*ೃ༄.ೃ࿐ "But somewhere here in between
the city walls of dying dreams, I think her
death it must be killing me." *ೃ༄
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
they say love's a game of easy come and easy go, but not everybody is Brit...
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✩ September 1999
"To avoid, or not to avoid?"
Robbie, an old greying man smiled at her. He owned the local news-stand in Camden, just a few minutes walk from her house. "That depends darling."
Valia hummed, shoving her hands down into her sweatpants, hating how exposed she was feeling now that she was in public alone. It became a nuisance of an emotion, something that she felt on a daily basis. She had been glorified as the female face of Britpop, the Party Doll, Val had almost zero to none when it came to privacy, and it made her paranoid to the core. She could hardly even go out in public without being scrutinised for every little thing she did or wore.
But that day, she just didn't care anymore. She was drunk, and she was euphorically out of her mind with all the meth she had taken the night before, and that very morning.
All thanks to two people.
Paul Mick and Damon Albarn.
The first one, he didn't necessarily do anything wrong. It seemed that her father was truly the epitome of progression, he was a completely different person to how she had remembered him to be. Paul talked all about his new family, he told her how he had met Rachel at a pub back in Bristol, how the woman somehow turned his life around, made him realise that he was wasting his life away. That nearly five years later, he would ask her to marry him. And they moved to London when she had landed herself a job with MTV. They had Jude in 1989. And Jimi in 1992.
He went on to tell her that he had heard about the gigs she was doing, and that Alan McGee had approached them. He kept tabs on her, for years on end. He knew every single thing about Oasis, about her.
She hadn't seen her father since then, he mentioned wanting to see her again some time soon, perhaps over lunch, and maybe with Rachel along. But she told him that she needed a little more time. Valia couldn't face him again any time soon, not after hearing how well her father was doing without her and Marissa, that he was happily married with brilliant boys. And there she was, an utter rebel, an addict to the eyes of the world, an alluring aura filled with immoral temptation to the rest of them, and a renowned bassist as last.
Val had no way of wrapping her head around her father's life, it consumed her whole, it glossed her in tremendous agony to understand where it had all gone wrong for their family. That even when she had reunited and reconciled with Paul, in hopes that she would finally, at last, have somebody in her life that she could call family——it was still useless, because he had his own now. One that he loved more than he ever did them. And that pulled her under the surface, unable to find her way back into solidarity.
