My heart aches as I read through my recent messages with Jack, feeling nothing but heartbreak and sorrow. I should be out with my friends having a good time after tonight's show in Chicago, but instead, I'm in our hotel room, crying over a relationship that is crumbling, with no idea how to fix it.

Jack:

'Cornelia, what the fuck have I ever done wrong to you for you to not reply to me? It's been four days, what's the issue? Are you still hung up about Sunday night? If so, I forgive you for what happened. I miss you, love, message me back.'

Me:

'You forgive me? That's rich, Jack. I did nothing wrong on Sunday. You demanded me to stay in London with you, and if I left, you said you'd break up with me. You don't get to say that and expect an apology, especially when it's me who deserves one from you. And for your information, I know it's been four days, I needed time, and I still do.'

Jack:

'You chose your career over me, Lia, how do you expect an apology from me for that? It must be that time of the month or something because you are insane if you think you deserve one after doing that. I was willing to forgive you for it, too.'

Me:

'Jack, my music career was a thing before we were even together, you knew that, and you also knew how much this opportunity meant to me. I don't know what you expected me to do when you asked me to stay; that I'd roll over and say yes, Jack, of course, I will. Instead of thinking about yourself, why not support your girlfriend's career? You're right, I did choose music over you, but you had a choice to come, you just didn't want to, and that's not my fault. This is my life, if you don't like it, you don't have to be in it, it's as simple as that.'

Jack:

'Of course, I support you and your career, I don't know where you got the idea from that I don't. I don't want to argue, love, can we please move past this? I'm willing to, can you?'

Me:

'I'm willing to work on it, but not yet, I need time, can you please just give me that?'

Jack:

'I guess, how was your show tonight?'

Me:

'It was good, I'm just in the hotel, planning on writing some music.'

Jack:

'Nothing about this, I hope.'

Me:

'Of course not.'

Jack:

'Good, you know better.'

Yet another pathetic sob breaks from me when I finish reading his last message, and I wipe furiously at my tears. I shouldn't cry over this man, not again, I've wasted too many tears on him over the past year.

The Jack I know now isn't the same man I fell head over heels in love with three years ago, I barely recognise him as so. He never once treated and spoke to me this way, nor did he in our friendship before we had got together, and I grieve for the person he once used to be.

He was a great boyfriend for the first two years of our relationship, I loved him so much back then; I looked at him as if he was my world, and he treated me as if I was his.

We were perfect, until suddenly, we weren't.

His kindness and respect for me faded soon after his loyalty had slipped, when he 'accidentally' slept with another woman last year, on the night of my twenty-third birthday. I'd be lying if I said I didn't expect it, he always had issues with lingering eyes and speaking to other girls, but he'd always excuse the fact that it wasn't intentional. However, having sex with another woman has no excuse, and the fact he crawled into my bed the following morning still makes my skin crawl.

Instead of hiding the fact that he cheated on me, he admitted to it that morning, just after we had sex, while we were still tangled in my sheets, and I was none the wiser.

My reaction wasn't pretty, I saw red. Not only was I upset and heartbroken, but I was so pissed at him. He begged me to stay with him, he got on his knees and begged that it was a mistake, and like the stupid bitch I am, I believed him.

I clung to the man I knew before he did that, I still do, and it breaks my heart knowing I'll never get that version of him again.

With a sigh, I put my phone down and pull myself together, stopping this pity party once and for all.

I need to do some songwriting, and I need to do it in the only place I know that will help.

Not bothering to change my pyjamas, I simply throw on a hoodie that I got from the crew backstage, slip my shoes on, grab my lyric book, and pick up my acoustic guitar before leaving the hotel room.

I ride the lift to the top floor and take the last flight of stairs to the roof, where I risk opening the fire exit door. With a wince upon its opening, I'm greeted with the happy fact it's not alarmed, and I leisurely walk across the roof to find somewhere comfortable to sit.

Not too close to the edge, I take a seat and gaze up at the sky full of stars, finding the brightest one waiting for me.

"Hi, dad," I whisper with a sad smile, "I knew you'd be here to help."

I take my pen from out of my pocket and pick up my book, opening a blank page, ready to write something fresh.

"So, dad, how've you been?" I ask a question I know I'll never get a response to, "I'm sorry I haven't been to talk to you since the tour started, it's been a hectic week, but I've missed you. I'll be honest, Jack and I are going through a rough patch, and I needed to be with you tonight. I have my guitar, so I hope you don't mind a singing session because you unfortunately don't have a say in the matter."

Not that he had much of a choice when he was alive, I used to pester him constantly to hear me sing, and I definitely pushed my luck. He never refused, not even in the middle of the night if I needed an opinion on something. I miss him so much, and he truly was my biggest supporter. My mum and two brothers don't bother, so I'm grateful to have had a father who did for the first twenty-one years of my life.

The night he lost his battle to cancer, I'd taken myself to the roof of my flat with a bottle of whiskey and had full intentions to join him. The one thing that prevented me from doing so was a shooting star, which I fully believe was a sign not to from my father. When I need to speak to him, I come to the stars because it's where I feel closest to him.

At least in this way of believing, he's able to tour the world with me, just like he told me he would.

"Ready, dad?" I wink up at the sky.

Lifting the strap of my guitar over my shoulder, I settle in comfortably and start strumming a new melody using G minor, D minor and B flat.

After a sigh, I sing the lyrics that naturally come to mind, "Wasn't I enough?

Didn't I amount to you?

I don't blame you for the love

That I lost to her

It will take time

A lot of heartache, too

But I was in love

I thought you were, too."

I continue strumming along, creating a melody for an upcoming chorus, but before I move on to sing it, I stop to write down my previous lyrics. Once I roughly scribe them down, I return to my guitar, going back into a simple melody.

"Did I breathe? Did I?

Did I sleep?

Did I eat?

Did I cheat? Did I?

Did I do something wrong?

Did I hit the peak? Did I?

Did I feel?

Did I steal?

No, I didn't do anything but love," my throat tightens, repeating questions I've asked myself numerous times now.

The song definitely needs a pre-chorus, but I move onto my second verse, strumming similar chords to before.

"Now we get along

That's just what we have to do

But I know every song

Sang out my heart for you

I've gotta stay humble

And you have to, too..." I can no longer sing as tears begin to flood my cheeks. Through glassy eyes, I hastily scribble down the lyrics before I forget, and swallow a sob.

My heart aches over the situation with Jack, and I just wish I could wake up and it be all over. I can't remember how it feels to be in a healthy relationship, and I'm tired of being tied down to a manipulative, controlling man, who only cares about himself. I want to leave him, it's just a matter of when I'll pluck up the courage to do so.

The creaky sound of the door being opened has me quickly wiping my tears away and composing myself.

"Oh, God, not you."

At the sound of Grayson's displeasing voice, I turn to find him walking over with a cigarette dangling from his lips, wearing a maroon suit that he wore on stage tonight.

"Leave the roof," he demands, lighting his cigarette, and when he gets closer, his face hardens as he stares at me, "Are you seriously crying right now?"

Having enough of the men in my life today, I scoff in response, "Why don't you just fuck off, Grayson?"

"Jesus Christ, is it that time of the month?"

"I have genuinely had it up to here," I gesture above my head, "With men thinking they can use that as an insult because God forbid I act the same way you guys do. No, for your information, it is not that time of the month, but if you'd like a copy of my menstrual cycle, please let me know. I must have missed that detail in the job description."

"I'd rather not," he crosses his arms, "Look, Lia, you need to man the fuck up, you can't remain on my tour if you're going to cry over a simple request I've asked of you."

I glare at him, "Do you actually want to be slapped?"

He dares to laugh at my threat, and I shake my head at him, my anger only increasing.

"I'm not crying over you or your stupid demands, I'm writing a fucking song," I lift my lyric book, "How dare you hold my position on this tour above me, all because I'm in touch with my emotions and that annoys you? You were the one that hired me, Grayson, no one forced you to do so. I've done nothing wrong to you, and you don't get to walk over me, I'm not a pushover. You're a self-centred, selfish-"

"Are you finished?" he cuts me off, watching me in amusement almost, "That wasn't fair of me to say, so I'm sorry. I came up here to be alone, and you-"

"Was up here first," I finish, crossing my arms, "And for the record, Grayson, I also wanted to be alone. Be an adult by ignoring the fact I'm here; we can share the roof, I'm sure, or was I right to believe you never learnt to share as a child?"

"Sharing the roof with you will never work, not in silence," he tells me with no sense of insult to his tone.

"If only you'd try," I reach my hand up, gesturing for a cigarette of his, "Gimme."

"See, how am I supposed to pretend I'm alone up here if you're already demanding things from me?" he asks, passing me the packet with his lighter lodged inside.

With the cigarette between my lips, I light it up, and deeply inhale the smoke into my lungs, "You can have the roof alone from midnight, I'm almost done here."

Waiting for a reply, I look back at him with a frown to see him staring, and he shakes his head, "I'm going to be over there."

"I'll keep the crying to a minimum," I joke, handing him back the packet, "Thanks for the fag, Gray."

"No worries," he stuffs them in his pocket, and walks over to the opposite side of the roof, putting as much distance between us as possible.

"Now, where was I?" I whisper to myself, picking my lyric book back up. 

~~~~~

A/N

SORRY ABOUT THE LACK OF UPDATES!

I love the song that's mentioned in this chapter, it's called Peak (Stripped) by Anne Marie. 

I hope you hate Jack as much as I do. 

Before anyone from outside of Britain goes insane at me about using the word Fag, it's slang for a cigarette.

If you liked this chapter, let me know by leaving some comments and voting! Thank you! x