The Teenage Insomniac and the Rock Star

My bottom lip was currently being abused by my teeth as I quickly scratched a few musical notes onto the music paper. Pausing, I pick up the guitar pick once more and arrange my fingers along the fret board. Playing from the beginning of the song, I allow the soft melody to dance through the air as the pick runs gently across the strings. Moving through the chords, I continue playing with my eyes closed.

Listening to the music, I try to drown out the fact that it is once again, four in the morning. I try to ignore the knowledge that I have once again been unable to sleep. I try to push away the realization that I once again, lost a moment of peace for my mind. The music helps push away the silence filling the rest of the house, the rather annoying snores coming from my brother's room, or the tossing and turning groans from my mother's room- she just can't stay in once spot when she sleeps.

Opening my eyes, I pause to scratch down more notes before standing up from my spot on the floor. Not even glancing over at the unused bed, my neon-splattered, black walls cause me to smile as I remember the paint fight my brother and I got into just two days ago. Stretching my arms above my head and hearing the satisfying cracks along my shoulders, back and my neck, I pull the guitar strap from my shoulder before gently placing it in the guitar rack.

Making my way through the house, my feet barely make a sound as I head toward the kitchen. I had just finished unpacking everything for the kitchen about two hours ago, my case of OCD causing me to look over the newly put-together kitchen for anything I may have put out of place. The whole OCD thing came with the insomnia like a lovely little package. I think when growing up, not being able to sleep, all I did was organize.

Grabbing my house keys, my wallet and of course my pack of cigarettes, I quietly exited the house. Stopping at the end of the driveway, I glance left and right. I had gone left last night, so this morning seems to have me going right. Lighting up a cigarette, I try to get a feel for the new place. Huntington Beach, California. A long ways away from Freehold, New Jersey. Or West Palm Beach, Florida. Or some small bum-fuck town smack in the middle of Pennsylvania.

Glancing up at the street light, I turned left on Pacific Coast Highway. Making my way onto the beautiful and empty beach, I sat down, lighting up another cigarette as I stare out into the seemingly endless horizon. I didn't bother checking the time as I watched the dark sky shift to a soft violet, followed closely by a pink tint gathering amongst the light purple clouds. This is something I can say I enjoy. I've never seen a West Coast sunrise, and while the sun wasn't actually rising over the ocean on this side of the country, I couldn't help but find it just as beautiful.

The familiar ring tone, 'Bounce' by System of a Down caused me to smirk before answering the phone, "Davvy."

"Vi. You never called me back last night," my only friend from the bum-fuck town in the middle of Pennsylvania retorts easily.

I roll my eyes at his worry, "Relax Davvy. Our conversation last night just gave me inspiration for a new song. How's Fluffy McFluff-Stuff?"

"Hung over as usual. We miss you a lot. Why did you have to move?" Davvy asked sadly.

Glancing up at the slowly brightening sky, I sigh, "My old shrink gave Ma information about another one way over here that had an expertise to my case."

"I still don't get why they think you need a shrink. It's not like you're crazy or anything," Davvy whines, and it doesn't take more than a split moment for me to picture his pierced lip pulling into a pout.

"I don't agree with it either, but it's court ordered due to my freak out in Freehold," I respond, my teeth moving to play with the silver hoop in my bottom lip.

"That didn't even make sense since she still visited you every damn weekend," Davvy growls out, causing me to chuckle.

"Hey, it's hard to hate that girl. She's too damn cute," I respond, not at all bothered how the words sound.

Standing up, I brush the sand off my pants before making my way back toward the house, "Besides, if I remember correctly, the girl flattened you out like you were nothing."

"That didn't count. She caught me off guard," he defended, his voice shouting, which means he was probably getting stared at by other people, "Mind your own fuckin' business or you're eyeballs are going to be slammed down your throat."

Yup, people stared, but I'm sure I was getting stares from the very few people walking along the street as I burst into laughter, "Gah, I knew there was a reason I kept you around while in that bum-fuck place."

"Hey, don't knock the small town," he shoots out defensively.

"Just the small town townies, right?" I finish, causing him to chuckle.

Hanging up with Davvy, I stare down at the sidewalk as I turn back onto the street my new house resides on. This place will be the fifth city I've moved to in five years. I don't remember much of my childhood in Florida, but I do remember my childhood best friend, Christopher. While neither of us quite understood what was wrong with me, not until my teenage years, he always made sure to treat me like he did any of his other friends. It was hard moving away from him, but my mother found a specialist in North Carolina. We didn't stay there long, the specialist having given up on trying to 'figure me out'. Ma found another shrink in Freehold, New Jersey. We stayed there for two years, and I tried so hard to not make any friends, but this sweetheart of a girl, Katie, managed to weasel her way past my defenses.

That turned out to be bad. She didn't betray me, but I started noticing a lot of people hated the girl. I couldn't understand why. Then I realized it was my fault. My walls forced people to dislike me. My detachment to emotions caused people to be weary of me. A week before I left Freehold, I was watching this warm-hearted girl stand up for herself. It wasn't until some punk-ass kid brought all her dirty 'family' laundry into the open that I found myself stepping into the disagreement. Sadly, the argument ended with me slamming his head into a locker and literally kick his ass all the way down the hallway.

Apparently anger issues is a side effect from insomnia.

Moving to some small bum-fuck town in Pennsylvania, I only stayed there for a year and a half. There I met two people, brothers. David and Matthew Wilson. My Davvy and Fluffy McFluff-Stuff. Davvy already had a reputation for being a bad ass motherfucker who was hell bent on terrorizing the stuck up pricks and bitches in the school. Fluffy McFluff-Stuff had a reputation slightly worse in everyone's eyes. He was gay. Proudly and loudly, he is gay. I can't help but commend him for standing up for himself.

"Mornin', Vi," Ma greeted me with a warm smile as I step into the kitchen.

Kissing her cheek as I took the off erred cup of coffee, I eat a quick breakfast before going upstairs to wake up my darling brother. Smirking, I enter my room and grab the beautifully crafted electric guitar. Plugging it into my portable amp, I bounced up and down three times before slamming the pick hard along the chords, following it quickly with a series of relatively difficult chords (if the guitarist was just beginning anyway).

It didn't take long for a thump to sound on the other side of the wall, followed by a string of curses. Shouts and banging on my door caused me to stop playing. Allowing the guitar to hang behind me, I open the door and grin widely at the taller form of my younger brother. His glaring blue eyes stared daggers into my own green ones. It was hard for people to believe we have ever been related. His tall, lean figure, blond hair, blue eyes and his rather preppy clothing versus my petite, curvy figure, black hair, green eyes and my Rock-Art-inspired outfits.

"Do you have to do that EVERY morning?!?" he growls out.

"Nope. Just on the days that end in 'Y'," I retort easily, to which he lunges at me.

A yelp leaves my lips as my back hit the floor and laughter bubbles as his fingers run over my sides. Wiggling and slapping at him, he yells for me to beg for mercy. I refuse until I find myself gasping for breath. Standing to my feet, I glare at him as I run a hand through my hair.

"I knew you'd give in eventually," Thomas cackles with a gleeful grin.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I shoot him a glare, "Don't forget, I know where you sleep."

He never can come back with a comment to that statement. His lips pout for a moment before he places a kiss on my forehead. Shaking my head as he leaves my room, I enter my personal bathroom to grab a quick shower. Changing into a simple pair of black skinny jeans, I enter my room with my hair pulled up into a messy bun. My left hand rests on my hip as I open my closet door, peering through the hundreds of t-shirts. Pulling on a neon-green short sleeved fishnet t-shirt, I move to the section where my tank tops are at. Finding the tank top with rips and tears in the fabric, I smile at the memory of a concert I went to with Davvy and Fluffy. Pulling it on, I close the closet door and make my way toward the vanity.

I've never been big on make-up, so I applied my usual black eyeliner and today's choice of neon-green eyeshadow. Changing the spikes to my eyebrow piercing to clear green, my tongue flicks against the silver hoop sitting off center through my bottom lip. Peering at my reflection, I sigh at the bold black markings around my eyelids. Most people mistaken it for too much eyeliner, when in fact it is yet another side effect to my insomnia. I look like a raccoon, you know, bandit eyes.

It didn't take me long to collect my brother from the kitchen and the two of us bid Ma a good bye with a kiss on the cheek. Climbing into my black VW Jetta, I pull out of the driveway and make my way toward my newest school. Finding a parking space was relatively easy and after gathering my messenger bag, I climbed out of the car, only to pause.

"Damn, there's a ton of kids here," Thomas groans out, not being much of a people person, even though a lot of people are attracted to his looks and his sense of humor. Yup, my brother is a package deal.

I felt my voice leave me. I don't like being around a lot of people. They tend to treat me differently and not many people understand why I am the way I am. Hell, I don't know why I'm this way. Adjusting the strap of my bag, I stare up at Huntington Beach High School.

I hate being a new student.

Feeling my brother tug me toward the administration office, I'm given my schedule ('m thankful I don't have to take History), my locker assignment (yet one more thing to organize in my life) and my pass for Home Room (seeing as though the bell rang ten minutes ago). Hearing my brother thank the woman before leading me out of the office, it wasn't long before I realize we have to part ways. As much of a pain in the ass my brother can be, it's hard for me to adjust to new places.

"Hey, relax. You know that no one is going to mess with you. Ma won't think of sending us to different schools with what happened back in Freehold," Thomas spoke reassuring words, smirking which told me he remembered me being the one being expelled that time.

Nodding curtly, I feel him kiss my cheek before I turn down the hall toward my home room. Entering the room, I can't stand the sudden silence and stares I get as the teacher stands from her desk. Motioning for me to come forward, I half-listened as she explained that I was a new student, that my name is Violet Danvers, I moved here to attend the school and that I was to be treated with respect. Ha! Half the students were already staring at me like I was beneath them in some social spectrum.

"Go ahead and take the empty desk over there," she instructed, to which I nod curtly to in response.

Taking my place at the empty desk, my hands rest on the desk. I don't really feel in the mood to draw, the whispers filling the room causing my foot to tap in a steady tempo. Maybe I can push the whispers away. Familiar disgusted comments fill the air, causing both my index fingers to begin tapping. Listening to the beat, I drown out the words, trying to focus on something other than the glares and whispered exclaims. Feeling my other foot begin in the tapping, I wonder what guitar riff would sound good with the beat I have going. Hmmm...

"Will you knock that shit off! Some of us aren't quite awake yet!" a deep voice off to my left snapped, the room falling silent and my beat froze.

Tensing up at the words, I turn and find myself staring into a pair of irritated hazel-gold eyes.