*Misunderstood (Discontinued)

*Misunderstood (Discontinued)

Status: Finished

Genre: Romance


Status: Finished

Genre: Romance


He's a rockstar, He's shameless, He's depressed, He's misunderstood.....and I want him.


He's a rockstar, He's shameless, He's depressed, He's misunderstood.....and I want him.

Chapter1 (v.1) - Misunderstood

Author Chapter Note

He's a rockstar, He's shameless, He's depressed, He's misunderstood.....and I want him.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: October 01, 2014

Reads: 3322

Comments: 7

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: October 01, 2014



~~Author's Note: Hey guys, this is technically not a new story. I wrote this on another profile but I can't access it so I moved it here. Yes another rockstar story and yes I plan to actually finish it. It won't be long, it's basically a novella. So, yeah. lol. Not, tell me true, I want harsh criticism on this one, guys, because I do plan to publish this one seriously. Tell me....anything. Thank you and I love you.

Chapter 1: I get it

The band’s name is Arson.
The word is splashed in red across my red t-shirt, or at least was. Now my t-shirt is torn the ‘Ar’ and the ‘Son’ separated as it laid in a scrap beside me.
I breathed deeply and shut my eyes as I tried to understand just what the hell I just let happen.
It was just so fast, so…disgusting.
I winced as I felt the guy’s scruffy stubble scratch my nipple. He was laying atop of me, still inside me with his pants hanging around his ankles.

I laid beneath him, completely grossed out, and regretful. What was I thinking? I wasn’t drunk…nor high. But I wish I was.
 I actually let this….thing fuck me in his van. A light blue van filled with dirty sarcastic stickers on the outside and empty beer bottle cans thrown around on the inside.

The images of the events from earlier played in my head.
From the crowded entrance to the club, to the shouting and roaring of the crowd, crying out their passion for Arson.
Then it went from being invited backstage to meet the band mates, to me lying on the floor of the van. I don’t recall agreeing to sleep with the guitarist, yet here he laid on top of me.
My stomach felt sick. I winced and pushed up on his shoulders.

He didn’t move. His body was heavy, and he seemed to resemble a dead person as his weight crushed me.
I balled my fist around the collar of his jacket and tried to push him off of me.
He wouldn’t move, and the panic set into my body. I grunted as I used all my strength to push his body from mine. “Get off.”

These seem to be the magic words, and seemed to wake the guy up from his slumber. He met my eyes and got up on his hands, sliding out of me.

The sound made me want to vomit. I squirmed from underneath his body and crawled around to gather my torn clothing.
I pulled my black boy shorts back on, and then grabbed my black bra, and hooked it around my pale body.
I wasn’t a child, but I didn’t have much of a body. I was skinny and pale with small breasts. It was rare someone would actually give me the time of day. Sure, to them, I was a great fuck, but I didn’t have the physique that guys preferred. I didn’t have a big butt, and huge breasts.

Most guys preferred girls with submissive personalities with big heads with a lot of space. I wasn’t that girl. No guys preferred my attitude, or my need to debate against the things they say.

I pulled my jean skirt up to my waist, and pulled on my socks and brown army boots.
Another things guys don’t get. My style.
I grabbed my torn shirt from the floor and groaned. It was ruined. It wasn’t torn completely, the back was still connected. It was the front that was torn in half.
I looked down at my black bra and then back at the torn shirt.
I pulled the shirt over my body anyway and looked down at my outfit. It was my style, torn or not.

“Hey, girl, you got a cig?” asked the guy as he buckled up his belt.
I narrowed my eyes, trying to understand my attraction to him. I didn’t have any. So what led me on the floor of the van? He was cute. Short brown messy hair, and brown eyes. Yet, I was more disgusted by him then anything and I don’t know why.
I shake my head. “No. I don’t smoke.”
I grabbed my brother’s old brown jacket and pulled it over my shoulders and made my way to the back door.

“So, hey,”
I rolled my eyes but turned and faked a smile to the guy.
“Are you going to call me?”
I shrugged as my hand went to the handle of the door. “Uh…I don’t have a phone. Sorry.” I climbed out of the van, and shut the door closed.
I stepped away from the van and turned around. I came here with my best friend, Patrick, and now he was nowhere to be found. Damnit.

I walked away from the van, and back into the club, where there was a hold crowd bobbing their heads to a band that I’ve never seen nor heard before.

I walked back outside in the cool air and folded my arms. Should I wait? Or should I spend the entire rest of my night looking for him?
Or, I could call him.
My palm smacked my forehead. I forgot I had my phone with me.

I walked from the front entrance, around the building so I wouldn’t be standing there awkwardly. I walked around to the side as I flipped my phone open and pressed the green button.
It wouldn’t come on. “Shit!” I yelled.
I heard a sound of movement and my eyes tore from my phone to go to the guy leaning against the brick wall.
He was watching me as he took a long drag of his cigarette.
I must have looked like a crazy person to him.

He looked at me with disinterest.
I debated on whether or not I should ask to use his phone. I was sure he’d say no. He looked like he didn’t want to be bothered with me, or anyone else for that matter.
But I needed to find Patrick so could get out of here. I was tired and I needed a shower really badly. The thought of the guitarist on top of me made a disgusted shiver run through my body and I shook it off.

I walked over to the guy, and the closer I got to him, the more I began to notice about him. He had shoulder length dirty blonde hair, his eyes were tired, and lazy. He looked older than me.
The shadows were slightly covering him, but I can see that he was wearing a pair of old jeans, and a black leather jacket.
He leaned casually against the wall and he looked away as I stepped to him.
He blew out the smoke slowly, and then met my eyes again.

My heart had started beating really fast as my memory tapped to the surface. I know him. He’s the lead singer to Arson.
My lips parted, but there was nothing I could say. Nothing, not even a small squeak would come from my lips. I just stood there, probably looking pretty stupid with my eyes bulging out at him.

His eyebrow raised. “Yes?” He asked.
I closed my lips and opened them once more before stepping away. “Oh I’m…I’m sorry for bothering you.”

He shrugs and taps the ashes onto the grass before bringing the cigarette back to his lips.
He takes it away once more. “Doesn’t matter.”

“I was just wondering if you had a phone I could use. Mine is dead.” I said showing him my cell phone.

He switched hands, placing his cigarette in his left hand between his index and his middle finger that has a band-aid going around it.
He reached into his jacket pocket, took a look at his phone and then handed it to me.

“Thank you.” I said as I took it from him.
He nodded once and continued to go on with his cigarette.
I watched him like an idiot for a while before his blue eyes met mine. “What?”

I shook my head, snapping myself from the reverie. I glanced down to the phone before meeting his eyes again. “I’m sorry.” I turned, and put my head down. I tucked my hair behind my ear as I dialed Patrick’s number.
I put the phone to my ear and peeked over my shoulder to him.

He raised his brow, a look of decided curiosity in his eyes as he watched me.
I quickly turned back and listened as the line droned on.
I shut my eyes. Please pick up. Please pick up.
After four rings, his voicemail picked up and I hung up. “Shit.” I muttered.
I turned back to face the rock star with the long blonde hair and daring blue eyes. His name wouldn’t come to my mind. He was the type where you’d forget his name, but never his face.

“No answer.” I said as I held the phone out to him.
“Obviously.” He took it from me and stuffed it back in his pocket.
I folded my arms and leaned against the building along with him. I feel his eyes on me, but I don’t look at him.

We were both silent, just standing there, listening to the crickets and the passing by cars, along with the drowning noise of music from inside of the club.

“So you’re just going to stand here?” He asks after a long moment.
I tore my eyes away from the night sky to look at him. “Got a problem with that?” I asked.
He blew out a cloud of smoke and shrugged his shoulders carelessly.

“I’m waiting for my friend.” I said.
“And he’s going to find you back here?” He asked quirking his eyebrow.
“Maybe.” I answered.

He nods his head. “Yeah, because people always look for their friends behind clubs.”
“He’s going to find me.” I say more forcefully than I intended.
After a pause, he nods his head and runs his fingers through his hair, messing it up a bit.
His eyes went to the grass as he took another drag and closed his blue eyes before tilting his head back, opening his eyes and blowing the smoke up into the air.
He watched the smoke for a moment before it faded away into the sky.
He breathed out of his nose and looked to me. He held his hand out, offering me the cigarette.
I shook my head and waved it away. “I don’t smoke.” I said.

At this, a corner of his mouth turned up before he looked away.
“What?” I asked.
He shook his head. “It’s nothing.” He tapped the top of the cigarette and the ashes fell into the grass by his black boots. His were steel toed and ratty like mine.

“No. What?” I asked.
He shrugged one shoulder and met my eyes, his were lazy, yet intense.
I stared into the deep blue irises of his, surprised by how wise they looked despite his young face. He couldn’t have been a teen, but he couldn’t have been in his thirties either. There was something unique, yet real and true about his eyes.

He studied the clothing I was wearing before looking back into my eyes. “You have big eyes.” He commented.
I rolled them. As if no one’s already told me. My best friend/roommate Patrick always makes fun of them.
“Uh…thanks?” I said.

“I’m not making fun, they’re just…unusual.”
“Once again…thanks.” I said dryly. I moved my boot back forth against the grass, unable to stay still. I don’t know why, but I suddenly felt nervous butterflies in my stomach.
I couldn’t figure out why or what brought it on. I peeked back over to him and he seemed to just be done with his cigarette. He threw it to the grass and rolled his ratty boot over it.

“So, what are you doing out here…like…alone?” I asked.
“I like to smoke alone. Calms me.”
“How?” I asked. Maybe I was being weird asking about his smoking. I was just trying to make conversation.

“Just does. Why are we talking about this?”
“Sorry, just making conversation.”

He moved off of the wall and stretched, raising his arms high and sighing. He brought his arms down. As he began to walk away, I felt a sense of fear, and loneliness. I don’t know if it’s because if he left I’d be out here alone, or if it was him in general.

“Hey,” I said.
He turned to look to me, a look of disinterest coating his expression.
“Can I come? It’s dark and…well, don’t you think anything can happen?” I asked.
He shrugged and turned back to walk away.
I don’t know if I should have, but I took it as an invitation to follow.

He walked with slow steps, yet in such a careless fashion.
I watched every movement as I walked behind him, following the leader.
My eyes went to the back of his jacket which had the deadly red Anarchy “A” on the back of it. His jeans looked old and ripped, and his hair had reached a bit below the collar of his jacket.

He stopped for a moment and turned his head to look to me. “Are you looking at my ass?” He asked.
I stopped too and grimaced. “No. I’m watching the way you walk.” I say as I step side by side to him.
He shakes his head. “You’re a weird girl, you know that?”
“Says the guy doing laps around a club.” I said teasing him with a smile.
The corners of his mouth rise a bit before he stuffs his hands in his pockets and continues walking.
I continue to follow him. The silence didn’t really seem awkward between us, it felt more like it was comforting. Guess he was a really quiet person.

“You’re not much of a people person, are you?” I asked out of curiosity.
“What makes you say that?” He asks.
“I don’t know. Just a vibe I get off of you.”

He slows down his steps a bit. “No. Not really.”

“How are you going to be a lead singer in a rock band but not be a people person?”
“Good question. I wonder that myself sometimes. Are you done interviewing me?”

“I’m not interviewing you. Just curious about stuff. I can’t ask you questions? I did pay money to watch you play tonight. The least you can do is answer a fan girl a few questions, don’t you think?” I asked, finally catching up to walk side-by-side with him. Up close he smelled like cigarettes mixed in with a smell of soap. An odd mix, yet strangely erotic for some reason. I wrinkled my nose, trying to understand why these thoughts were going through my head.

He sighed. “Sure. I guess.”
I glanced at him, and he looked tired.
I scratched my head. “Okay, well, what’s your government name?” I asked.
He chuckles and stops walking.

I watch him as he doubles over in laughter. But what really has my attention is the sound of his laughter. It was raspy, throaty, and it sounded like he doesn’t laugh very often.
I tried to decipher if I should be insulted, embarrassed, or completely cool about it.

When he’s done laughing, and close to tears, he widens his eyes at me dramatically. “If you don’t know my name, you’re not a real fan girl. Next question.” He says before walking off.

Ouch. I knew his name, I just couldn’t think of it in the moment. “No,” I caught back up with him and shook my head. “No. See, I do know your name, I just can’t think about it right now.”

“Next question.” He demanded.
I sighed. He could have at least given me a chance. “Fine. That last song you sung with you playing the acoustic guitar, did you write that song? What was it, Burning the floorboards?” I asked.
“Yeah, I wrote that. I wrote all the band’s songs.”
“Just you alone?”

“Yes, me alone. Why, is that a problem for you?”
“Well, no. I love the songs, I just figured you’d get help on that kind of stuff.”
He shook his head and his fingers drove through his hair. “No. It’s impossible with people to collide with my view. Believe it or not, I’m not the easiest person to work with.”

“I believe it.” I said.
He glances at me and smirks before looking to the ground as we rounded the corner of the club.
“Anyway, I write the songs, they follow my lead. That’s just how it works. It’s easier for me to work alone that way. My band can’t stand me, honestly.”

My eyebrows scrunched up. That didn’t sound likely. “Why do you think that?”
“It’s not rocket science, and their not afraid to hide it. We get on stage, we do our thing, but it’s me against them. They’re good at what they do, but I don’t expect them or anyone to like me. I’m not a likeable person.”

“I think you are. You just need someone who gets you.” I said.
A wrinkle formed in his forehead as he picked his head up. “Maybe. Show me a soul even one eighth identical to mine, I’ll give you a gold star.” He said.

I smiled. He was weird. A definite weird guy, but I did like his company. Even his smartass sarcasm.

He took out another cigarette and pulled out a cheetah print lighter to light it up.
My eyebrows raised. I didn’t expect his lighter to be that of which a girl would use.
He kept the lighter in his hand as he took the cigarette from between his lips. He made a circular smoke design before sighing.

He looked to me. “Um what?”
“Why do you have a girl lighter?” I asked.
He raised his brow and looked to the cheetah lighter. “My ex girlfriend’s lighter.” He took it out of his hand and threw it far into a parking lot across from the club.

“Oh.” I said abruptly.
He smoked his cigarette in peace while I just walked by his side. Was she a touchy subject? If she’s his ex, why did he carry around her lighter? Did he miss her?

“No.” He said out of the blue.
“No what?” I asked.
He glanced at me. “No I don’t miss her.”
How did he…. “Were you reading my mind or something?”
He half smiled. “No, naïve little thing, I could just tell what you were thinking.”

“I’m not naïve.” I said. I stopped walking and placed my hands on my hips.
“Sweetheart, you’re walking with a man you don’t know who’s got nothing but problems in his life. You’re probably safer alone than you are with me.” He said. His half smile was turned and replaced with a serious face. What, he was warning me?

“So? I like danger.” I said.
“You enjoy danger, pain, and depression?”
“Well the last two I don’t know about.”
“That’s what I am. You should go find your friend is what I’m saying.” He said taking a long drag of his cigarette.

“Thought we were having fun.”
“You entertained me. But like I said, go find your friend, leave me with my thoughts.”
“You’re a weird guy, you know that?”

“Thank goodness for that or I’d have gone insane a long time ago.”
I cock my head to the side, his blue eyes capturing me.
He was right. The look in his eyes said that something was wrong with this man. He was damaged, dangerous, and could probably hurt me if he really wanted to. But I didn’t believe he would.

“I don’t care if you’re dangerous, or depressed or any of that.”
“You say that now. I’m trying to save you, sweetheart.”
“I’m not that sweet and I don’t wanna be saved. Let me continue walking and talking with the trashy, damaged rock star.” I said.

At these words, he smiled a genuine smile and held a hand up in surrender. “Whatever you say.”
“So this girl and you, why’d you break up?” I asked as I started walking again, with him only a foot behind me.

“Different views, no time together, my problems, too many arguments. You know, normal stuff,” He blew out smoke. “Besides, she was needy.”
“Needy how?”

“She was an upcoming rock star also. She didn’t get as big as I am, but she tried. Her songs just weren’t very good. She asked me to write some songs for her. I refused, told her they’re only for my band. She freaked out.”

“That was your girlfriend, though. You couldn’t write one song for her?” I asked looking back at him.
He shook his head. “I wanted her songs to be her style. If I would have written for her, her image would be mine, and there’s only room for one me in this world and I wasn’t going to let her or anyone else take it.”

“Wow what?” he asked.
“You’re just serious about your music.”
“Some say a little too serious.” He shrugged his shoulders. “This is me. This is what I do.”

“I get that.” I said.
He met my eyes, his tired blue irises sparkling a bit. “Do you?” He asked.
I nodded my head. “I honestly do.” I understood what it was like to feel different. Everybody seemed to have their own opinion about people with their own style and their own sense of independence. But like me, he was the type who didn’t give a fuck what people thought.
He took a long drag of his cigarette as he stared at me, a look of curiosity in his expression.

“Alex!” Patrick’s voice echoed throughout the quiet streets.
I turned to see him walking towards us, his green eyes on me.
He glanced to the guy next to me and stopped.
I bet it was a shock, my hanging out with the lead singer of a rock band. It’s so unlike me.

“Uh hey…Arson dude.” He said.
He smirked, flicked the cigarette to the ground and stomped on it.
I held Patrick’s arm. “This is my friend, Patrick.”
He nodded. “You should be getting home now. Don’t you think?”

Ugh, he was so irritating. What was he, my father? “Fine. It was decent to meet you.” I say.
His eyebrow quirked up. “Decent?”
I nod. “Yes, very decent.” I turn and Patrick begins to lead me away. If he wouldn’t have found me, I would have spent the entire night talking to him. Not that I would really mind it much anyway.

“Hey.” His voice was low but I could hear him still. He didn’t sound like other people. He did basically say he was the odd one out. I should expect different from him.
I turn my head, and he gestured with his fingers for me to come back to him.
A smile spread across my face. I let go of Patrick’s arm and walked back over to him.

When I was standing in front of him, he pulled a pen from his jacket and grabbed my hand.
My eyebrows scrunched up in confusion.
He wrote something across my hand and I moved my head around to see what he was writing.
At just the right angle, I could see a couple numbers.
He was giving me his number.
I tried to fight back the grin that was rising to the surface. Holy shit. And here I thought I was bothering him this entire time. Guess I was wrong.

When he pulled back I repeated the number in my head, and below was the letter “C”
I’m guessing that was the beginning of his first name and it narrows down the possibilities but I’m still coming up short.

I tore my gaze from the info written on my palm to look into his blue eyes. He told me he’s dangerous to be around, and that I’m safer away from him, but if he’s so dangerous, why give me his number?

“Call me.” He said.
I shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”
He shook his head and smirked at me.

“So when I do call you, are you going to pick up and be this dark, brooding mess and tell me I should stay away from you?”

“If that’s not what you want to hear, then don’t call.”
“We’ll see.” I say before I turn and walk back over to Patrick.
Patrick raised his brow at me questioningly. “What the hell was that?”
“He just gave me his phone number.” I looked down at my palm. It was so childish to write his number on my palm, yet at the same time, it seemed like his style. I wouldn’t expect anything different.

“Wow. What’s his name?”
“I was hoping you knew. Arson is a good band, and we listen to them a lot yet we don’t know any of the band mate’s names.”

“It’s cool, we’ll get it figured out.” he said.
After we got into his car, he looked to me. “You smell like cologne.”
Oh no. “I do?”
“Yeah, were you rubbing up against that guy or?”
I slapped his arm. “No. I…kind of did something with one of the band mates.”
Patrick grimaced as he pulled his keys from his jacket. “What do you mean?”
“I think I slept with the drummer from the group.”

“What the hell? Alex, that’s…and you like the lead singer, do you know what that makes you sound like?”
“I’m not screwing everyone in the band, Patrick. I don’t know how it happened, but it just did. And I feel disgusted because of it.”

“Jesus, I mean…the guy didn’t…rape you or anything…right?”
“No. I mean I don’t think so. If he did, I don’t remember, and I don’t even want to talk about it. Can we just get the hell out of here?” I asked.

Patrick started up the car in response while I looked down at my hand. I read the number again, and again. That talk ended too abruptly. Sure, at the moment I don’t want Patrick to take us home, he appears. But it doesn’t matter because tomorrow, I was going to call him. But him being a rock star and all, I know he’s not going to answer. Maybe he did it to be polite. It didn’t matter. I would try anyway.

Patrick sighed and shook his head. “Damn, what a night.”

© Copyright 2021 IceBreaker. All rights reserved.


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