Songbird Read Online Free Page A

still continued anyway. I buried my head in the pillow and tried to fall asleep.
    I tossed and turned for hours before sitting up frustrated. Sleeping was obviously not on the agenda tonight, despite how tired I was. I couldn’t switch my mind off and lying there in the dark wasn’t going to achieve anything.
    Thinking some work might be able to numb my mind, I found myself in my office. It was the room where Demi and I usually went over things and the walls were surrounded by all the awards I had won over the years. My favorite was the Grammy award I had won for best newcomer. Even after winning dozens of other ones, it was still the most special to me. I could never forget the feeling of pure joy I felt when I heard my name called. I always had something to prove and it was that moment that reminded me I had made my point.
    I turned on the computer and rifled through my emails. Most were just newsletters and advertisements that I had signed up for at some stage. There were a few fan emails, somehow getting my personal address from God knows where. Demi told me not to reply to them because then they would tell everyone and I’d be bombarded with emails, but I normally did it anyway. They were sweet to contact me, the least I could do was reply.
    The rest of the emails were boring so I opened up the internet browser. As if I wasn’t depressed enough, I went through the entertainment websites. I had to know what they were saying about me.
    I knew it was a mistake doing it and it would only upset me even more but I couldn’t help it. Article after article, they were all speculating about how terrible my tour was going to be. According to an ‘insider’, my rehearsals were a disaster and I was being demanding of everyone in the show. That definitely wasn’t true, both the disaster part and the demanding part. I thought things had been going well. Whoever their insider was, they had been at different rehearsals to me – obviously.
    According to one of the bigger blogs, ticket sales for the tour were down and no-one wanted to see my show because they knew it would be a train wreck. Apparently even my most devoted fans weren’t supporting me. I made a mental note to ask Demi about ticket sales. I thought they were going strong, even selling out in some venues, but she did tend to keep things from me if she thought I couldn’t handle the truth.
    I seriously didn’t know why I was even bothering with this tour. Clearly everyone was waiting for me to fail, go off the rail s and explode. Instead of being the great comeback that I needed, it was turning into a circus for the media. I didn’t want to be their main act.
    Demi said the tour was a way to thank my fans for their support over the past year. When I was first admitted into the hospital, they had sent cards, flowers, and gifts. I had so many that I started asking the nurses to take them to the other patients so they could have some cheer too. They were all so kind to me that I wanted to show them I was back and better, thanks to their support.
    But if they weren’t even buying tickets, why was I bothering to do it? All the rehearsals, the money, the careers of everyone involved, it could all be wasted by my failure. It was a depressing thought. Was it too late to cancel everything? I had enough money and assets to never have to work again. Perhaps it would be better if I just retired to my house in Spain and lived the rest of my life there in solitude. The great Brierly Wilcox could turn into an urban legend, spotted every few years as a shadow of her former self. That option was actually looking pretty attractive at three o’clock in the morning.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    C hapter Three
     
     
    “ B rierly! Brierly, wake up!” Demi’s voice was way too loud for so early in the morning. When she couldn’t wake me just by repeating my name, she started shaking me. I knew I couldn’t ignore her then.
    I sat up, feeling every bone in my body protest. I