Bad again ~ Paulchard Fanfiction

Chapter 1

Bad again.
It was getting so bad again.
What was worse is that he couldn't give it a proper explanation.
He knew how his brain was easily triggered by bad weather or random situations, but it usually lasted for no more than a day, maximum two, when it was really bad.
But it was now almost a whole month and nothing seemed to work to calm him. Like that wasn't enough, during those times it was so easy for his mind to get wrecked, for his addictions to take control over him and for his mood...to change drastically.
Good actor he was, he had always managed to hide it from the rest of the world and, most important, the rest of Rammstein.

That grey October morning he unwillingly woke up, with an annoyed grunt; he had forgotten the window half opened and the freezing air had made his way into his room, under the blankets and through his bones.
He threw the covers away and swang his legs out of the bed. He had a shiver when his feet collided with the cold floor. He marched to the window and slammed it closed so hard that the glass rattled. He glared at the empty street with a snort. Red, yellow and orange leaves were covering the black concrete with what, once, he would have thought he was an amazing gift of nature! A beautiful painting. But now it was just a mere, useless obstacle to his car and something that, for sure, would have stained his trousers, shoes, coat and humor.
Richard dragged his feet to the bathroom and grabbed at the sink, heads low and deep breath, before rising his attention to his own disgusting reflection in the mirror.
"Jesus Christ..." He growled. He could barely recognise himself. The Richard he was looking at was nothing like him: pale, with deep, dark eyebags hanging under a pair of red and glossy eyes. The shy light of the street's lamps were enough to allow him a good sight of himself. He washed his face brushed his teeth.
He didn't bother adjusting his hair, after all, who would have cared.
Once back in his room he changed his clothes in a simple pair of joggers and a black jumper. The cold of the floor tiles stung his feet until he decided to put on a pair of socks. He was so glad to have a day off, he wouldn't have stand to see the others, not for a moment.
He forced himself to the kitchen and took a bottle of vodka from the fridge. Peach, his favourite. He didn't bother taking a glass, instead he loudly swore when he realised that he had finished his cigarettes.
Prey of his own frustration he chugged what was left of the vodka and threw the bottle against the opposite wall; shattering it to pieces, fragments of glass flying everywhere. Drops of the alcohol dripping from his mouth. Teeth showing, a line grinding against the other.
He wanted...no! He needed a smoke, but he didn't want to go outside. He didn't have the energy, mentally nor physically, to interact with humans. He had only one solution; someone should have bought for him. The question was who?
Not Till, it was too early and it would piss him off. Same for Schneider, he surely was in hangover. Olli had a too heavy sleep and Flake would have tried to persuade him from that. He had no intentions to listen to all of those bullshits. There was the last one. Paul.
He was always able to trick that little idiot to do anything he needed and it was rare for Paul to deny him something, expecially if Richard was in a bad mood. Still growling like an animal he looked on his phone for Paul's number and entered the call.
He swallowed back a curse when, finally, the smallest guitarist answered, voice heavy with sleep. "What..?" Paul grunted. "Finally! Can you do me a favour?" Richard asked, trying to sound as nice as possible. There was a huff on the other side, while Paul checked the time. "It's six in the morning, Reesh...of one of our rare days off...what do you want..?"

"Could you, please, go buy a thing or two for me?"
"Now..? Are you serious?"
"For God's sake, Landers, I'm asking you a favour, 'cause I don't feel well! It's not that I asked you to give me a kidney, or something!"
"Alright, no need to shout, Jesus...what do you need?"
"Cigarettes..."

There was a weird silence, for almost two minutes, before Paul spoke again: "Cigarettes, Reesh? Why can't you go buy them yourself?"

"Because I'm fucking sick, you selfish motherfucker! One thing, I asked you, I'll give you back you bloody money, if that's what worries you!"
"It's...Richard, don't be like this!"
"Go fuck yourself, Landers!"