Not Good Enough For Truth In Cliche

So Lets Rewind

*flashback*

"I'm here." Ronnie said quietly, setting a rose on the stone.
"Thanks." I bit my lip. "Is he proud of me?"
"There's no way he isn't."
"I'm sorry, Dad." I whispered, feeling his name on the gravestone. Kevin James Charles. It's been five years since he killed himself. "I'm so sorry of what I've become."
"Don't apologize." Ronnie touched my shoulder. "It's all my fault, anyways. I'm sorry, Mr. Charles. I failed her."
"It's not Ronnie's fault. I'm sixteen and impressionable and I've been hanging with the wrong people."
"Me. And Max."
"Yeah, well, I love them but... Yeah. I'm sorry, Dad."
"Don't apologize." Ronnie pulled me into a hug.
"I miss him." I held back tears. "I miss him so much."
"I know, Ash. I miss him too."
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"Babe, you okay?"
I shook my head. "Yeah, I'm fine, just... Had a bad dream."
"Okay."
"Uh, I'm gonna call Ronnie. It's something he'd know." I untangled myself from Max's arms and dialed Ronnie's number. "Ronnie?"
He groaned. "Ugh, it's like three in the morning."
"I had a bad dream."
"Talk to Max about it, let me sleep."
"It's about Anthony."
"What is it?"
"I had... It... I had a dream. Where you were off touring, you'd just released a new album-"
"Who was in the band?"
"I don't fucking remember."
"I'm sorry. Continue."
"And you got a call, you didn't answer it. It was a friend, and..."
"And?"
"And it ended up being that Anthony died in a motorcycle crash. You didn't find out til three days later."
"It's just a dream."
"Yeah. I'm sorry, Ronnie."
"No, it's okay. You feeling okay?"
"Yeah. We've barely been on tour."
"Okay. I'll let you sleep."
"Okay. Good night, Ronnie."
"Night, Ash."
I crawled back into Max's arms. "You okay now?" He whispered.
"Yeah."
"Good." He kissed my hair and then fell asleep.
I tried to follow, but that nightmare haunted me.
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"Here, this is how you play." Max played a complicated bass line.
I stared at him. "Hey. What the fuck."
"I wanted to show off." He laughed. "Here." He handed me the bass.
I accepted it. "So... What should I play?"
"Anything."
I plucked a string, then placed my finger on a fret. I plucked again. "Like that?"
Max grinned. "Yeah, that's good."
"God, I sound like shit."
"I've had practice for like, lots of years. Don't compare yourself to me." He kissed my hair. "You sound good."
"I don't, but thanks." I grinned.
"Okay, can we talk?"
"About?" I set the bass on its stand.
"It's not bad."
"Okay." Nervous, I sat next to him.
"Babe, I think it'd be good for you to go to therapy."
"Therapy?"
"Yeah. For, like, you know, your mom and dad and everything."
"Uh, I dunno." I bit my lip. "I don't trust... No."
"I can come with you. I scheduled an appointment for later today."
"Max!"
"Please. For me." He took my hands.
I paused. "F-Fine."
"Okay. Thank you."
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"So, Ash, why're you here?" Dr. Jackson asked.
"I dunno, my boyfriend told me to come. I'm sure you know that."
"Yes, I do. But why does he want you here?"
"Something about me repressing my childhood trauma or some shit."
"What happened in your childhood?"
"Well, my mom abandoned me when I was born. My dad killed himself when I was, like, eleven."
"And what happened after?"
"I moved in with my best friend, who later became addicted to drugs and got me addicted."
"Currently addicted?"
"No."
"Okay." He made a note.
"Why are you writing that down?"
"Just for my notes."
"Uh, okay."
"Anything else important?"
"Uh... My friend I grew up with, Ronnie? He went to jail."
"Ronnie? Radke?"
"Fuck, you know him?"
"Yeah."
"So I'm assuming you know why he went to jail."
"Yeah."
"Fucking wonderful." I scowled.
"What about your boyfriend?"
"He's good. Addicted to drugs, but oh well."
"What's he like?"
"Nice. He was my high school sweetheart. Now we're dating again."
"Okay."
"Listen... I don't get the point of this. So what is it?"
"I don't know. You tell me."
"Fuck you." I muttered.
"What?"
"Nothing. Well, I'm probably here because of my childhood trauma and the fact I did drugs and because Max wants me to get better. So that's it. Yeah."
"Okay."
"Yeah." I skimmed my tongue over the inside of my bottom lip, feeling the metal of the barbell protruding. "Yep."
"So, what's so good about Max?"
"He's amazing. He just... He's done everything for me."
"Okay. Like?"
"He was the one that convinced me that rehab was gonna be okay after the car crash."
"What?"
"Oh. I was gonna go visit my friend, and I got in a car crash. I was high. Uh, a song Ronnie sings was playing on the radio and it's about a car crash, and... Yeah. I woke up at the hospital hurt. Max and Craig told me I had to go to rehab."
"Craig?"
"My ex boyfriend, he's abusive. He cheated on me. So I ran to Ronnie and eventually dated him until... Well... He cheated on me too."
"So there were multiple guys between both times you were with Max? Why'd you break up the first time?"
"We were both addicted to drugs, he was working on his band, and I was working my ass off on finishing high school with okay grades. We just didn't see each other enough to be in a relationship. So we're friends. And now dating."
"Was there a time Max hated you?"
I sighed. "Ronnie went to jail. I was pissed, cause he's my best friend. So I was mad and shit. And then I heard the band is getting a new singer, so I was pissed. Everyone in the band hated me except for Monte. Cause I was defending Ronnie."
"Did Max apply to that?"
"Yeah. He was fucking pissed. He'd call me like, a whore and a slut and a bitch. Which was fair. I was. And I'd get in fights with the new singer, which was Craig."
"I see."
"Yeah, so. That's all I feel like sharing. Go ahead and tell Max that I didn't like this, or whatever. I don't care." I stood up and left the tiny room. God. That fucking sucked.