Shane: The girl was not Mitchie, but just a girl I never knew. I was hallucinating.

No, no, NO! This was not supposed to be happening again. Nate nudged me with his guitar, which was a mistake. His fingers got caught in the strings and so ended up with a minor cut. But Nate's the sensitive type. He yelped in pain and ran off stage. But I stayed in place; arms limp at my side, mouth wide open, eyes glued on HER. Jason walked over, smiling. "Hey, Shane? You know that concert we were doing? Yeah, right now? At this minute? Well, DO SOMETHING!" Jason pushed me a little but it was enough to draw me out of my stupor.

"I'm back." I glanced back at the stage. Just as I feared. The girl was not Mitchie, but just a girl I never knew. I was hallucinating. "Okay guys, I'm sorry for the momentarily backup. We'll go get Nate and even throw in a new song we were planning to premiere next month to make up for everything. Be back in five." I ran off stage and groaned in disgust. Nate had his finger in his mouth, sucking at the blood. "Nate, do I have to straddle a diaper on you and call you Bubble butt?" Nate just stuck his tongue out at me. Jason smacked the back of my head.

"Leave him alone," Jason scolded. I flipped him off and grabbed the water someone brought. I drank it, and then spit it out.

"What the fuck is this?!" I yelled at the girl, who was probably fifteen. She cringed back. I could do that to people these days. I threw the water on her and she screamed. "Ha, it isn't so cold, is it?" I smirked, throwing the glass at her feet. She jumped back and ran off.

"Shane! What the fuck is up with you?! Ever since Mitchie…"

I punched Nate in the jaw. "Don't ever, EVER, EVER, say that bitch's name again! I'd rather DIE than hear her name again!" I stormed out, but not before I heard Nate say something that made my blood run cold.

"I QUIT!"

Mitchie: I didn't get angry though. I could see it in his eyes. I could hear it in his voice. The way he stood, the way he smiled, the way he threw temper-tantrums. I could see it.

I smiled up at the woman who made my life Hell. She slapped me, but the grin still stayed in place. Connie pushed me away. I slammed against the heavy mahogany desk in her office. I didn't as so much as wince. This got her all worked up. Connie took a vase in her ugly hands and glared at me. Then, she set it down. I knew why. Hospital, questions, jail. Connie took a lighter out. NOW, I widened my eyes, showing the first of fear. I tried to conceal it, but I was shaking hard. Without my permission, against my will. It slipped out. "Please."

A loud scream tore through the night. It echoed in my ears, it sent shivers down my spine. It stopped Connie. I didn't know what it was, but she threw the lighter and ran for the door. I thanked God for that opportunity. I ran upstairs, forgetting the blisters on my feet, forgetting my weak and broken body for a minute. I shoved clothes, food, and blankets in a large bag. Every few minutes I would glance back just to make sure there was no one coming. This was too good to be true. Before I zipped my bag, a fist sent me onto my bed. I gasped, sliding my shaking fingers to the back of my head. It bled continuously.

She would NOT allow me to sleep, to fall into unconsciousness. Connie pulled me up by my hair. A single flame lay before my eyes, which woke me up. I screamed. "Don't, no! Connie, don't. Don't. Don't!"

I opened my eyes and it was all over. The dream escaped my brain which rattled as I screamed non-stop. I couldn't muffle the screams. I grabbed onto my pillow and shoved my face into it. The screams grew into hysterics and finally, broke into sobs. Once I had controlled myself, I touched the burn mark on my shoulder. It felt like it was screaming too. The memory only made me sink into more sobs. I thought of HIM. For the first time. The TV was on and he had just stormed off stage. This time, not like a few months ago, I watched without wincing. It was alright he made it. What was NOT alright, what was TOTALLY unacceptable and just painful, was that he never did help me.

I didn't get angry though. I could see it in his eyes. I could hear it in his voice. The way he stood, the way he smiled, the way he threw temper-tantrums. I could see it.

Shane Adam Gray missed me.