𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵 𝗺𝗲 𝗶𝗳 𝗜 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝟮 ⁑ t.holland

6. taking control

It felt odd walking through the halls of Gem Records again. Last time I was here, two weeks ago, I had practically told everyone to go fuck themselves. 
I didn't expect to be back so quick, or at all if I'm being honest.

I walked through the glass doors at the front of the building, past the piano in the lobby and then the front desk. Already, eyes were on me. Some of them whispered to one another but others chose to stay silent and just stare. I guess I got so sick and tired of the whispering and the gossip, I finally chose to ignore it. 
A part of me go used to it too. Which, I mean, in this kind of career, it's to be expected. Your entire life revolves around the drama. If I let every single rumor, every single whisper bother me, I would've lost my mind a long time ago.

It just took me this long to ignore them and not let the ones I didn't hear bother me. 
I walked into one of the halls, pictures of various artists, included me, hung up on the walls along with records and awards. 
I miss the days where it was all just about the music. If I could go back to the days where my only worries were what kind of song I should perform for the talent show, I'd do it in a heartbeat. 

The songs I was singing now, they weren't me. 
I put on this mask-- this act. I made myself seem scarier, rougher, and angrier. But, in reality, I'm still that 16 year old from Florida. I'm still the girl who used to cry every time I watched Marley & Me. I'm still the girl who would put on a show for my parents in the living room with my sister.
They all forgot I had a life before all of this. They're impression of me was only from the me after the heartbreak, after the loss.

I moved to New York angry and alone. I started drinking and smoking and whenever it wasn't strong enough, I kept going. 
Party after party, I made a name for myself and people only knew me as the fucked up party animal. Yet, they never asked why.
I moved to Los Angeles lost and confused. I had completely forgotten about my life, my family. I made myself intp what they wanted me to be and it stuck.

For a while, I was okay with it. I was perfectly fine with them using me as some kind of talent-driven pawn because I had accepted the fact that that's all I'd ever be.
After two albums under their spell, I got tired. Tired of playing the part, tired of lying. I wanted people to listen to songs I made, not them. I wanted everyone to understand that my life isn't just parties and sex. I'm still human.

I reached the end of the hall and wrapped my hand around the handle, opening the door. Miguel looked up from the pile of paper on his desk. His brows were furrowed, shocked to see me in the building only two weeks after telling him off. 
"Brooklyn," He started, standing up. "What a surprise."

"Don't" I warn, walking further into the bright office. This room was obnoxiously neat. Barely any color, just greys, black and white. He had two fake plants in both ends of the office and that was it. Sadly, it resembled the rest of the building. "I'm hiring myself back." 

He let out a dry laugh. "You can't--"

Monica slowly made her way into the room, arms crossed over her chest, a proud smirk pulling at her lips.
"I can, and I did. I already went over the paperwork with Monica." I continue, not bothering to look behind me. I had to show him that I'm in control. I'm not just some kid anymore. "I'm not coming back because I need you or this place. I'm here because I know you need me."

He scoffed, glancing to Monica before locking eyes with me again. "We were doing fine." He grumbled miserably, looking for another kind of comeback.

"Your success rate went down 3% since I left. Another few weeks and I'm sure that percentage would double." I speak calmly, keeping calm. "Do us all a favor and admit that you need me around to keep this place afloat."