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chapter five
" You can go your own way
Go your own way
You can call it
another lonely day. "
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NOW PLAYING: "GO YOUR OWN WAY" by FLEETWOOD MAC (1977)

________

RORY: Chuck's departure was rough on us all. Eddie had to learn his basslines in less than a week, we had to reorganize how the band looked onstage, and something just felt... off, like we had lost a leg and been thrown off-balance.

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THE DOOR OPENS with a loud squeak as Eddie holds it for Rory and Camila. Rory steps into The Staircase concert venue with widened eyes. It's much larger than anything they've played so far, with a huge standing-floor area for the audience along with a few seats on the second level. The music from the Winters' soundcheck drifts faintly into her ears the closer she gets to the stage.

"Far out!" Camila exclaims, wrapping her arms around Eddie's. He shares a laugh with her before she turns around to embrace Billy.

"Santo cielo," Rory whispers with her lips slightly parted in awe.

"Tuve la misma idea," Warren replies. He elbows her side, causing them to share excited grins.

They stop beside Graham. He's staring, wonderstruck, at the stage, and Rory thinks he's merely thinking about how far they've made it before she realizes he's staring at the keyboardist. She's the only woman onstage. Though her clothes are dark, the stage lights shining on her blonde hair make her appear radiant as she sings backup vocals into her mic.

Warren and Rory wiggle their eyebrows at each other. He nudges Graham, chuckling. "Keep dreaming, Peaches."

He leans in and makes smooching noises. Graham shoves him away, but Warren never loses his jovial expression, saying, "Oh, wait, that's actually Rory and Eddie."

"That was two years ago," Rory says with a roll of her eyes.

"Still might want to wear a face guard just in case."

"You might want one for when I hit you."

"Aw, Ro-Ro, you could never hurt me."

Rory pushes him away like Graham had, shaking her head.

This is the first time that she can't stay for their whole set. At first, she's fine, dancing in the crowd with Camila as Graham's guitar blares in her ears and Eddie rocks out on bass. They look fantastic on that stage with the professional lighting and artificial smoke shrouding their legs, Billy's skin growing damp from perspiration and the warm lights.

Rory latches onto Camila's midsection, laughing and beaming with pride so strong her face begins to hurt.

"They sound great up there!" Camila yells above the noise.

"Yeah!" Rory agrees, and then she realizes that the man next to them has just lit up a cigarette. She doesn't notice the cloud drifting straight into her face until it's too late.

Even the smallest breath has her coughing, waving her hand in front of her to dispel the smoke, but it's not enough to soothe her aggravated lungs. They reject the toxic air and begin to burn in protest.

"You okay?" Camila asks, then turns to the man. "Hey, would you mind taking that somewhere else?"

In response, the guy exhales a second cloud right in her face.

"Okay." Camila grabs Rory by the shoulders and begins to steer her through the crowd. The younger girl discerns nothing except the bodies she's bumping into and how dark this room is. Only a few, sparse lights illuminate the crowd, and the perpetual haze in the air from the smokers within it only adds to the problem.

She's guided to the back of the room first. But that still isn't enough because there seems to be smoke everywhere, so Camila takes her outside.

The first gulp of crisp, night air soothes Rory's inflamed lungs like a wave of water. She digs around in her purse for her inhaler and takes two greedy puffs.

Camila is much taller than her, so she pats Rory's hair soothingly until she leans her head against the brick exterior of the venue and releases a hoarse exhale. Then Camila switches to smoothing some strands out of Rory's flushed face.

"I hate this," Rory says once she feels stable enough to speak, her voice quiet. "I hate how I can't stay in there like everybody else."

"Hey. Mírame." Rory blinks before obeying Camila's command, meeting her soft, brown eyes that are full of nothing but concern. "That guy was an asshole."

Rory's mouth quirks. "Say it like you mean it."

"Un pendejo."

There it is. English curses don't count— it's the Spanish ones that hold more weight. When someone swears in their native tongue, you know it's real.

"Anyone would've been bothered by that," Camila continues. "And the guys— they understand. I think they would much rather have you be out here, safe, instead of turning blue on the floor because you tried to push yourself through it."

Part of Rory knows she's right. They've always been conscious of her asthma, especially after her attack last year, and Graham has even started carrying around an extra inhaler (which she only discovered after it had fallen out of his pocket once). But she doesn't think the agony of missing out on so much will ever leave her.

That was partially why she became so invested in music as a child. While Mateo was allowed to go running around with the neighborhood kids in Barranquilla, Rory was forced to stay inside. Abuela taught her to dance while Abuelo played for them. She learned to feel the music in her heart, the rhythm in her soul, until she had to take a break to catch her breath.

And perhaps the worst part of all is that lung cancer took Abuelo from her. He couldn't sing anymore, his beautiful voice broken by ragged coughs and wheezes. And then Abuela died of a broken heart two years later.

The music is so loud that Rory can still hear it through the brick walls of the venue. Their set will be over soon, and she would hate for Camila to miss it because of her.

"You should go back in," Rory tells her. "Watch the end. I know you like 'Have Love, Will Travel.'"

"You sure?" Camila asks, continuing her soothing motions of combing Rory's hair with her fingers. When the girl nods encouragingly, she gives her a small grin and bends down to press a kiss on her head. "Okay. Be safe, manita."

The door clicks shut once she heads back inside. Rory releases a sigh and slides down the wall, her clothes catching on the rough material of the brick. Then she sits on the ground, pulls her knees to her chest, and waits.

She'd been right— the remainder of the set only lasts four more minutes before she hears applause and the muffled sound of Billy thanking the crowd. There will be a break for the technicians to start setting up the stage for the Winters, meaning Rory has a long night ahead of her.

A squeaking sound causes her to look up and see Warren's navy blue pants swishing past her. "Hey, Ro-Ro. Camila said you'd be out here."

"Hey," Rory replies somberly.

She expects him to sit near her, but he keeps walking until he's across the street, then turns around once he's standing on the curb. Warren removes a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket before lighting up. Then he puffs out a cloud of smoke.

"You don't need to be that far away," she tells him with a hint of faint amusement.

Warren acts as if he's seeing her for the first time and waves dramatically with his arm over his head. "Oye, young lady. What's your name?"

Rory can't fight the grin off her face now. "They call me Ro-Ro."

"And what brings you here tonight, señorita Ro-Ro?"

"I am seeing this band. You might've heard of them. They kind of suck, but I hang around them just to be nice." She looks up at the sky. "And the drummer? Díos, he is annoying, always 'Blah blah blah—'"

"Hey!"

"He never shuts up."

"That's a cut out of your paycheck," Warren teases, pointing at her.

"You don't pay me."

"We pay you in love and affection."

"Mmm-hmm." She rolls her eyes again. That is totally why Graham sat on her and farted the other day. Maybe she should ask for a raise.

Warren eventually heads back inside, but he ruffles Rory's hair as he walks by. The rest of the boys come periodically to check on her. She and Eddie play tic-tac-toe on the sidewalk, using pebbles to scratch their marks into the pavement, which they then throw at each other in revenge when they lose a game. Graham asks if she ever considered adding keyboard sounds into any of her songs. Billy brings her a plastic cup with lukewarm water in it and waits until she drinks the entire thing.

By the end of the night, she's glad that she had listened to Camila and stayed outside rather than pushing herself and going back in. The boys hadn't left her out on her own the whole time. They'd still demonstrated that they cared about her, and she's beyond grateful, even as she picks pebbles out of her hair.

Camila returns to help her find the bathroom before they leave. The venue is stifling hot from being packed with sweating, dancing bodies for hours, plus from the addition of the smoke still hanging near the ceiling. Rory does her business in record time. She doesn't want to stay in there any longer than she absolutely has to, and Camila doesn't want to, either.

Soon they're walking arm-in-arm to meet the boys in the parking lot. The band is laughing, shoving each other around, and cheering, obviously meaning the girls had missed something while they were away.

"What are you guys talking about?" Camila asks, releasing Rory to lean into Billy.

Their smiles fade. Rory glances between each of them, but they won't meet her gaze— not even Graham, who seems to be pointedly ignoring her, absorbed in his shoelaces. She swallows thickly. This is exactly how Chuck had looked before he told them he was quitting the band.

There's something they don't want to tell her.

"We're, um..." Billy trails off. "We're gonna move to L.A. Tonight."

Rory goes completely still. It's like every atom inside of her screeches to a halt. Her face is blank, absorbing the words that surely hadn't just come out of Billy's mouth.

She has no idea what to do. So she just starts moving.

Her boots carry her past the van, clicking on the pavement in time with her long strides. She doesn't even know where she's going or how to get home from here. All she knows is that she needs to escape the heartbreak that's barreling straight toward her like a freight train.

"Ror," Graham calls after her. "Hey, Rory! Aurora!"

It doesn't take him long to catch up despite her head start. He jumps in her path, preventing her from walking any further.

"Move," Rory commands through clenched teeth, staring so hard at his beige button-up instead of his face that she's surprised her eyes don't burn holes through it.

"Rory."

"I said move."

"Listen to me."

She tries to duck around him, but he anticipates her movements, once again intercepting her path and placing his hands on her shoulders.

"It's not the end, okay?" Graham tells her. "You've been there since the beginning. Did you think we wouldn't ask you to come with us?"

Rory laughs — a sharp, sardonic sound that's piercingly cruel. It's completely unlike her.

"Come with you?" she repeats, her eyebrows shooting up her forehead. "You are out of your fucking mind."

"Don't say that," Graham begs. "Don't sound like Chuck."

"You think — what, that I can just... drop everything and move across the country? You think my parents will ever let me out of their sight? They hate your band, Graham. They hate that I am involved with it and have probably been counting down the days until you break up or whatever, and I will be back home to take care of them where I belong, and they can have what they have always wanted—"

Rory chokes on an unsteady breath. Graham yanks her into his chest, holding her tight, and she twists his shirt around in her clenched hands as the dam that's been building up inside of her fractures. She sobs against him. Usually, she manages to keep her sorrows in check when she's around the boys, but now she feels like the ground has been yanked out from under her feet. She's falling and it's only a matter of time before she hits the ground. She's worried that she won't survive the impact.

"It's okay," he whispers, rubbing comforting circles into her back. "It's okay."

Rory wants to pound her fists on his chest and scream at him for saying that. No, it's not. It's not okay. Because she is not ready to have the boys ripped away from her so soon. Three and a half years was not enough time together.

A familiar crunching and groaning sound means the van has pulled up beside them. Rory opens her eyes to see Warren with his hand on the wheel, his expression somber. The back door swings open to reveal Billy and Camila sitting silently. Camila is stiff and picking at her nails.

Rory finally tears herself away from Graham so they can climb inside. The dead-something smell seems even more potent than usual as she nestles into the blankets on the floor. The ride is uncharacteristically quiet. Or maybe that's just Rory's head, because she feels utterly empty.

The boys all hug her tightly when they drop her off at her house. Graham's lasts the longest, because it all started with them, and as if the universe has a sense of humor, it starts to rain. Too bad neither of them has an umbrella.

"See you around, Ro-Ro," Warren says with a forced smile on his face.

Rory sniffles and moves her hair out of her face. "You guys better call me."

"'Course," Eddie says. "Someone has to be our unqualified shrink and listen to all our problems."

She waves goodbye before forcing herself to walk down the driveway. One foot after the other. Her feet feel like lead, weighing her down with every step, almost like heading toward her house is the wrong decision and her body wants her to go back to the station wagon.

Rory opens the front door and shuts it behind her to find Mamá reading a book in the living room. She looks up and asks, "How was it?"

"Good." Rory's voice is tight and unconvincing. "They are... thinking of moving. To L.A."

Mamá sighs, muttering something under her breath that sounds like "Muchachos tontos."

Even if she is upset, Rory won't have her parents mock her friends any longer. "But they're following their dream. And they're fantastic, Mamá. If you had listened to them play just once—"

"A dream is not worth what is practical."

The dismissiveness in Mamá's tone hurts like a knife to the heart. Rory gathers her bearings, squaring her shoulders. Strong. She is strong.

"Well... what if I went with them? I could keep them in line."

"Absolutely not."

"Why?" Her voice is louder now, growing in time with her frustration. "I am done with high school. I'm not going to college anyway."

Mamá's book slams shut. She rises to her feet, her expression hard. "You are not abandoning this family. It is your duty to take care of us. Here. In Pittsburgh. I did not leave everything behind just for you to throw your life away, chasing some silly dream."

"It is not silly! Abuelo believed in me. He said—"

"Abuelo is dead!"

Mamá's shout is followed by silence so potent it rings in Rory's ears. She shrinks back as if she'd been slapped, her mouth hanging open in shock.

"And so is all this talk of moving to Los Angeles. You are staying here and paying your debts to your parents. End of discussion."

Rory's chest heaves as she struggles to hold back a fresh wave of sobs. She has never seen her mother this angry before or speak of Abuelo so flippantly. It takes all of her strength to rein in her emotions and fire back, "If I were Mateo, you would not even hesitate before saying yes."

"If you were Mateo, you would not be wasting your breath talking about nonsense like having a career as a songwriter, Aurora."

That does it for Rory. She turns on her heel and thunders up the stairs, not even bothering to remove her boots at the door. The wooden floors creak under her pounding footsteps as she flees to her room and slams the door with a resounding bang!

Her breathing is ragged, filling the quiet of the room, and a sob wrenches its way out of her as her eyes flicker around the song lyrics covering her walls. She cannot stay here anymore. That was the last straw. Rory realizes that she has been hanging on by a very, very thin thread for a while now, and it has snapped. She can't exist in a home where her interests are mocked every time she talks about them. Staying in this house forever will drain the life out of her— and that's exactly how her fate will be sealed if she doesn't spring into action right now.

Rory marches toward her bed. Throwing the skirt up to expose the contents underneath, she locates her suitcases and drags them out, heaving them onto her bed. Then she tears the papers from her walls.

She tries to think rationally even as her mind races a million miles per hour. Clothes. Money. Her inhalers. Abuelo's guitar in its case. Abuela's jewelry. A separate bag for all of her photo albums, film, and cameras. The things most important to her, all packed away.

When she's done, her bedroom is a mess. It looks like a shell of herself. Like she'd taken a knife and carved all of the things that mattered out from inside of her, leaving nothing but an empty husk behind. Like the bedroom she might have had if she was the daughter her parents wanted her to be— practical, without her head in the clouds.

She listens for any sound downstairs. Mamá must have gone to bed, and with Papá and Mateo out drinking together, she has nobody in her way. Rory steps carefully across the upstairs level and takes two trips down the stairs with her things so she doesn't drop something and make a bunch of noise. The front door creaks open. She shuts it behind her softly.

Then she's walking in the rain, struggling to carry what's left of her life toward the Dunne residence.

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GRAHAM: Now that's one sight I'll never forget.

EDDIE: We were starting to pack the van. Then we heard this... this distant shout. It was so hard to see in the rain, but I could just barely make out Rory struggling down the street in the downpour, dropping her stuff all over the damn sidewalk.

BILLY: And Graham — he took off running.

GRAHAM: I couldn't believe my eyes. She looked kinda like a deer in headlights with this half-terrified, half-excited look on her face.

WARREN: We all started taking her stuff from her. I dunno how she carried so much at once, honestly. It was so heavy. Eddie took one of her suitcases and it was so full that the clasps just burst and her stuff went flying. I think Graham started yelling at him. "Grab the shit! Grab the shit!"

EDDIE: I had to fish a bra out of a puddle.

BILLY: We had Rory, and Camila showed up a few minutes later. It couldn't have been more perfect.

GRAHAM: And I knew she had run away, yeah. Her parents never would've let her go with us.

I guess I just didn't expect them to retaliate.

________

a/n:

FINALLY DONE WITH EPISODE ONE. my lord. i thought my record for how many chapters that would consist of a single episode's events would be 3 in Fireheart, but here we are, with 5.

i'm so excited for you to read about the gang's adventures in LA because that is where the plot REAALLLYY starts to kick off and we delve deeper into rory's personal storyline and character arc. plus she will be a lot happier now that she's out of her toxic home environment

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed this double update!

—kristyn

TRANSLATIONS:

Santo cielo: My God.

Tuve la misma idea: I had the same idea.

Mírame: Look at me

Un pendejo: An asshole

Oye: Hey

Muchachos tontos: Silly boys

( word count: 3.5k )