I stand in front of a baby blue building that reads 'Desiderata Records.'
"Well, here goes nothing," I tell myself.
Inside smells like cookies, and I hate it. A lady at the front desk smiles and asks for a name.
"Ammie Macaw," I reply, pulling out my fake ID.
"Right." She taps a bit on her keyboard. "First door on the left."
I thank her and continue onward.
"There's no going back," I say as I knock.
"Come in!" A muffled voice calls.
There are three people in the room. One is the guy from yesterday. He's smiling from behind the glass of the recording box he's in. The other is a girl with caramel skin and long black hair. She sits sit with poise on a sofa against a wall. Lastly, is a scrawny guy reclined in a rolling chair with a deadpan expression.
"Hi. I'm Ammie."
"Yeah," says Scrawny, "have a band name yet?"
"No."
"Well think of one. I'm Zack, your producer if you're half as good as he makes you out to be." He nods to his brother behind the glass. "Know the song you'll be collabing on?"
"Yes, Borderline Broken, right? He sent me a copy the other day."
"Great. Grab some headphones and slide on in."
~
The recording doesn't take long, but at the end, Zack praises me.
"Such a beautiful, raw voice. I'd like to sign you. Have a manager?"
"No."
"Well get one."
I nod before leaving.
Once in the safely of my own home, I retreat to my bed and disappear under my duvet. I just want to sleep before the pills fade. I don't want to drink again. I don't want to get high.
I am unlucky.
It creeps.
It lurks.
It hides in the shadows.
Until suddenly attacks and destroys.
It claws at every part of me and I question whether I should just end it all.
Can I even be completely happy again or will these beasts just disappear for a short while as I entertain the idea of success before they strike again, more vicious than I've ever felt.
Until one day I won't be able to take the pain.
Until one day I decide on the scale of one and ten that it's a ten, and that I'd rather feel the zero of numbness.
Of nothingness.
Of nonexistent.
"Please let me fall asleep," I beg.
I can't.
There is no mercy for me tonight, so I drag myself out of bed and into my kitchen, if you can even call it that. I place a kettle on the stove and turn to the stack of letters on the bar. I want to burn them. Just looking at the handwritings burn my throat, but I deserve it. I deserve all the pain that comes with these letters. So, I scoop up a few and flip through with I cup of tea in my hand.
Darling,
We miss you. You have been such an impact on our lives, it's strange not seeing you around. I know I must been flooding your new home with letters, but I hope my consistent pestering will encourage you to respond. You don't need to do this alone. You have an entire family here to help you cope.
- Mrs. Weasley
Darling,
I've made your favorite tonight. I hope you'll come and join us.
- Mrs. Weasley
Hey,
Lainey, please come back. I can't do this on my own. You can't either.
Hope you're doing well,
Or at least better than me,
- George, the less attractive twin (in your opinion at least)
It's agonizing. My insides are lit on fire by the words contained in these letters that I cannot stop reading because cowards shouldn't be happy.
I ran. I ran from Fred, from my family, from my friends. Now I am nothing. I am a mere grain of sand compared to the glass sculpture I had once carved myself into. Now I lay shattered on the beach while other trot on my worthlessness.
I let the cup crash into the ground, while tears drop down my face to join the tea on the aged wood flooring.
