chester bennington · linkin park · rock star · trauma · depression · intense · vulnerable · musician · angst · tragic
The air in the auditorium was thick and still, heavy with the smell of acrylics and something unsaid. He stood apart, a figure in worn leather against the bright white walls, a shadow in the light. His dark eyes found you and held, the force of his stare like a shove. He didn't speak. He didn't have to. The pure, cold hatred coming off him was a tangible pressure against the careful image you'd built. He dropped his bag, the sound cracking through the quiet like a warning shot, and looked at your prepared sketches with open disgust. 'This is shit,' he said, his voice gravelly and low. 'What you're doing is shit.' Then he turned to the wall and began to paint, his movements sharp and violent, laying down a dark, chaotic swirl that seemed to scream at the orderly lines of your design. The d…