Where was I? This was definitely not my room. My very own room, the one that I had grown up in. I pressed my hands against my eyes, trying to make sense of that unknown scenario. Why did all hotel rooms have to look alike?

Berlin. That was where I was.

I got out of bed and pulled the curtain back, with a jerk. Yes, Berlin stared back at me from its dusky sleepiness or so I wanted to imagine, because that city really never slept, did it? People talked of New York all the time but, for me, it was Berlin which never really laid its imaginary head on an imaginary pillow.

And if I was in Berlin, that could only mean… Tempelhofer Feld.

I rarely cursed, but I let out a growled fuck, between my clenched teeth.

Suddenly, my drowsiness was all gone, replaced with a feeling of existential dread that appealed to the most primitive fight or flight instincts I had. And I had a lot of those…

What was I doing and why was I doing so? Why did I insist on putting myself through stressful situations where the most likely scenario was that I would make a joke of myself, and the chance of success was always so slim?

And who was I fooling with any of this? I was just a child, playing at an adult’s game, pretending to know the fantasy rules of it all when, in reality, I had been grasping at straws the whole time.

I was a fake, that was what I was. An impostor, acting a part that I had gotten myself too entangled in by now. And a part in a very expensive stint.

Why were my name and my face plastered in places? Written by and composed by. Were any of those premises true? I was just playing around with notes, in the end.

I was feeling like a caged animal and the room was feeling smaller and tighter by the minute.

The clock on the bedside table said it was 5 in the morning. I guessed that any hour would be good enough to have a panic attack.

I took off and left for the still empty hallway. In about half an hour, life would start, as all those people, in those rooms and in so many others, would start working towards a shared goal. Too bad the shared goal was just plain, old me.

I knocked on a door that I thought was the right one.

I was being selfish and I realised it. What else had I ever been in my life, apart from selfish? But I needed some reassurance. Either that, or all those people would only find a puddle of Eleanora, in the morning. I could almost read the headlines, saying I had finally given in, under the pressure, after three short years and a career that lacked something.

I heard the latch and my desperation was met with a pair of eyes that was not the one I was looking for.

- I must have gotten the wrong room. I’m sorry. - I said to Alastair, who looked confused at seeing me there – You don’t happen to know which one is Peter’s room, do you?

The door opened all the way back and, indeed, I had not been wrong.

- El? - Peter was putting on a T-shirt, his eyes still adjusting to the light – What’s happening? Are you alright?

- Not really, no. - I said, as I looked from him to Alastair. That made sense, I thought. I had been blinder than I realised – I’m panicking, a little bit.

Peter just nodded and quickly went into the room again, getting out a few seconds later, with his trainers on.

- Let’s get some air, shall we?

- Why am I doing this? - I said, with my face buried in my hands, my calloused fingertips rough against my forehead.

- Well, as someone who has watched you grow, my guess would be that you had music inside that heart of yours that needed to come out – Peter blew out a cloud of smoke above our heads – and you were lucky enough that half the world is willing to listen to it.

- But that’s just the thing, isn’t it? It’s shit. It’s all shit.

He chuckled at my little swearing outburst – That would not be the word I would use to describe your numbers. And I’m only talking about the cold, objective perspective of it all. - he took another drag – Where’s all this coming from, Elz?

- I just… - I hesitated. It wasn’t every day that I was able to open my heart – I feel worthless and empty. I don’t know why, because I have everything that I wanted in the first place. But I don’t even know why I’m doing any of this anymore. It’s a bloody Pyrrhic victory, isn’t it?

Peter cleared his throat, giving himself time to think on how to deal with a moody and spiralling teenager.

- Do you enjoy what you do?

I took a deep breath – I enjoy making music – I said, trying to think about that question. I had been asked that a lot, but I had never really given it much thought. But now, that it was a friend looking for a sincere answer, I really had to think what I liked about the whole ordeal – I enjoy some aspects of it.

- Such as?

- I like to see how happy people are, in the shows. I like to see them singing along, - I bit my lip – I like it when I see so many different people dancing and singing. I enjoy the challenge.

He nodded – And what don’t you enjoy?

That one was easy – The pressure. The news they make up about me. Not knowing what freedom is any longer.

- And does that all boil down to the same entity?

- What do you mean?

- Are all those aspects generated by the press and the coverage and the scrutiny you’re under?

- Maybe…

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

- Then play the rock star – he tapped what was left of his cigarette on the floor – Play the original punk. Stop giving a fuck and just do your thing.

- I don’t even know what my thing is…

Peter lowered his head and his smiling eyes met mine, at my level – Your thing is you. That’s what your fans fell in love with. And you know why? Because, despite all the lace and make-up and aloofness, they see you for what you are. They see what’s underneath all of it. They see how you bare your soul in your poems and how you take your heart out of your chest and play it for them.

I smiled a desperate smile – So, you’re giving me the old just be yourself?

- Were you ever anything else than unapologetically yourself, Little Monster?

Maybe my stubbornness, what I had thought was just me being contrary, was what I really was. Just maybe, with all that had happened in just three years, I had been masking who I really was. Did I even know who I was? Did other people know who they were at 16?

- Just be me, then?…

- Just be you and you’ll be fine – he stretched his neck – Or do you think you’d have dozens of people working for you, if they didn’t believe in what you could do? I haven’t been around for long, but I know a lost cause in the entertainment world when I see all the little mice scattering away from the sinking ship.

- And I’m still floating…

He laughed – Darling, you’re not just floating. You’ve buried your stakes deep in the muddy ground and you’re building a whole city. You’ll be Venice, soon.

- Thank you, my dear Peter… - I smiled at him – You’re a lovely friend to have around.

- You’re not so bad yourself – he blew me a raspberry – If only you’d let me sleep.

I apologised. In my own self-centred little world, I really had no one else to resort to, even if I was surrounded by so many people at all times.

- So, are you and Alastair a thing? - I asked.

- I don’t know yet.

- What’s stopping you?

Peter didn’t answer, he just took a very deep breath.

- I will resort to violence, if you dare say society or worse, your dad.

He chuckled sadly – I guess you’ll have to resort to violence, then.

I reached out and touched his arm – Don’t do that to yourself. - I said softly – If anyone in this world ever deserved to be happy and to have nice things going his way, that one person is you.

- What if it doesn’t work? What if I out myself and it doesn’t work?

The sun was rising and I saw the fear in Peter’s eyes, bathed in that early golden light.

- You’ll never know if you don’t try it, my dear.

----------------------------------------

I looked at my wardrobe for the night, that Pat had so carefully put together. I wouldn’t wear it, not for the first part of the show.

I took a look in the mirror – Just be yourself – I said, as I examined who I really was, in real life. Just a girl, in a Bowie t-shirt, a woollen jacket two sizes too big, ripped jeans and worn-out Converse. This was who I was and it would be who they would get. No lace, no frills, no fishnet. Just me. Not the stage persona, but the actual person who fought her demons on a daily basis.

Just me and the sea of people that were gathered out there, watching some other bands the TV network had brought along to fill up the day, like a little urban festival. To say that it had exceeded my expectations would be a gross understatement. I could not believe my eyes, as we drove through the city, to the venue, and we passed dozens, hundreds, I dare say, thousands of people, all congregating at the old air base.

So I would give them the only thing I truly owned: me. Unapologetic. Unadorned. As they saw me, for what I truly was.

I got out of my trailer, to meet Pat for hair and make-up. Usually, she would be the one coming to me, but she was busy with some last minute details about a wig I would wear later.

- Did someone forget they had a show later on? - Simon was casually leaning against the trailer he shared with Alfie. He always needed some fresh air before going on stage.

- I don’t think this ongoing chaos would let me forget such a thing – I said, pointing at the flurry of people walking around, carrying things, doing what they had to – Why?

- Oh, I don’t know – he made a silly face – Maybe because you’re still not dressed.

I looked down at myself and then back at him, smiling – For a moment there you had me panicking.

- You’re going on like that? - he pointed at my clothes.

- Do you have a problem with it? - I gave him my best I don’t really care attitude.

- No problem at all – he grinned – I like you better that way, really.

- Good – I winked at him – Because I wasn’t really looking for your approval.

- That’s my girl! - he grinned and nodded.

After a brief but thorough interrogation, from Pat, who wanted to know what was wrong with me, if I had a fever, if I was feeling alright, she agreed that she would do my hair and make-up without any further Stasi-like questioning.

- Oh, they really got the rubber duckie – I said, when I noticed the tiny yellow duck on the counter, that had my name on it.

- They just brought it about an hour ago.

I took it and turned it in my hands. Bishop had said once that I needed to assert my place as an artist and ask for something extravagant, for my dressing room. I had asked for black towels, at first, but decided that would not be enough and said that I wanted a rubber duck, with the name of the venue and date of the show. And did they deliver. Not only was the duck wearing an old-timey aviation hat and goggles, but it read Tempelhofer Feld 26/4/1997, on its backside.

- Don’t let this one out of your sight, darling – I said to Pat, as she took off the curler from its case – You must guard the duckie with your life.

- Of course – she gave me a smile in the mirror – Oh, your rings are in that bag – she pointed out and I took them and put them on. This I would not part with.

Another hairdresser came in and started working on the final details of the red-haired wig. She said her name was Lena, and she was very nice and friendly. We chatted a little bit, in German, as Pat liked to work with her headphones on, so we weren’t really excluding her.

- Where is she? - a male voice said, also in German, as he entered the trailer – There you are. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I need you to fix my hair – he said to Lena, not even bothering with hellos.

Lena put down the wig, which was almost done by now, and sat the man in the chair next to mine, and started working on his hair.

- Is the interpreter here yet? - he looked back at the couple of assistants that had followed him in – Because I’m not interviewing her in English – he said, as he motioned his head towards me.

Lena gave me a frightened glance, but I just shook my head, pursing my lips. It wasn’t the first time it had happened and it certainly would not be the last.

- The things I do – he went on, to no one in particular, really. It was like he enjoyed the sound of his own voice and his Berlin accent – Just look at her. She’s just a child.

Pat’s eyes met mine, in the reflection and she knitted her eyebrows, as if asking what was going on. I just shook my head and she got that as an OK, to keep going.

- I ask for a pay raise and I get a no. But for the foreign star, we can set up a whole circus… What do we know about her? - he asked one of his assistants, who took out some notes and started feeding him facts about my life.

Lena was dousing the man’s hair in hairspray, as he kept going on about me. By then, I suspected he would be a TV host, or something.

- You might want to check your sources – I said to him in German, when he was done – You have a date or two wrong.

His eyes widened and I could swear his face went through every single colour of the rainbow and beyond.

- But, you can ask me directly, if you have any further questions.

He opened his mouth, but could not say anything to save face.

- You didn’t know – I went on – It’s only natural that we assume a foreign person will not speak our language. If I was dishonest by not letting you know from the start, I will ask for your forgiveness. But how could I interrupt such a good story, about my own life?

- I… I…

I leaned over to him and made the peace offering of a handshake – Eleanora. It’s nice to meet you, Herr…

- Müller. Oskar Müller. - he said – I really am sorry.

- I don’t know what you’re talking about, Herr Müller. I truly have a horrible short-term memory for unpleasant things – I was getting good at channelling Lady Margaret’s smooth talk.

The man, who really was a host, kept saying how sorry he was, asking us if we needed something and he even went out and got Pat a cup of coffee. He really was mortified by it all.

- Alright – Pat said, with a smile, adjusting some waves in my hair – Hair’s all done. I’m feeling artsy today, doll…

She truly was because, after doing my eyes, she drew an arabesque, resembling an eye of Horus, under my right eye.

- All done now, love. You look perfect. Now, go on, do your warm-ups and I’ll take care of the boys.