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“That’s who you were throwing a fit about before you took off?”
“Yeah. I hadn’t seen her in years. And I brought her backstage and put her in a chair so she could hang out while we did our set. But then she was just gone, and it pissed me off that no one could be bothered to answer my questions.”
He pulls up another video, this one of me and my brother pushing each other around backstage. “Someone caught your pushing contest on camera. You’re starring in two viral videos tonight.”
“I’m sorry about that.” I close my eyes and my chin falls to my chest.
Why had I acted like that? I knew better.
“No reason to be sorry. It’s publicity, and any publicity is good for the band.”
Putting his phone back into his pocket, he then shoves his hands into them too and rocks back on his heels.
Cocking his head at me, he smiles. “Now, about what the doctor said, why don’t you rest that liver of yours for a couple of days and then we’ll see what happens, okay? It’s not like you should change who you are. I mean, the fans know the real you, and they love you, but maybe we can just hit pause or slow down for a second?”
That’s a bunch of bull. No one knows the real me. Not anymore. Not since Lucy.
It sickens me to realize the last time I was true to myself was four years ago.
From the moment I stepped away from her, a mask fell on me, and I’ve been wearing it ever since. A heavy mask that hides the true me even from myself.
I’m ashamed of who I have become.
No wonder Lucy didn’t want to stick around.
No wonder my brother and the guys are starting to get tired of my shit.
“Everyone is pissed at me.”
“Not me. Not the fans.” He grins.
“Still.”
God, sometimes I wonder how much more do I have to lose of myself, how much more of my soul do I have to sell to the label company to be enough?
Will I ever be able to be myself again? Or am I forever doomed to be Lo? A god that sells out stadiums but can’t even look himself in the eye on the mirror.
“You come off as a hero in the first video. And in the second one, you come off like a man who takes no shit. And now, with being rushed to the hospital due to alcohol poisoning, that’s what I told the press you were brought here for, you come off as a party animal. You rock hard, play hard, drink hard, and everyone knows that.”
All I ever wanted to do was sing the songs I write, or wrote, with my brother. I never wanted things to come to this.
I don’t know how much longer I can’t keep doing shit like this. “I don’t know—”
“You’re not a poser. You’re the real fucking deal, Lo, a rockstar god. Keep it up. It sells concert tickets.”
Lo.
I’m starting to hate that name.
Ty pats my leg. “For now, get your rest. Tomorrow, you’ll get out of this hospital and there are sure to be screaming females waiting to greet you once you walk out the hospital doors.”
“Great,” I mumble.
Ty leaves the room, and I’m alone with my ghosts.
The label wants me to be the epitome of a rocker bad boy.
That was never me, but for the last four years I’ve made it my job to be.
