{[Matt]}
I've hardened myself. Growing my hair and shutting myself from the outside world. I even shut myself off from Tiffany.
I changed my number and avoided her calls. We haven't spoken for over six months now and I couldn't give two shits about it either.
I lived for the after parties and drank until I couldn't focus. It helped. Sometimes.
That was until maudlin sank in. I'd sit for hours, looking at the pictures I had on my phone of Jane and me. I'd miss her, because nothing I could think of could compare to the crippling feeling I felt in my chest every time I just [thought] of her.
My life had become one big mess. A new girl in every town.
The routine was always the same. Get drunk, run off to the hotel or motel room, have sex and check out before she could wake up.
My band mates were starting to worry about me. But I was fine. On the outside, at least.
Our first album released the other day and already reached thousands of sales. Tours were booked up and another record deal with a rival label stood waiting for us.
We were making it big. Just like we always wanted to. But all this money, all this fame - nothing could ever make me feel the same. Nothing could make me feel as unreal as this one girl could conceal. My face was a mess, a total downright confess that I needed her - even though she no longer needed me.
I was in hell and all that I could tell was that it might as well have been the one thing that made me feel inspired, giving us the will to start this fire of lyrics, boiling over my lips like lava - scorching, burning, singing everything in its path.
I was fuelled with so much hatred that I forgot what it felt like to love - or even be loved. I've pushed away everyone - friend, foe and family.
Everyone thought I'd jump off a bridge, jump in front of a car, drown in the tub or crash through a twenty story hotel window at any given moment.
Yes, I was morbid.
Yes, I was chronically depressed.
But my insanity was the only thing that truly kept me [sane]. The only thing that helped me forget Jane.
I heard that she was in town a couple of weeks ago.
Apparently she attended one of our shows. I wouldn't know. I didn't care. I probably would have spat in her face if she spoke to me.
Shaun told me that she had cut her hair. That it was now natural brown and in a bob. According to him, she didn't look to well.
She avoided eye contact, turned and left the minute he tried to greet her.
He told me something was up, but I shrugged it off. Whatever it was, the bitch deserved it.
***
We had a show in some downtown club in Chicago. I was hammered before the show had even started.
At the after party, random girls hung on my arm, asking for my number while making random conversations. They toyed with their hair, desperately trying to get my attention.
I saw a blonde in the background shyly waving at me, so I excused myself and walked over to her. She really was a looker. Might even be the shy type.
"So-" I started, rocking back and forth on my heels with my hands dug into my jeans' pockets.
Most of the people had already left. It was round about 4 am and Dixon, Jarred and Shaun were probably passed out in various locations right around then.
"I've always wanted to see you again, just never really had the guts to, you know, rock up and look for you. I mean, you're all famous now. You've even changed your number," she said, awkwardly looking down.
I lifted her chin, urging her to look at me.
"I didn't change my number, they stole my phone," I lied and smirked. "Want it?" I offered.
"Sure," she answered, handing me her phone. I took it and punched my number into her contacts.
"There you go. You happy you finally met us?" I asked, giving it back to her.
"Are you kidding me? I'd probably remember this till the day I die," she answered, smiling shyly.
"Then why do you look so sad about it?" I asked, stroking her cheek.
"Because you won't. You don't even remember meeting me," she said, a stray tear running down her cheek.
I chocked up, gaping at her - mentally slapping myself as I relentlessly tried to remember her name.
"I am such a douche bag," I finally said, shaking my head before drawing her into a hug. "Rebecca, right?"
She shoved me away, warm tears flowing effortlessly over her cheeks.
"You know what, you're fucking right. You [are] a douche bag. And by the way - it's [Tiffany]," she snapped, shoving me again before running out of the club.
I watched her leave, finally realizing what a heartless monster I'd become.
Tiffany was technically my girlfriend, until I conveniently forgot about her and pushed her aside.
I dragged my drunken body to the wall, hitting a hole in the drywall as I broke down and lost it.
All the feelings I've kept inside for so long, boiled over with excessive force.
I was a bad person and it was my choice. I knew I had to do what I needed to find myself again.
Even if it meant seeing a psychologist again or going to rehab. I had to turn my life around and leave this image I've tried to build in the gutter and never look back.
I needed the help of my friends, even if I was shit scared to ask them. I needed to see Jane. Even if she didn't want to see me.
If I've learned one thing, it was that whenever either of us broke down, the other wasn't far behind.
Even when we didn't have contact.