a lie for every truth `

[hannah]

can't go back on all those promises

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I SHREDDED BUT CAN YOU, WILL YOU AT LEAST ATTEMPT[/center]

Tristan wasn't supposed to be here, but that was a given. He was never supposed to be where he inevitably ended up, even though recently his goal had been to lie low for a while. Luckily, he hadn't exactly been spotted for being one of the big screen's newest prototype. And luckily is appropriate because, as usual, he was drunker than he could even realize. He was officially struggling with meeting his manager's strict guidelines for his life; the constant rules, the booze limit, the strict time schedule, the 'trailer arrest', it was all too much for Tristan. He was a free spirit through and through, so abiding by all the sudden rules was difficult. Spending every night in his trailer, alone with nothing but a hobby to keep him company. Sure Devon was making an attempt to keep him sane, but she had a life too. He could expect her to be around all the time, even if they were pretty close friends. So how did he manage to get not only out of his trailer, but out of Morocco and back to the United States? Clever Tristan convinced his sister to fly all the way out to California, and his manager that he was going to visit her. Of course he had visited with her, about all he could handle, then he decided to commence the real plans he had for this weekend.

Tristan had been under heavy stress for a while. The 'breakup' with Paige had been hurtful enough, plus the criticism of several of his best friends and his jail time, all that added to the usual stress of being a terrorist in a movie was enough to make him lose it. Most stars would argue it wasn't a whole lot to keep under his belt in comparison, but Tristan, before becoming a star, led a very stress-free life. And when he was under pressure, he could get drunk and disappear for a couple days or a week. He could fly off to Ireland and get so shitfaced he had no idea where he was. But not anymore. He had more responsibility than he knew what to do with and that was a bad thing. So he'd been drinking heavily all evening, under his newest disguise, which amounted to a clean-shaven face, sunglasses, and a hat despite the lack of sunlight happening late in the evening. Sometime that evening, he'd come to the realization everyone was trying to bring him to before - he was definitely addicted to alcohol. His love for liquor had gone beyond love and ended in an obsession. He was bathing in it for crying out loud. It wasn't a conclusion he wanted to come to, but it came none the less. And he hated it.

So he drank more.

So really, it just backfired. Everyone thought if he realized it for himself, he would be able to see the error in his ways and quit. It was more complex than that and quitting hadn't even occurred to him yet. He was staring down into the bottle of tequila when he had his epiphany. It was like a truck hit him dead on in the middle of the highway. He, of course, hated this realization he came to. There was a part of him that wanted to still think it was a crackpot notion, but deep within his cerebellum, he knew it was true. But despite the disgusting realization of the evening, it was nice to be out among normal people. Sure he liked being rich and famous, it's what he wanted his entire life but just blending in, not getting slapped on magazines and TV news stations for just doing what any other guy his age would be doing was refreshing. After the whole, jail time thing, he was actually kind of happy to be laying low. This, if someone found out, wouldn't be laying low. He was running loose, drunk in the middle of Hollywood. He really needed to get himself under control.

But that was the least of his worries as he hung onto a light post, watching the traffic whiz by without a worry in the world. There was a bright smile on his face and he looked pretty happy, to be honest. It was all tequila-induced, but would you expect much less of Tristan Silvers? He swung himself off the light post and onto the sidewalk where he strolled casually down the street with a bottle of tequila in one hand. If anyone spotted him, he was dead, but he was banking on his blending in skills. It wasn't long before he drew attention to himself, though. He completely didn't see a bench, ended up running into it and landing in someone's lap. He straightened up, giggling drunkenly before even looking to see who it was. It didn't run through his mind to apologize, or how awkward this situation was.

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TAGGED --- open, yo.
WORDS --- 860
OUTFIT --- click
CREDS --- lyrics © artist, everything else © me.
NOTES --- someone replyyyy. <3 i'll love you forever.

[breezy]

i call it. C: