The Untold Story

One Direction is now known as the group with infectious tunes. But take a trip back to freshman year of high school. With abusive relationships, drinking, affairs, and deaths, follow Lindsay Prescott through the trials and tribulations of high school with the band and friends. Through the eyes of a typical teen girl, Lindsay exposes to us the the untold stories of 1D that not even the press could do.


39. Practice Makes Perfect

     It all happened so fast. Days away from the Battle of the Bands, and I lay on Logan's bed in his basement, listen to him mumble and groan as he missed chords. It was torture, really. My parents left me with my grandparents as they sped off for a pre-Christmas vacation. They said after I decorated the tree and the presents were wrapped and ready for Christmas morning, I was free as a bird. Knowingly, I no longer had Mom or illegally-driving Niall to transport me. Within hours I found myself crashed on Logan's bland and uncomfortable futon in his dreary basement. Impulsively I compared his room to Niall's. Niall's was a second floor room, elegantly painted walls and a few posters here or there. Logan's- a windowless basement with no colors other than the cement grey walls and a massive chalkboard covering the far side wall. Logan stuck a pencil in the crook of his lips and jotted down notes on the board with his white chalk, humming at a volume he supposedly thought was quiet.

     "Any reason why you've been stressing over notes for three and a half hours and haven't sung or written a word?" I gazed up at the unfinished wall, pipes and air ducts weaved throughout multiple paper lanterns hanging from them by loose things. They were the only thing lighting the room. I sat up and tried to forget as I flashed back to the closet with Niall. Or should I say, old Niall.

      "For the same reason girls stare at guys and think they're cute for weeks before ever thinking of what's in his pants. Before I reveal the big part of the song, I must make sure every little aspect of the musical side is perfection," he smirked. I pondered the observation.

     "In words?"

     "I write what they hear before what they feel. Music is the background to songs! Without it, even Stairway to Heaven and Bon Jovi music would just become more boring poems forced upon students." That I understood. It was silent like that for an hour, awkward sounds from the walls, the sound of water coursing through the pipes above us and random outbursts of Logan's guitar. It was boring, but it was peaceful. And after the breakup, peaceful was all I was searching for. 

     "Can you at least sing a small part of your song?" I begged.

     "You can wait until the Battle to hear," he said, knocking out beats on the body of his acoustic.

     "That's Monday!" I whined and threw his pillow over my head. 

     "And today's Saturday. You can wait just fine, babe,"

     Did he just call me babe? I brushed off the nickname lightly, hoping it was a slip of the tongue.

     "Well if you're going to make me wait till the Battle to hear it, can you at least let me hear a sneak peak of the music only?"

     "I don't think so," he said, standing and walking across the room. He jumped and our chests collided, as he embraced me. My brain whispered for me to fight it, but my body gave in.

     "Um, Logan?" I tried to spit out any form of disapproval I could, but it was like screaming in a nightmare- useless.

     His fingers met my hairline, tracing it as he breathed lightly on my neck. I could feel his chest on mine and the warmth of his legs as they lay on either side of mine. For once, I felt the lips of a boy on me and Niall didn't come into mind. The pleasure and excitement ran through my veins, warming me up, and all throughout Logan touching me all I could think was 'you whore', but all I could do was enclose my arm around him and slide my hand into his pants. 

     His boxer shorts were soft, almost as soft as him in general.

     "Where is this heading?" Logan mustered up. I ignored him and slipped my hand all the way in, past both layers of clothing. 

     Quietly, i made an observation. Girls tend to look at guy's butts nearly as much as they looked at girls. But with my palm pressed firmly to his, i found it more pedophilic than erotic. Awkwardly, I backed out and found a new place to explore.

     "How exactly is this helping you practice for Battle of Bands?" I giggled, encouraging him to take off his shirt.

     "Because if i win, maybe we can finish," he grinned.

     I was silent for a second, waiting for him to say 'just kidding' or laugh, but as he kept his shirt on and returned to his guitar, I was  left even more confused than ever before. 


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