Warning(s): Explicit language
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The weeks to follow that fight with Tommy were pretty screwy. My grades were, at that point, average instead of their usual above average, it was getting harder for me to hold my tongue anytime my mother ranted about the growing rock scene on the strip, and I just really missed my best friend.
Tansy and I were spending more time together but it just wasn't the same as hanging out with Tommy. Tansy was too cautious about what to say sometimes, whereas Tommy didn't have a filter. Although that was offensive sometimes, it was refreshing. Tommy wasn't the only offensive one I missed. I got bored more often since I didn't have Nikki to argue with, not to mention I really missed Mick's blatant, unapologetic comments. I even missed Vince. Unfortunately, my feelings have never been a match for my stubbornness, especially back then. It's what eventually caused some of the issues between Nikki and I. I never knew when to quit unless someone made me, and even making me took great lengths.
The wet pavement that smells of rain glistens under street lights as I make my way out of the church after Sunday night service, my arm encircling my bible as I reach in to my purse to grab my keys.
As I get closer to my car in the mainly empty parking lot, I see a familiar figure leaned against it with crossed arms and a bottle of Jack in his hand and I prepare myself for an argument, glancing around to make sure no one else is around.
Hazel eyes look me up and down as I step closer, a mocking smile on his lips as he scoffs.
"Uh oh, you dirty slut, your ankles are showing." Nikki teases and I ignore him, going to open my door but he blocks me, his leg pressed to the door handle. "I thought you were dead."
"Are you sure you want to risk being so close to a house of God? Aren't you afraid you'll combust?" I snap at him, putting my bible on the roof of my car and crossing my arms as he licks his lips.
"I've missed that bitchy little temper of yours." He grins.
"And I've missed..." I take a second to think of what I've missed about him, but I can't tell him I've missed him in general. He'll get cocky. "...your hair."
"My hair? That's it?" He asks as if he knows I just made something up to avoid the truth and I raise my brows.
"Despite it being attached to a nitwit, I've always thought you had pretty hair. Take the compliment and go."
"Gladly, once you and Tommy sort through this shit." He states. "It's getting harder for him to focus but he won't come talk to you."
"Ah, and the truth comes out. You aren't here because you missed being a pain in my neck, you're here to convince me to apologize so Tommy's musical juices or whatever will start flowing again."
"Yeah, yeah, Mötley Crüe's success is at your mercy or whatever, just make it right." He orders me sternly with a quick change of attitude, growing tired of my uncooperative stance already.
"I know you don't know me very well, but I don't do good with people telling me what to do. I'm known to retaliate and do the complete opposite." I give him the same tone he's giving me and he rolls his jaw.
"Why the hell can't you just admit you were wrong?" He bites out and I laugh without humor.
"Was I?"
"Yeah, you were. It's his fucking choice whether he wants to finish school or not. You're only job as his friend is to support whatever the hell he does."
"Have you always had friends that kiss your feet and don't tell you when you're being an idiot because it really sounds like you don't know what actual friends do: tell you the mess you don't want to hear but really need hear to anyway." I cut my eyes at him. "At least that's how actual friendships are suppose to work, last time I checked."
"And last time I checked, Tommy didn't come out of your pussy eighteen years ago, so there's no need for you to be acting like his mother!" He raises his voice.
"If me wanting what's best for him means I act like his mother, then so be it!" I shout, losing my temper. "It's not any of your business, anyway, so screw off!"
"He's a drummer for my band, shit is affecting Mötley Crüe, which makes it my business, and you don't know shit about what's good for him!"
"You're impossible to speak a lick of sense in to, so I'm going home. Leave me alone." I shove him hard enough that he actually stumbles back a couple steps, giving me time to open my car door, but I quickly regret it when it slams shut, catching my fingers in it.
And he's completely unapologetic, knocking back a swig of whiskey as he watches me try to calm the excruciating pain in my fingers with tears coming down my face.
"Oops." He mumbles. "Look, just get in the fuckin' car and I'll driv-" I use my unharmed hand to snatch the full bottle of alcohol from him, smashing it on the pavement and he gives me a black stare.
"Oops." I spit out.
I don't even think he's mad about the wasted bottle of perfectly good liquor, until he's suddenly grabbing me by my upper arm, hauling me roughly to the passenger side.
I'm tossed in to the car with little regard as he slams the door, walks around the car and gets in the driver's seat, grabbing my Bible off the roof of my car.
"You can give me your keys or I can hot wire the damn thing, it's up to you, either way you will be seeing Tommy tonight and apologizing. We're not suffering all because you're being a little bitch." He tells me with little room to argue and I dig in my bag for my keys, trying to ignore the aching throb in my fingers on my other hand.
He takes the keys and throws my Bible in the backseat carelessly, causing me to cringe and he notices it.
"Sorry." I barely hear him, but I know he says it.
Once we get to their run-down apartment, I stomp inside, not acknowledging Vince or Mick, or Tommy, who looks at me as if he's just seen Jesus himself.
I go straight to the kitchen and dig through drawers and cabinets for any type of over the counter meds for my throbbing fingers that are turning black and blue and swelling up.
"Uh, Hey, Vivian." Vince's flat, sarcastic voice carries to the kitchen and I slam a drawer shut. "You know you can pitch a bitch fit tantrum at your own house, right?" He asks next and I let out a loud "ha" in response.
"Can I help you?" Nikki asks me in a critical tone, leaning against the counter and I dig through the drawer by the sink.
"You have done enough." I refuse whatever he's about to offer and he sighs.
"I didn't mean to slam your fingers in the door." He admits.
"You what?" Tommy's asking from the living room and I raise my brows, seeing my moment of opportunity as the lanky drum player steps to the kitchen to confront Nikki.
"Nikki slammed my fingers in the door of my car." I inform him but say it loud enough for Vince and Mick to hear.
"And she smashed our last bottle of Jack." Nikki snaps back. "And it was a full bottle." He's pointing at me accusingly.
"You did what?!" Vince and Tommy nearly shriek out, looks of major loss on their faces.
"Oh my goodness, I completely forgot going a few hours without whiskey is going to kill you morons."
"You'd be surprised." Mick states, laying on the couch with his eyes closed as he listens to our disagreement.
"I'm sure you've forgotten a lot being that you haven't acknowledged that any of us are even fucking alive for over a month, now." Vince cuts in and I ignore him after I find a bottle of Tylenol, opening it, oblivious to the guys as they all say "no don't."
Just as soon as I try to pour a couple pills in my hand, my palm is filled with white power and they all wince. They groan a little as some of the pile falls on to the floor as if it's painful for them to see it go to waste.
"Well, that's not Tylenol." I say, carefully pouring the powder back in to the bottle. I put the lid back on and toss the bottle on the counter, not having many words. Other than, "I'm not surprised."
"You're not mad?" Tommy asks me, motioning to the bottle and I bite my tongue at first but shake my head a little.
"Not my health. Not my problem." I reply, about to walk out when Tommy grasps my wrist and looks at my damaged hand, and Vince glances at it, letting out a breath.
"Ya know, I can go to the store and get something over the counter." He offers.
"Thanks." I give him a small smile, looking at Nikki who's staring at me. "Devil-Spawn has my keys." I tell him. "If you ask him nicely for them... I'm sure he'll still find an excuse to abuse you."
"Fuck you." Nikki throws at me.
It's not in a smart tone, or even an angry one. He just sounds exhausted with fighting with me and I breathe out, feeling guilty.
He gives Vince the keys, and the blonde leaves us to our own devices.
Not long after the door closes, Tommy clears his throat and looks down at me, about to say something.
"I was out of line." I interrupt him, his face in shock at my words. "When we had that argument, I was being too sensitive and overreacted. I know you didn't mean it how it came out when you said your priorities have changed, and I'm sorry for not giving you time to explain. I'm very proud of you, I'm not disappointed that you won't finish school because you're going after what you want, I was just upset because it was out of my control and I'm sorry for being that way about it." I cut to the point.
"I know what I'm doing, Viv." He assures me with the inkling of a grin, nudging me gently. "There's nothing out of your control that you need to be freakin' out over. I'll be fine."
I glance at the stash of cocaine I just discovered and he follows my line of sight, frowning slightly.
Before he can say anything, Nikki's grabbing the bottle and putting it back where I got it.
He looks at me, not saying a word, but he doesn't have to speak in order for me to hear him loud and clear: "don't say a fuckin' thing about it."
So I don't.
I would continue to get that look throughout our relationship. Anytime he even sensed I was about to advise against doing anything vice-related, I would get that look.
"Don't say a fuckin' thing", "Don't piss on our fuckin' parade", "Don't ruin the party", "Don't start this shit, Vivian", were all said with one glint in his seemingly dead, hazel eyes, and a very slight twitch of an eyebrow, matched with the clenching and unclenching of his jaw.
I, surprisingly, wouldn't argue with him. I don't know if it's because I was afraid of what would happen if he were to lose his temper in an altered state of mind, or if me trying to control his addictions would be the thing that would make him leave me, but I became very good at keeping my mouth shut and not saying a fuckin' thing.
Vince soon returns with the over the counter pain killers and a zip lock bag filled with ice, and I raise a brow at the make-shift ice pack when he holds it out to me while I'm sitting on the counter, talking to Tommy.
"Lady at the register said get ice on it and we don't have any so I had to borrow some from some lady in the building next door." He explains. "And it took a lot of flirting to get it."
"Oh." I take it, putting my aching fingers under it. "Thank you, Vince, I appreciate it." I add and he smirks.
"You can pay me back, ya know." He raises his brows and I nod.
"If I ever have a spur of the moment thing where I want to do something incredibly stupid that will completely confuse me and screw me over, I'll let you know when and where." I assure him and he winks, handing me the bottle of medicine before stepping to his bedroom.
I notice the clock on the wall, seemingly out of place with the rest of the crappy interior, it's the cleanest thing in here.
It's nearly nine o'clock, and I need to get home, not to mention the boys are about to head out for a night on the town anyway.
I hop off the counter, reaching for my keys, but Tommy stops me.
"Tommy, I have to get home." I tell him.
"Just call and tell them you're staying with Tansy or something and crash here." He suggests. "I haven't seen you in a month and I missed you."
I think about it, knowing my parents will probably ask questions whether I get home tonight or not. I wouldn't have another opportunity to stay with guys until I move out, anyway, and what my parents don't know won't hurt them.
He gives me those pretty brown eyes, begging silently like a puppy, and I sigh, thanking God my parents didn't go to church and see me leaving with Nikki. Maybe there's a reason they happened to get sick with allergies this particular weekend.
"Where's your phone?"
In every part of my being, something was screaming at me to just go home. Looking back with 20/20 vision, perhaps that nagging feeling was the God I prayed to, trying to keep me from what was inevitably bound to become my only and most lethal vice.
The Devil works hard, after all.