Last Hope {a paramore fanfiction}

Chapter Two

1st January 2013

I slept. I hadn't slept in a long time. Most nights, I'd sleep lightly, for an hour or so, before waking up and spending the next two hours trying to get myself back to sleep. But on those nights when I had woken up from a bad dream, there was no way of making me fall asleep again. I wouldn't allow the possibility of demons or memories enter my mind. Come to think of it, they were pretty much the same thing.

I rolled out of bed and went to the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of milk and putting four slices of bread into the toaster. It wasn't that I forgot that Sam wouldn't be having breakfast with me. I wasn't going to have a moment when I realised I was alone. I had a lifetime of that. I just wanted to eat.

I slathered each slice thick with chocolate spread. Nutella. My only companion. I sat on the floor in front of the tv. It was pretty early, which meant cartoons were on. I sat there, munching away at my food. I felt like a little girl again. Yet, that wasn't a good thing to remember. To feel vulnerable.

I couldn't watch the high pitched blurs run across my screen anymore. I flicked the switch, and turned towards the window. I noted my guitar, sitting in the corner, collecting dust. I walked over to it, slowly. I didn't pick up at first. I didn't want to touch, crazily thinking it might electrocute me. Reject me for neglecting it. I plucked the one string.

Four hours later, I was sitting on my bed. The piles of paper with my scribbled writing across the lines, stared back at me. I felt as if I was ready to explode, a mixture of gun powder and joy.

Should I explain myself a bit more?

My name is Bethan O'Connor. I'm twenty three years old. I spent the first two years of my life in Ireland. Then, I was sent to America. I grew up quickly. Aged 16, I went out into the world by myself. I got into a band. It was me and some guys I met in LA. We called ourselves "Please Clarify." Frank played the drums, Dan played the bass, Micheal played the guitar and I sang and played the guitar. We had a CD out in December 2007, when I was 18. People liked us and we started to get a fan base. We put one CD out in 2009. And it did pretty damn good. We had songs that appealed to girls with fluffy lyrics and big loud noisy songs that dudes "Moshed" to. Then we had the great ones everyone loved. We were the next best thing. We supported everyone. Fall out Boy, My Chemical Romance and Paramore. But we never got the chance to be the one headlining.

I fell into some bad shit. I went out to clubs, just to show my face and get paid by the owners. But then I'd stay for a bit and have a drink. It wasn't a bad thing was it? Then you'd drink too much. And that was bad. And then you'd smoke stuff. Wrapped up in brown paper. Made you relax and chill. But then it'd lose it's edge after a while. So you'd ask if there was anything better. And then they'd put the line of white power in front of you.

The dream was destroyed. Over. Dan, Frank and Micheal left me, and rightly so. The only person I had was Sam. I met Sam at one of these clubs. He was in those rooms that you got the drugs from. He saw me and I saw him. The rest was a blur. I woke up in his bed the next morning. It was meant to be a one of thing, but it kept happening. Soon enough we started "dating." It seemed the right thing to do. I thought this was my chance to start over. We always said we didn't want to be the couple that sat on their couch and smoke until they died. So we quit cold turkey. Sam seemed to be fine. But I wasn't. Without the distraction of the warm smoke in my throat, my mind kept bringing up the past. I couldn't write music anymore. I couldn't write about being in love and when I tried to write about how I felt, it was just me ranting. It ruined me. I never touched the stuff again. But I realised I was dead inside. Me and Sam weren't in love, but it was a good distraction. Half the time I was just scared of him and his temper, another way to be distracted. Frank, Dan and Micheal constantly called me. But I was distracted. I was in "love." Until I found out, he had never quit. He would smoke joints most days and do a lot of hard stuff at the weekend. I was fine with it. I didn't care. But he did. I think he wanted me to catch him and to dump him. He didn't want to make me any more sad then I was. But I guess it got too much.

"I don't think this is working," he said. I was getting ready. We had planned to go out for a meal for NYE instead of a club. I looked at him in the doorway. He was trying hard to act as if he cared. Or I thought that until I hear what he said next. "You just walk around like some depressed zombie, and I'm supposed to feel guilty, but I just don't care anymore." It hurt. But it was the truth. He left. And that was that.

Back to where I was, I was so happy. Because I had just written songs. Seven songs. Most were shit. But they were something. They were words and chords and melodies and meant something. I felt suddenly I was feeling again. And then what happened next changed everything.

My phone buzzed. I was shocked. I hadn't heard my ringtone in so long. I didn't really have friends. Correction: I didn't have friends. I looked at the number, but it wasn't recognised. I didn't want to answer, thinking it was some reporter. I still got those calls. But something was making me answer.

"Hello?" I said. "Bethan? O'Connor? Oh thank God! I can't believe I actually managed to get through to you!" The voice was a young guys voice. It shook through me. I recognised it. I knew it from somewhere. "Yes, this is Bethan...but whose this?" I answer cautiously. "It's Taylor! Taylor York, from Paramore...this may seem like out of the blue, but do you mind if you would meet me? Gino's coffee house? Do you know where that is?" he asked. "Yeah...I know where it is. But why?" I asked again. Why was he calling me? Me? What was happening? "Please just come, and I'll explain everything. Meet me at 4. Hopefully see you there," he said and hung up. My only word I can use to sum up how I felt is "huh."