New Religion (An Andy Biersack Fan Fiction) DISCONTINUED

New Religion (An Andy Biersack Fan Fiction Part 1)

The metal blade cut deeply into my skin, the antagonizing pain shot through my wrist. It felt good in a strange way. My shredded black jeans and scuffed red Doc Martins were stained with drops of blood. It didn't really bother me and it looked like part of the pattern. But I was lucky not to get a drop on my favourite bat-man shirt.

My phone sat in my lap, I waited for it to buzz or to do something, but it never did. I was about to leave to my uncles recording studio right before my real dad saw be come down the stairs.

'Where the fuck do you think 'yer going young lady?!' he shouted as he walked up to my face, invading my personal space. My mum just sat there, with a evil grin on her face. Bastard.

'I'm going to the studio, like I always do.' I answered. A hand found itself in my right side and a small crack was heard. His grip ranched towards my neck as he bashed my head against the wall and a blood streamed down the wall.

'Don't you fuckin talk to me like that, Athena!' His grip loosened around my neck and I dropped to the ground, gasping for breath.

'Get outta my sight, you little fuck-up' I ran upstairs, grasping for my things, as I was unpleasantly remind that I had left them up here. I grabbed my phone of my bed and my dance bag. It was filled with different CD's 2 different pairs of point shoes (A black pair and a pink pair) and a back-up razor.

I flung my leg over my motorbike and rode into the city, not even daring to look back. The lunchtime traffic was as busy as usual, but luckily the studio was only about 3 blocks away.

I hated living in the middle of the city, but it was also helpful whenever I needed an escape, I could loose my father in a matter of minutes in the twisting, never-ending alleys of Seattle. And if worst came to worst I could lock myself in the studio and sleep there. I've done that many times, Its practically my home away from home. I wish it was my home, away from my abusive father and obnoxious mother.

'Oh Athena, what has your father done this time?' my Uncle took a hasty breath as he examined my wounds, I kept my jacket on though, avoiding getting the same lecture about cutting, which I've heard so many times before.

'Is it cool if I just rehearse like usual,' I asked.

'Yeah, thats probably best. There s a band coming in today, so that's a safe option in your given state.' He referred to my bruises. And your scars, my subconscious bitched to me at the back of my mind. I instantly banished the thought from my head.

In my own little dance studio, I place my black point shoes on my feet and wrapped up the ribbons. Whilst taking off my jacket I rooted through my bag and put my 'We Stitched These Wounds' CD into the stereo. My mirrored dance studio was sound proof so I blasted out the album. I warmed up feet to 'We Stitch These Wounds' and then began to loose myself in the rhythm of Carolyn. I was half way through a contemporary dance to Perfect Weapon when my Uncle walked in.

{For anyone who doesn't know what pointe shoes look like heres a link http://liliona.tumblr.com/post/8582074061}

'Athena, darling. George, the sound guy has been in a accident and is unable to come to work, please could you help out?'

'Yeah sure, lemme just change shoes.'

'No time for that dear, come now. They won't be looking at your feet.' My Uncle ushered me out of my studio, right after I sling my jacket on in rapid time, into the recording booth. 5 Guys - 1 singer, 3 guitarists and a drummer stood in front of me, well technically in front of me behind a sound proof wall. I sat my self down at the sound technicians board and place a pair of headphones on my head. I flicked some switches and spoke into the mike 'You guys are good to go,'.