Hello readers! This is going to be a short little one shot. I've decided that I'm way better at doing a one shot than a story where I feel like I have to post seventeen billion chapters. (: for now, this will remain a one shot, unless I decide in the future to make it longer. I dunno yet. Anyway! Enjoy this little ficlet!
The cool London air burned against my face where the stage lights had just previously been, causing me to gasp slightly from the harsh contact. Acoustic guitar in hand, I slammed the pub door closed and sunk to the ground, a rough hand running through my once attractive hair. My hair used to be neatly un-neat, the rocker look of 'I just woke up and my hair seems to be perfect' that most boys pined after. I seemed to have come across it naturally. But all I could do now was get up in the morning and hope that I didn't have a nervous breakdown; they seemed to happen more often than I wanted.
For the first time in my life, I had just been booed off a stage, I didn't know what was wrong with me. When I thought I had my 'sound' figured out, some crummy music producer would decide to tell me that it wasn't rough enough or wasn't real. You know the sound I'm talking about, those heart breaking songs about how stupid love was or how I had once been in love. They're never true. No matter how attached someone may get to a song that they think 'speaks' to them because they'd been through the same thing once is just a bag of complete bullshit. Rocker boys don't write love songs about actual love experiences. They write songs that they think girls have been through so that they'll get more money and more fans.
I couldn't think. The blood was pounding so hard in head that I couldn't even hear the taxis, the people talking, or the manager of the pub telling me to come back in so I cold get my pay check that would barely get me a meal and a brew. I sighed as I stood up, wiping my sweaty face with the back of my hand. I knew the guy expected me to come back in, but there was no way I'd be able to even be inside the place that was full of Robbie hating non-fans. Turns out, not too many people are fond of a twenty two year old guy screaming profanity into the microphone because he was too drunk to control himself.
I looked at the balding, fat man standing in the door way, yelling at me to hurry up, and I chuckled. It was the closest I'd gotten to a laugh in a while. I gave him a nice little salute and turned away from the pub, staring at the people holding onto each other as they stumbled along the sidewalk. I didn't even turn back to get my jacket that was inside the pub at the table where my ex-girlfriend sat. I knew Georgia would be pissed at me; yet again I had broken another promise. I guess she doesn't like the fact the she was in love with a no college degree struggling musician. At the thought of Georgia, a smile crossed my lips. I was finally free.
No more hearing her complain about the girls that surrounded me constantly or the fact that I would come to her dorm wasted off my ass to fool around. I could do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. She was too young for me anyway. Maybe she'd be useful for one thing and help give me the inspiration for a crappy love song about what not to look for in a girl. I know some teeny bopper fan girls might like that. The thing that confused me was how I put up with her for so long. She wasn't pretty; what she lacked in the looks category, she made up for in the annoying, jealous, obsessed, and whiny categories. She was, after all, a crazy-in-love college freshie. All I knew was that I no longer had to think about her ever again. The only thing I wondered about was that I had broke up with her right before I went on stage. Was it a coincidence or major attack of karma that made me suck horribly?
It was getting way too cold out, even for a naturally warm person like me. I wrapped my free hand around the top of my other arm; the thin sort-sleeved t-shirt I was wearing blocked very little of the wind that was whipping through the city streets. Pieces of my dark hair were poking into my eyes, adding to my current irritation. My pace had gone from a slow, blissful stride to a quick walk; I was thinking that if I moved faster that not only would I get home quicker, I would also get warmer. It was working slightly when I had picked up my pace to a semi-slow jog that I heard a soft female voice.
I listened intensely, trying to find out where the singing was coming from. I looked all around the street I was walking on and saw nothing. The low street lights cast shadows onto the black road while I peeled my ears for the voice; it had gotten louder, so I must have been close. I looked in alleyways I passed and still saw nothing. I didn't know what I was doing. Why in the world was I searching after a singing girl that could possibly be a loony bird?
Because it reminds you of why you love music, the voice in the back of my head responded. I shook my head, trying to clear all my thoughts when I saw a figure sitting on a bench. Immediately, I knew it was her that was singing, the voice had gotten louder and I saw a guitar in her hands. A veil of hair was covering her face, and before I could stop myself, I had begun stumbling towards her, entranced by he lovely music. I guess she heard my loud footsteps because she looked up after I had walked about two feet closer to her.
She had a pointed face, red hair that was all choppy and long-ish, and a pair of the prettiest green eyes I'd ever seen. The light from the street lamps shone onto her face, not only making her eyes seem even more beautiful, but pointed out the lip ring on her lower lip. I couldn't understand how she was sitting in the cold wearing nothing but a leather jacket, t-shirt and blue jeans. But she sat playing as if the cold didn't faze her and she glanced at my face. A smile spread onto her face, her eyes intoxicating my mind, causing me to smile back in return. The girl gently pat the bench seat next to her, indicating me to sit down. Not that I complained any. It had been way too long that I had felt guilty for looking at other girls like I was looking at her. Yet I stayed put where I was standing.
"Hey," she said, her emerald eyes twinkling, "you can come sit, if you'd like. It's awful lonely by myself." I looked at her feet, an open guitar case sat holding a couple dollars of loose change. I pulled a crumpled dollar bill out of pocket and walked over to the bench, throwing it into her case. She looked at it and stopped playing.
"You know, you could buy me a drink with that dollar instead," she said, a smirk playing on her lips. She reached into the bag next to her, pulled out a lighter and a cigarette, and blew a small cloud of smoke into the air. I smirked. We're more similar than I had expected us to be. The closer I got to her, the more I could see about her. The freckles on her nose, the dove tattoo on the side of neck. I laughed shortly and stretched my hand out.
"I'm Robbie," I said slowly. It was the first time I'd talked to a pretty girl without thinking about making Georgia mad; my voice sounded weird. She smiled. God, did she have a beautiful smile.
"Macy," she replied and placed her cool hand in mine. We shook, not breaking eye contact. "With all this money I've made tonight," she laughed, "I could maybe buy us both a McDonalds meal."
"Are you seriously willing to go out to eat with a guy that you know nothing about?" I asked, surprised.
"For one, I know that your name is Robbie, so I do know something. Two, it's not anywhere nice, it's just the Mickey D's around the corner. And three, you don't look like a rapist and you're cute, so I'm willing to take my chances." With a wink, she grabbed the little bit of money out of her case, placed her guitar in it, took my hand, and we walked in the opposite direction I was originally headed.
I stared at her as we walked, astonished that she was so straight-forward. Not that it was a bad thing! Just… different. The sun was slowly beginning to rise; I had no idea how late/early it actually was. Our hands hung loosely between us, her hand was so small and fit into mine with ease. Macy rambled on about something or another and, after many years of practice of ignoring Georgia, I knew when to nod or say 'yeah' or something along those lines.
"Are you even listening, Robbie?" she questioned, a smile on her lips. I chuckled out of embarrassment.
"Honestly? No. Has anyone ever told you that your eyes are stunning?" I asked, not really thinking before I said anything. She bit her lip.
"Well, now you have, and that's all that matters at this moment." My heart almost flew out my body when she looked at me after she said that. Macy's tiny fingers wrapped tighter around mine, and I knew that this was no Georgia that I would be eating a hamburger with.
I had been playing my guitar for about half an hour when I saw the most beautiful eyes in the world. They were the blue you expect to find in the crayon box, the shade of blue perfection. It took me by surprise; I don't normally see attractive guys walking around by themselves at this time of night. Normally they have some slaggy looking girlfriend clinging onto them like glue.
He looked cold. A gray t-shirt was attached to his skin by sweat and his hair was sticking up awkwardly in places, but it was cute. He looked completely exhausted, black circles under his eyes. the only part on him that didn't look like it was in pain was his smile. The boy's eyes seemed locked onto my face while mine were locked onto his smile. His teeth were perfect, happiness seemed to be oozing out of his mouth as he looked at me. I wanted to talk to him, get him to know me, I wanted to understand him. He was beautiful. I pat the wooden bench with one of my hands, I wanted him to be near me as soon as possible. My teeth lightly tugged on my lip ring, a nervous habit I wanted to break along with my smoking.
"Hey, you can come sit, if you'd like. It's awful lonely by myself." I smiled to him, waiting for him to come sit. The more time that passed by, the more impatient I became. The boy reached into his pocket and got out a wrinkled dollar bill, then threw it into my case. I stared at it and smirked. "You know, you could buy me a drink with that dollar instead," I said and got out a cigarette. It'd been a while since I last smoked.
"I'm Robbie," he said suddenly, causing me to smile. I took his outstretched hand and shook it lightly.
"Macy," I said, looking into his pools for eyes. "With all this money I've made tonight," I said laughing, "I could maybe buy us both a McDonalds meal." I didn't want to freak this guy out. I just wanted to get to know him. God, he was gorgeous.
"Are you seriously willing to go out to eat with a guy that you know nothing about?" he asked, a surprised look appearing on his face.
"For one, I know that your name is Robbie, so I do know something. Two, it's not anywhere nice, it's just the Mickey D's around the corner. And three, you don't look like a rapist and you're cute, so I'm willing to take my chances." I winked at him without thinking and grabbed all the money out of my guitar case. I put my guitar into the case and took Robbie's hand, surprised at how rough it was. The calluses rubbed against my finger tips and I smiled.
I could tell that he wasn't listening to me. I could feel his eyes on me as we walked the block or so to McDonald's, but I didn't mind one bit. I wasn't even talking about anything important; i was talking about my music and such. Nothing major.
"Are you even listening, Robbie?" I asked him, smirking. He blushed a bit and chuckled. Aww, I made him embarrassed. Whoops. It's a good thing he's completely adorable when he get embarrassed.
"Honestly? No. Has anyone ever told you that your eyes are stunning?" he asked out of nowhere. I bit my lip shyly. No one of importance had ever told me that before, no.
"Well, now you have, and that's all that matters at this moment." I said as I wrapped my fingers tightly around his. Robbie took a deep breath and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, our hands still intertwined.
"You know, if I hadn't completely sucked at the pub I just played at, I would have never met you," he thought out loud and I laid my head onto his shoulder.
"How lucky am I that you suck?" I asked his smartly, earning a small kick on the butt from his foot. "For just meeting you, I feel good." I smiled as he opened the door to the resturaunt.
"I feel the same," he said blushing as we walked up to the cashier to order our food. We quickly ordered and had a small fight over who was paying (he ended up winning that argument) then chose a small booth to sit at. Robbie grabbed a fry and shoved it into his mouth, like he hadn't eaten in days.
"Hungry much?" I asked sarcastically and threw a small fry end at his face. It bounced off his forehead and landed in the small cup of ketchup we had gotten. I chuckled and he threw a different fry at me. And The Fry War had begun. We spent a good five minutes throwing fries (ketchuped and non-ketchuped) at each other, laugh hysterically in the process. After we ran out of fries, we obviously stopped, not having enough money to buy more.
We sat in that booth for a couple of hours, watching all the business men and women coming in at six in the morning to order a coffee and a hashbrown, holding hands the whole time. As he went and refilled our sodas for the fourth time that morning, I watched as he mixed my Sprite, Coca-Cola, and Dr. Pepper together the exact way I liked it. I smiled as he sat back down.
"What? Is there something on my face?" he asked with fake concern as he put my drink in front of me.
"Your eyes are stunning, too. The blue is perfect." I said, taking a long gulp from my drink. He placed a hand on my cheek, stroking back a piece of hair that had fallen into my eyes.
"Well then, I guess we're a perfect match."
Robbie and Macy stayed together for four years before they got married in the fall. Georgia didn't attend the wedding, but became the president of Robbie's official fan club. Robbie and Macy became the new Sonny and Cher (so to speak) having numerous hit singles until she became pregnant. Robbie continued to make music to keep their twins, Nate and Iveigh, from having to live on the streets. His most popular songs were the ones he'd written for Macy. Turns out, rock stars really do write real love songs from the heart.
R&R por favor y gracias!