In my Place

One

I don't know how it happened.

Maybe it was the stress of the band getting to us. Maybe we were suffering from a swelled head. Maybe we were just growing apart as friends, or that kept trying to force ourselves into something that was no longer there. I don't know.

All I know is that I hate Christopher Martin, and he hates me.

It started off as petty arguments. We'd argue about who got the last Cadbury Button, which restaurant we should go to for lunch, and even who looked better. We started buying more expensive things, each of us trying to impress the other lads, until our budgets grew tight. Phil suggested we all take a few months away from each other, and announced to Twitter that we were going on hiatus. Little did they know that the hiatus would never end.

When we came back, it felt like Chris was a completely different person. I tried to greet him lovingly, but he refused to even let me near him. Embarrassed and frustrated, I didn't speak to him unless I had to.

Our arguments grew worse. We argued over which riff was better, who should sing what part, and what was best for the band. Three of the other band members tried to talk to us, to tell us to stop hating on each other, but nothing was working. Our friendship and our careers were going up in flames, and each little spark grew into a full-fledged fire.

Our last conversation to each other was, of course, an argument.

"Are you daft? There's no way that your riff is better than mine," he told me.

"Chris, you're not the fucking guitarist of the band. Let me make my own riffs. I've been doing this for twenty years."

"You're the guitarist, and no one knows who you are. Why? Because you never know what you're talking about. You're the reason that everyone thinks that A Head Full of Dreams sounds like shit!"

At this point, Will tried to interject, but was cut off by my rage. "I'm the reason? You're the one singing! Ever thought that maybe you didn't sound as good as you did on the other albums?"

"I'm literally the face of this band. Without me, no one would know your fucking names. I don't even need you pillocks. I could go solo and people would still see me as Coldplay. They would see you as nothing!"

My cheeks were burning with rage at Chris' accusation. "Fine, you know what? Go solo then. See if I give a fuck!"

Phil's eyes widened. "Hold on a minute!" He tried, looking to both Chris and myself.

"Fine! You know what? I will! I quit!" Chris said, dropping his guitar on the floor and walking out of the Bakery forever.

Guy and Will looked at me like I was stupid, and maybe I was. I was just glad to have that wanker out of my life for good.

That week they kept trying to get Chris to rejoin the band, but he made it very obvious that he wanted nothing to do with Coldplay anymore. That band was in the past, as was our friendship.

I stand up and walk into the bathroom. I sluggishly shrug out of my boxers and step into the shower, which is cold. I stub my toe on the way in, as I misjudge the height of the tub, and roll my eyes. Looks like it's going to be a great day.

Same old, same old, day after day. Wake up. Take a shower. Go to work. Pick the kids up from school. Go home. Make dinner. Wait for Chloe to pick the kids up. Go to sleep. Repeat. Chris had been right about one thing- we were nothing without him.

We tried to release a new album without him, but Parlophone declined it, saying that without a singer, the music had no meaning.

After that, Phil took to Twitter, saying that Coldplay was officially over. We would never release new music, and we would probably all try to find a job somewhere else in the music industry. Most of us did. Guy found a job as a producer. Will found one as a temporary drummer for solo artists on tour. Phil got one as the manager of a small band, like what Coldplay used to be.