non-compliance.

The life of an artist.

He had plenty of time to reflect on 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 desolation that was simply devastating.

The last 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 crinkle of her nose, the way she revealed her closeness, everything, the faint aroma of her cooking in the mornings, the sumptuous dinners at night, her afternoons filled with music, her dancing, the way she spoke when she was upset, switching 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 lashes. 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 England, 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 wanted to 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 completely sure, - Billy said, offering no further explanation. The idea of taking a sleeping pill consumed him; he needed to take just one pill. Sleep had been elusive since the recent events.

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

-You need to get ready; we leave in half an hour. The funeral home is waiting, - Jerry commented.

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

Billy took the black suit with a white shirt, never thinking about all the accessories he carried with him. He had a silver necklace with a peace symbol that hung low, another silver chain 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 contrasting 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 playful.

-Even when the most important thing you have is gone... -

-You're young, though it will happen many times if you continue. I can be sure that the path you take will give you the answers you need. Life can't always be learned through others' advice; we need to suffer from our own mistakes and reflect on them ourselves. We often underestimate life, - Jerry commented.

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

Jerry's expression was enough to clarify.

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

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

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

-Forget it then, - Billy commented.

Both got into a black car with tinted windows, heading out amidst the morning traffic. The streets of Liverpool were bathed in the morning sun, a good climate, something positive. There had been heavy rains in recent days. As he stepped out of the vehicle, the first step he took onto the pavement, the pain still gnawed at his chest from what had happened. It wasn't just his funeral; the driver Jerry had sent as a chauffeur had also fallen prey to 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 places. Although he was already popular in the United States, in other places, his popularity had doubled, reaching 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, understanding the request. He nodded with some discomfort, but it was all prearranged by Jerry, even mentioning he should pose with a stern, strong look. With a sharp gaze at the camera, not smiling, he heard the flashes for ten seconds, and that was all he needed to do. It was enough for him. The cover would feature Billy with tearful eyes, a clenched 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 contradicted Thomas, who was Christian, while Billy, knowing little, preferred to be Protestant. However, that didn't matter. A priest conducted the funeral rites, a 15-minute ceremony mostly filled with prayers of goodwill and gratitude for Agustina's departure. The priest, a bald, rotund man as large 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, offering only her tears as solace in her desolation.

-May she rest in peace, - echoed Billy.

If there's another life, I hope to see you in the next, or that you see me, thought Billy, trying to contain the pain spreading through his chest like a vine. He tried to breathe deeply, but the pain in his chest was chaotic, and 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 silence and Billy's meditation.

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

-Sure. I canceled the interviews, but we can 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 can't be forgotten. Billy's profile is enough to make 70% of American girls dream. From what they know so far, the girls scream, and the fan club is present. Some concert 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 playing with a swollen cheek, split lip, and playful smile, has been both a headache and a satisfaction 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 control.

Rumors say Billy got out because of bribes paid by Warner, an open secret suggesting Billy is in trouble. Other rumors claim 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 can 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 can he do for the kid?

...

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