Lighter

t w e n t y - n i n e

hands up if you've been
left bruised and broken,
say i'll be okay, i'll be o k a y . . .

⚡️⚡️⚡️

t w o  w e e k s  l a t e r

"So uh... what kind of music do these guys play again?" Ronnie leaned closer to ask me once the cheering for the last opening band ceased.

"Pop punk, pretty much. It's a little more organized and not quite as raw as Jonah's band, but definitely something you could still head-bang to," I answered with a shrug, finishing off the last of my drink which was a balanced blend of pineapple juice and vodka.

"People still listen to that?" He chortled, as if I said polka was my favorite genre of music. Not that there's anything wrong with that, either.

I scoffed and playfully elbowed him, my eyes rolling in the process. "Yes, I do. It's especially good to listen to for kickboxing. In case you forgot I do that."

"Is that a threat so I stop making fun of you?" He questioned, giving me a sideways glance.

"Yes."

"Sorry, but there's no chance that'll happen."

He got another elbow jab from me, this time a little more belligerent and a little less joking.

The two of us were off to the side in the bar area of the venue, where people only twenty-one and up with the proper wristband were allowed to stand, waiting for the headlining band to come out. It was my concert of choice, whoever and wherever I wanted to go with it being my birthday present from Ronnie. I'd been putting off making the decision of who I wanted to see for three months now, but once I finally came to a conclusion and told Ronnie, he was more than happy to buy the tickets on the spot.

Ronnie took the empty plastic cup out of my hands for me and nodded towards the bar. "I'm gonna get another beer. Want anything?"

"Yeah," I drawled the word, thinking I could have one last drink for the night since they were pretty weak and small. It was Saturday night, and we've been waiting for this moment since my birthday, so I figured I'd go for it. "Get me a pineapple vodka, again. Then I'm done."

"You got it," he said, the left side of his lips quirking up. I smiled too, and then he fought his way through the horde of drunks to get back to the bar.

I leaned against the handrail that separated this platform from the general admission area, wall-to-wall with people of all ages and backgrounds here for the same thing. There were the groups of high school kids, laughing on their phones, the girls slipping airplane bottles out of their shirts and sharing them between one another. Guys who somehow always managed to sneak weed into the venue, no matter how strict the security was at the door, and the odor was always present at shows like these. Older couples who were trying to relive their past, anticipating the few songs on the set list that were from earlier albums they'd sneer that kids these days knew nothing about.

Then, right there, smack dab in the middle of the crowd, I swore I saw the impossible.

That sculpted-by-gods jawline that defied anyone else's facial structure. The wispy, brown hair I obsessively ran my fingers through whenever I got a chance. That tall, muscular form I would cling to constantly, in hopes to either feel safe or wanted. The devilish, swoon-worthy smile that made an appearance at something funny a friend said.