Amanda twirled her drumsticks in her hand, leaning against the back of her swivel chair. It had been ages since she’d touched this drum set, even though her nickname was Drummer Girl. No time, and no energy. Not energy as in the blue stuff her Rowdies fed on, but… motivation, she supposed. She couldn’t look at that drum set without seeing Todd.
Asshole, she thought automatically at that, smacking her sticks together harshly with a resounding crack. Asshole! Can’t even vent with my music anymore without you ruining it. I can’t have one thing, can I? Her drumsticks beat out a heavy rhythm against her cymbals, crashing around with her thoughts. Everything I like, you’ve ruined with just… being you.
“That don’t sound too much like music, Drummer Girl.”
Amanda caught her sticks in her hand and looked up at Martin, who leaned in the doorway of the little hideout they’d found in upper Arkansas. “Uh- yeah, it’s not, at the moment…?” she said, and her sentence tilted questioningly towards the end. “It’s mainly feelings right now.”
Martin chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, we could feel it,” he said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to the exit. The dull sounds of a Rowdy bonfire floated through her ears. “Got a lot of that energy wellin’ up in ya, Drummer.”
She blew out a breath with an exasperated chuckle. “Right…” she said after a moment. “I forgot you guys could feel that.” She gently tapped out a rhythm on her thighs, spinning in the swivel chair. “I just… argh.”
“Well, tell me about it, then. That should help, yeah?” He asked, tugging a chair free from a pile of discarded items and turning it, back-first to Amanda. He sat, boots thunking on the floor, crossing his arms over the back of the chair and resting his chin on top of them. “So, talk to me, ‘Manda. What’s got ya all argh?”
Amanda sighed and leaned her head on the back of her chair, taking a deep breath. “I’m just thinkin’ about my asshole brother again.”
He gave a low whistle. “Asshole Todd who, uh… What’d ya say? Ruined your life?” he asked, clicking his fingers a few times as he pushed his glasses up his nose, rubbing against the bandaid that was supposed to keep them in place but didn’t really do its job.
“Yeah, that’s the one.” She rubbed her eyes, the ends of her drumsticks tapping her nose. “Was gonna try getting some practice in while you guys did your bonfire—”
“You do know the bonfire’s s’posed to be a ‘we’ thing, right?”
There was a moment of silence, Martin looking expectantly at Amanda as the wheels turned in her head. “Uh- yeah! Yeah, I know it is,” she said when her thoughts had caught up to her. “I just needed some space. I love you guys, but I can only handle Cross and Vogel aggressively playing patticake for so long.”
Martin laughed, taking his glasses off to rub his eyes. “Yeah, that’s why I had to come in. Don’t know how long it’s gonna be before someone breaks someone’s fingers.”
She grinned, tapping out a rhythm on her jeans. They lapsed into comfortable silence for a moment, the soft pitter of the drumsticks against soft muscle filling the room. After a few minutes of this, Martin looked up to Amanda with a grin. “Tell ya what, Drummer. I want you to play for me.”
Her cheeks heated up and she shrugged, laughing nervously. “Uh… yeah, I don’t know about that. I’m not really all that good, you know, and I tend to not… play… for people anymore?” she chuckled, waving her drumsticks around.
“No, no, c’mon!” he said, dragging his chair over to sit next to her. “I wanna hear what you’ve got, see if you live up to your nickname.”
“Nah—”
He chuckled and set each drumstick in one hand, larger hands encircling her wrists and guiding them to the drumset. “Come on. Take all them feelings about your asshole brother, and let your hands do the talkin’, hear me? Let it all fall on ‘em.”
She smiled when his hands took hers, looking down at the drum set. “I don’t know,” she said slowly, tilting her head.
Martin’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Aww, c’mon, ‘Manda. I thought you were punk.”
He knew what he was doing. She gave a growl, low in her throat, turning in her chair to face him. “Sit your ass down in that chair,” she said lowly, twirling the sticks in her fingers. “And I’ll show you I’m punk.”
Martin grinned wolfishly and took his seat again, straddling the chair and slinging his arms over the back. “By all means, Drummer. Lemme hear what ya’ve got.”
Amanda whirled around in her chair, one foot coming down to find the bass pedal, pumping lightly to get a smooth rhythm going, tapping her sticks together in time to try and give her hands something to do. Focus on all that energy, all that hate and anger. Let it drive you.
She started slow, right hand tapping out a rhythm on her floor tom, slightly out-of-pace with the bass pedal, tapping the skin to the beat in her head as her left hand alternated from her snare and her tom, building a slow 1-3-2-3-1 rhythm. As she got used to that rhythm, her right hand moved to alternate between the floor tom and her ride cymbal, picking up a 1-3-2-4-3-2-1 rhythm.
Martin hummed along, nodding with the beat as he just took in the sight of Amanda in her element, hands moving with whatever rhythm her head gave her. She was so… beautiful here, just in her space and doing what she loved. His foot tapped along with her drums, and he closed his eyes, just taking it all in and letting Amanda go.
He looked up when she stopped, taking a deep breath to calm her shaking hands. “You doin’ alright there, Drummer Girl?” he asked, gravelly voice low in contrast to the heavy drums. “You look kinda shaky.”
“When do I not?” she asked in return, turning her head to look at him, eyebrow raised warily. “But… yeah, actually. That felt good to let all that out, even if it was just me beating the hell out of my drumset.”
Martin laughed. “C'mere, let’s actually talk it out, then.” He patted his thigh teasingly.
Amanda chuckled. “Nah, you’re not special,” she said with a laugh, moving to sit in front of Martin on the floor, crossing her legs. “The floor is, though.”
“You’ll sit on the floor and get your ass all dirty but ya won’t sit in my lap?” he asked, hand on his chest. “Damn, I gotta say, Drummer. I’m offended.”
Amanda chuckled and pretended to weigh out her options, tilting her head from side to side as she thought about it. “Hmm… do I stay on the floor, or do I sit with you? It’s a really hard decision.”
He growled teasingly and leaned forward to scoop her up in his arms, tugging her onto his thigh. “There, I can make the decisions for you. Now, come on, Drummer. You want to talk to me about it?”
She squeaked when he lifted her, slipping her arms around his neck and tugging herself close to him. She nosed her face into his neck, eyes fluttering shut as she inhaled his scent. “Ugh, not really?” she said after a moment. “Much rather just cuddle with you.”
He smiled and pressed his lips to her hair, rubbing her back. The familiar feel of the black leather beneath his fingers just felt so nice. “We can do that. I’m down for anythin’ you’re down to do, ‘Manda,” he promised softly, lips brushing against her forehead.
