Page 28 of Creed

I tried to look at the positive, but there is none right now. I tried to chase the sun, but my sunshine is blackened and it leaves me in too much darkness. But I refuse to be a burden in anyone’s life, especially yours. That’s why I blocked your number. Why I remain a ghost. Hidden in plain sight. You deserve every success, Creed. You always have.

One small admission before I wrap this letter up? Your song, “Malevolent Melodies”, has become my staple song that I dance to. It’s what made me a favorite here at the club. So I guess in a way I should thank you.

Okay, now that I’ve confessed too much, time to burn this fucker in the sink.

Goodbye, Creed.

Love,

Collins

The Present

Chapter 14

Creed

(AGE 29)

“Hey, you’ve reached Collins. Sorry I missed your call. Leave a message!”

I blink in shock at hearing her voice for the first time in two years.

Guess she finally unblocked me.

Our band just wrapped up our European tour and collectively decided to take time off before working on our next album and starting the summer leg of our US tour.

Riley shuffles past me, headed straight to his room, but I grab I’m by the back of his neck and plant a kiss in his hair before releasing him with a playful shove. He doesn’t even bother closing the door before he flops down on his bed, almost immediately falling asleep after a long and turbulent flight home.

He’s been living with me for about five years now. It just made sense to move him in with me since we weren’t stationary for very long and the house goes unused for several months of the year. Plus, having him close means I can keep an eye on him and look out for him.

He’s my best friend and quickly became one of the most important in my life shortly after joining the band.

Riley had a fucking shit childhood, too, but instead of abandoning him, his family continually came after him with their toxicity and narcissism. We’d finally filed a restraining order when his mom attacked him after a concert in Chicago four years ago. I didn’t really give him an option on moving in with me during our off-season of touring. I wanted to make sure he stayed safe and away from his psycho fucking family and living with me was the best way for me to guarantee that. I think it was my own fucked up way of trying to atone for failing Collins over and over again.

I don’t have any siblings, but Riley is more my brother than any blood could be. He’s got such an air of innocence about him and mostly keeps to himself when we’re out with the band. He’s not one to flirt with girls and he’s never even brought one home or back to a hotel while on tour in all the time I’ve known him.

Me, on the other hand?

I fucking loved pussy, and when we first started touring, I had a different groupie—or three—on my bus every damn night. I thought I was a goddamned king with how often I got laid. I kept it clean and never went unprotected, so like the asshole I was, I’d kept a stockpile of condoms at home and on the bus. Lately though—specifically the last two years—that condom pile is still sitting untouched and I may as well have been living like a monk. The amount of times I’ve had sex can be counted on one hand. Literally.

One. I tried having sex once and everything about it just felt…wrong. I haven’t even so much as touched another woman in over a year now.

Kind of hard to when all these faceless, emotionless groupies are not a white-haired blonde goddess with jade eyes and full, pouty lips. Basically, I’ve lost any interest in anyone who isn’t Collins. Which is fucking stupid for so many reasons. The top two being that she’s my best friend’s baby sister, and that I can’t fucking find her.

My obsession with Collins started exactly two years ago, the same night she disappeared from my life. It was like a switch flipped in my brain and the loss of contact with her altered my brain chemistry.

What started as a familial concern for her safety rapidly morphed into a ravenous need to find her and keep her safe. Then one day my obsession snapped into place, growing more and more with every glance I took at that last Polaroid she ever sent to me.

The need to find her caused a side effect of the insatiable need to fucking own her, body and soul.

I walk into my room as the automated voicemail leaves instructions on how to leave a message and I wander straight to the walk-in closet and pull that old polaroid picture of her from the frame of the mirror where I had tucked it. I forced myself to leave it behind because I didn’t want to lose it in Europe. Didn’t stop myself from taking a photo of it to set as my Lock Screen background.

I stare at the photo for a long moment. She’s so fucking beautiful. And so. Fucking… Evasive.

Where the fuck is she?

My goddamned PI can’t even find her, he says she’s like a ghost and lost any trail he had of her the night she took a plane to fuck-knows-where. I refuse to let him quit, no matter how useless he thinks it is. No matter how many times he looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, I. Will. Not. Quit. Until. I. Find. Her.

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