Disclaimer: These are my original thoughts, combined with my brilliant boyfriend. We make a pretty sweet story together. Also, throughout the story, there will be two different perspectives. I'll do my best to let you know when characters POV change.
So, I sat there, tuning my bass. Looking around at the half-sober crowd and glanced downward quickly at my strings. My baby glistened in the shitty lighting of the bar. The fog of smoke was overwhelming and was thick, even on stage. People sat around at tables drinking their shitty water-downed beer, complaining about their shitty, uninteresting lives. For a moment, I felt sorry for them. I was once them. Hanging at bars with my shitty friends who just used me for my connections. Junkies. All of them. Every single one of the poor bastards. Shooting themselves up till they couldn't even remember how to think and breathe. Crawling into their hysterical worlds of pure imagination and fake feelings. Lovely people, really.
My guitar was in tune now. I looked down at it again, thinking of how the strings felt against my fingers, it was so… natural, and how the music came to me and my band. I was also thinking about our lead guitarist… Brilliant when it came to music… Unreliable band member and friend… It was ten minutes till we played and I was not going to have Pheint Hearted be embarrassed again. This was my band, and if he didn't show up again, he was out. I smiled thinking about the band's name… it was my name. Most people thought it was just clever, or that we were just completely retarded. But we weren't.
5 minutes… Where the hell was he…?
I looked up quickly at our lead singer… God, she was fine. Her newly white hair made her look even more mythical. Maybe not mythical, but something not real. She looked at me with a sort of giddiness behind all that eye liner. If Blaine showed up, this was going to be a great show.
3 minutes… Yup, he's out. Screw him. Fuckin' Blaine.
I peered into the crowd again. Examining those who I could make out behind the dense fog. The usual Goths and wannabes showed up. Some were punks. Some were just people wearing band tees, trying to fit in.
A woman, to the side of the stage, caught my attention. She had an even gaze, meeting mine. She looked like she belonged here, but at the same time… She didn't. She was, stunning. Even more so than Lisa, my singer. Her hair ran straight and long, almost red but darker, down to the middle of her back. Her eyes were a dark color… Nearly black… There was an intensity about her I didn't understand, but she was definitely examining me. It made me a little uneasy, the way she didn't blink or look at all ashamed that she knew I was watching her. Her eyes got a little wide after what seemed like a year and then- WHAM!!
"Dude, WHAT THE HELL!? You told me 8:30, dude. What the hell, what the hell!?" Blaine declared as he slapped me hard on the back. I looked at him with a type of disappointed relief. His guitar was on his back, he looked ragged, as usual, and wild. His brown hair rolled into dreds and he wore his usual bandana across his forehead. His eyes were a dull blue that were wide with fear. He knew as much as I did what was on the line here.
"No… I told you 8 to 8:30 was our slot. You just heard the 8:30 part of it… anyways. You tuned?"
He nodded his head, "When is Valerie ever out of tune?" he motioned to his guitar lovingly, and had cooed the name of it.
I shrugged and turned to the band as Blaine started hooking himself up to his amp. "Well guys… We're up!"
The first chords of "Watch Them" rang as Lisa's mighty and ragged voice belted out the lyrics. I was in the mode. My fingers were automatic, I watched them as my body swayed and my I shook my head along with the lyrics. Amazing. The adrenaline rush was exactly what I needed. Blaine, of course, had the most energy as his hands moved rapidly up and down his beloved Valerie, coaxing the crowd to get up and move, take some of his energy and turn it into a pit before us. We didn't really stop as we moved from song to song… Lisa cracked a smart ass remark about the energy in the room between some lyrics. She was good at getting the crowd jazzed. Guys thought she was hott, girls thought she was hott. She was persuasive and she knew it.
I looked up. And there she still sat. The long haired, elegant one… She didn't show any sort of emotion as we played. It distracted me… We only had two more songs and I fully intended on talking to her afterwards, if I could find her in the ever-growing smoke cloud of nicotine, tar and weed.
"I was… such a bitch,
You were such a JERK,
I know that life moves on…
But we can't cheat ourselves forever…"
The last words of our most popular song rang and Blaine, Brett and I finished off with drums and guitars. The crowd screamed and applauded as we finished. Some yelling things that I'm sure were influenced by more than mere cheap-ass beer.
Triumphant. Now, to find that chick. I packed up quickly, congratulated everyone and left the backstage area.
She had moved. The table she had sat at earlier was empty. I looked around as far as I possibly could then I saw her. She was heading out the door. I started moving through the still enthusiastic crowd as fast I could. I got to the door and greeted the cold night air. I looked around and there was no sight of her. "Damn it…" I hissed as I propped myself up against the old brick building. The settle wind moved across me slowly. It felt good. I was hot and sweaty from being under those damn lights. It was nice to be in the quiet and warm summer air. I breathed slowly and closed my eyes… I could've fallen asleep it was so nice.
"Aiden Pheint!"
I opened my eyes reluctantly in the direction of the voice. Oh, wonderful… It was Steven. He owned the bar. He smiled as he shook my hand, "Hello, Steven."
"Great show, great show. Big crowd," he beamed up at me.
I nodded my head in agreement and smiled. It had been a successful show.
"I have an offer for you," he continued.
My eyebrows went up, "Continue Mr. McReynolds," I allowed. Offers were good for my band. Any type.
"Well, we both know this evening was extremely successful, and I'd like to make you a regular appearance at my little bar. How about once or twice a month? You get the money for performing, the exposure, the new fans. I get some money, well, quite a bit of money, and the honor of doing business with you," he explained. He was a good at kissing ass.
I debated for half a minute… This was MY band… I made the choices. I'm sure everyone would love to be regulars here. It would keep us making new music and staying focused on us. I liked that. Blaine could use some focus. On the other hand, besides practice, I wasn't sure about the schedules of the other members.
"Well, that sounds great, Steve. I just have to check with the other members. But go ahead and put us up two weeks from now. We'd love to do another show."
Steve looked pleased enough with this, "Alright, I'll expect to be in contact with you soon Mr. Pheint."
"Pleasure, sir," I said and shook hands with him again, "I'll be in touch soon."
