The Piano || 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘣𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘬

|32| What can they do that matters?

Arguments are awful because you can't get used to them.

Silence is awful because you will, one way or the other. But it takes time, so much time.

Checking her phone, waiting for calls, staring at the door, hoping for him to walk in, it all didn't change a thing. But Ashley kept doing it, some part in her not letting go. She was miserable. She said she was fine, but she was miserable, and Jerry knew that.

There is no reason to, she told herself.

Why am I feeling this way?, she asked herself.

It's over.

I should be relieved. No more stressing about the fans, no more hate, no more criticism, no more unwanted attention. She should be relieved. It was over. She should be relieved. But even though she kept repeating this in her head over and over again, the question still remained: Why was she feeling like this?

It hadn't been real. The affection in their touches, the kisses they shared, the laughs, the conversations, the dates. Nothing had been real. An empty crate for the fans to fill with the things they wanted to see, an empty whiteboard for them to write on.

Now she had tipped the crate over, wiped off the whiteboard. In a matter of days, it had all gone to shit.

Colby didn't post a thing. She didn't, either. She didn't know what people thought, and she couldn't care less. They would start rumours, they would talk, they would whisper, they would hate, they would gossip, but what could they do that mattered?

Nothing.

And Ashley couldn't, either.

Her ceiling looked funny. There were patterns above her bed, patterns she hadn't noticed before. She had been too busy, always jumping out of bed in the mornings. Now she wasn't busy. Now she looked at the ceiling for hours, watching the patterns. Memorizing them. But they didn't matter, and her thoughts wouldn't stay fixed there.

Suddenly, she would see familiar shapes. A specific nose, a chin she knew all too well, a forehead, dark hair... and she would look away, all of a sudden fighting the urge to scream out loud.

Her room was dark and smelled bad. At least that's what Jerry said every time he came in. He told her to get up and eat something and she promised him that she would. A little bit later, when she knew he was busy, she would tiptoe out of her door into the kitchen, quietly getting herself something to eat.

Time felt like it wasn't moving. Or it was, for everyone but Ashley. And she didn't even know what was wrong. What made her body so heavy in the mornings until she got frustrated and felt the need to go running or screaming or both in the evenings? Eventually, she did, giving in to the running part. Not the screaming part, even though that sounded just as tempting.

She did get better after that. Or she felt like she was getting better – but isn't that what getting better is? There's no real proof for it, it's just about feeling more comfortable again, learning to accept your life, and wanting to find out how to make things better at the same time?

She didn't know how to make things better, and she didn't care to know. She knew that she had to get better, and she knew that she was giving her best. But even though she regained a little bit of her smile every day, it never felt whole. She promised that it would, soon again. It would take time. Ashley wasn't sure what exactly it was that she was recovering from, but she knew it was going to be alright.

Everything was going to be alright. She always managed to find her way out of difficult situations. Even if it involved lying in her bed and staring at the ceilings for endless hours. She was Ashley Reed. She was able to adapt to any situation. She could handle this. She was strong.

Arguments are awful because you can't get used to them.

Silence is awful because you do. Slowly.

And then you forget.

Sam had never seen Colby in a state like this.

The brunet wasn't truly heartbroken or devastated. He wasn't lying in his room all day, not even burying himself in work. He was behaving normally.

At least, for anyone who didn't know him closely. But Sam did know him closely, very closely.

He noticed the moments when Colby's gaze went blank, when his eyes trailed off Sam's, even though they were in the middle of a conversation. The way he would just emotionlessly stare at the TV even though his favourite show was playing. Sam noticed when Colby's hand grabbed his phone tighter than necessary. When his jaw clenched for no apparent reason. When he hesitated before doing the most everyday movements.

He saw all of this but chose to remain silent. Colby would talk to him when he needed it. Sam tried to show him that he was listening even though Colby wasn't talking. He rubbed his best friend's shoulder gently when they were watching something. He gave him reassuring looks throughout the day. He asked regularly how Colby was feeling.

The answer was always the same, "I'm fine." And an unconvincing smile.

Sam hated it. Hated Colby for not talking to him, hated Ashley for doing whatever she had done to make the relationship go wrong. Hated himself for hating her for something that probably wasn't even her fault. Hated himself for being so helpless.

Several times, he caught himself staring at Ashley's number in his phone. Just to talk to her. To tell her to come over and help Colby. But then he realized she couldn't be a lot better. None of the fans had heard a lot from her for almost two weeks now. Jerry had assured them that she was alright, doing better every day.

But still shutting everyone out, just like Colby.

Sam needed to do something; he knew that. He couldn't let his best friend stay in his misery, even though his condition didn't look so bad at first glance. But Colby wasn't being himself. He had been so happy for almost two months, the time he and Ashley had been dating.

And so, Sam came up with a plan.

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Author's note-
> Heyy, I'm so grateful for all the comments, but please don't forget to vote for the chapters after reading them <3 It really helps me stay motivated