I Am A Wolf Among The Sheep [Ryden]

Meet Me In Hell, Heaven's Too Fussy [I]

Pete walks into the studio coolly, barely managing to maintain the grip he has on the necks of the 4 green beer bottles which are clattering together noisily. I glance up from my notepad and raise a suggestive eyebrow. Because I really need more alcohol. I'm already silently drunk out my mind - I'm surprised I am still managing to remember my first language. I continue writing. On the page there are lines of words - most scribbled out furiously - but some really good sentences that I'll be putting to music, with the help of my bandmates, of course. My mind wanders off the words and sentences and trying to make them flow and I start to subconsciously doodle music notes and guitars and other instruments. 

 'Ryan?' 

 'What?'  

'You want a beer, man? We're meant to be celebrating here,' Pete laughs at me, a set of perfect white teeth showing.  

'I'm just writi-' Spencer is now looking at me quizzically. Ryan Ross doesn't turn down alcohol. Ever. Even in the dullest situation, it is the Ryan Ross rule. Never turn down alcohol.

'I was just writing some lyrics. It can wait, I guess,' I mumble, accepting the offer. I work the cap off the bottle with my teeth and take a swig. 

Spencer grins widely and Jon rolls his eyes. If there was one decent thing I could do in my life, maybe it could be turning down alcohol. Nobody has been affected by my sins and wrongdoings. Nobody that I care about anyway.  

'Now you guys are getting big,' Pete begins, squeezing in the smallest spot available. 'I think we may need a decent guitar tech. I mean,' he gestures awkwardly over at our current guitar technician who is slumped next to an amp snoring. 'I think we can do better. I could call someone and get a guy out here. Not difficult. You say it, I do it. With limitations, of course.' 

'Dude, I can tune my own guitars,' I instantly object. 'It's not fucking hard. And Gary, well he's not that bad. He's good for now, surely. We all know you don't like spending your money,' he glares at me in disapproval. Bad Ryan, don't argue with Pete Wentz, the biggest fucking dick head in this industry.

'Ryan, as your manager I think it's best if we get a new guitar technician, y'know? Just for the sake of it, really. One day Gary's gonna mess up, and you guys are gonna mess up a show and potentially ruin your career,' his voice gets harsher and his posture straightens. He opens his mouth, but is interrupted by a knock at the door. I'm guessing it's girls. I sigh and start doodling again. The ones Pete finds are trashy and cheap. Sure, I've kissed these girls - I even fucked one or two - but they aren't interesting at all. Most guys my age would kill to fuck anything that has a pulse, but I don't. Girls are too demanding for my liking. I mean, they are beautiful. All girls are beautiful, but they just don't interest me. Or they do in a way, just not as much as they interest Jon, Spence and Pete. I have to pretend they do because Mr Big Shot cannot be seen as someone who is real laid back. I have to look like I can breathe and girls will drop dead. I guess that kind of happens already. Just not in the way people like Pete would expect from me. The girls stumble in, a mess of brightly coloured hair and hot pants with crop tops. I recognize a few of them, and they shoot me daring looks. I pick up the red-inked pen that is lying on my notepad and chew the lid. One of the girls sees me in the chair and staggers up to me. She falls clumsily on my lap.

 'What are you doing?' I say in protest. 'Seriously, what the fuck?!' She's lying on my notepad and my hands are above my head as if to avoid all contact I can. I'm making out as if she's ruining my thinking time. She is, in a way, but I just want a reason to get out of the situation. I'm fed up with it already. If I stay here I will give in to my temptations and end up fucking one of these girls and feeling extremely guilty for it.