Unchained | Hiatus

Chapter 3: It's A Long Way To The Top

Apparently Wattpad thinks this story is PG13 because smoking and bad words are a giant no-no for artist freedom. God, I hate this website. It's like a little America; God forbid something come across offensive to 2 year olds who don't get it in the first place, better ban it! But like America, there's nothing any of us citizens can do, so here's your super offensive story. Disclaimer: things in this book are no-nos. Don't attempt to chase your dreams and don't call possible thieves "bastards" because it hurts their feelings. Have an unaware, uninfluencing day, readers and fellow Americans! Smiley-face.

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Brandi staggered into The Kingdom, her feet killing her from her leather boots. She still wore the same ripe clothes as that morning; a bodice with leather straps that caught her chest-length blonde hair every now and then with tight acid-wash jeans tucked into her boots. She would have to change into something practical and take inventory while she did. The nerve of Michael and BJ!

Her mother's words came rushing back to her and she groaned. "Never trust anyone in the Big City. They'll only rob you blind." It hurt to know her mother had been right. What is she doing right now? Brandi wondered. Has she read my letter? Does she know I'm gone?

The bar was virtually empty besides the worthless morning drinkers, those who had become incapacitated the night before, and the tenders. Readjusting her feet in her boots, Brandi took long strides to the bar, her boots clicking on the hardwood and echoing throughout the establishment. The woman, a beautiful Cyndi Lauper-look-alike, paused as she ran a dish towel over the wood surface to smile at Brandi.

"Can I help you?" she asked in a thick southern accent.

"Can I speak to the manager?" Brandi asked politely.

"I'm her," the woman drawled, throwing an acrylic-nailed thumb into her chest. She extended her hand. "Gloria Wilkos."

Brandi took her hand and responded, "Brandi Emery." She hopped into a barstool as Gloria pushed her weight to one foot and rested a hand on her hip. "I'm a singer and I was wondering if I could preform here for money."

"By yourself?" she asked incredulously. "Look, kid, you need a band. I know a few girls that came in last month  called Sin for Two looking for a singer."

"So that's a no?" Brandi collected sadly.

"Not 'til you get a band, Hunny. No one comes in for just a singer."

Brandi hesitated. "Sin for Two? Were they any good?"

"Hell if I know. They gave me the guitarist's number. Want it?" Brandi nodded and Gloria took a piece of paper from the cork-board behind her. "Yeah, if you get with these girls, I'll definitely have you in."

Brandi took the number at smiled at Gloria thankfully. "Thanks, Miss Wilkos. I'll get back to you."

"You do that, hunny. Where you staying?"

"Nowhere," Brandi sighed, pushing the number deep in her pocket. "I spent the night with a thief, it turns out. I should actually check to make sure I have everything." She popped open her case and sifted through familiar items.

"Well, if you need a place, I've got an apartment that needs a tenant. We can sort it all out when I clock out at eight. Just meet me here then and you've got yourself a roof."

"Oh, thank you so much, Miss Wilkos! I'll be here. I'll keep busy until then. Oh, thank you!"

Brandi received similar reactions to her singing offer at all the other bars, finally giving up and settling down at the bar in the Rainbow, quite occupied for four o'clock. Kenny Loggin's Danger Zone played softly over the speakers. She picked mindlessly at Jimmy Page's name scratched into the wood, not stopping to imagine the presence that had once been where she was. When there was nothing left to pick at on his name, Brandi moved up to Eddie Van Halen's. Everything seemed so bleak, life seemed dreadful. Mom was right. I'll never accomplish my dream; I should be an accountant like her. A housewife. Something that would make me contemplate suicide or homicide.

The tender, a man with shoulder-length brown hair, had been watching her as she traced the names before her with a heavy heart. He sauntered over to her and pulled something from below the bar, sliding it toward her nonchalantly. It was a small green package, large enough to hold two quarters. He then gave her a bendy-straw and a butter knife from below the counter, winking at her before going back to work.

She studied the package curiously. When the idea hit her, she quickly shoved the gifts into her bag and smiled at the man when she caught him looking over. Her first free drugs instilled a sense of confidence in her she relished. With this confidence, she strutted over to the payphone at the door and took the number from her pocket. She dialed slowly and waited as it rang. It never stopped ringing. She bit her nails; her confidence wasn't yet shot, but it had receded.

She hung up. She'd have to call later when someone was home. Meanwhile, she made the maze to the bathrooms in the Rainbow and made the most of her first free drugs-- her first drugs. She poured the powder content of the package out on her case while she sat privately in one of the three empty stalls. She took the butter knife and separated the powder into four fine crystalline lines. With the straw at the opening of one nostril, the other one plugged, Brandi ignored her growing fear and quickly snorted the first line. Her nose burnt so much that her eyes watered and she coughed away from her lap. With tears running down her face, she proceeded with the rest, cleaned up, and left.

She leaned across the pedestal sink and examined her nose. It didn't look as inflamed as it felt and she rubbed water on her nose to relieve some of the burning, though it didn't help much. Her gaze flicked up to her chocolate eyes and she sighed. She put her case on the sink and unclipped it. She rifled through her things, ultimately relieved that everything was in there. She decided against changing as the room began to spin and pounding came from the door. She pulled the door open but no one was there. Her moves became animated. She took a shoe lace from her bag-- with much difficulty-- and tied her wrist to the handle for precautionary measures. She was going to trip hard.