𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨

take him home to daddy

chapter twenty-two
"take him home to daddy"

Keith arrived in Los Angeles, sunburnt and smiling, out of my parents' roof. "Selene!" Keith cheered, arms wide, totally the image of a cheesy tourist with black aviators and Hawaiian print. He was nearly done with high school and was counting down the days until he could be free from my parents.

I had called him on the phone to tell them the news, voice solemn as if Buddy had died. Keith, ever the optimist, had answered with, "Oh, that sucks. You two had a good run. You're still friends with Nicky, though, right?"

So when Axl showed up at my doorstep, I had nearly forgotten about the promise I had made to them. I opened the door in pyjama shorts, a blush lighting my cheeks immediately once I realised who it was. To make matters worse, Keith's suitcases laid everywhere, straying clothes everywhere as if a closet had exploded. "Axl?!" I gasped, clearly embarrassed and unprepared.

Axl, smirking a bit, looking behind my shoulder, "Is this a bad time?" Keith trying, but failing miserably, to play Turner's drums sounded from behind us at nearly ear-piercing volume.

"No, no, it's okay," I ushered him inside, closing the door behind us. As he admired the pictures on the wall, taking off his boots, I used the distraction to kick dirty clothes behind a plant pot, "My brother is just visiting, that's all."

I led him to the kitchen, an apologetic wince on my face as he seated himself at the counter. He walked, and always would, with this surety to him that anxious people like me could only dream of owning. I think it would be years before I ever saw him look shy, "Sorry about the mess, I didn't know when you were coming."

"Don't worry about it, Selene, seriously. I live in a storage unit, so," He shrugged animatedly, as if that wasn't a potentially very concerning and probably illegal statement, pointing to a mural on one of the walls. It was of Jimi Hendrix, inevitably, and was psychedelic as they come, although it was peeling in spots where sunlight had peeled the cheap acrylic from the walls, "This yours?"

"No, it's Turner's, actually. People don't know this about him but he's a really talented artist. He drew the logo for the band, y'know?" I dug around in the crowded junk drawer for a bottle opener, two beers set out on the counter. Upon reflection, I reached again and grabbed another, hearing the noise of the drums draw themselves to a close.

"Slash drew our logo too," Axl shared, eyes moving towards the doorway as feet thundered down the stairs, my brother sliding into the kitchen on sock feet and very nearly crashing into the counter. His eyes were wide, excited, not even noticing Axl, "Selene, did you hear me? Was I any good?"

"A regular old John Bonham, Keith. You earned yourself a beer."

I gestured towards the counter and he leapt for it, snatching the bottle opener with it, before finally noticing Axl. "Oh," He said, "Hi. I'm Keith."

"Hey kid. I'm Axl." Axl replied, sipping his beer, making Keith scowl. If there was one thing teenagers hated most in the world, then it was being referred to as a child. I kicked his leg behind the counter.

"Ohhh, Selene this is the guy you talked about for your article, right?" I nodded, "Okay, well. You're lucky dude. She doesn't even speak of me this highly."

I gave him a death glare that really only siblings after years of living under the same roof can do, eyes probably bulging from my head. I reached for the stack of articles by the bowl we kept the car keys, giggling nervously, "Yeah, well, you're a great band."

Axl took the stack with a 'thank you', though his face was sly, studying me before reading. I had expected some type of compliment; after all, I was the first to put their band in the paper. But he stayed silent as he read, and seemed to read it twice, just to make me sweat. He put it down back on the stack and glanced at me, "You haven't even heard us play, Selene. We could be shit and you wouldn't know it."