[a/n: Hey, look, it's a bonus chapter! A long one at that too. I'm going to be including a few of these bonus chapters. They're not extremely vital to the plot of the story, however, they do offer some valuable context and insight. They're mostly flashbacks to the past and they can be pretty interesting. I think some of my bonus chapters are better than the actual chapters, but anyway. The point is that you don't have to read it, but I'm sure you might find it enjoyable. <3 ]
9 April, 1981.
It wasn't my first time on an airplane, but that didn't mean there was less of a possibility of me shitting myself. I gripped tightly at the arm of my chair and kept my head glued against the headrest. My eyes darted to the window every few seconds as my lunch climbed up my esophagus. The distance between the aircraft and the runway increased at a dangerous speed. That was always the part I feared the most - being able to visualize going up into the sky and being kept there by absolutely nothing except for engines and other mechanical mechanisms I didn't understand. To my side, Kirk was babbling about his amp that was stored in the cargo hull.
“Would you shut your mouth?” I finally snapped at him as we speared through the clouds, “your amp is fine. Jesus Christ, Kirk. I was the one who bubble wrapped it after all, while you sat there trying to wax your pubes with duct tape.”
He rolled his eyes at me and knocked my hand off the arm rest between us, claiming it into his own, “This shouldn't be freaking you out this much. Or is there an underground tunnel I don't know of that connects the mainland to Hawaii?”
Kirk always spoke of my family vacations to Maui with extreme contempt. It was either he really wanted to see the island too or he was upset about never having gone on a family trip in his life, or it just didn't sit well with him that his best friend lived a relatively comfortable life and didn't have to eat ramen noodles at the dining table on a Tuesday night.
“Yes, whatever, but those times I had Saldana to hold my hand.”
Kirk furrowed his brows like he was considering something, but then he just reclined in his seat, “Forget it, I'm not holding your hand.”
I turned to look at him with a big, amusing grin on my face, “I see someone's still in a pissy mood about getting beer poured out on his head by his best friends last night.”
My hand rested atop of his, because I didn't fear intimacy the way Kirk did. The last time my mother held me was just before I took my first steps. That deprived me of the closeness I now craved.
“I guess I just feel bad, y'know. I left those guys as if it was the easiest thing in the world for me, and Metallica might not even want me. I'm only now considering that I might bomb this audition. Then what?”
“Then I don't fly back to San Fran alone and you might feel more comfortable about holding my hand for the flight when that time comes around.”
He tried to hide his smile from me and I poked his dimple with my free hand. Kirk twisted his hand underneath mine so that our palms connected and he could slip his fingers between mine, indicating that he had no real qualms about holding my hand.
“But I am going to fly back alone, Kirk. And you're going to join Metallica.”
******
“Welcome to 'Tallica's humble abode!”
I stared down at the drummer who looked surprisingly confident in his grey plaid boxers, dirty socks and black bath robe. I didn't remember him being that short?
“It's a, uh... temporary arrangement,” he looked back on the rundown, dilapidated little structure that could hardly be called a home, and cringed before chuckling, “anyway, hello! You must be Dove!”
“And you must... not like clothes.” He tried to lean in for a hug, but I insisted on a hand shake instead, getting a less-than confident laugh out of the guy I knew was named Lars.
He shrugged unashamedly, “Sorry. We're just getting up. C'mon in, I'll introduce you to the other guys.”
Just getting up? I glanced my wristwatch. It was night time, 6:48 to be precise. No one normal gets up at that hour. While I was checking the time, Lars discreetly placed a hand on my lower back, trying to usher me up the driveway.
“Why don't you help Kirk with the luggage instead?”
“Oh, right, of course! Kirky boy! How you doing, man?”
Kirk huffed in contempt. Metallica made it clear they wanted him, they mentioned nothing about me possibly stealing some of the attention. I giggled at how he tried to balance his boxed amplifier and guitar case in both hands behind the trunk of the taxicab.
I entered the house by myself. Though I never formally met the Metallica guys, they at least knew me as the girl who was always hanging out with Exodus. They wouldn't karate chop me out of there as if I was a complete stranger.
The front door opened directly into the kitchen. It was just as cold inside as it was outside. I felt the urge to cover my nose – the smell of marijuana, stale pizza and men's sweat was just too overpowering for my liking. I had to stop myself though, because in the corner someone was waiting for the microwave to warm up their food.
“Hi,” I greeted with uncertainty, not knowing if it was Cliff or James staring back at me.
He did respond, but his awkward shyness and the loud buzz of the microwave made it impossible for me to hear him.
“What was that?”
He was about to bring a beer bottle to his lips and looked annoyed that I had interrupted him, fully turning to me so I could see his lips move with his words, “I said hello.”
I nodded. Clearly that was a cranky one. With good reason probably, because I noticed a slight hue of blue around the outer corner of his left eye. That might've had something to do with why they needed a new lead guitarist. At least he was wearing more clothes than Lars – black sports shorts and a Misfits t-shirt. I was desperate to find out why none of them knew New York was still stuck in a post-winter haze.
Another quarter of Metallica showed up in the kitchen, just after the microwave's timer went off. He froze when he saw me, but didn't look too surprised.
“Oh shit. Kirk's here already? Right on!”
At least he had jeans on, even though they were bell bottoms and gave off the illusion of never-ending legs, “Cliff or James?”
“I'm Cliff. That's James.” He pointed at his friend who had just devoured more than half of a pizza slice in just one bite, “you didn't introduce yourself, man?”
“Hello, I'm James.” Someone didn't teach him it was impolite to talk with a mouth full of food.
Cliff sighed and rolled his eyes at his friend's poor manners. That acknowledgement put me at his ease a little. He walked over to the fridge and retrieved a can of beer.
“Your name? I'm sure Kirk told me, but I forgot.”
“I'm Dove.”
There was a short struggle between Cliff and James for the pizza, but James quickly gave up his possession. Cliff brought the plate over to me, offering me a slice while simultaneously wrapping an arm around my shoulders for a hug.
“Cool name.”
A hug from him was allowed – I wrapped my arms around him too, “thanks. Cool shirt.”
I accepted the beer, but that pizza wasn't going anywhere near my mouth. Finally Cliff cracked a smile. I didn't know if it was me complimenting his Motorhead tank top or him understanding why I didn't want the pizza that humored him.
Lars barged through the kitchen door with my suitcase as well as Kirk's, “Guys, look who I brought!”
Cliff and James immediately charged over to my friend and smothered him in bear hugs.
They looked overjoyed to see him. I couldn't help but smile. In the cab ride over to the Metallica house, he was whinging quite a bit about how much he was missing Exodus already and how he'd never find brothers like them again. He was the type of anxious person who'd find it difficult to get comfortable with anything or anyone, but at that moment he was basking in the love and appreciation. And he hadn't even spent that much time with Metallica – only after shows on the odd occasion them and Exodus would play one club in the same night.
The boys were still cheering for his arrival when another stranger's voice suddenly boomed through the kitchen, making me jump, “him? The talentless, mediocre guitar guy from Exodus is the fucker you're replacing me with?”
“Can't be any more talentless and mediocre than you, y'know, since you're the one being replaced.” The words were out of my mouth before I thought to stop them.
I probably shouldn't have been as protective of Kirk as a rabid guard dog, but I had grown tired of witnessing other dickheads pick him apart. Defending him had become second nature at that point. However, Dave Mustaine didn't look impressed. My brain went through the effort of learning his full name. If he was going to be a problem for my best friend, I was going to take care of that problem.
“Look, man,” Kirk stepped up while everyone was still eying the woman who dared to open her pretty little mouth — sue me, “it's just an audition, okay? I don't know you and I don't have anything against you.”
James moved in front of Kirk, signalling at his new friend that he didn't have to get involved, “Dave, just get out. Before I kick your ass a second time.”
The first time must've been something, alright. Dave had distinctly pouty lips, but the bottom one was totally busted and it looked even heavier. He looked like he had just gotten out of a streetfight. At least his thick lion's mane of strawberry blonde hair covered up most of the bruising.
He had a backpack slung over one shoulder and was carrying a guitar case, but his feet stuck to the floor. It was evident he didn't want to leave and that softened my heart a little.
Lars slid away from the door frame and pointed towards the front porch, “need me to hold the door for ya?”
“You know what?” Dave gathered all of his energy in a big inhale of air, “fuck all of you. Fuck you, you and you, and especially you,” his eyes widened maniacally as he pointed an accusatory finger at Lars, before finally turning to me, “and fuck you too, whoever the fuck you are. And fuck the managers, fuck the other dudes, fuck the stupid dog and, actually, just fuck everyone. I don't need any one of you backstabbing motherfuckers. Take your precious Metallica and shove it up your ass!”
He tried to make his departure as dramatic as possible, but Lars really did hold the door open for him. He ended up looking like a misbehaving little child, stomping his way off the property of his now former band. It was almost difficult to witness.
“You better not fuck up this audition, dude. See what we gave up for you?” James said to Kirk, which resulted in an eruption of laughter.
The only one who didn't look amused was Cliff. He looked like someone who just watched a band brother walk out, while the other two were chipper and cheerful.
“Let's get straight to jamming,” he muttered irritably, “the quicker we can end off this Dave chapter, the better.”
What wasn't difficult to witness at all, was Kirk so effortlessly erasing all memory of the ex guitarist by having an instant chemistry with the other 3. Seek and Destroy was the first song they decided on and he knocked it out of the park. The only person who made a few screw-ups here and there was Lars.
Cliff was too busy trying to break his neck via headbanging and his long hair made it impossible to even catch a glimpse of his face, but I noticed James and Lars exchanging smiles in between being mesmerized by Kirk and the way he manipulated his guitar to produce the perfect sound worthy of serving the song. By the fourth number I needed a smoke break. Simply watching them was depleting me of my energy. They were really popping off.
“I'm just going to have a smoke,” I announced while James and Lars were struggling to agree on what they should play next.
Cliff frowned, “hey, smoke in here. You don't have to go outside.”
“It smells bad enough in here as is.” I was already headed out the living room.
The back porch smelled worse. It hosted a dusty, torn up sofa and an overflowing garbage can. Then again, it wasn't like the Exodus guys were cleaner.
Something soft and hairy brushed past my leg and I let out a yelp of fear. The pitbull walked out onto the porch, turning around to stare at me when I wasn't following him. A little heads-up on them having a dog would've been nice.
I wasn't particularly fond of the creatures. My household didn't host any pets and Kirk's adorable ball of fur named Clouseau was more of a neighborhood cat than a Hammett cat. Nevertheless this one seemed friendly enough. If he wanted to bite me, he would've done so ages ago.
I plopped down onto the sofa and the dog copied me. He curled up against my side and laid his heavy head on my lap, looking up at me with puppy eyes despite being a fully grown animal.
“I see you've met Rancid?”
Jesus, everything was out to give me a fright.
“It's just me,” Cliff held up his hands in innocence when he noted the way my body jumped involuntarily, “Kirk said you forgot your lighter.”
I patted my pockets, finding only my cigarettes. Sure enough he pulled a small, lime green object from his jeans.
“Rancid, huh? That's one hell of a name. Do you guys not like him very much or something?”
Cliff laughed and a puff of smoke rushed out of his mouth, he handed the lighter to me so I could light up one of my own, “James named him. It's his dog. We picked him up off the street a week after we got here.”
“Sounds like a nice guy, I guess.” I lightly scratched Rancid's head and he shut his eyes in contentment.
“James is a nice guy. I promise. He tries to be tough and comes across as a dick, because he's so anxious. But he'll get comfortable around you eventually.”
“Oh, it doesn't bother me that he didn't introduce himself. It bothers me that Dave looked like he was in a trainwreck. I don't want Kirk to suffer the same fate. Kirk's not built for that macho, beat-your-friend-to-death bullshit.”
Cliff shook his head as he scoffed. He sat down next to me, on the arm rest of the couch and leaned over to pet the multicolored pitbull.
“Dave's the real dick. He kicked Rancid in the ribs. Of course James wasn't gonna let that slide.”
“He did what?”
“Dude has a drinking problem. He gets really violent and takes it out on the nearest person. And honestly, we could handle him taking it out on us. But kicking a dog? Man, that's how serial killers are made.”
Cliff continued to ramble on about how removing Dave from their lineup was necessary for the band's ongoing existence. He relied on the excuse of Dave's excessive drinking impairing their live performances, but I wasn't really buying it. James was drinking a fresh beer when I arrived and they allegedly hadn't woken up too long prior to that.
It seemed to me that all of them had problems with intoxicating substances, which wasn't going to be the best environment for Kirk. Exodus were already going under when he jumped ship and Kirk was a sucker for peer pressure.
“What do you guys think of him so far?” I inquired when we put out our cigarettes.
“I'm still just the new guy, so my opinion doesn't mean much, despite all the 'there is no I in team' bullshit the other guys will tell you. But for what it's worth, I think he's fucking amazing. I don't think we have to look further than Kirk.”
A wave of relief washed over me. At least he already managed to win one of them over, and the incessant smiling between the others could only mean good things. I followed Cliff into the kitchen – it seemed the audition was on hold for a little while.
“Isn't that mine?” I pointed at James, who was gulping down beer as if he had been stuck in the desert for 40 days.
He stopped drinking and eyed the can, unsure of whose it was. It definitely was mine, because I knew he had a bottle and Cliff gave me a can when I arrived. James scratched the back of his neck sheepishly when I didn't waver.
He leaned oved the kitchen counter to hand it back to me. I reassured him with a forgiving grin. Kirk was still fiddling with his guitar in the living room when Lars joined us as well.
He still hadn't bothered to put on any real clothes and returned his hand to the same spot he had it in earlier - the small of my back.
“So listen, pretty little Dove...” he started and I took a sip of my beer with a roll of my eyes, “I know that when Kirk left Exodus, you left them too. But that's not the way things are gonna work around here, alright? If, for whatever reason, Kirk decides to give up on us, you gotta stay. Even if only for my sake.”
I glanced over my shoulder and spotted an uncomfortable Kirk. He stood up from the couch and was frowning at the drummer getting so close to me. My grin merely grew larger.
“You know, Lars, you're a really great flirt. Spectacular, quite charming actually... If only I could say the same about your drumming.”
James doubled over, almost choking on his beer before shrill laughter resounded from his mouth. Lars's facial expression switched from smug to sour in an instant and Kirk's did the exact opposite. He was on my other side now, leaning his forearms on the counter to keenly join in on the conversation.
“The fuck you laughing at?” Lars jeered at James, but Cliff was amused too and he ruffled the Danish boy's already messy hair.
“Hey, Lars, I'm only kidding!” I tried to soothe the burn, but he was too occupied with getting Cliff and James to quit taunting him.
Kirk leaned his head in closer to mine, “Cementing your legacy already as the most loyal non-girlfriend?”
“Best friends, right?” With a smile I slid the can over to him.
“Bonded by blood and all that shit.”
He was referring to the night all the members of Exodus sliced their hand open and smeared their blood together to create a pact. They swore to stick together and to not let anything come between them.
I was there too, but only once Kirk and I had a moment alone, he somehow convinced me to make a small incision in the center of my palm too. We held each other's hands and he then announced that, he wasn't sure how it came to be that way, but I had become his best friend.
“That's right. Bonded by blood.”
My smirk inspired a little child-like beam of his own and the comforting moment got him to drop his head onto my shoulder. My heart stopped responding for only a second before it just about burst open with the need to wrap around him.
His frizzy curls felt like cotton candy against my cheek and I caught a glimpse of Lars smiling at us. I indeed was going to be the most loyal non-girlfriend.
“Wherever you may go, Kirk, I'll be right there with you. That's where I'll set up my home.”