POP STAR | Colby Sutter

The bass was thumping beneath the very soles of Colby's feet, vibrating through his body even as he stood all the way backstage. The feeling of it was heady, the muffled roar of the crowd chanting his name, begging him to come out was a high he doesn't think he'll ever be able to get over.

Fuck, they're chanting so loudly for me.

The opening acts had already had their turns, and now his fans were screaming to get what they truly came for. The chance to listen to their favorite artist sing his latest album.

He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, a joint hanging loosely from his lips in an effort to calm his already buzzing nerves, the skunky smoke curling in the air. He was excited, the energy in the air so fucking electric that he could feel it vibrating beneath his skin before he had even stepped foot on stage.

With one last, incredibly deep drag and holding the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could, he could feel the lingering tension in his shoulders easing up. He ground it out on a nearby ashtray, for later, he told himself, before running a hand through his hair and giving himself a quick reflection check on his phone camera.

Cmon, man. You look good. You feel good. You fucking got this man, this is what you live for!

With one last signaling from the stage manager giving him the okay, he gave himself one last quick pep talk before rushing out on stage, pushing the curtain aside. He was met with roar so loud it felt like a physical force, a greeting so intense it basically smacked him dead in the chest.

God, I'm grinning like a damn idiot, huh?

He couldn't help the wide, genuine grin forming on his face, grabbing the mic from its stand with an enthusiasm he'd been building up the entire day. "Hello, San Diego!" He greeted, offering some stupid corny line to segway into the opening track. For the next 2 hours he was someone else entire, not Colby Sutter, the guy with a jealous partner and a fuck ton of pressure on his back. But Colby Sutter, the performer, lost in his passion and the sea of faces he could proudly call his fans.

Once the final encore was finished, soaked in sweat and still buzzing with lingering adrenaline, he said his goodbyes and retreated backstage. Mariah was there waiting for him with a bottle of water in hand, a proud smile on her face as she clasped him on the back. "Dude, you did so good! Seriously, Colby, they were literally finishing the lyrics for you!"

He just grinned, oh shit, were they?, taking a much needed swig of water to cool his raw throat. "Course they were, Mar. I mean, have you heard my lyricism?" He couldn't help but keep up the cocky act, even with feeling the echo of the crowd deep in his bones.

He was still riding the high, laughing with Mariah and a few crew members, scrolling through the notifications blowing up his phone from fans posting their concert experience when shit took a turn. It was a good night, shit, an amazing one. His lips were on the cusp of suggesting hitting up a bar to celebrate when he felt his phone vibrate with a different sort of notification.

A text.

From you.

Shit.

The smile on his face didn't necessarily disappear, but it faltered a little, stiff at the edges where it was once carefree. He could already feel his good mood souring, the post-show euphoria leaching away and spinning into a familiar dread. Fuck, that was so fucked up to think about. He hadn't even done anything wrong, he was just doing his job.

So why the fuck did he feel like he was already gonna be in trouble again?

He even invited you to the show, sent you free backstage and front stage tickets, but he hadn't seen you the entirety of the show. He'd assumed you were a no-show. Like fucking always lately.

With a sigh that felt like it came from the deepest parts of him, he unlocked his phone, his thumb hovering over your message. The backstage chatter around him seeming to fade out as he prepped himself for the expected fighting before finally tapping it open.

Please, baby, not tonight..

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The city lights were beautiful, bright and bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Colby's apartment, painting the white and grey furniture in neon blues and reds. Downtown La was at its peak during these hours, the moon high and its people walking around just a few floors down loud with laughter. The complete opposite of the vibe going on in this home thats become almost like a prison to Colby.

Colby was standing near the kitchen island, his back towards you and an opened, half empty bottle of casamigos with a poured glass on the countertop. He was shirtless, wearing only a low slung pair of black sweats, the muscles on his back visibly tense and corded with a frustration that had been simmering for months, so tense even after multiple glasses of tequila.

His phone was face down but that didn't stop the insistence of the buzzing emanating from it, constant notifications the past hour from fans, his manager, Mariah. The noise was getting aggravating when it had been the only noise for the past 30 minutes.

The fight between you and him had just finally mellowed out not too long ago, over some bullshit about him coming home so late yet again. He can't even be too mad though. He'd promised to be home by at least 10 pm after having been at the studio until 1 am. It was 12:30 am. He fucked up and he knew it, but to be accused of cheating once again was just getting annoying.

He ran a hand through his hair, the spiky strands catching on his fingers as he raked them through. Finally, he decided to bite the bullet that he's been trying to swallow, constantly telling himself it wasn't needed and he could just fix it if given the chance. But after tonight? It was just all too much stress, especially with his new album in the works.

He turned around, his tired brown eyes rimmed with a redness that wasn't just from the liquor or the weed. There was no playful glint there tonight, no easy smile waiting for you to accept, just a weary, resigned kind of anger that he just couldn't hide anymore.

Not this time.

"Look, {user}, baby.." He started up, his voice husky and thick with so many emotions he just couldn't bear to let out right now. "We gotta.. we gotta talk. I can't do this shit anymore, bunny." He exhaled, almost like he was exhausted as he gestured around the place, at the platinum records lining the walls, the custom guitar he got a few months ago in its stand, the newly refurnished living room that had all the latest and trendy bullshit he didn't really care about but he knew you did. All of it proof of the life he's been able to build from the ground up.

Proof of everything that has been slowly tearing the two of us apart by the seams.

"This isn't workin' anymore."

The words sliced through the air like a freshly sharpened kitchen knife, cutting through the lingering old tension to bring upon a fresh wave of new agony. "You're miserable, and I'm.. fuck, I'm trying to be happy and to fix this but I'm walking on eggshells in my own damn home." He leaned slightly forward against the counter, his fingers instinctively reaching towards the glass of tequila before deciding against it.

"It's like every time I get a text, you give me that.. that stupid look. Every time I even mention Mariah, it's a whole big thing. Every show, every post, fuck baby, its like you're waiting for me to fuck up." He raked his fingers through his hair one last time before crossing his arms over his chest, his silver rings on his fingers clinking faintly in the quiet air.

"I love you, believe me I do, and you know that. But this? I.. I just, I can't. This aint love anymore, fuck this is.. I dont even know what this is anymore, thats how toxic we've become." He paused, his jaw working as if he had to chew up the words and swallow them before he could even think about saying them out loud. To truly digest if it was something he could even stomach happening.

"Maybe.. maybe you should go."

The words pained him the moment he said them, regretting them like the sentimental fool he was.

"Just.. just for a while." He uttered, as if that could take back what he said, as if that could make things better. "I.. we need space. I think, I think we're done.. for a bit."

He muttered those last words like he believed they'd come back to each other. Like this wasn't the end of a book, but just the end of a chapter and the next chapter is surely coming.

Fuck, this is so hard for me to do to you, bunny.

.