SCARS - a Kellic au

Part I

The heavy music that was blasting through Kellin's headphones almost fully drowned out all the nosie around him.

He didn't hear the cars that were driving past him, honking their horns at the intersections, he didn't hear the old man at the street corner, that was begging for money and he didn't notice the hungry looking stray cat that was searching for something edible near the dumpsters.

These parts of the city weren't particularly pretty, not really worth seeing, in Kellin's opinion. He just tried to get to his destination without thinking about all that too much.

He was on his way to a small underground club called The Basement, that featured small, local punk and post-hardcore bands every now and then.
Nick referred to it jokingly as Kellin's only happy place and if Kellin was honest, he wasn't wrong.

Going to that club was like an escape from his weekly stress and worries. He seemed to live in the moment for the time being, wich was otherwise unusual.

Nick was a friend (if you could even call him that, maybe more of an acquaintance), whom he had met at said club and who was there at least as often as Kellin himself. They had hit it off right away and he was one of the few people there, he had told his real name.

Not being twenty-one yet, he'd had to get a fake ID to get in. The guy who lived one floor down from the apartment Kellin shared with his mother, had told him he could get him one, right when they had moved in.
Even though his mom had angrily scoffed at the guy for offering that to a thirteen year old, a few years later Kellin found himself knocking at the man's door.

Kellin was now little over twenty-one, according to his ID, wich made him two and a half years older than he actually was. On his ID his name was also not Kellin, but Hennry Smith. Hennry was spelled with a double n, because his neighbor had messed up, but Kellin was stuck with it now.

When he arrived at club, he was greeted with music coming from inside, the neon sign that used to say Basement and now said Bamet, a group of smokers who were standing outside and chatting and, of course, the not-so-friendly looking bouncer.

Without saying a word Kellin got his wallet out of his back pocket and handed his fake ID to the guy. In the few seconds that it took for the bouncer to take a look at the ID, then at Kellin, then back at the ID, Kellins blood was pumping so fast he could hear his own heartbeat.

But, just like the times before, the doorman just handed Kellin the card back and motioned for him to go inside.

Inside Kellin went straight past the coatroom and the toilets to the room where the small stage and on the other side the bar were.

A few people were there, but so far no one he had spoken to before. Kellin went to the bar and sat down on one of the leather-upholstered stools. “Could i have a glass of water?”

The bartender laughed: “Sure, kid.” Then he pointed at the price list and Kellin handed him the money. “So who's playing tonight?”, he asked, just trying to make conversation.
He didn't want to be the lonely kid who sat at the bar alone without talking to anybody.

“We're having 'The Pitch Black Preachers' later again tonight,” the bartender said, rolling his eyes a little, while filling up an empty glass with mineral water.

The Pitch Black Preachers were a not really good self-proclaimed scream punk slash heavy metal band Kellin had the misfortune of kind of knowing the lead singer of.

They had played in the club about a month earlier already and after the show the lead singer had spilled his beer onto Kellin's new shirt and instead of apologizing he had proceeded to grope the girl Kellin had been talking to that night. In the end the singer had to be kicked out of the club, because he had threatened to fight the bar keeper. Not particularly the friendliest guy.