Page 92 of Haunt Me

It seeps into my brain while I’m asleep, brushing my teeth, writing music, pretending to eat. It torments me.

It reaches out its slimy tentacles and drags me down into the abyss, and all I can do is just keep lifting my head over the water, barely taking in gulps of air, before being dragged back under. One day, I know I will not surface again. One day, I know I will not be able to avoid answering the question any longer.

Did she do this to me?

Deep down I know she did. I know it was her dad. So she either did this, or she let it happen, which is pretty much the same thing. So the question really is:

How could she do this to me?

…

By Christmas, I release theHeartbreakerLP, and it blows up overnight. It just… blows up. I don’t think anyone—least of all me—thought a new artist had so many songs in them from the get go.

Except I am not a new artist.

I am pain incarnate.

And my brother’s music is pure genius. So, apparently, that is a recipe for success: Pain on top of pain.

I have included a few songs I wrote the music to myself, back in the woods, in another life. I never made it out of the woods—at least, not alive—but it turns out my music did. It turns out that all that’s left of me is music. And good music too. Who would have thought? Not me.

To my surprise, almost every song in the album climbs to the top on multiple charts. And not just James’ music—the songs I composed myself are hits too.

I am just numb from shock.

I don’t understand what’s happening.

I don’t understand what’s about to happen, what it all means, until it is too late. Of course, I couldn’t have stopped it, even if I hadknown. There is no stopping the tsunami of fame and obsession that descends on me like a thick, black cloud. In the months that follow, I keep fighting to keep my head above water, but I am sinking deeper and deeper into fame with every number my album climbs on the charts.

It reaches number one, and it stays there. Week after week.

I give my first concert; the album stays on number one. It tops more lists, in more countries, in more platforms. It eradicates every other album of this year.

I try a second concert, and that too, goes ok. Skye says I was magnificent. I say I didn’t mind it. Actually, that’s not true. I am beginning to like singing in front of a crowd, however small. I lose myself in the music, which is what I have always wanted, since I was three years old. And singing makes me completely forget myself, for a bit.

What could be better than that?

I begin to bond with my musicians, but most of all with Jude and Miki, the bassist and drummer Skye and my label matched me with. They see glimpses of my darkness, and they don’t leave. At first, I have trouble looking them in the eye. I think they will see the truth of me, that I am a fraud, but they don’t. They treat me with respect and that’s enough to make me almost break.

But I don’t break anymore.

Issy Woo doesn’t do breaking.

Skye asks me how I feel about a little tour. I say, fine, whatever.

It’s not like I have any idea what I’m doing anyway. There is nothing else to do with my time, my empty soul, my tired brain, but music. In the end, I am my dad’s son: I tried my best to run away from it, but music is my fate.

Music and I have finally found each other, it seems, in the most unlikely of ways.

…

Skye’s ‘little tour’ is nothing short of a Herculean labor. It lasts until the beginning of the new year. I had no idea how much energy, money, skill and time goes into a tour, even a tiny one like this. But it takes my mind off Eden, my grandpa and all the mess I left behind, so I don’t complain once.

Skye takes care of everything and the whole thing goes down exceptionally smoothly, especially for a complete noob in the musicscene like myself. People actually come to hear me sing. I can’t wrap my mind around it. They know the lyrics to my songs already.

I’m not even an opening act. Iamthe act. How did this happen?

“We’ll do another one soon,” Skye says. “That wasn’t a complete disaster.”

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