“Fuck! No,” I paused outside of the room that Vic has been trapped in for hours now, hearing him curse in frustration. He’s been in there so long that Tony and Jaime decided to go back to their own places for the night—Vic clearly wasn’t ready to talk about anything.

I couldn’t make out what he was saying—or, should I say, singing. “God damn it, no!” I heard him try to sing something and then cruse again. I didn’t really understand what he was doing, though, and why he was so upset in there—besides obvious reasons.

I didn’t want to snoop—he said he was writing, but it sounded like he was having a difficult time.

“No, that’s not right,” I heard him mumble again. I wanted very much to go in there and comfort him, but I knew that he locked the door—meaning that he wanted to be alone.

I sighed sadly and turned away from his writing room, not wanting to eavesdrop.

“Is he okay?” I asked Mike when I reentered the living room. Mike shrugged his shoulders.

“When Vic is in a writing mood, he’s in a writing mood,” Mike emphasized with a sigh.

“He didn’t exactly sound like he was in a writing mood,” I said, regretting the words that slipped from my mouth. Mike stared at me accusingly. “No, Mike, I wasn’t listening. When I walked past the door I heard him cursing angrily, that’s all,” I said quickly. Mike’s face softened, and he nodded, luckily believing me. I wasn’t lying, either—I would never invade Vic’s privacy like that.

“Do you know when he’ll come out?” I asked.

Mike shook his head. “He’s already been in there for a few hours, so probably a few more. He’s fine in there, don’t worry, alright? That’s his peaceful spot,” Mike explained. I nodded, understanding. I still worried about him, though; I mean, so much has happened to him—how much more hurt could he take? And then there was me—my life wasn’t exactly rainbows and butterflies, either. Two really fucked up people, brought together through (what else) an unfortunate circumstance.

“Has he ever been in there that long before?” I asked quietly, sinking into the couch next to him.

An odd emotion flickered across Mike’s face. I couldn’t tell what it was, exactly. “Yeah, he spends a lot of time in there sometimes,” Mike said lowly. “Especially when we were writing our last album,” he added, his face contorting in a mysterious emotion again.

I couldn’t deal with the mystery of these Fuentes boys. I shook my head, standing up. I didn’t know where I was going to go, but I kind of wanted to be alone, now, too.

“I’m sorry,” Mike said quietly.

“For what?” I looked down at him, confused, seeing pain struck across his face.

Mike nodded at my face. I hadn’t even realized that I was holding my face tenderly with my fingers. My nose was throbbing.

“It’s okay, Mike. It really was an accident. I know you’re not the kind of guy who would hit a girl,” I said seriously, knowing that I was right. He nodded, knowing that too. Mike may be big and tough on the outside, but he wouldn’t dare kill a fly, let a lone hit a girl out of anger. Seeing Mike lashing out at Tony was a rare thing—and that only happened because Mike was worried for his brother. Family seemed to be value in the Fuentes’ house—a foreign concept to me.

My thoughts unfortunately traveled to my own family without warning. I pushed back memories—damn, memories seemed to be crawling back a lot, lately, I reflected. It was a terrible feeling. Everything in my life and Vic’s life seemed to be blowing up simultaneously, the shrapnel of our terrible pasts stabbing our minds.

Maybe this was the climax, though. Maybe, after this, we could meet our falling action and perhaps enjoy a quiet, uneventful ending. Maybe we could finish our story together. I highly doubt it, though, I thought, knowing that my life has always been and will always be revolved around drama, just like Vic. At least I was hopeful that we would get through our shit together. At least we had each other, right?

Maybe not right. I frowned, staring at the door that blocked Vic away from the rest of the world. By the looks of it, whenever things got too unbearable to handle, Vic would lock himself in his writing room, filtering through his problems with music.

“He get’s obsessed,” I heard Mike mumble. I looked at him to elaborate. “He won’t have time for anything, now that he’s writing again. It happened after Spencer first died. He shuts himself off until he gets what he wants done, but he’s never satisfied, so the time he spends in their drags on for what feels like forever. When life gets too complicated, he makes his life entirely about music—the band, the fans, the lyrics—nothing can get in the way of it. He literally just cuts everything else out,” Mike said sadly. That same emotion from early flashed across his face again—I couldn’t put a name on it, but it was a peculiar mix between sadness, realization, annoyance, and worry. Like, he knew this was going to happen, he didn’t want it to happen, he had no way of stopping it from happening…

‘He literally just cuts everything else out.’

“What about everyone? Does he cut out people, too?” I asked, my voice coming out in a tiny whisper.

Mike nodded. “Don’t let yourself get under the illusion that he doesn’t like you, Charlie,” Mike said, a new seriousness inhabiting his features. I nodded. “Just because he might suck at showing it, he really cares about you and wants to be with you.”

“I know,” I said lowly, believing him. But I was scared—I was scared that Vic was going to go into one of his phases—the way Mike described them made it seem like they were just a phase he went through.

“You know what,” Mike gritted his teeth, standing up abruptly.

“What?”

“I’m not going to just sit here and let this happen again,” Mike said, furrowing his eyebrows. “I don’t want it to end badly, again,” he added in a low mutter, but I heard.

End badly? “Mike, what do you mean?”

“Last time this happened, it ended almost fatally. You know,” Mike explained, making a fist and sticking out his index and thumb, shaking this hand in a motion to resemble shooting a gun. Suicide. I shivered, the word dripping venomously and unpleasantly in my thoughts. Yes, I hoped Mike snapped Vic back into reality before things escalated.

Mike got up and pounded on the door Vic was hiding himself behind. “Vic. We’re not doing this again, okay? I’m not letting you do this again,” Mike yelled through the wood.

“Leave me alone, Mike!” I heard Vic snap from the other side of the door.

“No, Vic. Not a chance. Get out now,” Mike said harshly.

I flinched when they raised their voices at each other. “I said leave me alone, Mike! I’m busy,” Vic yelled back just as harshly.

“You’ve been busy for hours, Vic. You’re going to have to come out eventually,” Mike reminded him.

“Jesus, Mike. I’m a grown man. I don’t need you to be my mother. Go away,” Vic said sharply.

“Yeah? Grown men don’t hide in their rooms like five year olds,” Mike hissed. I didn’t like the direction they were turning—insulting each other.

“I’m not hiding in my room like a five year old, Mike. I’m working. Go away,” Vic growled. I’ve never heard him like this before. This was a new side of Vic I was seeing—er, hearing—and I’ve seen many sides of Vic already. I thought that I’d seen it all—his sweet side, his caring side, his selfless side, his funny side, his depressed side, his broken side—but that was not the case. Of course, every one had an angry side—how could I forget that?

“Vic. I swear to God if you don’t open this door…” Mike didn’t finish his threat, but he banged on the door again.

“Stop hitting the damn door, Mike! Give me some time. I’m plugging my headphones back in now,” Vic announced.

“Don’t you dare! You’ve had enough time!” Mike yelled, but it was useless; Vic had already blocked out all outside noises with his headphones. “Damn it,” Mike hissed.

“It’s okay, Mike. He’ll come out eventually,” I said soothingly.

“No, it’s not okay. He’s already under his own spell.”

I frowned, not having anything more to add to the conversation. “Maybe I should try talking to him,” I suggested quietly after a long, heavy silence.

“No, Charlie,” Mike said. “I don’t want him to lash out at you,” he said.

I knitted my eyebrows. “He won’t lash out at me,” I said confidentially. “Would he?” I asked, second-guessing myself.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. But he might say things he would regret, though.”

“That doesn’t matter. I’m not afraid of him, and if he does say something bad, then that just shows who he really is, and I won’t deal with it,” I said fiercely.

“But this isn’t who he really is, Charlie,” Mike said quietly, at the defense of his brother.

“I know that,” I said. “We’ll just let him prove that to us himself,” I added. Mike nodded positively, and I yawned. “I’m going to turn in for the night,” I said.

“Do you need anything?” Mike asked, lightly touching my nose with his lanky and crooked fingers.

I shook my head. “Nope. I’m okay, I promise,” I reassured. Mike nodded, wrapping me in a gentle hug before disappearing into his own room. I sighed, turning on my heels to head to the guest room. I stopped at the doorway, though, not being able to bring my legs forward.

I stood there quietly for a moment, contemplating. The room was cold and dark and uninviting, and I didn’t like staying in there.

I turned away from it, quietly sneaking into Vic’s room. I wasn’t trying to be creepy, but this room was much warmer and welcoming, and it carried a calming presence. I walked a little further into the room, wishing he were in here, too. I went to turn away, deciding that I had been weird enough for one day.

Before I could turn away, though, I shivered as something soft and warm touched the left side of my neck. “I’m sorry,” he breathed lowly on my skin, his breath cool. His delicate fingers moved my hair so it was resting on my right shoulder, and I shivered again as he snaked his left arm around my waist and kissed the left side of my neck again.

“Vic,” I whispered, and he turned me around so I was pressed up against him, our faces inches apart and facing each other.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” he said lowly, barely raising his voice over a whisper because we were standing so close.

“It’s okay,” I said—and it really was okay.

“I won’t let it happen again. Everything was just a mess in my head after being in that room for so long. I had to clear my head,” he explained. I nodded.

“Why was being with the Police so triggering?” I asked fearlessly—not sugar coating the question at all.

“Because,” he said, his eyes twisted in pain.

“We can talk about it later,” I said, bringing my hand up and swooping it across his forehead, smoothing out his wild hair.

“Can we sleep?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” I said, not realizing until this moment how tired I actually was.

“Yay,” Vic said sleepily. He gently placed his lips on mine before he dragged me to his bed. I snuggled against him, burying my face into the crook of his neck. I could lay like this forever, I thought as we both got comfortable together.

I felt pressure on the top of my head—Vic kissing my head—and then that was it. I fell into a peaceful slumber quickly—no nightmares, not even a single dream. Well, maybe a little dream, but for once in my life it was not dramatic or terrifying; I think I can thank Vic’s arms around me for the fact that it was full of happy things, like rainbows and butterflies.

~~

Vic’s POV

“Not again,” I moaned, opening my eyes and drying my new tears into my pillow.

“What’s wrong, Vic?” Charlie asked, rubbing my back.

“They’re back,” I said, hiding my face so she couldn’t see my weakness.

“What’s back?”

“The memories,” I said, shivering and pulling her closer. I buried my face in her hair, trying to block out everything, focusing on just her.

“Of what?” she asked quietly, hugging me gently.

“That room…” I said almost inaudibly, shaking my head. I didn’t want to talk about it—I didn’t want her to worry. Ever since I was in that holding room for several hours at the police station, the memories of being with Drew Sanders in that Hellhole were flooding my brain. I felt like I was drowning in them; I felt like they were slowly taking over my life. I knew he was dead, but I still felt like he was here with me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I could still feel him whispering into my ear.

“Is this what you were talking about last night? About the Police station room making your head messy?” Charlie inquired quietly. I nodded.

“Y-yes,” I said. My breathing hitched and I felt wheezy as if Drew Sanders had kicked me relentlessly in the side again. I don’t know if Charlie even knew about Drew Sanders… I wondered if Jaime told her. She said that he had told her ‘everything’, but I didn’t know if that included our time spent fighting off Drew Sanders—that wasn’t really relevant at the time.

“What happened? Why did that bring back so many bad memories, baby?” she cooed quietly. She coughed slightly, as if she was embarrassed for letting the pet name slip. I didn’t mind, though—it made me feel like she sincerely cared.

“I can’t handle them,” I mumbled, unable to tell her exactly what happened. What was I supposed to say, any way? Oh yeah, not only was my girl friend kidnapped and murdered by one guy, but we also had to deal with a different psycho-pyromaniac who kidnapped me, tortured me, and almost killed me. That not only would be overwhelming for me to say, but it probably would also be overwhelming to hear.

And I was scared. Not of the memories themselves, although they did successfully send me into fits of terror, but more of the thoughts of them driving me to death, like last time. “I tried to kill myself because of them,” I found myself saying, my voice coming out in a broken whisper. It was true… the memories became too much. I couldn’t sleep at night because of Spencer’s death coupled with the nightmares of my time with Drew Sanders. Sometimes, a small part of me wished that I had died back there—before any of this happened.

But when I think about that tiny little wish, that’s when I got scared—it’s these kind of thoughts that were leading me closer and closer to death at my own hands.

“No, Vic,” Charlie squeezed me. “I don’t want you to do that,” she whispered.

“I’m scared,” I said quietly. Mike was right—I was a grown man acting like a five year old. But I couldn’t help it. The damage has been done, and I just don’t know how to deal with it all.

“Come here,” she murmured, forcing me to look her in the eyes. I felt like a child, my eyes swimming with tears. I just couldn’t shake the flashes of Drew Sanders’ torture out of my mind.

I sat up with her, and we held each other tightly. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. I hated feeling so vulnerable.

“Maybe… maybe Mike can tell you,” I whispered.

“Vic…”

“It’s too hard to talk about,” I said, trying to keep the memories in check. But it was difficult—every time I moved I felt like I was being slapped, punched, kicked, assaulted…

“Okay,” she said quietly. “I’ll help you get through this, okay?”

“Okay,” I nodded, kissing her on the lips. I instantly felt better.

We were quiet for a moment—our foreheads connected and our eyes closed—and then I decided to get out of bed.

“I have to apologize to Mike for yelling at him,” I said lowly, still ashamed for my behavior. I was more ashamed, though, that I couldn't get those damn lyrics right…

“Go ahead,” she said, smiling softly. I kissed her again before rolling out of bed.

I staggered a bit when I first stood up, getting a head rush from sitting up too quickly, and then I made my way out of the room. I was still in my jeans and t-shirt from yesterday—too exhausted to even change for bed.

I realized that it was really early in the morning—Mike probably wasn’t going to be awake for another few hours.

That gave me some time…

My eyes darted to the creaked open door of my writing room. There was like an aura illuminating from it, inviting me in. Maybe I’d be able to get the words right this morning…

I shrugged my shoulders. “Fuck it,” I said, walking back into the writing room. I closed and locked the door behind me, gazing at the room before getting to work. I ran my fingers over the walls for a moment, feeling the different textures of multiple pieces of paper that decorated the walls. A lot of them were fan letters that inspired me—I always kept fan letters tucked away in a special drawer, but the most inspiring ones I made room for on the walls of this room. I smiled, sitting down in the swivel chair in front of my laptop. I pulled up a new document to start fresh, but then I shut the computer completely, deciding that ideas might flow better if I use a paper and pencil—the old fashioned way.

And it worked. I couldn’t stop my hand from zooming across the page, writing out lyrics. And I coupled this with my favorite acoustic guitar. I smiled as I wrote and played, satisfied at my work.

In a few hours, I knew that we would have a new song. And then I would be able to write another new one, and another, and another, until we completed an album. And then we could tour, and perform these new songs, and meet old and new fans…

Music. The moment I stepped into this room, the moment my pencil met the paper, that was the only thing running through my mind.

And it really was quite relieving.

Notes

Wow, omg, sorry guys! I didn't realize that it's been almost a week since i've updated! Time flies!

I hope you liked this. I suddenly have a million new ideas for this yay

Let me know what you think! <3