Our Love Is Torture

Chapter 32 - The Broken Prince

Soundtrack- Ross Copperman, Holding on & Letting go.
(Dedicated to my beautiful Rosha in this chapter)

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*Warning* - Mature Language.
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Rohan's POV

Everybody wants to be a rock star.

It’s the closest thing to being a god, but what people often forget is that God has a hectic job.
God creates. Twenty-four-fucking-seven. Is worshipped.
God is expected to answer, to deliver, to reassure.
And when God is sent to earth to deal with humans? Well, God is bound to disappoint.

I came out with an Album about 3 years ago called 'Guns and Sex' and well, all the songs were very much unappreciative and hated. You could imagine. I truly hate myself for that album, I was wrecked and tired and produced shitty music that time. The wedding break in between was definitely needed, it helped my brain work a bit better after. But I've never wrote a album since, I think putting out awesome singles is more my thing. And people love it, but the hate is always there.

See, when you’re a rock star, your fans feed you expectations.
And you almost always swallow them down greedily and ask for seconds.
Because you want to believe you’re a genius, whose lyrics are immortal, whose tunes run chills down people’s spines. You want to be unforgettable, irresistible, and unique.

You don’t want to believe there’s nothing more after this—because there isn’t, you might be a hotshot millionaire motherfucker with a different model in your bed every night—but at the end of the day, you’re human.
So, terribly human. A human who is expected to be much more than a human. Which was how I’d gotten here. To where I was today. The very laughable cliché I’d taken the piss out of when I was young.

I put on my leather jacket, ready to go down to the restaurant lobby for breakfast. My phone starts vibrating in my back pocket, so I shove my hand to get it out. I don’t even bother, glancing at the caller ID because there’s only one person who has my number, and he’ll be calling me from a burner phone anyway.
My handler, My bestfriend, My Manager… Aman.

“What’s up?” I ask as I connect the call.
“Just checking in,” he says cordially.

“Case has been set for 9th September. Your next single. What's the name of the song?”

9th September, that’s a little over four months away. Hopefully then, I get my life back.

"Why are you so curious? Everyone will know the name, on the launch.” I say as my eyes drift past the back of my gallery to the Ocean that’s as smooth as glass today. Snow falling on the grass at the sideview.

“C'mon mate, stop letting me organise all these singles launch. Just write an album for fuck sake.” Aman said. Poor guy, I haven't even started on the 9th September song. I don't even know what I'm gonna do.

"Sure I'll write an album, how about we call it 'The return of Guns & Sex?" I heard his laughter on the other end of the line before he muttered a quiet 'asshole', probably rolling his eyes at me too.

“You good?” Aman asks, and I know what he’s really asking. My thoughts go to the TV, I thought about the news I was watching earlier. Alexis... motherfucking Alexis, out there, ruining my name. I couldn't even care anymore though. She's someone I just want out of my life. Right now, I'm as ready as I’d ever be if someone came after me.

“I’m locked and loaded,” I assure him, because I do know he worries. My refusal to take a career break did move all my agents, lawyers and managers. They thought I was weak and needed time and peace for whatever that was going on. They really didn't know me. Didn't know that I was fine as fuck. Ready to do whatever.