G String TremoloMature

Follows the life of Adrien, a young punk rocker whose family abandons him and leaves him in the care of his band, Erotica. G String Tremolo chronicles his struggles as he tries to accept his sexuality, his overwhelming feelings toward his best friend, his constant battle with an worsening epilepsy, and the various social/mental inflictions put on him by an abusive father.

Chapter one, Adrien.

Let's lay down a few things before I begin.  My name is Adrien, but nobody calls me that. I go by Ren, and if I ever catch you calling me anything but, I will not hesitate to punish you to the fullest extent of the law according to Ren. 

I suppose I should begin at the beginning, but it just doesn't work that way.  My brain wasn't wired to do things the right way, if it were I wouldn't have started using, and I would have stayed in school.  Hell, I would probably be in school right now, not writing a shit novel that nobody is going to read.

Anyways, I'm gunna start wherever the fuck I feel I should, and right now I feel that I should start at the day that my life changed.  Was it for the better? I'm not sure, but I don't think it was bad.

You know, I heard someone say that the best friendships start at parties.  I don't believe that, but I guess I got Ronnie from one of them, so that's good, aye?  We met at a party, we had both showed up with the intention of hurting this neo-nazi asshole who gave skinheads a bad name.  My reason was for hurting the dude was because he said that he was the best singer in LA, but I guess for Ronnie there was a little more at stake.

Ronnie was new on the scene and he was new to drugs.  He never heard the ol' standby, never trust a junkie.  I was fifteen and I could have told him that.  He payed two Jackson's for a mini-ziplock of crack and got powdered sugar.  Lucky for him he met a fellow junkie before he tried snorting the shit. 

So let me set the scene for ya's.  The band is on this platform made of plywood stacked on cinder blocks, their PA system is either royally fucked or neo-nazi fucker is just a worse singer than I thought, there is this screeching sound every time they move on the makeshift stage because of the cinder blocks crushing against the concrete floor.  The sound made me shiver like a junkie in June.  I basically swam my way through the crowd.  It was so bloody hot in there that I went as fast as I could so I could get the fuck out.  The big bang, as in Ronnie and I meeting, happened when we both approached the front lines at the same time.  One glance and we knew what was about to happen.  We punched the guy in the ear at the same time, Ronnie on his left, myself on his right.  The guy went crashing to the floor crying, blood ran down his ears faster than you can say get the fuck out Renny boyo,  but I took my sweet time, fighting off Neo-nazi assholes that wanted their revenge, because the microphone landed right in front of his mouth and I could hear him sobbing all the way outside and into the woods, where I made off, Ronnie by my side.

We were pretty much inseperable from then on, and Ronnie never let anyone fuck with me, even though I was basically his personal body guard, saving Ronnie's ass from kicking one fight at a time.

I admire Ronnie and all, but his addiction problems were too much sometimes.  I started noticing that he was a sex addict, which I had no problem with, I thought that's how all 19 year old guys were, but when he started having five or six girls, and guys, over, and doing the ol' in and out in and out for three days at a time, I noticed there was something different about him.  Then I noticed that he was a drug addict, which happened in record time.  From not knowing the difference between crack and sugar, to being able to smell a gram from twelve feet away.  I mean, don't get me wrong, the kid's brilliant and all,as in graduated high school at age thirteen and got a doctorate in musical theory at some Michigan university, but he goes far too far far too fast.

But Ronnie was lucky, see.  He had one of those families that eats dinner together, and mom cooks, and little brother plays catch with dad while big brother washes the station wagon.  He grew up in some cheesy (no pun intended) suburb, I think he said in southern Wisconsin, and he never had to worry about a thing, other than keeping up the image for his pops, who owns some fortune 500 company that sells lotion.  Because of the constant lies that his family told to uphold their image, and the constant putting on a brave front, Ronnie learned how to control people.  Everyone was jealous of him, because he got what he wanted, whether it be a puss or a pen, food or drink, money or drugs.  Didn't matter, he wanted it , he got it.

Ronnie ended up the king of the scene, and he made me his 'disciple'.  He calls me little brother still, like we are in A Clockwork Orange.   I'll admit it bugged me because, of his other friends, whom he also calls little brother, I'd end up being Dim.  But I don't blame him for that stuff because.. Well, I never blame Ronnie for anything.

The End

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