Scratched

Forty One

FORTY ONE

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It was another night on the way to another concert. I lay sprawled out across the couch watching the television idly. The boys had invited me onto their bus, but had turned them down. I wanted to be alone. I was dealing with a lot of things and I could do that around them. I needed to think, and everything was different after what happened with Callum. I needed time to process it all.

As I was thinking this my phone suddenly rang, alerting me to a call. Why couldn't no one call me for just a day? A day—that's all! I groaned, stretching my arm out to snatch it from the spot on the floor I had dropped it. When I finally had it gripped in my hand I brought it to my ear. "Yes?" I said into it, not bothering with a greeting. I rarely got a call for pleasure anymore. More than likely it was business.

"How are you, Piper?"

Cassidy? What was Cassidy doing calling me? Although I was confused I pushed on. "Uh, I'm good, I guess," I told her, the hesitancy and confusion was thick in my voice. If she caught anything else in my words she didn't let on. "So why are you calling? Isn't it usually Andrew that does this sort of thing?" Most of the time Andrew did a lot of the actual touch base things like calls. As an Agent that wasn't really Cassidy's job.

"Well normally, but he's a little swamped right now," she said. It was a simple enough statement, but her words seemed to carry weight. "He wanted me to speak with you—about the article in the Spectacle." I instantly groaned. I knew this would come back to bite me. I get my ass chewed out by Reed and now Cassidy. "I realize you will go out and have fun. You will do reckless things, but be careful, Piper. Too much press might be bad press."

I felt anger rise up. It wasn't really directed at Cassidy, but I felt like I was being cornered. Everyone was telling me what to do, and I knew Andrew was trying to clean up after me. That's why her words had seemed so heavy. It seemed if someone wasn't on my ass about something they were covering for me. I was sick of it. Why couldn't everyone just fuck off and mind their own business? What did the things I do in my free-time have to do with my music? If my music was golden nothing else mattered.

I just didn't understand why a night out was such a big deal. I had been told time and again that my actions affected my fans directly, but did it really? I'd seen and heard countless stories of my favorite bands, and it had done nothing to stunt my admiration. The music counted not their actions. Every time I just wanted to have a good time—or anyone, for that matter—it was made out like they has some terrible problem. Sometimes people just did have a night of fun, no sinister hidden secret.

Since when were we not allowed to do whatever the fuck we wanted. This was America. Wasn't this the land of the free? And since when had rock stars become role models. We drank, we partied, we had sex, and yeah we did drugs. We did whatever the hell we wanted. A musician doing something a little reckless wasn't anything! It was the lifestyle. It's what musicians did. If the public wanted role models they could clue into Disney Channel because that shit wasn't no where close to me.

"I'm just worried, Piper."

"Well stop. I'm fine."