A/N: Read the lastest chapter ' Your Love Is Killing Me' of Band On The Run before proceeding.
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“They are a waste of personality, no matter how talented they may be in music.”
“So fucking inconsiderate! So what if they are ‘the shit’ right now?”
“This will surely ensure lots of criticism in my blog, I tell ya!”
I swallowed another drink, letting the familiar burn sting my throat as I unsuccessfully try to drown these snobs. Open your eyes bitches, being late and breaking rules are the basics of the world of rock and roll. I mentally shout out to the snobs, not wanting to get into a fight so early in the night. Their name may be Red Riot but I’m pretty sure they will have a hell of a riot if they don’t come out soon. The worst begin to loudly comment on how they would rather have The Bends here. Oh, fuck off! They are even worse than Red Riot. You will probably die of a heart-attack during a hissy fit, you bastards.
Annoyingly, Jase’s mental voice rebukes my continuous usage of profanity. Really a bad move, subconscious self. Remember that drunk Jason incident? Puzzlingly, the voice now changes to Pat. I cannot help a chuckle as I respond. Got me there. I’ve nothing wrong in terms of cursing from slut, unless you remember that the walls are thin?
“You find me amusing, buddy?” My mind must have had an amazing comeback – it has to since it’s mine – but I’m snapped out of it when one of the snobs turns around and looks at me from head to toe and back and the annoyed expression turns into angry. Yeah, think that the fat guy won’t fight back. From the way she’s glaring at me, there’s no way she doesn’t have a prick here for her. Bring him on, girl. I will show him exactly what made me send the three dumbasses of last night to the hospital’s ER.
My mind tries to remind me of the slight bruising I still have but I can’t help but provoke her. “I wasn’t laughing at you, miss. But now that you did try to break the ice, I just have to tell you that you are a bitchy snob who has no respect for the world of rock and roll.” I take extra care to make the ‘just have to’ part sound whiny. I momentarily doubt if I went overboard and then realize I probably did. But does it matter? No.
On stage, the average-sounding band’s performing and I notice people slowly slipping away. If you want to hear them so much that your eyes are glued to the stage, then what the fuck are you doing backing out the door? There would probably have been more but my attention is snatched back by the girl at the end of her sentence. “- do you think you are?” She finished. Good job on getting her whiny voice right, my mind complements me.
I do a small fake bow and answer with a large fake smile. “Since you asked me so nicely, dearie, I will have you know that I’m Adrian Scholn. You know, of the band Scholn?” Her eyes go momentarily wide as she recognizes me and I’m kind of surprised myself. No shit, they’ve heard of us here? Considering that our first show in New York is tomorrow, this is a pretty big feat. Though having a snob recognize us kind of deflates the pride.
She looks me down again and I can actually feel as she takes note of my clothes. The black leather jacket and the tan tee don’t even try to hide the small bulge at the stomach and nor do the faded cut navy jeans hide the way the thighs look fatty. I see her smirk and instantly know she’s going to make a fat joke. “Girl, you’ve already made it clear you are one snobby bitch. Don’t make it fun for me to add more to that.”
It is words like these that drove Lisa away.My mind points out and I instantly sober up. I am not drunk enough to go down that road. What’s the difference? My mind asks. All the things we promise ourselves, of living clean, of not drowning ourselves in the bottle, of always treading the high moral grounds… aren’t they all lies we tell? Isn’t Jase right now with some stranger, enjoying such a high dose of X that he’ll be depressed for days once he sobers up? Isn’t Pat lying in some ditch right now with used needles and dirty pills strewn around him? We all tell lies but here you are, drowning yourself in the bottle when you promised to stay clean? Are promises words of lies we tell to soothe the foolish heart? Are they the first sin, cementing our path on the road of damnation? We shall all burn together in hell, haunted by the condemnation of our younger pasts. And so the people will cry blood and the end of the world come to pass.
I note that those are some great lyrics and that I have no answer to these hard truths. But is anything ever black or white? We, broken birds, try to fly in the maddening night. Why shouldn’t we fall to dark, why shouldn’t all be shades of grey, when the sun only shines, at the remains of what we had? I congratulate myself an empty victory on temporarily silencing my own mind.
I am drawn back to the reality by liquid that suddenly drenches me wet. What the fuck? These are my favorite! “Enjoy your drink, loser.” The girl – she’s still here? – smirks at me, as if she achieved something great. Even the girl who once kneed me at the balls had recognized it was useless to try to shut me up. My permanently critical mind had been a very good teacher to learn resistance from.
She turns around to walk away and damn if I can’t have the final word. “Enjoy yourself, you snobby bimbo bitch? Since you wasted that drink, perhaps you’d like a drink of a different kind?” That’s one that never fails and sure enough, she turns around to strike me. But I hold her hand in mid-air and reply with fake sweetness. “Sorry gal, but I am not a sub. Though if role-playing’s what you want, perhaps you could be my prisoner.” And then I give her an once-over, easily dismissing her. “Nah, you’re too young. Don’t want a kid.”
If looks could kill, I would have a wooden stake through my heart. But knowing of my reputation of loving fights – again, pride and sourness – she wisely turns away. I keep my eyes on her, still checking her out in that tight skirt that would undoubtedly give a show if she even tried to sit. And see her stumble into another girl. I almost dismiss them, turning back to the stage, when recognition dawns. Holy shit! Is that Keely Staub? And is that Seth Vaughn behind him?
It’s amazing how quick the change occurs in me. One second, I couldn’t wait to get back to my drink. And the next, it is all forgotten. All that matters was that two of my childhood idols are standing in the crowd in front of me. And no one seems to recognize them? I want to yell. I want to shout. I want to let everyone know they were there, as if I was the nine year old again who cared more about guitar than getting out of his room even for food or toilet. Have some fucking control! I yell at myself internally and look closely at them, feeling something odd at their sight.
I have watched Keely Staub since her entry into the world of professional music. I followed her, and the reformed, much better, NSR religiously. Hell, I remember even going on a binge eating when I was depressed on finding out that NSR had broken up. (And the dieting I went when I found out about The Spares and that I was severely overweight.) And over the years, I felt love, pride, shame, disgust, hurt, fear, depression, denial and many more feelings as everything fell apart. What went wrong? How did you end up like that? So close yet so apart?
But in the very instant this question pops into my mind, I realize what was odd when I looked at them. There is distance between them but there is no doubt in my mind that it is a comfortable distance and not a forced one. Sometimes bud, my mental voice – annoyingly as Jase again – remarks, you just got to let them have their moment of comfort. Then with a snide that is characteristically mine, it adds Not that this moment will last long.
And so, despite every inch of my body wishing to greet them and somehow try to convince them to give just plain old me a chance to sing to them, I hold myself back.
But I watch them.
I watch them even as Jude Turner, the girl I am here to see, finally took the stage one hour after she was supposed to and rocked the night out.
I watch Keely shouts and screams and cheers at Jude’s songs and feel a smile on my face. That’s the true spirit of a musician. You never ignore that others can be good as well, if not better than you.
And then I feel the smile on my face get a lot warmer as, in a surprisingly unguarded moment, I see Seth staring at Keely with an amused smile. He doesn’t let it on long, hiding it as soon as she even moved a muscle towards him. But it was there. And for me, that was all I need.
Oh yes, I watch them. But I never intrude this moment of theirs. Because something tells me that this sight before me is precious and important and any kind of interference would spoil it terribly. And though every inch of mine yearned to do something to impress my idols, I do the hardest thing I could. I sit still. Lisa, who left me because I was still too much of a child who always rushed into things without thinking, would have been proud. Why don’t I call her later? Perhaps there’s still a chance of us?
But I don’t drink again. Not another drop. The glass is left forgotten as I burn the sight in my mind. And I know that if the world ended tonight – preferably after Red Riot’s show ended – I would die a happy man.
Everything went black and when the chords sounded, I almost recognize the song but couldn’t really recall it. But Jude’s very first words told me the song. And I smile at the obvious reference to The Spares’ life. Your love is killing me.
To the people who keep their senses open, it isn’t hard to recognize what’s real and what’s fake. And as I hear the emotion in Turner’s voice, I know she sings genuinely. And I’m wrong. She’s not singing for them. She’s singing for herself. Did something happen? I wonder as I finally move my eyes from the two older idols to the third one who was only a year older than me. The worry soon fades as her voice assures me that though she mourns some loss, she mourns the death of a relationship and not something worse. I really should call Lisa after I leave this place. I mentally comment, adjusting the neck of the tee to relax a little in this humid place.
I pick up my drink, which is now quite warm in this humid place, and swallow it after an imaginary toast to Jude Turner. To new beginnings. The liquid stings worse as I turn to stare back at the two in the crowd.
I live heaven in that one moment.
That’s the only explanation I have for the pair of tears that suddenly escape from my eyes.
Because I see them embracing each other, as if they have realized that the other is their reason for living. Keely Staub and Seth Michael ‘Ryan’ Vaughn, who the press always showed at each other’s throats, are right now in each other’s arms. And all that’s happening (that I can see) is that Keely’s sobbing. What Seth is doing, I have no clue. But I recognize what I am seeing, what I sensed might happen today.
And so I mentally toast again, to both of them, to Jude Turner and to myself.
To new beginnings!
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A/N: First of all, I'm sorry if the story is below par my usual standards. I just couldn't help myself and post this as soon as possible. Adrian's backstory is basically a filler to have the end toast make sense.
And once I'm done with my stories, I will probably leave Wattpad. The site's interface is no longer as good as it once was.