Luke's P.O.V.

The bar curves into the room, dark in the barely lit room. Through the windows, the diamonds of lead panes trickles the sallow light of street-lamps. Once it was just a cigarette smoke only, the perfume that clung to clothing, skin and furniture alike. Now it is stale beer and body odor. There are establishments that are more like restaurants now - all clean with waiting staff. Not here. Not and the "Ace of Clubs". It was always a den of debauchery, alcoholism and the great unwashed of the town. It still is. No-one comes here with anything wholesome in mind. Not even Alex and I.

"The album is almost done. We're waiting on the last track from Maddy, then it can be dropped somewhere around Christmas time. Is that okay?" Alex asked. He looked skeptic. 

"Maddy can't sing." Alex raised one of his eyebrows. "You know what  I mean. He can't sing, for now. We should wait until the New Years. That would be better, wouldn't it? Maybe Valentine's Day is better. All that lovey-dovey bullshit is going to be spread around." I took a sip of martini. A sour and vile taste slipped into my mouth, nullifying me. Alex eyed his drink, tempting to pick it up. I thought he was going to drink it. But that's not what happened. He never touched a drop of it, in his glass was water with food dye to make it look like whiskey or water in a vodka glass.

"Luke, Maddy called me yesterday. He said he could finish it with Jackson's help. We can not wait until New Years, we need to drop it as soon as possible. People seem to be more invested in those damn fidget spinners. A plastic toy is beating you. Come on!"

"Last time I checked, he was in the hospital. What happened to not being able to recover or some shit like that," I scoffed.  

Men and women who look older than they are mostly slumped on the bar table, pint glasses, shot glasses, someone crying in corner, anguish lost in hubbub and din, standing drinkers at the bar, couples in secluded bays, laughing, back slapping, drinking games, another round, pink cheeks, boasting, swearing, threatening, fights, drunk driving just happening outside, police, taxi cabs, last orders bell, tuning out time.

"He just got out of the hospital yesterday. He texted me earlier about his situation. He decided to tell Caleb that he was going to quit after the album drops. Why haven't a heard anything about this?" 

"What does Caleb have to do with any of this?He's a nobody," I paused for what felt an eternity, making him thoroughly irritated waiting for his response. “Just tell me, Luke!” He roared and knew why at once. 

"You did something, didn't you?" At this point, his face was a light shade of red compared to his olive complexion. My eyes narrowed as he continued to rant. "Maddy got alcohol poisoning. He doesn't even like drinking. Jackson wouldn't tell me anything about what happened at the hotel that night. If Maddy leaves, ST3LLAR is going to disappear." His eyes opened wider. 

"You want to push the album back because it would mean the end of ST3LLAR. Well, that's too bad, you played yourself." With that, he took his 'drink' and left, leaving some tension in the air. 

                                                                                                                    ♪♪♪

The future was always something I hadn't worried about. I'm not sure if it was because of my mind and lack of wisdom, but I never gave thought to all the time that was enclosed my life into only a small speck in a timeline. I had so much time. 

At times like this, when whiny bitches complained of my decisions, drugs seemed to become my best friend. It's dark now and the snow is still falling, clumps of wet flakes drifting mindlessly down, the air moist, the sidewalk mushy underfoot. Waiting in the back of the bar in an alley seemed like the best place to be at the moment. The hobo sat in the bone-chilling damp of late November, sheltering under the arch of two dumpsters. I kicked the hobo's leg. She shifted her weight onto her feet, staring at me with crooked eyes. Her eyes, like the indigo ocean, were pools of iridescent blue, sculpted upon her creamy face like dazzling jewels. It felt...weird to look at her.

"Do you have what I need?" The hobo shook her head, rubbing her arms. Her attire was all fucked up. Threadbare, frayed at the cuffs, shabby, patched, too short in the arms and legs, holes, a couple of sizes too big, looked like an older brother's hand-me-downs, dressed in an odd assortment of clothes, all of it old and none of it matching, battered looking. She couldn't bare it. The wind cut through her skin and tortuously slashing her bare knees. 

"I don't have time for this. Gimme the drugs, chick." She smiled at me, exposing a set of pearly white teeth. Wait...what the hell?

I felt fingers dig into my cheek. My scream was stifled. I could hear panting, the pleasure their breath, like an animal in heat. They did not speak, no need to tell me not to fight, to make a sound. Their fingers did all the work. Cling, hook, crush, threatening to unhinge my very jaw if another sound were to leave my lips. I remained quiet. 

The hobo took her place in front of me. Strands of molten gold tumbled out of her scalp, cascading down her back like a waterfall. Cherry lips, crystal white teeth: she fooled me.

"Luke, you're such a pretty boy." The person restraining me squeezed my cheeks. "I'm glad you were dumb enough to come out here alone. ST3LLAR doesn't need you anymore. You have business somewhere else in the entertainment business."

The knife met flesh, soft and firm, and made a squishing noise as the tip of the blade sank deep enough to make me scream. The external noises were muffled once again.