What's happening to me?

Evening drinks and misplaced keys

Laurence's POV
The pub was noisy. Loud with the sound of laughter and happiness, emotions I only wish I could share. I envied the people around me. How could they be so happy? Did they not judge themselves in every way? Did they not realise their imperfections or pointlessness? The depression was getting worse, all that helped was alcohol and writing. writing isn't even that helpful anymore, so now I spend my time here.

It's a nice little pub, hidden away in a backstreet not many people come down with elaborate wood carvings and deep red furnishings rimmed with gold fixtures. I flipped my notebook open to the next free page and began to tap it impatiently with the end of my pen. nothing inspired me anymore.

I'd written stories about love, hate, sadness, betrayal, even this pub! They all seem to come out shit these days. The tune and pacing sounds all wrong, and the lyrics don't flow like they used to.

I used to be like a tap, put a pen in my hand and the ideas would become flowing out. I must have written at least 7 albums worth since moving to London, but it seems that spurt of imagination was short lived. My creativity has gone along with my happiness.

It all started as soon as we left Beccles. All my things were packed and tears were shed that day. the only thing that kept me centred was knowing that we had more chance of getting noticed here in London.

Drew was hopeful, Shane more reluctant but still positive. Kier and I were different however, we both thought we needed to move to London to have any chance as a band at all, but we knew our efforts would probably be in vain given the stigma against rock music in the media.

Kier has always been there no matter what. Ever since that day in primary when he decided on calling me 'Beveridge' rather than Laurence because apparently Laurence sounded 'too posh'. The faint smile this memory caused was quickly erased by the crashing wave of realisation that hit whenever I realised I was going nowhere and becoming nothing.

Taking a final gulp of cider, I closed my notebook and left the pub. It was getting colder now it was nearing the winter. Time to start bringing a coat on these evening drinking sessions. I hadn't told kier I was drinking of course. He knew I liked a drink much like him but he didn't know just how dependant I appeared to be on the intoxicating liquid these days. He would only worry if he knew.

Walking to the nearest tube station I pulled out my wallet and tapped it to the pad for Oyster cards. London was still alien to me, in both its mannerisms and the variety of cultures that seem to flock here in hope of a better life and work.

People scare me. People I don't know that is, especially in large quantities, but also when I have to talk to them. That shit is hard.

The journey on the tube was spent with my face pretty much rammed in some random guy's armpit. Fucking great.
Walking down the street to our flat, I began feeling my pocket for my keys. Shit. I'm pretty sure I left them on the table. How the fuck do I get in? Kier said he was gonna go out with the guys. I seriously hope he wasn't. As I fumbled with my jacket, the door opened, revealing a red-fringed kier holding a set of keys in front of my face.

"Left your keys Laur?" He spoke sarcastically, wiggling the keys tantalisingly close to me.

"Uh yeah. I guess so." came my reply in monotone.

"Where did you go? When I came back you were gone. I texted you but you never answered?" Pulling out my phone I noticed a notification.
Text message. KIERR: where ru??

"Shit I'm sorry it was on silent."

"So where were you Beveridge?"

"Nowhere." Came my muffled reply as I pushed past him.

"Laurence what the hell?!" He half shouted.

"I was getting fucking cold. Shut the door, we don't have enough money to waste on heating." The door slammed and a set of footsteps followed me to where I had sat myself down at the table.

The table itself was shabby, with various notches and gouges taken out due to wear and tear. It looked broken, a sad excuse for a table. I saw myself in the thick wood and sighed deeply. Sitting down opposite me kier moved various papers and plates across the table so there wasn't any clutter in between us.

"Are you okay Laur? I mean the move from Beccles hit us all hard but I'm really worried about you. I thought you would be better by now."

"I'm fine." I glanced up through my thick ebony fringe to see him looking at me with sympathy in his eyes.

"Kier don't look at me like that, I'm fine! Why can't you just let me deal with my own shit?" I exploded at him.

"Because you know what Beveridge? I care about you! You're like a fucking brother to me and I won't just let you waste your life being upset! Tell me what's up so I can help you!"

My reply was short "No." Getting up from the table I emptied my pockets and slumped off to the bedroom. Sitting down on the bed kier and I shared, I noticed a mini Polaroid sitting on the pillow.

It was a picture of me and Kier before we left Beccles. Happy and smiling, we held Nerf guns aloft in victory. A slight laugh escaped my lips as I realised this was one of the many days we beat the Timids at Nerf gun wars. We took that shit seriously.

Conflicting emotions began to bubble in my chest. half of me wanted to rip the picture into thousands of pieces and never see it again, but the sentimental git in me wanted to tack it to the wall and stare at it forever. Meeting somewhere in the middle I decided to drop it on the floor.

I watched as it twisted and turned as it fell, finally landing face down. On the back were some words that Kier had scribbled on there moments after it had been taken.

'Victory to Keveridge!'

I rolled up in a ball and cried until I slept.

A/N: first shot a a Keveridge! Kinda shit I know, sorry I promise it will get better. Feedback is appreciated!