DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #123- cherry jam

 يدوب روحي يدوبني

⚠️ violence, PSTD, drama and trauma ⚠️

'You're the only one who would touch her, trust me brother'. Jerry speaks, and his fucking, unmotivated hate towards me, even now that he's on the brink of being spread over the table by Sean, like he's butter and the table is toast, gives me the pukes. Okay, I'm shaking, having a legit panic attack, praying that noone ends up hurt by this unnecessary violence skit, having a thousand side thoughts that make Gerry's crap seem irrelevant in comparison... but how fucking lame is this? I'm feeling like shit already, my every limb is shaking frantically, but he's adding salt to the unhealed wound, he's spitefully playing around Sean's 'don't touch her' of a minute ago, and he's having great fun making me feel like I'm just... the shit under someone else's shoes. Or the shit and that's it. By saying that no sane man would dare to touch me, except his very pissed off bandmate who's got an obvious thing for me, and his hand gritted around his neck. Sean is gripping him tight, so tight that Gerry's face has turned a whole different, never seen before, intense shade of red, and he's gasping for air ... then how come he's still able to speak? I don't condone any kind of violence, not even in the form of mere choking, but did we really have to hear the bullshit he had to say on my account? I didn't have to, and I didn't want to. But I had to, and now I'm just sniffling and staring at the tips of my shoes. Humbled, sorrowed, and very very weak. Feeling downright useless because I can't do anything to make this shit show stop. If I tug Sean's arm, he's gonna snap at me and tell me to 'fuck off' again, and I want to avoid it desperately. I'm still doing the crybaby over his first and only 'fuck off' blurted out at my face, I'd be a mess by the second one, and it ain't exactly what I want for myself. I'm having a total breakdown, while the remaining of the guys are cackling, squirming, taking sides with Sean, cheering like this is everyday stuff to them, and Bessie is giving away hints of wanting to leave this shitstorm. Yikes. I hope she doesn't leave, because I need her to stick by my trembling hip so bad.

'I won't say a thing 'cause I don't wanna die'. Mike chimes in, revamping and bringing back to glory his very same words of not so long ago. Aka, of when we were talking about the (impossible) eventuality of Bessie and I getting it on in front of two quarters of Alice in Chains. Different setting, same words. Just a very bland, very Mike way to say that he'd totally touch me, if he wouldn't risk being unalived by his drummer, if his hands were to land on me even by accident. No surprise here, at the end of the day Mike is the same guy who told me he wanted to get me on all fours, when I asked him circa the whereabouts of the mysterious Sean with the Honda Four, back to that night at Cuntrell's place. He's also the same guy who squeezed my ass and asked me if I was still looking for Sean, the day I showed up backstage in Oakland. This is ewwww inducing, but if I ain't throwing up, and if I ain't feeling any gag reflex ... it's because Starr is acknowledging me as his bandmate's exclusive item, aka girlfriend, aka untouchable territory, and I vibe with this. He's politely telling Gerry that he doesn't agree with him, when he says that no sane man would touch me, 'cause he'd touch me if he could. And he's making Sean 'laugh', just when he's on the brink of slamming Gerry on the table. I wish I were laughing too, because there's really an element of humour in Starr's remark, and the average, lightheaded Cherry would be laughing at this... but not this Cherry of the minute. I'm wounded, having a panic attack, holding up my surgery scar à la Napoleon... and wishing I had an option to black out drunk right now. Instead of having to witness what I just know I'm about to witness.

'I'm the only one who can touch her and still have hands. Piece of shit'. Sean speaks, exactly his very last few, witty words, before he reverts to full belligerent, does what I'd never want him to do... and he slams Gerry over the table. So fucking hard that I'm aching for the Cunt, even if I can't stand him, and I'd have all rights to be happy that he's finally getting his ass beat. He's just getting what he's asked for... and I know it well, but my PSTD is making me sympathyse for him, instead of making me wish that my boyfriend would break his every bone. The impact of the blondie's back over the hard surface gives me all the bad goosebumps, and brings me back to a capsule in the world where tout court violence is totally normalised. But it must be totally normalised here in the Alice camp too... because in the literal blink of an eye, aka the small break I allow myself to have from this crap, I see that Bessie has already headed to the exit door, and that Layne and Mike are following her like the imaginary trail of footsteps she's left on the dancefloor is made of gold. Mercenaries. Fucking dogs. They're all happy because Gerry got his back crushed onto a table, and they walked out of the crime scene with clean hands, but with great amusement in their eyes. They were cheering for Sean until a second ago, like he was the paladin of justice and their best friend in the world, now they just don't care anymore, and they're jumping ships because that's what's convenient to do, to their lame fucking selves. I'm crying, shaking, looking away (more like, trying to look away) from my boyfriend punching an already dishevelled Gerry in the face, and noone is here to grab my hand as the shit show unfolds and my panic attack gets worse and worse after every punch gets thrown.