Waste (A Larina Fanfiction)

Part 5: THE STATE OF DREAMING

THE STATE OF DREAMING

Marina's POV

I opened my eyes. This place seems familiar. My hotel room. Thank god! I'm not in some truck heading to Nevada! I'm safe, alive, still in New York but I hardly remember anything from last nigh. I remember this prettt girl, Lana, I remember those old gangsters, the roof... In my sober head, all that stuff sound like movie material, but it's reality. My skin is covered in glitter. I remember the redhead singer and her glitter as well.

What am I wearing? I don't remember owning a blue t-shirt like this one! Sudden realisation. Lana was wearing a blue t-shirt last night! Fuck! Jesus Christ! What the hell happened? Why am I wearing Lana's clothes? Is she wearing mine? I liked that black dress...Why am I covered in glitter? 

I try to get up. There it is! Stomachache. Not again. I feel like throwing up. I promise to myself that I will never drink or take drugs again. Yet, I do realise that hangover promises are hardly kept. I expect Lana to come out of the bathroom or something and salute me. Instead, I find a note on the coffeetable. It says...

'Hope you enjoyed the ride.

But mainly, I hope you remember what happened.

If you want to see me again, you know where to find me.

I'll be there at midnight.

Lana...

P.S. Throwing up helps'

I didn't enjoy the ride. I don't remember a thing. I don't know where to find her since I don't remember a thing. How about that?

I leave the note back on the table and take a quick glimple of the clock. And as soon as I thought things couldn't get any worse, it's 12 pm! I missed the meeting with my producers. I missed the first recording! Why am I so stupid? I feel angry at myself, at those assholes last night, even at the clock. I throw it to the ground and it breaks into million little pieces. I don't know why but I'm not angry at Lana. Maybe it's because she carried me to the hotel which was a kind thing to do.

I start thinking of excuses but none of them sounds right.

'The singer is a pot-smoking irresponsible bitch.' is actually closer to the truth.

I check out my mobile phone and I see 34 fucking calls from my agent, Ian. He must have gone nuts... That was it. I failed!

Hotel phone rings. I answer in terror for what I'm about to hear.

'Ms Diamandis, your agent is here. He wants to see you.'

'Let him in.'

I'm horrified.

Some minutes that looked like ages later, Ian enters the room an I can tell he's angry. Oops. I fucked up!

'What is on your head?' he yells at me.

'Smells like alcohol in here. Fucking alcohol! I thought you were professional. You're such a disapointment!'

'I'm sorry.'

'Is that all? You're sorry? Of course you are! You should be but that's not enough.'

He sits on the chair and I sit on the edge of the bed, ready to cry.

'You think this is a game, right? You're having fun. You wrote a bunch of good songs and you think you're Mick Jagger on tour with the Stones. Wake up, girl! You're still living in the state of dreaming!'

'I said I'm sorry.'

I start thinking about my future after I get rejected. Should I keep on trying till I die starving, should I marry a rich dude and have family and a house in the country or should I lead a life like Lana's and care about nothing at all. The third option sounds so tempting right now, but i'm not Lana! Actuallly, my name's Marina. I'm a fighter! I'm not going down like that. They should drag me down...

Ian goes on preaching...

'Music Industry is not a place for little girls immitating Britney Spears and singing her songs in the shower. This is a place for devoted hardworkers. And in the end of the day, you will hate your job. Just like every other guy out there that hates his job. The industry you chose to be in will suck all the joy of singing out of you. And you should be grateful. I fed up with teaching drug addicts how to become rockstars. It requires strong will and attitude. So, fuck that shit and get your brain in place.'

Thank god he stopped! I'm tired of people telling me what I already know.

I feel so sick.

'Marina, look outside your window. Do you know the name of that lousy state?'

'I do. It's Manhattan.'

'No girl. This is not just Manhattan. This is Broadway. Want to belong here? Want to be in a play? Want to live inside one? Then wake up. You're still dreaming.'

Suddenly, the bathroom door opens and that redhair girl from last night comes out. She looks more hangover than I've ever looked before, glitter glued on her running mascara, her flapper dress covered by an ugly yellow sweater. 

"I am so sorry." She says. "I must have drunk a whole hurricane. Nice to meet you again and...do you know where we are, exactly?"

Ian just looks at me confused. "Fuck it. I'm out of here." He says.

I look outside the window. All those streets. Noise, cars, passersby, big lights, theatres. I try to focus on what Ian is trying to say. But it's impossible. All I can think is that somewhere out on those streets, Lana awaits me.

"Let me get you a taxi, darling." I tell the girl. We burst out laughing.