Three Years Without Freya Sherman

Two

"I already told you, I'm not going to London."

"Ray, this is ridiculous. We either go to London and do this gig, try to get ourselves back on track...or this whole thing is over. Our careers, everything," Kian, our guitarist, says.

I roll my eyes, leaning back in my chair. I have no interest in hearing what my bandmates from Prophecy have to say right now. I lost most of my interest in our band a long time ago, and now they're trying to get me to the one place I swore I'd never go again. Not when she's there. Not when I've spent so long trying to put myself together. Being in the same city as Freya...that would tear me apart.

"I said I'm not going," I tell Kian. He sighs, braiding a strand of his long black hair to form a crown over his head. He's always been a pretty boy, but more so lately. Something to do with 'rebranding' to fit our new music. The trouble is, our new music isn't working. Not for us, not for the fans. We all know that this kind of fall from grace could wipe us off the map in terms of music. This gig is a last ditch attempt to rise from the ashes.

Except I don't want to do it.

"So what are we supposed to do? Go to a gig without our lead singer? People come to see you, Ray. You're everything to the fans. A gay icon. A complete badass. Where did that woman go?"

I close my eyes, fending off the headache that's resting behind my eyes. Brad knows as well as anyone that the version of Ray I used to be is long dead, replaced by a fraud. I spent so long pretending not to be myself, and now I've lost the ability to even be the person I invented.

"You know the show will be a disappointment to them anyway," I say, standing up and heading over to the window for some fresh air. I feel a stab of guilt in my stomach. I can see that Kian and Presley, our drummer, have been trying. Our manager has been on our backs, trying to fix us into something the fans can learn to love again. Brad has given in to his feminine side, allowing his edges to become softer to match the new power ballads on the cards. Presley has rid himself of the black eyeliner he's worn for the last ten years and let his shorn hair grow to seem more 'approachable.' A load of stylistic prejudice from our manager, if you ask me. Still, she's managed to get them to fit the mould she's designed for them.

But me? I'm still stuck in my ways. I've not made any effort to change. Because some part of me is hoping that if I do cross paths with Freya again, she'll see some glimmer of the girl she once wanted, even if only for a moment. If she sees I haven't changed much, except for this broken heart I carry around with me...maybe she'll find a reason to want me again.

And that's why I can't move with the times. Even if we do go to London and accept the invite to perform on Britain's Got Talent, I know that I'll feel wrong about it. I know that our former fans will be laughing at what we've become, how far we've fallen. Everyone knows that Prophecy is running on borrowed time. And I don't want to watch it happen anymore.

"If we don't go, then what does it mean?" Presley asks, his gruff voice low and quietly angry. He wants me to stop ruining this for them. That much is clear. I turn to look at him.

"I don't know. Maybe we should quit while we're ahead," I reply. I take out a cigarette and light it by the window. Nicotine seems to be the one thing that can make me feel good these days. "Can any of us honestly say that this is what we want? We've gone from selling out stadiums to selling ourselves out. No one comes back from that. I don't want to be the woman who goes on lame-ass shows just to keep her career going. I'd rather go out with a bang."

"You'll go out in a whimper," Presley scoffs. He's never been one to hold back on his thoughts, but the comment stings a little. "You've been cowering for a long time. It's time to cut that bullshit out. I say we go. I say we have to try. We can play one of our older songs."

I roll my eyes. "You think Britain's Got Talent are going to let us play our old stuff? It's hardly family friendly..."

"So we adapt. Do an acoustic version or something. Stick to our roots, but pave way for our new beginnings. Ray...I hate to say it, but you're fucking this up for us if you say no."

I feel bitterness inside me, right to the pit of my stomach. I've been told plenty of times that I'm a disappointment, and I've come to terms with it. But seeing Presley and Kian right now, both of them depending on me...it's enough to make me think that maybe it doesn't have to be this way.

If only I'd give myself another chance, things could be better than this. Do I have to resign my life to mourning the woman who broke my heart? I could go to London and rock that show if I wanted. I could take Billie, show her that I'm not totally a lost cause. Hell, I could finally settle down with her and stop making her life difficult. Stop making my life difficult, too.

But there's magic in misery. I've spent too long wallowing in it. It's become addictive. And I don't know how to get out of this hole I've dug myself.

I sigh. "I don't know...I just don't know."

"Then we're voting," Kian says, his gentle face hardening. "You might be the face of Prophecy, Ray, but you're not our leader. We get some say in this too. And I think it's clear that both me and Presley want to go to London."

I scowl. I could tell them to go fuck themselves. I could tell them to find a new lead singer, but they might even take me up on that, and then I'll lose my identity entirely. They've backed me into a corner and they know it. I take a deep breath, tossing my burning cigarette out of the window.

"Then I guess we're going to London, aren't we?"