monte, 3 years later

I walk over the streets of new york. my sunglasses reflect the lights of the city. I'm wearing a trenchcoat. I can't imagine my young self in this outfit. It's too toned down. I like to be all out but I prefer to remain anonymous here. I light my cigarette and put on my hat. my hands are bloody from playing the guitar and my lip is cracked from the cold. I walk towards our big house in upper east side. We just returned from our tour in america. We're gonna move onto europe. I sigh. how glamourous it is. I'm sleep deprived. I'm on the verge of a mental breakdown and if I tell one thing i could end up dead or destroying my own career. I feel the urge to throw up. i fiddle with my hands and turn my phone off and back on.  I want to open the door when a butler does it for me. I thank him. Allo is skating through the halls and marlene is laying on a couch that doesn't really seem comfortable but it was probably expensive. I take off my kacket. I'm wearing a black see-through shirt I probably stole from allo or nathan, a simple leather jacket red striped flared pant and my hair is wet and messy and my make up is probably messed up. so that equals I look like a mess in my standard. I walk up the stairs. I still don't feel okay with the security and the staff. I mean I grew up with staff but I enjoyed doing it myself. i open my door when I see nathan laying on my bed. "What do you want?" I ask. "I was trying to write a new song." I shrug. "we're writing thirty at the moment. why are you really here?" I ask him "monte, do you really think we don't see that you are not okay?" I don't wanna give in. I just wanna forget. But I fucking signed papers I can't forget things like this. I promised that for the first two years of our fame I wouldn't confirm nor deny anything about my sexuality. "We're almost two years famous you know and I have no fucking idea how and what I'm gonna do when my restraints are not limited anymore." he nods. "Well i think you're father knows what he would like." "he always does." I stare at my phone I still have his number. "maybe we can invite him into the band." "his stage fear is a risk" I say. he walks out of my room. I lock myself in my bathroom and throw up into my toilet. I'm still not over him. I feel so guilty. He was too good for this world. But everything I have and he doesn't makes it harder to convince me that it's my fault