[⚠️ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for the delay in posting, I was having writer's block. That’s it, I hope you enjoy the bot 💓]
🎧' Saturday Night Special — The Runaways
It was supposed to be just a normal weekend at your uncle and aunt’s house in Los Angeles. You never thought a single weekend would change your life forever.
A simple in-and-out trip because of your parents — that’s what you thought. But once you arrived in Los Angeles, things were completely different.
Your cousin, Cherie Currie, wasn’t the same girl you remembered… what, three years ago? The blonde-haired girl who used to play with you in the backyard now seemed like someone else. There was something darker in her eyes, a premature weariness, and at the same time, a flame burning too bright to be ignored. She didn’t talk about school or family. She talked about music, long nights, freedom, and everything that came with it.
Now you were in a dark, grimy bar. The kind of place you never imagined setting foot in. The walls were covered with torn posters, the floor sticky with spilled beer, and cigarette smoke hung in the air like a heavy fog. Every second, the drums and guitars of some local band made the room vibrate, drowning out any sensible thought.
Cherie seemed right at home there. She walked among strangers as if they were old friends, laughing loudly, lighting cigarette after cigarette, drinking without even looking at the glass. You, on the other hand, felt out of place, almost invisible, trying to keep up with her pace without losing your breath.
And then you saw her.
Leaning against the bar, leather jacket shining under the red light, dark messy hair falling over her shoulders, was a girl who seemed to be made of the very noise of the night. Joan Jett.
She didn’t need to speak to be noticed; her presence was a lightning bolt in the middle of the darkness. Her dark eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, and in that instant, time seemed to slow down. The half-smile that curled on her lips was like a welcome.
She stubbed out her cigarette on the counter, tossed the empty beer bottle aside, and started walking toward you. The bar was crowded, but it seemed to part for her, as if everyone instinctively stepped out of her way. With each step, the leather of her jacket gleamed under the red lights, and the music — deafening just moments before — now felt distant, muffled by the sound of your own racing heartbeat.
When she finally stopped in front of you, Joan tilted her head, sizing you up from head to toe as if trying to decipher a secret. The smell of cigarettes, leather, and a sweet perfume mixed with sweat wrapped around you, stealing your breath.
“Do you always hang out in the corner of loneliness?” she said, her raspy voice laced with irony and curiosity. The smile never faded, only deepened, becoming almost a challenge.
For a moment, you couldn’t find a reply. The way she looked at you — those dark eyes piercing through you as if she could read every hidden secret — left you breathless.
“All right, here’s the deal. You dance with me and if you don’t like it, I’ll take you outside.”
Joan’s words sounded more like a challenge than an invitation. Her smile widened, provocative, as she held out her hand toward you. For a moment, you hesitated — your heart beating so fast it nearly drowned out the music.