Somewhere New ~5SOS Fanfic~ (IN EDITING)

♪Chapter Twenty Three♪

"Don't hold your breath, I'm not losing sleep over you. I'm Mr. Reckless, and you're defenseless." Reckless, You Me At Six

"Try to be strong for her. Try not to be wrong for her." Gifts And Curses, Yellowcard

Idk why people are commenting on 5SOS songs being all like "OMG I CAN'T EVEN SHANAKDJAJ I'M DYING" wtf I would not want to fucking die I want to listen to the song some more

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"Damn." Luke gasped with rasp in his voice, looking down at the rubble in the band room. "Who would do this?"

"Do you think it was John or someone in that group?" Calum squinted, trying to get a better look at the mess.

"I don't know." I proclaimed, kicking around the pieces of what used to be my drum set. Sighing, Calum put a hand on my back. "What are we going to do? The tour's so soon, and I don't even have a drum set."

"Okay, okay, how about this: we'll buy you a new one." Michael chimed in, suggesting a rather expensive offer. How much would a quality drum set cost, anyway? However much it would cost, I wouldn't be able to afford it. It was then that I realized that I would need to find a job.

"What? With what money?" I questioned, then added, "Why would we do that when I can just fix it?"

"You think you can fix it?" Calum's eyes bugged out of his head.

"You can't fix this. Besides, it's time that we get new instruments." He countered, "Even if it gets fixed, I don't think you'd want to take it on tour." He began to collect the broken pieces into a trash bag, and I watched in pain. Those were the drums I worked so hard to save up for, and here they are, trashed.

"Even if that's true, who's going to buy all of our new stuff? We don't have jobs." Michael didn't have to worry about money obviously, but new equipment for everybody would be expensive. "I don't think we can run to our parents with this."

"Parents?" Michael sarcastically snickered. "My parents don't even know that I'm going to England, let alone that I'm in a band,"

Calum gave Michael a ice cold stare, followed by him saying, "Why haven't you told them all this time?!"

"How many times do I have to say this: My parents want me to major in Journalism, and work on the news." He painfully scoffed. "Yeah. Lets see if that's going to happen."

"What are you going to tell them when we leave, then?" Luke narrowed his eyes. "Are you just going to keep them in the dark while you're on tour?"

"I mean, I'll tell them when I leave."

I copied Michael's scoff, crossing my arms, and turned to the door.

After everything was said and done, I had to drag myself to the front of the school, and wait for my mother to pick me up. Another part of that peace treaty my mother and I agreed to was seeing her everyday after school. I don't know why she wanted to waste that extra gas on me when I was anything but worth it. After I spent a few hours at her house, she would then drive me to my therapist. First sessions are always weird and awkward, but it was even more awkward because nobody knew that I was going to one. I couldn't tell anyone - how good would that look? Exactly.

The therapist had me waiting in the. office for what seemed like 10 minutes, giving me more than enough time to analyze the space. A medium sized window with a tiny cactus sitting on the sill, blinds slightly open. Deep blue walls, and brown wood flooring that looked like it was polished every afternoon. On the mahogany desk was a triangular block that read Spencer Hardift in huge golden letters. Man, or woman? Hard to tell.