Warning(s): smut.
November 1987.
"I thought she was kinda hot, man."
"Oh, yeah, she is. Totally!" Tommy expressed while his bitch, pointedly, glared at him. "But she's got a boyfriend. Or just some guy that keeps staring at her ass. And he's a little scary."
'Scary'. My definition of scary was definitely incompatible with Tommy's, that was for sure.
He'd dub 'Christine'--the movie and, possibly, my wife now that I'm thinking about it--as terrifying. Which, really, I didn't understand why. Maybe I'd never gotten spooked as easily as he did.
Tommy would practically leap out of his damn skin whenever I started to talk about, and occasionally practice, Satanism and shit--everybody knew, or had an inkling, that it was just a guise--and his reaction only fueled my need to intensify all that I was doing.
Granted, I did take it too far sometimes. Chris liked it, though.
But maybe that movie startled him. And, for Tommy, it was more a reality than anything because his car did run over him one time, and then he decided to name his fucking corvette 'Christine'.
She wasn't too thrilled about that when he told her. Neither was I, actually.
Regardless, that plotline was presumably all a little bit too much for T-Bone to handle.
I snorted, waiting for Heather to fuck off with Sharise, or someone. I didn't care where she went, or who with, but I wanted her to go. And, ideally, never come back.
Being around a woman of that nature was exhausting. Of course, she was tolerable at times--usually when she wasn't speaking--but I still couldn't stand her.
"Since when did you care if a girl is spoken for, Tommy?" I implored and, in amusement, watched as his face fell.
For the most part, I'd gotten over myself. I had, silently, pardoned him and moved on as best as I could've.
Not an easy feat, if I do say so myself. But it was doable.
It did hurt sometimes. I'd be an idiot to not confess to that. But if I wished for my band to survive, then I had no choice but to exonerate the hostility I felt toward him.
However, watching humiliation wash over that stupid face of his was something I fucking adored. Especially when Heather was around.
"Dude, lighten up a little. I'm just fuckin' with you."
Tommy barely looked at me, taking a pull from the bottle of Jack we'd been sharing all morning.
Killed the mood once again. Evidently, that's what I did best.
"Could you at least try to go one day without making insolent comments, Nikki?" Heather, with a caustic glare, quizzed me.
It felt as though she was there to babysit four grown men, not to support her husband's band on their biggest tour to date. She'd spent more time reprimanding us than anything else.
Chris never would've been that way.
"I could, yeah," I yanked the Jack Daniels from Tommy's grasp, ignoring the scowl he'd shot at me. "But I probably won't."
"Nikki," his voice wavered over the thin line separating irritation from anger, warning me against denouncing his wife for the fifth time this week.
She'd been a pain in my ass. How else was I supposed to react?
"Babe, can you give us a minute?" Tommy's hand fused with her bicep, squeezing at the shitty purple cardigan she'd draped over her shoulders.
Heather side-eyed me with a cruelly apathetic glare, grinding her thin, insipid, lips together as she let out a deriding chuckle.
"Sure." She told him, waiting for Tommy to lower his head and meet her height.
I didn't care to see that exasperating little witch devouring my drummer before me, so I grimaced and turned my attention to the whiskey I had been clutching.
My fingers twisted around the neck of the glass, my lips met the bottle's own, and, before I knew it, the sweet liquor that I adored so much had started to sear its delicious heat through my throat.
By the time I'd dragged the Jack away from my mouth and wiped the remnants of whiskey wherever they had spilled, Heather was out of sight and, to my absolute displeasure, Tommy seemed as though he was about to chastise me for something.
"What?" unceremoniously, I asked.
"You're being a jerk to my wife, man." He stated with a sigh.
Tommy let his back fall flush to the wall as we stood, side-by-side, at the end of the red-brick hallway, watching roadies and stage techs scramble around the arena to get ready for tonight's show.
Our first show with Guns opening for us, actually. I had high hopes.
For them, that is. How we would play, however, was another thing.
By the time we'd even hit Utica, I was already struggling to play properly. Doc said that it was like I was doing everything from muscle memory--which he was probably right about.
"No, I'm not."
I handed him the whiskey bottle and, agitated, he whirled the remaining liquid around in the glass before knocking it back in one simple sip.
"You are, Nikki," Tommy's pitch was warning.
"No, I'm fuckin' not," I repeated myself, refusing to make eye contact with him.
He groaned, realizing that I was not about to concede.
"You are. But I get it" The hurt in his voice was evident. "She can be a little too much sometimes, man. I know. But she's my wife and, despite it all, I love her. And, ideally, I'd like it if you could push your hostility aside and get along with her. For me."
Get along with her? Why the fuck would I want that?
During the first few months of that tour, Heather was utterly fucking unbearable--and, honestly, that was putting it lightly. Even Sharise--the nicest woman on planet earth--was starting to find Tommy's bitch infuriating.
She didn't need to verbally extrapolate the irritation she felt whenever the blonde was in the same vicinity as her, but her facial expressions said everything that she wished she could have.
I felt the same...Which was a given, wasn't it?
"Whatever you want, T-Bone," I stated offhandedly and, with exiguous pain after an accidentally lengthy binge, pushed my back away from the cold brick.
His eyes rolled when I turned to face him, momentarily, before my attention had been snatched by that same brunette whose legs went on for fucking days.
Jesus.
I didn't have the best eyesight at that moment--granted, I'd just loaded myself with 10cc of fucking heroin--but I was definitely able to discern the marvel before me.
My lips twisted into some sort of smile when I noticed the earrings she was wearing--both had this same picture of a little fuzzy animal with pearls underneath. I think it was a kitten, or something.
She was cute. Really, really cute.
"She's so fuckin'--"
"--Hot?" Tommy cut in, pulling a drumstick from his back pocket. "You already said that, man."
I was going to say beautiful but, yeah. That works too.
"You--uh--you said that she has a man, right?" Weakly, as if all hair had decided to fuck off from my lungs, I asked.
"Yep."
"Who?"
Suddenly, the pair of us were gawking at this stunning woman who, really, looked much too put together to even consider being a part of a Mötley Crüe tour.
And she was undoubtedly too favorable to be a groupie, or even a rockstar's girlfriend, really. So I was more than intrigued.
I hadn't seen a woman take so much pride in the way that she dressed between soundcheck and shows.
Usually, the girls would doll themselves up before--or while, in Christine's case--we went on stage because they knew we'd be heading out right after our set was finished.
Not even Heather made that much effort every day.
But that woman, whoever she might've been, whoever she might have been with, was certainly sparking my interest.
"I don't know whether she's actually with this dude, but do you remember Richard?"
"Richard who?" I questioned as I turned, slowly, to face him. Though, her baby pink dress was catching my eye every time she moved an inch over to her left.
"Richard the roadie, man," he told me as if it was obvious--like I was supposed to remember the name of every single roadie that came and went. "You'd know him if you saw him, I think. He was the one with the baby, or toddler, on the Shout tour."
Blankly, I stared at him.
His description of 'Richard the roadie' was redundant. Unless he'd played a significant part in my tour experience, then I wouldn't remember him.
Not that I had any complaints with the fact that I was still in the honeymoon period with my wife, but Christine was hanging off of my arm for a majority of that tour.
Really, I didn't have enough time for anybody that wasn't her.
"What does he look like? Is he here?"
My eyes scanned the hallway because, in the forty seconds in which I allowed my brain to actually work, the woman who I would've happily dropped to my knees for had fucking disappeared.
"Yeah, he's a roadie with Guns. He's like," Tommy slurred over a few words, squinting as he tried to extrapolate his response. "Kinda tall. Middle-aged, maybe. Ripped as fuck. Christine would think he's hot. Gets along with Fred super well--"
"--Christine thinks everyone is hot, and Fred gets along with anyone put in front of him. Not helping, T-Bone."
He exasperated a sigh as I put him down, running his tongue over slightly-chapped lips before he, with an obvious glint of something mischievous in his eye, further realized just how he could've built on his response.
"It was either our first or second show on the tour after Oz, and I remember that 'cause Doc was getting mad at me for not knowing where you were. I think he was gonna send Doug to go get you but, really, everyone knew where you were and who you were doing, so they sent Richard instead--poor guy."
And, just like that, my lips curled upward into a smile...Finally able to place that prick.
1983
"Nikki, hold still. Please."
Christine's tone oozed annoyance as she rested, comfortably, in my lap.
The skirt of her cheetah print--or leopard, I don't know--dress was laying somewhere north of her groin, almost exposing the tattoo that drove me fucking wild whenever I caught sight of it.
Any higher and I would've been able to see the little bow atop her red-lace panties.
And, usually, I wouldn't have been so sure that she'd be wearing them...But I watched her get dressed this afternoon and, because she decided to wear such a floaty fucking dress, she knew she had to at least make the effort.
She wasn't wearing a bra, however. So, really, I guess I couldn't have everything.
Gently, her thumb brushed against the cheek she'd just spent two minutes precisely applying black liner to and she, with a satisfied sigh, pulled the pencil away.
"Are you done making me look pretty?" I asked, peeling one eye open.
She smiled when both of my hands found her waist, massaging her through the silk that enveloped sun-kissed skin, seeming as though she never wanted to be freed from my hold.
"Almost." Chris stated, rubbing crimson lips together.
The eyeliner was hastily tossed to her right, landing atop the carpet in my dressing room, and she pushed herself closer to my chest--which, really, I didn't think was even possible.
"What're you doing--" Her finger ghosted over my mouth to shut me up.
"You're missing something..." Christine stated softly before I could feel her gloss transferring onto my lips as she kissed me. Again, as tenderly as she possibly could've.
Usually, I would've been mad about the abundance of makeup being caked against my skin, but it was Chris.
I wore that red lip-stain like a badge of fucking honor.
She pulled away while my hands still circled over her back, tugging her closer to me because I couldn't seem to handle the sudden lack of contact.
"It's a little messy," with furrowed brows, she remarked. "You look like a clown."
I scoffed out a laugh, digging my fingers into her waist. "Thanks, babe."
Chris's tongue poked out from between her lips, concentrating hard on gliding her thumb nail around the areas on my lower face that had been tarnished with red. And then my eyes quickly lit up.
She let out a little sigh, her breaths unsteady, as my tongue found her skin and I started to suck on the thumb she'd decided to nudge further into my mouth.
It was obvious, by the way Christine had started to grind against me, that she wasn't about to let me leave until I finished whatever it was I had started. And, really, I had no objections with that.
"You should do that more often. I like that," she mentioned when I let her take her thumb back, quickly bringing it to her lips.
I can't fucking believe how perfect she is. And she's all mine. Jesus.
"I like it when you do that, too." I stated and watched in awe as her cheeks hollowed out, and she pulled her hand away to sit atop my chest with the other that'd been planted there the whole time--mainly for stability.
A sultry moan fluttered through her throat, catching the both of us off guard, as the straps of her dress fell midway against her arms and she started rocking herself back and forth in my lap.
Recognizing that I was dangerously close to blowing my load had I not actually fucked my wife, I pulled at the hem of cheetah print silk and lifted it upwards.
My mouth almost started watering when I caught sight of the red lace that was, barely, covering her cunt.
Chris raised her arms to aid my efforts as I tugged the dress over long, loose curls, but she promptly brought her forehead to rest against mine before I could think about doing anything.
"I love it when you get me on all fours on the couch, don't get me wrong. But I wanna stay on top today."
"You wanna stay on top?" I asked, trying to keep my sights on her face but, really, my countless attempts at any kind of eye contact were useless.
Her tits were much, much too alluring.
"Why?" I inquired once again, feeling my throat hitch at the sight of her pleasuring herself against my half-unlaced leather pants.
"Because you need a break, baby. You've been real good to me lately. You deserve this..." her words subtly meshed with a sweet whimper, compelling me to throw my head back and groan.
She's fuckin' sick for this.
"You can choke me if you want to, though."
Come again?
"What?" I asked, not being able to comprehend all that she'd said. Chris had never even hinted at enjoying that before.
"I said, you can choke me if you want to. I like it," her features had hardened by that point and, unusually, hazel eyes were darkening as she spoke.
Christine started to paw at my dick through the material that was desperate to come off, rolling her hips at the most unbearably idle pace.
"You will do it, won't you?" She persisted, tugging on the waistband of my pants.
She must've been high or drunk or something because, really, I didn't recognize that side of her.
I didn't hate it, however.
"If you want me to, then of course I'll do it." I stated with a smile, stifling a moan when she yanked the leather down my legs and lifted herself to get them completely off of me.
"I really, really want you to do it, Nikki," she confirmed, leaning forward to press a kiss against the base of my neck.
Her tongue and teeth pecked a soft trail upward until they pressed to my chin and, before she was able to to kiss anywhere else, a pretty moan slipped through crimson lips as my forefinger ghosted over her clit through those sheer panties.
I didn't have enough time to watch her tease me as she slid the lace down her legs and kicked them to the side, so I just ripped them from the crotch.
"Nikki," she whined, slapping at my chest when I dropped her panties to the ground, slowly bucking my hips upward. "That was a new pair."
"I'm sorry." Half-heartedly, I told her. "I'll get you some more when we get home. That sound good?"
Christine scrunched her nose upward, shaking her head a little.
"There's no point, really. I probably won't bother wearing them much anymore. They spend more time on the floor or around my ankles, don't they?" Teasingly, she quizzed.
"Fuck. You're bad."
"No, I'm not," she countered with a wicked smirk, reaching between us, gently grabbing at my dick. "I'm not bad...I'm the best you've ever had, actually."
Smooth.
She was right, though.
Frail fingers wrapped around me and, slowly, began to jerk up, then down, and then up, until...
"Chris, baby, come on," breathlessly, I pleaded. "If you keep stroking my cock like that, I'll bust before we even get the chance to screw."
With innocent eyes, she glared down at me. "What if I don't wanna screw? What if I just wanna torment you?"
She gasped and jolted forward when my hand came down, harshly, onto her ass. "Then I'd just say that you're an evil bitch."
"You'd really say that about me?"
"I would," I confirmed, exerting a few bated breaths.
"Well, I don't want that," seductively, she told me.
Her nails slid the length of my, borderline painful, erection looking between the two of us as she giggled to herself.
"What I do want, though, is for you to put your hands here," she pointed to her waist, "also here," and then her tits, "aaaaand...here..."
Christine pulled one of my hands upward to sit at the base of her neck, covering the small diamond pendant sat atop tan skin, and sighed out at the feeling of my fingers pressing into tender flesh.
"Let me know if it gets too tight, Chris, okay?"
"Okay," she pledged.
I'd never been the one subjected to the intolerable suffering that is foreplay, so it was fucking weird. I enjoyed it, though.
"I'm still kinda mad that you ripped my panties, Nikki," she mentioned in barely a whisper, while she rubbed her thumb over my slit, and brought it to her lips.
I couldn't fucking take it anymore.
Watching her suck precum off of her thumb when I could've been hammering into her--balls deep--was like torture.
And knowing that I had to be on stage in fifteen minutes, too, was also like fuckin' perdition. Not that I would have been able to last much longer than five, at that point, anyway.
"Christine, if you don't start riding my dick soon then--" I was interrupted by a high-pitched whine as dainty fingertips dusted over her clit that had started to swell after brushing against my slick stomach for the last ten minutes.
It was taking everything in me not to flip my wife onto her back, and start fucking her into the couch. But I did that too often, didn't I?
I was allowing Chris to seize the reins that time.
"I think you've waited long enough to fill me up, haven't you?" She uttered, her tone oozing temptation.
"I think so," I verified, letting my left hand cup her tit while my thumb found its way to graze over her nipple.
She sucked in a deep breath and, in awe, I gawked at her chest as it raised before gradually lowering.
"Fuck me..." Christine blew out, wasting no more time playing with me.
At that point, I wasn't sure she even wanted to stay on top. But she didn't say anything and, really, I was more than happy to watch her writhe and moan above me instead of underneath me.
I got her tits bouncing right in my face, too, which was a bonus.
Hungrily--borderline fucking ravenous--she eyed me, with lips parted, and curled her hand around the base of my cock lining herself up with the tip.
I sucked in a deep, shallow, breath.
"Ready?"
"More than ready, baby," I promised and, lovingly, pressed a kiss to her lips before she was moaning into my mouth as she slid down onto me.
Her head tilted back while my hands found her waist, guiding her movements because she started to tremble after taking me hilt fucking deep straight away.
"Jesus, Chris, your pussy has me in a damn death grip," I warned as she started to, probably unintentionally, clench around me.
"Can't say I'm sorry about that," she quipped, lifting herself from my lap before she was sinking all the way back down. "Oh my god, Nikki. You feel so fuckin' good."
My lips curled into a smirk as I glanced between us, heeding the crystal star swinging from her navel, and the rose tattoo that sat against her hip bone.
She drove me fucking wild. But in the best way possible
"Yeah?" I asked tauntingly, my voice strained after hearing Christine whisper a slew of curses under her breath.
"Fuck, yeah," she bobbed her head, bouncing in my lap.
The absence of control on my part was painful, but witnessing Chris get all flustered as she tried to compose herself was so damn exciting.
There was something about her that was just so...tantalizing.
She looked between us before, slowly, leaning forward to rest against my chest--still fucking me.
"Choke me, baby..." her tone was plied in a hum, pleading eyes a stark contradiction to unruly actions.
My hips thrust upward, striking her sweet spot, before I moved myself into a more upright position and wrapped my right hand around her throat.
Her eyes almost rolled to the back of her fucking head.
"Oh, Nikki..."
"You like that?" languidly, she nodded. "You're so cute when you're riding my dick, Christine."
"I'm always cute--" her pupils dilated as my grip on her tightened, and a sexy smirk just ratified how she was really fucking into it.
Something vicious flashed through her, indicating a wicked idea--something that'd possibly get me even more rattled.
"When you're ready, do it in me."
"What?" I gulped, feeling her walls quiver around me. "Chris, I'm not gonna bust inside of you--I almost got you knocked up last month because I did just that--"
"--But I have the pill now, Nikki," she told me, almost begging for it. "Please, just...Just let me feel you. We never do this."
I mulled over the idea for a moment, trying to think if I'd screwed anybody else. But I was confident that I was clean, and Chris was the only person I'd had time to be with these last few weeks.
My eyes, quickly, glared at the clock above my dressing table, and I sighed, pulling my hand from her throat.
A little cry fell from her lips and she tried to grab at my wrist again--desperate for me to squeeze her harder.
"You're a brat," she gasped, purposely tensing her pussy. "See. Fuckin' brat--"
"--I'm not a brat. I just want you to cum in my cunt while you're choking me," she stated matter of fact. "That does not make me a brat, Nikki."
She's so sexy.
Maybe I should give her what she wants.
I mean, it could get me into trouble.
That pill is like 98% effective, though.
I'm pretty sure the only reason she wants me to finish inside of her is because she doesn't wanna clean up afterward. She's said it before.
What if she gets pregnant? I'm not ready to be a dad.
And she doesn't even want kids.
But she wants me to do it, doesn't she?
Ah, fuck.
I'll give her what she wants. I'll suffer the consequences if and when they come to light.
"Shut up, and I'll do it in you," she started to bounce at a faster pace, before my hands clamped to her hips and slowed her down. "But you're either gonna have to get on your back, or get on all fours."
I didn't actually allow her enough time to process what I had told her--let alone formulate a response--before I just pulled her off of me, laid her against the couch, and got in between her legs.
"I've been waiting to do this to you all fuckin' day," I mumbled, grabbing myself with one hand and holding her stomach with the other.
"Then do it."
Her back arched in an instant, legs wrapping around my back as I started to pound into her against the leather, feeling her get tighter and tighter.
The fact I've lasted this long is beyond me.
I gathered spit on the pad of my thumb and swept it over her clit, applying more pressure as she cried out beneath me.
"Seeing you finish is my favorite thing in the world, Chris."
"Not finished. Not yet," she murmured, gripping at my shoulder when I leaned toward her, crimson nails breaking flesh, probably drawing blood.
But I didn't mind that.
"We've got five minutes." My hips started to hit against hers harder and faster. "I'll get you off in two."
"I don't think it's gonna take that long," breathlessly, she told me.
And she was right.
Tears of pleasure streamed over blushed cheeks, completely fucking with her eyeliner, as she cried out while I hammered into her.
"Holy shit," I laughed, panting, seeing and feeling her cum coat over my cock.
About to drive into her to finish myself off--because, really I was starting to find it painful not letting myself go--I stumbled over my movements when I heard banging against the door of my dressing room.
"Hey, Nikki, it's Richard--you're on in a few!" A voice wailed from the other side, almost throwing me off.
I growled, before tossing "yeah, man, I'm--fuck--I'm coming!" back to the roadie in the hallway.
I was, actually.
But, clearly, he couldn't heed the difficulty I was having with letting my words out, and didn't get the fucking "no walking into the dressing until the band let's you in" memo.
"Nikki..." her eyes drifted shut when she barely managed to utter my name, before I was finishing off.
"Are you happy now?" I implored, short of breath, still pushing into her to make sure the both of us were done.
"Very." Tiredly, she responded. "It feels so nice."
About to lean over and press a kiss to plump, swollen lips, the wooden door was blowing against the wall and heavy footsteps padded into the room.
Christine shot up, almost head-butting me, scrambling to grab the sheer fabric I'd thrown over the side of the couch.
I hadn't even pulled out of her yet.
"What the fuck, man?!" I turned my head to face him, discerning the chagrin washing over his hard features.
"Nikki," Chris shoved at my chest, passing a towel from the floor, and motioning for me to put it around my waist.
I just waited for her to pull her dress over her head, and moved away from her body, not particularly caring that this guy was getting a full-frontal shot of me.
"Did you have to fuckin' saunter in here?"
"Well, yeah." He averted eye contact, awkwardly smiling at Christine and she gave him a little wave. "The guys are waiting for you."
"Yeah, I know. But I've been a little busy."
"Clearly." Richard ran a hand underneath his chin, sighing. "Just get your ass dressed, and I'll tell them you're on your way out."
I watched him leave, slam the door, and Chris choked out a laugh.
"If it isn't Tommy, then it's one of the roadies."
"What the fuck is it with people and walking in on us screwing?" I asked, pulling my leathers from the clothes rail. "I'm sick of it--we need to get dressing rooms with locks or something."
"Or, maybe, we should just stop screwing backstage and save it for the hotel," I scoffed, letting her tighten the buckle of my belt as I fiddled with whatever the fuck I was supposed to be wearing out on stage.
"Nikki."
"Yeah?"
"I think I need to redo your eyeliner," her lips curled into a frown, running her thumb underneath my right eye. "And I'll have to fix mine while I'm at it."
"I think so too." I laughed, using the pad of my thumb to lift her head upward. "But you're not allowed to sit in my lap this time, okay? You'll get me into trouble, 'cause I'll end up fucking you again, and I'll be late."
She simply smiled and stood on her toes, pressing a soft kiss against my lips.
"But, saying that, I don't really mind if you're the reason I get my ass kicked."
1987
"Yeah, I remember him," I told Tommy, trying to swallow the familiar protrusion that would form at the back of my throat whenever I thought about Christine. "He's with that chick?"
"I don't know for sure, man." He shrugged, pulling a carton of Marlboro from his back pocket. "He seems a little old for her. Maybe he's just a friend."
"Maybe."
"Her name is Jill, by the way."
"How'd you know that?" I raised a brow, taking a cigarette as he offered it to me.
"'Cause she's best friends with Val," I just looked at him, having no idea who these people were. "Oh, right, you were too busy shooting up to come introduce yourself to the guys and their girls this morning."
If I could've punched him for that, I absolutely would've.
He lit the cigarette for me, clicking the lighter a few times before putting it back into his pocket.
"Val, Valerie, whatever you wanna call her, is Axl's girl. And she's awesome, Nikki. Heather thinks she's great, too."
"Well, if Heather thinks she's great, then she must be fuckin' wonderful--"
"--Christine would love her, too. She's so much like her," he interrupted, not hearing me mumble about his wife. "She's kinda fiery, like Chris, and she's super sweet, like--"
"--Can you just keep her damn name outta your mouth, Tommy?!" I barked, glaring at him as his lips parted. "Stop fuckin' talking about her! She's not here! And I'm trying to forget her!"
A lie.
Everybody knew that I wasn't making any active attempts at forgetting about her, or moving on.
"Dude..."
"No! Your obsession with mentioning her in every fuckin' sentence is exhausting, man! Leave her out of things!"
"I'll stop referring to her when you start respecting my wife, Sixx," he asserted calmly, though there was a twinge of hostility to his words.
I rolled my eyes. Hard as fuck.
"Don't pull this shit, man. You've got a stick up your ass for no reason," he stubbed the butt of his cigarette against the wall. "She hasn't actually done anything to piss you off so bad, so what is it?"
"Huh?"
"What is it? What's your fuckin' deal, Nikki?"
"I don't have a 'deal'," I turned my nose up at him, side-eyeing the hallway, noticing her heading our way. "I just think she's too...I dunno. Conceited, maybe--"
"--Bullshit! She's not conceited--not any more than you, anyway--and you've been this way since you first fuckin' met her, so try again!"
Tommy's hand curled around my bicep when I refused to answer, tugging on my shirt.
"Don't fuckin' ignore me, Nikki."
"Don't fuckin' touch me, Tommy." I yanked my arm away, grinding my lips together.
"Just answer me!"
Nagging was my biggest fucking pet peeve.
The only time I ever listened to, or relented, whenever someone nagged me was if Christine was the one to do it. Other than that, I hated it.
"I just don't fucking like her!" I snapped, pulling a hand through my hair. "And, Tommy, just because you like the guys' wives, and girlfriends, and whatever the fuck else, does not mean everybody else has to get along with them! It's okay to not like somebody, you know?!"
"No it isn't! Not when they've done jack shit to you, Nikki!"
"Jack shit?" I laughed, humorlessly. "She's been breathing down my damn neck for the last year and a half, Tommy, and you can't even deny that 'cause you know she is. It's so unnecessary, man!"
Stiletto heels, that were not Heather's usual choice of footwear, clicked against the shitty tile of the arena corridor, before they were fast approaching us.
"It's unnecessary?"
Her overly familiar, deriding, tone ignited embers of hostility and irritation within me.
"Sorry for not wanting to hear about your death through a newspaper article, or phone call, or on the damn news, Nikki. Sorry for trying to keep you alive--"
"--Oh, Jesus, would you just fuck off, Heather?"
I understood that telling his wife to "fuck off" was possibly out of line, but I don't think swinging for me was the best way that Tommy could've handled that.
His fist blew against the wall, the sickening crack of four knuckles churned my stomach as he winced, and took a step back.
Rather that wall than me, though.
"You bastard!" He grabbed my shirt with his good hand, pushing me against the bricks. "Stop acting like a goddamn cunt whenever she's around!"
I shook him off of me, wanting so badly to swing for him but, suddenly, growing aware that we had a fucking audience.
Fred glared at me disparagingly, shaking his head because he knew I'd riled Tommy up to the point of him attempting to cause me some serious bodily harm.
I did it a lot, apparently.
"Stop talking about Christine then."
"That's what this is about?" Vince piqued. "You're pissy 'cause Tommy talked about Chris?"
I barely nodded, before Vince, Duff McKagan and some blonde bitch--who I assumed was Tommy's new best friend--started snickering at me.
If only her friend was there. Maybe that'd be an incentive for me to stop acting like such an idiot around her.
"God, Nikki. Grow up," he told me through a sneer, "if I acted out whenever someone mentioned Beth after we split, then you'd all be tellin' me to 'shut the fuck up', wouldn't you?"
He had a point, admittedly.
But the circumstances surrounding his separation were a hell of a lot different to mine.
"I just don't think you all need to be fuckin' talking about her at every given moment! Is that so damn unreasonable?!"
A really annoying, feminine, giggle to my left caught my attention and, as Tommy smirked at her, I was made very much aware that she was Valerie.
A pretty name, for sure. And she was undeniably attractive, flaunting a tight little dress. But anyone that naturally gravitated toward Tommy--when they could've liked anybody else--was an immediate red flag for me.
There must have been a likeness in their personalities or something.
"A bit," Tommy told me. "Because, at the end of the day, she might've been your wife, but she was our friend too, man."
"She's still my wife."
"Huh?"
"She's still my wife," I repeated, watching his eyes flick to the side. "She is still my fuckin' wife and, really, I'd love it if you'd stop talking about her in front of me!"
The little blonde--who must have been five-two, maybe even shorter--snickered beside Tommy and Heather.
"I don't see the issue," she stated plainly, as if she had the right to weigh in on such a matter.
Duff simply took a pull of his vodka, towering over her like some kind of bodyguard. Or, maybe, he was the one that'd step in if she started to claw at me with those blood-red claws of hers.
He also could've been her defense if Vince tried to get anywhere near her. And I say 'if', but I really mean 'when.' That sleaze making a pass at her was inevitable.
"If they were friends with your wife, then I don't see why you're forbidding them to talk about her--"
"--She has a name."
"Yeah, I know. I didn't wanna say her name just in case you flipped your shit on me like you did Tommy."
I ground my lips together, hoping she'd either finish her speech so I could fuck off, or if she'd do me a favor and walk down that hall with Heather in tow.
I should be so lucky.
"Who the hell is this?" I asked Tommy, watching the blonde fold her arms over.
"Dude, this is Val. The one I was telling you about," he spoke to me, but he was smiling at her.
They had a similar energy.
I hated that.
"I would say that it's nice to meet you, but..." she looked away from me, stifling a smirk.
"I wouldn't say that, sweetie, he won't like it," Heather warned softly, though it was loud enough for me to hear.
Girls are such fuckin' bitches, man.
"Get fucked."
"Dude! What did we just talk about?!"
"You too, Tommy." Tired of the pair, I threw back at him. "Both of you, just fuck off. Seriously. You're driving me insane."
Visibly uneasy, Duff put a hand to his friend's arm and went to pull her away.
But, not before she could sink her fuckin' claws in one last time.
"With an attitude like that, no wonder why Christine walked out," Valerie spoke quietly, to Duff, and he sucked in a deep breath. "Think I'd leave, too."
"Hey, fuck you!" I called toward the two, feeling a hand against my shoulder--Fred, no doubt. "Get the fuck off of me, man--"
"--No, Nikki. Cut it out," he reprimanded, though his upbraiding was quite apathetic. "Quit acting like such a goddamn imbecile. You're showing yourself up."
"Fuck you."
Fred used both hands to grab at my shoulders, pushing me away from the conclave of dicks in the middle of the hallway, watching them split from over his shoulder.
"You're a fuckin' joke, Sixx," he told me while sparking a cigarette, tutting at me. "You keep behaving like a jackass and Doc will be the one yellin' at you, not me. And we both know he's a feisty little fucker."
"I wouldn't have to act like that if they didn't keep talking about Christine."
He sighed, clamping his lips shut. I think he understood.
"It sucks, man. It sucks that they're all so happy to mention her like it's nothing, because they're still on good terms with her. Or, at least, they left off on good terms with her."
"And you didn't?"
"No. Not at all, Fred," honestly, I told him. "I called her--fucked out of my mind--berated her for god knows how fuckin' long, told her all this stupid shit that she already knew, and to top it off, Heather said I made her cry."
Finally, we made eye contact.
I could've only imagined how shit I looked after a binge, a brawl, and my impending comedown.
"You know how hard that is to swallow? That, maybe, if I kept my big mouth shut and didn't call her, she'd have been at peace? But I didn't, and I made her cry, man. I made my fuckin' wife cry for no reason other than wanting to be a prick."
"Don't beat yourself up about it now, Nik--"
"--I made my wife cry, for no reason," I repeated myself, shaking my head. "She was probably having a real good day before me, too. And then I fuckin' went in on her."
"But you got it all out in the open. Both of you, that is."
"What?"
"You got all that shit off of your chest, Nikki. And, yeah, you probably acted like a cunt. But at least she knows how you feel now--same the other way 'round, too--and if you were to ever meet again, maybe there won't be so much bad blood."
I didn't think of it that way.
I didn't think of it at all, actually. After it had happened, I just stopped thinking altogether.
"While you're being reflective, do me a favor, fuckhead."
"What?" I groaned.
"Apologize to Tommy when you're sober. Or, at least, when you're calm again. Got it?" He warned, and I relented fairly quickly.
Pissing Fred off was not something I wanted.
"K."
"And Heather."
"Dude."
"Nikki, do not fuckin' 'dude' me." Tersely, he asserted. "You don't have to be her best friend, just say 'sorry' 'cause you acted like a dick to her today. And every other day."
Expressionless, I glared at him as his nostrils flared, and he was flicking his cigarette to the ground.
"Go take a shower, shoot up, punch a wall, do whatever you've gotta do to cool yourself down, Sixx, I don't care what it is. I'm gonna come check you're not dead in an hour, and you better be in a better mood by then or there will be riots."
I scoffed, heeding irritation wash over him. "Riots?"
"Yeah. Riots," he confirmed, nodding. "You think you've seen me pissed before? You won't know what's fuckin' hit 'ya."
Fred nodded his head toward the exit at the end of the hallway, pointing at the door.
"Get the fuck outta here and sort yourself out. I meant it when I said I'll be on that damn bus in an hour, Nikki."
I simply flipped him off, grabbed at a bottle of Jack that sat atop one of the tables next to the break room, and stormed my way through the corridor.
"Motherfucker..." I stated lowly, hoping he wouldn't hear me.
He heard me.
"Quit bitchin', Nikki!"
"Ah, get fucked, Fred!" I yelled back, slamming the door behind me.