Run to Paradise {Nikki Sixx | The Dirt}

2. early 80s, right before children became special

"Fuckin' bitch," Lola huffed, sitting back, practically on Frank this time when he tugs her backwards, "no touching," she parrots back before scoffing derisively, even a Frank laughs low and amused, reaching around to cup one of her boobs through her shirt in blatant defiance. It doesn't seem to phase Lola, who just sulks, leans a little bit close to him. He moves away first, climbing down and pulling on his shirt and a jacket, rattling off Nadine's promise of dinner as he's fastening his shoelaces; it's enough to distract Lola from her anger, and the two of them have disappeared from the building within minutes, on their way to Nadine's place, as they often went before seeing a gig.

After that first night, casual sexual contact became almost like a form of currency between them, for cigarettes, to borrow records, occasionally for caps or weed, sometimes just for candy, and sometimes when she's feeling especially drunk and sappy, Lola's on her knees in a bathroom stall as a thanks for taking her out in the first place. And it's still that, still a transaction, but then Lola gets fed up with a club early, despite Frank having promised the band he'd stay to the end to discuss potentially joining them. She whining, tipsy, think's the music's shit - it is, their bass player is being replaced for a reason, but that's besides the point - and he's sick of it.

"Since you're so fucking tense," and she's in shorts tonight, high waisted and black and denim, not ideal. But then she's on the counter, leaning back against the side of the mirror with his hand cramping beneath her fly as she rolls her hips in time with his fingers, gasping and whimpering as she tries to keep quiet. 

"You gonna calm the fuck down? Not gonna fuck this up for me, alright?" And like an asshole, he asks her right as she's on the edge, and the moment she agrees, whispered agreements tumbling from her lips, back arching, she comes hard, arms trembling a little where she's holding herself up on the counter.

"Jesus, yeah, fine, I'll stop complaining," she huffs as she finally comes back to herself, trying to prop herself up further, trying to do something, anything to make herself look more presentable, though the effect is ruined a little by her hard breathing and flushed cheeks. Frank's playing at serious where he's washing his hands in the sink beside her, but she can tell he's a little pleased with himself. "Don't act so smug, it's not cute." 

"I'm not trying to be cute, Lo," and there's something like a warning in his voice, but Lola's only response is to grin mischievously and hop from the counter. They take a few moments to look at themselves in the mirror, through the dim, grimy overhead light. Lola tucks her shirt back into her shorts and ties up her hair to hide how messy the back had gotten, and it's quiet, subtle, but they both know there's been a change, a shift in dynamic. 

Call it teenage rebellion, call it two runaways trying to make a connection, call it whatever you want; it's not so easily definable. Lola doesn't say it, but to her it's a fuck you to the puritanical prison in which she was raised, it's taking back control of her own body, of her own life, and she liked Frank well enough, liked his taste in music and in people and the way he would smile. He's unlike any friend she'd been allowed before, and she's willing to do whatever it takes to keep him around.

So today, they leave before the woman from the home can catch them, before the front doors are locked for the night, before the sun's fully submerged beneath the horizon. Frank complains about not having a car, making some vague declaration that it's the first thing he'd get once he started earning some cash of his own, and Lola shoves him, laughing a 'sure, whatever helps you sleep at night', and he shoves her right back, but he's grinning.

Nadine bought pizza, and Lola gives back the skirt she'd been wearing the week before for a pair of leather pants, and Frank won't stop smiling and neither he nor Nadine will tell Lola why.