Juniper and her best friend are spending the summer in Hawaii at her friend's aunt's house. They have finished their exams and are looking forward to enjoying the warm weather, sipping on cocktails, meeting hot guys, and attending concerts on the be...
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The band is the only thing glueing our group together. Fights have been breaking out randomly in the house: food that hasn't been put in the fridge, pissy bathrooms, and dirty dishes have been the main reasons for the breakouts.
Jax always sides with me, but Hunter and Sonny have been a constant headache. Even during band practices, the spirits are high and the tension is palpable.
All the frustration and anger I felt during these past days is going towards the drums, to the point I've been unnecessarily rough with it. I can only calm down when June's song comes up - it's like a switch going off in my head.
In this concert, it is no different: everyone pours their heart out into their instruments, madly. It's as if we were shouting at each other through instruments, as if whoever had the loudest one would win the argument.
Although there's adrenaline rushing up and down my spine, I feel splints of wood from my drumsticks piercing through my uncalloused skin. It's not until I'm taking a breath before June's song starts that I notice my hands and drumsticks are covered in red. This has happened before, so there's no need to worry, but I do feel sorry for the next drummer who's going to take this seat after me.
June's song starts, and even though I can't see her through all the beaming lights, I know she's somewhere in the crowd watching me and cheering for me. Those thoughts give me the calm that I need to play more softly.
The song has been perfected, and I'm actually glad June got to hear it at its peak, without all the flaws from the last-minute composing.
When the music ends, chills are sent down my spine, and something turns inside my stomach: I know June is waiting for me in the backstage, and I'm getting excited to see her. I walk down the stairs, and, sure as I could be, my little June is brimming with joy and proud. Her eyes shine in the darkness, and her smile covers most of her face.
At least until she notices my hands.
"My goodness, Holt!" She walks towards me and picks up my hands, holding my wrists. "How did you do this?" Her hands start to tint with my blood.
"It happens sometimes. No worries." Her eyes, however, tell me she is dead worried.
"Oh, we should disinfect this." I remove my hands from her soft touch, regretting it immediately.
"It's okay, really. Don't get all worried for nothing." She got visibly flustered, and I started to panic. "But I guess disinfecting won't hurt..." June visibly cheers up.
She gets into «caregiver» mode, asking the staff for a first-aid kit. After finding a source of light, she makes me sit down and takes my hands, using tweezers to pluck the splints from my wounds, and disinfects my hands carefully. Finally, she finishes off with a cream, and she lets me go.
