Scandinavian Heartstrings, in Drop D.

Chapter 2.4 You're fucking sorry?!

Skwisgaar spent the rest of the day in the practice chamber noodelling away at some riffs. Throwing himself into his music helped centre him. No matter what bullshit was happening around him, if he just focus on his playing he could come back to himself. He rested the guitar on his lap and flexed his fingers. He hadn't broken his record for hours of straight playing, but this was certainly the longest he'd played in a while. But even after all these hours, he still felt unsettled.

There were too many unknowns. How could someone forget a suicide attempt? Or was that a common thing? Had it been Skwisgaar's fault after all? And why in the fucking name of Odin did he kiss him in front of everyone!? He slid the guitar back onto its rack with a deep sigh. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't hide down here forever. Eventually, he would have to face everyone, and Toki.

Just before dinner time, Skwisgaar went into Toki's room to collect his Deddy bear. Toki loved that thing so it should help keep him calm while working as a kind of peace offering. The Klockateers had not been in here yet and so the room reeked of cigarette ash and acidic bile. There was a patch of vomit beginning to dry on the crumpled sheets. He imagined the rhythm guitarist laying there, passed out, and what it must have been like for Nathan and Pickles to find him. Thank the gods they had come up here when they did. Skwisgaar found Deddy on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, hugging the bear to himself privately. He had been such a fucking idiot letting Toki run off in that state. He should have followed Toki up here and apologised and held onto him until he had fallen safely asleep. But no, he went and fucked two old whores instead.

The bottle of Akvavit stood on the night stand and there was still enough for a swig. He snatched the bottle by the neck and took a mouth full. It clawed its way down his throat like a cat held over its bath. Skwisgaar shook his head as it settled uncomfortably in his stomach. Fuck, now he remembered why he stopped drinking this stuff; it was pure punishment. Something fell from the nightstand as he shuffled the glass bottle back into place. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand. He read the label ten times before stomping out of the room and down the stairs with it, almost crushing it in his grasp.

The other members of Dethklok were sitting in the lounge room watching television and waiting for the dinner gong. Skwisgaar stormed right up to Pickles, cleared away all the empty beer bottles from the coffee table with one swoop of his long arm and slammed down the offending object right in front of him.

"WHAT DE FUCKS AMS DIS??!!!" He bellowed at the drummer. When Skwisgaar was seriously pissed off he could actually be quite menacing, a lot of which came from his height. Pickles exhaled his cigarette smoke with two raised eyebrows and the other two froze in surprise.

Pickles looked down and recognised the pill bottle that had been next to Toki's bed. "Dood, where did you think he got them from? He's into my pills all the time, yer all are."

"It ams in de Asprins bottle!" Skwisgaar picked it up and shoved the label in Pickles's face.

"Ahh, yeah? This stuff ain't exactly over the counter." Pickles's brow pressed down defensively. "Lots o' shit's in different containers. I wrote on the side what it was." He took the bottle and pointed to the scribble in sharpie. He actually had his drug cabinet incredibly well organised and could lay his hand to the correct thing no matter how wasted he was.

Skwisgaar kicked the coffee table to the other side of the room with such force it did a 180 degree flip and skidded four feet on its top before coming to rest. He then screamed every Swedish curse word he knew in every possible combination as he picked up the empty beer bottles one by one and hurled them at the TV.

Murderface looked to Pickles who just shrugged then ducked to avoid a shard of broken glass flying towards his head. Nathan's fingers dug into the plush of his armchair as he rose; he'd had enough. He grabbed Skwisgaar's arm by the wrist as he prepared another volley for their entertainment system and bent it up behind his back like a night-club bouncer.