A/N: Hey guys! Em's on maternity leave so I'll be writing this chapter of Rock the Ballet! My name's Jocelyn by the way.
17
You Found Me
The hissing of the burnt cigar-butt against the cool metal of the ashtray sent quivers down Damon's back. It had been three weeks since the scandal that had rocked the music industry, shaking away countless disappointed Serpenti fans. The P.O. Box had been filled with hate mail from teenage-age girls, professing their hatred towards Markus and the demon on his shoulder commanding him to chase "Icky Vicky's" tail.
And there Damon sat; stuck inside a stuffy, cigar-scented office with the last person he wanted to see just then. He had received a phone call in the early hours of the morning, ordering him to "get his ass down there" before Mickey sent guards to pull him out of his bed and drag him there.
Damon reluctantly agreed.
Mickey's russet hair was slicked back sleekly, his collared shirt buttoned up until the second, brown eyes directed towards the window with the view of the Hudson. His left ring finger with the pale ring mark immediately caught Damon's eye, suddenly understanding the dazed look his manager recently took on.
"Hey," He snapped his fingers, "You alright, Bae?"
Mickey blinked, lifting his chin up before spinning around, his palms pressed against his mahogany desk, "'Righty then, kiddo. Let's get crackin'."
Damon nodded, eying him inquiringly.
Mickey stood, walking towards a chart on an easel. He stared at the two lines; one blue, one red. He pointed towards the blue, "Now, kiddo, this line here is the heat of Serpenti before that little show Markus put us through."
Damon remembers having this conversation when the band had been at its all-time high, selling records like hotcakes. He had been proud of the success of the band he had built from the ground up. Now, due to his best friend's idiotic behavior, his dream, as well as his aunt's, may have just flew out the window, along with Mickey's sanity.
Mickey rubbed his temple, hanging his head. His pointed finger guided towards the red line, not daring to look up, "And these are the sales afterwards."
Damon swallowed, pupils following the line steepen downwards, plummeting further and further. He vomited the first words that popped into his mind, "Will a tour fix this-this mess?"
The chair let out a groan as Mickey plopped down, releasing a sigh from his suddenly pale lips. His hands combed through his slicked-back hair, "To be brutally honest, kid.. I have no fuckin' clue. It could go either way."
Both men sat in the silence for the short remainder of the hour before soundlessly parting ways.
3:21 AM, 2 Weeks and 6 Days Previously
The ringing of the phone dragged her from the pitiful excuse of slumber Elena had fallen into. Her sleep patterns in the previous weeks had been a mess, unrelenting in its grasp of her sanity.
She frustratingly snapped the phone from the receiver and hissed, "What?"
"Look, lady. I don't exactly like being here until three in the fuckin' morning waitin' on this douchebag, but guess what? I am, so come pick him the fuck up at O'Shea's before I throw his drunk ass in the streets."
The line went dead.
With a gradually growing belly slightly obscured by her black pajamas, Elena slipped out of the taxi, flashing a smile towards the driver after he agreed to wait for her after she quite nearly broke down crying for no particular reason -she blamed the hormones-.
She glanced up, seeing a rather buff man, arms crossed across his chest in impatience. She snickered just as he sneered.
Shuffling towards him, she jabbed a finger in his chest, "Next time you call a pregnant, hormonal woman, show her some respect." He glanced down, gaze softening before stepping aside.
"He's at the bar on the left."
Following after him, she watched as the room grew darker before the man flipped the lights on, revealing a disheveled, dark-haired man with his head half-hanging off the counter.
"Dammit, Damon." She made her way towards him, poking him in the arm. When he remained unresponsive she turned towards the man leaning against the wine rack, "How did you get my number?"
He straightened his back, pressing off the rack, "He wrote it down on a napkin in case this," he gestured towards Damon, "happened." She snickered, just like Damon to give a complete stranger a pregnant woman's number.
"Can you help me get him into the taxi?"
His eyes groggily opened, oceans of blue becoming visible. He groaned, feeling the stinging headache before a sharp pain in his side. He winced, glancing down to find the source of the pain being a certain brunette poking him in the side.
He frowned, "What are you doing here?"
She directed her gaze towards the window, "Do you even know where you are?"
The frown placed upon his angelic lips deepened before he took in his surroundings. The apartment seemed vaguely familiar, but most definitely was not his. He shrugged, "I dunno."
Her shoulders fell before she quickly stood up and walked into a back room down the hall, leaving him to gradually fall asleep, a definitive pounding in his temples.
Gently he continuously whispered, "Twins..twins…twins…shit."
"How have you been?"
She smiled, playing nervously with the straw dug into the ice, "I've been good." She avoided eye contact, keeping her eyes on the cup placed before her.
Anthony frowned, sensing her uneasiness. He reached out to lay his hand on top of hers, slightly uncomfortable with the newfound caring personality of his, "Care," He was momentarily stunned by the ice blue flashing up to him, "You can tell me."
Her face crumbled, falling into her hands before she started sobbing. Anthony straightened his back, unsure of what to do. The most comforting he had ever done had been just now. Man, was this woman changing him. He stood up before kneeling beside her, ignoring the stares of the other tables. He rubbed her back, waiting until her sobs subsided.
After her breathing calmed, she looked towards him, a stray tear falling down her cheek. He lightly brushed away the gentle stream, eyes presenting his bare soul. She searched his luscious, coffee eyes, suddenly feeling drawn to him.
Ever so slowly, the space between them continued to slice away. Closer…closer…closer until she could practically feel his breath on her lips.
The silence was cut by the ringing of a phone, which Caroline quickly reduced as being Anthony's. With a muttering of curses, he made his way back to his seat and answered the phone, never taking his eyes off of her.
"What-"
"Have you seen Markus? No one's seen him, Mickey's on the verge of a fucking meltdown, and to top it all off, Elena's practically ignoring me."
"Damon, calm the fuck down," He ran his thumb over his brow, thinking through every possible scenario before it suddenly clicked, "Last August after Anne left him, he locked himself inside his room; didn't come out until he nearly starved to death."
Damon sharply inhaled, "You don't think he would actually…" There was silence before he added, "I need you to drive over there and make sure he's not stone cold on the floor. I'm stuck at the bridge."
Anthony worded his agreement before ending the call. He sighed, tossing his phone into his pocket. Caroline wrung her hands, guessing the worst.
"What's wrong?" She timidly asked.
Anthony sighed once again, "We think Markus locked himself in his room. He most likely is starving himself." Caroline gasped, tears burning her eyes.
"I-I'll go. I'm the reason he's in there." Her bottom lip trembled.
Her heels clicked against the marble of the foyer of the grand apartment. The doorman had been gracious enough to let her in, having recognized her face. Her heart thumped in sync with her steps.
Thump.Click. Thump.Click. Thump.Click.
The entire apartment was a dungeon of darkness, swallowing her up into the abyss of gloom. She detected no sounds, instinct kicking in. Her hands felt the walls for any switches, and when she located a small panel near the door she flipped the switch.
The room flooded with light, revealing the remnants of what once used to be an elegant apartment. The entire living room was torn to shreds; furniture flipped and thrown, paintings askew and the television smashed and burnt. The drawers from the kitchen were thrown into the various hallways, as the refrigerator remained open.
Her hand flew to her mouth, shocked by the brutality of the scene. Her heart tore for the man led to such violence. Carefully, she maneuvered through the wreckage, following a trail of footprints left in puddles of ketchup, obvious marks of someone slipping and falling before continuing on by crawling or dragging themselves.
She flipped yet another switch in the hallway, seeing more wreckage in adjacent rooms. The only room she could find with a closed door was located at the far end of the hallway. Her chest rose and fell harshly before she mustered the courage to knock on the door. When she received no answer, she tried the doorknob, finding it locked. The anger surged through her.
The cheating. The neglect. The silence. All wrapped up into her fists as she viciously banged on the door, screaming, "Markus! Open the damn door!" repeatedly.
She quieted when she heard a distinct thump before the sound of someone dragging themselves toward the door. The beating in her chest grew louder, filling all of her senses.
All the breath was snatched away from her in the instant the door opened.
A/N: Hope you guys liked it!
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