𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐬 | pete davidson

nineteen: the reason

Even though it was Thursday, it felt like it was just the start of the week to Paul.

Paul was on his lunch break, enjoying a salad from home and a black coffee in his autumn-themed cup. He began to scroll through his phone, his hand resting on the venti cup, and read through the to-do list he had jotted down for that morning.

8 AM, fetch Jack's coffee order.

8:15 AM, preorder Jack's breakfast (today: a Monte Cristo sandwich and a cherry danish) from the deli down the street.

8:30 AM, pick up the food.

8:35 AM, arrive at work and begin to organize Jack's timeslots for interviews, reach out to the label to inform them when the album will be ready for release and how things have been progressing.

That last note made Paul think. Ever since the incident (as Jack calls it) Jack's been... different, Paul realizes. It happened a couple of days ago with him and Dahlia but it felt like it just happened, with the way Jack has been acting.

Picking up a piece of chicken and slices of iceberg lettuce with his plastic fork, Paul tried desperately to remember the night of the afterparty. The morning after, he found himself in someone else's bed... in New Jersey.

Paul woke up that morning to the sound of his phone blasting Jack's ringtone. When he drowsily picked it up, he jumped out of bed fully awake as soon as Jack started screaming at him. Paul felt his stomach groan as he thought of the stressful Sunday that literally turned the hairs on the back of his neck grey from the stress.

As he enjoyed his lunch, he slumped forward onto the round table, his free hand supporting his head up. The break room was a depressing grey space just downstairs from where Jack recorded his music. You could hear everything and anything in this room. Paul knew what songs Jack was performing or practicing upstairs just by staying somewhat silent.

You could even hear the steps from upstairs all the way to the stairwell leading down into the break room.

Paul checked his phone for the time, almost 12. He hurried his things away, stuffing his bag into a secure cubby, and rushing up the steps as he buried his phone in the back pocket of his pants. When he got halfway up, he stopped. The subtle clap of footsteps. They were approaching him... fast.

He heard muffled voices, one of which he immediately recognized.

His heart sank and his mouth instinctively gasped in fear, rushing up the steps two by two and throwing both of his hands on the door handle in a desperate attempt to get the door open quicker.

Paul knew he had to hide, he couldn't run back into the break room as it was just an open space with practically nowhere to disappear behind nor into. He thought if he hurried to get out of the stairwell, he could cut around the corner and make it out the emergency exit towards his car, pretending to be out on an errand run just until things cooled down.

Once Paul swung the door open, he felt immediate regret and for a moment, reflected and questioned every last decision that has all lead him to this point in life.

Jack towered tall over his assistant, casting a shadow over him, his eyes wide and his lips bent into a snarl. Paul couldn't even get a greeting to his boss in before Jack snatched him by the collar of his top, yanking him up out of the stairwell and dragging Paul out in front of him.

"Move." Jack growled, shoving Paul forward.

Naturally and without hesitation, he complied, muttering a series of Yes, sir's and Of course, sir's at a quick, almost unintelligible speed. Paul believed that if he continued to apologize that Jack would have a change of heart and go much much softer on him. It didn't take him long to abandon that wishful thinking and accept his fate.