Got Me Wrong - Jerry Cantrell

Got Me Wrong

Loud, obnoxious, and rude. Those three words seemed to appear in every article, every interview, and every TV spot she was featured in, and for good reason, too. It wasn't the first time their bands were on the same bill together, and since both their bands were booked for Lollapalooza they'd be seeing a whole lot more of each other in the future.

Jerry just tried to avoid her altogether. Her name was Violet...just Violet. She was like the Tasmanian Devil destroying everything in her path. He hated to be mean about it, but it always seemed where ever she was there'd be trouble and it couldn't just be a coincidence.

He had been talking to Layne when he heard her distinctive holler. He and Layne were walking around the festival grounds. They were gonna try and blend in with the crowd so they could check out some of the other bands playing when suddenly her ferocious roar distracted them both. Layne must've slipped away into the crowd, but Jerry stood frozen. It was like a train wreck and he couldn't look away.

"You just don't fucking listen to me. I know what I'm doing!" She screamed from beneath her mop of bleached blonde hair up at a tall, lean man with stringy jet black hair. Jerry recognized him as the lead guitarist from her band but he drew a blank on his name.

"Violet, nobody cares. Just go out there with your tits out like you usually do and scream your head off. But off stage, just shut the fuck up, okay? Nobody want to hear it," The dark hair guitarist said as condescension dripped in his voice.

"That's not what this is about!" Violet screamed back up at him, "Just play the fucking songs right!"

"Nobody cares about the fucking songs!" The guitarist retorted, stepping closer to her with his eyes bugged out, "Literally, nobody but you! Now stop being such a fucking bitch!"

"It's my fucking art!" She screamed back at him, "Those songs art part of my soul!"

"God, you are such a fucking cunt sometimes," The guitarist sneered back down at her, his arms crossed defiantly over his chest.

Jerry stared in disbelief. Maybe she was loud, obnoxious, and rude, but certainly she didn't deserve that.

She drew back her fist. Jerry was sure she was going to deck the guitarist, and quite frankly he wouldn't have blamed her. Instead she turned and punched a post of the beer stand they were standing near before she ran off. Jerry had flinched when her fist connected with the post and the loud cracking noise it had made. That had to hurt. Jerry looked at the dark haired man for a moment who just rolled his eyes and turned away muttering, "Whatever."

"Whatever's right," Jerry grunted before he turned and walked in the direction he had seen Violet run in.

Of course he could have just walked off to go find Layne, he didn't owe this girl anything. Still, though, he couldn't help but be concerned. Not only did that punch sound painful, but those words probably hurt too. Sure, she had a tough exterior, but words can hurt even the toughest of people.

Jerry ambled down the grass past some tents before he found himself at the tall green fence that bordered the festival ground. He looked to his left and a few yards away he saw her sitting in the grass, hugging her knees to her as she hid her face. He recognized her distinctive mop of bleached blonde hair.

Jerry strode up to her and looked down. He took a breath before he asked, "Are you okay?"

She looked up angrily at him for a moment but her face softened upon meeting his gaze.

"Sorry. I thought you were Mike. Yeah...I'm okay," She said with a sigh before wiping at her face with her arm. Jerry squatted down next to her and saw that she had been crying.