A Melody For the Damned (Book One: We Stitch These Wounds)

The rage alone burnt madly into his fingertips. Anxious tingling sent a shot of pain down his arms, head angled to the floor with a smug expression of "It's not true." embedded into the man's chapped lips.
John leaned forward the chilled marble table, hands loosely interlocked while absentmindedly picking some tender, peeled back skin off his index finger.
"Andrew, listen. The content i've been receiving isn't at it's full potential. You're letting us down. You aren't the free filled spirit you were in high school. When the label signed you, we could feel a good band. Good music.. like a piece of Kiss paraphernalia in you, you know? You aren't the best band in the world. This music you're throwing at me needs to improve or the industry is going down. The spark is gone, the band is gone."

His glassy eyed gaze stayed averted to the ground, and John took no time to slide away from his seat and walk out of the office. What happened to him? Andy knew it. He couldn't feel the rush on stage anymore, on his knees at the edge of the stage with rebellion curved into a smile. It hurt. He hurt.
The weight of his mood collapsed on his 6'4 posture, moving towards the nearest door, which was the next door studio, and turning the knob moments later. He entered with a blank expression, greeted by sideways glances from the rest of the band. Jinxx's eyes glowed bright blue, just like his. That's what he liked to see.
"Dude, what did John say?" Jake muttered. Andy inhaled sharply and parted his mouth,
"It's my fault, we're going down..."
The words came out vague, but they knew what he meant. Andy strut to one of the dull green armchairs and took a seat. They were staying all night here, no doubt.
"He's an asshole buddy, you're an amazing vocalist." Ashley turned his head and flashed Andy a small, giving him the small, reassuring pat on the back.
Andy shook his head and rested his arms against his knees. At this point, it felt like everything would be going down. Even his childhood dreams wouldn't last any longer, I mean, if John was the all-knowing god he makes himself out to be.

~4:19am~
It's been 6 hours since he walked out of the conference room. His eyes were a faded sea water grey at this point. CC's notepad was rested gently against his chest, pen hung loosely in the other hand. The rest of the guys resembled a similar pose, even Andy couldn't help but slip a little darkness every now and then. He cleared his throat, resisting the urge to doze off. As strange as it sounded to himself, he was determined to knot out his thoughts before starting another day.
He hit his combat boots against the hard bottom of the chair, sprawled out over the the same arm chair as earlier. The room was the right shade of dark to stare into, and eventually be able to make out non-existent creatures. His eyes were silvers of blue, taking a deep breath through his nose. There was something that was needed to be done to fix this, he just couldn't figure it out in the three hours of sleep he was running on.

Notes

Hey guys! Sorry if i'm rushing this already, not good at starting off since action is more my thing. Short chapter, I know.
If you are confused after reading the summary, feel free to as questions!