Cherry: New Beginnings.

Interlude: I'm Not Angry Anymore.

A/N: Hey Cherry babies, I missed you so much.

I wrote my first book, and it's in it's editing process. Sooner or later I'll be working to rewrite Cherry into a format that it could possibly be published without it being Copyrighted to Harry's name or with any music. More information on that to come soon, but for now. This chapter that I'm excited about.

I also would like to say the updates for this, the vault, West 76th Street, and Skinny Dipping will hopefully be more frequent until they are all complete. I love where this story was going, and I don't want to just leave it open ended. You guys have given me the world, and deserve a clear ending for a book you've shown so much love for!

VIOLET'S POV:

    I am staring directly at the Eiffel Tower, a lunch laid in front of me, and my Uncle Mitch laying out next to me. My dad is pacing, and on the phone. He's probably doing something work related with the studio. Yelling at someone so my mom doesn't have to because she's not the yelling type. Never has been, and never will be. Surprising too. I'd have thought she would yell at me at this point considering all the shit I've done. Mitch has been playing the Uke horribly next to me. He's good at guitar, but dear god, I need him to quit.

    I snatch the instrument from his hands, and sit myself up. He scoffs, giving me a disapproving look, and now an annoyed one.

    "You know you're a depressed little shit. I can totally rat you out for that song you wrote last night... I won't but I could." He warns me, and I shrug.

    "And I could facetime my mom and tell her you took part in dying my hair... Considering you are quite literally purple handed right now, you can't even deny it." I look at Mitch's purple hands and he crosses them over his chest, hiding them from my view. Idiot.

    "You said you'd take the fall for it." He reminds me, and I nod, plucking at the Ukulele.

    "I will if you don't talk about that stupid song. Or this one for that matter." I hum to myself.

    "Why can't you just share the songs, and words you're feeling? You know you're parents really aren't that over bearing. Your dad is an uptight debbie downer, but he's not that bad." Mitch defends, and I shrug.

    "Because it's hard for people so disconnected from harsh sad feelings to understand what I'm going through. I just don't know how I'm feeling really. It's all confusing, and I don't like talking about things I don't understand. I'm sure my dad, and my mom went through their phases when they were my age." I shrug.

    "Your dad has always been a moody asshole. Your mom is an angel, and I don't think I've ever seen her lash out unless it was warranted." Mitch shrugs. He laughs to himself, and I narrow my eyes.

    "What?" I ask, wanting to be involved in his thoughts.

    "There was this one time after your dad broke up with your mom-"

    "Wait, mom and dad broke up?" I ask, my mind spinning.

    "Um yeah, and if you weren't so wrapped up in your own life you'd know that from their music. Or the journals she's given you." He tells me. I knew they've had their troubles, but... Not breaking up in a serious way. They broke up and got back together? They're this in love even after break ups and makeups?

    "Whatever... Keep telling me your story." I listen now, not planning on interrupting again.

    "Your dad broke up with your mom like the dumbass that he is. Then he invited her to come write for his second album because he knew we couldn't do it without her, once again a dumbass move because all she had been writing about was their breakup. Same for him, but she's a lot more honest than he is when she writes. We were sitting there waiting for an idea, and Jeff, your dad's manager, he had Cherry bomb sing something new. She said a song she wrote called To Be So Lonely. She really called your dad an arrogant son of a bitch in front of all of us, no shame, and I've never laughed harder." I find it hard to believe, but the look on his face alone shows me how fond he is of the memory.