Don't Bring Me Your Bullets

{Quinn's POV}
"Lys, are you ready yet?" I shouted from across the apartment as I ran a quick brush through my explosion of blond hair. I heard muttering and cursing from the small, cluttered bathroom I shared with my roommate. It was her clutter, as she was the one who actually cared what she looked like in front of people. I, on the other hand, could usually be found in hockey jersey's, or most often band merch, and it was a miracle if I got a brush through my hair.

I heard Lys scream and throw something at the wall, that surely exploded all over the bathroom. I sighed, knowing I would be on my hands and knees cleaning it up later in the night while Lys was doing stuff with the guy she was going to bring home. I rolled my eyes and impatiently tapped my foot on the ground, eager to get going.

I wasn't quite sure how Lys and I could stand each other, we were complete opposites.

I met Lys back in high school, she was my first friend who ever stayed with me. And she was the one who always protected me. You see, Lys had this aura of confidence that either warded people off, or beckoned them closer.

I had lost touch with her after high school ended, and then, six months ago she had turned up at my apartment door, her boyfriend had kicked her out and I was in the area. Her boyfriend was a thirty-three year old rock-and-roll wannabe with a mop of greasy, brown hair and a thick, untamed black beard. He was either very philosophical, or very drunk, there really was no in-between. He was also a douchebag, and Lys' on-again-off-again boyfriend. They had a very loose relationship, meaning it wasn't uncommon for them to sleep with other people on a nightly basis.

I sighed as Lys finally strode out of the bathroom and across the apartment, and then faced palmed myself when I saw her outfit. She was wearing a low, cut-up, grey Misfits tank-top and a pencil skirt so short it probably defied physics. Her luscious brown hair was straightened and her mouth was smothered in a pound of bright red lipstick. Just looking at the mad amount of eye make-up on her eyes made my eyes itchy. She grinned wildly at me.

"Ready?" She asked, and I nodded. She then strolled out of the apartment and I skipped after her, switching off the lights and locking the door behind us, to ensure there would be no robberies.

I followed Lys down the rotting stairs and laughed as she held up a hand to the doorman, who had opened his mouth to flirt. He glared daggers at me as we disappeared down the nighttime, New Jersey street. I was like a shadow following behind Lys, basically unnoticeable in my black skinny jeans, blood red converse and black Greenday T-shirt. I was petite, not even reaching five feet or a hundred pounds. That was due to small genes and a run-in with anorexia in my teens, which had never allowed me to gain too much weight again.

I was commonly mistaken as Lys' daughter, who looked like a thirty-year-old trapped in a twenty-year-old's body. She then politely said no to them and I violently shook my head. I would kill myself if she was my mother. She may have been my best friend, but she was an awful motherly figure.

"Q, where are we going again?" Lys asked as she waved flirtily at a man who sauntered past us. He winked and then Lys blew him a kiss. I rolled my eyes and spoke up.

"House of Blues to see some new band, My Chemical Romance I think it is?" I replied, and Lys nodded, barely listening as she flirted with more men walking down the street. If he was a man, Lys would flirt, no matter what. I sighed again as we finally came upon the House of Blues in dirty Jersey.

The sound of loud music beckoned us in, and soon, we disappeared behind the doors, our night about to take a crazy spin.

Notes

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