rock you like a hurricane
"Meg, get your ass up! You’ve got school!" I groaned hearing my dad shout somewhere from the hallway. The pillow was thrown over my head, wishing for him just to leave me all alone with my wonderful lover- the bed. "Megan!" His voice seemed to be almost too close for my comfort. He pulled the blanket away, leaving my bare legs exposed to the brisk breeze coming from the open window.
"What time is it?" I peeked from underneath the pillow. He looked fresh and shiny. And fiercely smelling of that cologne of his. Something Hugo... Boss? I didn’t know.
"Time to get your ass to class." He opened the heavy drapes, blinding me with the sudden sunlight. "Now clean yourself up, you look like a hobo and smell like a liquor factory." I sat up, feeling a bit dizzy of the sudden movement. I ran my fingers through that bird’s nest my hair happened to be, and found some parts of... leaves in them? What the actual fuck? "Knox borrowed your guitar, so just go with one of the old ones."
"He did what?" Devious Knox touching my gun? The same Devious Knox from the Midnight Noir? Devious Knox a.k.a. Ryan King? That dirty dog who happened to be the manwhore of the band and the lead guitarist? His filthy little fingers sliding over my strings? Hells to the no.
"Up I said!" He took me by hand and pulled up from the bed. No! My precious!
"Why did he take my baby?" I retorted as he pushed me in the bathroom. Didn’t he have like a shit load of other guitars? Custom made models?
"Something to do with tuning accuracy and better sound, I don’t know... Meg, just please, get yourself ready, the class starts in half an hour."
"Fine..." I rolled my eyes, slamming the door. My feet carried me over to the sink. I raised my eyes to look at my reflection. Oh god. I didn’t even believe a single comb could handle that... that thing my hair was and those panda eyes. Why didn’t I ever learn? I rinsed my face and quickly brushed my teeth although it did no help in whatsoever. I was still tasting tequila and it made me question, what had I injected myself with last night? I sure as hell didn’t remember drinking tequila. I didn’t have time for shower so I had to make the best of what I got.
When I returned to the bedroom, dad had already left. Now why was I living with my father? Cause I was a worthless pile of shit? Maybe that’s it? Teaching a bunch of douchebags the art of music, more precisely the whole course of guitar playing, didn’t quite qualify as my dream job. Yes, precisely, I was a teacher. And I hated my job. With a passion. But as I said, I’m making the best of what I’ve got.
I opened the closet and experienced one of the biggest avalanches in my entire life. I don’t have time for this, for fuck sake! I pulled the first t-shirt and changed in it. Hmm... Slayer. Yeah, that will do. I had a little bit of trouble with getting my jeans, cause they were at the very bottom of the pile, but I was a stubborn gal’ and sooner or later they had to surrender. With a loud tearing sound I finally got to the black piece. Ooo, look at that, a new hole. Even better. When I had pulled them over my bruised legs, I took the black cardigan I had worn yesterday and ignoring the strong cigarette stench I threw it on, ending the whole quest with a leather jacket, my favorite dancing boots and some raybans.
"Meg, for Christ sake!" Dad stopped in the doorway when I was putting one of my Schecter guitars in the suitcase. Good for nothing assholes comes over and just steals one of my babies, could life get any better? "Oh good, you’re done. Let’s get going."
And yes, my dad was giving me a ride to school, cause I, the smart, intelligent, amazing, I, smashed my car a couple of months ago and I was too poor to get a new one.
_____
"Come by the studio, later, ‘kay?" And run into the whole Midnight Noir crew? Not in a million years, daddio. "You’ll need to drive my car to Bobby’s, see what’s that squealing sound coming from the engine."
"Are you allowing me to drive? Your car?" I hid my fake surprise under the raybans, roaming my pockets for that adorable pack of Marlboro gold. "Wow." I mouthed.
"Cut it. I have a lot of stuff to do and I don’t have time—"
"Okay. I’ll do it."
"Good luck, Megs!" yeah, yeah. I slammed the door, as soon as I had dragged my ass out of his expensive leather seating’s. A freshly lit cigarette in my fingers and a worn out guitar case in my arm- I was ready to head for the gates of hell or better known as Musicians Institute. And it appeared I wasn’t the only one this miserable looking.
"Oh my fucking god!" I went closer to the person standing by the gates of the Institute. "Has the world finally gone to its end?" If the dark haired person wouldn’t be wearing a dark pair of shades, I’d probably see the daggers she was sending me. "Bailey fucking Harris is on time! This must be some kind of a Christmas miracle you guys!"
"I’ll seriously stab you if you don’t stop." She took a deep drag, leaning against the fence. A couple of curious new faces passed us by. Freshmen. The least favorite group of these know-it-all douchebags, whose mommies and daddies expensive pockets are full of dough I’ll never ever see.
"So what’s your first class?" I asked curiously, blowing a silver cloud through my lips.
"Seniors, thank god. I’d kill myself if I’d have freshmen with this fucking hangover. You?" My eyes laid on her drumsticks. Something new, I remembered her smashing her old ones on one of her student’s arm. His folks nearly went to court if it wouldn’t be for her drummer talent. The kid himself dropped the charges.
"I’m not so lucky. A bunch of new a-holes." Our eyes landed on a guy coming our way.
"Welcome my sunshines, how is this wonderful day treating you?" If I wouldn’t be so hungover and about to throw up, I would’ve bashed his skull in. None of us replied. "That good, huh? Okay, jokes aside, we’re still hitting the bar right after this misery, right?"
"Oh god yes," Bailey exclaimed. The tall dude who just approached us was Chris. Hot, tattooed and loved alcohol. What else to wish for? And he instructed on everything there is to know about rhythm and strings. Majority of his class consisted of underage girls, you can take a wild guess- why?
"I can’t... Have some stuff to take care of." The very last thing I wanted to do right now when the booze was still dancing mambo inside my veins, was to add some more gasoline to the flames. I had to get sober at one point.
"Hey Justin," We both looked at Bailey, who had dragged some guy aside. He looked dumbfounded, just like the rest of us.
"Yes, mis Harris?" he spoke quietly.
"You’re heading for my class?"
"Yes..."
"Great... Fucking awesome man. Want an A plus at the very first lesson?"
"Sure, why not?" He shrugged.
"Go and buy me some smokes." He blinked a couple of times, looking from me to Chris. Bailey left the half smoked cigarette lingering from her lips as she pulled a wallet from the back of her jeans, giving the kid a twenty dollar bill.
"Hey, don’t look at me, I’m not your teacher." Chris raised his arms in defense. The Justin guy, hesitated for a moment, but finally turned around and went back. Was he even legal? Oh who the fuck cares anymore. Any of these douches had their fake ID’s and they could keep blabbing around how they’re of highest society, but hell man, I’ve smoked with almost all of them through recess.
"Marlboro gold!" She shouted, the guy just raised his thumb in the air.
"So now you’re enslaving your students?" Chris asked, adjusting the strap of his bag.
"I ran out, what did you want me to do? At least this way they serve some kind of purpose in life." She replied, putting out her cigarette against the fence.
"Oookay... it’s been fun chatting with you, but the class is starting and those jerks will eat me alive if I turn in after an hour, like you usually do." I threw the cigarette butt on the concrete floor.
"And there goes mis goody two shoes," I heard Bailey saying, so the only logical decision was to flip her off with a very beautiful middle finger.
______
I marched in the class ten minutes after the bell, seeing all the new students in their places (partly, some of them were lounging on desks) and waiting for me like I was a god or something. How cute.
My guitar suitcase landed on the big wooden desk with a loud thud. I took off my sunglasses taking a long glance over those faces, who looked irritated as fuck. You’re not the only ones darlings. "So..." I exhaled, taking a seat on the table, making most of them widen their eyes on me. Look, I’m no teacher material, get over it. "Let’s start with the basics... Which one of you knows how a guitar looks like?"
"If we didn’t, do you seriously think we would be here?" Some smartass in a polo shirt spoke up. One of the guys, who were sitting on their desks. His face looked... expensive. I hoped he had an insurance.
"Hell yeah." A blond guy high-fived him. Oh man, I really hate freshmen.
"Oh? So tell me..."
"Brad." He had that smug smirk on his face saying he knows everything and I’m not welcomed here, but then why was he taking my class?
"Brad." I grinned. "Can you explain me why economy sweep picking is better than the basic one? Of course if it is better."
"Cause it takes less effort."
"Will it take less effort in shredding?"
"Well yeah." He shrugged, looking around and seeing encouraging grins.
"That’s a fucking F, mate. And now shut up or I’ll make you shut up."
"What? You can’t swear in class." Another douchebag spoke.
"Says who?" I jumped off the table. "Listen amigos, I am the teacher, you’re here to learn something, so I’d suggest you all shut your pie holes and start learning something other than robbing your folks off their green bucks. So let’s start again... I’m Megan Hills, your teacher for guitar practice and this is me in my good mood, so don’t fucking piss me off. I’m not here to entertain you and neither are you. Let’s be honest, I want this lesson to end as badly as you all do, but that’s not going to happen so soon, so quit jerking off and let’s cut to the chase." With a corner of my eye, I noticed a girl raising her hand. "Yes..." I exhaled, turning to face the chalk board as I stripped myself off the jacket.
"Is Devious Knox still teaching master classes here?"
"Out..." I hissed.
"But-"
"Out of my sight!" As the girl got up from her seat with a great frustration over her face, I took a chalk in my fingers. "If any of you are here just because of Knox, here is his phone number" I draw a bunch of numbers on the chalkboard. It was just like every other freshmen course. Sixty percent were here just to look at Knox’s ass, rather than learn something. And thanks to the experience, his phone number had been engraved in my brain. "call him and ask yourself and please, never return to my class. What concerns the rest of you, the straight thinking people, we’ll start with a bunch of chromatic scales."
Was I being a little harsh on my students? Sure was. Did I hate mister Knox with everything I had? Not quite. I just disliked his manwhore reputation and arrogant, bastard like attitude he was so proud of. This leads us to the question- do I know him personally? We’ve been introduced, but thank god it was many years ago and he had forgotten my lovely face.
I wish for it to remain that way.