2011

He sighed, stepping down from the stage. Immediately getting a bottle of water shoved in his hands. He was kind of on autopilot. Him and Bebe didn't make much music, mostly just fucked off and laughed in the studio. And that was because he would rather die than be in the monster of his own creation, Black Cards. So most shows were the same, and they were regular. High fiving people, chugging the water, hugging Bebe, then just going to his room.

He had been in a haze for awhile. For a very long time. Ever since that one argument with Patrick, leading to the fateful 'hiatus'. Hiatus my ass. It was over. Everything he had worked for in his 20's was over. They all hated him. His soon-to-be ex wife hated him too. It didn't matter. This whole band was just to get his mind off of it. An excuse to mix coke into the cocktail of sleep-inducing drugs he took every day.

That was all on his mind as he walked mindlessly on autopilot, until he saw you. Standing in the way of the doorway, completely unknowing. And although Pete was self-medicating with Klonopin to the point of assholery, he wasn't enough of an asshole to just push you away. So he stood there, and then gently tapped your shoulder, hoping for the attention.

"Hey, sorry, you're in the way."