The life of an artist.

  He had plenty of time to refle the indistinguishable hatred he felt towards his humanity. Why was he so sensitive? Death was not unfamiliar to him; even the previous parents who lived with and supported him throughout a long life left him with a feeling of desotion that was simply devastating.

  The st image of his mother, he wished he had a recorder, the slight movement of her eyes, like two drops, the furrow of her brow, the kle of her he way she revealed her closeness, everything, the faint aroma of her cooking in the ms, the sumptuous dinners at night, her afternoons filled with music, her dang, the way she spoke when she set, switg between English and Spanish, the sly smile she had every time she stood in front of someone as if she were trying to scare them.

  Tears escaped every time he thought of his mother. So quickly, was it forever? Forever... he tried to breathe, but the tears kept falling past his shes. He tried to cover his forehead with one hand while he took deep breaths as a sign of agreement.

  Billy was in a small hotel in Engnd, arranged by Jerry, a private house. At his request, his mother would be buried in a small plot in Liverpool, where she would rest, in a beautiful and traditional chapel, and an appropriate burial. For now, he just wao keep going.

  -Are you sure about this, kid? - Jerry asked, standing beside him, his deep voice softer, almost like a teacher asking a beloved student.

  -I'm pletely sure, - Billy said, no further expnation. The idea of taking a sleeping pill ed him; he o take just one pill. Sleep had been elusive sihe ret events.

  It would be just one pill! To not feel so much pain. Just one pill!

  -You o get ready; we leave in half an hour. The funeral home is waiting, - Jerry ented.

  -It doesn't matter now, - Billy responded.

  Billy took the bck suit with a white shirt, hinking about all the accessories he carried with him. He had a silver neckce with a peace symbol that hung low, another silver with a tree pendant, a small cross earring in his left ear, and a white gold bracelet with his name on it.

  -Hey Jerry, what do people do when they're sad? - Billy asked, his red eyes and elegant appearance trasting sharply.

  -They endure, kid, nothing more than endure. We have no other choice but to endure, - Jerry said, his voice so serious that Billy thought he was being scolded. His demeanor was not pyful.

  -Evehe most important thing you have is gone... -

  -You're young, though it will happen many times if you tinue. I be sure that the path you take will give you the answers you need. Life 't always be learhrough others' advice; we o suffer from our own mistakes and refle them ourselves. We often uimate life, - Jerry ented.

  -I see. Right now, I feel like getting high, - Billy ented.

  Jerry's expression was enough to crify.

  -Sleeping pills, old man, don't be stupid. Something to ease my pain, - Billy ented.

  Ahhhhh, Jerry almost sighed deeply. Substances and artists don't mix well, especially for someone who has just lost a close family member.

  -We 't do that, you're too young for those pills. But you have some herbal tea to help you rest, maybe some valerian drops, - Jerry ented.

  -Fet it then, - Billy ented.

  Both got into a bck car with tinted windows, heading out amidst the m traffic. The streets of Liverpool were bathed in the m sun, a good climate, something positive. There had been heavy rains i days. As he stepped out of the vehicle, the first step he took onto the pavement, the pain still g his chest from what had happened. It wasn't just his funeral; the driver Jerry had sent as a chauffeur had also falleo death.

  Not as much as he had expected, but two photographers were taking some pictures of him. His songs had resurfaced like a phoenix, climbing the charts and finding their rightful pces. Although he was already popur in the Uates, in other pces, his popurity had doubled, reag 800,000 album copies sold in the United Kingdom alone, a record that kept climbing.

  -Billy, a few photos, - said a photographer.

  Jerry squeezed his shoulder, uanding the request. He nodded with some disfort, but it rearranged by Jerry, eveioning he should pose with a stern, strong look. With a sharp gaze at the camera, not smiling, he heard the fshes for ten seds, and that was all he o do. It was enough for him. The cover would feature Billy with tearful eyes, a ched jaw, and a steely gaze, staring into the camera. The photographer smiled before taking a few questions from one of Jerry's assistants.

  Agustina was Catholic, which tradicted Thomas, who was Christian, while Billy, knowing little, preferred to be Protestant. However, that didn’t matter. A priest ducted the funeral rites, a 15-minute ceremony mostly filled with prayers of goodwill and gratitude fustina's departure. The priest, a bald, rotund man as rge as a bear, with cheeks drooping to his neck, spoke each word with the solemnity the rite demanded.

  -May she rest in peace, - said the priest. A woman’s wail could be heard, the wife, a grieving widow, only her tears as so her desotion.

  -May she rest in peace, - echoed Billy.

  If there’s another life, I hope to see you in the , or that you see me, thought Billy, trying to tain the pain spreading through his chest like a vine. He tried to breathe deeply, but the pain in his chest was chaotid his emotions clouded his thoughts. The weight on his shoulders began to shorten his life and his way of thinking.

  A solemn thirty-step walk occupied him.

  -It seems we have a sponsorship to sign, the Vans shoe brand is waiting. Is it true you know how to skateboard? - asked Jerry, breaking the silend Billy's meditation.

  -It is. I've been skateb since I was eight. We make a good video with the board, - Billy replied.

  -Sure. I celed the interviews, but we have brief chats with Seventeen and Teen Vogue magazines. Both want some photo sessions, - Jerry said.

  Seventeen magazine is all about New York youth fashion. A golden gem like Billy ’t be fotten. Billy's profile is enough to make 70% of Ameri girls dream. From what they know so far, the girls scream, and the fan club is present. Some cert photos have leaked, showing him in various moments. Headlines like “Every Teenage Girl’s Dream,” “The Bad Boy,” and “Girls Prefer the Rough Ones” have appeared. A photo taken in Arizona, where he’s pying with a swollen cheek, split lip, and pyful smile, has been both a headache and a satisfa due to all the media frenzy. Parent associations, children’s associations, youth, adults, rappers, and singers have all basked in Billy’s secret life. The idea of Billy as the bad boy has spiraled out of trol.

  Rumors say Billy got out because of bribes paid by Warner, an ope suggesting Billy is in trouble. Other rumors cim he fought daily, liked fighting, had a sixteen-year-old girlfriend at thirteen, or even skipped school for a year to rob stores and vandalize. There are even stories about Billy having a child, ridiculous but still a juicy rumor.

  -We do it, old man, - Billy responded, lost in his thoughts. The only thing Jerry has done in his seventy-plus years is drown in work until the pain goes away. What else he do for the kid?

  ...

  In past chapters I have left the pylist of this fic, it tains the songs from the albums, for those who follow closely.