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

First Impression

Demi and Carol entered the studio just as a plate flew across the room. Demi gasped; what had she just walked into? “You’re a fucking bastard, Lindsey Buckingham! How I was ever in love with you, I’ll never know!” Demi followed the husky voice across the room. It belonged to a beautiful blonde woman. She was dressed liked some sort of fairy rock goddess, silk and velvet hanging off her and huge platform boots peaking out of her long chiffon dress. “Well it takes a bastard to know one!” Demi followed the male voice across the room. It belonged to a tall, handsome man. He had tight, short curly hair, looking very out of place among all the long hair and beards. He oozed sex appeal, wearing flared jeans, brown boots and a thin shirt, which was open so much so that a lot of chest hair was visible. “Who are they?” Demi whispered to Carol. “That’s Stevie Nicks.” Carol replied, pointing to the beautiful blonde. “And that’s Lindsey?” Demi asked, pointing to the man. Carol nodded. “That’s my Lindsey.” Demi mentally vomited; she hated lovey dovey mushy stuff. Perhaps she and Carol wouldn’t be that good as friends. “What’re they fighting about?” Demi asked. “Who knows? They used to go out and it ended really badly. They always fight. I probably don’t help, being Lindsey’s new lady.” Demi rolled her eyes, thanking the heavens that she still had her Ray-Bans on. “Folks, calm down. The new boss is here and you guys need this studio.” Everyone instantly stopped and all eyes fell on Demi. She blushed a deep scarlet as J.C. came to get her. “You need to meet your semi-permanent residents. Maybe you can stop them fighting.” Demi stammered as J.C. ushered her through into the actual studio. Five people, including Stevie and Lindsey, sat in a line at the back of the studio as J.C. walked Demi into the room. Beside Stevie and Lindsey, there were two other men and a woman. The woman, who held a red cup of what was most likely alcohol, had short blonde hair and looked a little older than Stevie.  The other two men, who had the fashionable long hair and beards, grinned cheekily at Demi, as she got ever closer. “Demetria, this is Fleetwood Mac. Guys, this is Demetria Lovato. She’s the new owner of the studios.” All, except Lindsey and Stevie, smiled at her. They were too busy restraining themselves from killing each other. “Demetria, I hear you’ve got your grandfather’s temper. Mind putting your fellow Americans in their place?” Demi looked at the woman, who also spoke in an English accent. “Ah, yea. Christine is English, just like I am. As are Mick and John.” J.C. said, pointing at each of the other members when he the saw the look of confusion on Demi’s face. “Nice to meet you.” Demi said meekly, not daring to look at the still fuming Stevie and Lindsey. “Well? Will you put these little shits in their place?” Mick asked. Demi shrugged. “I have to be angry to put people in their place.” Demi replied. John laughed. “Stick around a while longer, love. You’ll get angry.” Christine stood up and walked over to Demi. “Want a drink?” She asked. Demi nodded. “I think I’m gonna need it.” Christine cackled. They walked over to a long table, which was covered with every type of alcohol imaginable as well as bottle caps full of white powder. “Want some?” Christine asked, noticing that Demi had been looking curiously at the strange powder. “No thanks. What is it?” Demi asked, feeling naïve. “What do you think it is? Fairy dust?” Demi turned around. Lindsey was stood behind her, mixing a drink. Demi raised an eyebrow, beginning to feel the temper inside her start to boil. “It’s cocaine.” Lindsey said, looking down at her, drink in hand. “I’m sorry if I don’t know the difference between cocaine and heroin or whatever it is that rock stars take these days.” Lindsey sneered. “How in the world do you expect to run this studio? You’re just a kid. How old are you? Sixteen? Seventeen maybe?” The anger quickly rose, reaching boiling point. “And who do you think you are, wearing your sunglasses indoors? Just ‘cause you own the place…” Snap. Demi had had enough. Taking her Ray-Bans off, she looked Lindsey in the eyes, anger seeping out of her. “That’s just it; I do own the place. So, if I were you, Lindsey Buckingham, I’d watch my back. Because unlike my grandfather, I don’t take shit from anyone, no matter whom they are. So just watch yourself. ‘Cause I don’t give a fuck who you are. But you should give a fuck who I am.” Demi slammed the drink Christine had given her onto the table and watched as some of it left the cup and landed on Lindsey’s boots. They both looked up from the mess, at each other. Putting her Ray-Bans back on, she smirked. “Oops.” And with that, Demi left the studio, leaving Fleetwood Mac and their entourage in shock and admiration.

Lindsey watched the new studio owner leave, not knowing what to do with all the anger boiling inside him. Never had anyone ever spoken to him in that way and he certainly wasn’t going to let people start now. Carol rushed over to him. “Baby, just calm down. She’ll learn her place here soon enough.” As she tried to calm him down, Stevie walked up to them, a smirk plastered on her smug face. “That’s your first mistake, Carol.” She said, making herself a drink. “What’d you mean?” Carol asked. Stevie took a sip of her drink, which happened to be the same thing that Christine had given Demi. “She already knows her place here. She owns the studios. What she says goes. So, if you want us to continue working here, then you’ll learn your place.” Stevie took another ship from her cup and then purposely turned it upside down, watching as the drink once again splashed onto Lindsey’s boots. “Oops.” Stevie said, mimicking Demi’s last remark before she had left the studio.