okay, I saw the TV thing, and I can understand why Little Lainey thought I was her." I told her, shyly, as we all got into the elevator.

"Okay, Michelle. If you say so. I'll see you when you get home. I've got to go this meeting so I could get a different job with better pay. With my waitress job, I don't know how I'll pay the bills. Do you want any money, Michelle?"

"No, thank you, Sarah." I said. "But thank you. I don't need any money. It's not hard taking care of Laine. You've got a pretty great daughter, Sarah."

--

"You look a lot like that Mitchie girl that I saw on TV, Michelle. Are you related or something?" My boss, Serena said as I walked into the cramped office. "I just wanted to know. I'm sorry if it offended you. I was just wondering this morning when Dan and I were watching TV… And I guess it suddenly now just slipped into my mind. She's got an amazing voice; I just listened to her songs on the show. I know that you're a singer, too…. So I was thinking that there was a possibility that you could be related." She sighed, laughing to herself. "But, that's just plain childish."

"No, we're not related. And Serena, it's fine. It's typical. I've been asked if I am Mitchie Torres or related to her everywhere, even on the streets. It's fine. Trust me- practical 40 year olds asked the same question. No need to explain yourself." I told her, giving my three-hundred watt fake smile, handing her a big stack of papers. "The papers for you to give to Mr. Nate Archibald, you have to send them in today, but I can go."

"Yes. Thank you, Michelle. Open the door for my friend, Miss Blair, when she comes."

"You're welcome. And I will."

--

As I walked out of my office, I stumbled onto the street, pushing myself through the crowd of people. Suddenly, I bumped into a woman about my age. She was carrying a large file of folders and a Gucci handbag, walking steadily in really high heels. I, who was in Converse, was pretty much amazed at this daring fashion statement. I would have never done that, especially on the busy streets of New York- it was a definite no-no. I picked up my own things- including the package I was supposed to mail for Serena, and looked up at the woman. She had straight blond hair and a familiar face…

"Tess…? Tess Tyler?"

A/N: Third chapter! Any comments? Let us know in a review. Thank you to all who have reviewed, alerted and favorite us or this story. Keep reading to find out more.

~Kim and Lyra