Long Hard Road Out Of Hell (Marilyn Manson) ON HOLD

Pistol Whipped

Marilyn's POV

I knew it was a shitty thing for me to do, not telling Dixie about moving back to America, but when she told me about how she never really had friends, I wanted more than anything for her to have some. I'd known I had to go back to America. My mangers rules were simple, "go to England, pick up the girl, come back." Of course I stretched the rules a little, I decided on staying there for around two months to make sure Dixie was happy and comfortable with me before taking her away to another country. I'd hoped she'd be really excited, as she'd mentioned many times that she'd always wanted to go to America, but that definitely was not the case.

I expected her to be angry, but never this angry. She wasn't kidding when she said she needed anger management. She was screaming, swearing, and kicking at anything she came into contact with, which included me. I tried to console her, however I couldn't get closer than 30 centimetres as she screamed, and I quote, "get the fuck away from me and don't fucking touch me, you lying bastard" while shoving me back with more force than I'd expected. She was little, but boy was she strong.

I also knew it was a shitty thing to leave the house while she was in that state, but I was worried that I might do something I'd regret and it gave me and her time to cool down. Once I had walked around the block a couple times I went to enter the house, and could here her crying from the window to her room. As soon as I shut the front door it went quiet, and I went upstairs to check on her. Even though it was highly unlikely, I really hoped she'd at least made a start on packing, we had to be at the airport by six and it was half past four already.

I knocked on her door but there was no answer, so after a while I opened the door anyway. She was on the floor, curled up into a ball with her arms rested over her knees, her chin rested in her arms. Her makeup was everywhere and I could see tears shining on her cheeks, not to mention the ones threatening to pool over from her eyes. I knew I should've tried to comfort her, or say something to make her feel better, but she never accepts those things so I decided on saying the first thing that came to my mind.

"Have you not packed yet? You're going to make us late for the flight."

"Good," she snapped. I was starting to get a little annoyed with her now. I know it's the last thing she wants to do, but refusing to cooperate isn't going to help.

"Have you been crying?" I asked stupidly, I already knew the answer. She turned away from me so I couldn't see her face anymore, only the back of her well kept green hair. I went downstairs and grabbed a box that I wrote "Dixie's Random Shit" on and brought it back up to her room and proceeded to put in what it said on the box. Within seconds, Dixie was up on her feet and had her tiny pale hands on the other side of the box.

"Stop right fucking now Manson, I swear to God," she said in a deep, authoritarian voice. I had had enough of this bull shit.

"Dixie, stop acting like a little kid," I snapped. "I know you don't want to go, but we are, so fucking deal without." I had probably been to harsh on her as all the fight left her body and she simply let go of the box and walked out of the room without saying a word. I carried on packing all of her things, feeling guilty as hell, and with the help of Chandler, put everything in the moving van.

"We'll drive behind you until you reach the airport. If you could sign here, then we have consent to put these in the plane under your name," the lorry driver said. I quickly signed the document and went back inside to get Dixie. I called out her name, but there was no answer. I got Chandler to help me look around, and the more places I checked, the more worried I got. What if she ran away? What if she went back to the care home? What if someone came into the house and took her? All these thoughts were swirling around my head, but we're quickly flushed away when Chandler called me.