She's Electric | Sam Fender

vi - Cassia

The clock ticks by and Dad knocks on my door.

"You ready to go, love?" He asks, still banging his knuckles against the wood. 

I finish tying my laces and pull my jacket off the back of the chair. I hate wearing shoes in hotels; it just feels so awkward to have them on my feet in the same room that I sleep in. Like I'm breaking some unwritten rule that I should probably know about. 

Even though my hi-tops have lyrics and band logos scribbled all over them, they're still my favourite piece of clothing I own. There's no specific theme to the music that covers them, but every time I add to it, I do it in a different coloured Sharpie. It's a musical diary, of sorts. Wow, that sounds pretentious. Funnily enough, I added a lyric from The Borders yesterday: my favourite line "Your eyes the door to hell and all within." It's not just music; that's poetry. I managed to squeeze in a line from Dead Boys as well, "We all tussle with the black dog, some out loud, some in silence." 

I didn't write anything from White Privilege, my favourite song on the album I've decided, purely because I ran out of space. So, tucked between the lyrics of Arctic Monkeys, Queen, Springsteen, Dylan, Hendrix, Bowie, Arcade Fire and the War On Drugs (plus a thousand others) sit a few lines from Newcastle's version of The Boss. 

Dad's wearing his usual parka and jeans, with some shoes from Pretty Green. He smiles at me, but not a happy smile. "My little girl's all grown up."

I look at my shoes. I can't stand talking about stuff like this, "I'll always be your little girl, Dad." 

"I know I said it earlier, but I'm sorry," He says, "I should've been around for you more. I missed everything. Your first words, first steps. Pretty much your entire childhood." 

I try my best not to cry; my mascara will run and I can't be bothered with applying it again. "Don't."

Dad pulls me into a hug, "Come on then, sweetheart. You look fantastic, by the way."

I laugh, "Not too shabby yourself." 

~

The pub's not far from the hotel, which is probably why Dad picked it, but we still get plenty of photo requests on the way. It's kind of stupid of me to start an acting career and hope to not be recognised. My most notable (and only) role is Ghosts, in which I play - surprise surprise - a ghost. There's the modelling side of everything as well, but I don't need to have my own career to be recognised, being the oldest child of Liam Gallagher does the job. 

Being the anti-social little bitch I am, I pull my headphones on and look at the pavement. Dad keeps looking over at me, just to check I'm still there or something, and we walk in silence to the pub. 

It's a red brick building, with plants growing up the front. Very English looking. Inside, it's completely different to the pubs I knew as a kid. No arcade machines, no manky looking carpets and certainly no sticky sofas. There are still pool tables and dartboards though, so it's not totally foreign to me. I'm not bad at darts, even if I say so myself, but my pool game's a little ropey. 

In the far corner sits a group of lads I assume to be Sam and his band. Dad waves at them and they all grin back. Well, I say all, but the bloke with longish dark hair doesn't really look like he wants to be here. At a closer look, his ankle's bandaged up and there are crutches next to him. 

We meet with handshakes and awkward hugs, no one really knowing what to say. Not knowing what limbs belong to who, I'm pretty sure I've shook everyone's hand. The owner of the last sweaty palm I come into contact with actually speaks. 

"Nice to meet you," He says. I look up from my shoes and my gaze is met by slightly bloodshot and sunken (but still the most electric blue I've ever seen) eyes staring back at me. 

A/N: 100 views! This is mental! Thanks for reading this, I still have no idea where I'm going with it, but please bear with me. 

<3