As I kill what's left of my cigarette, my fingers, already battered from years of playing the guitar, writhed from the intense heat.
The blinding lights surrounded me. Demanding explanation for events only learned through word of mouth.
Who was she?
Why this?
Why that?
"Slow down. I'm high," I interject with sarcasm, earning artificial peals of laughter from those in attendance.
"Classy," the tone was now more than annoyed.
"To answer your question, and listen closely to this..." I motioned for the woman to lean in.
"None of your business."
More laughter, though this time it was directed at her expression. Yeah, of course she was doing what they paid her to,
But who wouldn't be tired of that much of hassling...especially when your music isn't even mentioned?
A soft sigh escapes my slightly parted lips as I leaned my head against the chair I sat in.
As the conversation progressed, she started to cross my mind.
.
.
.
"so...what exactly are you afraid of?"
Courtney leaned in then, her green eyes curious and almost demanding. We had been speaking about this and that in the corner of some ongoing frat-style party hosted by someone I hardly knew.
"A lot of things, honestly. Heights. Broken bones..." I shrugged casually, trying not to let proximity affect my responses.
"Well, that's not too bad. Me? I'm scared shitless of Gothic bitches. Hexes and all that... gives me the fucking willies, you know? Oh, why would you? Just met." a light layer of blush formed on her cheeks before she reaches low and brings an unlit cigarette to her crimson lips.
.
.
.
"Kurt, how has music changed your life?"
I flinched at the unexpected question, exiting my reverie. All eyes on me now.
"Well..." My eyes travelled toward my sleeves as I started to think it over. "I guess it's taught me how not to... hold back.
That's what I love about punk rock. No way in hell is there any room for holding anything back."
