La Bruit De La Pluie || PG10

|4|One More is One Less|

Sunday. Sunday's were always the days I dreaded. There was always that small thing in my brain, nagging at me constantly. It kept on telling me that Pierre was going to crash or something like that, but I always had to suppress it. 

Today, was no different. It was the Spanish GP and I couldn't even watch because I was doing a gig at the pub today. Typical. I had to be there extra early as well to set up. The best thing I could do was send him a good luck text message.

🏎🏁Pierre 💖🌠
last seen: 1 hour ago

Good morning, my
darling. Good luck for
the race today, even though
I know you don't need it.

I can't watch the race because
I have a gig today 🙄

Keep safe, and stay in
one piece for me 🍀💖

I don't need luck as long
as I have you. Of course I'll
be staying safe for you, and I'll
talk to you later ❤❤👍👍🌹

I arrived at the pub, nervousness coursing through my veins, but it wasn't because of the performance. As I was setting up, I noticed more and more people filtering into the pub. More than normal for a Sunday afternoon.

I was stood there, a few minutes before my set was set to start. A girl with bright blue hair approached me, "Excuse me?" 

"Yeah?"

"Could I get a picture? I found your music through the news and I've become a massive fan," she said, pulling her phone out. "Yeah, of course," I chirped, glad that someone enjoyed my music. I took a picture with the girl. She settled in a seat in the corner with a few other people, who I assumed were her family. 

A few other people came up to take photos, get autographs and talk about my music. A lot of them have found me through Pierre, but I didn't mind. They were all really lovely and I loved talking to all of them. It was nice having fans who appreciated my music. 

I had gotten about a half a way into the set, when I heard someone yell out from the back. "How's Pierre?" I ignored them at first, getting ready to start the backing track for the next song. "Oi, gold-digger, how long is it until you get out of this shithole and start singing properly?"

Security promptly took him out of the building. "I'm sorry about that, guys," but before I could continue, another guy with a massive camera came in. He started taking pictures of me with it on full flash, dazing my eyes completely.

"Sorry, sir could you please stop? I'm trying to get on with a show over here," I shouted over the commotion of the crowd. "Go on, flash us a smile Mrs Gasly," one called.

"Come on, give us another headline," another chastised. 

Then, more men with cameras surged through the doors, and I panicked. The best thing I could do was run out of the back entrance. I grabbed my bag off of the bar stool next to me, pushed the fire exit open and ran down the pavement. I didn't have a car and Etta was supposed to be picking me up after the show was over. 

The only option would be to run home. I thought I might as well go down the back alleys because it was the middle of the day, I'd done it plenty of times before and it would be the best way to avoid the press.

I could hear people yelling behind me and the flashes of cameras going off. I darted right and carried on, taking a left and then the next right so that they wouldn't be able to follow me. Once I was sure they were gone, I called Etta. "Hey, Etts, are you free right now?" I asked, taking a minute to catch my breath.