I Hate You, Don't Leave Me (D.L)

Lonely Existence

Lindsey Buckingham smiled weakly at the people who passed him by. He waved limply, not feeling at all up to socializing. He’d just gotten off the phone with his ex-girlfriend and band mate, Stevie Nicks. The conversation had started calmly enough but, as their conversations usually did, had ended in a volatile altercation between to the two ex-lovers. He hated to argue with her; she’d been the love of his life for almost 10 years. He still loved her in a lot of ways, but he was never sure they’d ever be able to get on ever again. The thought of him still arguing with Stevie even when they reached their 70's made Lindsey both sad and a little bit amused. He eventually reached the bar at the party he’d arrived at. “A coke and rum, please.” Lindsey said politely to the bartender, who nodded and walked away to get a clean glass. Lindsey looked around the room; full of people and still no one he wanted to talk to. How he wished Carol Ann were here. He turned back around just as the bartender was placing the glass of coke and rum down onto the bar counter. “How much?” Lindsey asked, pulling his wallet out of his jeans pocket. “That’ll be $2 please, Mr Buckingham.” Lindsey smiled weakly again, handing the bartender two $1 coins and taking his drink. “Thank you. Have a good night.” The bartender said, putting the coins into a lock box. Lindsey weaved his way through the crowd, trying to find somewhere quiet to sit before he felt he was ready to socialize with anyone. He finally found the bedroom of the apartment where the party was being held. He closed the door behind him and stood by the bedroom window. He’d never realised how lonely L.A. could be.

Lindsey woke with a start as the bright Californian sunshine shone through his bedroom window. He looked around sleepily; there had been no Carol Ann that night, not even after the party. “Probably with one of her friends.” He said to the empty room, propping himself up with his elbow. He rubbed his eyes, looking at his bedside table. The clock read: ’10:07AM – January 23rd 1979’. Lindsey sighed; he was late for his booked studio time. But for once he didn’t care. He still felt bad about his argument with Stevie the night before and just wanted company. “Then again, a guitar is just as good company as a person.” He got out of bed and went to shower.

“Good morning, Demetria. How are we today?” Demi flinched as her bed covers suddenly flew into the air. Looking around groggily, Demi spotted a woman folding up her bed sheet. “Agnes!” She yelled, pulling herself into a ball to try and keep warm. Agnes shook her head. “Why on earth do you insist on sleeping in your underwear, Demetria? What if something happened and you needed to get up. You wouldn’t look decent!” Demi looked up at Agnes, scowling. Agnes was her grandfather’s personal assistant. Demi had grown up with this woman around. After her grandmother died, Agnes was always there to help Oliver, Demi’s grandfather, in raising her. Demi watched Agnes walk around the room, analysing her. Agnes was a short, well-built woman in her early-sixties. She was born in England and came to America when she was 23, so still had an English twang to her accent. She was once married to a nice man named Jim but he died just before Demi left home to go to college. That was almost 3 years ago. In that time, Demi had nearly completed her degree, become a popular face in the city of New York… and her grandfather had died. This put Demi in a situation that she never wanted to be in; she would now inherit her grandfather’s music empire.