𝙇𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝘼𝙩 𝙔𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛, 𝘽𝙤𝙬𝙞𝙚!

TWELVE - Writers Block

David had learned to cope with the thoughts that yesterday afternoon, but not before having the best sleep he'd had in a good while. The pills had just recently been prescribed, the doctor advised Corinne to keep the bottle out of David's care, knowing about his addiction issues, however, he still managed to get a hold of them.

He couldn't quite tell if he'd passed out that night, or actually went to sleep. Recalling the sheer amount of medicine he took, he could only assume that he'd passed out. He thought long and hard as he gradually woke up, trying to thing of anything that he might have planned for the day. Nothing came to mind.

Until he finally decided he'd make some calls.

He hesitantly up from bed and looked in the pockets of the coat he wore the night before, until he finally found Mari's number.

He dialed the number into the telephone that sat on his bedside table, picking up the phone and waiting for the obnoxious ringing to subside.

"Hello?" her distinctive British accent finally appeared.

"Hello. This is David."

"Oh, hey!" she said, recognition shining in her voice.

"I was wondering if you wanted to record something at the studio or anything. Like, a track that's just us." he said.

"Yeah! That would be great, me and Mick finished up around 3:30 this morning."

His eyebrows furrowed in slight worry, "Have you slept?" he questioned.

"Yeah, it's around 12:00 now, isn't it?"

He glanced at the clock hung up on his wall, "Well, yeah, I suppose it is." He hadn't noticed the time until just then.

"Alright, we can meet at 2:00. In the meantime, feel free to write down whatever comes to mind!"

He grimaced, he'd been struggling with writing lately.

"I will." He said anyways, "See you soon."

"Bye David."

As she hung up the phone, he got up from the bed and began to get dressed before sitting down at his desk and trying to think of anything to write about. Nothing came to mind.

He sat there for around five more minutes, thinking of ideas before ditching them completely. What was he going to do, show up with nothing? She might be understanding of it, who knows, but he doubt it. What if he just came up with an excuse? That might work, he thought to himself. Though he did feel bad for lying to her, he felt bad for showing up with nothing to write.

*

"Did you ever come up with any ideas?"

David's nerves had increased the whole way to the studio. During the drive, he came to the realization that there was only one way that he'd be able to get any work done: drugs.

It was sad but true, he'd become increasingly aware of this issue during the sessions of Young Americans. He was sure that you could ask any of his band and they would tell you the same thing.

But Mari ran a drug-free environment.

Or so, that's what John told him; and he couldn't work like that. John wouldn't even tell him why, she was always so cryptic about it, David doubted that even John knew why.

"No." he finally admitted, expecting her to give him a look of disbelief. The audacity that he must have to invite her to a studio session and then not write anything would surely run her off—

"Oh, that's fine! We can just work on it in the studio."

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a split second, not nearly long enough for her to notice as they walked through the entrance of Polydor Records.