04: Everlong

"If everything could ever feel this real forever

If anything could ever be this good again..." - Foo Fighters

Holden Young

I had been missing for hours. Cyrus was probably calling me like crazy, along with all the other babysitters who now follow me everywhere.

I ignored one, two, three—countless calls on my phone. I couldn’t think about anything else, not when she was standing right in front of me.

The moment I waited for her answer could have lasted hours, and I wouldn’t know. The world seemed to freeze when we were together. I felt like a teenager again. Even the air smelled different back then.

Spring was more beautiful, the air cleaner, the houses more colorful. Everything felt like poetry.

Alissa was mine. My muse, even if she didn’t know it. She still is, but I’d never admit it out loud.

“There wasn’t a specific reason. I just left,” she finally replied after a torturous pause. Her eyes shifted to the side, landing on a medical trash bin filled with gauze and wrappings.

Her lips pressed into a small pout, making me wonder what she was hiding.

She started snapping her fingers, clearly anxious and waiting for my response as if she hadn’t just lied straight to my face. I felt like a fool, but why couldn’t I just walk away?

It still hurt so much that it felt like something I should’ve already come to terms with. People leave—that’s what my mother always said to comfort me.

“You still snap your fingers when you’re nervous,” I said, stepping closer to her, watching as she leaned back on the bed like she had somewhere to escape to.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be? You’re famous now; you shouldn’t be wasting time with a nobody,” she said, her tone dripping with disdain.

That sharp edge of hers was so familiar. The Alissa I’d known was still there, using the same walls to shield herself.

But as much as I wanted to push and wasn’t planning to give up on figuring out what happened back then, I could see how exhausted and fragile she was. Probably traumatized by everything that had happened.

I left my number on a piece of paper by the bedside table. She watched my movements carefully, almost as if she were studying me. Now and then, it looked like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

“That’s my number. I’ll come back another time when you’re feeling better.” She didn’t respond, just gave a slight nod and turned away from me. I wasn’t angry, but frustration gnawed at me.

I’d spent so long trying to process this whole thing, and just when I thought I had a handle on it, all this happened. Alissa was still the same, and I knew earning her trust again wouldn’t be easy.

“You don’t have to come back, Holden. I know you must be busy, but—” she started, but I interrupted her.

“I’m only leaving because you’re not well, Ali. I’ll keep coming back until you’re discharged.” My confidence made her laugh.

She watched me as I spun the car keys around my fingers, moving them from hand to hand.

“The doctor said I might be here for up to a month, Holden. Don’t be silly,” she said, clearly skeptical.

“Then I’ll see you every day for a month,” I replied, walking to the door and giving her a quick wave. She laughed again, more in disbelief than actual amusement.

Little did she know, I wasn’t joking.

[...]

After bribing a nurse, I managed to leave the hospital without attracting attention. Outside, I saw all the photographers camped out in the parking lot, just waiting for my next move like vultures circling fresh meat.

This part of fame wasn’t great. Honestly, I constantly struggled to remind myself of the pros amidst the countless cons.

Visiting Alissa wasn’t something I should’ve been thinking about doing, but I’d been in the spotlight too long to think about selling my soul that easily. As long as Cyrus was my manager, I’d be fine.

At least, that’s what I hoped. He’d been kind so far, guiding me on what to say and how to present myself, introducing me to partners and producers.

Winning a reality show has its rules: contracts to fulfill, cheesy TV commercials, and even last-minute shows they could add to my schedule on a whim. Thinking about it, I guess my soul was already sold—just in installments.

It was necessary, the opportunity I’d found to make my music heard. And it worked.

I had promised Alissa that one day I’d be famous, and I kept that promise, though she probably didn’t remember.

When I arrived at my new apartment, Cyrus was waiting for me like some kind of menacing figure. He leaned against the door frame, but something about his stance told me I wasn’t about to get a warm welcome. Fair enough—I deserved it.

“Two hours late, Holden. I had to give my best excuses, and I don’t have many,” he said, his voice so calm it was almost scary. I still wasn’t used to seeing Cyrus in an authoritative mode.

“I needed some time, you know?” I walked past him without meeting his gaze, tossing my keys onto the kitchen counter. I tried to sound casual, but I knew he wouldn’t let it slide so easily.

He laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Holden, I don’t know if you’ve realized it yet, but you’re not an indie artist posting covers and begging for label meetings anymore. I’ve spent hours—nights—negotiating good deals for your career. Do you know what that means?”

“I get it, Cyrus. No need for a big speech,” I snapped, my patience thinning.

“Every second of your life now has a price,” he said, crossing his arms as he stepped closer. “You’re not just a talent from a reality show. You’re a brand, and brands can’t afford to make stupid personal decisions.”

I poured myself a drink, needing something to help digest his words. “Alissa isn’t stupid, Cyrus. She almost died. She’s a person,” I said, my voice rough with anger.

“And do you understand what this accident does to your image, Holden?” he shot back. “It wasn’t you driving, but it was your car, carrying the great Holden Young—the newest talent discovery.”

He lit a cigarette and stepped onto the balcony before continuing. “Let’s get one thing straight: the accident was an unfortunate event. We’re already handling it. But turning it into a tabloid soap opera is bad for everyone—especially you.”

I let out a bitter laugh. So that’s what this was about? Money, tabloids, my “image”?

It was pathetic.

“I’m going to see her again tomorrow. And whenever I feel it’s necessary.”

Cyrus narrowed his eyes at me, clearly considering various ways to kill me and hide the body. Then, with a heavy sigh, he relented.

“If you cooperate, I’ll cooperate. I’m professional, not a monster. I don’t know what history you have with this girl, but I’m not getting dragged into some teenage drama. You’ll get thirty minutes, we’ll go discreetly, and we’ll leave without anyone knowing we were there.”

I stared at him, anger bubbling under my skin, but I knew he held the power. Cyrus was a strategic player, and I was a piece he needed to move with precision.

I didn’t respond. I knew this wasn’t a suggestion but an ultimatum. I felt powerless.

“And don’t get used to it. Not everyone’s as nice as me,” he said, stubbing out his cigarette on the window and flicking it over the edge.

I downed the rest of my whiskey, focusing on the burn of the alcohol to mask the bitterness left by our argument. My temper clashed with reason, screaming at me to throw it all away and fight for what I truly wanted.

But when I glanced at the table, the contract lying there reminded me of the reality I’d signed up for. It had given me everything—and could take it all away just as quickly.

I’d have to be careful. No matter what direction my future took, I knew it wouldn’t be easy.