Buried in this endless apathy

Covered in this seamless agony

Why get up? Just give in

This surrender is sinking in

--From the song Kill The Silence

Lyrics By: Orion Bauwens

"First of all I want to thank you so much for taking the time out of your busy schedule to come talk with me."

I flash my smile, the smile that makes my female fans (and probably some male) go weak in the knees. I don't know why. I'm rather unremarkable, with my dyed black hair (naturally brown, just a couple shades lighter than what I dye it) and my dark brown eyes. I've read that I'm "dorkish", and it's not a bad thing apparently.

How someone who dresses in black with a black leather jacket and sings about pain and death could be "dorkish" I'll never understand. But it is what it is. So long as they like me, I don't really care what they label me.

I guess it probably has something to do with the fact I wear contacts. I scratched my eye once and was photographed on my way to get coffee. With my eye scratched I couldn't wear contacts, so they caught me with thick black frames. I guess that picture solidified my charming dork status.

"You're welcome."

"Let's jump right in, shall we?"

"Sure."

I'm in an all white room, sitting on a leather chair. Between myself and the interviewer is a dark brown, polished coffee table (I opted for a bottle of water which sits there, a few sips gone). Off to the side is an office with huge glass pane windows--I can see people working. Behind me about fifteen feet away is the door with a metal bar which leads back down to the lobby. Beyond the lobby lies the industrial district this office is located in.

Gloria is standing off to the side. Per usual, she's pouring over her tablet. There's also some magazine people standing by her, but I honestly have no fucking clue who they are.

"What made you decide to come to the South finally? You've been on the scene for eight years now, and have been touring for six. Why now?"

I shrug. "I know I have fans down here so I felt bad I haven't been here yet."

She grins. "And how do you like Texas?"

"It's fucking hot." I clamp a hand over my mouth and laugh. "Sorry--am I not supposed to swear?"

She laughs too. "It's okay, we can edit it out. So how is this tour going?"

"Well! The other night--not last night, last night was a bit of a train wreck--but the night before that was one of my best performances I've had in my life."

She looks impressed. "Wow. And why is that?"

"I d'no. Sometimes it just happens and everything aligns, and it's great."

"How often does that happen?"

"Honestly? Not very. I mean, I think part of it is just the psyche of an artist. Any artist. We're a bunch of self-deprecating dweebs. We just think everything we do is garbage regardless if it is or not."

She laughs at that. "And do you feel like that when you write music too?"

"Oh yeah. I'm very rarely happy with what I write. I'll write something, tear it up, write it again, tear it up...then I convince myself I'm a talentless hack that shouldn't even be in the business."

"What makes you keep going then?"

I hesitate. "Uh..."

"Is it the fame? The money?" she waggles her eyebrows. "The girls?"

"Yes. That." We both laugh. "All of the above."

"And does your reservations about not being good enough with your music bleed over into your personal life?"

These questions are...a little heavier than I'm used to. I expected the normal questions I've repeated a million times. I glance over to Gloria for a second. She merely shrugs at me.

"Uh..." I said, looking back at the woman interviewing me.

"Well," she prompts, looking down at her notes, "your music contains lyrics such as, 'I want to rise up but I'm shackled to the floor/ I want things I've never had before/ But why do I think I'm good enough to deserve that'. That's pretty heavy, Orion."

I literally twitch. Nervously I glance back at Gloria, who shrugs again. So I look back.

"Uh...well, yeah. I mean, especially with something as intimate as song writing, you give a little bit of yourself into whatever you're creating."

"So you're not a very happy person then, are you Orion?"

I let out a strangled, nervous laugh. "Uh, erm, I mean, yeah I'm fine. Some of it is just songs. That's all it is, just songs. Just a job."

"And the rest?"

I smile cooly. "Next question please."

"Sorry," she says, but I can tell she's not actually sorry at all, "I'm just trying to get a feel for where you draw your inspiration from."

"From life. From my feelings, sometimes. But sometimes I'm drawing from other people I know, or I make up these fake characters and tell their story."

"Like a book?"

"Yes, like a book." I narrow my eyes a little, rubbing my palms against my black jeans. "Not everything is autobiographical."

"Would you consider yourself an angry person?"

I swallow thickly, drumming my fingers against the arm of the chair. I look at Gloria again. She looks like a deer in headlights.

Am I an angry person? Yeah, and she was about to get a taste of it. I glare.

"Don't they screen you and what questions you're going to ask me?"

"Of course they do, but I have my own set."

My eyes flash.

"So, Orion. The tales of your drunkenness are legendary, right up there with Ozzie's drug habit--"

I stand up and remove the earpiece from my ear. "Yeah, we're done here, thank you for your time."

"Oh come on!" she says, getting to her feet. "You passed out at the Grammys last year in a fountain--you can't pretend that didn't happen."

I snatch the earpiece box from my waistband. I try to put it on the chair but in my anger and shame I've gotten myself tangled in it. Frantically I try to free myself, spinning in circles.

"You have a lyric that says, I just want to punch the mirror and use the shards to cut you with.," she is unrelenting, "Who is the 'you' in that lyric? Some of your fans think the 'you' is you--"

"Shut up," I snarl at her. I'm happy but also embarrassed when I see Gloria rushing over, along with people from the magazine. I'm still tangled in the wire.

"Is that why you drink Orion? Is that why you're so--"

I'm finally free of the cord. Screaming, I throw it at her. Simultaneously Gloria and the woman's people have reached us. Gloria tries to hold me back, as does one of the magazine people. If it weren't for them, I think I'd literally break Stacey--or Lacey, or Casey, or whatever-the-fuck her name is--Jones' neck.

I'm happy to hear one of the men screaming at her that she's fired. But I'm not happy enough to quell my anger.

"Fuck you!" I scream, wrestling with the people holding me back.

"Orion," she says, her people beginning to drag her away, "I'm a huge fan! I'm just worried about you--"

"You don't care about me!" I bellow as we're dragged away from each other. "No one does! You don't even fucking know me, lady! My life isn't here for you to scrutinize for your entertainment!"

She laughs. "You're in the wrong industry, then!"

"You're out of line!" I scream. "And I swear to God if any of this gets out I'll sue you and this fucking magazine into the ground!"

"Orion," Gloria says.

Panting, I look down at her. She looks up at me in worry. I can tell she's been saying my name for a while now. I'm so upset my eyes start stinging.

"Just how--who the fuck does she think she is?"

"I'm sorry Orion, I'm sorry."

"I'm not giving anymore fucking interviews for a really long fucking time," I snap, nearly breaking down. The magazine guy lets me go and rushes away.

"I know, I wouldn't dream of scheduling any."

I turn away in time enough for Gloria to miss the tears spill out of my eyes. Sniffing, I wipe at my nose and stalk to the door. I hear Gloria's heels clicking hurriedly behind me.

"Just, who the fuck does she think she is? Who the fuck does she think she is?"

"It's okay Orion, let it go. It's over."

But it's not over. It's never over for me.