This is another very long chapter and I'm so sorry for that, but I didn't want to split this in two. I'm trying to make them a little shorter, but I'm struggling to get it all into small installments...
Warning(s): mentions of drug abuse, mentions of abuse
So much can alter in a year.
Anything can transpire.
Complacency, a daunting prospect, is only felt by the select few who throw caution to the wind and enable fluctuation within their lives.
And that fluctuation is, more often than not, a welcome adjustment.
Change is good, as they say. Change allows prosperity to prevail while an individual is able to work on their character, relationships, and any area that they feel requires development.
But, for some, it is only a temporary fix. A not so triumphant venture into curating a new life. A futile stab at a "fresh start." A pathetic attempt at striding toward a greater end goal.
May 10th, 1987.
"What is this? Bring your fuckin' kid to work day?" Bob remarked, curtly, toward Chris while his fingers danced along the soundboard.
He was stressed. Clearly.
"Don't be a dick, Rock," she told him offhandedly while she continued to smile, lovingly, at the baby she was bouncing in her lap.
"I'm just saying. I don't get why there are two kids here."
"One baby. One teenager who is minding her own business." She corrected him, flinching when he spun around in his seat.
"Okay." Bob ran a hand through his hair. "Why are they both here?"
"Because Amelia isn't allowed to stay at home alone and my brother wanted me to take her--which isn't a problem because she's old enough to know what is and isn't acceptable--and Daisy is here to spend some time with me, her aunt, and her father while Liane is at work. Is that okay with you?"
Her flawlessly brusque response earned a smirk.
"Yes." He gave in. "It's fine. But if either one of them starts distracting me, then you're gonna have to take them someplace else."
"Do you see them being distracting? Amelia isn't even in the room."
"Where is she?"
"With Randy, trying to find herself a little job," his brows raised in surprise. "To review my question, do you see them being distracting?"
Thwarted, he sighed. "No."
She glared at him, consciously aware of his subtle delirium. "Exactly. Just spin back around and do your thing, I want to leave."
"You are a pain in my fuckin' ass, Christine," he told her with a phony grimace, getting his head back down while she held Daisy close to her chest.
As the days went by, Bob's fondness for her evolved wildly. Not that he disliked her at first, but he knew that she had potential and was making a point of trying to de-emphasize her capabilities so she wouldn't disappoint him had she fucked up--like she thought she was going to.
Head-strong or just a fucking bitch, he adored the fact that she was able to execute anything--no matter how long it took. Even when she was starting to toil with her self-induced detox, Chris was still willful and remarkably tenacious.
She was confident in defending herself, too. The way she would communicate with obdurate managers and egotistical frontmen was more than respectable. Unlike her preliminary intoxicated second-self that Bob saw the tail-end of, Christine was most certainly not a doormat.
If she had an issue with somebody or something, then she would undoubtedly illustrate it. And that, among a host of other things, was why Bob liked having her around. Especially because she was so young and, to anyone looking in, ostensibly naive.
But she was a handful sometimes, and she wasn't making his life any easier by entertaining an almost one-year-old in the workplace at ten in the morning.
The studio building was in shambles. Producers, assistants, and musicians alike worked their asses off to assist Bruce Fairbairn with putting together the final pieces of the Aerosmith-shaped puzzle he was presently wrapping up.
From what she had heard, Christine was convinced that they were about to deliver a phenomenal album. She didn't know a lot about what made music good but, after spending nine months with Bob, she was certain that she knew just enough to say the record was an immense feat.
Steven Tyler was a charming man. Christine talked to him a few times and enjoyed the conversations they shared with one another. Though, sometimes, she got the impression that he was a little bit too interested in her.
Nonetheless, he was pleasant. And an extraordinary musician--she and Nikki were huge fans.
'Permanent Vacation' was set to drop in August and, despite some issues with mixing, it was on track for its release. She was so delighted to eventually hear her favorite single 'Angel' on the radio--she knew that was going to go down well.
And, because she loved it so much, Bob made a point of teaching her how to play that song when she chose to take up her new hobby. She was a natural-born guitarist and, maybe, that could've been because she was a fast learner and had a great teacher, or it might've been down to her picking up certain things around Nikki and Mick that she didn't realize she had memorized.
Either way, Bob was impressed.
Christine knew she would never do anything with her skill aside from strumming every so often, but it was fun. To have a new vocation that brought her some satisfaction--and an obstruction from falling off the wagon, if you will--was a wonderful feeling. She finally felt like she was getting somewhere.
"I think I'm done with this," Bob mumbled, gazing at the now-blonde. She smiled, urging him to hit play on whatever he had been working on.
"Roll the tape. Let's take a listen."
As the instrumental track filtered through the speakers, she leaned forward slowly--making sure to not wake the baby. Though, the clattering of cymbals would've done the trick wonderfully had Daisy been a light sleeper.
"This sounds great. Who is it for?"
"Loverboy." Bob nudged his chair back to sit directly next to Christine, watching her brows raise in partial surprise. "What d'ya think?"
"I like it a lot. Is this what you were helping Bruce with while he was finishing off that one song?"
"Yep. 'Dude Looks Like A Lady' has taken it out of him, Chris. He didn't wanna slack off with this one, so I picked it up for him. Kinda glad I did. It sounds fuckin' great."
Christine simply bobbed her head in agreement, rocking Daisy back and forth.
"You're a natural," he pointed to the baby, smiling. "Randy said you were good with that kid but I didn't actually believe him."
She feigned offense with a gasp, smirking toward him.
"I'm sorry!" the vociferous nature of his chuckle almost roused Daisy from her sudden nap, earning a scowl from Chris. "You're just you, you know? I didn't think you'd be so good with children."
Genuine indignation began to rankle the blonde as she tried her damndest to bite her tongue. She didn't know why that irritated her so much, but it did.
"Regardless, you're great with her. Amelia, too. You'll make a brilliant mom some day."
And there it was.
A barbarous throbbing sensation inside of her chest overpowered any other feelings she retained in that instance.
She'd heard those words before. Many times. But not since that day.
Deep down, she knew that she'd be a decent parent. Christine knew she'd take to motherhood like a duck to water--or, at least, she hoped that she would had she gotten pregnant again. But she was safer. She was confident that was a plight she would not have to face once more.
"Thanks," she told him coolly, chewing her lip.
Visibly, something was eating at her and Bob did not want to pry.
"So," he rubbed both hands together, "did you hear about the muse for 'Dude Looks Like A Lady'?"
Thankful for the change of subject, she shook her head.
"Well, as the title suggests, it's about some guy that looked like a chick--from behind--and I think that's kinda funny. Especially because of who that guy is."
As she went to respond, Daisy's fist curled around her pointer finger, knocking all air from her lungs. The gentle touch sent her heart racing, especially after the speech from Bob that forced prominent feelings to inundate her hazy mind.
She cleared her throat, forcing a smile at the little girl in her lap whose eyes were slowly peeling open.
"Who's the guy?" Christine inquired, feeling tears well within her eyes--but she blinked them away.
The idea of a slow, agonizing, death was more alluring than displaying any form of vulnerability in the workplace. She had cried enough in front of Bob in the last year. She didn't want to make a habit of turning up to his office, at 11 pm, sobbing like a bitch whilst clutching a bottle of Moscato and the one picture she had left of herself and Nikki.
That was embarrassing, and she was relieved that Bob never mentioned it to her again.
"Take a guess," his lips rubbed together in a futile attempt to suppress a smile. "One of your guys."
"One of my guys? As in Mötley Crüe?"
Bob scoffed. "Of course. What other guys have you got?"
Do you want to go there?
She blinked at him a few times, letting the man know that she didn't find his question funny. Not that it was even supposed to be slightly humorous, but she had to humble him regardless. Stroking his ego wasn't an option.
"Fair point," she conceded. "Which one of them is it that directly inspired that song?"
"Guess." He wasn't giving it up.
"I don't know. Vince?" Unbothered, she responded.
The man's lips parted while he emitted a gasp, crumpling his brows. "How'd you get that on the first go?"
To be honest, she didn't know.
The process of elimination didn't even flit through her brain, nor did any shred of common sense she possessed. It was merely a guess.
Christine's shoulders shrugged. "I'm just really, really great at reading people's minds. Plus, now that I think of it, Vince is the only one that could get mistaken for a woman."
"You've got a point there." Bob agreed, twisting his wedding band. "He has a feminine air to him. Well, more than the others."
"Yep. They're all pretty confident in embracing that "femininity" or whatever you'd wanna call it. None of them are fragile in their masculinity, either."
"What do you mean by that?"
She smiled, just thinking about the four of them. A more positive reflection than usual.
"Well, when they first started out, they'd get weird looks, and rude comments because of how they looked and dressed. I mean, Nikki is six feet tall and he used to wear these ridiculous red thigh-high platform boots, black eyeliner, blush, lipstick--the works--and I just guess that a lot of guys saw that as weird. Which is strange to me because we all grew up in the sixties and seventies when we had rock stars that wore make-up, weird clothes, and encompassed androgyny. I thought everyone was used to that sorta thing, but apparently not."
Christine felt her heart skip a beat, reminiscing. The early days of the Crüe were, perhaps, her most favorite. That was, truly, her prime.
Not that she was currently a senior citizen or anything, but she had grown up a lot since then. She'd endured enough trauma to last a lifetime. Reverting to that constant state of happiness appealed to her. Before she made any life-altering mistakes...
"You wanna know something, Chris?"
She hummed, flicking her eyes upward.
"I love the way you talk about those guys." He spoke gingerly. "Comfort seems to sweep over you whenever they get mentioned, or when you start telling stories about them. I think it's sweet."
Though her eyes were somewhat hidden by the glare of artificial light reflecting from her glasses, Bob noticed the anguish bleeding through beautifully bright irises.
Christine cleared her throat, smiling. Once again, defenselessness was not something she wished to display in that instance.
"They're my friends," she uttered weakly. "Or, at least, Tommy and Vince are my friends. Not sure about the other two."
Bob was able to heed the pain rooted deep within her words, despite the genuine laugh she let out.
The man hated how she spurned to let her guard down now. Her strength and courage were estimable, yes, but he felt that everybody had a certain susceptibility and Chris refusing to display that didn't sit right with him.
Maybe she was worried that he'd view her differently because she was supposed to be the tough one. But he wouldn't have.
He only saw her cry, or even slightly exposed, when she was inebriated. That hadn't been for a while, though.
Nobody had seen that side of her for a long time. She wanted to keep it that way, but everyone agreed that her means of coping--refusing to talk, suppressing all feelings, trying to erase her entire past--weren't healthy.
"But it's been a year, Bob. I've talked to Heather a few times and I haven't spoken to Vince's girlfriend, Sharise, since the night before I left."
"You know they're married now, right?"
"I didn't," she laughed bitterly, wondering why Heather failed to mention that in their last phone call. "But I'm happy for them. Sharise was crazy about that man, and she probably still is. They're great together."
"Those guys seem crazy about their wives."
She swallowed thickly while he realized what he had just stated, shaking his head. "I didn't mean--"
"--Bob, it's fine. You're right. Tommy and Vince love their girls so much, I'm sure Nikki is coping with Vanity, and I hope Mick is happy with Emi now, too."
"You hope Nikki is coping?" He queried. "What do you mean by that?"
"What I said. I hope she's being good to him and I hope she's persevering because I know that he wouldn't have been at his best this entire time. I left him in a bad way and he just needs someone to care about him, I think."
"I think he needs that too," his brow raised. "But not everyone would be willing to do that. Not everyone is as persistent and as dedicated as you, Chris. She mightn't be cut out for that."
"I know. But I would like to just think that she is, you know?"
His lips clamped together while he sent a nod her way, not wanting to burst her bubble. But, realistically, she knew that there was a slim chance of Vanity actually giving a fuck about Nikki.
"Anyway, enough about that," she lifted her wrist to eye the sterling silver watch strapped around tan skin. "I've gotta take Amelia to her nana's place. That is, if we're done here?"
"Done?! You haven't even lifted a finger today!" Playfully, he told her.
Chris simply shrugged. "Well, there's no point starting now, is there?"
She had a point.
Bob simply waved her off while she fastened her purse over her shoulder, watching as she vacated the room to locate her other niece.
He meant what he said about Christine making a great mother. It visibly maimed her, but he just put that down how random his statement was--not the fact that she could've had a kid by now.
Nikki
Cindy was a great girl. She held a likeness to Sharise in the sense that she was unapologetically overzealous with the way she presented herself, but she had a heart of gold and her head screwed on the right way. Exactly like Christine.
Nikki didn't think he loved her at that point. Or if he ever would. But she was wonderful company on the days that he didn't load himself up with smack, and she cared about him enough to want to be around his drug-depleted alter ego. Only, she hadn't yet experienced the full extent of what Sikki was really capable of.
Regardless, she liked him. A lot. So much so, she stuck around hours after the pair had slept with one another. Which was rare for him. He was used to girls using him for sex--which he was also culpable of--and leaving as soon as they got what they had sought out to receive.
He thought that Cindy was brilliant, but he didn't want her to get attached to him.
Nikki was still dependent on Vanity to provide the sanctuary of shooting up because he was still hung up on the fact his wife, for no good reason, left him. He wouldn't go so far as to blame Christine for his sudden spike in narcotic abuse, but she definitely had a role to play in his current downward trajectory.
He missed her, too. And that was his own problem--according to Vanity--but he didn't know how to cope with that.
"Nikki, come on, we're gonna be late if you keep dawdling up there!" Heather yelled from the bottom of the staircase, attempting to deduce whether running to his closet and giving him an earful was the best way to get him down.
She quickly decided against it.
"He'll be down when he's ready--"
"--Tommy, stop kidding yourself," she shook his hand off her arm. "He's in that damn bedroom, probably with Vanity, cooking up before the launch party for your album that he insisted Doc threw three nights earlier so it wouldn't coincide with his "tight schedule"--that we all know is just code for wanting to spend an entire weekend getting fucked up!"
"And so what if it is?" His curt tone countered hers, eliciting a hint of fear to flicker through her. "I'm sorry for snapping. It's just none of our fuckin' business, baby. Alright?"
She hated how easy-going Tommy was sometimes. Especially when it came to Nikki.
Heather glared at him, forcing an exasperated breath to leave his lips.
"I know what you're thinking. I know that you think I don't give a fuck what Nikki does just for an easy life--"
"--Is that not what you do?"
In frustration, he rubbed his lips together. Losing his temper with his wife, who was losing her temper with his best friend, wasn't what he needed.
"I do," he admitted. "But I don't want to do it, Heather."
"Then why do you do it? Because you and Vince, even Mick, not giving a damn about what Nikki does is slowly pushing this fucking band into an early grave, Tommy! None of you protested when it came to actually getting into that sound booth and recording that stupid song about Christine! None of you started to protest when Nikki got too into heroin, which ultimately led to whatever the hell he's got going on right now! And none of you, not a single one of you, have bothered to check in on your fucking bassist who, for the last year, has been wallowing in a cesspool of his own fucking misery because his wife walked out and he has literally got nobody to turn to! Vanity and that stupid rock of brownstone she brings 'round every night is the only form of solace that bastard gets! None of you give a damn about that man when you all should! Because without Nikki, your stupid band doesn't exist!"
"And why the fuck are you so passionate about that, huh?! Because the last time I checked, you hated Nikki!"
"Nothing has changed! I hate that man with every fiber of my fucking being!" She spat, refusing to lower her tone. "But he's been fucked over by his wife, his managers, his friends, and his grandmother has just died Tommy! He is in so much pain! And none of you care enough to check in on him!"
He felt guilty about that.
"I think that I must be the only one--besides Cindy--to actually make sure that prick hasn't overdosed and killed himself yet. And I don't do that because I've had a change of heart and I'm suddenly indebted to him. I do that, almost every fucking day because I have a conscience and I don't want to live with knowing that I could've done something to help that poor boy."
Heather's hand shook as she put down the cup of wine and grabbed at her purse, slinging it over her shoulder.
She glared at the tile they were standing atop, refusing to make any sort of eye contact with her husband.
"Babe--"
"--Don't." She cleared her throat. "Let's just leave him. He knows what time the party starts. It's up to him if he wants to come or not."
Tommy simply nodded, watching as she headed toward the front door before he could verbalize another response with any sort of substance.
He felt awful.
There was a lot of truth to Heather's words. He didn't want to admit that, but it was true.
Nobody--only the girls--really cared much about anybody else, unless it concerned them. Vince, in particular, was terrible for that. Mick made the effort mostly, only he strived to go unnoticed in his attempts at consolation.
Tommy, however. He didn't really bother all too much. He should've. But he didn't.
"Nikki," weakly, he called. "Dude, are you alright?"
After a few seconds of silence, a door upstairs started to creak open. Nikki called a quick "yeah," which led him to, stupidly, believe that he was okay.
The half-dressed, intoxicated-to-within-an-inch-of-his-life bassist ambled toward the top of the stairs but managed to stay far enough away so that Tommy didn't see the sallow state he was in.
"If you and Heather wanna just go without me, I'll head over with Vanity when she gets here."
Tommy groaned. He still absolutely fucking despised that woman. Not that Nikki was an angel, but she was an absolute demon, hell-bent on destroying all that she touched.
But it was none of his business, so he kept his mouth shut...No matter how much that was harming Nikki.
Maybe Heather had a point.
"Alright, man. I'll see you there?"
"Yeah. See you there, T-Bone."
Nikki awaited the inevitable slam of the front door, that came with Tommy's prompt exit, and stalked his way back to the bedroom.
It was a fucking mess.
Bottles, baggies, syringes, pills, cigarettes, lighters, spoons, condom wrappers--literally anything that one would find in a crack den--were scattered across Nikki's bedroom floor and comforter.
If Christine could see this fuckin' mess right now.
I have got to stop thinking about her. It's been a year, and she doesn't care anymore.
Irked, he began groaning to himself. His foot met the stack of shirts atop the blood-red rug and kicked the assortment of black garments flying through the room. Vanity's bra went along with his tattered band t-shirts, too.
He felt fucking sick.
Nikki, surprisingly, couldn't believe he had let himself go so much.
The house was once utterly pristine. As fucked up as Chris was, she still made time to cleanse and beautify their home, because that's what she was always taught.
"Organizing one's space is the first step to organizing one's life." A familiar excerpt, from her mother, that she would always remember, and would always make a point of drilling into Nikki's brain.
By the clutter in each fucking room of that mansion, he clearly didn't give a damn about Christine's usual cleanliness rant.
Wielding a tissue, he snatched every used needle from his mattress and threw that mess into the trash can, gagging at the thought. It was grim, but he knew that wouldn't be the last time he'd need to do that.
He was also intoxicated--to a heinous degree--so maneuvering the bedroom, without tripping over his own feet, was a chore in itself.
"God fuckin' damnit!" he knocked, with his thigh, the table next to the bed.
His words reverberated through the room, bouncing off each of the four walls festooned with murky paper, wicked impressions, and a handful of pictures that held too much sentimental value to get rid of.
Nikki picked up another image, that forced him to get misty-eyed, from the floor and let out a sigh.
Abruptly, all anger had trickled from him.
His thumb ghosted over the tiny frame in his hand, feeling thankful that the glass didn't smash on impact. Somehow, his lips curled into a smile at the sight of Tommy, Heather, Christine, and himself, all as happy as they possibly could've been the night of Christine's twenty-third birthday.
He missed that.
He was also curious as to how not a single person had ever mentioned that picture atop his bedside table. Not even Vanity--and she was single-handedly the most observant person that Nikki had ever met, let alone allowed access to his home.
That reminded him. He needed to take her key back.
Not that he didn't trust Vanity with a key to his fucking house, but he didn't appreciate the random visits at four in the morning. He also didn't particularly love the fact that she'd show up when she knew he wasn't at home.
She was unpredictable, much like Nikki, and he really did not know what she was capable of.
He put the picture back to the wooden side-table, and pulled his legs up onto the bed, wrapping both arms around them. His eyes filled up once again, looking around the room, looking at the fucking state he had let his wife's house get into.
It was pitiful.
She'd be cussing him out for it. He was certain of that.
Despite hating being yelled at, he'd take it. To hear her voice ring through his head in the most harmonious fashion, he'd take being yelled at.
And because he was so desperate, he grabbed at the phone on the side that once belonged to Christine, and dialed her number. Completely from memory.
He couldn't count how many times he'd wanted to call her but hadn't been able to get past the last digit for fear of being rejected. But something was telling him that, this time, it'd be different.
Christine
She'd been abandoned for the evening.
Not that she had any complaints, but she would've liked it if Nicole had informed her before darting to her boyfriend's place before Christine had even made it home from work.
The little note taped to the refrigerator, the freshly iced cupcakes atop the stove, and the bottle of alcohol-free wine set out for her, by Nic, made that twinge of dismay dissipate into nothingness.
Chris appreciated the little things now.
Usually, being left alone with food as an apology would have upset her to great lengths because, before Vancouver, being left alone meant having nobody to help inoculate heroin into her veins when she was too unsteady to do so herself.
Being left alone now, however, meant that she was able to take some time for herself.
Excitedly, she lit a few candles, poured herself a glass of that glorified grape juice, and flicked through the stack of records that she and Nic kept in a crate beside the turntable.
She picked 'Tusk.' Fleetwood Mac reminded her of Lilian--but in the best way possible, and she was in the mood to positively reminisce.
'Over & Over' was always her favorite track.
And 'Sara' has held a lot more emotional value to her lately. She wasn't entirely sure why, at first. It was only until she carefully absorbed those devastating lyrics, instantly recalling all that her mother had told her about the meaning behind Stevie Nicks' sentiments.
It maimed her to think about all that she had endured, how she outright refused to tell anyone and denied help. But, in some weird way, it comforted her. To know that other women--real women--went through that, too.
It hurt. A lot. But it put her at ease sometimes.
About a half-hour had passed now, and she was still sitting on the couch, contemplating ordering takeout for her dinner. She didn't have anybody to cook for her and, quite frankly, she didn't want to cook for herself either.
A menu for her favorite Chinese restaurant sat next to the telephone, completely faded of its once vibrant color. She made a mental note to request a new one when she placed her order.
Ordering food alone was sad. She didn't do that all too often, especially because she was always with Hayden or Nicole. But not tonight.
Her only company came in the form of Nic's four-legged friend, Honey. But Honey wasn't too struck on Christine, so she decided to leave the dog alone, instead reaching over to get the phone.
Red polished fingers had barely curled around the handset before a shrill ringing, that was borderline fucking deafening, pierced the blonde's ears.
She couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as her eyes landed on the clock, noticing how late it had gotten. They never usually had callers, let alone at nighttime.
"Maybe it's Nic," she mumbled to herself, letting it ring for a little while more before attempting to pick it up.
If it wasn't Nicole, then she didn't want the caller to think that she was desperate to answer.
I hope it's Heather. We haven't talked in a few days.
She picked the dirty-white handset from the base, quickly holding it to her ear with a smile--silently waiting for the person down the other end of the line to make themselves known.
But they didn't.
"Hello?" Confused, she spoke out.
Nothing.
"Who's calling? I think you might've gotten the wrong number."
Again, the silence was virtually deafening.
What she was unaware of in that instance was--back in California--Nikki found himself laying on her side of his bed, with tears in his eyes, soaking in every last syllable of every single word that she spoke to him.
"Hello?" Growing more agitated, she continued to ask.
He was surprised she had this much patience. She was never usually so persistent.
"Okay, I'm gonna hang up now. Whoever you are, I hope you find who you're calling--"
"--Don't go." His words were weak, borderline whiny.
He cleared his throat and swallowed down that fucking protrusion that constricted his airways, realizing that he couldn't show his weakness.
Christine had a feeling that she knew the caller, but his muffled voice was rather raspy. Maybe it was Tommy.
Nikki strived to extrapolate what the best opening line to an already heart-wrenching conversation with his wife would have been, but he was quickly drawing a blank.
He just went for it. Which was, to put it lightly, regretful.
"Happy anniversary, baby."
Her throat dried out in an instant. 'Storms' playing in the background didn't seem to help her mood either.
"Our anniversary was two months ago, Nikki."
Silently, she applauded herself for being so short with him. Had she been high, she would have caved within the first second.
But he did not appreciate her tone.
"I know. I always remember that. But, this is still an anniversary. It's been a year since you left me."
"That doesn't count," she blinked away a few tears. "The only anniversary that I'm aware of is our wedding, which was four fucking years ago."
Jesus. It's been that long?
"Ah. So you do remember that you're married to me?"
"How could I forget that?"
"You forgot that you were my wife a few times, angel. Don't you remember riding the dick of my best friend? And again? And again--"
"--Of course I remember that. How could I forget something I enjoyed every last second of?"
Her tone bled an almost gut-churning, wicked, sentiment that made Nikki feel incomprehensible fury.
If he had his way, Tommy's balls would be lodged in his own fucking throat.
"He was so good, Nikki. Even when he was drunk," she smirked to herself, hearing his groan. She knew he was trying to decide whether to hang up or not. "You should take notes. I'm sure it won't be long before Vanity starts riding on him, too."
"You think you're so fuckin' funny, don't you?"
"I do, actually."
His former lament washed away until the only thing remaining was inconceivable anger. The rage was inconsolable and, as expected, she knew what she was doing to him.
"Cut the bullshit, Nikki. How'd you get my number?"
"That doesn't matter right now," he found himself smiling, recognizing that his wife had reverted to her constant state of defensiveness--which must've meant that she was clean.
She was a cunt, but she was clean. That's all he wanted.
"Alright, fine." She rubbed her lips together. "What do you want? A divorce? Is that why you're calling? Because you've proposed to Vanity and you realized that you can't get married if you're still, legally, my husband?"
"No."
"Then why have you called me? To tell me how much you miss me? Because, by the sounds of it, you're fucked up, probably horny 'cause you always are, and you're not gonna remember this conversation in the morning, so why even fucking bother, Nikki?"
Maybe she was right about that. All of that.
"I just thought I'd call. You know, because it's been a year since you walked out of my life. And I just wanted to see how you were doing."
"I'm fine."
"You don't sound it."
"Well, I am. I'm fine," she repeated herself, getting agitated.
The tension was so thick, Chris wasn't even sure a knife could cut through it.
"How're you? Are you making any new music?"
God damn. This is so fucking awkward.
It didn't hurt her as much as she thought it would've, but hearing Nikki's voice after so long was a strange feeling. It was nice, of course, but she waited for him to snap. Because, well, it was Nikki. He would snap eventually.
She was treading on eggshells.
"Yeah, we've got an album coming out in a few days. There's a song on there just for you," bitterly, he told her. "Hope you fucking love it."
"I probably will." Not wanting to feed into his rage, she responded. "I love everything your band puts out. The guys are so talented."
Hostile. Bitchy. Rude. It was all, fundamentally, Christine.
"They are, aren't they? I'm so lucky to have such an incredible band, and a great best friend--"
"--Look! If you're calling to castigate me for fuckin' Tommy, then just say that Nikki! I'm not in the mood to talk to you right now--or ever, really--so either spit it out or fuck off!"
"Why are you so mad at me?! I didn't do anything wrong, you bitch!"
"You're kidding me? You are fucking kidding me, aren't you?"
She shot out of her seat, standing up straight. If he was there, she'd have a finger waving in his stupid face by now.
"You didn't do anything wrong?! I think you're forgetting a very fucking vital event, asshole!"
Much like his wife, Nikki stood to attention beside the bed, wanting so badly to kick the shit out of his mattress. But, what was that going to achieve?
"The fuck do you mean I'm forgetting a vital event?! Surely nothing can even justify you screwing my best friend, Christine!"
"I told you, before we got married, that if you cheated on me, I would suck Tommy's dick! And, on that stupid fucking tour, you slept with a five-dollar whore in the bed I should've been sleeping in! So I am sorry for hurting you, Nikki!"
"I fucked her once! One fucking time, Chris! You slept with Tommy more times than I can even count--"
"--It was three times! Three! And, besides you, he was the only person I let fucking touch me my entire adult life! Well, until I came here anyway."
He couldn't respond with what he had wanted to because, to be honest, that jarred him. He didn't realize that he was Christine's first.
"I know that doesn't make it better Nikki, but I'm not stupid. I know you're no goddamn saint, and I know there were other women when we were married. Hell, when we were together you were screwing Elaine, Angelina, Vanity, and all these other women. And it fucking hurt me, so I guess I just wanted to hurt you too."
Gobsmacked. That would probably be the word to describe his emotion right now.
"You lost your virginity to me?" He asked, ignoring everything else that she had said--which pissed her off.
"Christine, why didn't you ever tell me that?"
"Because it didn't fucking matter!" Tears spurted over her lashes, landing atop the apples of her cheeks. "If you all knew I was a virgin then you'd all torment me for it, and I didn't want that! So I made it seem like I wasn't because I was fucking scared Nikki! I was scared of what you'd all think of me."
I cannot fucking believe I just told him that. There's no going back now.
"I guess you were right. I guess that I was a fucking prude before you screwed my brains out."
"Christine--"
"--Don't feel bad. Don't you dare tell me that you feel bad! Because you fucking don't! And you know you'd have treated me differently if you were aware that I'd never let another guy, besides you, put his dick inside of me--"
"--I'd never have thought less of you!" offended that she'd even insinuated such a thing, he retorted. "I liked you, and wanted to be with you, regardless of who you were or what you had, or hadn't, done Christine! You're fucking stupid for thinking I actually believed that you were a prude! I didn't give a damn! I only said that because you never wanted to drink, not because I thought you were the damn virgin Mary!
"I'm sorry for not telling you, but it was personal. It didn't cross my mind!"
"It's fine." Calmly, he told her. "I just think it's weird how you told me your fucking trauma when you allegedly hated me but didn't tell me that I took your virginity."
"Talking to you is like talking to a goddamn slab of concrete sometimes, Nikki."
Christine ran a hand through her hair, noticing that time was getting on a little. She wasn't certain whether Hayden was going to be making a visit tonight, and she really didn't want him to see her like that.
"What had happened to me was something I could easily comprehend, okay? I was comfortable with telling you that my dad beat the fuck out of me and stabbed me one time because you were telling me about your estranged father and your wino mom. Talking about being a virgin--with a man whose first sexual encounter occurred when he was like ten--was so fucking daunting, and I didn't even know where to start. I was embarrassed because everyone that I was friends with had healthy, very active, sex lives, and I didn't."
She didn't know how to continue with her declaration. It hurt too much. But Nikki wasn't offering anything to the conversation yet, and she didn't want the line to go dead.
"I thought there was something wrong with me. Something so fundamentally un-fuckable about me, because no guys were even interested in taking me out. I mean, I went on dates and stuff, and I had my first kiss when I was like fifteen. But sex? Never. And I think I was kinda scared to fuck someone because my friend Michelle got pregnant when she lost her virginity, but it wasn't like I even had to worry about that because nobody wanted me."
Hearing his wife--the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen--talking about such a thing, made his heart ache.
Not that it really would've made a difference but, had he known it was her first time, he would've made sure to do it properly with her. Not in the bathroom of the fucking Whisky-a-Go-Go.
"I knew Tommy wanted to fuck me. Look at how that went," she laughed, running a thumb underneath her eye. "But I didn't wanna lose my virginity to him. I knew that I'd probably end up getting too attached to whoever I fucked first, and I didn't think that he deserved someone like me."
"So you had sex with me instead?"
"Yeah." Plainly, she admitted. "But I liked you. I wanted to sleep with you, so I did. And I know that you wanted me too."
"I did, and so did Vince," she gasped. "Don't be surprised. Vince wants everyone."
"Wow. Thanks."
"That's not what I meant. I'm just...I don't even know what to say."
"Why don't you start out by telling me that you regret sleeping with me because, if you didn't, I'd never have ruined your life the way that I did? Because that's what this all boils down to, really. If we didn't have sex, then we never would've started dating, or moved in with one another, or gotten married, or did all of that shit together. If I just kept myself to myself, crossed my legs, didn't get into cocaine, didn't let you touch me, didn't let Tommy touch me, then maybe we'd both be better off."
"So, you regret it?"
"I don't regret it."
"Then what are you saying?"
"I'm saying that, maybe, we were just too young. I mean, I was twenty when we got together, twenty-one when we got married. That's fucking young, Nikki! I had only been in one relationship--which was with you--and I didn't give myself enough time to decide whether settling down was really what I wanted. I don't think you thought about that, either, did you?"
"Stop fuckin' saying all of this!"
His inevitable outburst.
Christine rolled her eyes, heeding his slurred speech. He must've taken a hit or downed half a bottle of Jack while she was rambling.
"We wanted it so bad, Christine! I wanted you--still do--and you wanted me, so stop trying to deny it! We were old enough to know what we were doing!"
Getting yelled at, over the phone, by her husband who was in another country, was oddly moving to her. Of course, his words and tone stung at times. But she missed him so much she didn't really care that he was spewing his venom.
"You know what? Fuck you. I knew calling was a bad fuckin' idea."
"Excuse me? Who the hell do you think that you're talking to?!"
"I don't fuckin' know Christine. I can't listen to this bullshit anymore."
"What bullshit?! I'm telling you the truth here!"
"No, you are not!" He barked ferociously. "You're lying through your teeth, Christine! You're just trying to sidetrack 'cause you cannot take accountability for what you did!"
There was definitely some truth there.
"You had sex with Tommy, a few times, and didn't tell me because you didn't wanna hurt me--which is bullshit, to be honest. But because people, including myself, found out about how much of a fucking whore you are, you fled the fucking country to escape any confrontation, right? And then, to anybody that asked, you'd tell them that you only screwed my best friend because I fucked one groupie one time. And yeah, that was shitty of me. I shouldn't have done that. But why the fuck did you stoop to my level, Christine? If you were so goddamn passionate about how fuckin' wrong it was for me to have sex with another woman while we were dating, why on god's green earth did you think that getting even was the best fucking way to make me understand how much I hurt you? Because you could've just communicated your fucking words like a normal woman! You didn't have to let my best friend cum inside of you!"
By this point, she was sobbing.
"He didn't cum inside of me," she choked out. "He wore a condom--"
"--Oh, is that supposed to make me feel better, huh? He wrapped his cock when he fucked his buddy's wife! He's such a considerate guy, oh my god! What a great person! Get fucked, Christine. You sick bitch."
"Nikki, stop it! Stop fucking saying all of these things! I've taken accountability, I have admitted to what I did. So many times! Anyone that's asked me, I've told them! I even wrote you that letter!"
"That stupid fucking letter that you left me the day you walked out on me, was not you taking accountability for what you did! Are you deluded?! Are you fucking insane, Christine?! That was a half-assed apology that you didn't even mean, because you were too much of a coward to say it to my fuckin' face!"
"Okay, whatever. You clearly feel strongly about this--"
"--Yeah, I feel strongly about this! You're my wife, Christine! I loved you more than anything! I didn't even think it was possible to love somebody that much!"
Loved. Past tense.
"But maybe you're right. Maybe we didn't know what we wanted, and maybe getting together was the worst fucking decision. I mean, you said that Heather thought we were soulmates but you disagreed--maybe you're right because we've only hurt one another. And I loved you so much, but it's just turned into fucking hate!"
"You hate me?"
"Of course I hate you," he quipped. "I hate you so much! So fucking much! But I love you, too. And I guess that's the only thing that has truly stopped me from doing anything stupid. Because I do, believe it or not, care about you. A lot. And I don't wanna do something that's gonna hurt you now, because we aren't in one another's lives anymore and the adult thing to do is move on from this."
He loves me. He actually loves me.
Like the last time they spoke, she couldn't quite bring herself to say it back. She kicked herself, but she couldn't do it.
She shook herself out of it, speaking up again. "And when you say move on?"
"I mean move the hell on. I don't wanna talk to you. Ever again. I know I called you, and I know it was me that wanted to talk, but I thought this would bring me some closure or something, I don't know."
He was completely unreal.
Christine wanted to strangle him so hard, she wanted to watch his eyes pop straight out of his skull.
"Closure? For what? I already, straight up, admitted to sleeping with Tommy! What else did you want?! I apologized, I spilled my guts, I told everyone everything! Nikki, you're holding a grudge here!"
"No--"
"--Yes! You're holding this over me right now! You didn't wanna have a nice talk to see how I'd been, to tell me how you still wish we were together! You called me to make sure I was still feeling shitty for what I did! And I do! But it's been a fuckin' year since we last spoke and, up until today, I was doing perfectly fine without you!"
"Yeah, well, so was I! And calling you was the stupidest fucking idea I've ever had! Almost as bad as marrying you!"
In sync, the pair of them laughed.
Neither knew that the other was aware of their conversations shared with Heather. Nikki didn't know that Christine found out about his gut-wrenching lament and inability to move on, and Chris didn't know that he'd been informed of her struggles with trying to settle into a new city.
It was laughable, really.
"Don't call me again, Nikki!"
"I won't! And don't you even think about calling me, or getting anyone else to talk to me for you, for that matter!"
"Oh, don't you worry, baby! I wouldn't dream of it!"
"Good!"
"Good!"
"Go fuck yourself, Christine!"
"Fucking myself would be better than being fucked by you, that's for sure!"
"That's a lie and you know it," sleaze dripped through his words like honey, forcing her to take a deep breath.
He definitely made her feel something that she did not want to feel.
"Okay, maybe it is. But you'll never fuck me again, so what's the harm in telling a little white lie, huh? I'm sure I'll meet someone else who can fuck me better than you ever could."
"I doubt that, angel."
"Okay, sweetie. I'm sure you're right about that," she rolled her eyes. "Fuck off. I'm going now. Bye."
"Fine. Goodbye, Christine. I hope that you have a real nice life without me."
She pulled the phone away, just about hearing his charming follow-up statement.
"Go to hell, you heartless cunt."
"I'm sure you'll get there before me, honey."
She was right about that, too.