𝓘𝓷 𝓶𝔂 𝓯𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 //James Hetfield

Chapter 3 - 1967 Camaro

After I got home I put myself to sleep. Maybe I'll get some sleep. I haven't slept well since my mom's gone. It's always nice to sleep normally sometimes. My eyelids are heavy and I fall quicker than I did the last few weeks.

*I'm lying on my side in my bed above the covers. I don't have the time to know what I am doing when a hand falls gently on my waist.

This tattoo.

It's him.

He gently puts his hand under my shirt and pulls me to him by the waist.

"-My girl." i hear him whisper in my ear, his breath slowly attacking my neck.

I bite my lip. God, I'm so wet. I clench my thighs together and I can't help but start to rub against his growing erection. Fuck he seems so big.

"- Already so horny for me huh?" he says laughing against my neck.

"- Don't worry, I'll take care of you." he adds.

He climbs over me and starts attacking my neck. I want to whimper his name but I don't even know it. I put my hands in his hair. I hold him like he is my oxygen. I can't let go.

"-Mmhh..." i moan.

He lifts his head and smiles at me.

"- I -*

I suddenly wake up to the sound of an engine outside. I don't know what to think about this. I don't even know his name! Plus he's way older than me.

Well, a little dream never hurts anybody, right?

I slide my hand in my panties just to check. Jesus, I'm so wet. I'm down so bad.

It's not like you will ever see him again Ann, it's okay.

I got up and looked out the window. The sound of the engine came from a moving van. The new owner of the house next door was moving in.

Today I don't have work. I have to get some groceries, that's all. I decided to stay in my pyjamas and stay chill for the day. Well I sleep in my underwear and no shirt, so I put on some shorts and a Doors shirt.

That's my shit, I'm into 60s rock. The Doors is my favourite band. Apart from the 60s and very early 70s i don't know shit about music. 70s, 80s, 90s and after : no idea. My mom used to listen to Guns n'Roses sometimes and she loved Motörhead so I know who Lemmy Killmister and Axl Rose are (mom told me he was an asshole by the way) but that's it. I've always been stuck with the 60s. I know the classics, you know GnR, Queen, Nirvana, Metallica, etc... even though i could never recognise one of their members if they were put in front of my face.

I go down to the living room and put on some music. There is my grandmother, reading softly. I go kiss her on the cheek.

"- What did you put on my dear?" my grandma asked sweetly.

"- Jefferson Airplane, i know you love them." i tell her.

"- Oh yeah, it reminds me of my teenage years."

I know my grandmother saw so many things going on around L.A in the 60s/70s, she said she wrote them down in her notebooks and she'll give them to me one day. I know I'll probably have them when she's gone and I don't want that. So I'd rather not know until a long time. I sit down next to her and put my head on her shoulder. She puts her hand on my hair and begins to caress them slowly.

"- It seems you have slept well sweetheart. Had sweet dreams?" my grandma asks.

I cough a little bit.