Small steps and Starting Over
Title: One Step at a Time
Characters: Marshall Malone (astar_isborn), Elena Munez
Universe(s): Solar Flares
Timeline: The Solar Flares timeline comes before Nebula; this takes place shortly after the release of Solar Flares, Falling Starlight's second full length album.
Rating: T
Written for astar_isborn/sksdwrld
They met in a neutral location. Coffee. Nothing serious, nothing that could take too long. Her rules were simple, to the point, and delivered in a tone that still made him cringe.
"None of those fucking cameras that crawl up your ass. This isn't tweeted about. This isn't talked about in some confessional interview for the show or in some fucking interview. One fucking paparazzi shows up and I'm done. And word does get out and your groupies harass me, you get to stick up for me."
He did his best, though he was sure there was always someone following him, but not even his family knew about this meeting. If they did, they'd no doubt object. After all, as his father was reminding him, some relationships were just meant to end. But, Marshall wasn't giving up. Not yet. Not until she understood that he was sorry and gave him a chance. Any chance.
The truth was, he knew he didn't deserve it. He'd heard the album. He'd committed every fucking lyric to heart.
Give me one good reason I shouldn't end it all ...
I recognize that I'm damaged, I sympathize that you are too
Turn the page, I've been hiding, Drowning,
Cause her mental prison is not my decision
He pulled into the small coffee shop outside of Laguna Beach, parked next to her familiar Audi, and walked inside. He ordered a chai, watched them make it, and then stepped out onto the back porch and took a moment to take in the sight.
She was sitting with her back to him, staring out at the water. Her hair was closer to it's natural brown rather than the black she'd adopted last year and she'd dyed the tips, just like when they first met. She'd lost weight, but it wasn't anything drastic; he was used to his father's up and down physique depending on how a tour went. He watched as she raised the coffee cup to her lips, took a sip, and then put it on the table. Everything about her was calmer than he'd seen in years, more confident. Everything about her posture said that she wasn't waiting with baited breath. That she didn't need him. It stung, the realization. Didn't she know he needed her?
"Hey, Laniey," he said quietly, walking over.
She turned to face him and he just wanted to put his arms around her and apologize again but instead he settled at the table and sipped his chai. She sighed. "I don't know why I'm even here," she said quietly. "Other than you wouldn't stop begging and it was easier than killing you."
He played with the wire molding of the table. "I'm sorry you are so bothered by my presence." The minute the words came out he cringed because he knew exactly how he sounded and he hated himself for it. She was already reaching for her purse and he grabbed her hand. "Laniey, don't. I'm sorry."
"For what, exactly?"
Again, her tone made him cringe. The question was a test and one he wasn't likely to pass.
"Everything. Fucking everything. Look, I get it. I'm an asshole."
She shook her head. "You don't get it, Marshall. God I wish you did."
"What do you mean?"
"You aren't an asshole. Not inherently. So when you did what you have been doing, when you acted like you've been acting ... what am I supposed to think? That some douchebag has taken over your body and is controlling everything?"
"I'm sorry I can't ..." He swallowed and realized he wasn't in any way, shape, or form ready for this conversation. She'd had time to work out her pain. He was still whining.
"Can't what?" She sighed. "Stomach me having a life? You left me, remember? Twice. You don't get to walk around acting like the wounded party. You told me you were too busy waiting for me to die for us to be happy and then you turned on my best friends when they tried to be a support system." She took a deep breath. "You fucking humiliated me, Marshall. You. Humiliated. Me. You did it on TV and in print and on social media. Those clips of you in the confessional room or whatever, they were the most fucking watched parts of the show for a year. Over and over on youtube, everyone watching you talking about how I'm this cheating whore. JJ gets more questions about what I am like in bed than he does about the fucking band. But more than that, when I try to date, when I try to move on and have a life, those people ..." her voice was starting to break. "They all see me through your fucking lens. We've been broken up for how long? And my life is still defined by you." She choked out a bitter laugh. "But here I am. Sitting here. And I don't know why other than there's still a part of you that might still be the person I fell in love with."
He knew her well enough to understand that the rant was officially over but he also knew to wait and let her catch her breath. Part of that had been rehearsed and he knew he deserved every word, no matter how much they hurt. No matter how right she was. When she finally took a sip of her coffee, he ventured to speak.
"I don't have anything to say except that I'm sorry, Laniey. I really am. I don't know what came over me other than ... god. You were so mad at me when we broke up and I didn't know how to react to it because I didn't think I ... I'm sorry but I didn't think I deserved all that anger." There. He was allowed some defense in this, right?
"I wasn't mad we broke up, Marshall."
Well. That hit him like a ton of bricks.
"You don't get it. Yeah, it fucking hurt and it still does. But you never got it. I'm mad that you used my depression as an excuse. I'm mad because you believed that you were waiting around for me to die." She sucked in a breath. "I was living, Marshall. I was living. And you were waiting for me to die. It's like ... you couldn't be happy unless I needed you and all I needed was your support." Her eyes were shining with tears and he suddenly realized she wasn't wearing makeup. She'd expected to cry. "I'm mad that you used my depression against me in the media. Every time you talked about how sad I was and how sad it made you and how you couldn't live because I was so sad, you made some poor kid decide not to talk about their own problems and that goes against everything the band talks about."
He stared at her and there wasn't anything he could say because, fucking hell, she was right. He'd been so convinced she was going to die that he took anything about her living as an affront to that. He'd been so convinced she needed a savior, that he hadn't stopped to listen. To see.
The tea in his mug was growing cold but he let it be and tried to reach for her hand again. She wouldn't let him touch her. "All I can say is that I'm sorry and I shouldn't have."
"No. You shouldn't have." Her voice was trembling. "But you did. So what then? Why are we here?"
"I miss you."
"You don't get me back, Marshall." She shook her head and he was flooded with a burst of irrational anger. He wanted to ask why not. He wanted to demand answers and tell her to just come back to him. So what if she was dating anyone - rumor mill was that she wasn't. So what if she didn't want to. He was here and waiting!
But it had been three years since the breakup.
Three years.
His mouth tasted funny.
Three years of his torment of her. Of him saying snarky things every time she went outside with someone else. Three years of him seeing her at industry parties and trying to get her attention only to show off whatever pretty girl he was with. Three years of tormenting someone with major depression. The reality hit him so hard he knocked over the chai and he could only watch as it spilled through the metal grate of the table.
"Laniey, I'm so sorry," he said quietly. "God."
The album they'd released the year before suddenly haunted him. The song lyrics he'd taken so personally he now realized weren't about him at all but instead her.
I reached out, fell short
I don't care what you think I'm not seeing a shrink.
No one's gettin' out alive
He'd been so fucking full of himself that he hadn't realized how the music was about her, about how she thought she'd failed him, how she didn't think she deserved her own happiness. How she saw herself now in the eyes of the media. Even how she saw herself in the eyes of her fans. Of his fans. What was it like now, to have people mocking her, taunting her, all because his doing it gave them permission?
He swallowed bile.
"I ... I was acting like a spoiled brat."
"Yes," she said, her voice so full of emotion that he was the one who started to cry. "Yes you were but I'm the one paying for it. You know what happens sometimes? Our fans will go on these tangents about you and without fail someone will say 'but Marshall hates her so there has to be something wrong with her.' Do you know how many interviews for me still begin with why did I break up with you? How could I have walked away from this fucking golden god? I go out and I don't just have you harassing me, I have your legions of devoted groupies. I'm a bass player in a rock band. Fuck, I'm a chick in a rock band. Most people in my own industry don't know I exist. But you're a fucking super hero. I don't get groupies. Even among the people in my genre, I'm just legs and boobs. Forget my actual skills. Forget what I'm actually doing."
He really hadn't realized it had been so bad. He'd just thought ... no. He hadn't been thinking. He hadn't paid any attention to what the media did to women who were perceived at all to be anything less than pure.
"And here we are, because you kept begging."
He'd forgotten why he wanted to meet now because he didn't deserve it. So he stared at the wet spot his tea had made. She sipped her coffee. At least she hadn't left yet.
"You're right. And I know I deserve a hell of a lot worse than just you being pissed at me." He took a breath. "But I'm not that kid anymore."
"So why were you begging me to meet with you? To prove that you aren't a kid?"
He almost chuckled at that but she had a point. "It got your attention?"
She actually smiled a bit and shook her head. "I hate that I still care about you, you know."
He hated that her words gave him a glimmer of hope. "I hate that you do too. You should throw your coffee in my face and storm off."
"It's not nice to damage beautiful faces."
"You think I'm beautiful?"
"Shut up."
He wanted to laugh. He didn't.
"So why am I here?" Elena asked.
"Because we deserve a chance to be friends again. Just friends."
"That's asking a lot, Marshall. You're asking me to trust you again. I don't trust a lot of people."
How had it not occurred to him that he'd lost her trust. He knew she was pissed but she'd lost trust. She'd lost faith. She'd ...
He was as faceless to her as everyone else who just wanted a moment of attention.
"Elena," he said. He never called her that. It was weird on his lips. But it felt right. "Please. Give me a third chance. Just to be friends. I miss the one real person other than my family I've ever had in my life."
Her eyes dropped and he waited, holding his breath.
"I'll think about it," she finally said. "But you have work to do. You have to prove to me that you're a human being again." She held up a hand to forestall the instant argument that appeared on his lips. "This conversation shows up on your family's show and you don't get as much as a return on a text message ever again. My life isn't for your fans' consumption. I dealt with it when we were dating because that was part of the package. It isn't for me anymore."
"That's a lot to ask. I'm so used to just talking."
"Well keep your mouth shut."
She stared at him. He nodded.
"You do that and maybe we can really start talking again." She was gathering her purse and he realized this time she was actually going to leave.
"Wait, Laniey. Can't we stay and catch up? Please. I mean, so much has been happening with you."
"I've done enough talking, Marshall. I'm going home. Don't push this. I can't sit here all night and shoot the shit. Not yet."
She didn't trust him.
Swallowing hard, he nodded and she at least squeezed his hand before she walked away.
Characters: Marshall Malone (astar_isborn), Elena Munez
Universe(s): Solar Flares
Timeline: The Solar Flares timeline comes before Nebula; this takes place shortly after the release of Solar Flares, Falling Starlight's second full length album.
Rating: T
Written for astar_isborn/sksdwrld
They met in a neutral location. Coffee. Nothing serious, nothing that could take too long. Her rules were simple, to the point, and delivered in a tone that still made him cringe.
"None of those fucking cameras that crawl up your ass. This isn't tweeted about. This isn't talked about in some confessional interview for the show or in some fucking interview. One fucking paparazzi shows up and I'm done. And word does get out and your groupies harass me, you get to stick up for me."
He did his best, though he was sure there was always someone following him, but not even his family knew about this meeting. If they did, they'd no doubt object. After all, as his father was reminding him, some relationships were just meant to end. But, Marshall wasn't giving up. Not yet. Not until she understood that he was sorry and gave him a chance. Any chance.
The truth was, he knew he didn't deserve it. He'd heard the album. He'd committed every fucking lyric to heart.
Give me one good reason I shouldn't end it all ...
I recognize that I'm damaged, I sympathize that you are too
Turn the page, I've been hiding, Drowning,
Cause her mental prison is not my decision
He pulled into the small coffee shop outside of Laguna Beach, parked next to her familiar Audi, and walked inside. He ordered a chai, watched them make it, and then stepped out onto the back porch and took a moment to take in the sight.
She was sitting with her back to him, staring out at the water. Her hair was closer to it's natural brown rather than the black she'd adopted last year and she'd dyed the tips, just like when they first met. She'd lost weight, but it wasn't anything drastic; he was used to his father's up and down physique depending on how a tour went. He watched as she raised the coffee cup to her lips, took a sip, and then put it on the table. Everything about her was calmer than he'd seen in years, more confident. Everything about her posture said that she wasn't waiting with baited breath. That she didn't need him. It stung, the realization. Didn't she know he needed her?
"Hey, Laniey," he said quietly, walking over.
She turned to face him and he just wanted to put his arms around her and apologize again but instead he settled at the table and sipped his chai. She sighed. "I don't know why I'm even here," she said quietly. "Other than you wouldn't stop begging and it was easier than killing you."
He played with the wire molding of the table. "I'm sorry you are so bothered by my presence." The minute the words came out he cringed because he knew exactly how he sounded and he hated himself for it. She was already reaching for her purse and he grabbed her hand. "Laniey, don't. I'm sorry."
"For what, exactly?"
Again, her tone made him cringe. The question was a test and one he wasn't likely to pass.
"Everything. Fucking everything. Look, I get it. I'm an asshole."
She shook her head. "You don't get it, Marshall. God I wish you did."
"What do you mean?"
"You aren't an asshole. Not inherently. So when you did what you have been doing, when you acted like you've been acting ... what am I supposed to think? That some douchebag has taken over your body and is controlling everything?"
"I'm sorry I can't ..." He swallowed and realized he wasn't in any way, shape, or form ready for this conversation. She'd had time to work out her pain. He was still whining.
"Can't what?" She sighed. "Stomach me having a life? You left me, remember? Twice. You don't get to walk around acting like the wounded party. You told me you were too busy waiting for me to die for us to be happy and then you turned on my best friends when they tried to be a support system." She took a deep breath. "You fucking humiliated me, Marshall. You. Humiliated. Me. You did it on TV and in print and on social media. Those clips of you in the confessional room or whatever, they were the most fucking watched parts of the show for a year. Over and over on youtube, everyone watching you talking about how I'm this cheating whore. JJ gets more questions about what I am like in bed than he does about the fucking band. But more than that, when I try to date, when I try to move on and have a life, those people ..." her voice was starting to break. "They all see me through your fucking lens. We've been broken up for how long? And my life is still defined by you." She choked out a bitter laugh. "But here I am. Sitting here. And I don't know why other than there's still a part of you that might still be the person I fell in love with."
He knew her well enough to understand that the rant was officially over but he also knew to wait and let her catch her breath. Part of that had been rehearsed and he knew he deserved every word, no matter how much they hurt. No matter how right she was. When she finally took a sip of her coffee, he ventured to speak.
"I don't have anything to say except that I'm sorry, Laniey. I really am. I don't know what came over me other than ... god. You were so mad at me when we broke up and I didn't know how to react to it because I didn't think I ... I'm sorry but I didn't think I deserved all that anger." There. He was allowed some defense in this, right?
"I wasn't mad we broke up, Marshall."
Well. That hit him like a ton of bricks.
"You don't get it. Yeah, it fucking hurt and it still does. But you never got it. I'm mad that you used my depression as an excuse. I'm mad because you believed that you were waiting around for me to die." She sucked in a breath. "I was living, Marshall. I was living. And you were waiting for me to die. It's like ... you couldn't be happy unless I needed you and all I needed was your support." Her eyes were shining with tears and he suddenly realized she wasn't wearing makeup. She'd expected to cry. "I'm mad that you used my depression against me in the media. Every time you talked about how sad I was and how sad it made you and how you couldn't live because I was so sad, you made some poor kid decide not to talk about their own problems and that goes against everything the band talks about."
He stared at her and there wasn't anything he could say because, fucking hell, she was right. He'd been so convinced she was going to die that he took anything about her living as an affront to that. He'd been so convinced she needed a savior, that he hadn't stopped to listen. To see.
The tea in his mug was growing cold but he let it be and tried to reach for her hand again. She wouldn't let him touch her. "All I can say is that I'm sorry and I shouldn't have."
"No. You shouldn't have." Her voice was trembling. "But you did. So what then? Why are we here?"
"I miss you."
"You don't get me back, Marshall." She shook her head and he was flooded with a burst of irrational anger. He wanted to ask why not. He wanted to demand answers and tell her to just come back to him. So what if she was dating anyone - rumor mill was that she wasn't. So what if she didn't want to. He was here and waiting!
But it had been three years since the breakup.
Three years.
His mouth tasted funny.
Three years of his torment of her. Of him saying snarky things every time she went outside with someone else. Three years of him seeing her at industry parties and trying to get her attention only to show off whatever pretty girl he was with. Three years of tormenting someone with major depression. The reality hit him so hard he knocked over the chai and he could only watch as it spilled through the metal grate of the table.
"Laniey, I'm so sorry," he said quietly. "God."
The album they'd released the year before suddenly haunted him. The song lyrics he'd taken so personally he now realized weren't about him at all but instead her.
I reached out, fell short
I don't care what you think I'm not seeing a shrink.
No one's gettin' out alive
He'd been so fucking full of himself that he hadn't realized how the music was about her, about how she thought she'd failed him, how she didn't think she deserved her own happiness. How she saw herself now in the eyes of the media. Even how she saw herself in the eyes of her fans. Of his fans. What was it like now, to have people mocking her, taunting her, all because his doing it gave them permission?
He swallowed bile.
"I ... I was acting like a spoiled brat."
"Yes," she said, her voice so full of emotion that he was the one who started to cry. "Yes you were but I'm the one paying for it. You know what happens sometimes? Our fans will go on these tangents about you and without fail someone will say 'but Marshall hates her so there has to be something wrong with her.' Do you know how many interviews for me still begin with why did I break up with you? How could I have walked away from this fucking golden god? I go out and I don't just have you harassing me, I have your legions of devoted groupies. I'm a bass player in a rock band. Fuck, I'm a chick in a rock band. Most people in my own industry don't know I exist. But you're a fucking super hero. I don't get groupies. Even among the people in my genre, I'm just legs and boobs. Forget my actual skills. Forget what I'm actually doing."
He really hadn't realized it had been so bad. He'd just thought ... no. He hadn't been thinking. He hadn't paid any attention to what the media did to women who were perceived at all to be anything less than pure.
"And here we are, because you kept begging."
He'd forgotten why he wanted to meet now because he didn't deserve it. So he stared at the wet spot his tea had made. She sipped her coffee. At least she hadn't left yet.
"You're right. And I know I deserve a hell of a lot worse than just you being pissed at me." He took a breath. "But I'm not that kid anymore."
"So why were you begging me to meet with you? To prove that you aren't a kid?"
He almost chuckled at that but she had a point. "It got your attention?"
She actually smiled a bit and shook her head. "I hate that I still care about you, you know."
He hated that her words gave him a glimmer of hope. "I hate that you do too. You should throw your coffee in my face and storm off."
"It's not nice to damage beautiful faces."
"You think I'm beautiful?"
"Shut up."
He wanted to laugh. He didn't.
"So why am I here?" Elena asked.
"Because we deserve a chance to be friends again. Just friends."
"That's asking a lot, Marshall. You're asking me to trust you again. I don't trust a lot of people."
How had it not occurred to him that he'd lost her trust. He knew she was pissed but she'd lost trust. She'd lost faith. She'd ...
He was as faceless to her as everyone else who just wanted a moment of attention.
"Elena," he said. He never called her that. It was weird on his lips. But it felt right. "Please. Give me a third chance. Just to be friends. I miss the one real person other than my family I've ever had in my life."
Her eyes dropped and he waited, holding his breath.
"I'll think about it," she finally said. "But you have work to do. You have to prove to me that you're a human being again." She held up a hand to forestall the instant argument that appeared on his lips. "This conversation shows up on your family's show and you don't get as much as a return on a text message ever again. My life isn't for your fans' consumption. I dealt with it when we were dating because that was part of the package. It isn't for me anymore."
"That's a lot to ask. I'm so used to just talking."
"Well keep your mouth shut."
She stared at him. He nodded.
"You do that and maybe we can really start talking again." She was gathering her purse and he realized this time she was actually going to leave.
"Wait, Laniey. Can't we stay and catch up? Please. I mean, so much has been happening with you."
"I've done enough talking, Marshall. I'm going home. Don't push this. I can't sit here all night and shoot the shit. Not yet."
She didn't trust him.
Swallowing hard, he nodded and she at least squeezed his hand before she walked away.