Just Pretend

Chapter 20: Writers Block

After Adrienne left, Billie was sat on the couch watching the TV, Tré curled up opposite him on the other couch. Mike said he wasn't feeling good, and currently Mike was at the store getting some stuff for Tré so it was Billie's job to watch him while he waited for a call from Adrienne.

He didn't know what was happening with Adrienne, were they a couple? He sighed and stirred his coffee as he thought back to the night she had stayed.

It had been a disaster. Billie couldn't concentrate on the one thing he was normally good at, sex. He just couldn't.. Get the job done, you know? Adrienne had told him not to worry about it, but Billie was worrying about it a hell of a lot.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get a boner with her. It was like something else was on his mind, and it sure wasn't Adrienne.

He looked over at Tré and sighed.

Could it be.. That Tré was still on his mind?

The thought scared Billie so he shook his head suddenly, trying to chase the thought away. He must have looked insane.

"Uh, you alright there Bill?" Tré asked.

Billie nodded and looked down at his coffee.

He wasn't happy. The whole reason he was in this mess was because Tré asked him to pretend to like him to get out of a marriage which Billie wasn't even sure he was out of yet.

It seemed like the whole thing was pointless.

He drank the rest of his coffee and noticed Tré had fallen asleep again. Billie studied him for a while.

This seemed the only time Tré looked calm. He was always either hyped up on whatever-the-fuck, or lately, sad for some reason. It was nice to see him relaxed for once.

Mike came into the house with the groceries and Billie took the opportunity to scarper. He took his coffee down into the basement and sat at his piano.

This was how he wrote songs. He either came up with notes on piano and translated that to chords and then wrote lyrics, or he sat with his acoustic guitar and used that before he even considered starting with electric, never mind lyrics. Chords were the most important part to sort out first, to him at least.

He pressed a few of the piano keys but he wasn't feeling it. Normally when he wrote, he could physically feel the emotions coming out of him. Today just wasn't his day, he felt like his brain was clouded and nothing could go out or come in.

He gave up, and ended up hanging upside down off the piano stool, now in a fluffy, diva fuelled permanent huff.