Cat's 20th birthday came and passed, along with the last stretch of her gruelling tour. It had been months of performances, meet-and-greets, and PR obligations. She hadn't spoken to any of her friends since Beck appeared at her door. She had become a machine, everything about her focused on the performance and her image. It was the life she had built for herself, a life that now felt hollow, distant. She didn't know how much of herself she had left when the tour wrapped, but she'd found a way to get through it all.
Now, she was back in LA once again. The city felt different in the quiet, empty aftermath of her whirlwind life. She had a month off between this and the start of her next album cycle, to sort herself out and try to refresh.
Her first priority had been to find a proper place to live. The luxury apartment she had rented had been temporary, a placeholder, but she needed something more permanent. She had more money than she ever imagined she would, so she bought a Mediterranean-style home in Beverly Hills. The place cost more than she could comprehend, but there she was, holding the keys to her own house.
The next step was filling it. The place was huge—way too big for one person, but it was hers, and she intended to make it feel like home. She hired designers to help her bring the rooms to life, creating spaces she thought she could use, not just to impress but to fill the emptiness that had plagued her for months. It felt like playing a game of The Sims—plopping furniture into place, creating rooms for different purposes. A sewing room, two spare bedrooms, a pool in the backyard. It was so much space. It was overwhelming and ridiculous, but at least it gave her something to focus on. It kept her busy, kept her distracted.
But no matter how much she filled the space, no matter how many rooms she decorated, something gnawed at her—the empty feeling that came with it all. She had so much now, more than she ever expected, but it still felt like something was missing.
She was also using the time to focus on herself, rebranding, reconstructing the version of her that the world saw in a way she hadn't been able to for months. It wasn't just about the image; it was about survival, about regaining control. She threw herself into every detail of it, curating the way she was seen, presenting the polished, perfect facade she knew people expected. She wanted to feel like she had a say in how the world saw her again. The red hair was gone - replaced with silver now. The red started to feel too childish for her, and she took in this futuristic look she liked. She changed her makeup too- less bright colours and more of a natural look of browns and creams.
The house, the new furniture, the fresh aesthetic—it was all part of the reinvention. She meticulously chose each piece, ensuring it projected a sense of calm, luxury, and distance from the chaos she had just left behind. She surrounded herself with things that reflected the new image she was trying to build, not just for the public but for herself. The sewing room was her sanctuary, the one place she felt like herself again, doing something she wholeheartedly loved, a connection to the person she used to be before all of this fame and pressure.
She also focused on curating her online presence, trying to erase traces of her past. It was like rewriting a script, carefully removing the messy, raw moments and replacing them with a new, more controlled narrative. She wasn't sure what this new Cat would look like yet, but she was determined to find out.
The hardest part had yet to come. The last step in her self-reinvention. Cat had everything she needed—her new home, her new style, her new image. But there was one thing left to do: retrieve her personal belongings from Jade's. She could live without a lot of it now, but there were pieces she needed. Photos- old music she'd written, important documents - the things money couldn't replace.
She hadn't spoken to any of her friends in a while, and though she missed them all, Cat knew it was better to stay away. They didn't need her mess in their lives. So, one afternoon, she found herself driving to Jade's house, timing her arrival carefully. She knew Jade's college schedule well enough to be sure the house would be empty—and that's how she wanted it.
Cat hesitated for just a moment before stepping out of the car. She'd planned this, prepared herself for the emptiness, for the sterile silence of a house she no longer belonged to. She told herself it was better this way. No tearful goodbyes. No unresolved questions. Just closure—swift and clean.
She still had her key, but this would be the last time she intended to use it. Her fingers shook slightly as she unlocked the door and slipped inside. The faint scent of Jade's perfume greeted her, and for a second, she almost turned around and left. But she swallowed down the memories and pressed on.
The house was eerily quiet. Her footsteps felt too loud as she made her way through the hallway, every step a reminder that this place wasn't hers anymore. She didn't call out Jade's name. She knew there wouldn't be an answer.
Upstairs, her old room was just as she'd left it the shelves full of trinkets she hadn't touched in months, her sewing machine still sat proudly atop her window sill. It felt like a museum exhibit, frozen in time. All was the same, expect the bed was no longer neatly made, the covers tangled and creased. Cat's breath caught in her throat. Jade must have been sleeping in it, seeking comfort in the familiar. A pang of guilt twisted in her chest, sharp and sudden. Cat's eyes burned, but she blinked away the tears. It was better for Jade if she did this swiftly, to give her the chance to move on.
She moved quickly, almost mechanically. Clothes, toiletries, a few personal items. She filled the boxes she had stored from when she moved in, each movement efficient and practiced. Her hands tightened around the fabric of an old sweater, one Jade had brought her. She paused, took a breath, and shoved it into the box.
This wasn't the way she had imagined things ending. But she knew seeing Jade would shatter the fragile resolve she'd built. The sight of her ex-girlfriend's face, the sound of her voice, would unravel everything. No, it was better this way—quick and silent.
Once everything was packed, Cat took one last look around the room. She didn't know what she was hoping to find. Maybe a sense of closure, or peace. Instead, there was just an emptiness, the weight of things left unsaid.
She carried the boxes downstairs, each step pulling her further away from what used to be. Outside, she loaded everything into her car, her movements still robotic. The afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the street. She turned back to the house, put the key down inside and shut the door for the final time. Cat felt the pull of memories, but she didn't let herself look back at the house after she went back to her car again.