The Girl Gunner?

Chapter Four

A girl in Guns N' Roses?

As soon as I stepped foot inside our dingy apartment, I threw the milk in the fridge, not particularly caring about what happened to it. I had to pack a bag, and now was the perfect time since Charlotte was soaking her feet.

I heard her snap at me for something as I made my way to my room, but of course I couldn't hear her. I didn't need to. My focus was on what could happen tomorrow.

If I fuck shit up... no, can't think of that. I can't let myself get me down. Not now.

I rummaged for my reasonably small suitcase that was hiding from me in my wardrobe somewhere, somewhat aggressively throwing it on the bed once I found it. This apartment sucks.

I grabbed my two favourite pairs of baggy and quite ripped jeans, examining the pieces of material. They were (mostly) dark wash, but I had sewn on old patches of other jeans. They would probably think I'm homeless...

I folded them up haphazardly and threw them into my suitcase. I then picked out two of my favourite shirts- a faded and slightly ripped grey t-shirt that hung extremely loose on my body, and a simple black GN'R tee. Oh well.

I put everything else I needed in my suitcase and wheeled it over to the door after ringing work up and complaining of vomiting.

I let out a long sigh as I flopped down on my bed, coming face to face with my four guitars. How did I pay for them?

I didn't.

The thing is, when you work in a guitar shop...

My hazel eyes drifted over the Gibsons in front of me. A red, electric Les Paul, paired with a Sunburst. They were the same guitar, but the red was my favourite. I propped my head up on my elbow to look at my acoustics. Pretty boring, they were both the same. Classic Sunburst.

I yawned loudly, crawling under the covers.