Don't Tread On Me // Kirk Hammett

1. Buried Deep

march 2nd, 1996

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I walked around the tiny bar absent mindedly, pouring and mixing drinks for people who were drunk beyond belief.

I was fucking exhausted, I've been working my ass off this week, so I only got about three to four hours of sleep a night. Occasionally I'd sneak a shot to try and wake myself up a bit.

It was a small local bar in San Francisco, I'd gotten a job here when I was around 18. So I've been here for about five years now.

I was broke and homeless, and nowhere else would take me. I somehow convinced my boss, Carlos to hire me. He was a guy around his mid- fourties'. He was fairly quiet, but he was a good guy that was willing to help me out, and I'll forever be grateful to him for that.

I've been on my own since I was 13. Both of my parents were alcoholic junkies, who beat the shit out of me most of the time. One day I just couldn't take it anymore and I ran away, never looking back.

They never tried looking for me either, no police reports were filed, no missing posters. I was honestly glad they never did, I honestly probably wouldn't be here anymore if they had ever found me.

Unfortunately I was subjected to a lot of sick, twisted shit that no kid should ever have seen nor experienced. A lot of the shit I went through taught me to keep my guard up, and have a poker face at all times.

Not that I liked to be this way, but it was the only way to survive on my own out there. I've done shit I'm not proud of just to get some food. Eventually it just became the only thing that I had known.

If you open your heart you get hurt, if you don't then you'll be okay.

The sweet, heartbroken, little girl I once was, had been buried down so deep that she'd more than likely never resurface.

After everything with my parents, I never wanted to let anyone get close to me ever again. When the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally, only degrade, and beat you like you're nothing but a punching bag, you never know what a stranger may do to you once they get close enough.

So I never had any friends, let alone boyfriends. I just couldn't do it. Anytime I came close I pushed them away.

Of course it got lonely, but again as long as I stayed on my own I'd be better off.

I sighed heavily as I continued pouring shots for the people drunkenly slumped onto the bar. Eventually turning my attention to the band that was setting up on our small stage.

They had flashy outfits on, so I almost instantly knew they were some wannabe glam metal band. We always had small local bands play here, Carlos was always one who liked giving people chances. Some of the bands were actually really good, but others not so much.

I intently watched the guitarist tuning his white flying-V. He was a younger guy, maybe around 18-19.

I'd always had a fascination with guitar, when I was 15 I had rummaged up enough money to buy a shitty electric, and I've been obsessed ever since.

Music was my ultimate escape, from the sick reality I called my life. It was the only thing that made me feel something, it was the only thing I'd ever known that would never turn its back on me.

I was a big metal girl, I loved it since I heard black sabbath playing on the radio when I was a kid. The heaviness of it always seemed to relieve my inner pent up rage in some way.

I was extremely angry as a teenager, I had everything built up inside, and I never let it out, so music and guitar was my only form of doing that.

The band started playing, they weren't terrible, but they honestly sounded like a knock-off version Def Leppard. I like Def Leppard, but in this case I don't mean that in a good way.

I looked up at the clock, seeing it was a quarter til 10. I sighed with relief that my shift was finally over.

I went to the back and packed up my stuff, then started to make my way out of the small crowded bar, when I felt someone grab my ass.

I looked back to see some old guy, who looked like he was on crack, snickering while looking at me.

"What's the matter? You ain't like it?" He cackled, taking a gulp of beer.

I was used to this happening, it honestly is a fairly frequent thing that happens here. That doesn't mean it didn't piss me the fuck off. Unfortunately I didn't have the energy to put up with him tonight.

"Go fuck yourself, you old bald prick." I grumbled storming out of the bar.

I pulled a cigarette out of my old leather jacket, lighting it as I walked along the sidewalk toward my small, shitty apartment building.

After about 10 minutes of walking in the cool night breeze, I made my way up the creaky wooden stairs to my apartment.

I walked inside, grabbing a bottle of jack from inside of my fridge. I took the lid off, chugging some of it, then flopping down on my couch.

I drank some more of it, mindlessly watching the old TV that sat on my floor. I wasn't totally sure what was playing, I think it was like Back To The Future or some shit.

Eventually after downing that entire bottle, I blacked the fuck out.