Page 2 of Dirty Rock

Those were my only thoughts as Ollie and I turned the corner, nearing my house, only to come face-to-face with a wall of guys I knew all too well.

If trouble could be bottled as a fragrance, these guys drowned themselves in that kind of aftershave. It tinged the air, suffocating anyone close by.

Ollie came to a stop as I did, and while I let out a tired sigh, Ollie’s mouth started moving again.

“Not today, Liam,” he began. “We’re not doing anything wrong. We’re just walking home. Let us past.”

“You sound like a girl,” Liam mocked. “We’re not doing anything wrong.” He laughed roughly, and his cronies joined in behind him, turning my stomach sick. Fucking clowns.

Liam was already six-foot-tall, and his arms were bigger than tree trunks. Especially when he folded them over his chest the way he currently was doing. His eyebrows were too big and bushy, and his dark crew cut hair made him look like he’d already spent a few years serving time on the frontline for his country.

I didn’t bother pulling my earphones out as I looked at him.

I didn’t care what he or any of them had to say.

I focused on the song playing in my ears. On the way the guitar drew you in before the drums sank you under. On the way the beat made the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention before Dolores O’Riordan held you captive. I imagined her singing it to a packed arena full of fans, and how it would feel to hit every note as thousands of strangers looked up with admiration.

What’s in my head, Dolores? The music. The power of it all. You, Cobain, Cornell, Taylor, Armstrong. The list is endless.

Music took me away from the troubles at my feet, and while Ollie tried to postpone what was coming, and Liam no doubt planned his attack like he was organising a strategy for a game of rugby, I stayed still with my hands in my pockets, just staring at him.

Dolores sang, and I let my toes tap along in my Vans. When she hit those high notes, my brow lifted, and I began to nod along.

Liam raised an accusatory brow, trying to draw me in. “I heard a rumour today, little Ryan. Is it true? Are you trying to get my girl? Because you know I’ll skin you alive before I let that happen, don’t you?”

I huffed out a puff of laughter, letting that be my only response. The thought of fighting over a woman made me want to stretch my arms above my head and yawn. I had no time for any of it. Love, attachments, and all that other shit I saw guys my age spending time on seemed pointless. They could be doing what I was and learning their craft instead. Being someone. Filling the void.

Discovering art was the trip, man. Even at fifteen, I knew that much. From what I’d seen of life, women were hard work, and if I was going to work hard, it wasn’t going to be for a girl. It was going to be forme. For my future. For the invincibility I could almost reach out and touch—it felt so inevitable.

It took ten seconds of my silence for Liam to rip my earphones out as his anger took over. I glanced down at them dangling from my pocket, before I slowly looked up at him under thick brows.

If I could have been bothered, I’d have poured everything I had into putting his arse on the ground.

But a boy like him didn’t deserve that kind of energy.

Liam took a step closer. “You’re going to fight me, Rhett. Whether you want to or not.”

“He hasn’t done anything, Liam,” Ollie said quietly. “Just let him go home.”

Liam’s eyes held mine, and the more I stayed silent, the more his nostrils flared, and his mouth twitched. If he was waiting for me to explode, he had another thing coming. Instead, I reached down for my earphones, and I slowly pushed them back into my ears, not taking my eyes from his.

Dolores had gone, and now Richard Ashcroft sang about thatBitter Sweet Symphony.

I hit the volume button up on that track, drowning Liam out—Ollie, too.

It didn’t take long for Liam to push me. He did it once, and then again. I was walking backwards with a smirk on my face that was hurting my enemy way more than my knuckles ever could.

My indifference killed him. It poked the bear and made him angry.

There was a twisted sense of power in that.

Ollie shouted at me to fight.

Richard Ashcroft and I sang about how we couldn’t change our mould,no, no, no, no, no, and right before Liam’s fist swung out, I took a mental snapshot of him and the angry zombies standing behind who didn’t even know why they were supposed to be mad at me. I committed them to memory for life, because one day, I’d be the guy standing on the stage like Armstrong, Dolores, and Ashcroft. I’d be the voice in some kid’s ear right before he was about to get beat up for no good reason other than that he seemed different to the rest.

I’d be the success, with everyone screaming at him, begging for his attention.

I’d do something—be someonewith purpose—and the likes of Charlotte, Liam, and all those other idiots would be forgotten.

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