Every word I say, I know that you don't trust me.

But I'm better than the stories, about me.

-Olly Murs, Seasons

April 25, 2016: 1:07 a.m.

Speeding causes a chain reaction-good or bad. This morning, I got a notification letting me me there was a huge crash a few miles out of the city. The cause was some teenagers that were-you guessed it-speeding.

They not only stopped traffic, but they left several people possibly injured. So that's: ambulances, police officers, doctors, workers and families that were all disrupted.

A chain reaction.

When I used to drive along with Jared, we were stupid. We didn't follow the limit and yeah, it was fun. It left us feeling like we were untouchable; at the top of the world.

And then there was the semi that ran a stop light and threw my mom's car right into a pole. The events that followed weren't as lighthearted.

I picked up my speed as I entered some small town outside of the New York City lines.

I gripped the wheel tighter, making a sharp turn. If I went faster, I might be able to hear Jared's laugh as if he was sitting right next to me.

I pressed on the gas.

I saw the stoplight a few yards in front of me. It was yellow. If I went fast enough, I might be able to feel what they felt.

I pressed on the gas.

April 29, 2016: 7:34 p.m.

I closed my eyes tighter as the intercom buzzer rang erratically. It wasn't even in intervals, it just kept ringing.

What the hell.

I groaned getting off the couch.

What did I need to do to just be alone and sleep?

McKenna's visits were starting to become a little too frequent. Sure, her company interrupted the suffocating yet addicting silence, but I wanted to be alone.

The damn thing was still buzzing. Did Frank just quit doing his job?

"Tell McKenna to go away," I said pressing the button next to the intercom.

"It's not McKenna ass-face," my eyes widened in surprise at the deep voice that responded. It couldn't be. "Give the okay so Frankie can let me up."

Oh, it was.

Knowing exactly who I was dealing with, I told Frank to let him up. Trying to shake off my exhaustion, I took a bottle of water off the counter before flopping back onto the couch.

I didn't know how to feel about Beck's surprise visit.

Before I had a chance to decide, the elevator dinged.

I looked in its direction to see Beck walk off. He had a sappy grin on his face and walked in as if he owned this place.

"What's up Reece," he exclaimed waving his arms up as he made his over. He plopped down on the opposite couch.

He had on his leather jacket over a grey t-shirt. He had on the same black necklace that he had on since the first day I had met him along with the rings on his fingers. With his jet black hair tied back and slight goatee, he looked a lot older than he actually was.

"Just trying to figure out what you're doing here."

"Well good evening to you too," he gave me a pointed look.

"Aren't you supposed to be on tour?" I asked running a hand through my hair as I leaned my head back on the couch.

"I was and I am," he answered, "I have a show here tomorrow so I thought, 'hey why don't I visit Reece. He'd be happy to see me.'"

I scoffed at his sarcasm, "Sorry."

Beck was an artist too. He was under a different label, but I had met him early on in my career when I opened for him. He was two years older, but still my closest friend up to date.

"Apology is taken under consideration," he said, thoughtfully before practically jumping out of his seat. Without asking for permission, he walked over to my small studio and began fiddling with my instruments and laptop.

"You've been getting shit done around here, huh," he noted playing a few amateur tracks from my laptop.

"It's just a few ideas."

It was actually a lot.

Beck let out a laugh, "Some would call it inspiration."

I called it no sleep.

"Call it what you want, but my next album is going to top yours," I called out behind me.

"We'll see," he mused as I heard him shut down my laptop. "You still got a lot of work to do," he said coming back into my line of sight. He sat back on the couch, but this time with his feet propped up on the coffee table.

"So what're you really doing here?" I asked knowing there must be a reason. Beck wasn't really a sit down and talk about your day kind of guy. I was confident that hadn't changed.

"Are you taking those, again?" he asked.

I raised my eyebrow following his gaze to the coffee table. By his feet was my container of sleeping pills.

Shit.

They were always in my room along with my anxiety medication except I took one a few hours ago and left the bottle out.

"Uh, yeah," I answered knowing where this was going.

"Why."

"To sleep."

"Well no shit, but why."

I shrugged, "Because I can't sleep and when I do, I have dreams. Those help." I didn't have to explain anymore. He was around when it first started happening so he knew what I was talking about.

He shook his head, his dark eyes studying me. "Those don't help."

They did, but I knew he was talking about not helping on a larger, more permanent scale.

"If they did help, you wouldn't be back on them again," he added in a little more sarcastically.

I rolled my eyes. "Whatever. Go to med school and then lecture me."

Beck had a thing about using drugs, prescribed or not, as a crutch. He was strongly against it. I had no idea why and I never really asked him.

He was a lot more closed off and who was I to pry.

"I come from a long line of doctors. I know my shit," he said, smirking.

"Well then," I muttered not expecting that response.

"That's besides the point-But that doesn't mean you shouldn't take my advice into consideration," he said, "Anyways, not why I'm here. I'm here 'cause I  heard you got your self some kind of girlfriend?" He looked at me as if he was waiting for me to deny it.

I nodded, trying to hold back a laugh, "Yeah."

He raised his hand, looking at me in disbelief, "Why would you put yourself through that?"

I spit out a laugh at his questioning. "Because when you like someone, you decide you want to date them."

I was getting pretty good at answering on the spot.

"I like a lot of women. Does not mean I date them," he reasoned leaning forward in his seat.

"Well, she's worth it."

Beck gave me a look as if he didn't know whether to believe me or check me into a psych ward.

"Whatever," he waved me off, "have a girlfriend. I'll allow it. But the word on the street is that you haven't gone to a party or had any real fun in months. That, I cannot allow!"

"I didn't know I was making choices to please you," I chuckled.

"I will not have it. We're going out tonight," he said, standing up. "Right now."

"What if I don't want to?" I asked not wanting to leave my apartment.

He shook his head, "Not an option. So go change, shower, shave and please do something about that hair. It's god awful."

I remained seated in my seat, "How about you leave and I'll take all this amazing advice into consideration?"

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk I knew all too well. I wasn't going to get out of this shit so easily.

A/N: Happy New Year! Hope everyone is having a great break. I am back and might I say it is great to be. I have some good news and bad news.

Good news: I've been writing non stop for a few days so I've got a few chapters in store for y'all.

Bad news: My time management skills, not so great. So bear with me :)

Picture on top is of Beck!

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