ronnie radke fanfic

“Hey, look at this!”

I turned to look at Ronnie as we were walking to my band's soundcheck.

It was a few days after that day I joined The Academy Is... onstage. The nights we weren't moving location, I went over to the Escape The Fate tourbus and hung out with Ronnie until everyone else started waking up. Surprisingly, my bandmates didn't seem to notice how tired and exhausted I was every day. Eventually they would, like they always did. That meant they would start worrying about me again, like they always did.

Ronnie was holding up the magazine he was reading, I think it was Alternative Press. I glanced at it, then realised what was covering the space of two pages.

“Wow.” I couldn't think of anything else to say at that moment. In the top corner of the page on the left was the Warped Tour logo and under it was the words, “An Update On The Summer's Greatest Music Festival”. That wasn't what surprised me though. Covering almost the entire right page was a picture of me. It was of when I joined The Academy Is... onstage a few days ago. I was smiling and singing into the mic.

“Out of all the incredible bands that are playing on this Warped Tour, they choose a picture of me?” I said, shaking my head. “Broken Colours isn't even that well known.”

Ronnie laughed. “Are you kidding? Everyone knows you! Remind me how many times we've got stopped by your fans today?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I wasn't counting.”

Ronnie took a breath and looked thoughtful. He started counting. “One, two... then there was that group of eight or something... about ten more people... then we were almost mobbed...”

“Okay, I get it!” I said, snatching the magazine out of his hands. “We were stopped by your fans, too.”

Ronnie scoffed. “Yeah, about five people.”

“The night is young,” I mumbed, scanning the page. “Actually, it's not even two, yet.”

Ronnie laughed lightly while I read the reviews of some of the bands they mentioned along the side of the left page. Then I read the review of my band.

“Yes! They gave us ten out of ten!” I said, happily. “Whoa, look at the awesome stuff they said about us... hang on. They called me pretty.”

“I think that's a good thing,” Ronnie said, looking over my shoulder. “Actually, they called you beautiful. Read it right!”

“Those journalists need new glasses,” I said, rolling my eyes. I handed him back the magazine. “By the way, they gave you a good review, too.”

When we reached the stage where my band were supposed to be soundchecking, I looked around and scowled.

“Where are my bandmates?” I demanded. “And I thought I was late...”

“Huh?” Ronnie looked up from the magazine.

I jumped up on stage and asked someone from the crew if this was where Broken Colours was supposed to have soundcheck and they said it was. “What the hell?”

“Maybe they're helping Drew,” Ronnie said, joining me on stage. I shrugged. Drew had been really busy at the merch table since tour began.

I went over and picked up one of Parker's guitars, throwing the strap over my shoulder. I checked that it was plugged into the amp. He had picks taped to the body of the guitar. I suggested he do that, since he was constantly losing or forgetting picks. I took one, played a few random chords and then started playing the main riff for “Enter Sandman” by Metallica. Ronnie stared at me.

“Say your prayers, little one. Don't forget my son, to include everyone...” I sang under my breath.

“You've got some guitar skills, too?” Ronnie asked, eyebrows raised.

“Some guitar skills?” I said with a scowl. I walked over to Parkers pedalboard, then looked back down at the guitar and started to play the solo. I could feel his eyes burning into me. When I was done, I glanced up at him. His mouth was making an “O” shape and I laughed at him.

“Hush, little baby, don't say a word. And never mind that noise you heard. It's just the beast under your bed, in your closet, in your head...” I sang quietly. I stopped playing and smiled at Ronnie, who was regaining his composure.

“Whoa!” Ronnie said, blinking. “You should replace Bryan...”

I laughed. “Is that your way of saying I'm good?”

“That's my way of saying you're amazing!” Ronnie said and smiled.

I laughed again. “I can't sing like James Hetfield, though.”

Ronnie shook his head, laughing lightly. “Yeah, well, James Hetfield can't sing like you.”

“Aw, thank you,” I said and paused. “I think.”

I looked down at the guitar and quickly played the main riff again. “It's one of my favourite songs.”

““Enter Sandman?”” Ronnie asked, his head tilted to one side. I nodded and sat on top of one of the speakers, playing a few random chords. Ronnie sat next to me. “Any reason why?”

The reason was simple, actually. The song is about nightmares, something I can relate to entirely. I wouldn't tell Ronnie that, though. “I just like it,” I said, hesitantly. I thought of something else I could add to that. Truthfully, I said, “It was pretty much the song that made me fall in love with music.”

Ronnie raised his eyebrows. “How?”

I looked away from him for a moment, thoughtful. There was a way of telling him, but I would have to bend around my past. I had to be careful of what I said next.

“Well,” I began, absentmindedly stumming the strings on the guitar although keeping them muted with my fretting hand. “I don't know if you know this but... my mom... died when I was younger. It's not a secret or anything. I've wrote songs about her. I've mentioned her in interviews when it's necessary. I thanked her in the notes of our CD...”

“I'm sor...” Ronnie started, but I stopped strumming to hold my hand up, stopping him.

“Seriously, I've gotten enough apologies to last a lifetime,” I said. “I don't know why people apologise for things like that. It's not like its their fault, it's...” I stopped myself, realising I could have said something huge. “It's no ones fault,” I lied.

I took a breath, avoiding looking at Ronnie. “Anyways,” I continued. “A while after she died, I found this box in the attic and my mom's old acoustic guitar. The box was full with records my mom had. She loved music. I listened to them. The first record I played was The Black Album. And, of course, the first song is “Enter Sandman”. That pretty much made me fall in love with music. I then taught myself to play guitar.”

We were silent for a moment until Ronnie spoke. “That's a good story,” he said, his voice seeming far away. Then he asked the question I dreaded. “How did your mom die?”

I held my breath. There was absolutely no way I would tell him the truth. After a moment, I said, lying, “Heart attack.”

“I'm sor...” I cut him off with a glare. He looked thoughtful, before he said quietly, barely audible, “I don't know what it's like for you, how your mom died like that but... I can kind of relate. I lost my mom.”

I looked at him, surprised. “Did she die?”

“She might as well have,” Ronnie said, his voice venomous. “She left us when I was little. I wrote a song about her, “The Day I Left The Womb”. This tattoo...” Ronnie moved his hair slightly so I could properly see the tattoo on his neck that I often wondered about “...as you can see, it's of a knife through a bird. I got it for my dad. I admire him. I've seen the effect it had on him when she left, but he still managed to keep going... ” He paused for a moment before letting out a sigh and adding, so quiet it was barely audible, “I hate her.”

I wasn't sure what to say to that. I was surprised at how fast his voice changed to poison when he talked about his mother. It didn't seem like him. I didn't picture him as the kind of person filled with hate. That was what was most surprising. He just didn't seem like the type. But then again, people probably wouldn't see me as that kind of person, either. The kind that are filled with hate. The truth is that there is a part of me that keeps my hate bottled up. So much hate. More than anyone should have.

Ronnie was looking thoughtful, like he was remembering something. I was too, I was remembering my own past. My past that was taken over by hate. Hate and violence. I really didn't want to remember, but just talking about this brought back the many memories that came during the night, in my dreams. Trying to distract myself, I looked back at Ronnie. His mind was somewhere else, I could tell. I realised how close we were sitting. Without thinking, or maybe as an attempt to distract myself, I closed my hand over his, entwining our fingers. Ronnie looked at me.

“Like I said, I don't believe in apologies when it's not your fault, so I'm not going to say sorry,” I said. I gulped and the sound seemed to echo, or maybe I just imagined it. “You might not think so, but I know exactly how you feel. You don't need people like that in your life. Forget about her. I've learned to only care about the people who care about you.”

I looked up at Ronnie and our eyes finally locked. As the seconds passed, my mind was screaming “I care about you!”

The moment was broken when Will, Skylar, Parker and Adam walked up onstage. Instinctively, I pulled my hand away from Ronnie's and stood up, walking over to give Parker his guitar. “How late are you?”

“Very late?” Parker said, warily taking the guitar.

“We have a good explanation!” Will called over as he sat down behind his drum kit.

“And that would be?” I asked.

“We were mobbed,” Parker said, laughing lightly. “It's like everyone know us.”

I raised my eyebrows and as I walked up to the mic, Ronnie passed by and said, “Told you so.”