His fingers rip across the cords of his guitar, urging turbulence into the riveting throng of senseless teens. He howls his lyrics and jolts across the stage, dancing erratically and angling himself to the crowd. His expression glistens in a mix of sweat, the blood from his swollen mouth, and a pinch of cologne – his insides ablaze and rumbling, the melodies working his nerves, and everything is becoming reality.

They cheer his name. Repeat his lyrics. Display posters of him and the band. Autographed memorabilia, magazine covers, concert tees, vinyl albums. The fame is intense. He wasn't expecting all of this.

He investigates the arena, looking for a familiar face. Steven, Bryn, Floria, the glitter sluts from Rodney's, the buddies he'd down Jell-O Shots with. Not even the people from school were around.

Everyone is still applauding, encouraging, pleading for an encore. But, it makes him feel so claustrophobic.

The guitar flutters from his fingers, clanking emptily upon the stage. He's gone. He doesn't feel like himself.

His gaze sweeps to the ceiling and his vision is dead. The silence is nice.

"Matthew, I will say one more time. How many waffles do you want?" Motionless silence follows. "That's it. You're getting one. Not that you need the pounds."

Matt startles in realization, his nostrils afloat with the whiffs of golden waffles, a banquet of delicacies, and a pitcher of homemade orange juice. He blinks hastily and sees a woman in her thirties, tossing a spatula between her hands. She has her unruly hair in a ponytail and skinny limbs, tattoos on her ankles and hands, and a mouth glistening with lip-gloss.

They stare at one another and Matt breaks their gaze first. "Sorry about that," He bonks his head and forks a waffle, slicing it into little triangles. "I was imagining my … career."

Her mouth twists in a comforting smile. "No apologies needed." She taps the spatula against her palm. "A career is the main thing in someone's life, per my words. Don't think I got that shit from a psychic." She switches off the stove and leans against the cupboards. "So what's it this time? High-end studio or Scott Weiland's mansion?"

She knows of his persisting rocker dreams. They always end the same way. He's in someone's extravagant mansion or recording booth or onstage, channeling his finest Paul Stanley and he freezes, an ocean of cons swarming him as he's granted a dark finale. The pattern always remains the same.

"Onstage." he says and stirs his waffles. "I passed-out in front of a badass audience. Like, they were screaming and knew my name and everything. But I didn't see anyone I knew. It was terrifying."

"Nightmares have that effect." She agrees with a series of nods. "I once had a dream I saw you doing coke. Scared me to death. I swore it was real. I went Dog Chapman on you and it was like you didn't care. It was the useless I've ever felt. When I woke up, your father was like: 'Oh, calm yourself, Lorena. Matthew ain't like that.'"

He nods and drowns a waffle with orange juice. "Ain't?"

She rolls her eyes. "Goddamn, you're such a grammar Nazi. Still, I was pretty scarred. I thought you were doing the crack behind my back for weeks. When you have your own kids –"

"If I have my own kids –"

"You gotta quit interruptin'." She cracks her knuckles and Matt frightens a little. She smirks and laughs harmlessly. "Calm it, kid. I'm as useless as your dad. Speaking of, aren't you supposed to be gettin' to school?"

Matt inhales his waffle bits. "Maybe later …" He swigs orange juice and an eruption of coolness settles in his stomach. "Aren't you supposed to be heading to work?"

"Seeing as I'm my own boss. I've got it lucky." She swipes a waffle off his plate and hands it to him, glides to the living room, and grabs his two bags. "Get outta my house. I love you madly. But seriously, what kinda mother would I be, if I let my kid stay home?"

He accepts his bags with a lighthearted pout. "A good one …"

She laughs and whacks his arm jokily. "I already am, you little ass. Now, put on your good jacket." She notices his revulsion at the Burberry jacket on the coatrack. "Come on. You have so many good coats and you choose that old leather one. It's Burberry, Matt. And I didn't even have to pay for it."

Matt approaches it and touches the fabric warily. His eyes narrow and he returns his gaze to his mother.

She offers a bleak shrug. "Your father brought it. Matt, it's form-fitted and everything. Another kid would be dying to have it."

He looks off and drops the sleeve. "Since when have you defended Dad?"

"Since your father buys you nice things and you never care for them." She designates her palms to him. On her fingers are inscriptions of foreign poems and on her knuckles. "I don't have to respect him. But, you do. It's that jacket or nothing. Your leather is in the cleaners." He heads for the door without the designer coat. "Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna be late for Jude's."

"Are you takin' the coat?"

"Nope."

She sighs, surrendering her motives. "I thought so."

X

Bryn opens her locker and is met with a collage of KISS posters. She smiles and crams a notebook in the ruin of worksheets and lightweight textbooks. Kenny's been absent from school for personal issues. After the fiasco with Elle, she hasn't seen him and has only received a number of reassuring texts, offering her anxiousness and not placation.

She finds herself a mirror in the mess. Arranging it on her locker and loosening her hair from a ponytail, allowing the disheveled strands to grace her shoulders. She'd washed it this morning. Hoping to see Kenny, hoping to see her boyfriend and a variety of compliments, and share a night of love-making …

But it's been the same for years. Her appearance matters to nobody.

She retrieves her hairclip and twists her hair in a bun.

"You should keep your hair down more often." And a continuation, "It's beautiful like that."

Bryn shuts her locker with a loud slam and grimaces. Javier leans against the lockers neighboring her. He smirks and his eyes cast to the length of her skirt and raise back to meet her. "Okay, seeing as you just undressed me with your eyes. I think that's your cue to leave."

"I came to ask you something." He interrupts before she can add a snide comment. "Not involving anything sexual. I have a girlfriend now. Infidelity isn't on my agenda."

Some part of her stings at girlfriend. He has a lasting relationship and hers is more irrelevant than ever. The proclamation makes her want Kenny and she glares at her boots, so he won't see her eyes.

"What is it?"

She returns to his eyes and sees his widen in recognition. His expression is significant, mortifyingly so. Like he wants to say something he never would. She waits for him, no matter how everything in her screams against it.

They shouldn't be together. They couldn't. Not after … everything. She can't love him. She was supposed to love Kenny.

Commitment's always been an issue for her.

He steps in. One of his hands rises to her face and he frames it. She catches the wrist of his comforting hand and twists her finger in his sleeve. Pleading is so against her.

His hand doesn't move. She hopes she's hurting him. He deserves the pain.

"I know you hate me …" he murmurs. "A lot of people do. When I saw you crying for Kenny, I felt terrible. I know you'll never do that for me and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what Elle did and I'm sorry for what I've done. I've never apologized to anyone before you and I'm not doing this for you to accept me. I just wanted to get it to you. No catch, no joke, just apologies."

She extracts his hand and hitches her studded bag upon her shoulder. Nods and tightens her mouth. Javier is speechless and waiting, acting nothing like Kenny. Her chest flutters with relief. Again, it bothers her.

Then, she smiles. Her throat is scratchy but liable. "One of the most famous Nirvana songs is called 'Come As You Are.' A lot of us know it. Matt sang it to me on my fifteenth birthday. It never referred to me but I think it does you. Listen to it, sometime. Maybe you'll get it."

Despite everything, he manages a smirk. "Does this mean I'm forgiven?"

"This means you're on probation." She mirrors his same smirk. "Don't screw with me, alright? This time, keep your girlfriend on a leash. I don't need to bust a dog's face in."

He laughs, something she could probably only draw from him. "I'll do my best. And I'd prefer you don't. I wouldn't want my girlfriend having to get a botched Jenner-facelift."

"I swear on my imaginary lovechild, if that accounts for anything." she says and settles her hands in her jacket. It was easier to hide the shaking. The minute-bell rings. "You're gonna get detention, FYI."

"It's worth it. I've gotten everything off my mind." His smirk doesn't falter. "I'll be seeing you?"

She points to her locker. "I'll be here."

He laughs again and heads for the exiting doors. She was glad he didn't try anything. Had he not have a change of heart, she'd probably still talk to him. It's become how her world revolves. She always associates with the enemies.

Desmond Tutu once said: Without forgiveness, there's no future.

So she'd have to forgive him eventually.

No matter how much it'd hurt.

X

"Excuse me? Do I even know you?"

Steven shrugs at Claire. She and her peers sit on the Met Steps. Recruiting for more bees was soon. A line of nervous girls would appear to the Constance anarchy, plead to why'd they want to become one of Claire's projects, and wait for Claire to make her suspenseful decision. Girls will cry for days.

It's a bonus for him. It was how he'd scored his dates.

He bids her a shrug and scuffs his red Vans on a step. "Technically, you do. I've been to your house. Not in a creepy way … but I have. You were there and took something from one of my good friends. You may know him. De –"

"Never met him!" she interrupts and lowers her voice cautiously, disregarding the stares she receives from her clique. Matthew must've told him. He was more UES than she thought. "Anyway, Steven, you're in our way. Do you think you can go?"

Steven blinks and grins. She knew his name. That was more of an achievement than graduation. "Because, I know sorority initiation is so finer than I am. What ya gonna do? Chop off their extensions? Make-out with their bros? Threaten them with fake sex-tapes?"

"Ooh, good ideas!" a minion praises him and jots the concepts furiously in a notepad.

"First of all, we're not a sorority. We're a clique." Claire corrects and her mouth slits in a scowl. He crosses his arm and his smile broadens. "Secondly, these things are none of your business. Don't you have something better to do?"

He shrugs again, which makes her want to hurt him. The carelessness in him is mortifying. "I do. But I'm choosing to stay here. Smoking isn't as fun as it used to be."

"Oh, poor you," She mock-pouts and a girl hands her a folder. She could see the underclassmen behind Steven's shoulders. He peers over them and sees the crowding girls in a line. This would be good.

Some laughter breaks free from him. The girls blink and shuffle awkwardly. He returns to Claire and slings his backpack on his shoulders. "Okay, I got the drift. I'll be leaving."

Claire sighs in relief and he winks at the underclassmen, doing the phone-gesture. "Remember, girls, if it doesn't work out. Call me."

He heads back to school and murmurs of hot resonate in the back. She can only hope they won't call him.

"Up first, Baby Collins," one of her minions announces.

A tiny girl approaches with a grin. Claire gives her a glare and points her chin. She could already tell this girl would need a transformation to fit in.

It wouldn't take long.

We all know nothing ever lasts in her world.

X

Tinsley enters Music Room 1 of St. Jude's. The room is abandoned with the exception of Matt, who has discarded his blazer and tie. The sleeves of his shirt are cuffed to his elbows and his face is sweaty. His guitar is in his lap and he's practices along to Green Day's 'East Jesus Nowhere.'

She can't help but be envious of his talent. If she didn't know him, she'd be able to mistake him for an actual professional. It made her jealous in more ways than one.

"You've gotten better." He meets her gaze and smirks cleverly, pausing his song and voice. "You make me feel like a slacker. I always see you with a guitar."

Matt shakes his head in denial. "That's not entirely true. This is the first time I've gotten my guitar back since my vapid performance in Rodney's. I'm not much of a performer."

A frown overtakes her and she steps in. "I wouldn't say that. You're great. The times I've seen you perform blew my mind."

"One opinion doesn't make me David Lee Roth." She has no idea what this means and he seems to discover this in her dumbfounded silence. "I've never been a star. I'm lucky for what I have. I'd rather be nothing than famous."

She leans on a guitar rack and shakes her head. "Why would you say that? You're completely a star in my eyes. Don't you see? Just look at yourself."

"I don't like looking at myself."

"Well, look inside yourself. You're a performer in our view. Everyone loves you." She heaves a deep breath and considers her next words. "Never degrade yourself. It hurts to learn the hard way."

His expression lightens in a gentle smirk. "Thanks. Let's do this more often. I really need a weekly therapist."

"I bet you do." She winks with a kindly air to herself, fingers unconsciously twirling the pleats of her skirt. "Especially since you write tons of songs about running away,"

"You'd be surprised at how much credit it makes." He strums a little rendition of mixed notes and notices her fidgeting but doesn't offer a word about it. "Just why are you here?"

Her heart skips a tentative beat. She knows he probably means nothing offensive or rude. It's just that since her and Harper's relationship, she needed someone to talk to and had no one. Bryn's been busy with Kenny, Claire is always stuck with her clique, and she doesn't really have any close friends other than him.

Their friendship isn't as powerful as it'd been before. Large parts of her regret kissing him. She would take it back if she could. It was impossible for that and it expanded her guilt.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes sincerely. His shoulders hunch and he breathes something between a sigh and a snort. "I just needed someone to talk to."

What he does next surprises her. He isn't exactly an open book. If he had the opportunity, he'd probably keep to himself for the rest of his life. He's never really been social. He's brooding, opinionated, and complicated.

But one of the greatest friends that anyone could have.

He pats the empty seat next to him and rearranges the guitar in his arms. "Just don't talk about the Kardashians. I don't go to that length."

She laughs and nods to him. "I'll do my best. Is Taylor Lautner a no, too?"

His laugh is friendly and it makes her feel warm. "Not if you're comparing him to me."

X

Harper scores the first goal of their practice game. His team cheers and the others curse and kick the dirt. Not meaning to be smug, he returns to his bench with a specific air to his walk and sees Bryn waving to him with a lunch tin. Something he couldn't quite identify in her eyes.

He sits beside her and removes his helmet and mouthpiece. "Something up? You never come to see me."

"I know. Aren't I such a bad sister?" she demands and he steals the tub of food from her and notices the warmness seeping through his gloves. He uncaps the tub and the aromas of creamy rice, baked vegetables, and Parmesan cheese greet him. His eyes indicate gratitude. "You took forever to come home yesterday. I ordered out and those are leftovers. Is that cool?"

He wolfs down a dollop of rice. "Bribery is the key." Harper doesn't speak as he's devouring his lunch and licking the spoon clean. As his eyes return to hers, he notices her gaze avoid him and focus on the dirt. Even for her, it's weird. And that's saying a lot.

Harper shoves her arm blithely. "Bryn, really, what happened? Not looking at me is affecting my suspicions of you. More than usual. So come on. What's wrong?"

She laughs, the humor dead in her. "Knowing you're suspicious of me burns my soul."

He just looks at her and raises his eyebrows. "Coming to my lacrosse practice isn't exactly a casual thing for you."

"Sorry 'bout that. I get very lazy to enter the field of lacrosstitutes and Playboy magazines." She can't help but laugh at his stern face. She decides to come clean, anyway. "Boyfriend troubles, Harper. I haven't had a decent one in a million centuries. It's weird, okay? I'm not used to any of this."

"Me neither. Don't give me that look, I'm being honest." She looks elsewhere to hide her smile at picturing her brother having relationship issues. Saying he had relationship issues was like Gene Simmons admitting he hated publicity. "Relationships aren't easy, you know that. Give it time and Kenny will probably come around sooner or later."

"Sooner would be nice. I hate waiting,"

"This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time."

Bryn's look is immediately appalled. "You got that from Fight Club!" They laugh together and she punches his arm, her words caught between giggles. "That's so fucking cheesy!"

Harper shakes his head. "No matter what you say Fight Club is a good movie."

"It's definitely Brad Pitt's worst movie." she declares with a smirk.

"You'd say that because you hate him," Harper retorts and dodges her next hit. "It's the only movie I like that he's in, anyway. He's not the best."

Bryn raises herself to the skies and swears: "Finally! Something we can almost agree on!"

At least, her terrible mood was killed. "Almost,"

"Yo, Harper!"

Two lacrosse guys arrive at their side. They must be new because she's never seen them and it's exactly what she likes. Newbies to corrupt.

One of the boys, his red hair cut close to his forehead in an uneven Mohawk, wiggles his eyebrows and grins. Underclassmen, no doubt. "No wonder you're distracted, Harper. This chick is fine!"

She saw Harper's face procure an aura of sibling-protectiveness, his gloved fists clamping. "Watch it, Maks."

"No, it's cool, bro." Bryn smirks between Maks and the other boy, their skin flushes and they gulp innocently. "I always did love new guys. I'm sure I can distract you, Maks. Unless, you don't find this –" She crosses her legs and moves her skirt to reveal her stockings. "Wrong."

Maks's breathing stops and she can hear Harper exhale. "On the field, boys," They linger momentarily and continue to goggle at Bryn. "On the field or be benched for the next game."

They scamper off with a farewell to Bryn and her smirk falls when she sees Harper. "What? I can't have a little fun?"

"Not with the freshmen. They'll be pestering me for weeks, trust me." He grabs his helmet and mouthguard. "And try not to seduce anymore of my teammates, okay? I'd really hate to break their noses."

The sparkle in her eye isn't promising. "I'll do my best."

X

She allows the trainees a five-minute break for Starbucks. Claire's been on fire since she's chosen her Top 5 candidates. Usually, she'd simply be the nicer girl and give the new girls ten-minutes but since Dean broke everything off with her. She isn't mildly close to nice.

Well, she hasn't been for years, so …

"Have you clocked them?" she demands of one of her minions. The girl nods nervously and indicates the little timer on her iPhone. "That better be five-minutes exactly."

"Isn't someone just terrible today?"

Javier is in her field of sight. She doesn't even jump. She's become used to him showing up at random. Maybe if he'd not brought on that smarmy vibe, she'd be more pleasant.

"Oh, perfectly terrible!" she chirps and his smile becomes forced, the look in his eyes is inquiring. She wouldn't tell him. It's none of his business. "Why are you here, anyway? I'm not training Elle to be one of mine and I'm pretty sure Bryn couldn't care about you."

He touches his chest in mock-agony. "God, Claire. That hurts. What used to be my heart has fallen out with Dean's …"

She was gonna kill someone. "Please just shut up." She directs her minions off and wonders if those five-minutes have finished. She would rather get back to the freshmen before having to deal with another guy that knows her secret. "Who told you?"

"A little birdie," It isn't liable enough and it overflows her fury. "You're having another one of your balls soon, according to your monarchy of Constance. Or is that just another bad rumor?"

"It's probably the only thing true." Her voice is sly and stiff. She can tell her minions are already working to spread rumors. She doesn't care all just yet. "Are you coming? Because your girlfriend can't. The rule at the door is 'No L'Ecole sluts allowed.'"

Javier's face isn't the slightest amused. "Isn't that spiteful? Bryn's newbie boyfriend can come and my girlfriend can't? I sense a deep case of jealously."

Her chin tilts to him and she knows she can't just collapse into his words. "Believe it or not, Kenny is entirely against the UES and all of my peer events. It's why he isn't in today. A little birdie told me that her boyfriend has been so upset since a certain event, he refuses to come to anything with her now. One less Brooklynite is better for me."

"I bet it is. Only you can find the satisfaction of someone's misery."

"So I expect you'll be coming?"

"Definitely."

X

July, 1992

A man, just about nineteen, stands outside The Roxy. His blonde hair has a natural spikiness and his eyes are a gratified gray-blue, he wears a plaid shirt with Levi 501s and dirty Chuck Taylors. The lights above him are golden and he can hear a crowd of clubbers screaming the lyrics to a David Bowie track.

He leans against the wall and digs in his pockets for a cigarette. This night hadn't been what he expected. He'd hoped to enjoy his night in his favorite club, party with his friends before August came, and head home to see his girl. It'd make him happy. However, his stupid ex-friends ruined his night with name-callings and rude words. They'd criticized him and he's been taught not to fight. He couldn't do anything and wouldn't risk getting arrested.

A cigarette comes to his mouth and he lights it with a Zippo. He blows smoke in the nighttime air and raises his face to heave a sigh of disappointment. Maybe he'd head back home after a smoke. His girl would know what to say.

He shuts his eyes and reclines with his cigarette.

"Oh, baby! She's fine!"

"Speaking of babies …"

"You sure that ain't mine, pretty girl?"

His eyes are still shut. Those catcalling drunks would get nowhere.

Stomping boots approach him. He's about to tell whomever to fuck off before he hears their voice. "Are you okay, Nick?"

His eyes meet a familiar someone. Her russet hair in a disheveled twist and red lipstick on her inquisitive pout, she's clad in a babydoll dress and pretty Mary-Janes. Her stomach is the most visible thing about her, having the appearance of a pumpkin jutting from in her.

She's silent and glares at his cigarette in disdain. He realizes her gaze and stubs it. "Lori, is something wrong? You can't be here. You're –"

"Almost nine-months, I know. No need to rub it in." She can see the humiliation and worry in his eyes. It bothers her and she holds her belly. "You didn't answer me, Nick. Are you okay?"

There wasn't much use lying to her. She could see through his dishonesties easily. "I've just been bothered." He notices the stupid drunks and wonders if they were hitting on her. His anger builds. "Wesley, you know, he's so critical and rude and it's nothing important. I just can't fight him. I can't risk anything and especially with the baby," He points to her stomach and she scowls. She hated when he used her pregnancy as a ploy. "I just can't, babe."

Her gaze moves to the guys. "Which one's Wesley?"

He couldn't answer her. She'd do something.

One of the guys shouts Wesley's name and she holds a forefinger to him. "Be right back." She struts to the idiots before he can catch her. He fights through the partygoers and clubbers to save her.

"Excuse me," She taps Wesley's shoulder and he turns to face her, scrawny arms dangling. "My name is Lorena Stradlin and what you've said about my boyfriend is not okay with me."

Nick hurries to her and grabs Lorena. "Let it go, Lori."

Wesley laughs obnoxiously over their posture. "So Nicky, ya got your bitch to fight your battles, too?"

His hands slacken on her shoulder and clench into fists. Lorena's face is cold and still.

"You're such a hotshot. Trust me, that won't work on me." She crosses her arms and steadies her shoulders. "I'd watch it, considering my connections."

"I think it'd be awfully nice for us to connect. Make you believe Nicky's baby's mine."

"The beer on your breath isn't exactly a turn-on."

Let him say one more word, one more word.

Wesley grins and offers Lorena a cigarette. "Makes it hard to resist me, huh? Look at 'cha. You're a harmless, knocked-up bitch. Wanna a cigarette? Because it looks like ya need one."

Wesley slams into the sidewalk.

But it wasn't by his fist.

Lorena moans in pain and points in the distance. "Get outta here! Now!" Wesley scrambles to his feet and curbs the block. Oblivious drunks cheer for her and return into the club. His eyes are wide and he exhales, a brief laugh escaping him.

She cradles her wrist and returns to Nick with a sense of confidence. "That's how you do it."

X

January, 2012

"Well, Lorena. You look … nice."

Blame him for being startled. It's a rare sight to see Lorena looking decent and without a sour-grapes expression or her filthiest boots. Her hair is drawn in a bun with a variety of pins, a slash of eyeliner on the rims of her lashes, and she wears a teal blouse, dress pants, and platform-wedges.

"Apparently, you need an appointment to come see you. It's unbelievable how famous they consider you." She nods blankly at his smile and narrows her eyes, nearing his desk. "I've never thought I'd need to use the term of your wife, Nick."

He shuffles his paperwork into a folder and plants an elbow on his desk. "Aw, that hurts my feelings, Lori. Being my wife isn't that horrible."

"Yes, that's why we're divorced." She smiles something bitter and slams a palm on his desk, close to his elbow and rattling a coffee mug. Nick doesn't react as he'd once do. He meets her glare with a smile. After their marriage, he came to expect this from her. It was more amusing than anything.

"I don't usually come to chat," she says and retracts her hand from his desk. "Matt was wondering if you could come to his hotshot performance in about a week. I don't know the full details yet but I'll get them to you soon. I just need a yes or no now."

Nick raises an eyebrow. "Is there a reason he couldn't come tell me himself?"

She shrugs. It's an excuse. She knows fully-why Matthew doesn't like to come see him. "You'll have to ask him yourself. He's a very defensive kid, Nick. It's not something I have control of."

"Then consider it a maybe until he's here." He can tell Lorena is upset with his answer and doesn't contemplate anything else before her glare is firm.

"It's a yes or no situation. I'm on the clock and I don't have time to go back and forth with you." He can't believe it's taken this long to notice the walkie-talkie on her belt. She'd usually bring her gun, too.

"I'll call Matt later and if he doesn't answer … that's it." Nick scowls and she can see their son in it. Other than the long fingers and smart responses, it was probably their only similarity.

The small secretary that gave her a hard time, barges in without introduction. "Sorry for interrupting, Mr. Lösenberg. But the board-members have arrived." She glares at Lorena and lingers in the doorpost.

Nick assesses their deal in a sigh. "I wouldn't, Delilah. She could have you arrested."

She nods and gives Delilah her scariest grin. "I know how to use a gun, too."

Delilah flees the room with a click of Louboutins and Lorena turns on her walkie-talkie, he notices a new tattoo on her fingers: Rock Steady. "No Doubt reference, huh?"

Her smile is light. It reminds him of what they once had. "You're the first to get it." She leans to speak into the monitor. "Come in, Charlie. Are we good? Are we good?"

We're good, Lorena.

"I guess I have to go now," She points at Nick. "Watch it with Matt, okay? I know where you live."

She retreats for the door and her hand goes for the doorknob. He stands before she can leave. "Lorena, wait."

The question exits him before his rational mind can stop it. "Why did we ever divorce again?"

"Take a look at yourself first," Her responding smile is terrible. "or better yet, take a look at Matt and you tell me why he hates you."

The door slams.

He collapses back in his chair. Even after all this time, she can still do this to him.

X

Steven sheds his blazer to show-off his school shirt drenched in sweat. "I think I'm sweatin' a little." He laughs and climbs off and over his drums, his Vans squeaking on the tiles. Matt grabs his Android, types something in, and returns the rental guitar onto a rack. "What's with the silence, dude? Did I fail 'Seven Nation Army' or somethin'?"

"Lösenberg is calling me again." Matt displays a list of missed calls from whom. "He never calls me and finally does now? This dude is so fucking two-faced."

"Come on, man. Just answer," He regrets his words at the betrayal on Matt's face. "I know, I know. You never know when it's important."

Matt's face is dark. He can hardly recognize his best friend when he's like this. "So was my mother when she was in the hospital. He never fucking came to see her."

"That was way before you were aware of it, though." Steven interjects and Matt's expression isn't changing. "You were six, Matt. I know what it's like to not have parents. You shouldn't just drop an opportunity like this."

"My mother is all I need for family. She's been to most of my performances, knows you and Bryn, and is actually cool with my career-choice. Do I need to go further?"

"You'll regret this one day, man."

"I bet I will … someday."

"It sucks when you're technically still a Lösenberg."

"I'm not getting into this now," He indicates to their instruments and pockets his phone. "We have a performance to prepare for in Claire's place around actual rich people. My mind is set." His phone rings again and he silences it. "Let's do Foo Fighters' 'Bridge Burning.' Come on."

Steven reluctantly grabs his drumsticks and counts off the next song. He wants to help Matt. He really does. Matt won't budge today and maybe not soon, it makes him wish he could do something. The full story of Matt's life was tough, so he'd back-off for now.

Matt's pace with the guitar is awkward and weird. Probably his is, too. He isn't paying mind.

They're both playing the wrong song.

On both sides of reality.

X

This ending came out better than I was expecting. I'm proud with it despite the length. I'll work on making a longer next chapter. Just prepare yourselves for the drama that's to come. I have to finish the remainders of my homework and pray that'll I'll finish my essay early.