1.1 • 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 // lana del rey

𝐭 𝐰 𝐨 : 𝑜𝑓𝑓 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑠

Saturday came quickly, and that meant I could finally go and see Lana's band. I was still in awe of her from days ago, and I couldn't wait to hear her sing.

I paced the street, dressed in clothes that I hoped would impress Lana, and followed the address on the crumpled piece of paper she'd given me. It led right to an ancient brick warehouse with a tin roof.

It didn't sound of thudding drums, or a pretty singing voice. In fact, if I hadn't known better, I would have thought it was abandoned. Instead, I clambered hastily over the wire fence and knocked loudly on the sheet of metal made into the shape of a door.

"Hello?" I called uncertainly. "Is Lana's band here?"

No answer. Then there was an almighty scraping as the metal sheet was pulled back and a tall, lanky guy about Lana's age stood in the doorway, looking down at me sceptically with green eyes, a mess of tangled brown hair and a cigarette between his teeth.

He was wearing a stained white vest tucked into a pair of baggy jeans, and his frame blocked the whole doorway so I couldn't see past him. I took a step back nervousy.

"What?" He demanded rudely.

I swallowed. "I'm a friend of Lana's. You're in her band, right?"

The guy relented slightly. "Yeah," he mumbled. He leant forwards and blew thick cigarette smoke right in my face before squashing the disgusting thing on the stone steps.

"Is she here?" I asked uncertainly, craning my neck to see over his shoulder. The warehouse was mostly empty, except for a huge drumkit on a raised wooden podium, a couple of microphone stands and some sound equipment, and a painted sign that read "Off To The Races".

The guy grimaced at me slightly with yellowish stained teeth. "Not right now," he said slowly, lighting another cigarette. "But she'll be here soon."

"Can I - can I come in?" I asked. The guy shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess," he replied indifferently, stepping back as I entered the warehouse. "I'm Tyler." He stuck out his hand for me to shake, but he didn't look like the most clean guy, so I just smiled in reply.

"Gabby," I answered shyly, looking around and attempting to make myself comfortable on one of the moth-eaten couches. I gestured to the painted sign. "Is that your band?"

"What, Off To The Races? Yeah," said Tyler proudly, flicking ash onto the concrete floor. "It was Lana's idea." He smiled, then frowned down at me. "How did you meet her?"

"Family dinner," I replied quickly, brushing hair out of my face. "She's dating my uncle, but you probably knew."

"Yeah," snorted Tyler, smiling to himself.  He stared at the floor with an odd expression on his face. "She's always had a thing for older guys, though. She dated me for a while."

"Really?" I asked, slightly too quickly.

"Yeah," answered Tyler shortly, getting up in my face. "And it's none of your business. What are you, anyway, twenty? You're way too young for her."

"I didn't say --" I began impatiently.

He laughed shortly. "Everybody likes Lana, dude. Everybody. But your uncle must be a lucky guy. She never stays with anybody this long."

Suddenly the makeshift door slid open and another guy strode in, carrying two cases of beer with huge, muscular arms. He was wearing a ripped vest and he looked like he worked out. A lot. Basically the opposite of Tyler.

The guy stopped dead when he saw me, and I stood up instinctively. "Who the fuck is this, Ty?" He demanded, squinting at me with intense blue eyes. His head was shaved, and he was at least four inches taller than me. He was a giant.

"Friend of Lana's," shrugged Ty. "Come to see rehearsals, I guess. Unless you want to apply for drummer?"

Both boys turned to look at me, and I shook my head. "I don't play drums," I confessed, blushing uncomfortably. "Lana invited me. Is she coming?"

"Depends if her shitty boyfriend will let her," grunted the tall guy. I blinked, appalled.

"What do you mean?" I asked cluelessly, looking from Tyler to him. "My uncle's a nice guy."

"He doesn't let her do anything," the guy snarled. "He's only dating her for her body. He won't even let her come out here unless she begs him."

Something like rage stirred in my gut. I wanted to tell my parents, but then they'd want to know why I was spending the afternoon with 30-year-old guys in a warehouse rather than at the library.

"Anyway," murmured the tall guy, setting down the beer crates and staring at me. "I'm Josh."

"Gabby," I replied weakly, lost in thought.

Just then, Lana pulled back the door and stumbled in with an uncertain smile. Her hair was braided down her back, and she was wearing a white tee tucked into a pair of jeans.

"Hey!" She smiled, rushing up to me warmly. "You made it." I smiled. She frowned at the two guys. "You didn't scare her, did you?"

Tyler laughed, and winked at me. "Nah," he assured her, blowing smoke in her face. She inhaled with pleasure, and her eyes twinkled. "You both ready?" She asked.

Josh nodded. "If Tiny here doesn't mind sitting on her ass, then sure." I giggled, and nodded. Josh cracked open a beer, downed it in seconds, and Tyler stamped out his cigarette. In seconds, they were totally different people.

Lana took to the microphone, her breathing bouncing around the empty warehouse. I sighed. I couldn't wait to hear her sing.

I was convinced it was going to sound amazing. And it did.