Rewritten Fates

Chapter 4

"Rowan's POV"

Rowan sat in the dimly lit dressing room, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. The face his producer stared back at him, a mix of shock, anger, and disbelief etched into his expression. He could feel the weight of his expectation, their disappointment pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Rowan said quietly, his voice steady but devoid of the usual fire it held. He stared at the table in front of him, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m done. I’m tired.”

His producer, Michael, leaned forward, his face a mixture of concern and desperation.

“Rowan, you can’t just quit,” Michael pleaded, his voice rising above the others. “Not now. Not when we’re at the top. Do you have any idea what this would do to the band? To your fans?”

Rowan finally looked up, meeting Michael’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said, his tone unwavering. “But I’ve made up my mind. I can’t keep living like this.”

Michael ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “At least wait until after the concert tonight. Don’t say anything to the others. Let’s just get through this, and then we can talk.”

Rowan nodded, but there was no conviction behind it. He was done talking, done pretending that everything was okay when it wasn’t. But for Michael’s sake, for the band’s sake, he would go through the motions one last time.

The concert that night was a blur. The crowd roared, the lights flashed, and the music pounded through the speakers, but Rowan felt detached from it all. He sang the songs, hit all the right notes, but there was no passion, no connection to the performance. It was like watching someone else wear his skin, moving and acting as if everything was fine when inside, he felt like he was drowning.

The concert ended, the crowd’s cheers echoing in his ears as he made his way backstage. He was exhausted, not just physically but emotionally, mentally. He wanted nothing more than to disappear, to leave it all behind.

As he entered his changing room, he was met by Adrian, his best friend and the band’s drummer. The moment Rowan saw the look in Adrian’s eyes, he knew this wouldn’t be just a conversation.

“Why, Rowan?” Adrian’s voice was tight, anger simmering beneath the surface. “Why are you throwing everything away?”

Rowan didn’t answer. He moved to the dresser, ignoring the tension radiating from Adrian. But before he could reach it, Adrian grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around.

“Answer me!” Adrian shouted, his voice breaking as he shoved Rowan hard against the wall. Rowan stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the dresser, but he didn’t retaliate. He just looked at Adrian, his expression empty.

Adrian’s fists clenched, and before Rowan could react, a punch landed squarely on his jaw. Pain exploded in his face, but Rowan barely flinched. Adrian hit him again, and again, each punch harder than the last, fueled by a mixture of anger, hurt, and betrayal.

“Why won’t you fight back?” Adrian yelled, his voice hoarse. “Why are you just standing there? You’re not even trying to stop me!”

Rowan swallowed, tasting blood in his mouth. “Because I don’t care anymore,” he said, his voice a broken whisper.

Adrian froze, his fists still clenched, hovering in the air. He stared at Rowan, the anger slowly draining from his face, replaced by something much sadder—resignation.

“You’re really going to do this, aren’t you?” Adrian’s voice cracked as he stepped back, the fight leaving him.

Rowan didn’t answer. He just turned away, wiping the blood from his lip, and walked out of the changing room, leaving Adrian standing there, defeated.

The drive home was silent, the city lights blurring past as Rowan stared out the window. His mind was numb, replaying the night’s events on an endless loop. When the car slowed, he barely noticed until the driver’s voice broke through the fog.

“Sir, there’s someone on the sidewalk… in a wheelchair.”

Rowan blinked, focusing on the figure hunched over in the rain. “Stop the car,” he said abruptly.

The driver did as he was told, and Rowan stepped out into the rain, his heart pounding in his chest. As he approached the figure, a sense of familiarity washed over him, and when he finally saw her face, he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Layla…” The name left his lips in a breath, almost lost in the sound of the rain. She didn’t recognize him, and that realization stung more than he expected. But in a way, it was for the best. She didn’t need to remember the boy from her past, not when he had become this version of himself.

She was crying, her tears mixing with the rain, and Rowan felt a pang of something deep inside him—a need to protect her, to help her, even though he wasn’t sure how. Without a word, he gently placed a hand on her shoulder, guiding her to her friend’s car that had just pulled up. As her friend helped her inside, Rowan stepped back, watching them drive away until they were out of sight.

When he got home, the silence was deafening. The mess from before still cluttered the apartment—empty bottles, scattered pills, remnants of a life he no longer wanted to live. He didn’t bother cleaning up. Instead, he poured himself a drink, the liquid burning as it went down, but it didn’t numb the pain.

He stood at the edge of the balcony, the city sprawled out below him, glittering with a thousand lights. But none of it felt real. He was just a shadow, a ghost moving through a life that no longer held any meaning.

A single tear slipped down his cheek as he stepped forward, feeling the cool air against his skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into the night, not sure who the apology was meant for—Adrian, Layla, or himself.

Then, without another thought, he let go, the world rushing up to meet him as he fell.

The hotel employees below screamed as the water splashed around them, the shock and horror of what they had just witnessed slowly sinking in. Rowan’s body floated lifelessly in the pool, the once vibrant light in his eyes extinguished forever.