He glared at the fabric, curling his lip in disgust as he thought about all the things he’d done to deserve this. But he wasn’t the only one. He couldn’t just forget all the things that Sam did or the things that the rest of the band had agreed to do for the sake of the fame.

Fame was just half of it. They wanted to get their music out there. This was their dream.

But it had turned into a nightmare so fast that Jamie wondered if that had been the plan all along.

He was pulled out from those thoughts by Sam’s melodic voice. It teetered on the line of annoying and hypnotic: two things Jamie hated very much.

But that wasn’t saying much. He hated almost everything.

“So, I was thinking we could raise the chord here. I think the higher pitch would sound a little better for when Jamie comes in.”

He didn’t know what set him off first. It could have been simply because Sam mentioned his name or it could have been because Sam was inserting himself again. It was like he couldn’t get enough of the fucking attention. He had to go and seek it once more so he could get his rocks off.

Or Jamie could have been still reeling from what Sam had said. He wanted him to go see her. The girl—or woman, whatever—that had played a part in this shit storm.

It was like Sam had wanted that to happen all along. Like he wanted to see the end of Live Warnings so he could break away from the band once and for all.

All Jamie knew, was that his blood was boiling and he couldn’t stop himself when he rose from his seat.

A flicker from the corner of the room drew his attention all for a second. He thought briefly of the thing that he’d seen the other day, the thing that looked too much like the old Sam, but then his anger took over his entire control. His body was ripped from his grasp and he was just thinking how Sam was out to get whatever he want at the expense of everyone else. And Jamie was down with letting people walk over him.

He wasn’t going to be the little bitch that he was when the band was still together. 

This—whatever game they were playing for the sake of the label to squeeze out the last cent—wasn’t what they used to be. This wasn’t a band. This was a scheme to catch a few more dollars before the ship went sinking down to the ocean floor.

He had the full attention of the room. The shit head guy that obviously didn’t like Jamie, had the end of a pencil in his mouth and he looked up from the pad of paper he had on his lap. Sam furrowed his brows, shut his mouth, and remained where he was. 

Marshall took a fighting stance while Grant practically coward. 

“That is an awful idea.”

A pin could have dropped and be heard the room was that quiet. The look on Sam’s face looked as if he’d been slapped and he’d been told his entire family had been slaughtered.

Jamie couldn’t for the life of him muster up any kind of feeling that wasn’t rage. He was so far gone in this character, this new him, that he couldn’t even imagined what it would have felt like to care about anyone in this room.

He sneered. “Keep the chord. I sound fine just as is. If you raise the chord, I’ll mess up the whole progression.”

Too pop. It would sound too fucking poppy and that wasn’t what Live Warnings was. That wasn’t what Jamie was going to let them turn them into. They had their sound and they weren’t going to be fucking sell outs all because Sam wanted to experiment.

Jamie had helped him with that before—experimentation. And that he costed him everything.

He pushed the images of him and Sam out of his head.

He was trying to do something here. He was trying to get back to who he used to be. He was trying to take back some of the power he used to have. The people in this room were only holding him back. They were keeping him from going back to his wasteful life with beer, cigarettes, and isolation. 

Sam opened and closed his mouth in shock. The dip shit stood up from his seat.

“Now, just wait a fucking min—“

Jamie rolled his eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Sit the fuck down, fuckface. No one asked for your opinion.”

Marshall sputtered. “Jamie!”

Jamie shook his head. “Whatever.”

He stormed out of the room. Before he could get more than a foot out of the door, he was jerked back. He stumbled unto the door and reared around, a snarl over his face as he was bursting with anger. It was the first time in a long time that he’d lost control. He didn’t even try to get a hand on himself. He just let the emotion come flowing out of him like there wasn’t anything wrong with it.

Marshall was furious. His face had turned into some distorted version of the strong man that he had become. He looked like he was just shy of a few minutes from bursting out of his skin he was that pissed off.

Jamie could blame him. And he was going to. Marshall wasn’t innocent either. He wasn’t some savior or some father figure that the four of them needed. He was just some guy that wanted to put his face up the execs asses for a few pats on the head like some lap dog. 

“Are you fucking done?”

Jamie ripped his hand out of Marshall’s grip. He ignored Marshall’s words. His eyes flickered to behind him, to the mess he had left in the studio. Sam was staring down at his feet. Fuck face was glaring dagger at Jamie and Grant looked like a lost kid that wanted to be soothed.

Typical. A typical picture. They always made him out to be the bad guy, but when he actually did something to prove their justification, they acted like they were surprised. This was him. They knew that. 

Guess they just needed a reminder of what he could do.