AS SOON AS Charlie idled up the driveway to Liam's house, a wannabe-rockstar mansion that he'd purchased not only several months prior, he felt a sensational wave of regret.

It was the painful, bleeding regret of having even acknowledged Liam's text in the first place. No matter how long Charlie continued to know Liam, he'd never quite understand his stupid antics. Like the current one he coped with then, for example. Liam had called for practice when they'd already been up at the crack of dawn rehearsing hours worth of their music.

What pissed Charlie off even more was Liam's insistence that they all gather at his house when they'd been perfectly fine to use the studio earlier that day. The shitty acoustics of Liam's living room versus a nice, clean studio?

Charlie knew which one he'd rather pick.

His nostrils flared as he sat back in the driver's seat of his car, hesitating to shut the vehicle off and make the rest of his body work. It should have been easy, getting out of the car and putting one foot in front of the other to walk inside of the house. His band was waiting for him. It was the kind of bullshit that people in bands dealt with all the time.

But it was becoming harder and harder to go through those usual motions when he felt like damning it all to hell. He was beginning to feel a bubbling hatred for The Finks and all the weight it had brought down on his shoulders.

Well . . . maybe not all of it.

He would always love playing, especially on stages that looked out to sprawling audiences, the same ones he'd dreamed would flock to see him one day. And the thought of an upcoming nationwide tour left him feeling thrilled rather than anxious. Charlie loved his job because it wasn't a job. It was a privilege.

Maybe Liam was the only one who was deserving of his loathing. It was Liam who blew up his phone with demanding phone calls and texts. It was Liam who bossed him around constantly, snapping instructions like Charlie was a dog and he was the trainer. And it was Liam who only seemed to care about Charlie's songwriting if it was by chance impacted with creative input from Kurt.

And then there was the new matter of Billie.

Charlie clenched his teeth together when her name echoed in his head, a response that normally did not accompany any thought process involving her.

From the moment he'd first revealed to his band mates that he had stronger-than-normal feelings for Billie, Liam had found a multitude of ways to divert Charlie's attention from Billie and back towards the band.

Charlie knew it wasn't jealously that served as the primary drive behind Liam's malice. He was good looking enough to get any girl he pleased and always reminded Charlie of that when he'd take home a groupie or two after their shows.

Liam's frequent tendency to be an asshole, now principally concerning Billie, was just a result of his fear of losing Charlie's talent to someone or something else. Charlie wasn't coy — he knew how much Liam valued him.

He just wasn't sure if he valued him for the right reasons.

After all, Liam still couldn't manage to get a grip on himself when standing in the same room with Kurt. That alone had been a red flag that had blurred Charlie's line of sight for months.

Ceasing the internal debate that he was battling with himself, Charlie got out of his car and walked up to Liam's front door. He allowed himself in and predictably found the other members of the band gathered in Liam's living room.

"I'm shocked you're not late," Liam called out sourly as Charlie came into view.

Charlie walked into the middle of their circle but did not sit down on the couch, choosing instead to take on a similar stance to the one Liam stood in. He crossed his arms to his chest, staring directly into Liam's shrewd face.

"I had no idea you were testing me," he responded coolly.

"C'mon, shut the fuck up Liam," Emerson, The Finks's bassist, chastised from his spot on the corner of the couch. He looked just as tired as Charlie felt, with his floppy blonde hair falling into his heavy-lidded eyes. Even Grant, their drummer, had an expression that mirrored Emerson's like a mask. It was all the same — exhaustion and irritation with a common denominator.

They were all fed up with Liam's bullshit.

Charlie realized that the tension thickening the air was not solely made up of his own; his bandmates were contributing to it with their stiff postures and tightly-set lips.

Liam didn't appear to notice, and if he did, he certainly made an excellent show of pretending not to care.

Pompous bastard, Charlie thought, struggling to understand how his once closest friend had turned into his favorite person to despise.

"How about everyone shuts the fuck up and actually rehearses?" Liam suggested. His glare was not quite menacing enough to make Charlie obey. Liam's dirty look fell on him first, and he scoffed loudly after giving Charlie a once over.

"Dude. Where's your guitar? I told you we were calling this shit for practice."

"We practiced this morning," Charlie said. "I'm not doing it again, man. I'm losing the callouses on my fingers faster than I'm building them."

Liam looked appalled, unbelieving that his right hand man had actually gone against an order. Charlie had been so compliant in the last few months, especially with the tour looming right around the corner. Keeping the peace had been his priority.

"Charlie," Liam began, his voice low. "When I call for practice, you don't really have a say in the matter. As long as you're part of my band, that is."

Both Emerson and Grant, who'd been whipping their heads back in forth between Charlie and Liam's exchange, looked to Charlie for his upcoming reply. They were anxious, but shreds of hope drifted across their faces, as if they were lusting to see Liam finally have his ass handed to him by the only person who knew how to do so.

Charlie knew Liam better than anyone else did. Hell, he'd known somewhere in the back of his mind, the part that warned him, that Liam was no real friend. His interest in Charlie was consumed wholly by the fact that he was Charlie Cobain, and that was about where it began and ended.

But in glueing himself to Charlie's side, Liam had revealed the best and worst of himself to his bandmate and friend. He'd laid himself bare all in order to sidle as closely as he could to Charlie, hoping with crossed fingers that Charlie would join The Finks and contribute some brand of Cobain magic that his father had possessed in the early nineties.

And Charlie had. He'd brought an element of skill to the band that they had not obtained before him, back when it'd been just Liam, Emerson and Grant. Charlie's songwriting and adept guitar playing had shot The Finks into stardom and solidified he and Liam's relationship as close friends.

There was no way Liam would lose his grip on the best thing that had ever happened to his baby, his band.

Even if it meant revealing his weaknesses to Charlie, Liam did it anyways, all so he could maintain his crushing grasp on the person that he treasured most.

Charlie had been the key to his success and there was no damn way he was going to lose that key.

"So what you're saying is, if I quit the band, you'll stop trying to control my fucking life?" Charlie asked calmly. Emerson's eyes widened and Grant opened his mouth, a declaration of 'no' on the tip of his tongue.

No one wanted to lose Charlie. It wasn't only Liam who felt that way.

Liam narrowed his eyes. "No, what I'm saying is, you have a damn good gig set up for you in this band and if you've got even one brain cell, you wouldn't walk away from it."

He could sound deadly serious when he tried to be. But even Charlie noticed the way that Liam had seized up when he'd mentioned the word 'quit.'

A silence blanketed the four of them, no one saying a word as Liam's statements replayed on loop in their heads. Only minutes had passed since Charlie had arrived, but something had clearly changed in that short span of time.

Charlie was repeating it to himself, over and over and wondering if Liam was right. He supposed he would be stupid to leave, in some ways — a tour of the United States with a great up and coming band was no easy feat to pull off and might not happen again.

The Finks had been there for Charlie as he'd furthered his career with quite literally, his own two hands. For so long, he'd celebrated that in the end he had not had to use his father's fame to get him somewhere in life. The very thought of doing so had disgusted him, and all Charlie had ever wanted was to reach the top without anyone's help, including Kurt's. His aspirations had come true plainly because he was good at what he loved to do. 

Yet looking into Liam's anxious stare, Charlie could feel the twitching reminder that his belief wasn't as true as he'd first thought it to be.

Kurt had helped him out on this one, whether Charlie wanted to admit it or not. If Liam hadn't been such a fanatical fan of his dad and the rest of Nirvana, he may have never reached out to Charlie in the first place. It was a fearful truth that Charlie had contemplated for some time.

He was just now beginning to realize how true it was.

Charlie looked away, glaring hard down at the floor and questioning if he was even thinking straight. Did he want to quit The Finks? Or was his anger, so potent after all the stolen time and sanity that Liam had taken from him, too strong to handle?

But there would always be another band. Another path, another goal to be reached no matter how unattainable. Charlie didn't think he'd mind the feeling of starting over from scratch. Throwing his guitar around his neck and playing the hell out of it in someone's garage, daydreaming of having the kind of band that you'd boast about someday.

He didn't need the fame -- he could live without it, and in fact, he might have even needed a vacation from it.

What it came down to was doing what he loved and doing it happily. He didn't want to resent the feeling of picking up his guitar just because Liam told him to. It wasn't the kind of thing Charlie thought he could endure for much longer.

So why delay the process any further?

He took a deep breath, looking squarely ahead and slipping his hands into the pockets of his black jeans.

"I quit."

Liam, who'd briefly turned his back to Charlie in order to mutter obscenities under his breath, froze.

"What?"

"Dude, you don't want to do that," Grant interrupted, jumping to his feet and holding his hand out. It was a physical warning, or maybe even a desperate appeal, that Charlie stop.

Charlie looked into all of their faces, surprised by how at ease he felt. The two words, the ones he'd been waiting to say for longer than he'd actually thought, didn't feel so bad leaving his lips. It might have even been the easiest thing that he'd done since confessing to Billie that he felt strongly for her.

"No," Charlie said evenly. "I definitely do want to do it."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Liam demanded, his voice hitching with a note of panic. "You can't just quit. We have a fucking tour coming up. Press conferences. Interviews. You're not pulling this shit on me now, Cobain."

It was funny to Charlie to hear Liam use his last name with such menace. 'Cobain' had been one of his devotions, but now it sounded wretched being spit from in between his teeth.

"Do 'em without me. I don't want any part of it. I'm done with you, Liam. You're a fucking tool and I'm just done," Charlie shrugged. His heart was beating faster, but it wasn't out of fear -- it was a pure adrenaline rush.

"Charlie, for fucks sake, you can't leave," Emerson groaned, dropping his head into his hands and leaning forward. Grant was shaking his head back and forth, looking more traumatized than angered by Charlie's announcement.

"I honestly would have agreed with you five minutes ago, but I just realized how much I can't stand this kid," Charlie explained, nodding in Liam's direction.

"You can't stand me? Even after I'm the one who put your sorry ass here in the first place? I'd like to see where you'd be at now if it weren't for me," Liam sneered, jabbing a threatening finger in Charlie's face. He'd stepped forward, becoming much braver when incited by his fury.

"I'm a Cobain, remember?" Charlie said tauntingly, putting on a wry smile that dripped with irony and sarcasm. "I'm sure I'd be, and I will be, just fine without you Liam."

Liam's expression fell, his blazing exterior damaged by his own firmly held belief that Charlie's parentage made him godlike. Charlie had only simply done the job of reminding him of it.

"Fuck you, man," Liam seethed. "Your dad is the only good part about you and I hope you don't fucking forget it."

"I probably won't, but I'll let you know if I do," Charlie said tauntingly.

Liam cursed at him and whipped around, kicking a guitar pedal that had been set on the floor. It skidded across the tile and knocked into a wall, leaving Charlie with an urge to laugh.

He didn't even feel sad -- he felt free.

He turned to leave, but Emerson shot up from the couch, grabbing his arm before he could make his move towards the front door.

"Charlie, c'mon," Emerson said, lowering his voice. Liam was still in the room. "We can't do this without you. There is no 'Finks' without you."

"I can't be in a band that he's in," Charlie sighed. "I've come to terms with too much shit over the last few months to put up with him anymore than I already have. It's my time to go."

Grant inhaled deeply, looking close to exploding under the stress of the situation. His eyes flickered between Emerson and Charlie before he glanced over to a pacing Liam, turning to face the lead singer fully.

"I quit too," Grant declared.

"Oh, fuck," Charlie griped, gripping the sides of his forehead with his fingers as he heard Liam's answering roar of protest.

"NO YOU'RE NOT!" Liam shouted, charging Grant with impressive speed. "YOU'RE NOT WALKING OUT ON ME!"

"If Charlie goes, I'm out," Grant reasoned. "If he's not going to put up with your ass than neither am I."

"Shit guys," Emerson sighed. "I wasn't prepared for this at all, but I guess I quit too. You're not leaving me alone with this clown."

Charlie looked incredulously at his bandmate, only halfway wishing that he was hearing them incorrectly. It was sort of a sick delight for Charlie to see Liam's miniature empire crumble, but he was also concerned with the alternating shades of purple and red that Liam's face was turning.

"I can't do this," Charlie muttered. Before they could stop him, he darted towards the front door and stalked outside. The air felt cold and brisk, but years of living in Seattle had taught him to know when rain was coming. In that moment, he sensed a storm on its way.

He'd nearly gotten to the driver's side door of his car when he heard Emerson yelling for him to stop. He paused, his hand hovering on the door handle, but more than anything he wanted to drive away. He didn't want to be responsible for Liam deciding to murder them all.

"Charlie! Charlie, dude, wait up!"

"Go back inside and make sure he doesn't suffocate," Charlie said as Emerson and Grant jogged up to his car.

"No way. He can handle himself. We need to know if this shit is for real or not," Grant urged.

"Real as opposed to what?" Charlie said, confused. "Fake? As if I'd lie about quitting?"

"Do you really think we'd stay without you?" Emerson demanded. "You're the fuckin' backbone of the band, man. Liam's an asshole. He deserves this."

"There's a tour coming up," Charlie reminded them. "Contracts have been signed. You guys have obligations to fulfill, and you can do them without me."

"No we can't," Grant objected. "And we won't anyways. If we're going to do a tour, it's going to be without Liam. If anything, it should be the three of us."

"What the hell are you saying?" Charlie laughed scornfully. "You want to kick Liam out of his own band? And then do what? Start one, just us three?"

Emerson and Grant looked at one another, validating Charlie's wild card assumption. He gawked at them both.

"Have you lost your damn minds? We . . . we can't do that. I don't even know if that's possible. Us three? In a band?"

"It could work," Grant protested firmly. "You on guitar and vocals, Emerson on bass, me on drums as usual. For fucks sake Charlie, your dad did it in a band of three."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Charlie said, throwing up his hand. "Did you just say that you want me on vocals?"

"You're a great singer, dude," Emerson said kindly. "You can write, sing, and play. We could really do this thing if we wanted to."

Charlie balked, trying to decipher if he was potentially in what could only be a really fucked up dream. Never, not in a million years, would he have imagined quitting The Finks only to start a band of his own with the remnants of his old band. He'd wanted some type of healthy revenge on Liam, but it seemed that he'd gotten more than he'd bargained for.

"Just us three?" Charlie clarified slowly. He was trying to picture it -- himself as a frontman, playing the guitar and also finally putting his vocal chords to good use.

"Yep," Grant said with a nod. "Sounds crazy, but hey . . . I think it could be really great."

The sound of Liam's front door opening and slamming close made them all flinch. Charlie craned his neck around the car, watching as Liam pounded towards them. The string of curse words being screamed at full volume from his mouth was definitely going to get the attention of his neighbors.

Charlie sighed, shaking his head. He should have known better than to think that his day would have actually gone seamlessly. One minute he'd been in his band, and the next he was in an imaginary band of three. And he was the lead singer.

"Get in my car and wait. Let me take care of Liam, and then we'll talk."