Serendipity

"Sullivan Layne Hetfield!"

My body felt like it had been run over by a freight train. My eyes wouldn't open. My head was heavy. And I was tired. And my father was ruining it.

"Go away," I managed to croak out. "I feel like death."

But he had other ideas. My bedroom door was thrown open and heavy footsteps made their way to my big bay window, throwing open the curtains. My light blocking curtains that made my room pitch black. Now my room was flooded with bright sunlight. I hissed and quickly pulled my covers over my head.

"I think you've been watching too much of those Twilight movies because you're starting to turn into a damn vampire," he grumbled. "Now get up and get ready. I'm taking you out for lunch."

And here comes the whining. "But I'm jet lagged."

"Oh I'm sorry," he started in a teasing tone. "Do you want some cheese with that whine, Miss Adult?"

My hand slithered out from under the covers and my middle finger was held in the air. That only got a laugh out of him. Asshole. My dad was an asshole. "Get off your lazy ass and get ready! I made reservations at Sushi Gen."

I immediately sat up, my hair going every which way and the covers pooled in my lap. "Sushi Gen?!"

"Knew that'd get you up." He chuckled. "Now up and at 'em!"


Thirty minutes later, we were sitting at a table in a somewhat busy Sushi Gen and I was scrolling through my Twitter feed. I already knew what I wanted. It was what I got every time I came here. I was a creature of habit. My dad on the other hand had to look at the menu every single time we came here. It was like he didn't know what was on the menu. Not like he should after we've been coming here since it opened, ya know.

"So what's this I hear about you dating some Irish punk from a boyband?" Oh god. I knew he'd find out. It had to be one of the younger siblings or my mom. It couldn't have been an interviewer because as far as I knew he didn't have any interviews for a while. And he was one of those old guys who didn't know how to work Tweeter as he called it. He always asked me what I twitted on Tweeter.

I snorted. "I'm not."

"Not what your sister told me." Before I could say anything, our waitor came up. He was the one who always served us. My dad didn't like him. He said he looked at me like I was a piece of meat. "Have you decided what you want, Mr. Hetfield?"

My dad almost snarled at him. My mouth formed a thin line, trying to stop my laughs from escaping. "I'll have the Salmon Teriyaki and Sashimi Combination," my dad answered. He wrote down what my dad wanted and then turned to me, "Same as always, Sullivan?"

Nodding, I grinned. "Of course!" We came here so much that he knew my order. That's probably sad, but this place was the best sushi place around. You got what you paid for. Five out of five.

"Why do you always get the same thing every time you come here?" My dad questioned, taking a sip of his Coke.

"Dad, don't question it," I replied. "The Sashimi Platter is bomb."

"Well, excuse me Miss Picky Pants." He held his hands up in defense. I just flipped him off. "But for real, what's up with this boyband shit?"

And he's at it again. Might as well get it over with now. "When I was in New York with Mom, someone got a picture of us going into the same hotel and his crazy, psycho fans blew it all out of proportion and now they send me death threats daily." I rushed it all out in one breath. But he listened intently. Nodding his head and soaking in every rushed word.

His response was something I was waiting to hear. It could either be smartassy or straight forward. You never knew with him. But his answers always helped me in some way.

"I say, fuck 'em, man."

Fuck 'em, man. Seems legit enough.

Sully Love @SullivanLayne
Fuck 'em, man


I was jolted out of my rock 'n' roll session with the father figure, by my phone chiming. It was customary for us to go driving around and blast some of our favorite rock bands after we got down eating out. It varied from old rock to new age. Twisted Sister, Ozzy Osbourne, Marilyn Manson, Avenged Sevenfold, Five Finger Death Punch. The list went on. But it was something we always did. My dad kept belting out the lyrics and driving while I checked my phone. It was a DM on Twitter. From Niall Horan?



Aww! How sweet!



"Why are you over there grinning like the Cheshire Cat?"

I shook my head. "No reason."

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes. I knew he didn't believe me. But at least he didn't question it anymore. "Whatever," he said. "Keep texting whatever boy it is your talking to."

My mouth dropped. "I'm not talking to any boy, father! I have no interest in having a boyfriend at the moment."

He just smirked. "Good. 'Cause you aren't dating until your ninety. I take that back, you aren't dating, ever."

Over protective dads. They made me giggle.









"Hey Dad?"

"What?" He pulled to a stop at a red light so I took that as my chance. "Look at me. I want to take your picture and tweet it."

He didn't even bother to smile. He kind of had one of those half smirks on his face. It was the same smirk that could be seen on my face on a daily basis. And people wondered where I got my looks.

Sully Love @SullivanLayne
Getting the privilege to ride in a kickass car with my kickass dad & rocking out to killer music all the while being jet lagged. pic.twitter.com/68FQeeRMIv






"Soooo," Beckett dragged out. "I saw that you're tweeting a certain boybander."

My eyes rolled almost instantly. "Don't even start on it, Becks. My dad's already been up my butt about it."

Beckett Munro. She was my best friend. My other half. My sister from another mister. My long lost twin. It was scary how much alike we were. We met a few years back. Right around when we were fifteen. We both got a modeling job for some indie magazine. I honestly think they went out of business not too long ago. But ever since then, we've been inseparable.

"Can a girl not be interested in her best friends love life?"

What love life? I had no time for anything. No time for a boyfriend. Barely any time for family. Work took up a majority of my time. But in the end, I always spent any and all of my free time with my family and friends. They were what kept me grounded. They reminded me that I was a normal person behind all the photo shoots and runway shows. I was boring, old, Sullivan Layne Hetfield who was almost nineteen and still living at home with her dad and stepmom.

I snorted. I actually snorted. "What love life?"

"Oh don't play!" She exclaimed. The magazine she was reading was slammed down on my bed. "You literally just had a thing with Justin Bieber!"

Without a second thought, I tossed one of my many throw pillows at her. It hit her right in the face. "Shut up loud mouth!" I practically hissed. "My dad doesn't know about that and he never will if you keep your trap shut!"

She chucked the pillow back at me with a glare. "Does he know about you and Francisco Lachowski?"

"Me and him are just friends," I stated. "Just like me and Justin are just friends."

"We'll see," she said with a smirk. "I give it a few months."

That made me roll my eyes. "My mom always tells me to never fall in love with a famous person, so I'm not going to."

And I wasn't going to. I was going to try my damnedest. Famous guys were only trouble. That's what my mom always told me. Maybe that's why she hasn't stayed with the two famous guys she's had kids with; my dad and Norman Reedus. No boybander was going to change that.