AN: A BIG THANKS TO ALL OF YOU WHO REVIEW AND EVEN ALL OF YOU WHO READ
AND DON'T REVIEW. EVEN IF YOU HATE IT, I JUST APPRECIATE THE FACT THAT
YOU ARE TAKING THE TIME TO READ IT. THIS IS THE SECOND CHAPTER OF STAY
HOME, ALTHOUGH YOU DON'T HAVE TO READ IT BEFORE YOU READ THIS. ALL YOU
REALLY NEED TO KNOW BEFORE READING THIS IS:
- Greg has run away from home because his father was abusive and his mother couldn't stop his dad from hitting him.
- The night he ran away from New York, he finally beat the shit out of his dad and now he can't ever return.
- He is hitchhiking to San Francisco where his grandfather lives in hopes to stay with him
ALTHOUGH, IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO TAKE THE TIME TO READ STAY HOME, I WOULDN'T OBJECT.
Looking, searching for anything...rope...shoelace...belt...Yes! I looked down and pulled off the belt Lydia had given me for Christmas. Wrapping the belt as tight as I could around my arm, I watched my veins popping out, blue snakes writhing under pale skin. I had been doing so well for so long, but I just couldn't fucking take the pressure. It ate away at me daily; I'd had help, I'd been clean, but the need for it never goes away. It had taken me over, it filled my head every fucking moment of every fucking day. I hesitated as I looked down at my arm, knowing exactly what I needed to do and exactly what I was going to. A little more than a year ago, I was a straight fucking A student, who had graduated early enough to be accepted into Berkeley at the age of sixteen. As I assured myself that there was no air in the syringe, I couldn't help but wonder what the hell happened to my life.
~ less than a year before~
What does a sixteen year old who is trying to make his way across the country do if he has no money, no car, and nothing else but a soon to be criminal record? He walks. Which is exactly what I did that first night. I must have walked twenty fucking miles in downtown Matthattan traffic. Ok, so maybe I'm exaggerating a little, it was only like nineteen. Alright, you know what? The exact distance doesn't concern me because it was a fucking long way, and that's all that matters. I walked until I found a place to sleep. At first I was panicking because I had no clue where the hell I would stay that night, but I assumed in some shit-covered alley behind some pedophile's house. It wasn't until I made my way past the bus station at around three that it hit me- it was warm and safe and the benches weren't as uncomfortable as you might have thought. I was kicked out at seven the next morning, which was my signal to move on.
Eventually, I made my way to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. God, talk about a milestone. Even though it was actually pretty close to Matthattan, it took me weeks to get there; apparently hitchhikers are pretty much treated with disdain by everyone who passes one. It's the people that do give you a ride that you have to worry about. Most of them, though, are just lonely, but that doesn't mean they're not weird as fucking hell. I had decided that eating was important enough that it was necessary to do whatever was possible for food. But after awhile, your goddam conscience decides to catch up with you, and you feel guilty stealing from these harmless people. I decided to stay in Harrisburg and get a job, just long enough to raise a sufficient amount of money so I could continue on my way towards San Francisco.
I'll never forget that day. It was fucking cold as shit, as most December days in New England are. Snow from the night before's blizzard littered the ground and city workers were trying their hardest to clear the snow off of the streets before the rest of the world woke up. And there I walked, enlace in an old cord jacket that some old woman gave me, shielding my eyes from the rising six A.M. sun. My breath was visible in the freezing temperature and I was watching it, pretending I was smoking, when I tripped over my shoelace and literally rammed this innocent passerby. Well, Innocent wasn't exactly the word to describe her.
"Watch where you're going, asshole!" she screamed at me from down on the sidewalk. From the first second my eyes landed on her, I knew she was probably the most eccentric person I had ever met. I felt an immediate respect toward this girl and stuck my hand out to her, trying to help her up. She brushed a strand of the most vibrant lime green hair out of her eyes, grasped my hand, and pulled herself up. She smiled apologetically.
"Sorry, I can be a real bitch when I haven't had my coffee." The silver stud in her tongue glinted as she talked. "I'm Lydia." I grinned at her in a complete loss for words. She was the type of girl that I had always been afraid to talk to, because society frowned upon people who looked like her.
"So would you like to tell me your name or if you want I'll continue to call you clumsy asshole."
"I'm Greg, but clumsy asshole has a certain ring to it, don't you think?" Whoa, that was Greg Sanders cursing aloud for the first time in his life. I was turning into quite the rebel, don't you think?
"You know what Greg? I'm no longer pissed at you and I feel kind of bad for yelling at you earlier so I'm going to offer to buy you a cup of coffee, how does that sound?" Even though I wasn't much of a coffee drinker, I had to take her up on her offer. Coffee was warm and the caffeine would probably do me some good. Plus, there was just something about Lydia, you know? I just wanted to be around her.
After I agreed, we walked about ten blocks, past four other coffee shops. Lydia walked with an air of confidence beside me, as if she liked leading me around, showing me her territory.
Eventually, we arrived to a contemporary- looking building, with a sign hanging over the door that read, in bright green letters identical to Lydia's hair, COFFEE HOUSE. I couldn't help but think she picked this place because it looked, well, cheap. It was almost like she could sense what I was thinking, because she looked back at me as she opened the swinging glass door.
"I know it's doesn't look like much, but it has the best damn coffee in town." She led me inside the building and sat me down at one of the antique tables as she went to the front of the room to talk to the owner. It was actually a pretty cool room, with black marble floors and three checkerboard walls, the fourth covered by a breathtaking mural of what I suspected was the street in front of the store, done entirely in black and white. The painting was perfectly detailed; I mean, I like to think of myself as a pretty good artist and even I was shocked by the painter's talent. I looked down at the name sketched in the corner of the mural: Lydia Bell. If the artist was my new-found friend, then I had certainly underestimated her.
Seconds later, Lydia sauntered back over towards our table, with two steaming cups of coffee in hand. She placed one mug in front of me and slid into her seat.
"You have to drink it black- no sugar, creamer, milk. This coffee is...unbelievable. It's not the best money can buy, but it's pretty fucking close,"
Hesitantly, I tried her coffee. She talked about it like it was the greatest shit on earth. And it was.
"It's called Blue Hawaiian. Everyone who's ever tried has loved it." We sat in silence, drinking this coffee like it was liquid gold. I liked not having to explain myself to this girl; I liked the way she didn't have to ask a question every fucking second to fill the silence.
"You're not from here, are you? I mean, if you haven't heard of the fucking Coffee House, then you've never been to Harrisburg before." Maybe I spoke too soon.
"New York." I tried to keep my answers as short as possible
"Why the hell would you leave an exciting place like New York City to come to Harrisburg?"
"Well, I'm actually looking for a job." Her bright green eyes sparkled as she spewed out her next question.
"What kind of music do you listen to?"
At first, I was taken aback by her randomness, but then answered. "Older rock, like Zeppelin, AC/DC, and Pink Floyd."
Her grin got even wider as she continued. "Do you know what a roadie is, Greg?" Yes, I nodded. "How would you like to be one?" Before I could answer her, she chugged the rest of her coffee, threw some cash on the table, grabbed my hand, and pulled me from the shop. She dragged me down the street in a sprint.
"What the fuck is going on?" I yelled as I tried using my feet for brakes, unsuccessfully. She panted out something like her brother was in a rock band that was going on tour.
"Let me guess: they need roadies." She looked back at me with that maniacal grin.
"This is my brother's apartment building." She gestured toward a run down, ancient building that looked as if one strong gust of wind would send in tumbling down into ruin. We ran into the building, up a flight of stairs, and to the door that led to her brother.
"Kevin! I found one!" She yelled as she banged on his door. I now officially thought that she had lost her mind, but the idea that I might have a job kept me from running. A twenty-something guy with no hair, but a dark brown goatee and Lydia's same green eyes opened the door. He gave me a once over.
"He doesn't look like he could handle it."
"But come on Kev! He's nineteen, and a skinny, pale guy who hates his parents and loves Zeppelin. And after a month he'll be able to handle all of the equipment, don't you think? And I'll make sure he looks the part. What do you fucking have to lose?" Kevin looked at me once more, judgement evident in his eyes.
"Zeppelin, huh? So what's your favorite song?"
A fitting song title popped into my head.
"Going to California."
Kevin looked once more into the pleading eyes of his sister before finally giving in. With a sigh, responded, "Pack your bags because we leave in three days."
Lydia walked me out of the building. At the bottom of the final flight of stairs, she stopped to say her goodbye.
"So are you sure you have a place to stay?"
"Yes," I answered quickly, a little too quickly. She raised an eyebrow, but dropped the subject.
"I'll see you on Friday."
"Yeah, I'll see you", I turned and began to walk away, but faced her again when I remembered a question I needed to ask her.
"Hey, Lydia, did you paint that mural in the coffee shop?" She just smiled that psychotically electric grin and slowly walked back inside.
It had to be at least ten degrees colder than the night before. As I walked to the nearest bus stop, I realized that it was a bitter cold, the kind of cold that chills you so deeply that you feel as if you'll never get warm again. The sun had fully set by now, it was that time right after dusk when the sky fades to that murky shade of blue right before turning black. The streetlights were on, their bleak beams creating circles of light on the sidewalk. It's weird, but I always enjoyed being in those small spheres of light; it was like a protective shield from whatever was out in the night. I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally made it to that bus station, because it was the kind of night that made you feel as if something bad was going to happen.
I was thrown out of this station at seven in the morning, like clockwork, and I spent the day "finding" money that I knew I would need in order to buy a few new shirts. I couldn't show up on Friday wearing the exact same clothes as when I first met the Bells, that would raise suspicion. I needed this job; it was my ticket out of New England. I decided to buy my shit tomorrow and go to bed early that night, this time sleeping in a locked stall in the bathroom of one of those 24/7 diners. I even had enough extra cash to buy food - a cheeseburger has never tasted as good as the one I ate that night.
At ten the next morning, I finally ventured out of the diner. It was great not to have someone throw me out for a change. I couldn't motivate myself to do anything at all so I crashed on a bench in the park and, before I knew it, I was asleep.
"Had a rough couple of days?" A voice lulled me out of my sleep and caused me to crack open one eyelid, just to make sure it wasn't the cops. A pair of bright green eyes were looking down on me. Groaning, I threw my coat over my face, only to have Lydia pull it off. I sat up in defeat.
"You dyed your hair" the mass of shoulder-length lime green had been replaced by a light blue.
"Well aren't you fucking observant." She said nothing and just looked at me for a few seconds. "Greg, how old are you?"
Lydia had mentioned to her brother two days ago that I was nineteen, so I was going to stick with that. She didn't believe me, she didn't say it, but I knew she didn't believe me.
"You know I'm not going with you guys out on tour, right?" Lydia asked, hours later as we were walking home from a Taco Bell that we had decided to stop at for lunch. I had thought she was going; hell, she was the person who dragged me into this, what else was I supposed to think?
" Anyway," she continued, ignoring my lack of a response. " Since I'm not going with you, I'm supposed to show you your way around the equipment today; you know, shit like setting up the amps and teaching you the set list so you will know exactly what guitars Kevin and Zack need and exactly when they'll need them. You'll need to make sure Price's drum set gets set up correctly and well, Tony's pretty easy; just give him his bass and he'll be happy. Oh, and although Unleaded will soon be releasing a hit single, until that happens we are a supporting band and we're very broke so you're the only roadie we can afford."
"Don't take this the wrong way, but what do you do?"
"I design cover art for the band's EP and I hire cheap shitheads to do all of the manual labor for the band." Before I knew it we were in front of the coffee house, where Lydia waitressed part-time. We said our goodbyes and she reminded me, yet again, to be at her brother's apartment by seven the next morning.
Seven o'clock came, bright and early, and before I knew it, I was on a tour bus heading for Chicago. On the bus, Kevin introduced me to the rest of the band. Zack, the lead singer and backup guitar player, was the kind of guy every band wanted as its lead - good-looking, captivating, dark - and he had one hell of a voice. Price, a short guy with a nose ring and a purple mohawk, was the drummer. He was one of those guys who, even when he was in a great mood, looked pissed at the world. But I immediately hit it off with Tony. Tony was one of those quiet guys who didn't really talk much, but when he did, everyone listened. He was really funny and a geek like me, so I could relate with him. Also, he was the only other guy on the tour bus who looked normal. He and no tattoos, not many piercings, just short sandy brown hair and a couple scars on his face. Tony, it turns out, was Lydia's boyfriend; I realized this the first time I met him.
"Did Pixie come with you?" I guessed he meant Lydia so I pointed him to the back of the bus where she was cramming her brother's suitcase in the back of the van. He snuck up behind her, wrapped his arms around her and they proceeded to engage in a pretty fucking serious make-out session, so I walked to the front of the bus, only a little pissed off.
"Hey man, we're leaving." Kevin said as he pushed me into the bus that was filled with the other band members ( minus Tony, who was too busy swapping saliva with "Pixie" to even notice), and about four or five other people that I didn't know. Finally, everyone boarded and we drove along, everyone basically keeping to himself until a new song started to play on the radio. The entire bus started screaming; I mean, the high pitched teenage girl scream that I didn't think guys who had hit puberty could actually do. I had absolutely no clue as to what the hell was going on until Zack looked in my direction, our joy expressed in every inch of his face, and said, "This is our song!" Every person in that bus stopped talking as the song continued to play. We just sat and listened to the amazing song in silence and, for the first time in my life, I felt as if I was a part of something great.
I'm living on shattered faith
the kind that likes to restrict your breath
there's never been a better time than this to
suffocate on eternal bliss
In a city that swells with so much hate
I see you rise above to take its place
The heart pumps until it dies
Drain the blood, the heart is wise
AN: I'm looking for a beta for my CSI stories, if anyone out there would like to help me out, then please email me! The song in this chapter and the rest on this story is Drain the Blood by the Distillers. There will be another chapter to this and then a third section where Greg meets Grissom for the first time and leaves his rock days behind and then there will be a fourth section that will be set at about the same time as the series now. Let me know what you think about this when you REVIEW!!!(please?)
- Greg has run away from home because his father was abusive and his mother couldn't stop his dad from hitting him.
- The night he ran away from New York, he finally beat the shit out of his dad and now he can't ever return.
- He is hitchhiking to San Francisco where his grandfather lives in hopes to stay with him
ALTHOUGH, IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO TAKE THE TIME TO READ STAY HOME, I WOULDN'T OBJECT.
Looking, searching for anything...rope...shoelace...belt...Yes! I looked down and pulled off the belt Lydia had given me for Christmas. Wrapping the belt as tight as I could around my arm, I watched my veins popping out, blue snakes writhing under pale skin. I had been doing so well for so long, but I just couldn't fucking take the pressure. It ate away at me daily; I'd had help, I'd been clean, but the need for it never goes away. It had taken me over, it filled my head every fucking moment of every fucking day. I hesitated as I looked down at my arm, knowing exactly what I needed to do and exactly what I was going to. A little more than a year ago, I was a straight fucking A student, who had graduated early enough to be accepted into Berkeley at the age of sixteen. As I assured myself that there was no air in the syringe, I couldn't help but wonder what the hell happened to my life.
~ less than a year before~
What does a sixteen year old who is trying to make his way across the country do if he has no money, no car, and nothing else but a soon to be criminal record? He walks. Which is exactly what I did that first night. I must have walked twenty fucking miles in downtown Matthattan traffic. Ok, so maybe I'm exaggerating a little, it was only like nineteen. Alright, you know what? The exact distance doesn't concern me because it was a fucking long way, and that's all that matters. I walked until I found a place to sleep. At first I was panicking because I had no clue where the hell I would stay that night, but I assumed in some shit-covered alley behind some pedophile's house. It wasn't until I made my way past the bus station at around three that it hit me- it was warm and safe and the benches weren't as uncomfortable as you might have thought. I was kicked out at seven the next morning, which was my signal to move on.
Eventually, I made my way to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. God, talk about a milestone. Even though it was actually pretty close to Matthattan, it took me weeks to get there; apparently hitchhikers are pretty much treated with disdain by everyone who passes one. It's the people that do give you a ride that you have to worry about. Most of them, though, are just lonely, but that doesn't mean they're not weird as fucking hell. I had decided that eating was important enough that it was necessary to do whatever was possible for food. But after awhile, your goddam conscience decides to catch up with you, and you feel guilty stealing from these harmless people. I decided to stay in Harrisburg and get a job, just long enough to raise a sufficient amount of money so I could continue on my way towards San Francisco.
I'll never forget that day. It was fucking cold as shit, as most December days in New England are. Snow from the night before's blizzard littered the ground and city workers were trying their hardest to clear the snow off of the streets before the rest of the world woke up. And there I walked, enlace in an old cord jacket that some old woman gave me, shielding my eyes from the rising six A.M. sun. My breath was visible in the freezing temperature and I was watching it, pretending I was smoking, when I tripped over my shoelace and literally rammed this innocent passerby. Well, Innocent wasn't exactly the word to describe her.
"Watch where you're going, asshole!" she screamed at me from down on the sidewalk. From the first second my eyes landed on her, I knew she was probably the most eccentric person I had ever met. I felt an immediate respect toward this girl and stuck my hand out to her, trying to help her up. She brushed a strand of the most vibrant lime green hair out of her eyes, grasped my hand, and pulled herself up. She smiled apologetically.
"Sorry, I can be a real bitch when I haven't had my coffee." The silver stud in her tongue glinted as she talked. "I'm Lydia." I grinned at her in a complete loss for words. She was the type of girl that I had always been afraid to talk to, because society frowned upon people who looked like her.
"So would you like to tell me your name or if you want I'll continue to call you clumsy asshole."
"I'm Greg, but clumsy asshole has a certain ring to it, don't you think?" Whoa, that was Greg Sanders cursing aloud for the first time in his life. I was turning into quite the rebel, don't you think?
"You know what Greg? I'm no longer pissed at you and I feel kind of bad for yelling at you earlier so I'm going to offer to buy you a cup of coffee, how does that sound?" Even though I wasn't much of a coffee drinker, I had to take her up on her offer. Coffee was warm and the caffeine would probably do me some good. Plus, there was just something about Lydia, you know? I just wanted to be around her.
After I agreed, we walked about ten blocks, past four other coffee shops. Lydia walked with an air of confidence beside me, as if she liked leading me around, showing me her territory.
Eventually, we arrived to a contemporary- looking building, with a sign hanging over the door that read, in bright green letters identical to Lydia's hair, COFFEE HOUSE. I couldn't help but think she picked this place because it looked, well, cheap. It was almost like she could sense what I was thinking, because she looked back at me as she opened the swinging glass door.
"I know it's doesn't look like much, but it has the best damn coffee in town." She led me inside the building and sat me down at one of the antique tables as she went to the front of the room to talk to the owner. It was actually a pretty cool room, with black marble floors and three checkerboard walls, the fourth covered by a breathtaking mural of what I suspected was the street in front of the store, done entirely in black and white. The painting was perfectly detailed; I mean, I like to think of myself as a pretty good artist and even I was shocked by the painter's talent. I looked down at the name sketched in the corner of the mural: Lydia Bell. If the artist was my new-found friend, then I had certainly underestimated her.
Seconds later, Lydia sauntered back over towards our table, with two steaming cups of coffee in hand. She placed one mug in front of me and slid into her seat.
"You have to drink it black- no sugar, creamer, milk. This coffee is...unbelievable. It's not the best money can buy, but it's pretty fucking close,"
Hesitantly, I tried her coffee. She talked about it like it was the greatest shit on earth. And it was.
"It's called Blue Hawaiian. Everyone who's ever tried has loved it." We sat in silence, drinking this coffee like it was liquid gold. I liked not having to explain myself to this girl; I liked the way she didn't have to ask a question every fucking second to fill the silence.
"You're not from here, are you? I mean, if you haven't heard of the fucking Coffee House, then you've never been to Harrisburg before." Maybe I spoke too soon.
"New York." I tried to keep my answers as short as possible
"Why the hell would you leave an exciting place like New York City to come to Harrisburg?"
"Well, I'm actually looking for a job." Her bright green eyes sparkled as she spewed out her next question.
"What kind of music do you listen to?"
At first, I was taken aback by her randomness, but then answered. "Older rock, like Zeppelin, AC/DC, and Pink Floyd."
Her grin got even wider as she continued. "Do you know what a roadie is, Greg?" Yes, I nodded. "How would you like to be one?" Before I could answer her, she chugged the rest of her coffee, threw some cash on the table, grabbed my hand, and pulled me from the shop. She dragged me down the street in a sprint.
"What the fuck is going on?" I yelled as I tried using my feet for brakes, unsuccessfully. She panted out something like her brother was in a rock band that was going on tour.
"Let me guess: they need roadies." She looked back at me with that maniacal grin.
"This is my brother's apartment building." She gestured toward a run down, ancient building that looked as if one strong gust of wind would send in tumbling down into ruin. We ran into the building, up a flight of stairs, and to the door that led to her brother.
"Kevin! I found one!" She yelled as she banged on his door. I now officially thought that she had lost her mind, but the idea that I might have a job kept me from running. A twenty-something guy with no hair, but a dark brown goatee and Lydia's same green eyes opened the door. He gave me a once over.
"He doesn't look like he could handle it."
"But come on Kev! He's nineteen, and a skinny, pale guy who hates his parents and loves Zeppelin. And after a month he'll be able to handle all of the equipment, don't you think? And I'll make sure he looks the part. What do you fucking have to lose?" Kevin looked at me once more, judgement evident in his eyes.
"Zeppelin, huh? So what's your favorite song?"
A fitting song title popped into my head.
"Going to California."
Kevin looked once more into the pleading eyes of his sister before finally giving in. With a sigh, responded, "Pack your bags because we leave in three days."
Lydia walked me out of the building. At the bottom of the final flight of stairs, she stopped to say her goodbye.
"So are you sure you have a place to stay?"
"Yes," I answered quickly, a little too quickly. She raised an eyebrow, but dropped the subject.
"I'll see you on Friday."
"Yeah, I'll see you", I turned and began to walk away, but faced her again when I remembered a question I needed to ask her.
"Hey, Lydia, did you paint that mural in the coffee shop?" She just smiled that psychotically electric grin and slowly walked back inside.
It had to be at least ten degrees colder than the night before. As I walked to the nearest bus stop, I realized that it was a bitter cold, the kind of cold that chills you so deeply that you feel as if you'll never get warm again. The sun had fully set by now, it was that time right after dusk when the sky fades to that murky shade of blue right before turning black. The streetlights were on, their bleak beams creating circles of light on the sidewalk. It's weird, but I always enjoyed being in those small spheres of light; it was like a protective shield from whatever was out in the night. I breathed a sigh of relief when I finally made it to that bus station, because it was the kind of night that made you feel as if something bad was going to happen.
I was thrown out of this station at seven in the morning, like clockwork, and I spent the day "finding" money that I knew I would need in order to buy a few new shirts. I couldn't show up on Friday wearing the exact same clothes as when I first met the Bells, that would raise suspicion. I needed this job; it was my ticket out of New England. I decided to buy my shit tomorrow and go to bed early that night, this time sleeping in a locked stall in the bathroom of one of those 24/7 diners. I even had enough extra cash to buy food - a cheeseburger has never tasted as good as the one I ate that night.
At ten the next morning, I finally ventured out of the diner. It was great not to have someone throw me out for a change. I couldn't motivate myself to do anything at all so I crashed on a bench in the park and, before I knew it, I was asleep.
"Had a rough couple of days?" A voice lulled me out of my sleep and caused me to crack open one eyelid, just to make sure it wasn't the cops. A pair of bright green eyes were looking down on me. Groaning, I threw my coat over my face, only to have Lydia pull it off. I sat up in defeat.
"You dyed your hair" the mass of shoulder-length lime green had been replaced by a light blue.
"Well aren't you fucking observant." She said nothing and just looked at me for a few seconds. "Greg, how old are you?"
Lydia had mentioned to her brother two days ago that I was nineteen, so I was going to stick with that. She didn't believe me, she didn't say it, but I knew she didn't believe me.
"You know I'm not going with you guys out on tour, right?" Lydia asked, hours later as we were walking home from a Taco Bell that we had decided to stop at for lunch. I had thought she was going; hell, she was the person who dragged me into this, what else was I supposed to think?
" Anyway," she continued, ignoring my lack of a response. " Since I'm not going with you, I'm supposed to show you your way around the equipment today; you know, shit like setting up the amps and teaching you the set list so you will know exactly what guitars Kevin and Zack need and exactly when they'll need them. You'll need to make sure Price's drum set gets set up correctly and well, Tony's pretty easy; just give him his bass and he'll be happy. Oh, and although Unleaded will soon be releasing a hit single, until that happens we are a supporting band and we're very broke so you're the only roadie we can afford."
"Don't take this the wrong way, but what do you do?"
"I design cover art for the band's EP and I hire cheap shitheads to do all of the manual labor for the band." Before I knew it we were in front of the coffee house, where Lydia waitressed part-time. We said our goodbyes and she reminded me, yet again, to be at her brother's apartment by seven the next morning.
Seven o'clock came, bright and early, and before I knew it, I was on a tour bus heading for Chicago. On the bus, Kevin introduced me to the rest of the band. Zack, the lead singer and backup guitar player, was the kind of guy every band wanted as its lead - good-looking, captivating, dark - and he had one hell of a voice. Price, a short guy with a nose ring and a purple mohawk, was the drummer. He was one of those guys who, even when he was in a great mood, looked pissed at the world. But I immediately hit it off with Tony. Tony was one of those quiet guys who didn't really talk much, but when he did, everyone listened. He was really funny and a geek like me, so I could relate with him. Also, he was the only other guy on the tour bus who looked normal. He and no tattoos, not many piercings, just short sandy brown hair and a couple scars on his face. Tony, it turns out, was Lydia's boyfriend; I realized this the first time I met him.
"Did Pixie come with you?" I guessed he meant Lydia so I pointed him to the back of the bus where she was cramming her brother's suitcase in the back of the van. He snuck up behind her, wrapped his arms around her and they proceeded to engage in a pretty fucking serious make-out session, so I walked to the front of the bus, only a little pissed off.
"Hey man, we're leaving." Kevin said as he pushed me into the bus that was filled with the other band members ( minus Tony, who was too busy swapping saliva with "Pixie" to even notice), and about four or five other people that I didn't know. Finally, everyone boarded and we drove along, everyone basically keeping to himself until a new song started to play on the radio. The entire bus started screaming; I mean, the high pitched teenage girl scream that I didn't think guys who had hit puberty could actually do. I had absolutely no clue as to what the hell was going on until Zack looked in my direction, our joy expressed in every inch of his face, and said, "This is our song!" Every person in that bus stopped talking as the song continued to play. We just sat and listened to the amazing song in silence and, for the first time in my life, I felt as if I was a part of something great.
I'm living on shattered faith
the kind that likes to restrict your breath
there's never been a better time than this to
suffocate on eternal bliss
In a city that swells with so much hate
I see you rise above to take its place
The heart pumps until it dies
Drain the blood, the heart is wise
AN: I'm looking for a beta for my CSI stories, if anyone out there would like to help me out, then please email me! The song in this chapter and the rest on this story is Drain the Blood by the Distillers. There will be another chapter to this and then a third section where Greg meets Grissom for the first time and leaves his rock days behind and then there will be a fourth section that will be set at about the same time as the series now. Let me know what you think about this when you REVIEW!!!(please?)