(Hello! Just a quick author's note before we jump in. The main character in this story is Savannah, which is me lmao- but I understand a lot of people like reader inserts, so feel free to mentally replace any info about Savannah that's inaccurate to you with info that is. I just wanted to have my own story with my own name, appearance, and personality in it lmao- anyways, this story will have some strong language and mentions of drugs, but is pretty friendly other than that. If that changes, I'll put the appropriate warning. I also have no idea how the music industry works, so cut me some slack in that department and excuse any false information! This is also a modern story set in 2021, but with the music trends and celebrities of the 80s. Anyways, that's it, and have fun! <3)

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Savannah threw herself into her car, fuming. "Fuck!" she shouted as she struck her steering wheel as hard as she could. Realizing how dumb that was only after the pain set in, she shook out her hand, muttering more curses.

Fuck her bandmates. Fuck her manager. Fuck all of them.

She replayed the events of the past twenty minutes in her head for the third time since she left the house she used to be at all the time. Whether it be for practicing, writing music, or just hanging out, she was always there with her band. But now, she was determined to never set foot in there again.

Savannah had loved her band. It was called "Deadly Complacency," and it was a rock band. She had a kickass drummer named Darren, an amazing guitarist named Jessica, a super sweet bassist named Al, and herself. She was the lead singer, and she had the time of her life screaming into the mic and charming the audiences that came out to see her. The band had been no Mötley Crüe, but its listeners on Spotify were increasing, as were the audiences that attended its shows.

   She should've known it was too good to be true. She wanted to hit herself, since this whole situation was essentially caused by her stupidity.

   When she had first joined the band, she was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, excited to be a part of the band. When she joined, it wasn't popular, but it was just popular enough to have a manager (who was really just Jessica's friend that was doing them all a favor). This manager presented her a contract, and she signed off on it without thinking about it. Sure, she had read it, but she figured nothing within it would be an issue.

   But, she underestimated the difficulty that came with maintaining good relationships within a band, which affected one of the main points of her contract.

   And that point was that if she was run out of the band due to unsatisfactory behavior, all of the money that she had been getting from streams, records, CDs, etc. would cease to go into her pockets anymore. All of the rights to the songs would belong to the band, and the money that had been set aside for her would be used among the remaining members.

   Again, she never thought this would be an issue, since she usually got along with everyone. What behavior could lead to her getting kicked out of the band?

   Well, apparently something. When she arrived to her drummer's house the day of her termination, her bandmates informed her of how controlling, stubborn, bossy, rude, and power-hungry she was, and how she was to be fired immediately. Apparently the band had been talking about firing her for a while now, and they all agreed to follow through.

   Jessica ended up adding some nice salt in the wound by saying, "You're just kind of a bitch."

   Savannah's disorderly conduct was news to her; she thought she was acting great. She tried to offer them a compromise: a change in behavior in exchange for her singer status to remain. But, her band wouldn't hear of it, and sent her home. Even Al, the one who Savannah thought she was super close with, kept dismissing her with a frown on his face. The band's manager watched, powerless to stop their decision. But, Savannah couldn't help but feel like he had encouraged this whole thing. He had never liked her.

   Frustrated tears began to run down Savannah's face now. That band was her life, and she thought those people were her friends. And it stung that all they thought of her was that she was a bitch. It stung so fucking much, and she was offended. She had not been as bad as they were saying.

   She took out her phone and opened it, getting even angrier at her home screen: it was a picture of her, Al, Jessica, and Darren laughing. Were those smiles fake? Did they have any good times with her? Or was it all shitty? She didn't want an answer, because she knew the answer would only make her even more fed up.

   She opened her contacts and called Rachel. If there was anyone that could make her smile right now, it was him, the goofball bassist that she was fortunate enough to call her best friend.

   He answered on the second ring. "Hello?"

   "You're never gonna believe what just happened!" Savannah said immediately, not even giving him a proper greeting.

   Rachel could hear the tears in her voice and immediately softened up. "Whoa, Sav, what happened?"

   "I got run out of Deadly Complacency! Kicked to the fucking curb!" Her fist came down on her steering wheel in agitation.

   There was a pause on the other end of the line, which Rachel ended by asking, "What?! Why?!"

   "I guess I'm power-hungry, a bitch, rude. . . They said more shit, but I can't remember what it was." She thought for a brief second before adding, "Oh, yeah, I'm stubborn, controlling, and bossy."

   "What the hell?!" her best friend shouted. "Whenever I'd come to watch you guys practice, you were the nicest and most considerate one there. Why the fuck would they think that?!" His voice kept rising angrily throughout his rant, so he brought it down towards the end as to not draw any attention from his band. He knew that Sebastian would be all over any type of drama, regardless if it was over someone he had never met.

   "I don't know. You don't see any of that in me, right? I know you said that you didn't see it at practice, but what about—what about other situations?" Savannah's anger began to dissolve slightly, leaving a small amount of regret in its place. What could she have done differently? What did she do to make her band feel this way?

   They still should've talked to me first and not kicked me out, she thought. But maybe there's some hypothetical blood on my hands for this, too.

   "Never," Rachel answered her. "I have never seen any of that in you. I don't know what crack they're on, but whatever kind it is, they should lend some to the rest of the Skids. They need a high like that."

   Savannah grinned slightly, chuckling. She knew Rachel had a band, and that their band was doing very well. Their popularity was increasing with every song they wrote, and shows were filling more and more. They were called Skid Row. They had a lead singer named Sebastian, two guitarists named Dave and Scotti, a drummer named Rob, and obviously Rachel. She had never met any of the guys in person, but Rachel talked about them nonstop, grinning with fondness at the mention of his friends. He did it so much that it felt like she knew them already.

   "Maybe you should break your 'no drugs' rule and get a nice hit of that. Sounds like a wild ride," she joked.

   Rachel laughed in return. "You know, maybe I will."

   There was a brief pause, and the bassist of Skid Row could tell where her mind was headed. After years of being friends with her, he had learned how to spot when she was overthinking. "You know I wouldn't lie to you, Sav. You're a kickass person, and if they can't see that, then fuck 'em."

She smiled slightly. "Thanks, Rach. Now, I guess I gotta find a job. I can't make any money from Deadly Complacency anymore."

"Shit, I forgot about that. That puts you in a tough position." There was a brief pause, and he began speaking a few moments later. "Hey, here's a thought. Skid Row needs a new fashion director. You know, the people that put together looks for album covers, photoshoots, and stuff like that. Our last one bailed, so there's an open slot. The pay would be decent, too. Would you wanna do it? Just to get back on your feet."

Savannah thought about it. Going from a singer to a fashion director felt like a new low for her. She couldn't place why for a minute; it's not like singers were superior to other positions in the music industry. But, she ended up realizing: It seemed like a downgrade in the sense that fashion wasn't where her passion was. But, like Rachel said, she wouldn't have to do it forever. It was a job that served as a saving grace in a time of need, not a huge commitment. Besides, it's not like she had anything to lose. Starting now, she would have no new money coming in, so this would only help her.

"That sounds awesome, Rach," she answered. "Thank you so much. I assume you'd show me the ropes of what exactly I'm supposed to be doing?"

"Yeah, for sure! You're good with outfits, so I think you'll take to it nicely. I just gotta ask the band about it, though. Maybe we'll have an interview of sorts, too, just to make sure they like you."

"Sounds good to me. Thank you again, man. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Crash and burn, probably." Savannah could hear Rachel's smile through the phone. "I'll ask the Skids and get back to you, then."

"All right. See you soon."

"Bye."

Savannah hung up the phone, feeling slightly better about her situation. Sure, she was still pissed off and a little heartbroken, but at least she had a potential job to fall back on. At least she had Rachel, who was always willing to lend a helping hand.

She buckled up as she thought of her potential profession: fashion director of the up and coming heavy metal/rock and roll band Skid Row. It didn't sound like her style, but it would have to be for now. Besides, who knew, maybe it could even be fun.

She turned her keys into the ignition, driving off. "See ya, fuckface," she mumbled to the house that contained her former bandmates.

As she drove, she turned on the radio.

A Skid Row song just so happened to be playing back to her.

Taking it as a sign, she smiled, bopping her head to the catchy beat. She had heard a few of their songs on the radio before, but this was one she didn't recognize. She glanced at the radio, and she took in the title "I Remember You." She listened as Sebastian sang his heart out while his bandmates enthusiastically played their instruments.

   When the song came to a close, she nodded a little in approval. She drove on as the title "Skid Row's fashion director" got stuck in her mind.