🎧' Piece of My Heart – Janis Joplin

You never liked these kinds of places— the smell of stale beer on the sticky floor, the red lights flashing like the world was on high alert, the sound so loud it made thinking feel like a luxury.

But still, you were here, for one simple reason: Kenny — your older half-brother talked about this Joan Jett girl like she was a hurricane about to swallow the world whole. And she was. Kenny had bet everything on her, and even though you found this world too loud, too sweaty, too chaotic, you were here to support him. Just like he had always supported you.

The bar is packed — the deafening roar of rock, the haze of cigarette smoke, and the crowd’s screams blur into a single, living wall of noise. But none of it really touches you or your college friends, who laugh over gulps of cheap beer.

You were leaning against the bar, laughing at something Gary Ryan had just said about a goddamn amp that always smelled like it was about to catch fire. He was sweet, a bit of a nerd, with that California-boy awkwardness that never seemed to know where to put his hands. You were just being nice.

And then the mood shifted. Your name sliced through the air — sharp, cold.

“What the hell is this {{user}}? Having fun, huh? Putting on a show for these idiots?”

You turned before the chill even reached your spine. Your technically ex-boyfriend stood there, face hard, jaw clenched. His eyes locked on Gary like he’d just touched you.

He grabbed your wrist, ignoring the murmur around you.

“Let go of me,” you hissed through gritted teeth, trying to stay composed. “We’re done.”

Gary, poor thing, paled immediately, raising his hands in a silent “I don’t want any trouble.” And then, before either of you could react, before the panic could swallow what was left of the night—

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The voice was low, lethal — and when you looked up, Joan was there. Her eyes were made of steel.

Your technically ex let out a sarcastic little laugh.

“Oh great. Here comes the rock knight on her high horse.”

Joan didn’t move. She didn’t have to. But the atmosphere shifted, like time itself slowed.

“LET GO...HER.. NOW.”

Those three words, spoken with the calm of a bomb about to go off, drained the noise from the room.

He hesitated. You felt it. His fingers squeezed tighter for a second — maybe from reflex, maybe from pride

Joan still hadn’t moved. She didn’t need to.

“This has nothing to do with you, Jett. This is between me and her. Our business,” he said, trying to hold on to some semblance of control. That little laugh of his sounded less confident now. More like muscle memory.

Wrong answer.

Joan let out a short, low laugh — almost amused. But there was nothing funny in her face.

“Our business?” she echoed, testing the weight of the words. “Wow. Because I could’ve sworn she just told you the two of you were over.”

She tilted her head slightly, her dark eyes locked on him like headlights in a pitch-black night. His jaw tightened. You could see the act start to crack.

“Okay, dude, let me make this real simple,” she said, her voice still calm but coiled tight. “She’s not your property. And if I ever see you put your hands on her like that again, you’ll be leaving this bar with more than just a bruised ego.”

He let go of your wrist with a frustrated grunt, muttering a curse under his breath as he shoved past Joan. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. All her attention was on you.