The Girl Gunner?

Chapter Five

A/N: I'm sorry for not updating, I've had some life issues to deal with. This update is shitty and unedited. Sorry.

I woke up to the sound of high heels clacking up the stairs, making me pull the covers over my head. Charlotte was angry judging by the speed and loudness of her footsteps. Oh god, please kill me.

"Nellie Sophia Marshal!" Charlotte roared, aggressively throwing my bedroom door open. Her face was flushed with anger and her chest was heaving. She had on her usual slutty outfit matched with red pumps.

"Yes?" I asked shakily, barely above a whisper. Was she gonna kill me or what?

"Why didn't you tell me you know Steven Adler?!" She screeched excitedly, jumping on my bed. Man, talk about bipolar...

"Excuse me... What?" I asked, shoving the blonde off me to sit up, my eyes wide and my face red.

"I saw the piece of cardboard with his name on it, Nellie. God, I'm not stupid," she snorted, waving her hand at me dismissively.

Dammit.

"That's not mine," I choked out a little too quickly, diverting my attention from her.

"I wasn't born yesterday, Nellie," Charlotte stated bluntly, an amused look etched into her tan face. "That's why you took so long at the store," she smirked.

Shit.

As I hoped, she jumped up from my bed before she could look around my room. I was terrified she would see my belongings packed up- but thank god she didn't.

I sighed as I heard the front door slam, signalling she had left for work. I stood up from my bed to throw on some clean clothes since I was way too lazy to shower this morning.

After eating breakfast, I wheeled my suitcases down the street, my two guitars slung onto my back. I walked as quickly as I possibly could, desperately trying to block out the wolf-whistles and creepy stares I was receiving. A sigh escaped my slightly chapped lips as I looked at the house that was the same address as what Steven had written on the cardboard. Dingy, dirty looking, boring- but at least they had a roof over their heads, right?

I tightened my grip on the suitcase's handle, my heart beginning to pound as I knocked on the door.

Was this a good choice?