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

Personal Jesus

Marilyn's POV

I grabbed my head and squinted against the bright light as stumbled out of the door. I should've stayed in bed, no matter how high my alcohol tolerance is, my pain tolerance is next to none and this sun was making my head feel like it was about to concave. I was perfectly fine snuggled up to that fiesty green haired feminist but no, I have to actually walk and talk and engage in social interaction.

I looked for the car and then realised I gave Chandler the weekend off. Great. Walking wasn't an option because the ground was moving around beneath me and if you think I'm going to cycle you have another thing coming. The only option left was to catch a bus, but the only problem is, it's me. If you put a slightly tipsy Marilyn Manson on a bus full of overly loud Americans, some of which want to scratch your eyes out, it isn't going to end well. I could just go back in the house and get Twiggy to drive me, but then again he's still pretty wasted and I don't want Dixie to be completely alone.

I sighed heavily and trudged towards the bus stop. I was nearly there when I remembered I could just call a cab, and that seemed much more inviting than a bus full of strangers. It wasn't hard to find a cab bank, and I quickly hailed one and was soon on my way to my managers head quarters. It was a short ride, which I was glad about, but before I entered the building I checked up on Dixie.

"Hey, you alright?" I spoke into my phone, leaning against the wall of the tall building.

"Yes Marilyn, I'm fine, you've barely been gone 15 minutes." I could literally see her rolling her eyes.

"I know, I'm just making sure you're okay. If you're bored you can always do something with Jeo- Twiggy but I doubt he'll want to go out anywhere."

"I don't wanna go out either, I'll probably just play with Lily or call the guys back home. I haven't done that yet and I should let them know I'm fine. Oh, and I know who you're referring too when you say Jeordie by the way." She laughed.

"Okay, well it seems you have everything sorted. I'll be back in an hour or so. There's food in the fridge and-"

"And a spare key on the counter. Goodbye Marilyn." She finished my sentence and basically forced me to get on with what I'm supposed to be doing and to stop freaking out over the fact I'm not with her. I hung up and walked into the building.

"Good afternoon Mr. Manson. Mark's on the seventh floor, you can go straight in." The reception said to me with a smile. I thanked her and got into the elevator and clicked the button for the seventh floor. I took this time to think about what he's going to say. Would he be mad? Probably. Would he blackmail me to make Jeordie take the tweets down? Definitely. Would he say something about Dixie? He better fucking not.

The elevator doors opened and I walked down the carpeted corridor to the familiar room. I knocked on the door and walked in without waiting for a reply. I was met with Mark, my manager, who was sat at the end of a long black sparkly table that would usually sit 12 people but for this occasion, there was only 2.

"Ah, Marilyn, please, take a seat." He motioned towards the chair at the opposite end of the table. I hated it when he was all calm and professional. It reminded me of an evil villain, but then who am I to talk?

"I assume you know why I called you here on such short notice." He said, interlacing his fingers together. I shuffled in my seat. Anything formal makes me feel extremely out of place.

"Yes, I do. What I don't know is why it's such a big deal."

He scoffed at my remark. "You don't know why it's a big deal? Well, allow me to explain for you. This girl, a random nobody, gets put into your life completely out of the blue, right at the peak of your career, and immediately starts messing things up, more importantly, negatively affecting your image."