Band One-Shots (Open!)

People Say Things That They Mean (Alan Ashby)

  I was curled up in a ball on my couch, scrolling through Instagram and reading all the shit people were saying on my pictures.

  On one of me laying on the grass, there were things like, "She looks like a slut," and, "She's so fat and ugly."

  I couldn't help but sit and cry. It was hard enough, thinking those things about myself. It hurt even more knowing that others saw it too.

  But it's not like this is new for me; I wish I could say it were. People have been saying things like this for years.

  Through it all, my saving grace has been my best friend Alan Ashby. I've known him since we were little kids.

  Most people say it's impossible for a guy and girl to be best friends, and nothing more, but that's exactly how Alan and I are.

  He's like my brother, and I'm like his sister. It's been kinda hard with him being in a band, but he and I talk as often as possible, and when he's home, he hardly leaves my side.

  Right now, he IS home, and I'm supposed to be meeting him for lunch, but I just don't have it in me today.

  I'm already late, and I feel awful for it, but I just can't. And I can't just call and tell him what's going on, cuz he still doesn't know what people say about me.

And I don't want him to.

  But of course, my phone rang then. Alan's ringtone.

Grace: Hello?

Alan: Hey! I'm really sorry, but I woke up late, so I'm gonna be a bit late to our lunch date.

Grace: Oh, um, I actually can't make it...

Alan: What? Why not?

Grace: I just (starts crying) I can't Alan, I'm sorry.

  I hung up the phone quickly, letting it fall to my lap as I started sobbing. Soon, I was hitting my arms, my legs, my stomach, and pulling at my hair.

Anything to ease the pain.

  10 minutes later, my front door opened. "Grace what's wrong?!" Alan called, slamming the door shut.

  "Nothing, I'm fine!" I shouted, wanting to be left alone. I couldn't explain to him what was wrong, I just couldn't.

  Alan stomped into the room, clearly fresh out of a shower since he was only in a towel and his hair was wet, his frustration disappearing when his gaze landed on me.

  "Grace what's wrong?" he exclaimed, rushing to me. He plopped onto the couch and pulled me into his arms, letting me cry onto his bare shoulder.

  "You do know that not telling me isn't an option, right?" Alan smirked at me. "I c-can't." I hiccuped.

  After a bit of back and forth, I wound up showing him what people had been saying about me, as well as revealing the bruises I had given myself.

  "And, you didn't come to me, why?" Alan asked. "I didn't w-want you to worry." I sobbed, burying my face in his shoulder again.

  He sighed, shaking his head. "Grace, you're my best friend. You've always been my best friend. You're like my sister.

  "Worrying about you, is kinda my job. None of what those awful people have said is true.

  "You are absolutely perfect, and to Hell with what anyone else thinks. At the end of the day, they're not you, they're not your loved ones.

  "They don't matter, at all. They're probably just jealous of you anyways, cuz you have good, loyal friends, you're sweet, you're absolutely beautiful.

  "You're perfect, Grace, exactly as you are. Please, don't believe what they say." I nodded, still crying, and sniffled, "I'll try not to."