Rejected 22 Times

Chapter 35

A/N: Okay so I have the rest of this story written out already. I need to do some editing on the final chapter, but it's pretty much done. I'll save the emotional, sappy goodbye for the last chapter, but I'm already beginning to feel nostalgic. I can't believe it's been two years of R22T! 

Anywyay, so I decided to write three small chapters instead of one huge, long one because it seemed to make the story flow better. After this chapter is posted, I will post the next one not too long after. Thank you to everyone who has been reading my story, and I'm sorry for all the times when I went months without adding a new chapter. 

I'll stop blabbering on. Here's the chapter!

Chapter 35

Liam POV

I’ve made two of the stupidest decisions of my life in the span of a few weeks. The first was to let my goodbye with Sophia at the airport be our final goodbye. We both thought it would be easier for the both us if we just went on with our lives. That last weekend we spent together was amazing, but we both knew that it couldn’t last forever.

And my second mistake.

That was auditioning for the X Factor.

A second time.

“Nicolo Festa.”

The judges begin to name off the list of boys that have made it past boot camp. Each second feels like an hour to me. This entire journey has been quite the experience, and I don’t want it to end. It can’t end here. It can’t.

“Paije Richardson.”

Each name that is called is like another breath that gets sucked out of me. I need this. I’ve been through too much to have the carpet pulled out from underneath my feet already. I can’t lose Sophia and this competition. I think it would crush me to walk away with nothing left to look forward to.

“Aiden Grimshaw.”

I was so happy to tell Sophia that I had made it to boot camp. She was so excited for me, but I could tell that she was holding back. We’ve been apart for too long. I mean, I haven’t been here that long, but still long enough to ruin whatever rocky relationship we had.

“Matt Cardle.”

There is only one name left to be called. There are still so many talented guys waiting desperately to hear their name called. A lot of them are older than me, more experienced. I’ve made a few mates along the way, and I know that a lot of them really deserve this slot.

But I deserve it too.

“Tom Richards.”

That’s it.

No more names are called.

I didn’t make it.

Is the room spinning, or is that just me?

After a brief apology and an exclamation of how truly talented we really are, I am politely escorted off the stage.

All I want to do is call Sophia. We aren’t allowed to have any electronic devices out backstage, but I just need to hear her voice. She was the first one I called when I passed my audition, and she’s the only one I want to talk to right now.

Ugh. I feel like crying. Cameras are being shoved in everyone’s faces, and I’m trying my best to dodge them. One cameraman catches me off guard and begins to interrogate me, and after a series of intense questions, all I can say is, “I just don’t want to go home.”

There’s nothing at home for me anyway.

Now the tears begin.

Through my blurry vision, I see a few of the other boys crying. A blonde chap that I recognize from boot camp is sobbing into his shirt that is pulled over his head. Another one with curly hair is using his beanie to wipe away the tears from his eyes. Most of them are actually around my age. I guess the judges wanted older men to fill the slots on their show.

Idiots.

We are huddled backstage, and while all I want to do is get out of here so I can call Sophia, the security guards insist that we can’t leave yet.

A man walks backstage and addresses the solemn and despairing group. “I need to see a few people.” What else do they want with us? He begins to list off a few names, but I don’t really care for what anyone has to say at this point.

That is until my name is called.

All of a sudden, a small portion of us are escorted back onto the stage. Next to me I have the blonde chap and the beanie boy along with two other lads. On the other side of the stage, four girls are holding hands. Simon Cowell sits in usual chair as he stares up at us.

What is going on? What more do they want from us? Is this some sort of final competition? Are they going to make us battle each other for a final slot?

I barely have time to process what Simon says as he begins to explain his purpose for dragging us all out here once again. But a few words are distinct among the jumble: we’re putting you in a band.

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