A/N: This story is probably just a one shot, but we will see. It's a little AU as far as the characters go. Demi Torres fronts a band. Selena Russo is strictly an actress.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not the song. Not the people. I can only claim the idea. The song I use is called "Bleed Out" it's by Blue October.
Jameson, a tumbler, two ice cubes and a headache. That's the extent of my company this evening. I sit in the studio and stare at the silver wedding band sitting on the desk. It shouldn't be there, it belongs on my left hand. But like all misplaced things, there is a reason it is sitting there. You asked for the divorce and I gave it to you. I always told you I would give you anything you asked for. I meant it. This whole situation fucking sucked. I can't even begin to explain what went wrong. Whatever. I decide to listen to the song that I finished recording with my band. We want it on the next album. I'm just not sure if I can tolerate it. I take a deep breath as I hear the opening notes...
Close my eyes
Feel you sigh
A desperate aching wonder
Will you ever, ever let me off my knees?
Wide awake
Like a dream
As simple as a secret
Being told, to everyone but me
Will I
Bleed out
I gave it all
But you can't stop taking from me
And way down I know
You know where to cut me with your eyes closed
Bleed out
It won't be long till this heart stops beating
So don't let me bleed out here alone
Hear my plea...
You won't hear my plea
Sudden rain
Coming down
It all comes back to me
Waking up
Falling down
Another day
Come undone
I keep trying to heal your pain
In return, you cut me over and over
One more time and I will
Bleed out
I gave it all
But you can't stop taking from me
And way down I know
You know where to cut me with your eyes closed
Bleed out
It won't be long till my heart stops beating
So don't let me
Don't leave me
Bleeding alone
I finally feel like I'm supposed to be
Don't you take this moment away from me
But before you kill me wont you
Won't you look back in my eyes and watch me
Bleed out
I gave it all
But you can't stop taking from me
And way down I know
You know where to cut me with your eyes closed
Bleed out
It won't be long till my heart stops beating
So don't leave me
Don't let me bleed out here alone
Hear my plea
Bleed out
I gave it all
But you can't stop taking from me
And way down I know
You know where to cut me with your eyes closed
Bleed out
It won't be long till this heart stops beating
So don't leave me
Don't let me bleed out here alone
I'm pretty sure I can't stand this song. I sat down and wrote it about an hour after your lawyer served me with divorce papers. Ok, I started it. I didn't finish it until after you called me. That phone call was probably the single worst interaction I have ever had with you. It was fucking gut wrenching. I remember how tired you sounded. Your voice was hoarse from crying. I remember the first words out of your mouth when I picked up the phone. "Demi, I can't do this anymore. Please just sign them. Please..." And I did. I never could tell you no. I tried to repair the heartbreak I caused. It just wasn't working. We couldn't stop arguing. The arguments were nuclear. The last time I saw you I punched a hole through our bedroom wall. Our life was unraveling. When you accused of me of sleeping with that girl, I didn't even try to deny it. It will be the single most tragic mistake of my life. That girl certainly wasn't worth it. Just a nameless face looking for a good time. In case you're wondering, I never even touched her. It doesn't even matter anymore.
I wanted to fight for you. I wanted to make this hard, but I didn't. You deserved to leave me with your dignity still intact. No matter how desperate or angry I felt, I couldn't put you through that. Signing those papers killed me. I pick up the ring, it feels heavy. I feel the burning of tears behind my eyes. They won't fall, but they are there. I suppress the urge to throw the ring across the room. I reach for the bottle of Jameson and take a long pull. The amber liquid burns as it slides down my throat. I spent the next hour or so finishing off the bottle of whiskey. During that time I contemplated burning down the studio, calling you, and last but not least just leaving everything behind. Burning down the studio almost won. It would have been symbolic. In my mind I would be destroying the thing that tore us apart. My fame. Music. Even in my drunken stupor, I knew I was just making more excuses.
Sometimes I wish those photos were never taken. If you wouldn't have seen them, you would have never asked about that girl. The idea would have never made into your pretty little head. Fucking paparazzi. I still remember the sting of your hand across my face. I remember the tears and angry words. I remember how you sank down to the floor, your face in your hands. I mostly remember the way you looked at me, like you didn't even know who I was. That was a year ago. Our divorce has been official for about 2 months now. I hate it. I hate every second of it.
I have work to do. I need to stop this. I pick up my phone and call my manager. This dreadful fucking song will be the lead single from the next album. I leave a message due to the completely inappropriate hour and decide to go home. I use that term loosely. That fucking apartment is not my home. By some miracle I make it to my apartment building. I'm not even sure how I managed to drive. In the end I didn't care. Once I get through the door I don't even bother turning on the lights. It's pointless. There is nothing worth looking at here. I can't wait to see the fucked up pictures that will be all over the Internet and E network tomorrow. I can't go anywhere without some asshole taking a picture and asking me about you.I flop onto the couch and let out a sigh. I don't know how much longer I can do this.
One year later...
I put a gun my mouth about a month ago. I almost pulled the trigger. I'm still not sure why I didn't but these days I try not to over analyze things. Oh well. Maybe next time. I'm just going through the motions. I'm sleep deprived and overworked. I've stopped doing interviews. They constantly ask about you. The rest of the band takes care of the publicity. Which is kind of a weird situation for them. The last album has been huge. Three Grammys, Four AMA's, blah blah blah. It's sold over fifteen million copies. I'm so fucking happy people are stoked about my fucked up life. Whatever. Anything to make a quick buck. One more month until we take a break. This tour has been killing me. I want it to end. I'm used to not getting what I want though, so whatever.
I think about you a lot. As a matter of fact I haven't ever actually stopped. My life has been a mess. It took you all of five minutes to get custody of our daughter. My drinking and assault on an overly aggressive photographer did nothing to help my cause. I also love how you brought up the time I spent in rehab back when i was 18. It was lovely. The judge wasnt amused when I laughed out loud. I really just couldnt believe it. It's probably better that way anyway. You were my home. I am essentially homeless these days. Always on the road. It's really not a stable environment for a 5 year old. I wonder if she misses me as much as I miss her...
I take out my phone and dial a number that kills me each time. After 3 rings you pick up.
"Hello?"
"Hey its me, Demi."
"I know."
Awkward...
"Can I talk to Stella please?"
You sigh. Heavily.
"Actually no. She's in bed. You know this. Plus you shouldn't be calling like this Demi."
"Jesus fucking Christ Selena, I just wanted to hear her voice. I haven't talked to her in over a month."
Dead silence.
"You know what? I'm just gonna go. This is pointless. You stopped caring about what I had to say a long time ago. You win. You fucking win. I will not attempt to contact her or you or anyone that has anything to do with anything related to you. I'm done. Good fucking bye."
De..."
With that I hung up the phone and threw it into the wall. I watched as it shattered into pieces. It was fascinating. I imagine that's what my heart looks like. Fucking broken, and irreparable.