Work Text:
“See you in a few!” Sara yells at me before taking off towards the showers. She’s obviously still pumped on the adrenaline from our show.
I laugh at her antics and wave my hand in her general direction while opening the door of our dressing room. I still need to grab my shampoo.
I stop dead in my tracks when I realize there are other people in the room already. Two guys are holding somebody against the back wall. A third person, his back facing the door, is blocking my view of the person being held.
I let out a gasp when the man with his back towards me throws a punch to the person hidden from my view. It makes the two people holding him look up in surprise and suddenly I recognize the drummer and the bass player of Beaten Bullies, the co-headlining band.
The third attacker throws another punch before slightly turning his body towards me. This not only makes me recognize him as Simon, the singer of Beaten Bullies, it also makes me realize that he is using my best friend as a punching bag.
“Ah, Genevieve, yes, great!" Simon says. The way he uses my full name makes me cringe. Nobody has called me Genevieve in years and yet he insists on it. Before I have time to make a remark about it, he continues. "Best for you to see this for yourself firsthand,” he says before turning his back to me again to throw another punch. It is immediately followed by a cracking sound that makes my stomach turn.
For a moment, I can do nothing but stare at the scene in front of me. Then I find my voice again, and realizing this commotion needs to stop right now, I exclaim, “What the hell?”
I hear a groan as Simon’s hand goes down again, while he nonchalantly calls over his shoulder, “Now, I know this might look a little extreme, but I am determined to make my point.”
When his arm goes up again, ready for another attack, I trust forward and grab it as tightly as I can. “Simon, knock it off!” I yell at him.
“But you see, my dear Genevieve, I can’t.” He turns to talk to me and pulls me a few steps away, before pulling his arm from my grip. “For your sake, as well as his, it’s far better you face the truth now than later. Look, for you to be with Bret-”
“Bronx!”
“Whatever,” Simon continues in his annoying British accent, unfazed by my correction. “For you to be with him instead of me…”
From the corner of my eye I see Bronx making a move in our direction. Simon simply snaps his fingers and his two friends tighten their grip. I let out an angry snarl.
Simon, seemingly undisturbed, continues, “… would be a terrible mistake. You see, he is nothing. A wannabe rock star living of the legacy of his dad. He is not worth your time, Genevieve. I, on the other hand, can give you the life you’ve always dreamed of.”
Apparently Simon’s friends chose this moment to loosen their grips again, because Bronx is suddenly running in our direction. However, Simon is quick to react and takes a step aside. The movement is small, but it is enough to make Bronx miss his actual target and make him run full speed against the wall behind Simon.
I gasp and rush over to Bronx, whose face is covered in blood at this point.
Bronx groans, but motions for me to stay upright. “I got him right where – right where I want him,” he manages to get out. He slowly gets to his feet, turns and walks over to Simon.
“Alright, you arrogant son of a bitch, you think you’re the perfect man for Evie just because you play a little music?”
Simon’s eyebrows rise, as if he wonders why one would ask such an oblivious question. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”
“You,” Bronx states as he pins a finger to Simon’s chest. “don’t know anything about her.”
Simon lets out a short laugh. “On the contrary. I know everything there is to know about Genevieve Beckett, thank you.” His cocky accent makes me cringe in disgust.
“Where is she ticklish?”
“Ticklish…” Simon slowly repeats the word, almost as if to see how it rolls of his tongue.
“Right above her left collar bone, and the cavity of her right knee,” Bronx answers his own question. Simon shrugs, but he doesn’t get the time to offer a verbal reaction. “Did you know she always saves the red M&M’s for last, never any other color. And every time she hears her dad sing Forever Ended Today she cries. Every time. Did you know that? No, why would you because you don’t even care. You just want her to be some trophy girl so you can be the new power couple in rock ‘n roll. I care about Evie. I love her!”
“And I love him.” I blurt out, before I can stop myself.
Simon leans across Bronx to look at me as Bronx turns to look at me, too. Both look as if their eyes can come bulging out at any given moment.
I look at Bronx and shrug, as if he should have seen this coming all along. Which, of course he couldn’t have. Nobody could. We both take after our dads, Bronx being the one with his feelings on display, while I am the introverted shy one when I can’t hide behind the cover of my bass, my music. Even though the girls, especially Sara, tease me about mine and Bronx’s friendship a lot, nobody knows how much I truly love the boy. Up until now, that is.
“Genevieve? Gen, you can’t be serious -” Simon starts out. He suddenly sounds insecure.
Bronx doesn’t bother to wait for what else Simon might have to say. He simply turns and punches him hard in the face, causing Simon to fall to the ground. “Yeah, we’re both serious. Beat it, pal,” he spits out, towering over Simon.
Unable to meet Bronx’s glare and without saying anything, Simon looks at me. And silence speaks louder than words. For the first time since our bands started touring together, I see Simon for what he really is. The obnoxious rock star is gone and all that is left lying on the floor is an insecure boy. A boy that likes to play pretend, act like something he’s not.
“What he said,” I tell Simon, waving my hand in the general direction of the door.
Simon stares at me for another moment, speechless, before scrambling up from the floor. He sends Bronx another glare and for a moment it looks as if he is going to attack him again. But then he quickly turns around and hurries out of the room, closely followed by his two friends. He makes sure to slam the door closed on his way out as hard as he can.
I find myself staring at Bronx while the sound of the slamming door dies away. I feel like I should say something, anything to Bronx, but my mouth suddenly seems to have a life of its own and refuses to move. Probably because I’m scared to death to say the wrong things.
I opt for reaching for Bronx’s face instead. It still is covered in blood and I can see a large bruise forming on his right cheek.
Bronx groans and flinches away when my fingers skim over the already purple skin on his cheek. I quickly retract my hand. “Sorry, sorry!” I stutter out.
“That’s okay. It’s okay,” Bronx assures me.
Neither of us says anything else and another silence settles over the room. It pressed down heavy, making me feel uncomfortable. I can’t bear to look at Bronx, instead staring at the closed door.
Bronx eventually breaks the silence. “So, you love me, huh?”
I cautiously and slowly turn to look at him, afraid of the emotions I will find on his face. To my surprise, his expression is amused. I search for any sign that he is about to ridicule me, that he is mad. I don’t find any. I let out a content sigh and feel my body relaxing. Suddenly I can’t remember why I was worried about his reaction anymore.
“I do,” I admit, mirroring Bronx’s amused expression. “And I would even kiss you right now, if your pretty face wasn’t covered in blood.”
Bronx’s eyes sparkle, mischief radiating from them. “Then I suggest we quickly get my pretty face cleaned up!” he shouts right before opening the door.
He grabs my shampoo bottle of the table, grabs my hand and starts dragging me into the direction of the venue’s showers. My laugh rings through the hallway as I try to keep up with his tempo.
There is going to be press to deal with when they find out. There are parents that need to be informed, although our dads might have planned for this to happen all along. But I’m not thinking of that. Because he loves me. And I love him. And that’s all that matters right now.