He crossed a word off of the paper and quickly replaced it with another. His fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard as he let himself be consumed by the music. At this point, it was the only thing he could do to keep himself from collapsing. He replayed the track, but something was missing, something wasn’t right. Frustration gave way to anger as he threw the lyric sheet down and stood up out of his chair to pace across the room. The music wasn’t what really bothered him, but he couldn’t think about what happened because it would only make things worse. If he were to face it, he might not be able to stay sane, but if he kept avoiding it, it would eat him alive.

His controversial thoughts battled with screams inside his mind, not letting him be at peace until he yelled into the silence for the voices to shut the fuck up and leave him alone. He collapsed to the ground sobbing, unable to do anything else. Tears slid down his face at the thought of the 15 years of memories he had with the other man until this moment. Mike had never felt more alone in his life until now and the only thing he wanted was for it all to end. He stopped thinking and let the tears continue flowing before releasing an incoherent scream of agony inside the lonely room, screaming at the nothingness for taking away the one thing that gave his life purpose. The lightbulb in the tall, dark lamp that stood a few feet away in the corner of the room suddenly popped and died, eliminating the only source of light in the studio, other than the computer monitor. Now Mike sat alone in the ever-darkening silence, finally learning what his lover had claimed to constantly feel: No motivation to live. At last, he gave in to his need to replay the events of earlier that day in his head and let the heart-wrenching memories wash over him like a flood.

He had just come home from a run, and the entire house was quiet. Silence was normal, but something was unusual this time, this silence was completely dead. “Chester?” Mike called with no response. He tried again, but did not succeed. He walked into the kitchen and through the living room before heading up the stairs to check the bedroom, and then take a shower. In making his way past the bed and into the bathroom that connected with his room, he saw the one thing that could make his heart stop. His lover was lying in the bathtub, looking ahead with a lifeless stare. Trails of blood dripped onto the tiled floor and polluted the bath water as it flowed out of the deep vertical gashes along the insides of his arms down to his wrists. Mike quickly ran over to Chester, after the shock passed, hoping that he was still alive. But his hopes were crushed when he felt the singer’s cold skin. His pupils were dilated, and his breath smelt strongly of alcohol. He had no pulse.

Mike stopped completely, and then slowly backed out of of the room, grabbed his car keys, and ran down the stairs and out the front door, to his car. He thought maybe if he left and came back, maybe it would go back to what it was. Maybe what he saw was just a dream. He ended up at the studio, still smelling of BO from his earlier workout, but he ignored it. He immediately went to his desk and worked on the instrument in front of him, trying to forget himself.

Mike let his head fall against the desk behind him, tears still falling from his eyes because of the images in his mind that were slowly beginning fade. He looked at the door and saw the red exit sign above it, suddenly remembering a very important detail about the level of security in the studio. After it was broken into, the guys agreed they needed something to protect themselves while at the studio. At first, Mike disagreed, but the paranoid look in Rob and Chester’s eyes pushed him to comply.

There was a gun in the desk behind him.