This Is My Version; A Conor Maynard Fanfiction

Chapter 17

Conor's POV

"Mikey and I are heading out, you coming or?"

Jack leans against the doorway to my bedroom, his strained voice reaching my ears despite my focus being solemnly on the video I'm currently editing.

"'m busy"

"You're always busy nowadays. When was the last time you joined us for dinner Conor?"

I sigh, tired of consistently being reminded of the things I should or shouldn't be doing.

For the first time in months am I actually motivated to do work, to get things I'd put off done. And whether that has something to do with the fact that everything else feels like shit or not I don't really want to think about.

"Maybe if you started asking me if I want to join I'd come"

The comment really wasn't necessary but I just can't stop myself, done with just accepting that my friends quite clearly have started to drift away from me.

"Mikey sent the message to the group chat three hours ago, Conor! Three fucking hours! Stop acting as if we're purposely excluding you"

It's not unusual for him to lash out, it's Jack we're talking about. But it still makes me jump in my seat. He's clearly had enough and I really don't blame him.

"Just go"

I smile sarcastically as he nods, backing out from my room and closing the door behind him.

A week or so ago I would've broken down over such a thing, had a panic attack or a mental breakdown. Yet I'm too tired to even think about it. Too numb to feel anything.

It's like I've given up, as if I've finally come to realise that things simply won't get better until I get myself out of the mess I'd put myself in, the mess that currently is my life so to say.

Shaking my head I focus back on the half finished edit on my laptop screen. It is a collab with Alex Aiono and we'd decided to put both of our videos live on the same day, something that had put an extreme amount of pressure on me the last few days, if not weeks.

I don't like deadlines, always having preferred to do things in my own pace, the extra pressure that always came with having to be done on a certain date more often than not causing me to crumble.

I've got enough pressure on me as it is, enough people telling me that what I'm currently doing isn't enough. That I need to work harder if I want to continue with what I'm doing career vise.

Yet each time I put out a song it seems to be doing worse than the last one. As if no-one cares anymore. As if the millions of dedicated fans I had four years ago all of a sudden have left as soon as I start to come back.

I don't blame them though, completely understanding why they would leave. But it still hurts and I often wonder if coming back actually is worth it. If trying to salvage my career is going to be the end of me forever.

Because it is only a certain amount of pressure I can take. A certain amount of failures until I won't have the strength to carry on anymore. And being honest, I feel as though each day that passes I'm getting closer to that point.

My phone, the small device that I've practically become addicted to, dependent on, lights up on the desk next to me, the most recent notification surprising me.

What you doing tonight? I've got the evening free if you're up to do something. Sorry if this is weird, just felt like I needed to make sure you were alright xxx

I read the message a couple of times, wondering why she after a week of not hearing from me had decided to send that so out of the blue.

But then she'd said it in her text; "just felt like I needed to make sure you were alright". She'd felt that and had just texted me like it was the most mundane thing ever. As if she doesn't know that all I've used her for is to numb my own pain.

She'd gone out of her way to make sure I am alright and I don't even know the girl. My friends don't even text me like this. My best friend who I've known for years doesn't text me like she'd just done.

Before my brain catches up have I pressed the call button next to her number, resting my phone down in my lap after I've put on the loud speaker.

"Hello?"

Her voice is cheery, if not a little out of breath as she answers after the second tone and I smile just at the sound of it, imagining my lips meeting hers for the first time in over a week.

"Come over"

It comes out before I manage to react and I quickly realise how greedy I'm sounding. Fucking hell Conor.

"Maybe start with a hello or?"

It's almost as if I can hear her smirk through the phone as she releases a light chuckle after her previous statement.

"Well hello Olivia, do you want to come over?"

I lean back in my chair, my eyes shifting to the view outside my window, the Battersea buildings now bathing in the evening sun that only the month of July was able to provide.

Really I should be outside enjoying it with my friends at the park. I shouldn't be sat inside, miserable because of events that took place a year ago.

Still, here I am, editing a cover of a love song that I'd somehow managed to turn into a depressing ballad because of my current state of mind, calling the girl who's just like in the song been my lifeline for the past month.

"I'll be at yours in twenty minutes, okay? Everything is going to be alright, Conor, everything is going to be alright. Trust me"

She wasn't cheery anymore and I put that down to her having detected the probably obvious pain in my voice. The pain she always got met with each and every time she saw me.

And how I wish the words she'd just said would come true but for each day filled with dark thoughts that passes my hope of one day being nothing but happy subsides that little bit more.

"Thank you"

It's not often that I say those words but right in this second is it the only thing I can come up with. I'm grateful for her existence, grateful for her patience and her understanding. Because without her I simply don't know what I'd do with myself.