A/N: As promised, the second chapter of today - a little insight to Sirius's time in California. Enjoy :)
California, November 4, 2018
Dear Prongs
Sorry for coming to the phone yesterday, but I wasn't really in the mood for popping confetti on account of being born. Worst birthday present if ever I had one.
This place doesn't exactly inspire celebratory feelings either. Remember last year when we were chugging champagne atop the Eiffel Tower? And we wondered what it would be like to jump? You were convinced you'd fly, but I only wanted to know what it would feel like to fall. I still do, I guess. So, I stayed in my room. Reckoned it was best to keep away from ledges higher than my bed.
You can call it progress. If you want.
But hey, this letter wasn't meant to be depressing. I guess I've just spent too much time in my head lately. I've started working out and running in the morning (shut up), which is good. Eating healthy. Taking my vitamins. Cleaning my nails and stuff.
Fuck.
When can you come for a visit?
-Padfoot
Ps.: I wrote a song today—do you like it? I don't think my shrink did.
Dawn of a brand-new day
You with your questions, me with my answers
Give me medicine, give me psychiatry
I'll give you nothing other than my time
Dawn of a brand-new day
To my inconvenience and your satisfaction
You look at me and draw your conclusions
You've got a bag of letters and you draw your conclusion
They strip me bare, they strip me bare, they strip me bare
They give me questions and I give you answers
But I've thought, and I've thought, and I've thought
This is my day; I'm breaking out now
For I want out, yes, I want out, yes, I want out!
They took me in, but only because I was tricked
Here I'm gonna bleed, gonna bleed until I die
Now I'm breaking out on your shift
Dawn of a brand-new day
Not a second longer, that's for sure
No way I'm lying here the day that I die
Now I'm breaking out on your shift
.
London, November 7, 2018
Dear Padfoot,
You're being dramatic—it's rehab, not Bedlam. People do it all the time. Get over yourself.
That said, I'm worried about you. You are trying, right?
I wish I could come see you, but they seem to think it would 'hinder your progress' at this point. So, patience, my love.
If it helps, I'm going a bit crazy too. It's weird being back home without you here. I don't know what to do with myself, it's quite pathetic really…. I guess things are gonna be different from now on, but I can't wait to get back on the road! I think I'm starting to get fat from all this sitting around. I'm not even doing any running (shut up). Maybe I should try those vitamins—they working out for you?
Also, could you please ring Gwen soon? She's calling to complain five times a day now, it's sorta ruining my Candy Crush streak….
-Prongs
P.S.: You know, some people would consider it bad form to ask someone to marry you and then ignore them completely. Almost as bad as not telling your best mate.
.
California, November 12, 2018
Dear Prongs,
Drama is my middle name.
But don't worry. I'm doing better. Honestly.
New guy arrived today. Apparently, he's famous over here, an author of some sort, but I've never heard of him. He's running around signing autographs, though I don't recall anyone asking. And he's so messed up, I'll be impressed if he can even spell his name.
Dear heavens, what if that's me in ten years?!
So, I'm working the program now, such as it is. I still haven't figured what their game is. They're not even mentioning drugs at all—they just want to know about my childhood and stuff. How is that relevant? It's like they're not even realising how much it makes me want to rub all of Antarctica into my fucking eyeballs.
I'm sorry about you getting fat, but we all knew it was going to happen someday. All those Drumstick Squashies were always going to catch up.
-Padfoot
P.S.: I wrote a song for my mum. It's called Funeral Polka. Let me know if you want the lyrics!
.
London, November 18, 2018
Dear Padfoot,
Are you actually doing therapy, or are you just writing songs? I don't think it counts….
Now, I'm no expert (I just saw Good Will Hunting once), but it's sorta obligatory to dig into your childhood, innit? I know it's not pleasant, but promise me you'll try, yeah? I need you to come back to me soon; I found an old piece of cheese in my navel today. Come New Year and I won't even be able to see my navel anymore!
You avoided answering my question about Gwen. She's started her own podcast now. To tune in, all you need is the code for my answering machine. Episode 152 dropped today, so I take it you're avoiding her too. At least ring her and let her know you're alive.
For fuck's sake.
I've been thinking (yes, I know)… why don't you move in with me for a while when you get back? Get you out of that flat. Then we could start looking for a proper place. Rumour has it the grumpy lawyer down the road is getting divorced and might be selling. Would be brilliant if we were neighbours, don't you think?
Anyway, we can talk about all that later, just focus on getting better for now.
-Prongs
P.S.: Thanks, but I just ate.
.
California, December 2, 2018
Dear Prongs,
Hope you didn't eat that cheese. Nobody will shag a fat, burnt-out rock star with cheddar-breath.
The Gwen situation has been dealt with as per your request.
I don't want a house—I like my flat.
And I don't need a babysitter.
-Padfoot
A/N: Three guesses as to who the new guy at the clinic could be? :-P We will get to see the rest of their letters later on, so stay tuned!
Lyric credits:
Kaizers Orchestra - Medisin & Psykiatri (Author's translation from Norwegian - fair amount of liberties taken to fit this story)
Bonus: Funeral Polka (original title: Begravelsespolka) is also a real song - one of the best ones Kaizers ever made imo - go check out the music video (even if you don't understand Norwegian!)
