girl singing in the wreckage ✰ dave grohl

fourteen

april walked into the backstage area slowly, looking around and taking in the setting. she couldn't help but remember her time on tour, partying hard in places identical to this every night. she crossed her arms over her chest, feeling a bit out of place. she wasn't even sure what she could do-- she had been sober for half a year, and wasn't exactly easy to be around a large group of people drinking and doing a variety of other substances.

"drink?" an unfamiliar voice spoke from beside her. she looked up and made eye contact with a taller guy-- he had shoulder length blonde hair and was wearing baggy jeans and a foo fighters shirt.

"thanks, but... i don't drink." she replied, forcing a smile.

"really? you seem a little young to be sober." he joked.

well here the thing, jackass-- i grew up a little fast and became an alcoholic by the age of seventeen. she thought the herself.

"no-- i've just never been a fan of the taste." she spoke dryly. the man laughed at this, taking a sip from his beer. 

"so, what do you do?" he asked her, trying to keep the apparent one-sided conversation afloat.

"i'm a photographer." she spoke, drawing her lips into a line.

"wow, i don't know any chick photographers." she clenched her jaw.

"well, now you do."

"i'm a technician for the band-- tour would probably fall apart with out me to be completely honest." he spoke cockily. she cringed. 

his whole way of speaking to her, and his egotistical disposition just rubbed her the wrong way. she wasn't sure what irked her more-- the sobriety comment or the "chick photographer" comment. both were irritating, but she wasn't exactly angry until the next thing that fell from his lips.

"you wanna get outta here." she let out a scoff, averting her eyes from him.

"i think i'm good right here." she replied, putting her hands in the back pockets of her jeans.

"come on, girl... live a little." he moved his way over to her, brushing her side with his hand. she felt sick to her stomach.

"dude, the fuck are you doing?" she heard a familiar voice, and footsteps. she turned her head in the direction of the voice and froze. it was dave.

his mouth fell open slightly, and once the blonde had scuttled away, he spoke to her for the first time in four years. "it's been a while." she nodded in response, mustering up a smile. "you look great."

she noted the absence of the golden band on his ring finger she had seen last time they were together before speaking. "you do too, dave." she replied, pausing before asking a question. "why was my name on the guest list?"

"why did you think to ask if it was?" he replied with a smirk. she opened her mouth to reply, but no words would come out. his smirk turned into a small smile as he continued. "i've been putting your name on the guest list for years-- i dunno, i just always thought one day, that might be how we would meet again. i guess i was right."

"well... how have you been?" she asked, still curious as to what the lack of wedding band on his ring finger could mean.

"just making music and touring-- good for the most part. i think i'm doing better than i have been in years. how about you?" he asked, looking at her as intensely as he did all those years ago.

"i've been good. i work in an art gallery in the mission."

"in san francisco? that's great!" he replied with a grin, and she blushed. "still taking photos?" he questioned with a nostalgic look in his eyes.

"i never stopped." she smiled, pulling out a small film camera from her bag. she loved taking pictures on fancy professional cameras, but there was something about a good roll of film that she would never grow tired of.

"what about singing?"

"no." she replied with a laugh, looking at the ground.

"it's a shame." he spoke. "you're great." she laughed at this.

"you haven't heard me sing in years-- how could you possibly remember?" dave shrugged with a smile. the truth was, he heard her sing in his dreams. sometimes to a fast paced dead kennedy's song, sometimes to a melancholy mazzy star song.

"besides, i don't think i'm built to handle the life of a musician. all the touring... being away from home. you might be able to handle that but... well, we saw what happened to me the last time i was put into that situation."

the last sentence had been an attempt at lightheartedness, but it came out more painfully sounding than she had intented.

"i really miss you, y'know?" he spoke suddenly, reaching his hand out to brush her own. she took a shuddery breath before replying.

"i do too."

"then... please don't dissapear on me again. if i spend another three years without you i don't know what i'd do with myself." he spoke softly, taking her hand in hers. he rubbed his thumb in circles on the inside of her, just like he used to when she'd wake up from a nightmare.

"dave, we haven't seen each other in years."

"exactly." he spoke, desperation evident behind his eyes. just... promise you'll stay in contact?" he asked hopefully. her heart rate sped up as he held their eye contact, his hand still holding hers.

"okay." she breathed out.

they stood there for a bit, just listening to the music and conversing.

"remember those quesadillas you used to make on tour?" he spoke suddenly, a grin on his face.

"oh my god, whenever you woke up before me you would poke me until i woke up just to make them for you." april laughed, recalling dave hovering over her in the morning, poking her. sometimes he would peck her forehead until she woke up, just to make his some fucking quesadillas.

"i never did learn the recipe." a nostalgic smile and look in his eyes present on his features.

"i could make them for you?" she spoke, almost quietly, scared at what he would say and caught between wanting to hold him and scared she wouldn't be able to let go.

"i don't have to leave till tomorrow afternoon." he spoke hopefully.

"then lets go."