Looks That Kill (Nikki Sixx FanFic)

Poison

Despite our pledge to remain "just friends", Nikki and I began to put distance between us. This just proved to me that we weren't friends at all. Far from it, in fact. After all, friends at least speak to one another, and I hadn't heard from Nikki in about a month.

Although Nikki's interactions with me grew less and less, the other members of the band continued to check up on me on occasion. But eventually, even Tommy and Vince disappeared from my life. Mick was the last member I spoke to, about a week ago.

He was supposed to call yesterday.

Sure, I could pick up the phone at any point and dial their number. I could call them all over to my empty mansion, have drinks, share stories, catch up on life. But I didn't. I couldn't. I had messed up that night when I kissed Nikki, and I'd exacerbated the situation by allowing him to walk out of my life.

I had no right to force myself back into his thoughts, especially if he was busy recording or touring. The last thing he needed was his fake ex-girlfriend pestering him.

Not only was I an ex, but I was a fake ex. He had no obligations to speak to me even if I called him, anyway. I figured it would be best if I just let him come to me. If he ever would.

Naturally, as bad luck would have it, my copy of the issue of Vogue finally arrived in the mail. The image of me, naked and lost in a state of pure bliss in Nikki's arms, only seemed to twist the knife that I felt was dug so deeply into my heart.

There were more shots of us hidden somewhere in the center of the magazine, but I couldn't bring myself to take a look at them. Solemnly, I stuffed the magazine underneath my bed and pretended it wasn't there.

This proved to be a horrible mistake on my part. I began to feel like the man in the story "The Tell-Tale Heart" by Edgar Allan Poe. The only difference was, rather than be plagued by the sounds of a beating heart, I was tormented by the sounds of Nikki's laughter, the image of his smile, the flashing of his eyes. I tossed and turned all night, my mind racing with thoughts and memories of the spiky-haired bassist.

I eventually tossed the magazine into my recycling bin, taking solace in the fact that at least I was saving the environment, even if I was destroying my memories of Nikki.

Sarah noticed my change in behavior, but stopped pestering me about it after multiple attempts of asking me what was wrong and getting no reply. One day, she finally realized that Nikki was no longer a part of my daily-or even weekly-schedule anymore. His absence proved to be the answer she had been looking for, and all of her attempts at cheering me up turned into plans to keep me busy.

Thankfully, Sarah began filling my schedule with photoshoots, commercials, catwalks, and cocktail parties. I was appreciative that I had her around to keep me on my toes and my mind off of my old friends. After all, sitting around with stuffy, old people and sipping champagne was better than laying in bed, staring at my ceiling, and waiting for my phone to ring. Always hoping it was him. Always being disappointed.

My days got darker and darker. That is, until he showed up.

I was sitting at another one of those lame, business parties that had been arranged by my modeling agency. Basically, it was an excuse for a bunch of balding men to oggle at hot, tight bodies all night. If they were lucky, they could even manage to cop a feel and blame it on the wine. Not that many of my peers minded. These men had money, and many of these models exploited their bodies shamelessly for a piece of the pie.

While groups of men laughed and chatted around my table, I sat alone in my red cocktail dress. A glass of champagne dangled loosely in my fingers and I had a far off look in my eyes. I was busy day dreaming, wishing I was anywhere but here right now. Anywhere.