"So, Christian, tell me something about yourself," I beckoned CC to speak when we sat down in my studio.
"Like what?" He asked.
"I don't know. I need to know who you are, in order to do a good job painting your portrait." I shrugged and gave him some time to think.
"Well, I'm a drummer. My birthday is April 21st. I have a sister..." He scratched the back of his head.
"This isn't working for me. Let's grab some coffee. It might feel less sterile if we actually talk instead of me forcing you into telling me fun facts about yourself," I smiled at him.
"Oh God, thank you. This felt really fucking awkward." He chuckled and stood up. We both grabbed our stuff, and I locked the door behind us.
We went to a café near my place. It was only a five-minute walk, luckily. I say luckily, because the walk there was spent in awkward silence, and I felt like I might just die from how uncomfortable it felt.
We both ordered coffee and then we started talking.
"So, when did you start playing drums?" I asked him.
"I got my first full drum set when I was about nine, but I started seriously playing when I was like 17. I'm classically trained, actually. When did you start painting?" he smiled.
"Oof, I don't even remember. As far back as I can remember, I've always been doodling or drawing. I started painting when I was in Junior High," I told him.
"I've actually seen some of your works in a gallery before. I remember them because they really reminded me of Jackson Pollock, but with a modern twist, I guess?" He told me. My eyes lit up and I thanked him for telling me.
"You're not joking, are you?" I asked him.
"No, why would I be?"
"Well, your singer said he knew my work from somewhere, before rudely saying that nobody should ever see it and that it looks like every child could do the same thing."
"Ah, yes, well, Andy can sometimes be a bit..."
"Of an asshole?" I asked.
"I was going to say rough around the edges, but yours works too." He laughed.
"How long have you known him?" I asked.
"Oh, well, I've been in the band since 2010, but we knew each other before that. I've known him long enough to know that he cares about you," he said.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"When he wants someone in his life, he shows it. He won't constantly speak about someone who means nothing to him," CC said.
"Well, he has a funny way of showing it." I crossed my arms.
"Why?" He asked me.
"Well, we constantly bicker. And he's exceptionally rude. And oh, so arrogant," I said and rolled my eyes. And yet, when I thought about our bickering, a smile made a short appearance on my lips.
"I just think he doesn't really know how to act around you. I mean, none of us have seen you two together yet, so I have no idea how he acts around you, but my best guess is that he's acting out because you're very new to him and he doesn't really spend much time with women." He shrugged.
"I guess... Okay, enough about Andrew. Tell me, what kind of music do you listen to?" I asked. He gave me a knowing smile before answering: "I'm a fan of In Flames, Pendulum, DeadMau5, As I Lay Dying and Rise Against. They've all been a big influence on me."
"Favourite show?"
"Family Guy."
"Favourite Colour?"
"Green."
"Favourite place in the world?"
"The beach, with my friends and family."
"You said you have a sister, right?"
"Yup."
"I wish I had one of those," I said.
"Are you an only child?" He asked me.
"Yeah, sadly."
"Well, that probably has its perks too, right? For example, you don't have to share your parents' attention with anyone."
"Oh God, I wish my mom had another child to nag and project all her unreached dreams on to. It's very lonely."
"Yeah, I believe you. I wouldn't give up my sister for anything in the world. Even though we want to strangle each other sometimes," he joked.
"Is she younger?"
"Yeah, Adrienne is 3 years younger than me."
"Do you have any kids?" I asked him.
"Not yet. But I am married. My wife's name is Alexandra. She's my best friend," he smiled lovingly. And in that exact moment I had what I needed for his portrait. The adoration in his eyes at the mention of his wife's name was what the painting needed. The personal note: he was a man with a lot of love to give.
I explained my thought process to him, and he was happy that we were able to find the perfect way to represent him. We finished our coffee and paid.
I went straight to work when we returned to my studio.
I spent the rest of the day sketching out his facial features and trying to capture that loving look in his eyes and smile. It was already dark outside when we were both finally satisfied with my work. I let him go home after that. I told him I could do the rest without him here, and that he could come check out the final product, if he wanted.
I took a photo of the sketch and sent it to Andrew. I didn't know why I did that, but I just thought that he might be interested in seeing our progress.
Asshat: Looks siiiick
Me: Thanks
Asshat: How many meals have you had today?
Asshat: Williams, please tell me you've eaten
Asshat: I'm serious
Asshat: Sophie?
I really don't know why he's so obsessed with asking me if I've eaten. I admit that I sometimes forget about my basic human needs, especially when I work. I mean, CC did say something about going to go grab something to eat and he did leave for an hour. But I couldn't take a break from drawing because I was so close to perfecting one of the details on his face. It's not like I was actually hungry at that point. I would grab something to eat after I finished cleaning up. But there's just a tiny detail that needs my attention before I can do that.
I was back in my chair with my sketchpad when I heard the door open.
"Did you forget anything, CC?" I asked, not really bothering to look up from my work.
"Nope," a different voice answered.
I quickly looked up and saw Andrew looking at me with what could only be described as a mixture of anger and disappointment.
"What are you doing here?" I asked him.
"I've come to kidnap you again. We are getting you something to eat," he said sternly.
"You didn't have to come all the way here. I was planning on grabbing food on my way home,"
"Yes, I did have to come all the way here because you are apparently so irresponsible that I can't even trust you to feed yourself. Now, get up and let's go," he said.
"I'm not done yet."
"Yes, you are. You can finish this tomorrow. Come on," he grabbed my arm and literally dragged me away.
"Andrew, let go of me. I can get myself food. Leave," I said, trying to yank my arm out of his grip.
"Why do you always have to fight me on everything?" He asked, stopping to look at me.
"Speak for yourself." I rolled my eyes.
"Quit doing that. It's rude."
"You're rude," I said, rolling my eyes again out of spite.
"I'm warning you, Miss Williams, stop rolling your eyes."
"What are you going to do about it?" I asked, doing it a third time.
"I'll spank you."
"You wouldn't dare!" I said, a small part of me excited about the outcome of this conversation.
"Wouldn't I?" He asked, threateningly.
I wanted to say something else, but the look in his eyes told me that maybe it would be wise to shut up, lest I wanted to see if he'd make good on his promise to spank me. The thought alone sent a shiver down my spine.
He cleared his throat and continued our walk to his car.
"What would you like to eat tonight, Miss Williams?" He asked when he started his car.
"I don't know. Maybe Italian. Are you in the mood for pizza?" I asked.
"I already ate, so it's up to you."
"If you already ate, why are you here then?"
"I already told you: I'm here to make sure you eat."
"Bro, I am not a child."
"Bro, just stop resisting."
I groaned and crossed my arms over my chest. He was so impossibly annoying. Everything he did infuriated me to no end. How could one person be so good at making me so angry all the time.
What was the point of taking me to a restaurant if he already ate dinner? I would understand it if he was hungry and wanted to eat too. What was he going to do? Wait for me in the car? Watch me eat? Leave me there?
"What's going on in that pretty, little head of yours, Williams?" He asked me.
"Mind your own business, Biersack," I snarled.
"You know, I've been thinking..." he began.
"You have, have you? I bet that's a first," I rolled my eyes.
"What did I say about rolling your eyes?" He threatened in a low voice.
"Oh, shut up."
"Anyway, as I was saying before, I've been thinking. That orange hair colour of yours really suits you."
"Why?"
"Because you're such a feisty little thing."
"Stop saying I'm little."
"Well, you are. How tall are you anyway?" He asked.
"5'5," I said.
"See? You're tiny."
"It's not my fault that you're freakishly tall."
"I am not."
"Are too."
"Am not."
"Are too."
We continued bickering for another five minutes before we reached our destination.
We sat outside, under the stars. I'd say it was romantic if I wasn't there with him.
As I waited for my food, I noticed him staring at me.
"Why don't you take a picture, tall boy, it'll last you longer."
"You have something on your face," he said.
"Where?" I asked. He pointed to my right cheek. I tried wiping it away, but he just laughed at me, extending his hand, and doing it for me. "There you go, all better," he said. His thumb lingered on my cheek for a little longer, before he retracted his hand, leaving me with a burning sensation where he was touching me just moments ago. I cleared my throat and thanked him.
"Sophie?"
"Yes, Andrew?"
"When were you born?" He asked.
"You can't ask a lady that!" I scoffed.
"Luckily I'm not talking to a lady."
"Fuck you."
"Are you offering?"
"God, I hate you."
"Sure, you do. Now, answer my question."
"I was born on August 15th, 1993. When were you born?" I asked.
"December 26th, 1990," he said. "Wait, so, since your parents are on holiday with mine every year from August 10th to August 21st, they never celebrate with you?" He asked after a moment of consideration.
"Nope. We haven't celebrated my birthday together in over 15 years."
"Well, that sucks."
"Meh, I'm used to it. I've had other people to celebrate with," I shrugged.
"Like Sam?"
"And Michael," I added automatically before realising what I said.
"Let's talk about something else, shall we?" He changed the subject quickly.
"Like what?" I asked.
"I don't know. Ask me something."
"Do you have any siblings?" I asked.
"Nope, only child. You too, right?"
I nodded in response.
"Where are you originally from?" I asked him.
"Cincinnati. You're from here, right?" He asked.
"Yeah, born and raised. Do you miss it?"
"What? Cincinnati?" He asked and I nodded.
"Yes and no. I miss my parents, and my childhood home," he smiled, "but I don't miss my life there."
"Why not?"
"I used to get bullied a lot. That's why I became a singer."
Huh, interesting. I never would have guessed.
"Where did you go to college?" He asked me.
"New York."
"And that's where you met Michael, right?" He asked.
"Yup. But you already know that story. Speaking of cheating exes, where did you meet yours?" I asked, hoping my question wouldn't insult him.
"Oh, uh, we met at a movie set. She's an actress." He told me.
"You were in a movie?" I was surprised.
"You really make me forget that I'm famous," he chuckled.
"Sorry," I frowned.
"No, don't apologize. I like it. It's rare that I meet someone who doesn't already know everything about me. It's nice to be able to introduce myself, one question at a time." He smiled at me, and I returned the favour.
"Anyway, yes, I've been in several."
"That's pretty cool, I guess," I muttered. We were quiet for a little while. He seemed to be deep in thought. I didn't want to interrupt whatever it was that he was going through.
I already finished eating my food when he finally spoke again: "We were together for five years, Anna and I. I still remember the day I proposed, like it was yesterday. What a stupid mistake that was." He shook his head, as if to try and shake the memory out of his brain.
"I myself am a connoisseur of such mistakes," I joked, trying to lighten the mood.
"I just hope that I've learned something from the experience. I'd hate to go through that again."
"What's your strategy?" I asked.
"I don't date. Easy as that. If you don't let anyone that close, they can't hurt you." He shrugged.
"And how long has that worked for you?" I asked.
"It worked for about five years." He muttered.
Our eyes met and I cleared my throat.
"Let's go, it's pretty late," I said. He nodded and we got up. He paid for my meal, even though I objected.
The car ride to my apartment was spent mostly in silence. I contemplated his words. Was it a slip of the tongue? Did I mishear what he said? Or did he actually mean it that way? He said it worked for five years, instead of saying it HAS worked for five years. What did it mean? I don't know why I was even bothering with trying to get to the bottom of his words. It's not like there's a chance that I am the reason it stopped working.
"I'll see you around," I said as I got out of his car.
"Yeah, see you around, Soph."
And then he drove off. I hated to admit that I actually had a good time with him. Again. This had to stop. No more texts. No more meals. No more visits. I decided then and there that I would steer clear of Andrew Biersack from now on. The only other time I needed to see him was to sketch his portrait for their promotion. After that, there would be no more albums, or promotions, or anything else. Their tour starts in six weeks anyway. And in six weeks, I will finally be free of this reign of terror he has unleashed on my life. I can't wait for it to be over.