Chapter 29

Richie sighed. Yet another of his Kramers was out of tune. Great, he grabbed another guitar off the tech guy, checked its tune and continued to pour out the sad sounds of loss of love. Richie had been a snappy sod these past few nights. The whole band knew this wasn't Rich; he'd been replaced by a angry identical copy which loved to whine and bitch. Enough was enough. Richie looked up, ran his fingers through his hair, annoyed and frustrated at his rush of emotions and gave back the old Les, which he held most dear- apart from Evie. He stormed off stage and into his backstage room, passed Alec and David and slammed the door behind him.
"Where the fuck is the old me?"

He slid down the door flame, sighed and stretched out his legs. Then, out the corner of his eye came a familiar sight, his notebook. Every notation, chord sequence and bassline was written on those pieces of paper. How he loathed to move them onto another page just in case he lost a notation, a quaver, crotchet or minim. He bit his lips and strode over to it, he smiled at every song he wrote, the novelty worn off though, he was brought back to reality by Jon's persistent screaming.

"Richie! Get your ass down here! We have a rehearsal to be getting on with, no messing around this time!"
Richie chucked the notebook on top of the sofa, along with his pen and composed himself so he could face the man he could dread. He hi-tailed it to the stage, grabbed his instrument  and went up to his mic. Jon's voice was getting worse by the day, he sounded like a cat's nails on a chalkboard. Richie played along, he was less enthusiastic, his muse had drifted away from him and his guitar playing sounded flat. Too flat for Jon's liking. He'd been told enough times to play with more enthusiasm and Richie was more than irritated about his 'lack of enthusiasm'. Well, for the fans. They'd paid a good amount of money to see these men on stage and he hated to spoil it.

Soon, the boys took a break from sound check and went to grab a bite to eat. He was starved, and could eat a horse. The lads put down their instruments and ran back to their rooms to grab a quick bite before the show the following night. They ran to the food tent, grabbed burgers and hot dogs, complete with Pepsi for such a warm day.

Richie piled his high, Jon chuckled at the amount. Richie liked his food, he gritted his teeth and walked back to his room. He shut the door behind him, making sure to lock it and sat down. He eyed his weapon of choice once again, picking it up and the paper was crisp and white under his fingers. He took a bite of his food, and started to write:

Tell me why, love is war
When the battle is done you still want more
Every broken heart is tryin' to even the score
It's the way of the world, love is war
 Where boy meets girl, love is war

There, that'd do. He gave a few more bites of his lunch, quickly downed a beer and wiped his mouth. He groaned appreciatively at the taste of the alcohol that soothed his soul. Now, rehearsal was finished, he could have a shower. A shower, if that wasn't a pleasure. He stood up, undone the buttons on his shirt, (not many done up) and stripped down, once that was done, off to the shower he went.