A/N - Yep, my first Victorious fic. I don't really like author's notes, so there won't be many of these. Song titles and stuff'll happen at the bottom of chapters. Rated M because of cussin', drinkin', sexin', etc.
This is the time of the day I love best.
I snuck out of Beck's house early in the morning, before anyone woke up. His mom would flip if she found out that I stayed the night. Not that we really do anything bad - at least not as frequently as we used to, anyways - but I guess she has her principles when we don't have ours. That's fine though. I tiptoed out of Beck's room, leaving him lightly snoring in a white shirt and my side of the bed empty.
My breath steams in the air, hangs over my head. The early morning sun rises up over the Hollywood Hills. I love it. It's my favourite thing in the world. For this little moment in time, Hollywood is quiet. I don't have to put up with people. I can be as small as I want to be, or as infinite as I'd like to be one day. I'm alone with my thoughts as I head back home.
It's a quick walk down Sunset Boulevard from Beck's back to my house. There's the leftovers of the night before. Cigarette butts and that dirty city smell. A whole world has passed by, and I briefly wonder where I fit in. Bands in dirty basements and everyone trying to make it big. From your waiter to your dentist, everyone tried to be the biggest star they possibly could be.
It's a lot of pressure to try and ignore. Just because we all go to Hollywood Arts doesn't mean me and everyone else will ever make it. We took a gamble and we might end up ground in the machinery of the entertainment business.
"Pretty lady, any spare change?" asks a shambling, piss-stained homeless woman who stumbles near me. I shake my head and give her a glare, and she shrinks away into the night. Like she was almost perfectly timed to prove my point. She probably had one bit part and then fell in debt and then was dropped by her agent and so on, and so on, and so on.
Maybe it's me, but the only advantage we have at Hollywood Arts is belief. The magnitude of unbroken necessity to succeed. From Beck to Burf, Sinjin to - ugh - Tori, we all think we'll make it. It's kind of endearing in a perverse way. We'll probably end up working behind the counter at Fatty Burger, but we'll always have our beliefs.
What a stupid little conflicted way to start the day.