I stayed close to her as I followed her to the edge of the parking lot. A set of concrete stairs went down into the darkness. The Pit was giving a whole new meaning to the words underground club.

As we went down the stairs, we slowly became surrounded by a concrete tunnel. The tunnel led us to a large opening where a man with his arms crossed sat on stool in front of the main entrance. The music coming from the other side of the bright-red metal door vibrated the filthy floor beneath my feet and put waves in the bottle of soda sitting next to him.

“Hey, Gerald.” Megan gave him a toothy smile. “I assumed there’d be no problems getting me and my girl in?” She motioned to me.

She had him by the balls and he knew it. Either he could let us in or she’d squeal about his sleeping with a minor years before. Megan didn’t say those words, but he knew what she meant. He looked me over and then shook his head and sighed. He didn’t even bother checking our IDs as he waved us in.

“I should’ve never touched her,” he muttered. “Damn complicated women.”

Megan shot him a shit-eating grin as we passed him and went through the door.

The world on the other side of that blood-red door was unlike anything I’d ever seen in person. I’d seen crazy mosh pits and wild concerts on TV before, but up close it was a bit overwhelming. Megan pushed her way through the crowd and I followed close behind. Every now and again I’d get bumped into. It took all the strength I had to stay upright.

The loud rock music from the band pierced my eardrums. It was so loud I couldn’t even hear myself think. There were half-naked women dancing on the bar and colorful graffiti covered every square inch of the concrete walls. Every person I passed had a tattoo or a piercing and everyone seemed to be showing either too much skin or they were covered in head-to-toe black.

Like when Megan walked into our school, all eyes were on me. I instantly regretted not wearing her clothes. Had I known that wearing such boring clothing would have brought more attention to me, I’d be as half-naked as the women that surrounded me. I’d never felt more out of place in my life.

Once we got to the bar, I was able to speak to Megan.

“I don’t think I belong here,” I yelled over the music.

“You’ll be fine. You just need a drink.”

She yelled out a drink order to the guy behind the bar, then handed me a cup. I sipped it as we pushed our way back through the crowd toward the stage.

That was when I saw him. His head was down as he dug his fingers into his guitar. Perfect music flowed from him and it was as if all the other instruments in the band disappeared. I zoned in on his solo and watched as he moved his fingers up and down. He was amazing.

His loose-fitting jeans had rips and tears in them and the sleeves in his black T-shirt were rolled up. The tattoos on his elbows melted into the ones that disappeared into the sleeves of his shirt. There were letters placed on his fingers, but his hands were moving so fast I couldn’t see what they said. Once his solo was over, he looked back out at the crowd. His long, dark bangs still covered half his face. He shifted his head to the side, tossing them out of his eyes and giving me a peek of the little music note tattooed behind his ear.

He didn’t smile. He was as hard as the concrete that surrounded us, but in his eyes you could see he loved what he was doing. There was a natural look of joy in his sultry stare as he bathed the women in the front row with his inattentive gaze. He caught a break for a minute and reached over for his beer. I watched as he brought the bottle to his lips and his silver lip ring caught my full attention. He was covered in color and art; he was a standing statue for freedom, and I was drawn to his careless stature.

“Oh my God, Chet is so hot! Look at him, Pay. Isn’t he a rock god?” Megan screamed over the music.

I shook my head yes, but I wasn’t looking at Chet. Who the hell was Chet? And why would anyone want to look at him when they could feast their eyes on the tall, tatted god with the guitar?

We stood there “rocking out” for a few songs until our cups were empty. Megan was right. I was already feeling more relaxed with just the one drink down my throat.

Once we were at the bar, Megan handed me some money and told me to get more while she went and said hello to some girl I’d never seen. I spent a few minutes being knocked around while screaming to the bartender, who apparently didn’t see nor hear me. I was about to give up and walk away when an older guy stopped me.

He wasn’t much taller than me, but was thick in the shoulders, which made him feel consuming. He had a bright, friendly smile and that was welcomed in a room full of blacked out, moody rockers.