Dinner Date

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My boyfriend's deep voice rang through my ears, and I jumped. I was seriously not expecting that. I hurriedly pressed pause on the song Migraine by twenty one pilots and whipped my head around. Ian was staring right at my phone screen; he was always so nosy. Though, his attractiveness made up for it; jet black hair and sexy dark brown eyes, including a killer jawline if I do say so myself.

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked, quickly taking my earphones out of my ears.

He sighed and gave me a look that made me feel guilty. "I asked what you're listening to, but by your reaction and what I just saw, I figure that you're listening to that... that crap music of yours."

I got up off of my sofa and followed him into the kitchen. "It's Sunday, please don't do this Ian," I said to him.
He came towards me and took both my hands in his, and kissed me on the cheek.
"I'm sorry love, let's go out tonight, you and I. Berchetto's."

I hesitantly agreed; we always went to Berchetto's. It was this fancy Italian restaurant that nobody could afford in this town; well, besides Ian and his family, of course. The food wasn't even that great, and the entertainment was annoying. It was always classical music, which is the type of music Ian expects me to enjoy, and that he drools over.

"Go get ready," He said. I wearily turned around to go up the stairs. Once I got to my room, I normally slipped on the skin-tight red dress that Ian always says makes him look 'impressive'. If I wore something else, I was sure to get a talk before going to dinner.

I walked downstairs and Ian and I drove to Berchetto's. It wasn't that crowded tonight. The greeter sat us at our usual spot and a bleach-blonde waitress came over to get us drinks. She winked at Ian and I just looked away, not even caring anymore. Ian always smiles, and it always kills me, but I have to swallow my feelings every time.
We both got waters because, well, we're fifteen.

An hour later our food was placed in front of us. "The entertainment will be on in five minutes," the waitress said, sashaying away.
I sighed and started to eat my chicken caesar salad. Ian says that if I eat chicken caesar salad while I'm out with him, it'll make him look like he takes good care of me. If you can't tell, I get manipulated for every little thing I do with him. Make out instead of kissing. Hugging instead of cuddling. Talking about our feelings and problems instead of goofing around and having fun.

"Oh, I'm so excited for tonight's entertainment. My dad said Vance is supposed to play his cello." Ian said after finishing chewing a forkful of his twenty-five dollar steak.
Vance, Ian's uncle, got Ian into classical music. Or, shall I say, the right type of music. He's basically Einstein with a cello. I don't care about classical, but I have to pretend.

The lights on the stage came alive and everybody's heads turned towards it. A boy about my age walked out with an acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder, and approached the microphone.

"Hi," he said, and then kind of laughed. "I'm Christian Akridge, and, um, Vance Wesley couldn't make it today. Sorry. I'm the fill in." He laughed again, but nobody else in the audience did. I smiled a bit.
"I'm going to be covering We Don't Believe What's On T.V. by twenty one pilots."

Ian cringed and mumbled, "crap music." I shushed him as the lights dimmed, showing a spotlight on Christian.

He suddenly started a sick beat with his acoustic that sounded exactly like the song, then obviously began to sing "YEAH YEAH YEAH" a few times.

"We don't believe what's on TV,
Because it's what we want to see,
And what we want, we know we can't believe,
We have all learned to kill our dreams.

I need to know that when I fail you'll still be here,
'Cause if you stick around I'll sing you pretty sounds,
And we'll make money selling your hair.

I don't care what's in your hair,
I just want to know what's on your mind,
I used to say, 'I want to die before I'm old,'
But because of you I might think twice.

Alright, second verse
What if my dream does not happen,
Would I just change what I've told my friends,
I don't want to know who I would be,
When I wake up from a dreamer's sleep.

I need to know that when I fail you'll still be here,
'Cause if you stick around I'll sing you pretty sounds,
And we'll make money selling your hair.

I don't care what's in your hair,
I just want to know what's on your mind,
I used to say, 'I want to die before I'm old,'
But because of you I might think twice.

I don't care what's in your hair,
I just want to know what's on your mind,
I used to say, 'I want to die before I'm old,'
But because of you I might think twice.

I don't care what's in your hair,
I just want to know what's on your mind,
I used to say, 'I want to die before I'm old,'
But because of you I might think twice."

At that last line, Christian looked at me right in the eyes. He didn't smile or anything. He just stared at me. His green eyes were searching for something in my hazel ones, and I gulped. It was like he was indulged in them. Then, he strummed his guitar one last note and sang, "But because of you, I might, think twice."
I looked away, shock overcoming me.

After Ian and I finished, he dropped me off at my house in silence. He's such a sore loser. If something doesn't go his way, he's always a crybaby about it. I cleaned up, took a bath, and laid down.
I did my Geometry homework. I did my English homework. I did my Science homework. I tried to worry about why Ian didn't give me a kiss goodnight when he dropped me off.
But no matter how much I tried to distract myself, I still could not stop thinking about the boy named Christian tonight at Berchetto's.