I Don't Belong Here

"Where were you guys?" asked Johnny. He was leaning against the light gray, blue-ish wall, inhaling a cigarette.

"Sorry…I just found out today that we had to go to the studio, because someone didn't mention it to me earlier," I hissed, looking at Zacky, who in return, grinned sheepishly.

"Alright, well, today, we're just planning everything. Well, everything, as in 'everything that we can fit', into 10 hours," Brian said, walking out of the door, startling me.

"Oh! Hi, Brian," I smiled weakly, holding my hand over my heart. He grinned; "Did I scare you?"

I only nodded, and his grin grew wider, into a smirk.

"C'mon, let's go inside; Zacky and Johnny'll stay out here," he hinted to them. Inside, I started screaming.

He slipped his arm into mine, and led me into the studio. I remember being in this studio, but only once or twice, so the tour wasn't needed.

"Alright, today, we're just gonna sit here and plan out everything for the next like, however long it's gonna take to finish this new album," Brian said, pointing to the large couches and coffee table.

"These are our two sound engineers, Fred and Mike," he said, pointing to a slightly-aged man, starting to gray, and a chubbier guy, one that looked like he was in his 30's, unshaven, but holding a kind essence nonetheless.

I waved, smiling as I did so, and got a head nod and two waves in return. "Where's uh…Jimmy and Matt?"

"Matt is going out to get some coffee. Jimmy…I don't know; check our, um, 'kitchen,'" he laughed. "Jimbo was complaining about food on the way up here."

--

"We're also going to have some brass and woodwinds in some of one song of ours so far," Matt said.

I wrote down "BRASS" and "WOODWINDS" into the first two slots of the last four boxes in our little table we were drawing up on a large whiteboard.

We had already gotten down "VOCALS," "BACK-UP VOCALS," "LEAD GUITAR," "LEAD GUITAR 2," etc.

"Anything else?" I asked; they all sat there, rubbing their chins as if it were their job. I laughed inwardly.

--

"YES, DONE FOR THE DAY! And we even finished early!" Jimmy said, running around the studio. I looked at him; what the fuck was he on, speed? Even immature pre-pubescent kids don't act like that.

Well, probably some, but I mean, c'mon. Dude's in his early 20's.

"Hey, Sonny!" someone called. I turned around from trying to gather up all my papers into the many manila envelopes.

Brian. "Yeah?" I asked.

"I know we haven't hung out together and stuff, but…"

Oh, God. Oh, no. No way. No, no, no, no.

"D'you wanna go hang out sometime? Grab a coffee, maybe?" he looked at me almost lazily, but with a little spark in his eye; I was probably another "fuck" or whatever. He did that in high school, too. Wouldn't be surprised if he kept doin' it. You can take the guy outta the trash…

Oh, for coffee? What the fuck; it'll take, like, an hour, hour and a half, max.

I nodded, shrugging carelessly, "Sure."

He looked like a mix of emotions; happy that I said yes, but thrown (and turned) off that I said it so lazily.

"Oh…'kay, then, when should we go?" he asked, clapping his hands together.

I looked at him weirdly, "I…don't know, when do you wanna go?"

Jesus, this felt so awkward. What are we, in high school?

"Let's go to Starbucks," he said, "Can you go now, or are you busy?"

"I...," I looked at my cellphone, "...can go, but only if it lasts less than two hours. That okay?"

He nodded, "That's fine. I'll help you with your stuff, and we can go in my car."

"B-But my car's right here," I chuckled nervously, "I could just meet you there."

"Sonny," Brian looked at me seriously, "Are you joking?"

I laughed, trying to play it off as a "joking" matter.

--

"Okay, now that we're away from the guys," Brian started, opening the slightly heavy doors to the partially-dimmed room, "I have to ask you something."

Oh, no, oh, no.

"Let's go get something first," I interrupted, grabbing his hand so he wouldn't sit down on the couch first.

Even though I only held a few fingers of his, he kept his hold on my hand while I ordered a caramel Frap.

"I'll have the same," Brian said, letting go of my hand to pull out his wallet. "Same si - oh, my God. You're - you're Synyster Gates!"

I wanted to punch someone (namely, the cashier). This has only happened once with Zacky, and I've gotten annoyed already.

I guess Brian could sense my distress and chuckled, sliding his arm around my waist, in hopes of comforting me.It worked.

"Can I please have your autograph?" she asked. "My daughter loves you!"

"Alright," he said, accepting the pen, and right as he was about to right on the thick napkin, he asked, "And who am I addressing?"

"My daughter's name is Sally," she smiled widely. I looked at her nametag.

Sally. I wanted to burst out laughing, but instead, stifled my laughter by looking down and pulling out my phone, pretending there was a funny text. I held the phone up at an angle and zoomed in...snap!

There is was, picture saved, of the nametag, "SALLY".

After we got our drinks, we sat on the comfy couch, and I showed him the picture, and he looked at her (she was looking at us, too) and mouthed, "Her?"

I rolled my eyes, and nodded slowly, as if talking to a mentally-challenged person.

"Okay, all funniness aside, I need to ask you a question," he said, looking blankly into my eyes.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, I thought.

"Yeah? What's up?" I asked, drinking my Frap.

"I know I know you from somewhere. And I can tell you know me somehow, too," he said, almost whispering.

"Tell me, Sonny, how do I know you?"

I gulped, and opened my mouth.

And previous to what I thought before...

I wasn't speechless.