Rough Draft
Julie E. Miller
2003
Inspired by
the song "Rough Draft" by Yellowcard
Like a
Saturday night I'll be gone.
Like a Saturday night I'll be
gone,
before you knew that I was there.
So you wrote it
down,
I'm supposed to care.
Even though it's never there.
Sorry
if I'm not prepared.
Is it hard to see the things you
substitute,
For me and all my thoughts of you?
It's eating me
alive to leave you.
Maybe it's
childish and maybe it's wrong,
But so is your blank stare in lieu
of this song.
Maybe it's childish and maybe it's wrong.
Don't wanna be,
don't wanna be wrong.
You're leaving me, you're leaving me in lieu
of this song.
Don't wanna be, don't wanna be wrong.
You're
leaving me, you're leaving me in lieu of this song.
I'm breathing in
your skin tonight.
Quiet is my loudest cry.
Wouldn't wanna wake
the eyes that make me melt inside.
And if it's healthier to leave
you be,
May a sickness come and set me free.
Kill me while I
still believe that you were meant for me.
I'm finding my
own words, my own little stage,
My own epic drama, my own scripted
page.
I'll send you the rough draft; I'll seal it with
tears.
Maybe you'll read it and I'll reappear.
From the start
it was shaky and the characters rash,
A nice setting for heartache
where emotions come last.
All I have deep inside, to overcome this
desire,
Are friendly intentions and fair-weather smiles.
And I don't
wanna be, don't wanna be wrong.
You're leaving me, you're leaving
me in lieu of this song.
Don't wanna be, don't wanna be
wrong.
You're leaving me, you're leaving me in lieu of this song.
Like Saturday
night I'll be gone.
Like Saturday night I'll be gone.
Like
Saturday night I'll be gone.
Like Saturday night I'll be gone
before you knew that I was there.
Prologue
"My life's in danger, Tim," Al Giovanni told his companion. They were sitting in a dark room, in Tim Veretta's home. The office door was shut, not that anyone could hear their discussion. Tim's five sons, as well as Al's only son, were sleeping soundly in the bedrooms upstairs. As for outside intruders, there couldn't be any. The house was fully guarded and was located in the middle of nowhere.
"Why do you say that?" Tim asked. He was seated across from Al, a mere desk separating them.
"This." Al placed a manila envelope on the desk. Tim took it and glanced at Al in shock upon viewing the contents.
"How'd they find you?"
Worry shone in both men's eyes as Al began to speak to Tim about what was going on. "I don't know, but I think you should get your girls up here before they realize they're living in the same town."
Tim flipped through the photos, pausing on one of a teenage girl walking down a street. She was looking down, hands in the pockets of her jacket, hair blowing away from her face.
"Is that…" Tim started.
"Eve," Al finished, looking at the photo. "That's my Eve." He looked at Tim. "Consider getting your family away for a vacation. Rick will be staying with you and I've sent Eve to art school for the summer. If those aren't bad enough, look at the letter that came with the photos."
"'Nice try hiding, Giovanni,'" Tim read. "That's it?" He was met with a nod. "Does she know?" Tim pointed to the lone girl in the picture.
"No."
A knock sounded at the door. Tim rose to get it. Once opened, two teenage boys, a blonde and a brunette, looked at their respective fathers. "What's going on?" the blonde asked, looking at Al. Upon spotting the picture on the desk, he picked it up. "Who took this? How?"
Al shrugged.
The brunette joined his friend. "Who is that?" he asked, looking at the photograph, then to his father.
"Your future wife," Tim joked, but the blonde boy still looked serious, his face not even breaking into a joking grin.
"That's my sister," the blonde said somberly.
"You marry her…and you seal our family destinies," Tim told the brunette.
The boy merely looked at his father, then to the photo. "Meet Eve," Al said, tapping the picture. "My only daughter."
"And the heiress to the Giovanni fortune," the blonde whispered.