Sorry it took so long to update, i've just had so much shit going on: testing, a shitload of homework, two papers for school, and then I went to St louis ! School lets out Thursday so I'll have more time to write. Enjoy !
Disclaimer : I do not own Four Brothers, We Stitch These Wounds by Black Veil Brides, or Fake Tales Of San Francisco by Arctic Monkeys
Fake Tales of San Francisco
Echo through the air
And there's a few bored faces in the back
All wishing they weren't there
And as the microphone squeaks
A young girl's telephone beeps
Yeah she's dashing for the exit
And she's running to the streets outside
"Oh you've saved me," she screams down the line
"The band were fucking wank
And I'm not having a nice time."
Jack
Jack's long, calloused fingers strum the first chord and adrenaline surges trough his veins. The chanting crowd, the tune from the four musicians, and Ronnie's deep vocals meld into one beautiful sound and Jack is home. In every shitty foster home melodies of emotion and resistance became his anthem. Music gave him the strength to face the day, the audacity to rebel, and the will to live. The Les Paul in his hands was Jack's salvation. Before he had a home that damn guitar had been his only family.
Screaming from fans only fueled his high. Jack smoke, drank a little, and had dabbled around with drugs a few times, but he never got the same pure rush of ecstasy he experienced when he picked up Sasha. The only thing that existed that very first moment Jack touched her was the two of them and the sweet sound of Fifteen Fathoms Counting that danced off her strings as he caressed Sasha's smooth strings. Jack had never been in love and honestly, didn't believe in the whole love at first sight bullshit despite what he told girls, but if it did, he was pretty fucking sure that's how it'd feel. As far as he was concerned he had to have her even though the price tag begged to differ, but he was a Mercer and, well, when was the last time the Mercer boys were described as "law abiding citizens". That's how Sasha came to him; Jack sweet talked Sasha, the sales clerk at the time, stole the Les Paul, and named it after her. He got shit from his ma about it, but standing here, his hands dashing across the strings, made it all worth it.
Jack joined in on the chorus to the Black Veil Brides cover of "We Stitch These Wounds", then Ronnie belted out the second verse, "I think of it every time I touch you, every time I hear his name, I never let the fucking walls down, for all of this you are to blame." Jack spotted a gorgeous blond in front swaying her hips and running her hands up and down her body, all the while locking eyes with the lead guitarist, "Jack." The mystery girl calls to Jack, beckoning him forward and he complies.
"Jack! Jack Mercer! Honestly, the way you children act these days is just appalling." Jack woke up, not to the hot, curvaceous, blond but to his controlling, pain in the ass History teacher, Mrs. Eberheart. "As I was saying, Mr. Mercer, I would like you and Miss Elliott to pair up and discuss the views of both the north and south that ultimately led to the start of the Civil War. And I would appreciate it if you would quit falling asleep in my class."
"Yes, Mrs. Eberheart." Jack mumbled as she marched away. Mat had already taken the desk in front of Jack's and turned it around so she could face him.
"She can't really blame you for falling asleep. I mean, it's-" Looking at the digital clock on the wall. "-7:42 am and she's boring as fuck. Her voice alone makes me want to shoot myself. So, did you have a nice nap, Princess?"
"Fan-fucking-tastic. At least until this old bitch went and fucking woke me up. It was a good fucking dream too; my band was playing at the Mad Hatter and this hot blond there, was-"
"Jackie, I don't need to hear about your wet dream. Do you really have a band?"
"Yeah, the Spares. We've got a gig tonight, it's not quite the Mad Hatter, but not too fucking shabby. You should check us out, there'll plenty of booze and we still have shit to talk about. You ran off so quick last night we didn't get to talk about anything, but my shit and I don't know a damn thing about you."
"Right, well, we'll just have to fix that then, won't we? My full name is Amata Clare Elliott, I gave it to myself when I got to the orphanage. The nuns helped me through my confirmation and part of that is to pick a saint and I chose St. Amata of Assisi. She was an atheist or pagan or something, then some how her aunt, St. Elizabeth converted her to Catholicism and she joined the Poor Clares, a convent started by her aunts. Then Elliott comes from Elijah which means "my God is Yahweh" in Hebrew and since I'd started with the religious theme I thought I'd stick with it, plus my initials spell ACE and that's just fucking awesome.
"My legal name is Andrea Carson Emery; it spells ACE too and that's about the extent of my mother's parenting which says a lot. I hated her so fucking much. I don't want anything from her; the name she gave me included. So, do we know each other enough yet to have a normal conversation?"
"Not even close. I described how I was raped and abused by a sack of shit, you told me your fucking name. Tell me about your mom."
"Amy? God, even calling her mom makes me wanna puke. Well, she was a hooker and a shit mother. I have no fucking idea who my daddy is and I don't give a shit who the dickhead is anyway. Amy, ran away from home when she was 13, 'cause she was "in love", then had me two years later. She was a junkie, couldn't stay clean for shit, not even for her own goddamn child. Not like I'm much better; I'm addicted to crank, heroine, pot, alcohol, and ecstasy, thanks to mommy dearest. Monkey see monkey do, huh? I'm also rather fond of inhalants but I can't blame that one on Amy. I don't think I can ever quit." Mat's face transforms from a mask of sarcasm to one of disgust, in what Jack didn't know. "There are some sick fucks out there, Jackie, I don't need to tell you that. Amy knew too, so she used it to her advantage. S-she would-" BRRIING! "Damn, saved by the bell. Maybe later, Jackie."
"I'm gonna hold you to that, Ace." Mat grins up at Jack, He gets it.
Mat
Gym passed semi-painlessly, and Mat was already making her way down the cafeteria line with a tray full of burnt shit and moldy milk-yum! Mat's eyes scan the diverse high school crowd in search of Jack.
Let's see: Jocks, Goths, Emos, Cheerleaders, Nerds, ah ha! Passing a few giggling sluts and half a dozen gushing fan girls, Mat finally reached Jack's table and sat diagonal to the boy.
"Hey, Ace." God, she loved that name-Ace. "Guys this is Mat, Mat this is Chris, Drew, Ronnie, and Jordan, my band mates." There was a mixture of hey's, whats up's, nods, and grins in her direction.
"So, are you coming to our gig?" The guy she assumed was Ronnie was tall and well built with dark hair and bright eyes; the gene pool had definitely been good to him. With looks like that and a deep, sensual voice, he had to be the front man for the Spares.
"Yeah, of course." Mat tried to lay back and get a feel for the guys before she got to comfortable.
"Sweet! This is only our third gig-we just started-and we don't have many fans, yet. Your friend, here-" Drew motions across the table to Jack. "-has been scaring all the ladies a way." Drew seemed like a good guy that just loved to joke and have fun. He looked a little more punk rock than the others who simply looked desheaveled.
"Fuck no! Girls love a guitar player, especially a fuck up. They like to think they can fix me or some shit like that by showing me 'true love and affection.' I don't care what they call it as long as I get some fucking pussy. Chicks don't fuck bass players unless the singer and guitar players are all ready taken."
"Why don't we ask Mat? Guitar or bass, Sweetheart?" Ronnie interjects, shifting his gaze from the bickering boys to Mat. Sweetheart? Ronnie was a sweat talker-definatly the lead singer.
"Hm, well, bass players do have big hands, and you know what big hands mean. But guitars do more on stage and, Jack's right, a fucked up guy is hot as hell." Mat took a bite of her cheeseburger and mulled over the two choices, silently debating the pros and cons. "Sorry, Jackie, but I'm gonna have to go with big hands on this one"
"Did you hear that, Mercer? The bass is hotter. Hell fucking yes!" Drew jumps out of his seat, throwing his hands triumphantly in the air.
"Sit your ass down, dumb shit."Chris pulls Drew to his vacant seat with one hand. He's thicker than the others; not fat but just a little squishy with a shitload of strength in those muscles. He's tall and was the only one with short hair. Drummer, I suppose.
"Y'all are such stupid fucks. All y'all can talk about is banging girls. Can't you see we have a lady at the table?" Jordan had a bit of a country twang in his voice, from Tennesse or Kentucky perhaps. He has long, black hair and a genuine smile spread from ear to ear.
Damn it, I like these boys.
Mat pushed open the heavy oak door and began soaking in her surroundings. Smoke, the sweet scent of marijuana, Budweiser, and musk tickled her nose as she was swallowed up by the sweaty, buzzed crowd. To the left of the door mat had just entered was a stage set up with drums, three microphones, and two amps on either side of the drums. A punk band steps out and a 19 year old with a baby Mohawk and fingerless, skeleton gloves takes the center mic, "We are The Forgotten!" The Forgotten jumped into an insane guitar riff then lyrics about teen angst flew over the crowd. Girls too drunk to see straight hurried to the stage dragging along some horny bastard.
Turning away from The Forgotten, Mat navigated her way through the crowd until her hands felt the cool grain of the bar. Whiskey and vodka mingle in Mat's nostrils and an over whelming sense of security washes over standard drink since arriving a Seton was vodka; it gets the job done without leaving any noticeable evidence for the nuns. Damn, I need a real drink. Fuck it.
Mat flags down the bartender, "One Flaming Dr. Pepper."
The burly man's ice blue eyes glance up and down her body, with his head cocked to the left and one brow raised he responses, "Aren't you a little young to be in a bar?"
"Do you honestly give a shit about my age?"
He checks Mat out again then whips out a shot glass, mixing in Amaretto and a little bit of bourbon. The bartender lights the shot glass and an intoxicating blue flame slowly burns. As Mat downs the liquid fire, that weak and pathetic drunk she left locked inside escapes her rusted cage and breaks down Mat's fragile will power. An uncquenchable thirst is awakened within and Mat orders three more shots and two glasses of bourbon. Mat is sipping her way through her scotch when the Spares take the stage.
Jack doesn't hesitate for introductions, instead dives into a kick ass guitar solo soon joined by Chris, Drew, then Jordan. Ronnie's smooth voice sang the generic rockstar lyrics all about girls with big ole boobies and legs spread wide open. Despite the lack of originality in the lyrics, the music is amazing and the Spares receive a whirlwind of encouragement. The bar is full of screaming girls, half-assed, drunken attempts at singing along, bodies flinging into one another, and a girl that reminded Mat of the girl from the song lifted up her crimson beater and removed the tanned index finger dangling from her mouth to blow Jack a kiss. I swear to God, if she had walked in with a bra on, then it would be slung across Jackie's shoulders by now.
Mat ordered two shots of tequila then leaned back on the stained oak bar to watch Jack thrust his heart and soul into the next song. Jack was standing to the right of Ronnie with his foot on the amp in front of him, banging his head as his fingers dance across the strings. the music that blared out of the amp wasn't the amateur clash of a kid trying to show off, but the experienced melody of a passionate artist. He was amazing.
Jack
Jack played the last few notes of their final song for the night then took off the guitar slung across his shoulder. Jack squints into the bright lights to see a curvaceous shilouette strut in his direction. She got close enough for Jack to make out long blond hair, three inch heels, and a gorgeous pair of double D's. The mystery girl presses her body against Jack's and gazes up at him with sultry green eyes.
"I'm Destiny."
"I bet you are." Jack places his right hand low on Destiny's back, three of his fingers brushing her ass, and held her tighter. "Jack." He stuck Sasha out to block Drew's exit off stage. A mischievous grin spreads across Drew's face and he takes the extended guitar, but not without a few lewd gestures.
Jack's other arm snakes around Destiny's waist and, with a seductive lick of her lips, "Wanna go some where a little more private?"
"Lead the way." With Jack's right arm still wrapped around Destiny's waist, they exit through the back into the alleyway.
Jack pushes Destiny against the brick wall and places both of his hands on either side of Destiny's head as her lips seek out Jack's in the dark. Their mouths mesh together and their tongues collide. Jack's hands slide of the wall and onto the warm body in front of him, exploring all her curves. Destiny weaves her manicured hand through Jack's sweaty blond hair. Jack tugs at the thin red cloth and he slips them beneath feeling her smooth stomach. Jack ventures further north and a small moan escapes her lips, which move down to Jack's neck. She kisses a line down his throat then glides her tongue up to Jack's ear lobe.
"I'm gonna make you love me in fifteen minutes-" Destiny's hand moves to the place between Jack's thighs. "-or less."
Destiny slides her hands down Jack's body as she gets on her knees...
Mat
Mat watches as Jack enters the building with the blond girl on his arm. She gives him a deep kiss then murmurs something in his ear that conjures a devious grin from Jack. He replies, gives her another kiss then stares after her as she walks away. Jack wanders to the bar with that stupid smirk still on his face. Asshole.
"So, Jackie poo, how was your groupie whore?" Mat swallows a gulp of beer. "God, that's disgusting." She takes another swig and hands the bottle to Jack who does the same.
"Amazing." Another long drink.
"Hey, Frankie. Frank!"
The bartender makes his way towards Mat. "What can I get ya now, hon?"
"Two glasses of Jack; one for me and one for Jackie poo." Mat slurs, punctuating her words with drunken laughter.
"Babe, I'm not giving you anymore booze. You're too fucked up, I don't need that on my conscience." Frank turns to Jack. "Walk her home."
I know this was long over due but I think I did a damn good job. I'm excited about this story, I have big plans for future chapters-hella drama. So please review and if you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them. Also, thanks to TearsXsolitude for reading and reviewing!