I Don't Belong Here

Addie's POV.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Hey, Ads, what's up?" Johnny Christ opened the big blue door and gave me a bear hug.

"Dude. Not to be rude...I just saw you a week ago," I said, holding him at arm's length.

"Still," he grinned, "it's a hella lot better than having Brian mope around."

So, he's been moping, eh? I wanted to smirk.

"Speaking of, do you know what's been buggin' him?" he narrowed his eyes just the slightest bit as we walked towards the recording room.

"Well, my dear short shit," I slung my arm over his shoulder while he rolled his eyes, "promise not to tell?"

He nodded eagerly, and I stopped him before we entered the room.

"We fucked," I stated bluntly. His eyes went wide, and I could tell that he didn't know whether this was a good or bad thing for me.

"And this is bad," I said, noticing him nodding slowly, "because I didn't wanna do the jerk."

"Brian wouldn't rape some - "

"No, amigo, I was drunk. Off my ass. And rocker," I muttered.

I continued, "So, I got mad at Brian and he called me fucking bipolar and told me not to contact him outside of anything with the record. I really don't wanna go in there."

"Well, missy. You gotta," Johnny said, shoving me in through the door.

My eyes scanned the room for Brian, and he wasn't there.

But everyone who was looked down at the floor or averted their gaze when they saw me.

"What...happened?" I asked slowly.

Matt and Zacky looked at each other with the quickest glance, and Matt sighed.

"Brian said you were only doing this recording thing for you to fuck him, and when you did, you were all mad at him, and he said you were bipolar and shit," Matt mumbled quickly, looking me in the eyes towards the end.

I looked at Johnny with a raised eyebrow, almost to say, See? I told you he called me fuckin' bipolar.

He shook his head in a frustrated way, and I was happy that someone was on my side.

"Well, do you wanna believe him, or do you wanna hear my side of the story?"

Everyone looked up at me, except Johnny, who took a seat on the couch.

"I was at home, drinking, and Brian came over. I was drunk and stuff, so apparently, we started making out, and - "

"Apparently?" Jimmy asked.

"Making out?" Matt chuckled.

"What happened?" Johnny said, a wafer sticking outta his mouth.

I sighed and rolled my eyes.

"- and in the morning, he told me we had fucked, and I got mad at him, because obviously, I didn't wanna do the guy that had hated me in the first place in fuckin' high school. I guess he overreacted, 'cause he got mad and didn't want to talk to me outside of making the record."

Matt nodded in understanding, "Sounds like someone Brian would do."

"You guys should just work it out," Zacky said, grabbing his guitar.

"I don't think so," smoothly responded a voice.

Brian. Of fucking course.

"Y'see, she's a fuckin' whore," he said, his elbow knocking my shoulder.

He had knocked me forward, so that my stomach collided into the metal desk.

That. Was. It.

I wanted to cry; I'd been having these impulses lately.

"Okay. I've tried dealing with you," I hissed, standing up, "but I don't think I can take it anymore."

My voice started to waver as I said, "You can find yourself a new fucking producer."

I started to head for the door, but right before I pushed the heavy glass open, I turned around and told Brian one last thing.

"You can go fuck yourself."