Scarlett's POV
I was thinking about them again. Though I'm pretty sure they've forgotten about me by now. I walk over to my window sill and watch as raindrops race each other down the glass, a small smile settling on my face. Rain always had that certian effect on me. It always put me in my best moods. That'd be why I moved to England.
I walked into my en suite, looking at my messy electric blue hair. I just recently dyed it, my old cottton candy pink hair was getting old, and I'm looking for a change. If I go back, I don't want them to recognise me. I sighed at my reflection. I was never really fond of it, not to mention the fact I got bullied all throughout middle and high school. I looked uder the sink, feeling a sickening urge bubble in my stomach. As soon as my fingers grazed the cold metal, I remember the promise I made to Ashley all those years ago. But eh, he's not here and what he doesn't know won't kill him.
Yet it could kill me.
My asshole of a self-conscious whispers in my head. I ignore it and sit down on the edge of the bathtub, contemplating wether or not I wanna go down this road again. Before I could bring the sharp razor to my wrist, my phone goes off, blasting Bring me the Horizon's song, drown. Sighing out of anger, I pull myself up and grab my phone, pressing the answer button.
"Hello?" My voice comes out raspy, seeing how I haven't talked much for the past few days.
"Hi, yes. My name is Rob Nicholson of Mercenary Management. This is Scarlett Purdy, no? You sent me a couple of videos of you doing some covers and even some original songs, am I correct?" A deep voice says quite speedily through the phone.
"Umm, ye-yes sir, I did indeed. And feel free to call me Bubba instead of Scarlett." I reply hesitantly, slightly shocked that they even listened to my file I had sent in.
"Well that's wonderful! I would like to be your manager and put you on my buddy's record label, he even has a band situated for you to join, but I would need you to move to where they are currently located for interviews, recordings, and such." (A/N; I don't really know how the process works, so bear with me, I'm going off how I think it would go)
"Where would that be located at, sir?" I ask politely, getting excited.
"Well the label is in New York City, New York, but we would move you to Los Angeles. Is that okay or would you like to just live in New York City?" He asks a little worried.
"No, no, LA is perfect!'
"Oh thank goodness. Okay, so I'll fly out to London in my jet and on our way to LA I'll go through a run down of what you'll be doing. I'll be there in a week, so pack your stuff and be ready, I'll call you when I land." He says relieved, but then going all business-y again.
"Sounds great! And thank you so much sir, you don't understand how much this means to me." I say almost in tears of happiness.
"The pleasure is all mine, Bubba. I'll see you soon."
"Bye-bye sir. I look forward to seeing you." I say before hanging up. As I drop my phone to the floor, I squeal out of excitement and jump around excitedly around the small, one bedroom apartment I rented while I stayed here. After I had finished having my fangirl attack, I plugged my phone into my speakers and blast Panic at the Disco's, Miss Jackson.
After about an hour of packing up all my clothes except for the ones I'd have to wear during the week, I head to my bathroom to pack up my toiletries and other necessities. As I pack my shampoo, out of the corner of my eye, I see the razor, thrown to the side. I freeze in my spot. I grab the razor and my others and put them in a plastic bag, carefully taping them to the bottom of my makeup bag. Shaking off my nerves, I finish in the bathroom and decide to head to bed. It's been an interesting day, full of a rollar coaster of emotions
