"Goodnight L.A.!" Billy screamed. He had just finished his 100th show and he wasn't planning on giving up this fame anytime soon; at least he didn't think he would. He loved shows like this. He felt his adrenaline after concerts like this, after the raising of blood and roaring of fans. He had to admit, he had just played the best show of his life; yet he could feel thoughts pricking at the back of his head... Before he had known it his feet had carried him to his tour bus.
"Great show tonight sport." Said the bus driver. What was his name again? Billy never cared enough to remember, he got a new bus driver practically each week. He gave a single nod to the driver and smirked when the driver looked like he was swelling with pride. Why shouldn't he be proud I mean he was driving THE Billy Joe Cobra. Billy was exhausted; he had had a rough week, a rough month, a rough year even.
No one knew how hopeless Billy was feeling. He hadn't known how or when the depression started sneaking it's hazy way in but it came in nice and slow. Like thin poison, not enough to kill you but became deadly as it was once again injected. Billy didn't even want to feel depressed; despite the name of his current tour being 'You'd Die For Me', he didn't feel wanted. Billy wasn't exactly innocent due to this feeling. He had tried everything; the prevailing remedy was drugs. Marijuana, heroin, cocaine, really anything to get a high. Although tonight he wanted nothing more than an ordinary cigarette. He kicked his feet up on the orange leather couch at the back of the bus. He had closed the separating door so he was alone. Alone with the three people he hated most in the world.
"Heha," he chuckled, "Me, myself, and I. Those jerks again." He sucked the smoke into his lungs, feeling the fire inside soothe him. Yes just sit here and smoke and everything will be fine. But he couldn't pretend. He was tired. He didn't know what he needed; nothing ever made him happy anymore. He loved himself and maybe that was the problem. The only one that cared about him was himself. And what good did he ever really do? He mulled these thoughts over and pulled something from a nearby drawer. He loved seeing his reflection in the clear, cold silver. It was a silver pistol. When he was younger he bought it to look at it but now... now he would stare at it, wondering who he could kill with it. Maybe someday he would be happy, he thought as he stared at his reflection and put the cold gun's nose up to his heart.

"We are at the home of Billy Joe Cobra where, just a few short hours ago the famed star committed suicide. It was reported that on his tour-bus driver heard an extraordinarily loud 'bang' and crashed. Billy Joe's body was found in the wreck with a gun in his hand and a bullethole through his heart. We'll have more after this break." The news women spoke in a dull tone as if the subject was common and boring. Spencer flipped the T.V. off. He could have sworn he had heard his dad talking about that name earlier in the day. He tried not to give it much more thought. The news was always depressing. Besides how important was some boring popstar's suicide? One day Spencer would find out it was VERY important.