I know this might be getting awkward, but come on now. Let me know predictions, whatever you think about it. Lots of love to anyone still reading this.
"Let's get out of here and play. Let's do it."
Tyler was looking out the dark window when he hatched this idea. We'd been reminiscing about our old band days for almost the whole day (well, we woke up at about one in the afternoon, then walked around campus, and we may or may not have pulled a few pranks. It had been a pretty full day). "And go where?" I laughed. "It's not like where we were in Ohio, there's not a ton of places to play."
"Alright, you can't be pissed at me, but I got us a place."
"What?" I said. "How?"
"On my first night in England I found a place and booked us. It's pretty cool, actually. Like a backdoor concert area and bands just come and play, it's pretty free if no one else plays. It's like a party down there."
"No way!" I cheered. "How could I be pissed?"
"I booked before asking you."
"I don't think it could be better!" I cried. I glanced at the clock which read 9:00 P.M. "Well come on, man, let's go, let's do it!" I said, grinning.
I hadn't been to any sort of concert or part in ages, and I figured I was way overdue. This was like an angelic opportunity apppearing golden right before my eyes. Plus, I was already set in my jeans and sweatshirt. I approached the door while Tyler slipped on his shoes. "You're gonna need your guitar, you know." I glared at the sleek black guitar that glinted in my bedroom light, as if it were laughing at me, laughing over the fact that I simply couldn't ignore it forever, I'd have to use it. I slipped it into a case and swung it over my shoulders.
"What about you?" I asked. "How are you gonna play drums?"
"Drums are supplied, guitars aren't," he answered, standing up and heading to the door before stopping to notice my apparel. "Is that your 'concert hoodie'?" he asked skeptically. "England has definitely brought a new style upon you."
"Oh, shut up," I grunted, shoving him out the door.
The place was pretty cool. Tyler and I used public transportation to get to there, and I learned that "there" was locally known as "The Cellar," though it wasn't underground. It was the huge back garage of some abandoned building and it resembled a repair shop garage, though it was larger and didn't have any of the equipment. Instead of the tools and intruments, there was a "stage" (it was cramped and only about three steps off of the ground) in the front and an enormous crowd area where everyone stood. Near the stage were a couple of rooms for bands to settle, and some probably for people who wanted "privacy."
It was definitely a party place. Teenagers and people in their early twenties were bouncing around in time with the current band on the stage. It seemed warm and humid inside, not to mention the somewhat dim lighting cast about the place and music blaring intensely from every which way. It was hard to just navigate towards the front without being shoved about. Needless to say, it was pretty awesome.
When Tyler and I finally made it to the front near the stage, we were covered in various colors of silly string and had several cans of the stuff in our hands which people were apparently just giving out. I dropped them and followed Tyler into one of the rooms where a few different groups were practicing.
"Alright, just in time," he said, examining a sheet on the wall. "We're up next."
"Wait, what?" I asked. "But we don't even know what we're playing! Shit, I've barely played guitar in months, I don't know-"
"Ah, there you guys are," I voice interrupted. I nearly threw my fist through a nearby speaker's screen on pure instinct.
"Roger, you made it!" Tyler greeted him.
"I've been here waiting on you guys, I came early from my shift at the pub. Charlie," he acknowledged.
"Yeah, okay, Tyler, why don't you, uh, come look at this crack in the wall with me, huh?" I said, gripping his arm and pulling him away from the murderer before us.
"Hot damn, someone's pissed!" Tyler grumbled as he massaged the white marks on his arm I'd left him.
"Why is he here?" I hissed.
"He's gonna play with us, and I think you gave me bruises-" Tyler answered.
"Look, this kid is bad news, alright?"
"Bad how? He's pretty cool, you know."
I couldn't just come out and say what happened. I mean, if Tyler knew I was pregnant, that would make things incredibly awkward and different, and I'd just gotent an old friend back. And I didn't want to talk about the island, because that shit was just over and done with.
"He got his best friend super drunk and almost got him fired," I offered.
"Really?" he asked. "Well, I guess we can compare tactics."
"Tyler, seriously, just forget about him, okay?" I pleaded.
"Charlie, look, I normally would if you asked me. But I mean, unless he's done anything to you, we're playing with him; he plays the bass we need. Wait- has he done anything to you? Because I swear, I can pummel that punk into a fine-"
"No," I interrupted sternly. Being a six and a half foot tall giant, Tyler was rather protective of me, like an older brother, but without being an annoying prat. He always did a good job, too, except for this part, when it mattered the most. If I'd told him, he would've killed Roger without a second thought. But again, same reasons for not telling him in the first place. Of course, I could have left. I could have not played at all. But the truth was, I was dying to. It was like a burning sensation in my heart and fingers to play and feel the adrenaline of being onstage and hearing the crowd's buzz over the music. Not to mention it would've been suspcious to Tyler. "Whatever," I said. "Let's figure out what we're playing."
We managed to agree on "Alien" by Pennywise (which apparently even Roger knew, or could get used to) right before being called on stage. With a muttered prayer to whoever was listening, I grabbed my guitar and walked on. While plugging my guitar into the amps, I met Roger doing the same.
"Didn't know you played guitar," Roger said slyly as he untangled the cord.
"I can say the same for you," I muttered.
"That's a rather baggy sweatshirt you've got on there. Aren't you warm?" he asked. I didn't answer, knowing he understood exactly what sweatshirt was hiding. "Oh, just so you know," he added as he finally plugged in his guitar. "I am in choir, so I just might be using the microphone a bit. But don't be intimidated." With a smirk, he marched to his position on stage, and Tyler was ready to go, egging on the roaring crowd. I slipped my guitar on. It didn't fit quite right. With the bump and all, I almost couldn't hold it right.
It wasn't the same.
It wasn't the same.
I finally came on, earning a few extra cheers just for being a girl. I played a practice chord or two before signaling Tyler to count us off.
All at once, we burst out. I felt my hand tremble on the first few notes, my fingers wildly trying to keep up with both the music and months of no practice. I played a few sour notes, but then I felt the energy traveling like electricity through my guitar, up my arm, and it felt just like it always did. I was officially one with the music after only a few measures, completely hypnotized by the sound. It was as if I'd never quit playing since Ohio. The guitar was actually quite the smooth player and seemed to work quite well. Not only did I play guitar, though, I was also the vocalist of our little "band."
Everyday convince myself of everything I can and can't believe.
abused, confused.
Everyday you feel every crime just stare up at the sky and wonder why.
afraid, derranged.
That was all I got by myself. I was entering into the refrain when Roger joined up at the mic, getting way too close for comfort and sang along. Joy.
Hold on to your promise you can use it for a crutch.
I noticed him looking at me under that dark hair of his, through those deep brown eyes, and I hated it.
Stand by while all your dreams get trampled in the dust.
He was getting even closer. I couldn't stand it, listening to the musical voice escape through what seemed like a permanent smirk on his face, that sadistic, sick, crazy face that never left the island, never dropped that spear. Never stopped thinking about what terrible action to do next, knowing that some limits just wouldn't stop him.
Leave now before your slick machines begin to rust.
I suddenly became very aware of how wrong my guitar felt against my stomach. I adjusted it uncomfortably, but it wouldn't go away. That feeling, that bump just wouldn't go away.
Then I backed off the mic for good. I could have stayed, fought my ground, and won, but I just didn't it. I'd never felt any sort of feeling like that before, like stopping. I'd only felt resentment, anger, my fuel for perserverence before. But I just stopped. It could have been tiredness, it could have been nausea, it could have been pregnancy. Roger ended up finishing on his own,
Last chance farewell among us.
The crowd loved it. They simply drank up Roger's voice, his dark and dangerous look for the rest of the song. It was as if I was never at the mic at all. I would have soaked up his voice, too, but you know, loveless rape is kind of a turn off for that sort of thing for me. After we ended, I just walked off the stage with hardly another look at the crowd. I unplugged my guitar and walked into the "practice room" as I was now describing it. I slipped my guitar into its case and swung it on my back. Tyler followed and praised me with, "Charlie, that was incredible! No practice hardly even changed how you play!"
"Yeah, well, thanks-"
"And Roger!" Tyler cried when he walked in. "Dude, that was wicked! I didn't know you sang like that!"
"Thanks, mate," Roger said. He met my eyes and said, "Didn't mean to scare Charlie away from the mic, though."
"Yeah," I muttered. "Well, I'm gonna go find water."
I walked out of the room and into the main room where the crowd was bouncing wildly. Near the entrance was a group of people near a cooler. I reached in and grabbed a few water bottles. When I turned around, Roger was hardly half a foot away from me.
"Jesus christ!" I shouted, scared shitless. He took a bottle from my hand and uncapped it for himself. "Nice job out there," he said, eyeing me up and down. I could never get over how freakish this guy was.
"Whatever happened to quiet Roger from the island?" I grumbled. "You've grown to be quite obnoxious."
"It's not like I'm quiet all the time. I like to speak my mind."
"Yeah, I noticed." I glared and headed back to the practice room, as long as it was away from Roger. I attempted to go along the wall and around the crowd, seeing as how it was the clearest path. "I haven't seen you in a while," Roger said, keeping pace with me. "We've got a lot to catch up on."
"How is it that you're not in juvie yet?" I growled. He slipped in front of me and blocked me from going any further.
"I don't know, how is that, hm?" he said. Before I could say anything, he mentioned, "You know, you really don't even look pregnant in that sweatshirt of yours."
"That's the point," I answered impatiently, trying to push my way past him. Instead, he grabbed my arm and started tugging me towards a supply closet just next to us. My reflexes kicked in, and my arm swung (water bottle still in hand, might I add) but Roger apparently already knew this trick and ducked. He pushed me into the closet before I could send a kick or anything of that sort his way. He glanced around before stepping into the closet as well and shutting the door.
"The fuck?" I cried. I tried to push past Roger, but the closet wasn't wide enough to get past and he blocked me easily.
"Come on Charlie," he whispered, gripping his hands hand on my waist. "For old times sake."
"I'm pregnant, you jackass!" I shouted. I dropped the bottles and wrestled in every way to loosen his grip. His hands seemed glued to me. That was, until I sent a punch across his face. Hard. He sure did let go after that. It was a success as he groaned in pain, but he quickly straightened up and and punched me as well, right in the eye. Yup, that's right, he punched a pregnant chick. Seeing this as my opportunity, I was able to slip under his arm and past him, through the closet door.