𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐔𝐏, gracie abrams

twenty-one

she found herself writing more than ever, and daisy was still her muse, as unfortunate as it was for her. her producers were being incredibly patient with her, having to do nearly a hundred takes of specific lyrics so she could get through them without breaking. it got to the point she was working with so much material her manager told her she might as well release some of it, telling her he was absolutely sure she could scrap together at least 6 incredible songs for an EP with the overflowing workload she was putting in.

it all came to a head in early september while gracie was sprawled on a forest green sofa in the studio, flipping rampantly through her songwriting notebook. her chestnut hair was messy, spilling over her shoulders in loose waves as she brushed it to the side, attempting to get it out of her face. her teeth were dug into her bottom lip as she scribbled lyrics out, hard enough the paper tore beneath the granite of her pencil.

she was so engulfed in scratching out pages she didn't realize her agent had sat beside her, a gentle touch to her back nearly making her jump out of her skin. she pressed a shaky hand to her heart, placing her notebook on her lap. there's silence for a few moments, the air stilling before growing tense. her heart pumps in her chest, tears pooling in her eyes, knowing exactly the conversation that was coming. she stares at the ground as she watches her agent through the corner of her eye scan the intelligible lyrics, frowning. she rubs gracie's back, straightening her own.

"gracie." her voice is soft, but still remains firm and professional. gracie doesn't move, her face remaining tilted downwards, shadowed by her hair. "look," her agent began, understanding she couldn't force gracie to look at her. "i appreciate how much work you're pouring into this, it's really, really incredible, but it's simply not healthy. you come first, gracie. these lyrics are truly wonderful, and these songs you're meticulously piecing together are masterpieces, but you're at the studio until 4 in the morning some nights, and then back at 7. i never see you eat, i never see you smile. i'm worried about you, we all are." her eyebrows are slanted, her lips pulled tight together as she contemplates what else to say.

"i think it's best you take a break for a few days. go home, talk to your friends, talk to your family. eat something. take a walk. drowning yourself in work isn't going to do anything but push your problems deeper inside your head." gracie finally makes eye contact with her. "are you kicking me out?" she asks, her voice now firm as well, laced with confusion and possible frustration. her agent exhales audibly. "no, gracie. i'm just saying you need to take a break. we have everything we need for the EP. there's no more work that needs to be done-" she's almost cut off by gracie, but puts a finger up to stop her from speaking. "there is no work to be done. you have done enough. we will send you the final version of the songs, and let you decide whether or not you want to announce the EP today or some other time this week. for now, you need to go home and rest. i will postmates your favourite to your apartment, and i expect to get a picture of you actually eating it. do you understand?" she asks, gracie sighing. her anger had diminished from her body, being replaced with the gnaw of hunger that she had been pushing away for so long. "yes." her voice sounds defeated as she stands, leaving her notebook on the chair. her agent stands as well, opening her arms for her.

gracie collapses into her hold, her cheek smushed against the warm burgundy of her sweater as tears well in her eyes again, her sinuses burning. "i'll announce it today." her words were a strained whisper. her agent brushes a hand through her hair, whispering to her that it was going to be okay. to gracie, that felt like the furthest thing from the truth.

on the other side of los angeles, daisy had been doing quite the same emotionally, if not worse. she was fighting tooth and nail with matthews lawyers, pulling 48 hour stints where she wouldn't sleep just to go over every single piece of evidence she had collected, trying to convince herself it was foolproof, that he couldn't win again. every day felt the same, an endless loop of pictures and legal documents forcing her to relive some of the most anguishing moments of her life thus far.