Guitars
Disclaimer: I do not own anything except the storyline!
Shane Gray always had more than his fair share of guitars. They were all leaned up against the walls of his already-messy bedroom, untouched and undisturbed. No one actually knew of their existence. Except him. Him and that Michelle girl living next door.
You couldn't say they were friends. Unless of course, one counted the total disregard for each other exercised in public. Sometimes Shane didn't even know why he bothered about this girl with the red hair. They came from two different worlds. She was part of the people getting leftover coleslaw poured in her locker. He was one of the people who did the pouring. And yet he always avoided her locker. He was nineteen, a senior, the school's quarterback at that. She was sixteen, a whole three years younger.
But there were times when the crashing next door grew too loud for him to tolerate, times when he would sneak downstairs, and let her in as she cried.
It was on one of these occasions that Shane allowed her to enter his room. It was a rainy night, he remembered, as if straight out of a Disney movie. Her auburn hair was lying limply against her cheeks, shivering from the cold, a new bruise imprinted on her face. He had let her in without commentary, as he was asked to, and brought her up to his room to change. She had slipped on his over-sized shirt, muttered a word of thanks and had lain on his bed, tired. As her lip quivered, tears fell quickly, and he decided to talk to her, maybe attempt to bring her away from the life at home she was accustomed to. So he brought up the thing he loved best.
Music.
Shane still remembered how her eyes had brightened when he talked about his guitars, about the history of the guitars, about why each guitar had a female name carved into it. Her eyes had remained open, unlike many of the other nights, and she soon reached over to touch the instruments, occasionally remarking on their quality, surprised that the school's sportsman was a musician.
Mitchie, that was her nickname, knew exactly why Shane had left one guitar untouched, all these years. She knew very well about his intentions with that last acoustic guitar, one that only he played. No one else had been allowed to touch that guitar, until she reached over and picked it up. He didn't even flinch. As her slender fingers held a simple pick, strumming against the metal strings, each vibration noted by an on-looking Shane. He then mentioned the stories of each girl on each guitar as she played, seemingly oblivious to his confessions.
But now our dark haired heartthrob was flinging each guitar wildly into large black garbage bags on his lawn, making each land with a satisfying crunch as the broke into pieces.
Mitchie however, was running her fingers over the light oak guitar left on her doorstep, stopping only to trace her name etched into its wooden frame.
A/N: Once again, a true story, with plenty of embellishments here and there! I really should get started on chapter 12 of eighteen and famous and start resolving that story, but alas, writers block has plagued me again and I do not know what to do except write a one-shot! Do check out my other stories and R&R!
Love, Erin.