Billy took a deep breath as he arrived in New York, completely drained. It was December 31st, but for days now, he had loathed New Year’s in every possible way. A date that reminded him so much of his mother, all he wanted was to sit and stare out at the dark cityscape from his apartment window while strumming his guitar, trying to keep going with his music, trying not to give in to the weight of his emotions. Overwhelmed and utterly obsolete under the tide of feelings that drowned him, it was his way of pushing back against the memory of someone he’d known for only a few months, yet who had imprinted on his soul with a blow that still sent tremors through him.
–What is a man supposed to do when he finds himself alone? – Billy whispered. For some time now, he had taken to reading authors Jerry had recommended—Kafka, in particur. Lost in what some might call a pce of forgetting, he titled his song The Room Where I Disappear. The title alone foretold the ache in his soul—a blend of cssical music with a heavy strike of reprimand and inner persecution.
I woke up in a skin I don’t rememberMirror’s broken, eyes like strangers' liesHands that twitch like they belong to someone elseI whisper words I never meant to write
[Pre-Chorus]
And the walls lean in,Like they know my nameBut I’m not the same—No, I’m not the same...
[Chorus]
In the room where I disappearI’m crawling through my fearThey knock but never come nearI’m fading loud and clearDon’t you see me shedding skin?I'm not what I have beenIn the silence, I begin—The end is within.
[Verse 2]
Letters on the desk, they’ll never readDust collecting on my memoriesFootsteps echo like a foreign drumBut no one asks what I’ve become
[Pre-Chorus]
And I scream so lowThat the floorboards shakeBut they still won’t knowWhat a man can break
[Chorus]
In the room where I disappearI’m crawling through my fearThey knock but never come nearI’m fading loud and clearDon’t you see me shedding skin?I'm not what I have beenIn the silence, I begin—The end is within.
[Bridge]
Locked inside a cage of bones and breathEvery look they give feels like deathBut I’m still here, still awakeStill watching all I used to take
[Final Chorus – More powerful, with distortion]
In the room where I disappearMy shadow’s all they fearThey turned their backs on what was realSo now I make it clear—I won’t beg to be the sameOr py their little gameLet the world forget my name—I won’t remain.
...
Billy wrote the song in one go, singing with such force that for a moment he lost himself in the image of the book he had just finished reading. And as he did, he was able to clear his mind with a raw intensity that cornered the listener—it was an odyssey of fear and terror that pulled every negative emotion out of him. His guitar thrashed with power, reminiscent of Muse’s Sing for Absolution, with that gritty tone that gave life to each note. And when he managed to fill every lyric with meaning, he took a deep, anchoring breath.
He grabbed his notebook and began organizing by intensity, jotting everything down to the side as his voice echoed in full depth.
–It’s a good one, – Billy said, feeling the song come alive in him. He understood these moments. He breathed deeply as the music came at him from different directions, different dimensions. He started writing the next song. It seemed the next album would be a sad one, and strangely, he felt happy—or so he thought—but deep down, his soul wept with sorrow. What could a person say?
Billy had an idea: to keep using his music to create contrast—an album that reflected the sun, which tely he always seemed to see either rise too high or fade too fast. That’s where these songs came from. He reached for his violin, a 10,000 instrument, along with his mixing gear and the heart it takes to write real songs. He decided he needed a xylophone. He sent a message saying he wanted one for his upcoming album, along with someone to teach him how to py the crinet.
He was alone, as always, for the same reason. The only thing that mattered now was starting the creative process. The next song would be a cover: The Sound of Silence, a true bald full of scorpions in the shadows, witnessing the sadness of a broken man standing on the edge between life and oblivion. He hoped it would anchor a strong chorus of songs shaping what could be his sixth album—or seventh, if the colboration with Green Day ever made it to the finish line. In simple terms, that’s how Billy kept things moving in the right direction.
A message came instantly. The instruments would arrive in an hour.A car would come too—he had an appointment and was already running te. Scarlett had been a bit intense tely with the holiday parties and everything she needed to get done.
–Hi. ––You need to be on time, – said Scarlett.–I know, I know, and I will. It’s just that it’s way too early for New Year’s—it's barely 5 p.m. I need to make a few calls, but I’ll be there. Plus, I’ve got a Christmas gift for you, – Billy replied, stretching. His body felt tight, his back ached, and he needed some exercise. All while he silently hoped Avril would call—or at least react somehow. There was no denying that his retionship with Avril was growing spicier by the day, full of intensity and far from lukewarm. He just needed more time.
–You’re a mess. I’ll be waiting. – said Scarlett, while Billy began going through his workout routine, firing off messages to multiple women in his phone. Pns with Adriana Lima in Brazil, hangouts with Avril in California, teasing little Emma Watson until she reached her limit, and Gwen is already sending a calendar to meet in Chicago. A life of lies and infidelities.
–Sorry, but I have to make a good impression. I heard I’m finally going to meet your friends. Funny that you even have friends, – Billy joked, earning a “screw you” in return—an answer as clear as water. The way they cshed, the way they tangled in these little battles, was the perfect reflection of the trust they were starting to build.
Billy unched into a rapid series of exercises—push-ups, squats—moving fast, while chugging from two bottles of water.
...
