Get Your Guns | Vol. 1 | Jamie Bower Fanfiction

1| Scotch

Jamie Campbell Bower

I was sitting in the corner of this old man bar, there was a lot of dirt and varies types of plastic cups on the floor. The air was humid with the amount of screaming that had just been going on and the tight pack of warm girly bodies that had just left. My band had just played; we were called "The Darling Buds". We sang kind of alternative rock, you would think that would attract a lot of guys, but really it doesn't it attracts a fuck load of girls, seeing as I am Jamie Campbell Bower. I somehow make them swoon, sometimes I don't really know why but then I remember that I played Jace in The Mortal Instruments, and therefore somehow I am idolized and slightly sexualized by all of these girls. At times, like when I play, it is great it insures that there are a lot of people to see us, and we are not playing for an empty crowed, but then at other times, it's hell. Especially, when I want to be alone in a pub and drink a "pity beer". They always interrupt me or want a photo or an autograph. I never tell them about it ever in the end having fans was great; if I didn't have them I wouldn't even have a job. So I kind of owe them a lot, though I still want to bang them over the head with a stick at times.

Anyway maybe this "pity beer" needs a little explaining, see about 8 hours ago I became what am called single. My girlfriend, no Mathilda dumped me something about her meeting somebody else she said. It was horrible. I got furious she became the whole "I'm sorry it's not you, it's me" apologetic, which was a bunch of bullshit. I knew it was me, who else could it be? If it wasn't me then it was her or this guy, anyway in the end it was me she dumped and that meant it was me there were something wrong with. You could never understand the kind of bullshit I had to deal with the paparazzi, the fans, the haters, let me just say being famous is not a dance on roses. Dating was the worst. People never left you alone. It didn't help I just realized that I was a serial monogamist and had been that since how long? Sometimes I couldn't even remember how it was like being single! This was ridicules! Maybe I should take a break from the species that is the girlfriend and just have a lot of flings. No doubt it will get a lot of publicity if it got out.

I looked around the bar. I was sitting in a dark corner hiding so if a girl walked in she would not be able to see me but I still had full view of the bar area. There weren't any females in the bar anymore it was past 11 pm on a Sunday night. There were only some old guy sitting at a bar looking tired with beer in front of him. He looked like he was deeply troubled the way he sat rubbing his temples. In the corner there sat a guy who seemed to be in his 30tes with someone I suspected of being a she male on his lap, hey no judgment! It was his choice! He looked unhealthy he was sweaty and his eyes was red and glistening it was 100 % sure he was on something.

The door rang as somebody walked in. I slouched down by instinct praying to god it wasn't some 15 year old girl. The person walked over to the bar and she came into view. I took up the menu and hid behind it watching her over the edge of it trying not to be noticed. She didn't look 15 and that was reassuring she looked to be in her start 20tes or so. Secondly she was not looking around like a fan normally would do if they knew or suspected I was here. I relaxed a little bit and put down the menu hoping nobody had seen me acting like a lunatic. The girl sat down in the bar stool and I checked out her bottom as she did, no I'm not above that I am a guy god damn it! Conclusion it was nice she wasn't the skinny model girl Mathilda had been she was curvy in a way that gave her a slim waist and a lovely figure this was a statement not really an opinion every guy would probably think that. She had thighs and an actual rack compared to Mathilda she may be seen as slightly chubby, but she wasn't when you just looked at her, she was just not model skinny, she had a shape. She was wearing dark red pants with holes in the thighs and as she removed her dark brown leather jacket I saw she was wearing a dark, not black just dark sweater with a huge scull in front. She was somehow a weird match between punk and normal. Her hair had a striking resembles to a birds nest. She had long reddish-brown curly hair that was pointing in every direction at this point, while still being dripping wet. I looked out the window out on the street, sure thing it was pouring down. She looked like she was drench to the skin. She sat down sighing and ordered a drink, I couldn't hear what kind over the music, but I assumed it was an apple-tiny or something girly like that. I looked down at my own beer I was already half empty. I took s gulp of it emptying it; I would have to get up to the bar to get another one soon. There were already 5 on my table. I did not plan on leaving here sober. As I looked up at the girl again I saw her draw out a sketch pad of sorts and a pen, then she started doodling on the paper. I was curious as to what she was drawing; I probably weren't unicorns or dra... I stopped my trail of thought not wanting to think about her again.

I was angry at Mathilda for dumping me, but my whole insides hurt incredibly much, though it was thoroughly dulled by the alcohol. I felt slightly detached from myself. Like I was almost levitating, though I could still feel the pain. I got up and walked over to the bar sitting down next to the girl with a birds nest for hair. I looked over at her drink expecting to see some girly drink (girl will be girls right?) but instead I found that she was sitting there swirling a glass of scotch in her hand. Not some cheap or mild scotch, but a rather expensive one judging by the bottle to her right. I wasn't at all a girly drink this was a burly man drink something only old men with an explicit test in alcohol drank this. Her sketch pad was hidden behind the mass of her hair coming down over her shoulder hiding her face from her view. For all I knew she could be a butterface.

"Beer, please", I said to the bartender while passing over the money for it. The bartender was a tiny thick man with greasy black hair in an apron. The guys who worked the nightshifts in this bar weren't exactly pretty. He came over with the beer popped it open snatched up the money and went to put it in the cash register. Then he sat down in a stool behind the bar and snatched up his book once more waiting for the customers to come.

As I was about to turn around and go back to my dark corner again, the girl pulled slightly back form the bar desk revealing her drawing. Her hand was brushing something of the pad she looked like she was judging and expecting her drawing. She wasn't paying me any mind. She definitely was not a fan. I stepped a step back wanting to look closer at her drawing there was something familiar about it. As soon as I stepped back I saw what is was that had made it feel familiar. It was me. It was a drawing of me sitting in the corner of this bar looking utterly depressed and heartbroken. The drawing screamed sadness in the strokes of my face and the darkness that became closer as it neared me.

"Keep your nose to yourself", the girl snapped while clapping her sketch pad together. She hadn't even looked up at me. How the fuck, did she do that? I hadn't even seen her look at me when I sat in the corner. This just made me wonder if I were more out of it then I first anticipated. I had only drunken 6 beers... I think...

"That was me!" I said while pointing at the sketchpad she was now tugging down in her bag again.

"No it wasn't", she just said as she got out her wallet to pay for her drink.

"Are you kidding? That's me!" I exclaimed how stupid could she be.

"No, it's a drawing of you", she told me and then recited something in French, "Ceci n'est pas une pipe," Smart ass.

"Yeah, it's me!" I exclaimed again. Then she finally looked up at me looking at me like I was an exceptionally stupid fly.

"A drawing of something or of someone for that matter is not the thing itself. So this", she raised her bag, referring to the sketch pad, "is not you, it's a drawing of you." She said it in a calm voice almost like she was talking to a child. I looked at her a bit dumbfounded. Of all the ways I had imagined this conversation going this certainly had not crossed my mind. I looked at her a bit astonished not really knowing how to answer what so ever. Weird sounds were coming out of my mouth.

"Nice meeting you", she said and then zoomed out the door leaving me speechless staring after her. I was left here asking myself a very simply question with a very difficult answer "what the fuck just happened?"