"You're ruining your body, Chris."
Amidst the sickening tone, the one noise that she currently and always seemed to spurn the idea of, her eyes rolled. Hard.
"It's a piercing, Hayden. It's not like I just got a forehead tattoo."
"Why would you get them?" He shirked her response, sitting on the arm of the couch as she scrutinized her form in Nicole's favorite floor-to-ceiling mirror in the hallway.
He hated how big that thing was. How it took up so much room, so much valuable space that could've been so easily manipulated, used to expose the abundance of natural light that flooded in through the beautiful bay window.
But the girls didn't care about that.
At first, Nicole hated how gaudy it was. A completely obnoxious, golden Baroque border wasn't to her taste at all. But hurting Christine's feelings over a decorative item was not something that she had ever wanted.
And it looked ridiculous against the off-white wall in the hallway, but she kept it. Because it made her best friend happy, and Chris didn't deserve to get ridiculed over a fucking mirror when she had already been putting up with too much at the hands of her boyfriend.
Knowing how much it irked Hayden also made Nicole's fondness for it swell. And seeing how it looked between two corresponding garish picture frames—adorned with prints of Sunset Boulevard—only encouraged that appreciation.
It was such an intense piece, but it suited them. Elegant, outlandish, bold. It seemed as though the duo had been immortalized into a striking work of art.
And Nic had learned to love it the same way that her favorite blonde had since she found the piece in her brother's basement.
"Stop staring at my mirror." Christine scolded, pulling her skin-tight tank-top all the way back up.
She wished she had listened to Nicole, this morning. Wished that she had decided to wear a loose-fitting shirt to her appointment, or something that wouldn't have snagged her barbells.
But she didn't.
"I don't think I owe you an explanation as to why I decided to get my nipples pierced."
"Of course you do." He told her, gesturing to the ridiculous jewelry poking through the taught—almost completely sheer—leopard-print tank. "It's a body modification that affects me—"
A laugh fizzled from the absolute deepest caverns of her chest. "How the fuck does a little bit of metal affect you?"
"I've gotta see it every damn day."
"Okay?" She stated, though it came out more like a question. A genuine query.
Because it was a foreign concept, to her. How a man—a grown man—could throw a fit over two barbells.
"You don't see me bitching at you for that tattoo on your back—"
"That is a tribute to my fucking father!"
"And it's ugly as hell!" She barked. "You have angel wings on your back, Hayden! I'm sure you could've thought of something better to commemorate your father with than a pair of goddamn angel wings!"
"You're sick."
"You're sick." Christine mimicked him, unable to feel even a sliver of remorse.
Because truthfully, she didn't give a damn.
About Hayden, his stupid tattoo, his dead father. Christine couldn't find it within herself to so much as pretend to care about what she had said.
Their relationship had run its course, as far as she was concerned. And absolutely anything that Hayden said—or did—had the propensity to churn her stomach, boil her blood, and strike the solitary match that'd ignite her impending outburst.
She'd been teetering toward the edge for quite some time now.
"If you're allowed to ridicule my very temporary nipple piercings, then I'm allowed to ridicule that monstrosity that spans the width of your back—"
"No, you aren't." He demanded she shut up with a simple look, but she wasn't backing down. "Those piercings—the horrible traumas to your beautiful body—don't hold any significance. The tattoo is for my old man who is dead. Get some respect."
Christine chuckled to herself, reaching for the crate of Pepsi that Nicole had so kindly left out on the island. She grabbed a can, wondering whether drinking it would be just as satisfying as launching it at his head.
"Don't ignore me."
"I'm not ignoring you, Hayden. I just don't have anything else to add to the conversation."
"Oh, you don't?" He hastily rounded the breakfast bar and pressed both hands atop the granite, watching her carefully wreathe her finger beneath the ring-pull so that she didn't snap her nail.
The aluminum cracked, a dusting of Pepsi sprayed from the lip, and Christine put it back onto the counter.
She didn't use very much force, but she made sure to curl her hand around the can and squeeze it lightly. Just enough for him to see.
"I don't."
Her shoulders shrugged indifferently while she grabbed a clean glass from the draining rack. Again, Christine couldn't decide whether she wanted to tip her drink into it or smash it against his thick fucking skull.
She was leaning toward the latter now.
"I'd bet this wouldn't be the case if Nikki were the one to say that."
"You're obsessed with him, aren't you?" She snarled, watching his face fall. "You really can't go one day without comparing how I am with you, to how I was with Nikki, can you?"
He remained silent. Because it was right. And he knew—all too well, actually—how ridiculous he sounded whenever Nikki's name bled from his tongue.
Though, Hayden was a man swelling with pride. A complete ravine of arrogance. And if he could help it, he would seldom agree with her not-so subtle digs.
"As if I'd try to make such a fucking parallel. I'm just saying."
"What are you saying, though?" Christine asked once more. "'Cus, to me, it seems like you're real insecure in this relationship, and you're seeking some kind of validation by tryin' to scope out what me and Nikki were like all those years ago. And it's a little weird, hun."
Hayden shifted uncomfortably. "I ain't insecure. Nor am I seeking some kind of validation. I was just fucking saying."
"Saying a load of bullshit."
"Christine."
"What?" Somewhat curious, she raised. "Hayden, I don't understand what the problem is."
Oh, but she did.
She understood that his qualm—though doused in potent jealousy—was completely just. Because he was right, partially.
If it had been Nikki standing where Hayden was, Christine wouldn't have been so quick to jump the gun. To spit her venom right into his face.
If it had been Nikki, Christine would've gotten knocked down a few pegs instantly...Considering he was the only male—aside from her old man—that had ever been able to shut her up improbably.
And there was a fervent tugging inside of Hayden's chest whenever he thought about his girlfriend not respecting him enough to know when to stop talking. But he supposed that he just didn't have that same domineering power as Nikki.
Which he would often internally repudiate.
"Don't act fuckin' stupid, Chris, you know that you always get defensive whenever I mention that prick—"
"He isn't a prick." She stated. Defensively. "Nikki is a good man, Hayden. But if you think that I get all touchy whenever you bring him up, then maybe you should just fucking stop?"
"Stop talking about him? Or stop putting him down?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Both."
Hayden hummed his disapproval, but decided that digging the metaphorical blade that little bit deeper was a tinge more appealing.
"You're so touchy." He lilted, displaying some very unconvincing mock worry. "Time of the month, angel?"
Her skin began to blaze. Christine's cheeks burned hotly.
But she was better than him at playing his own game.
"Nah, that was meant to be last week." She stated and began to traipse from the island, into the living room.
"Meant to be?"
"Yeah." Christine called over her shoulder, reaching for the television guide Nicole had set out on the couch this morning. "I'm late. Could be pregnant. God knows who the father would be."
That was it.
"I beg your fucking pardon?"
He could almost see—feel—the vile smirk tugging against her glossy lips as she sat on the couch with her back to him.
Ignorant as ever, he thought.
"I think you heard what I said honey." Christine managed to stifle the chuckle that was desperate to crack from the chasms of her throat. "But, if you really wanted me to, I could repeat myself—"
"You fucking slut!" He barked. His words hit her square in the face.
But she didn't care.
It hurt, but she didn't care. Not what he thought of her. Not anymore.
She was done caring about Hayden now.
But what she wasn't done with, infact, was hurting that man.
"Can you blame me for going out 'n fucking someone else?" Christine pondered aloud, turning to face him.
Seeing his face fall. Once again.
"You're so bad in bed, Hayden. I don't think I've ever had an orgasm with you."
His ego had been struck. Obliterated. With the speed, the intensity and velocity, of a goddamn freight train.
"Go fuck yourself, Christine."
"I do. I mean, I have to." She shrugged. He shook his head. "What? You walked right into that one, Hayden—"
"You're a real cunt sometimes, y'know that?"
"Yes." Christine replied plainly.
"At least she's self aware." He muttered beneath his breath.
She scoffed. "Being self aware beats being an obsessive, pathetic wretch."
He supposed that was true. But he couldn't understand why she was the one insulting him.
"Don't look at me that way." Christine said when she saw the way his lip curled, and nose scrunched upwards. "You know for a damn fact that you're obsessed with my past, rather than the present—"
"'Cus you're obsessed with your ex-husband!" Hayden finally exploded. Well. Again. "Everything always boils back down to Nikki, and that amazing life you two used to live together—"
"He's not my ex-husband. We're still married." Somehow very subdued, she retorted. "And that life wasn't amazing. I told you it wasn't amazing—"
"But you two were so in love—"
"We were fucking heroin addicts, Hayden!" She matched his tone. "I would've been happy with a goddamn cardboard box so long as I had some smack to shoot up!"
He hadn't seen her so candid—so honest—about the way she once was.
Well, he had spoken to her about the past trauma, addiction, she had suffered through. But she had never been so aggressive, so fervent whilst spitting venom into his face.
"And you really think he's a good guy, Christine? He facilitated an addiction that almost killed you—an addiction that made him kill himself. And you still want to defend him—"
"He was sick." She, funnily enough, defended. "We both were."
"Sick in the damn head, more like."
"Get fucked." She snarled. "Like, genuinely, I'm done. If you're so hung up on what I did when I was back in California, obsessed with and jealous of the fact that I had a life before you, then you can really, honestly, go get fucked and stay the fuck away from me—"
"Oh, my pleasure!" He yelled, grabbing his jacket as he stomped across the shag rug. "I've been done with you for a while now, Christine, but hearing you straight up admit that you fucked other guys has solidified my pure fucking hatred for you—"
"Good!"
"The fuck do you mean good!?"
"I hate you too!" Christine screamed. "I have never fucking hated another person more than I hate you! I have never wanted another person to drop dead more than I want you to!"
"What about your shitty parents—"
"They never held a candle to you, you prick! You're so controlling and unnecessarily bitchy for a fucking man, and I just hate your stupid fucking face!"
Christine could admit that she was acting out completely unreasonably, but she knew that this was officially the end of them...And she supposed that this was the only way to make sure that Hayden didn't come crawling back to her.
"I hate you too!"
"Go to hell, Hayden!" Christine, once again, bellowed. She threw couch cushions at him as he padded toward the front door. "I hope you fucking choke!"
He turned to her as he pulled the handle, watching her chest rise and fall sporadically as she fumed. Surrounded by pink pillows.
"And I hope you have a real nice life with the man that tried to kill you."
"He didn't try to kill me..." Her words broke away from her tongue as Hayden left the building, feeling her eyes fill up the more she thought about his retort.
Nikki might've been a nasty piece of work at times, but he never wanted to hurt Christine. He never thought that filling her up with heroin would even come close to killing her.
And it stung to think that Hayden had gone so far as to even entertain that.
But, she supposed that he would've conjured up any deluded—completely inconceivable—idea to force Christine to want to loathe Nikki.
His efforts had been wasted, however. Because she could never hate that man...No matter how badly she might've wanted to.
Christine would always love Nikki Sixx.
And maybe that was why she was so upset that night. Because she loved him so much, and he broke her heart.
Again.
"Chris? Hey, Is that you?"
"It is." She smiled through tears, resting her head against her satin sheet. "How're you doing?"
"I'm fine, baby. How about you? You sound like you've been crying."
Deflated. She felt fucking deflated.
"I have been." Deciding to bite the bullet sooner rather than later, she began. "I screamed in Hayden's face and broke up with him, and now I feel like a bitch 'cus I wasn't being very kind—"
Nikki's heart picked up a hastened pace. "You broke up with him?"
"I did."
"Why? I thought you two were somewhat happy—"
"Nah. Never."
"Oh."
"Yep. So, now I'm free." She laughed humorlessly, sniffing into the sleeve of a long sleeve that belonged to Nikki, once upon a time.
"That's amazing, Chris."
"Yep." She repeated. "Don't know what to do with myself now. Aside from work."
"We'll be back soon." He said, trying to ignore what she had not-so-subtly put down. "You'll have the girls too. When Heather gets back to Vancouver and—"
"I don't want them."
Nikki swallowed the lump in his throat. "What? Why not?"
"Because I don't, Nikki. Think about it."
"Chris—"
"You know exactly what I want." She said a lot quieter. Almost in a whisper. Timid. "I want you, Nik. I want to start again."
The sound of silence hurt her. Her eardrums felt as though they would burst as the crackle—the intensity of nothingness—began to flood down the line.
"Hello? You still there?"
"I am.."
She smiled.
"Okay...So..."
"So, Chris, I dunno." Nikki's heart continued to pound.
He couldn't think of a thing that he could've possibly wanted more. He didn't think he would ever hear Christine tell him that she wanted him back.
It was all that he had ever desired. To have his wife back in his arms. Where she belonged.
But tucked into his left side, resting peacefully, was another woman.
"I, uh, I've gotta go."
"Nik—"
"I'll see you when I get back."
"No, Nikki—"
"Bye, Christine."