Miss Americana and The Hearbreak Princess

Chapter Thirty Nine - Bad Blood

"Sometimes biding my time to have the last word was the only thing I could do. I was never allowed to air things public, not back then. Perhaps that was... for the best. I mean, it didn't exactly turn out well when I did that."

She let out a short laugh, stunted and lacking any real amusement, her lips twitching as if she was about to smile. 

Becca had made her own mistakes in terms of social faux pas, too eagerly jumping at the chance to bite back and defend herself as people online took advantage of the opportunity to join the bandwagon hatred.

"There's only so much one person can take though, you know? Even when I wasn't allowed to publicly make statements about false claims, it would build, all these things that people were saying about me, until it became too much. Songwriting was my only outlet for it."

"Did you write a lot of songs in retaliation to rumours and the like? I know there are a few on your albums, but I imagine that there were a lot more that no one's ever seen."

Nodding in agreement as Mei finished speaking, Becca's mouth turned down slightly at the corners as she tucked her hair behind her ears, a faint crease puckering her brows as a cloudy expression darkened her features. 

She looked solemn and stoic as she lounged in her armchair, arms draped over each side, an almost casual air of nonchalance enveloping her as she brooded.

Lips pursed in a slight pout, Becca let out a quiet snort of laughter, her eyebrows rising and falling in an exasperated look of wry humour. 

"There are hundreds of them. Some were never finished. Others were... dark. A lot just didn't suit the sound and story I was trying to weave together in the album at the time. When it came to writing a new one, it just... well, they were old grievances by then. It seemed better to leave them buried. Until one fateful April."

The weeks passed by quickly and Becca had thrown herself into her tour rehearsals with exhausting fervour. 

Her every waking moments were taken up by choreography and rhythmic beats of drumming, the easy way her fingers ran through chords and notes on her electric guitar and costume fittings and discussing the stage layout. 

It was time-consuming and exciting, and Becca grew impatient with excited anticipation, awaiting the arrival of March and the first tour date of the Red Tour.

Of course, she didn't want to leave Freen. They'd even made jokes about her coming on tour with her and carrying her bags, but it was never anything more than jokes. 

Their days before they were torn apart once more were numbered, and despite the business of Becca's life, she spent every spare moment with Freen. 

They spent Valentine's Day together, buying each other roses and chocolates and perfume, indulging themselves in a sweet moment of ordinary romance, a three-course dinner cooked by their own hands.

The rest of February passed by quickly with interviews and photo shoots and TV show appearances. 

Becca was back and forth LA, L.A. and New York, in between her rehearsals, and she was careful to cherish the mornings she got to wake up with her face squished up against Freen's shoulder blade or with a heavy arm thrown across her waist. 

Soon enough it would all be gone, with infrequent visits and stolen moments beneath the oppressive micromanaging of their teams as they watched them like hawks.

March came far too soon for Becca's liking, although she was excited about hitting the road again for her latest tour. She just wished Freen could come with her. It would all be perfect then. But it was an unrealistic expectation, not only because their relationship was a secret, but because Freen had her own career to think about too.