Going Nowhere

Run For Your Life - Chapter Four

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Excuse the mistakes

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I'm not a material girl. Sorry Madonna.

I didn't need designer brands. My wardrobe consisted mostly of jeans I'd had since ninth grade, t-shirts, and hoodies. I didn't have the latest iPhone, but rather a dinky little Nano I was completely happy with. I wasn't overly concerned if I didn't have the latest gadget or the trendy, forty dollar jeans.

However, when I get ready for a gig, all bets are off, and I become the pickiest person in the world. For those few hours that I'm out at a gig, I can adopt the hardcore rocker look that gives me confidence. I could wear heavier eyeliner, tight, eye-catching shirts, and whatever else I wanted. Maybe that sounds like pretending, but to me, my gig outfits perfectly reflect who I am in that moment.

I glanced at my alarm clock and groaned in frustration. I didn't have a lot of time before RJ picked me up, and I had yet to pick out an outfit, do my makeup, and fix my hair. Time was running out, and I still looked like a slightly dumpy high schooler.

Just pick something! My mind yelled impatiently, and I sighed. I knelt down in front of the already open bottom drawer of my dresser, and I started to sift through the clothes. My concert clothes were my most expensive, but they were also my favorite so it was worth it. To be honest, I'd bought quite a few pieces from Mel.

Finally, I managed to settle on an outfit. I changed out of my jeans and purple tank top, and I pulled on a pair of slightly shredded black sheer tights. I pulled on a pair of light blue shorts and one of my band t-shirts, this one featuring the cover of Muse's Absolution CD. I tucked one side of the t-shirt into the waistband of my shorts and pulled on a leather jacket that I'd stolen from Connor.

Then, I settled in front of the full length mirror that was leaning against my wall, and I grabbed my small makeup bag. I brushed my eyelids with some gray eye shadow, and after lining them and adding some mascara into the mix, I was happy with the smokiness of the eye makeup.

On my lips, I just went with some chapstick that shimmered a little. Have you ever had to deal with congealed lips gloss on a microphone? It was absolutely disgusting!

Just as I finished running a brush somewhat roughly through my hair, my phone vibrated loudly against the wooden top of my desk. I scrambled to my feet and answered the phone quickly.

"Hello?"

"Hey Linds," came RJ's greeting, "I'm outside."

"Alright," I replied, shoving my feet into a pair of combat boots, "I'll be right out." RJ grunted and then the line went dead as he hung up his phone. This was usually how our conversations went every time RJ came to get me. He had only come to the front door once.

RJ hated my mom. He hated the way she treated me, the way that I'd been forced to become an adult so early, and he especially hated the way she'd told me to suck it up every time Carter made me feel awful. The resentment was somewhat mutual, though, because my mom saw RJ as an instigator in my passion for music, which was something she didn't support.

I swung my purse onto my shoulder and I grabbed my guitar case off of the end of my bed. I threw my brush and a few hair ties into my purse, since I hadn't had a chance to finish doing my hair, and I hurried out of my room and down the stairs.

As my hand wrapped around the door knob of the front door, I sensed someone behind me, and I turned to see my mom. For a moment, we just stared at each other. There was a can of what looked to be beer in her hand, and she had a glassy look to her eyes that happened when she was starting to get buzzed.