Eddie Van Halen's guitar blared from Amelia's cell phone, tossed carelessly on the nightstand as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains of the hotel room. The beginning of 'Ain't Talkin' 'bout Love' made the dark green eyes of the black-haired girl open slowly, lazily.

Amelia tried to move to reach her phone, but found the naked body of an unknown girl hovering over her, sprawled out and breathing softly (just as most mornings were for Amelia).

With a hoarse, sleepy grunt, Amelia managed to shake off the girl's sleeping body with clumsy but careful movements. Once free she reached for the phone to deactivate the alarm, however...

"Oh, shit."

It wasn't just any alarm, it was a reminder about the band meeting, immediately causing her to frown in irritation and growl with undisguised annoyance.

Without thinking much more, she got out of bed and started looking for her clothes on the floor while the unknown girl lay covered by just a sheet. Amelia was used to girls looking half dead after sex with her, which made her quietly proud.

Once dressed, she took out a good amount of money from her wallet and left it on the bedside table with carefree, almost practiced movements.

"I don't remember if you're a prostitute or not, precious, but everyone can use the money."She whispered near the girl's ear before leaving the room. Just another day in her routine.

Walking through Los Angeles streets, reality squeezed her chest. The record label demands, Jessica's idiocies, and Kate's incompetence flooded her mind—the knot in her stomach, trembling hands, and deep fear quickly turning to irritation and anger.

Arriving at the studio, she met the bassist's gaze—almost as irritated and tired as her own. The studio was empty except for instruments and the bassist sitting at an amp next to her instrument.

"I'm not going to bother asking about Jessica and Kate—I know that pair of sluts are in some hotel fucking each other—but what about Lena?"Amelia entered, slamming the door harder than intended, snorting with irritation and anxiety as her hand tremor returned.

"Whatever. If they're not here we'll work just you and me. We can't waste time."

The conversation and rehearsal flowed horribly. Everything was tension. Their playing felt soulless, mechanical, hollow—every bass pluck and guitar riff falling flat.

"Stop."Amelia halted her strumming, hands going to her head as she grunted in disgust, sliding the guitar strap off her shoulder."We sound horrible. Disgusting."Her voice showed her anger despite her attempts to moderate it."Let's move to the lyrics."

She pulled crumpled, half-torn, stained papers from her jacket and handed them to the bassist. As her bandmate read, Amelia noticed a look of disgust crossing their face.

"What's that grimace supposed to mean? You don't like what I wrote?"Her voice rose, roughening as her body tensed defensively."Don't keep your opinion to yourself. Spit it out. Tell me what you didn't like about my lyrics. NOW."