Damned If I Do Ya [An All Time Low Fanfic]

Chapter Three

I walked Kim home after the club. She weighed hardly anything so dragging her for about 10 minutes wasn’t hard. Kim’s house was 5 minutes away from my Foster Family’s house; I have never dared to call it my own home. Her parents smiled and thanked me when I reached her house. They felt sorry for me, Kim had told me. I pretended that I didn’t care. I didn’t want anyone’s pity. I really should have brought a jacket. It was cold. People walked by me like ghosts, enveloped in large warm coats and woolly hats. I envied their ability to be welcomed home to a family that loved them and understood them.  My Foster Family; sure they cared for me, it was their job and they got paid for it. They already had 3 other children. They were used to it. The younger children, Taylor and Maria, they like me and I hate to admit it but I like them too. The eldest child in the house is the worst. Matt. When I first arrived in the city of Pasadena I was somewhat scared of Matt. He was tall and intimidating with a small scar on his cheek. He tells everyone that he got it in a bar brawl. Everybody believes him, he is the type to pick a fight with a stranger when intoxicated.

Truth is, I gave it to him.

Now, a year later, I am still frightened every time I hear that name or see his face. He moved out a few months after I arrived. He sometimes visits home but chokes up and leaves when I show up. I am told to stay at Kim’s house when he comes over. I happily oblige. Things weren’t always so bad with Matt and I. At the start, I began to open up to him about my past. Suddenly he changed and became moody, aggressive and downright horrible.  He hated spending time at home and would spend days sleeping on a friends couch. He dropped out of school and had no plans for his future. Everyone was puzzled and confused. It was hard for Tay and Maria to comprehend. They would wait at the door every evening longing for him to arrive home, like loyal dogs waiting for their owner to return.  Truthfully, I was glad. Patrick and Juliet, his parents, paid for a reasonably sized flat downtown and promised to pay the rent until Matt got back on his feet. I had the address and sometimes, I had the urge to bang on his door and demand to know why he had changed from that nice, sarcastic but humorous boy I met playing guitar on the landing of the stairs.

“Um Matt? Why are you playing in the hallway?”

“Why not Holly? Not everything revolves around you, you know.”

“I-I-I’m s-sorry, I-I didn’t m-mean-”

“Calm, I’m only messing with you Holly. Don’t get sarcasm eh?”

He was such a good guitarist. He tried to teach me once. He just made it look so effortless. When he moved out, he had a very small amount of personal items that he deemed important enough to be brought to the flat. His guitar was not one of them. Juliet had ran out of the house after Matt holding the guitar she had bought her only son when he was just 12 years old.

Matt shook his head and sighed “Mum, I don’t want that thing anymore.”

Juliet looked hurt, “But you’re so good honey. What am I going to do with it now?”

Matt closed his eyes for a second, looked up to the window where I was peeping out from behind  the curtains, “Give it to Holly. Tell her to keep practising.”

I was given the guitar. Juliet had handed it to me with a straight face but I could tell she was holding back a flood of tears.  Later that night I had locked my bedroom door and sat against the wall staring at the guitar for about an hour. I carefully put it behind my wardrobe. It’s been a year now. I just can’t look at it anymore.