The show must go on.
Peter's heart thudded at the thousands of cheering fans screaming his name. It was unbelievable. He was just a dickhead from Brooklyn. What was so special about him?
"Show in five minutes." A stage crew member announces; their scheduled drive by to rally everyone up for the performance now underway.
There wasn't enough time to find a phone for comfort. His friends were fighting for their lives in the bathroom, either puking or shitting out their nerves. Peter was close to meeting the ground until his eyes landed on a table near the exit.
There stood manmade comfort.
Peter wasn't unfamiliar with drinking. It's something he did strictly on the weekends when he used to work for the parks department. It made him cool, calm, collected and even more of a dumbass than usual.
He wasn't against it. No, he'd be a total hypocrite if gone down that route. His last fuzzy haze was caused by a strong, bitter wine that had ultimately led him to you. The confidence, yes! How could he be ridiculous? The confidence. That's what he needed.
Reason after reason pulls him toward the table with such magnitude and magnetic force. He lifts up the large Sutter Home red wine, glazing over the contents of the bottle. The crimson liquids swish against the glass; a blackness only stirring within his grasp and mind.
There's a brief pause when he takes the final look. His heart pounds, spreading that anxiety and stage fright to every opening and working vessel in his body. A million buzzing bees swarm under his epidermis, leading to the inevitable.
The damned inevitable.
Peter cranks the cork out of the long neck bottle and swigs some of the substance out. It's a strange reality now that there isn't a cup in his immediate sight to grab onto. It was almost like it was meant to happen. As his obsessive mentality lined up with this very moment.
All at once or nothing at all.
"We're on.'' Kenny pats Pete's shoulder with a light smile. He then slips through his guitar strap, resting on his shoulder.
"Alright..'' Peter then searches for his bass, grabbing it and heads out on stage.
It's an amalgamation of emotions that hit Peter straight through the gut. He almost vomits at the sea of people screaming and swarming just below him. If he didn't feel already taller than he was, he sure did now.
He shoves the fear down his throat, threatening to come back up as a sticky Sutter Home mess, he heads to the microphone.
Before he knows it, the setlist starts and for the first time in his life Peter feels like he appeals to everyone's wishes. Even if that weren't the entire truth, it quelled something inside him for a spell and that silenced the deprecating reality that webbed inside Peter's brain.
All the moments he didn't feel good enough were halted in their place. So when he had left the stage after the hour was finished, it was almost like a blur.
It was a huge accomplishment and for once, he was present in the madness that came after. Celebratory drinks came out left and right. The after parties were wild, untamed and all while that was happening?
He couldn't hear the phone ring.
No one can hear the phone ring during a party. It was a faint dull sound that mixed with the blood rushing to his ears. The alcohol absorbed in his body like crashing waves, driving him deeper into the unforgiving seas of comfort.
Addiction.
Tour life had greeted him with harshness and instability. Peter was aware of such a fact having gone into this line of work but just because he was aware, didn't mean he was going to stop.
YOU ARE READING
CAPTURED BEAUTY (Peter Steele x Reader)
FanfictionYou've lived in the quiet Midwest your whole life until your photography career beckoned you to the city. You traveled just over a thousand miles over to Brooklyn, New York with the idea that your career and everything else following would be a drea...