I've submerged from the depths of my dark corner to bring you this chapter, so I hope you like it! If I don't see appear soon - Happy Halloween x

Chapter Nine

Sometimes the words don't flow to the page like you intend them to. Every song I write has a unique process. Words and phrases may come to mind, an emotion, theme, melody, and sometimes nothing at all. Then there's the phase of what I'm currently going through when I'm writing. Like, a book, notepad, sticky notes, and scrap piece of paper. The utensils I use also have a significant effect. There's the pink pen, the blue one, the fine liner, sharpie, classic pen, the click pen, the fountain pen or even the old school pencil that never seems to be sharpened. Writing is an art with no defined method.

That leads me to this point; writing sometimes sucks, and sometimes I wish I could discard this album and start all over again – that means scrapping the first two so that I can have a free escape to new material that goes all over the place. Writing is a sense of freedom, but of late, seems for of a burden and a trap.

I'm at a crossroads. I want to give up, I want to perceiver, procrastinate, to be determine to achieve everything I've ever wanted and more. I will finish this new album they want. Not because I owe it, but because I know I can do it. A part of growing up is learning to do the things we don't always want to do.

Standing up from my position on the floor, I stretch and shake my tired numb limbs. I remove the lackey band from around my wrist so that I can tie my hair up into a tight bun.

This means war, and I'm going to need supplies.

I abandon my post on the floor in search of a notepad, sticky notes, coloured pens, blue tack and scissors. I jog into my bedroom and rummage through the draw in search of useful things. When I have collected everything, I return to the floor and begin to order everything.

I draw a large bubble and write Inspiration in big fancy pink letters. I then cut the bubble cloud out and blue tack it to the wall. In the scraps, I start writing dot points that I could use in the songs – coming of age, loving another, loving yourself – then branching off with lyrics and quotes that I find inspirational.

When my head is a jumble of unproductivity, I find it easier to sort this mess out on a blank canvas before I try piecing it together. If all else fails, a guitar and random singing helps as well.

I continue to scribble down words and tunes until my back hurts from bending over and my fingers are itching to play along with the guitar. Hopefully with what I've brainstormed, I can apply some structure to it.

I grab one of the cushions from the couch to rest my head on. The floor feels cold on my backs and thighs, but not enough so I freeze. My fingers find the strings and I start playing random cords until something makes sense. I strum the strings and tap my foot along the ground with my phone on record.

"There was a couple of times that I worried, the feelings didn't feel right, but I searched for the words to pour out my heart." I speed up the tune. "But I found nothing at all. What does that mean? No words to express you, no feelings at all."

I pause, mulling over the next line. "Like a boat on the ocean far away. Are you my salvation or the cause of my destruction?" I tap the side of the guitar and hum a few notes, but nothing else comes to mind.

"Is that too depressing for a pop song?" I ask aloud.

"Probably," I mutter darkly.

I stop playing those tunes and try something a little different. I change some of the notes to a lighter sound and into a quicker, snappier tune which seems to take off easier.

"Life is like a roller coaster, it'll take you anywhere. So sit back and enjoy the ride. See the views and the sites around. Learning to smile isn't hard. Strap in your belt, wave your hands, and don't forget to scream. Life can take you anywhere," I sing.

It's nowhere near perfect, but I love the concept of comparing life to a roller coaster. You can have ups, downs, and twists that are unexpected, and that's the accents of life. Somewhere between focusing on the railing of the ride, you forget to see the views surrounding you or the company sitting right next to you.

Placing my guitar on the ground, I reach for my notepad and scribble down my ramblings, then post it on the wall. I get a fresh piece of paper and start expanding on those lyrics with different structures, working and phrasing.

My blank mind suddenly turns into a pool of inspiration and ideas. So much, my hand can't keep up with the words wanting to flow out of me. Somehow those words make it to the paper easily in random squiggles and half written words.

When my phone rings, I ignore it. The second time, I push it away from me, and the third time, I answer.

"What do you want Nathan?" I shout with annoyance down the line.

Suddenly that pool of inspiration has turned into a desert. Nothing. Not even a single drop left. I feel thirsty and deprived, and certainly annoyed that my pool of inspiration has been snatched away from me so quickly.

"It's Alex."

'Shit,' I mutter in my brain.

Alex is not going to be impressed I'm hanging out with Nathan without saying anything to him. When Nathan left that change room that night, he left Alex as well. I felt horrible for what I'd done, then adding on the guilt of ruining their friendship. I'm just a horrible person – or a person who just makes mistakes.

"Have you been hanging out with Nathan?" he asks.

"Yes." I bite onto my lip nervously.

"Oh, okay," he softly says.

"Are you mad with me?" I ask.

"No." I can almost imagine him shaking his head and staring at the ground with a sad pouty face. He does this when he's disappointed.

"Upset?" I offer.

"A little bit." My heart sinks to my feet.

"Sorry," I mumble.

"I'm sorry as well," he replies.

I'm shocked to hear his answer. Shouldn't he be raging furious that I'd lied, be called out as a cheat and have my whereabouts and activities questioned? No, that wouldn't happen because Alex trusts me, and that would be painting his character wrongly if I say otherwise. I lose myself somewhere between here and yesterday, yet Alex always knows who I am before I do.

"Why are you sorry?" I ask.

"Because you feel you can't share something with me."

"I just." I look at the ground. I just wanted to pretend Nathan and I could be together, even if we couldn't. To be back in that bubble of all things Nathan and pancakes. "Never mind." I smile.

"Don't worry about it," he says.

"Good."

"Tell me about your day, hopefully everything is going swell."

"Well." I chew on the inside of my gum and look at the wall in front of me, "I've had better days, but I'm being productive. I've started planning and writing, I just need to organise it all into a song and stuff."

"Have you finished any songs?"

"No."

"Riley." The sound of his voice sends chills down my spine, "If you need help, I am here for you." Those words swirl around my insides and make me feel comfortable.

"Thank you for the offer, I do appreciate it."

"Just let me know."

"I feel more inspired now that I have my wall going. I just wish..." I mumble.

"It was your idea for Sienna?" he asks.

"Yes, I wish it was for that album as I feel it's some of my best work." I look back at the other wall filled with lyrics, music sheets and pictures decorating the wall. That album felt like it resurrected my soul and spoke everything I could never say. It make me realise and understand my feelings.

"Soon," he says, "soon when this mess is over, you can work on bringing the album to life again. Ava, Archer and myself will be right there supporting you along the way," he encourages.

"I know." I sigh, "I just need to get through this." I glare at the wall.

"You can always send me your material if you get stuck or want an opinion, I have some free time after the concert tonight." I really don't like sharing unfinished work or even asking Alex for help anymore, but I agree and thank him for his generous offer.

I loved the fact he helped me with my first album, those moments and writing sessions help me to find my feet and recognise what kind of style I wanted. But now I'd like to do this myself and explore my own writing and see what I can do with it before someone else decides what should be done.

"How about yourself? How is the tour going? I've seen some stunning live pictures of you on Facebook, you look so happy." I change the topic.

"Tour is going amazing, I wish you were here with me experiencing it all." Is the first thing he says, "The crowds are so fun and active, it's exciting to get on stage each night again. There's been a few drama's with lighting and audio, but it makes the experience different." He chuckles.

For some time, Alex found the possibility of touring dreadful. Whether it was the long nights, the exhausting schedules or constant calls for caffeine to function, he hated touring until we toured together and kicked his butt into shape. I worry that he might fall into that rut and what'll happen to his band, so seeing him happy and excited for something is amazing and makes me really happy. I'll always want the best for Alex despite any kind of circumstance. In fact, I'd want the best for anyone.

"Sure does! Remember that time when they accidently turned your microphone off?" I ask, "The audience went wild and we had to share mine. You looked cute with the pink sparkles. I had that picture as my phone background for a whole week until you changed it," I explain.

"Maybe I'll have to borrow your microphone so I have some kind of remind of you on the road?"

"We just got new pink shirts in stock, how about that?" I tease.

"I'd totally rock it as well. You have to wear one of mine as well. We can be cute and couply."

Shaking my head, "Sure."

"I'll let you get back to your song writing."

"I'll chat to you soon, bye."

"Bye, Riley."

The phone line ends and I'm left feeling a bit sad from the loss of his voice. Shaking my head, I need to concentrate on finishing something for the record label.

I grab my guitar and strum my fingers over the string.

"I lost myself somewhere between here and yesterday. I thought I found myself sitting alone, but you were staring back at me. Somehow I knew I would never be lost again, never alone, but home in your arms once more. I thought I lost you, just to find you once more." I write those words down and stick them to the wall.

"Sometimes I can't decide, my mind is a jumble. It's like walking a tight rope, jumping into an ocean, or climbing a hill. But with the world by my side, nothing can go wrong, because I'll make it out in the end. There's no choice of quitting, just forwards and beyond."

With Nathan in my life once more, forwards and beyond seems like a scary concept to tackle. What is in the cards for us? Do I want there to be an us? My heart is where my head should be, and the rationality of the situation is long gone. You can never control your feelings no matter what you promise or try to tell yourself.

"Forgetting you was never a possibility, even if I wanted it to be."

I place my guitar on the ground and lay down. With the pillow over my face, I scream loudly to release the built up frustrations. Forgetting Nathan was never an option, and leaving Alex isn't one either.