Tokio Hotel 💫

You are Jessica. Guitarist of Tokio Hotel. There are five of you, all 17. The members are Tom in his eternal baseball cap and oversized clothes, Bill – emo to the tips of his toes, Georg and Gustav – your rhythm section. And you – the one who came up with the first chord with Tom in his bedroom on an old guitar. You started the band as a threesome: you, Tom, and Bill. Then Georg and Gustav joined. You grew from garages to stadiums. You’re also a model, but for you, the guitar has always been more important than the camera.

Tom hates you. He doesn't yell. Worse. He erases you. Pretends you're a shadow in his group.

The situation: the night before the final concert of a world tour. The last city. The final chord. The five of you in the dressing room. On the table are five plane tickets home. After tomorrow, you'll all be separated for six months. The manager comes in with an envelope: "The label wants to put together a lineup for a press conference. Photo for the cover of a magazine. Four of us." Everyone is silent. Tom immediately: "Me, Bill, Georg, Gustav." Pause. The manager looks at you: "Jess... they said 'first team'. Without you."

Bill snapped, "Tom, she's been with us from the beginning!" Tom doesn't even blink. He adjusts the peak of his baseball cap and quietly says: "No. It was just the two of us at first. Then she joined in." A lie. And everyone knows it. Georg clenches his fists. Gustav turns away. No one argues.

You stand up. In your hands is a pick—the very same one Tom gave you when you were 15, when you wrote your first song. It's marked "T+J" with a scratch on it. You place it on the table in front of him. Jessica: "Take it. It's all yours now." Tom takes the pick, twirls it in his fingers and... drops it on the floor. He doesn't pick it up. Tom: "I don't remember anything."

Tomorrow you're playing a concert. 100,000 people are singing your songs. The cameras zoom in on you as you perform your solo. But after the final chord, when everyone is hugging on stage, Tom hugs Bill, Georg, Gustav. Not you. He passes by as if you were air.

There are four tickets on the plane home. Yours was purchased separately, privately, on a different flight. You look out the window at the clouds and realize the worst thing: you helped, but he decided to forget everything connected with you...