"Hello, daddy! Hello, mom, I'm your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb!" Bryn twirls the microphone cord through her fingers. Angry drums and guitar riffs thundered over her shoulder. "Hello world, I'm your wild girl! I'm your ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb!" She winds the cable around her ankles and watches her bassist rip her fingers across cords.

"Bryn," Harper calls, descending the creaking stairs of the basement. No one really came down here except for Bryn and her band, The Heartbreakers. So they never really bothered to fix the squeaks in the stairs because Bryn often said she didn't want them repaired because it brought back memories. Like the stairs meant something to her.

Memories was code for getting drunk, falling down the stairs, and rendering an opening in the wall with a stiletto heel. You would think this only happened once but it hasn't. This memory has repeated itself many, many times.

It gave the technician a good laugh.

"Stone age love and strange sounds, too. Come on, baby, let me get to you! Bad nights causin' teenage blues. Get down ladies you've got –" Before Bryn could finish, Harper went over and unplugged her guitarist's amp. The boisterous notes became lifeless. Bryn went to uncoil the wire from her legs and turn to Harper with rutted brows.

"What the hell, Harper?" his sister demands and lowers her mike to the floor. "We're practicing."

The drummer rises from behind her drum-kit, setting down her drumsticks. "Yeah, man," the girl agrees, deep-set green eyes pooling with mild anger. "Totally uncool. We were working on a demo to send to Blackheart Records and you totally fucked it up."

Of course, Joan Jett's record company.

Harper turns to her and drops the amplifier. "Sorry," he apologizes with little sincerity. "but I had to get my sister's attention. Do you three mind leaving for a few? I'd like to speak to my sister alone."

The guitarist grins toothily at Harper. "Sure! We won't stop ya."

Harper smiled gratefully at the girl. "Thanks, Lina."

The others left in silence, leaving Harper and Bryn alone. This gave her anxiety. Whenever he wanted to talk to her alone always meant she'd done something wrong. Breaking their neighbor's window, accidentally setting a dishtowel on fire. He would definitely bring up the stubbing of her cigarette on Tinsley's shoulder any second now.

"Bryn," he begins, flecking question like darts. "did you do something to Tinsley?"

Bryn blinks and seethes invisibly.

The bitch ratted her out.

"No." Bryn advises. She was a wonderful liar. But sometimes, Harper could see through her façade. Her lies varied from bad report cards to parking tickets that she charged to their father's Visa. "Why would I do something to her? I barely know her."

Harper taps his sneaker sole on the carpet. "You tend to do things to girls I bring home and she even told me you did something peculiar."

"And you believe her?" she quips, reaching for a cigarette in her time of need. "Thanks a lot, Harper. Take her side when you've only known her twenty minutes and me your whole life."

Before she could have a chance to light, he took it out of her mouth and tossed it into a wastebasket, his aim unusually off. "Tell me the truth, Bryn. I know you." He ignores her previous comment but by his scowl, it was obvious he'd heard it. "Come on. What is it?"

She surrenders despite herself. Cat and mouse was only fun for so long. "Fine, I stubbed my cigarette on her shoulder. No harm, no foul."

"Bryn!" Harper scolds, breaking the distance between them and grabbing her shoulders steadfastly. "How could you? You weren't supposed to do something like that! She could've gotten hurt!"

Bryn knowingly smirks. "But she didn't."

Harper sighs, knocks her cigarettes off a loudspeaker, and glares at her. A smirk falls to his face, something she prized. He looked so much like her with it. "You know what? You aren't going to play at Rodney's tonight or for the next three weeks. I'm tired of you disobeying everything I say. I'm grounding you."

Bryn blinks and curses him under her breath. "You can't do that, Harper! We spent weeks – even, months trying to get booked there! Only Dad can ground me! You can't!" She was desperate. She almost considered getting down on her knees and begging.

No. Joan or Lita Ford would never so neither would she.

"I can do that." Harper advises, smirk vanishing. "I'm older and you still need discipline. Go tell your band you can't go. I'm sure they can find a replacement."

Bryn felt her vision blur and her eyes flood with tears. "I hate you!" she howls, shaking off his hands and startling away. "I hate you so much! Just get out!" She felt tears drip off her chin. At her words, Harper frowns but leaves the room.

Her bandmates came back to Bryn, tears of fury searing her face and her chest pumping. Her bassist, Floria, pats her shoulders and hugs her. "It's okay, little rock. If you can't go, we won't go." She combs sweat-matted hair off Bryn's forehead with her fingers and smiles. "don't freak over it."

Bryn wipes her tears. "No." she replies, senses reoccurring and the heaviness of her heart popping adrenaline in her veins. "I'm going whether or not he lets me. This is the night of our lives!" They cheer and she reclaims her cigarettes. Floria hands her a lighter and Bryn lights, exhaling her plans.

"Flor, lemme borrow your hair dye, okay?" Bryn asks, a devious smile crossing her face. "It'll surely go to good use."

X

Harper saunters through the threshold, hands in his pockets. What had he done? He'd casually argue with Bryn over little things but she never said she hated him. She'd always say she was too cool for hate and would replace it. It stung especially when he saw her tears. He passes a maid, who scurries into the kitchen with a broom and dustpan, silver-blonde tresses in a lacy black cap.

She peered over her shoulder with a smile. "Evening, sir,"

Was it evening already? The Heartbreakers show was tonight. He had to get ready even though he no longer had anyone to go with. Tom and Alex were going to a Yankees game and if he asked Tinsley, she'd probably laugh and never look at him the same and just think of him as the "lowly guy who parties day and night."

Talk about embarrassing.

Maybe Tinsley had a boyfriend or a date for tonight. She could be going with someone else even more attractive and sporty and personality-wise.

But she seemed better than that. She wouldn't just call him crude and deny him.

Would she?

He enters the living room and slumps on the couch beside Tinsley. She smiles, emerald eyes alight, and tilts her head. "You okay?" Her smile drops. "You look sad."

Harper shook his head. "Don't worry about it …"

More mental feuds. He digs his nails in his thigh before turning to Tinsley. "Um," he begins, looking into her worried eyes. She blinks and her smile returns. "I, um, would … you like to go out with me tonight?"

Tinsley blinks again, confusion shaping an answer. "That sounds great!" She grins widely. "Where would we go?"

"My sister …" he voices. "was supposed to perform at a club … it's not too far from here. But she won't because of some trouble." He finishes his dispute with disapproval and looks back to Tinsley hopefully. "I always promised that I'd go to all her band's shows so I'm going tonight. Either way, would you like to go with me?"

Did he just say the same thing twice? God, he humiliated himself in front of her. She won't want to go with him now –

Tinsley crosses her legs and leans in. "You know," She bats her eyelashes. "I'd love to."

There was a chance to regain his touch. He narrows his eyes. "I'm glad you hadn't obliged," He raises a brow. "Pick you up at eight?"

She gathers her books in a swoop and jumps to her feet. "See you, then." He watches her go for the door and leave. His heart twisted but he couldn't fight the smile off him.

Harper stands and recognizes his blush when he looks in the mirror nailed to the wall. He notices his tousled hair and reddened face. He looked like the perfect athlete. And with a grin, he completely forgot about the situation between Bryn and him.

However, he was completely oblivious to what was currently arising.

X

Bryn sits in her private bathroom, towel on her shoulders. Shaggy hair dyed platinum blonde, feathered and neat and unlike her. She switches on her hairdryer, grabs a brush, and starts to untangle her hair efficiently. She hated doing her hair but was doing it for a good cause.

To save her band. She would never let anything happen to that band. It was her life.

Would she need contacts? Harper was sure to go with stupid Tinsley. Why didn't he trust her more? They were related and he believed her over his own sister. What a mega-asshole. But one thought kept crossing her mind. No matter how many thoughts she ever progressed in her sixteen years, this just wouldn't leave her.

Her brother finally grew a backbone.

Floria stands in the doorjamb, dark ringlets in a ponytail, all wisps and tufts. Fake gold jewelry topped her fake blood-stained tee and white denim shorts. She ticks her orange wedge-clad foot with mock-impatience and grins. "You done, Bryn? Your hair looks fine."

As much as Bryn said Harper was a perfectionist, she was more than. Gossip Bee, the local blogger, knew practically everything about her life and tended to exploit the happenings of it.

"Almost." Bryn unplugs her hairdryer and shakes her hair out. "Did Harper leave?"

Floria nods. "A while ago, yeah. He's taking Tinsley to our show." She laughs breezily and Bryn smiles, combing her hair again in the mirror. "He thinks you're staying over Mary-Ann's. I'm so glad you're coming so now we won't make a total train wreck of ourselves without you."

Bryn smiles greatly. "Harper will never even recognize me with all this blonde dye in my head." She lifts a feathered lock. "He's not the sharpest tool in the shed."

Floria grins. "Got that right."

A year or two ago, Floria and Harper dated and Bryn attempted to break them up and succeeded. When Floria discovered, she didn't care much but later realized she never really liked him and to this day, she'd add tiny comments on how stupid he was.

Ah, young romance.

Their drummer, Hayden, shouts from Bryn's room. "Come on! We're gonna be late! And I doubt William and Saul will be too happy if we are!"

"We're coming!" She winks at Floria. "Wait 'til you see my stage costume."

Floria rolls her eyes and smiles. "Don't be too risqué. Your brother will kill you if he does recognize you."

Bryn's grin never rots. "Trust me, that'll never happen."

X

Harper and Tinsley enter Rodney's. The speakers pump angry rock as skimpily-dressed girls jump on them, shaking their hips suggestively and flashing too much skin. Harper slaps a wad of bills into the bouncer's palm to allow them entrance. Sparkling strobe lights flash colorfully overhead and people flail their arms to the hollering drums. Tinsley smiles at Harper and his heart warms.

She takes me away to that special place …
And if I'd stare too long …
I'd probably break down and cry!

"Oh." Harper gapes as he and Tinsley sift through the crowds for decent seats. A teen with short hair yells into a microphone, a bandana folded across his throat and a sleeveless T-shirt that read Guns or Roses? in bold font. "The opening act for Br – my sister's band started."

Sweet child o' mine
Sweet love of mine

Ever since they had met up, Harper refused to bring up Bryn's name so he kept saying everything but it as if it were an expletive.

Poor little guy … not.

Another guy wields an old Stigma and Ray Bans as he strums authoritative cords. Crookedness molds lines on his eyebrows, and a baseball cap covers his rugged hair. Perspiration glistens on his neck as he sunk into the stage lights.

Tinsley laid a hand on Harper's shoulder comfortingly. "It's okay, Harper, don't worry about her. She'll be fine." she reassures, swinging her arms in the air, jangly bangles slinking down her forearms with barely-heard plinks. "You know, they sure play good music here."

Harper smiles and nods like he doesn't want to. "Bryn … she loves this music. Loud and violent, I never knew why."

She's got eyes of the bluest skies
As if they thought of rain I hate to look into those eyes …

Behind the drums, a teen conjured rhythm violently. Scruffy blonde hair blocking anyone's view of his amber eyes. Despite this, he never seemed to miss a beat as an adrenaline-singed grin caught his mouth. "Stradlin and Adler seem excited today. I wonder why." Harper muses and watches the singer toss his microphone in the air and catch it lithely.

Tinsley smiles at him. "You know them?"

Harper makes a face. "They're more of Bryn's friends."

And see an ounce of pain
Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place
Where as a child I'd hide and pray for the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by

Stradlin closes in on a mike and tightens his hands on his guitar as he sings. The lines on his face deepening as he sings the chorus in a heavy, Dee Snider-esque voice.

Sweet child o' mine
Sweet love of mine

Where do we go
Where do we go now
Where do we go

Stradlin lumbers to Adler as they trade instruments. Stradlin lights a cigarette as he takes the drumsticks and Adler swings the guitar over his shoulders. Stradlin continues to sing into the nearest microphone as he raps messily on the drums.

A flourishing guitar solo entrances from a gleaming red Fender, the dancing and twisting and howling increases on the floor as the clubbers writhe and moan.

Where do we go
Where do we go now
Where do we go

Adler wheels fierce notes into the smoky air, winding his arms riotously. The singer begins to spin as he twirls his microphone. The dry-ice smoke diminishes as the song finishes. Their audience whoops as the band grins in appreciation except the singer, who stormed offstage in perfect Axl Rose-fashion.

Adler slides off the guitar strap and pounds knuckles in the air. "Guns or Roses, everyone! Guns or Roses!" Hollers and name-calls run wild.

Their main guitarist fled offstage, holding forward the peace sign. Stradlin chuckles and sees their bandana-clad singer beside the wall with a cigarette crushed in his hand, eyes scoping a blonde seated on a speaker. "Hey, aren't you supposed to be performing soon?"

The familiar blonde chokes. "I am."

Stradlin sighs and shakes his head. Bryn.

Adler closes in, placing his friend's guitar onto a stand. "Leave Bryn alone, William. Shows at Rodney's are always tough."

Bryn buries her head into her hands as Stradlin returns Adler's drumsticks to him, shoves past William and over to Bryn. "Hey, kid," he greets, ruffles her strangely blonde hair. "You okay?"

She snuffles and nods. "Y-Yeah …"

Adler hides his drumsticks in one of his back-pockets and knelt beside Stradlin. "Damn, kid. What in the name of hell are you wearing?"

Stradlin turns to her stage costume: a lace-up corset partnered with bikini-styled underwear, fishnet stockings, and platform pumps. She looked like a stripper rather than a modern-day Suzi Quatro. His eyes widen and frowns crease his forehead. He folds his aviators into his pocket. "God-fucking-damn."

Adler smirks. "Are you playing hooker for the day? Because damn, Bryn. You look so … so –"

Stradlin glares at him. "Say hot and I'll kill you."

"I would never. I was going for swell."

Steven was Adler's real name as Matt was Stradlin's but while they were performing or just hanging in clubs, they were known as Adler or Stradlin. Stradlin treated Bryn as the younger sister he never wanted, Adler did the same but was slightly more flirtatious.

Bryn bursts into laughter but what made their smiles drop was the tears procuring in her gaze. Stradlin took hold of her shoulders. She opens her eyes and they saw the light of tears in her blue irises. "Seriously, Bryn. What's wrong?"

"Yeah," Adler agreed. "You never cry. So come on, we're like your brothers."

Bryn finally gave and wracked with indifferent sobs. "I'm … I'm scared. I've never performed at Rodney's and I had a fight with my brother … and … and –" Tears leave her eyes and she hangs her head in embarrassment. Slender fingers grab her chin.

"Relax, Bryn." Stradlin assures comfortingly and removes his fingers from her face. "Rodney's concerts are violent but we get used to them. It'll be fine. Don't cry, alright? I've never been good with crying girls."

Bryn thumbs away a tear, pixie blue eyeliner smudging. She kept calm once she saw Adler and Stradlin's coolness. They were all best friends for a reason. "Thanks, Steven … thanks, Matt."

Adler grins. "We're here to help!"

William snorts from behind them. "And he's just here for the looks."

Adler shrugs and agrees with a nod. "Yeah, pretty much."

Rodney arrives backstage at that, girls on each arm. His dark hair brushed over his shoulders and teashades shined from his eyes. The girls nuzzle their faces into his throat as he holds their waists proudly. "Okay, Bryn. Your band is onstage. Be ready soon, doll."

Bryn blinks in realization as Rodney dances off, the women on his arms giggling drunkenly.

Bryn's eyes bug and she bites her trembling lip. "Shit," she whimpers and William mutters something profound that they all ignore. "this is so nerve-wracking." She got off the speaker to see the stage from behind the curtain. Floria and Hayden plug wires, arrange the drums.

Adler pats her shoulder and his hand lingers. "Relax and go onstage. We'll be watching like the losers we are."

Bryn grins, confidence reels through her veins as she spins her heels, waiting at the curtain as Hayden counts off 'Cherry Bomb' – the song she wished she was cool enough to write. Her black hair untamed and green eyes beaming like kaleidoscope patterns. Dressed in a lamé jumpsuit and Bakelite bracelets.

One …

She cracks her knuckles and clicks her heels impatiently.

Two …

Stradlin reaches to safely deposit his guitar in his bag.

Three ...

Bryn shut her eyes and felt her lashes tickle her cheekbones.

Four …

With a final wave, she struts onstage and reaches the microphone, snatching it swiftly while the crowd roars in appreciation. She had to smirk under the lights and the goggling guys in the audience.

Bryn laughs under the noise as she twists the wires around. Hayden counts off the song before starting it. Floria and Angelina's notes accenting the harmony. Bryn nods to them and her heart twists at seeing the profiles of Tinsley and Harper in the front. She turns away so they won't see her smirk.

And she began, voice cutting through the crowd as she fell to the stage like a wildcat, stretching for the fingertips of the audience. She slams a fist, drags her broken nails along the floor.

She rises and saunters to the opposite end as she mouths the lyrics, passing a clutter of soda cans and paper airplanes. She hurries back toward center-stage. The signal of cymbals commands her pose and she raises the microphone cord high to the crowd.

Floria, mascara streaking her face in navy rivulets, howls the chorusing lyrics. She occasionally suggested she wear waterproof mascara but Floria always replied with a shake of her head and a glint in her eye. She liked the way it went down her face. It showed dedication.

Bryn continues across stage, glass from a Coca-Cola bottle crunching beneath her platform soles. She studies Tinsley and Harper as they admire Hayden. Then looks away to watch a couple at the bar, paying no attention to her band.

A pretty little thing the girl was. Pale and frail with a heart-shaped face and hazel eyes. Her hair, thick and brown was an espresso-and-caramel shade, red in the light. She wears a cream wrap dress and stockings, sips her virgin daiquiri daintily, and clasps the gold cross at her throat when she laughs.

The man chuckles and motions his tumbler to the bartender, who rushes over to refill it. He laughs and searches the breast pocket of his plaid shirt, retrieves a small paper, and slides it over to the girl. She grabs it off the counter and reads it, laughing. Touches his shoulder and climbs off the ottoman, says something to him, touches his denim-clad knee, and walks off.

He smiles and watches her disappear out of the club.

Another couple, who caught her eye, was more romantically involved. A girl in a leopard-print dress sat in his lap on a sleek leather couch. Their lips crushed as his hands roam down her backless dress. He had nice messy blonde hair, a sculpted frame that she could see in the dark, and a good tan. He cracked open an eye, lifting his gaze to her, and broke off the kiss.

Angelina nods with a shut of her eyes, ramming the strings. Colorful smoke emits from backstage, flooding the area in a cold smog. She bobs her head, hair swirling in a wild blonde fan, and clicks a heel on the littered stage as she models a valiant pose.

She twists back to Hayden, who grins and clashes the cymbals as Bryn whips around, the wire tangled in her fingers.

The guitar solo began, giving her time to breathe and catch her breath. Bryn winds the cord up her thighs and between her legs. Her eyes flutter shut as she leans to secure the wire momentarily. Pauses movement, reopens her eyes, and lets the wires sink to the floor.

Barely a second later, she caught the mike and made a stance. She realized as she sang she was pointing at the mysterious blonde. Bryn extends her arm, clenches a fist, and yanks her arm back, bringing her hand to her chest with a smirk.

She backs away until she was leaning back against an unused speaker, watching her bandmates.

And once finished, the crowd pauses but surprises her with screams and howls of what they'd like to do to her. Bryn grins in gratitude and after finishing their set, she was backstage. Soaked in sweat and fanning herself with her hands. Adler had gone home early to catch something on the CW.

"Oh, I'm tired," she groans, observing her torn stockings, which she broke when sliding across the stage. "and these were really expensive."

Stradlin chuckles and ran his fingers through his matted hair. "Chill, Jett. I'm sure it's all good. And mind telling me about that stage-persona, Lila Thorn?"

Bryn smirks. "It's gonna be just for a while. You have yours, Matthew."

"Touché."

"Excuse me." someone intervenes. Bryn and Stradlin look away from one another to face a man. Bryn's heart skips when she realizes it was the cryptic blonde she saw with the hooker on his arm. She was gone and he was alone, facing her and giving her outfit a look of overconfidence. Stradlin raises an eyebrow but says nothing. "If you don't mind, may I be able to speak to Miss Thorn alone?"

Stradlin blinks before nodding. "Sure, whatever," he shrugs and rises, touching Bryn's forearm. "Going home. Call you later."

Bryn nods. "See you, Stradlin."

He smirks. "Bye, Lila."

Right when he disappeared, the blonde approaches. The rings on his fingers catch the light and glitter like the gemstones on Rodney's girls' faces. "Lila," he drawls. "is that your real name?"

Bryn fought the urge to roll her eyes. "I'm Bryn. Bryn Blackwell." She lifts a stray lock of blonde. "And this isn't my real hair color if you hadn't noticed."

"Hmm," he muses with growing interest. "You're quite convincing."

"Thanks." She was tired and wanted to get to Mary-Ann's before Harper could think to call and find out she wasn't there. Plus, she had to wash the dye out by morning so she wouldn't make her performance anymore obvious. "So," She props her elbows on her knees and interlaces her fingers. "what'd you wanna talk about?"

He smirks, a seductive, familiar one he probably tamed all women with. "I saw you looking at me," he advises with charm in his voice that if she didn't have morality, she would've jumped in his arms and screamed like a pretend hooker. "While you were performing you looked right at me."

Bryn's heart took another round trip. She needed to play it cool, had to stay intimidating. "Yeah," she admits, surprised at her stable voice. "I look at a lot of people in my shows. Is there a problem?"

He shook his head. "Not at all." he answers. "You're just so intimidating and powerful that I'd like to have someone like you and I'm sure you're thinking the same." His hand left hers and slid from her knee to the garter on her thigh. His hand felt warm and familiar like his were. "Someone … to love."

Bryn stays staring, eyes wide. Noticing the rough stubble garnish his chiseled jaw and the flirting which was close to sweeping her off her feet and – No! This wouldn't happen, this couldn't happen! She barely even knew the guy!

Bryn smiles foolishly and brushes his hand off. "I admire your persistence." She inspects his face again and finally realized who he was … Javier Dominguez. The second son of a Spanish socialite and an Oscar-winning actor. No wonder he seemed familiar. She's seen practically all his father's dramas. He was basically the Spanish Leonardo DiCaprio. "I saw you with that girl, that slut. I don't date guys like you. I'm not just another bottle blonde whore." She takes deep breaths. "So I wouldn't waste my time."

She ushers past him and reaches for a cigarette, inspecting it before rejecting it. Turns back to Javier, who hadn't moved and was still looking over her with a smirk. She huffs in annoyance, snatches up a pile of rumpled clothing before turning to leave.

X

"What a night." Tinsley told Harper as his family car pulls up in front of her dollhouse-white townhouse. "Thanks so much, Harper." The night had gone perfect except for when she had spilt red wine on her Oscar De La Renta mini but Harper's gaze never strayed from hers the entire night.

Harper slumps back in the leather. "Don't mention it." he assures, gesturing with his wrist. He looks to her house. The lamps in the windows indicated someone was awake. "We should do this again, sometime."

"Definitely." she agreed, opening the door before planting a glittery Louboutin on the concrete. "See you tomorrow?"

Harper's smile never drops as he leans in. "Of course."

They close in but before anything can happen, both startle instinctively as Harper hacks into a palm awkwardly. "W-Well," he stammers, leaning for the opposite window to hide the redness in his face. "I'll see you."

She nods without another word and leaves his car.

Harper sighs as his elderly chauffeur turns to him. "Where would you like to go, Mr. Blackwell?"

Harper shook his head to himself. "Home, please." he requests as the car peels down a few blocks, stopping immediately at a red light.

What just happened? Did he ruin a perfectly good night? Why'd he have to be so stupid?

Bryn was at Mary-Ann's. Or something. She couldn't be as mad as earlier, hours passed. Being her, she was probably on Mary-Ann's ratty couch with a bowl of caramel corn in her lap, imitating Gone with the Wind's famous quotes as she dreamt of song lyrics.

He could at least make it up to her. But with what exactly? She didn't like junk average girls loved: a good box of Godiva, a Tiffany's diamond-encrusted tennis bracelet, an adorable stuffed animal. Bryn was herself. Who could possibly change that?

She likes classic CDs and hates all gossip magazines and bloggers whatsoever (she always threw a cursing fit around the house when Gossip Bee uploaded pictures of her on his/her site), and surprisingly, hated shopping.

He could buy replacement strings for her electric guitar that lingered in the corner of her room, catching dust since she never went to purchase them herself and would always come to him, complaining on how she longed to operate her prized instrument. Maybe that'd make her feel better. Should he call her? Bryn wasn't exactly a morning person, anyway.

He dials her number, presses the phone to his ear, and listens to the continuous ring before he's directed to voicemail.

Bryn, here. If I'm not answering, it either means my phone's dead, I'm dead or I just don't wanna talk to you. It's most likely answer two. Either way, I'll call you soon. Or maybe I won't …

Harper shook his head. How many times had he told her to change that? It was so inappropriate.

He still didn't lower his phone so he decided to dial Mary-Ann. The phone rang twice before he received an answer. "H-Hello?" The grogginess of a tired girl is heard. "Harper? Why you awake?"

With a weak smile, Harper replies. "Mary-Ann," he greets. "is Bryn there? Is she okay?"

There was a pause before a whimper and soundless laughter. "Yeah, she's here. Knocked-out like the dead."

He couldn't stifle his sigh of relief. "Thanks, Mary-Ann."

Another giggle. "G'night."

Without waiting, the line went dead and Harper disconnects the call. He couldn't help but feel relieved that his sister was alright.

Sure, they had their fights. Who didn't?

What if –

No. He didn't need to be thinking of that. Ever.

Yet his mind wandered …

X

And across town, Mary-Ann places a knitted quilt over Bryn as she slept soundlessly on the torn leather couch. Hair splattered across her forehead and face bare of makeup. She was yet to change out of her costume.

Mary-Ann, braids pulled from her face, massages Bryn's temples like a doting mother. "Goodnight, kid." she says gently. "Be careful."

She definitely needed to heed that advice.

X

I based "Guns or Roses" off Guns N' Roses, obviously. There's a lot of similarities in them as there was in the original lineup of the band.

"Cherry Bomb" belongs to The Runaways and Joan Jett, as "Sweet Child O' Mine" belongs to Guns N' Roses.

The next chapter will be much sooner and Javier and the other two in the back will also reappear as well.