Smalltown Boy

ENGLAND

The singer was still laying on the bed, with his makeup artist.
The bed was still perfectly clean, they fell asleep right on the blankets.

Streets noises and flash lights from cars passing by were animating the room.

Bill was becoming more and more addicted, he forgot how to live without a drug in his blood.
He didn't want to live this stress feeling again, he found it more comforting to stay in denial of his life like that.

A flash from a car disturbed Bill's sleep, making him groan as he moved his face on his left.
He was awake now, or half awake and only 10% lucid.

He pushed himself on his weak elbows, his eyes half closed.
He sat up, reaching for his phone in the dark.
He at first reached for the nightstand, then a box of tissue, then a syringe, and then his phone.

He checked the hour and it was 4:32 am.

He sighed, knowing that in a few hours he will have to get up and do it all over again, acting like he wasn't dying on stage.

At this point, it wasn't even "acting like he's okay" anymore, it's "acting like he isn't dying yet."

People knew something was wrong with Bill, but no one rescued him. They just found it funny and cool on stage, but Bill was in fact counting his days since now weeks, he knew he wouldn't survive this.

He slowly got up on his feet, taking a few seconds to stabilise himself. He was holding himself on the walls, once again.
He reached for the window, opening it, and breathing the fresh hair of the night.
The singer sat on the edge, looking down at the cars passing by.

He just sighed, looking then up at the stars.
He was lost in his thoughts, what was his purpose in life, what was holding him from jumping.
Tears coming down his cheeks as he imaged himself actually jumping.

Suddenly as he kept staring at the stars, he got flashed by cameras, blinding himself once again.
He looked down only to see a whole group of paparazzi. He gasped quickly climbing back in his room, almost falling in the process.

Bill knew this would make the first page of magazines.
"Bill Kaulitz crying in his hotel room!"
He could smell the drama right there.

He fell right on the desk, making everything fall on the floor, cigarettes, syringues and important papers the singer should sign but always forget to.

He wanted to go for a walk, but he wasn't too lucid.
After all, it couldn't be this bad, he told himself.

He reached for his boots, putting them on slowly, he zipped them and reached for his black coat and a packet of xanax on the floor.
He grabbed the bottle of water on his nightstand and took three pills, throwing the now empty packet on the floor.
He opened the door and took a look at Amari before leaving.

4:49

Bill was now walking in the neighbourhood, he wasn't walking straight and he wasn't seeing right either, but the fresh hair was like a drug to him, a free one he knew he's not in danger for taking.

A group of paparazzi suddenly ran into Bill, almost making him fall.
The singer groaned as he started to walk faster, trying to make it right and less obvious that he was high.
"Gosh you never take breaks!?"

The singer was asked many horrifying questions like
"What happened to your body?"
"Why did you lose so much weight?"
"Is you and your makeup artist a couple?"
"Are you acting high on purpose on stage?"