will wood gets beaten up (and also discovers something about himself)

😋☺️🤯

will snorted another line, without thinking twice.

he didn't know what happened next (nor did he care to be completely honest).

usually, everyone was fine with him doing a bit of drugs before the show, like it wasn't that bad and maybe they thought that it might have been a part of making just the show into an entire Performance.

not this time though.

will didn’t remember much. he Probably did perform at least a couple of songs. at least he hoped so. also he maybe tried to fight a random guy from the audience. he truly didn't remember why. he might have thrown up on the guitar somehow? or were those drums? maybe forgetting that part was for the best. or maybe not.

he genuinely was not sure (and to be fair a bit scared) and freshly sobered up, pressed against the wall by his bandmates.

“dude what the fuck even was that?” he didn't know, “you know how expensive new instruments are. you're fine ruining your own equipment but don't do any shit to mine!” he didn't know, “are you trying to ruin the band's reputation and make it all about oooh look at me i'm a crazy junkie will wood again?” he didn't fucking know.

actually, they were right. he had promised to stop taking so many drugs like a hundred times at this point. and they really couldn't afford so much new equipment when he insisted that shows were as theatrical as possible and asked to break as much shit as he could for that sweet sweet theatrical effect (being eccentric has a price tag apparently).

oh no it seems that mister wood-sunshine-cocaine addict has finally run out of excuses! he did so for the first time it seems, he always was so eloquent, even laying on the floor blabbering nonsense he was always able to make himself look like a good guy. but not today for some reason.

so he started crying. that was the only thing he could think of right now, his eyes being so hot and his face being so wet and everything being so loud he couldn't even hear his own thoughts. he had to have thoughts right?

unfortunately, his bandmates didn't appreciate his sobbing so much, even though it was kinda poetic in a weird way. so, will got quite a painful blow to the stomach as a consolation.

he didn't even have time to react before getting another one and falling on the floor. damn, they were really fed up with his behaviour. so fed up they didn't plan to stop anytime soon.

and then it actually started. kick after kick, blow after blow, the only thing he had time for was to sharply inhale the air that seemed to become so wet that he was almost choking on it. how annoying he must have been for them to so brutally attack him. yes, he fucked up but did he deserve This?

he wasn't able to even think about answering because somebody just hit him in the head and everything started ringing. it was so hot and wet and inescapably loud and overwhelming that the only thing he could do was sob. was he sobbing?

suddenly, he felt a boot on his throat. the logical thing would be to fight, to try to run, to do something. he didn't. actually, he didn't even make a sound because it was choking him just a bit too high. struggling to keep his eyes open, he almost moaned for some reason. well, even if he did, the only thing everyone would be able to hear would be a painful wheeze, and maybe they did because he felt that the person had lifted the boot off his neck. will couldn't explain why his hand reached for the shoe, as in a desperate attempt to put it back, to feel the pressure again, to get that weird sensation below the stomach he craved so often.

the attempt was obviously unsuccessful, and his hand got pinned to the floor with another shoe. although that lasted for only a few seconds, it was like a wake-up call for him to curl up into a sobbing ball, holding his hands as close to him as possible.

“god, you're pathetic. take some fucking responsibility for your actions just once, you freak.”

he felt a warm spit rolling down his cheek. it smelled awful, like cigarettes and the cheapest vodka, but will probably didn't smell any better. he was covered in sweat, grime, traces of every illegal substance in this state, and now tears, blood and spit.

he was truly miserable just laying there, sobbing. even when his bandmates left he didn't move an inch. perhaps it was too painful or perhaps he felt too disgusted with himself. with the way deep down he wished that they wouldn't stop, wished that they broke at least a couple bones, wished somebody would choke him until he lost consciousness and then a little bit more, to ensure brain damage. he hated that he was definitely into it.