Music to my soul (private)

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waterboy

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Erin waited in line for tickets, impatient to get inside and off the streets and into the small venue. She was sick of listening to the two girls behind her in line blather on about how much they hated this one girl. Apparently she'd hoked up with the boyfriend of one of the girls in line, and now her friend was trying to tell her it would all be okay, and that she just needed to forget about it.

Erin rolled her eyes. If she wasn't in such a good mood, she probably would've turned around and told them to shut the hell up, and that no one wanted to listen to them whine in their annoying valley girl voices that sounded like they spoke every sentence as a question. She smiled at the bouncer as he let her in and made her way inside and towards the stage, trying to get a good view. The band would be starting soon.
 
March had his hands in his pockets. His band mates were chatting around him and hyped about their upcoming gig. March was a little annoyed at them for teasing him about never having a girlfriend before in his life. It wasn't that he didn't like girls, he just hadn't found anyone he clicked with. He sighed and began to tune his bass. He took his place on the stage as the drummer lazily made his way to his set. March looked into the crowd with sparkling red eyes. They were clearly contacts, but they made him look eerily attractive.

March's heart thumped loudly in his chest and he heard the sound of drumsticks clicking in his ears. Without so much as a second thought, he opened his mouth to sing. The words that left his mouth were like sugar capped mountains. It was hypnotic and mesmerizing. The crowd swayed with the beat and girls were melted by his sound.

Every gig was like this, but he always felt like he was missing something, no matter how good his manager said his performance was for the day.
 
Erin danced to the music with the rest of the crowd, jumping up and down and singing along to the songs she knew the words to. But unlike the other girls here, she wasn't desperately trying to show off her cleavage to get the attention of the band members. She just danced, one hand clutching a beer she'd picked up at the bar, and the the other pumping in the air. Her long brown hair was in her face, and she pushed it away and took a swig of her beer.

A guy came up behind her and tried to grind on her, but she shoved him off with an elbow to the side and looked back to the band. The drummer, as usual, had at some point taken his shirt off and was jumping around like a madman. The two guitarists were doing their thing, making the odd faces people do when they're sucked into whatever they're playing, and the lead singer was shredding on the bass. His eyes were red tonight, which Erin thought was cool. She'd seen them play before twice, but both times his eyes had been dark blue. With the red contacts in you couldn't help but stare at him as he played.
 
When the band played their final song, March was thoroughly exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to grab a soda from the bar and call it a night. While he loved his parties, he just wasn't in the mood for it tonight. March's voice hung in the air as he sang the final notes to his song "Easy Lies". It was his personal favorite song seeing as he based it off something that happened way back in his childhood.

His band members agreed that it was one of his best songs on their new album, Punishment. March yawned tiredly and packed up his bass and amps. He pulled his hoodie over his head to hide his face as best he could so he could get to the bar without pulling too much attention. He ordered a Mountain Dew and did his best not to make eye contact with anyone there.
 
Erin walked over to the bar, trading the bartender her empty beer for a water bottle. She sat down on one of the stools, looking over at the guy in the hoodie sitting next to her. For someone who was in a packed club, he was looking very much like he didn't want to be there. She opened her water and downed half of it, not having realized how thirsty she was.

Erin put her elbows on the bar, the water held in a hand. "Hey," she said to sweater-guy. He didn't respond, so she poked him in the shoulder gently. He probably hadn't heard her over the noise of the club. "Hey," she said again. "You okay?"
 
"Yeah, I'm fine," Was all that March said.
He didn't dare look the girl in the eyes in fear of her recognizing who he was. He hadn't even sat down yet and he was already so close to blowing his cover, but leaving now would only raise suspicion or make him look like a complete ass. He took a sip of his Mountain Dew and reveled in the way the acid tickled his throat.

He tried his best not to let the poking bother him. For some reason, he just wasn't a fan of being touched by strangers. He wasn't afraid of germs, he just didn't like it. March just blamed it on his sensitive skin.
 
"Yeah, sure," Erin said, turning to look out at the crowd. The next band had just started playing, but they weren't as good as the first. Erin had come for one band in particular, but now that they'd finished their set she would probably just go back to her apartment. "Whatever you say... March." She grinned into her water. She'd known it was him because of his sweater. It was the same one he'd worn at the other shows she'd seen of his. He had put it on after every show and made his way to the bar for a Mountain Dew. So it was either a very devoted fan, or a band member. And she's seen the band, with the exception of the singer, head outside for a joint.

"A word of advice: if you don't want to be noticed, don't wear the same sweater after every show." With that, she pushed off the bar stool and made her way to one of the secluded booths in the corner of the club, walking around the dance floor to get there. Erin sat down leaning back in the plush seat, the dim lighting obscuring the booth she was in.
 
March didn't say anything. He didn't prove nor disprove the girl's claims. Though March was positive he didn't wear the same sweater after every show. It was impossible seeing as he loved clothes and hated wearing things more than once in the vicinity of one month.
March kept his eyes hidden from view and followed the girl to the plush seat. He stopped himself from correcting her and turned on his heels to leave. It wasn't like he'd ever see her again anyway and he'd be even more careful to wear more sweaters. He would have to have a talk with his designer about his wardrobe. March took his Mountain Dew and gulped it down before setting his empty glass on the bar and preparing to leave. His band mates were actually mingling, which was reassuring since two of them were suffering from withdraw from pot.
 
"You don't have to leave," Erin said. "I won't tell anyone you're here, if you don't want me to. I can keep a secret." She smiled lightly when he stopped. "If anyone is to leave, it should be me. You're here to have fun with your band. Stay, I insist. I'll leave." She got up and made to leave, giving him a small smile before throwing away the now empty bottle in the trash can. "Have a good night," Erin said, and walked toward the door.
 
"Need a ride?" March asked slyly.
It wasn't that he was trying to pick up a small fling, but it was about the time for occasional flirting here or there. It was typically pretty harmless among the fans that weren't head over heels for him. At least this girl wasn't trying to throw her bra at him. He'd ask her name, but he didn't see a point in doing so seeing as the chances of meeting her again were slim. His band member eyed him suspiciously but he brushed off their looks and continued walking as though he hadn't seen them at all.
 
Erin frowned, a bit incredulous that he'd offer. He didn't seem like he had any interest in being anywhere near her. Or anyone else, for that matter. "Seriously? Not to sound ungrateful of anything, I appreciate the gesture, but don't you have better things to do?" She stood on the sidewalk, looking along the busy boulevard for a cab. She sighed when none of them stopped at her outstretched arm, and turned back to March. "You can go back inside. I'll be fine, once I find a taxi."
 
March just shrugged, "The taxis rarely stop here."
He wasn't sure if what he said was true or not, but taxis rarely stopped for him and he was the lead singer of Silent Suicide. He left the girl there and wandered through the streets. His crimson eyes glowed in the night under the shadow of his hoodie. The bus wouldn't be leaving until midday tomorrow. The night was his. To be honest, he wouldn't have minded a little company. All March wanted was a real moment he could treasure. Unlike his band mates who cared not if they remembered anyone other than themselves.
 
"Oh," Erin said, a light frown on her face. "Okay, I guess." She took a final glance at the street. There were plenty of taxis about, but none of them were stopping for her. "I suppose a ride wouldn't hurt. Where are you parked?" she asked, searching for his eyes, which - along with the rest of his face - were hidden under his hood. She was starting to get cold now, since she'd left the warmth of the club behind. It would be good to get somewhere with heat.
 
March looked back and then led the girl whose name he still didn't know to his car, "There's a jacket in the backseat. You can wear it if you want. You look a little chilly."
In a way, March's hoodie was kind of like a mask. He could see the outside world, but the outside world couldn't see him. It was a way for him to keep a safe distance from people and to avoid attracting too much attention to himself.
"You shouldn't frown. It will wrinkle that beautiful face you have..." March said quietly. He opened the door for the girl and waited patiently for her to get in.
 
Erin smiled as he held the door for her, slipping into the car, which smelled of leather and incense. She grabbed the zip up sweater from where it was heaped in the backseat. "Thank you," she said sincerely as March got in the driver's seat. "For the ride and the jacket. You didn't have to." She slipped her arms into the sweater and buckled her seatbelt. "I don't live far," she said to him. "It's practically around the corner, but this late at night I didn't want to walk."
 
March just shrugged, "Well it would be against my morals to leave a woman roaming the streets this late at night. Just tell me where to go."
Once he was safely inside the car, March pulled down his hood. His black hair was swept sharpy above his eyes.
His face was still hard to see thanks to the darkness of the night. It appeared as though March was used to hiding his face from others. He only smiled when he knew no one would see him do it. March just had a hard time showing his true self to others.
 
"You drive south down Main street," Erin began, pointing to the street the club was on, "until you get to Green, which is about ten blocks away. Take a right onto Green. I'll direct you from there." She turned to him, her eyes alight but the rest of her face solemn. "I really do appreciate it. Walking around alone downtown late at night is never a good idea, but nighttime on a Friday is the worst."
 
"I would hate for something unfortunate to happen to you," March said quietly, "Do you ever feel like something in your life is missing?"
The question would probably seem incredibly random to the girl he was with, but the question went right along with the way he was feeling. No one would expect his latest hit, Without Purpose to be about him. March was a really popular rock star, but he didn't really have any people he could share the moment with.
 
A small smile played momentarily across Erin's face. She somehow doubted he actually gave a damn about her well being, but she appreciated the effort he was making to be polite. The question he asked her next, his quiet voice loud in the otherwise silence, struck her as odd. Not because it was random, which it was, but because she didn't expect the question to come from someone like him. He had money, women, success, and seemingly everything else. But she, more than anyone, knew better than to judge someone by outward appearance.

Erin stayed quiet for a moment, contemplating the question. "It depends," she said slowly. "No one is perfectly content with their lot in life, but I guess my answer depends on if you mean missing something literally, or figuratively. Literally," she continued hesitantly, "no. I'm fine with what I have. Figuratively though, I'm less certain." Her real answer would be a definite yes, she was missing something. In fact, lots of somethings. But she wasn't one to talk about her feelings, especially with a stranger whom she just met, so she didn't elaborate further.
 
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