Punk Rock Ruined Me

(1) Ivory Powder and Onyx Liner

 Punk Rock Ruined Me

By Daniela Rubio

Chapter One

 “Great show, Liz.”

I smiled up at my manager while putting my guitar on its stand. “Thanks,” I responded brightly, and proceeded to my dressing room.

Once I shut my door, I leaned back against it and took a deep breath. My eyes were starting to water, so I reflexively looked up into the bright, fluorescent lights, willing my tears to go away. Wiping my eyes, I told myself to get a grip. Then I looked in the mirror and was immediately revolted by the sight of the bone-thin girl before me. How did I let myself get like this? How did I let myself become the girl I swore to my mother I’d never be?

The sudden commotion outside of my small room told me that the press conference was about to start. Of course it is, I thought. Who wouldn’t want to hear about The Skinny Kids’ new album announcement?

I quickly stripped off my sweaty and stinky show clothes, opting for my signature fishnet stockings, Doc Martens, and fringed mini skirt. The tee-shirt was always the challenge.

As I pondered over what my next statement shirt should say, there was a knock on my door. “Five minutes,” my manager hastily told me, her heels clicking away right after. No one cared to ask me if I was okay, or if I needed some water. They either overly assumed, or simply didn’t care. The latter was most probable.

My “Punk Rock Ruined Me” shirt seemed the most fitting for today. It was because of my punk band, The Skinny Kids, that I was feeling the way I do now. Lost, confused, and disoriented. They all meant the same thing, but each had a different place in me. My heart was lost. My thoughts were confused. My mind was disoriented. Maybe it was all the drugs I was doing, all the alcohol I was drinking.

Or maybe after so many times of being told what to do, what to say and how to say it, you lose yourself. You lose sight of who you are. I felt like a large puddle of personalities. But there was nothing to distinguish anything from something else. No shape or form to the large mixture.

I was molded and changed so many times by my publicist, that I didn’t even remember the girl I used to be. The girl that loved her mom beyond anything else in the world. The girl that would never do anything as bad as drink or smoke. But to keep up the image, I did. “Do you want to be a rock goddess?” I remembered my publicist, Trisha, asking me that night so many years ago. When I was a chubby, brunette girl – a normal girl. One with exceptional singing talents, yes, but I was never quite fond of them. My mom had started coaching me since I was little, so I could fulfill her long lost dreams. Which were to be some sort of famous singer. When I landed the record deal with Pacific, it was the best day of her life.  Nothing made me happier than to make her happy, so I sacrificed myself to see her grinning, when I knew all she wanted to do was cry.

Ever since she was the backup singer for my dad, John Stanley, Danielle had the dream of being someone big. She wanted to catch my father’s attention, wanted him to look at her in a crowd of thousands. Sure, that was a long shot, considering my father was just about the biggest rock star in the seventies.

But one night, she got his attention. And I was the product of that night. I never knew John Stanley. He died on a cocaine overdose on the night he found out about my existence. It’s like God brought me into this world and took him out in one swift motion. And I was glad. But before he died, he wrote me some sort of lullaby. He recorded it right before he took that last shot of cocaine that ended his life, actually. It’s the only tangible things of my father’s that I actually cherish. His guitars, his money, all of it repulsed me.

Anyway, I was the person my mother always wanted to be. The look in her eyes whenever she saw me onstage was the equivalent to that of a mother watching her daughter grow to be the center of attention. Awestruck. Proud. And seeing her like that made life bearable.

I threw some ivory coloured powder on my face, and smudged some onyx black eyeliner under my eyes. I looked completely insane. But fit to be Liz Stanley. Thing is, I didn’t even like punk. Or rock for that matter. Lady Gaga was my absolute favourite thing in the world. I’d told a reporter once before, and it had started some sort of scandal. About what, I didn’t know. Trish just told me to never mention that again.

As soon as I stepped out of the door, Trish grabbed my arm and led me down a series of halls and rooms – bitching about how long it takes me to get ready – until I finally saw my band.

“Liz!” they chorused, with warm smiles.

“I swear you guys practice that,” I retorted, hugging each of them.

“We don’t,” Steve told me cheekily.

“Whatever,” I said back, rolling my eyes at him. I turned to the rest of my band. “So… Andrew, Nick, Ryan… how are we going to make the news about our new CD all the more exciting?” I asked, in the most upbeat voice I could manage. No one knew about how unhappy I was, not even my mother.

“Hm… I think you should have a girls gone wild moment,” Ryan suggested.

“Definitely, boobs and everything,” Andrew added.

“Maybe a little more, just for kicks,” Nick said.

I looked at them with a flat face, not even surprised as to how they could keep straight faces at the moment. They were the masters of telling jokes that weren’t even funny. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” Steve said.

“That was a rhetorical question,” I said. “I was thinking something along the lines of saying that it’s our best record yet?” I suggested with a smile.

“But it’s not,” Nick deadpanned.

My smile faltered. “I know. We were so rushed to get this out.”

“That, or we just didn’t put as much effort into it as we used to,” Ryan said.

“I think it’s both,” I decided, then sighed. “I am really dreading going out there.”

“You’re not the only one,” Steve said, patting my shoulder.

The height difference between my band and me was completely unfair. The guys were all a towering six feet, while I was a tiny five foot two. Some think that I’m adorable because of that, but trust me when I say that I am the farthest thing from adorable. “Let’s just get this over with,” I breathed, trudging over to the curtains that revealed us to the press. I heard the guys come into step behind me.

“Let’s,” Nick said.

When we reached the curtain, I turned back and offered the guys a small smile. They returned it, and I pushed the heavy velvet over, stepping into the flashing clicks of cameras.

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New story guies :D

This is one of the few that I am planning on starting within the next few months. :) But I still need to catch up on my Hunger Games Fan Fic. Ugh.

Anyways… Please vote! :D This is just a tease, so you can expect more soon. I was just royally bored from not writing. So I started again. And I love it :D

All right, so… yeah. This story is going to involve drugs, and alcohol, somewhat. Since Liz is addicted. (Maybe?) But it’s crucial to the point, if you read the synopsis :D Yeah, it’s sort of like Sarah Dessen’s “This Lullaby” but that was the inspiration. I promise there is no more in common with this story and that book than the fact that her father used to be famous and died before she met him, but not before he wrote her a lullaby.

Time to go! Talk to ya’ll soon.

-Daniela.