rule number three

i'm your dream, make you real

sad but true - metallica

James sat in silence, anger crawling up his neck as he watched her like a hawk, dirty thoughts clouding his mind and contaminating his body as Robbie ran around the stage practically naked. Her velvet shorts crawled further up her ass the more she jumped and shouted, her jet black halter top slipped dangerously low, daring to expose her heavy chest. Her faded red converse carrying her as she bounced around the stage, her short black hair a mess around her flushed cheeks as she screamed the lyrics to the closing song.

Robbie Monroe. Lead singer of Frisk. And for the last 3 months, the bane of James' existence. And, despite being in arguably the biggest band in the world, she had still taken the opportunity to 'open' for Metallica. Her careless, hyperness and downright insanity certainly clashed with James' cool and collected persona. Constantly dragging his bandmates out to clubs, parties, even god damn line dancing, Robbie often claiming they needed to 'remember their youth', like he wasn't only 10 years older than her. It pissed him off to no end, how quickly his band mates had become enamoured with Robbie, how Kirk and her went to guitar shops together, how Lars and her never left eachothers sides, how even her and Jason went clothes shopping together! It's was downright ridiculous. Now it wasn't like Robbie hadn't made an effort with James, infact, unbeknownst to James, Robbie had quite the eyes for James Hetfield. Often proclaiming to her manager and best friend, Cherry, just how much she'd like him to follow through on his threats of 'throttling' her and 'teaching her a lesson'. No, Robbie had certainly made an effort with James, he just had no idea how to act around the girl.

James, just like every other man on the planet, was obsessed with Robbie. He adored watching her dance around their dressing rooms, screaming the words to her new favourite song, he loved watching her fuss about with her hair for an hour, only to leave it down and natural every time, he enjoyed nothing more than hearing her geek out about books and films. And he would never admit just how much he loved the nights where she would get too drunk to walk, letting him carry her home, and fall asleep safely in his arms. But despite his painfully obvious feelings for the girl, he had no idea how to reciprocate Robbie's feelings, too afraid her flighty and unserious manner would leave him with a broken heart and her with just another story for the press. So instead, he settled for moody scowls and cutting words, reprimanding her when she went too far, everyday pretending his body didn't crave her.

She finished her final song of the night, launching herself onto Tommys back, blowing kisses to the crowd and screaming about how much she loved them all. Then she came barrelling towards Lars, flinging her arms around his neck as he spun her in a circle, her infectious giggles catching the group. James only sat in silence, his body itching for her attention, no matter how much his mind tried to fight it. 'Dude that was awesome, one of your best shows yet', cooed Kirk, genuinely impressed with her performance. Robbie smiled in adoration, appreciating the compliment from one of her idols. She swiftly stole the bottle of vodka from Dave's hand, gulping it down as the overspill rolled down her chest, forcing James to readjust his pants. 'It was fucking awesome, how long till you guys are on?', she began, 'wait where's Cherry?'

Where was Cherry? What a great question. Cherry was...preoccupied. Pushed flush against a changing room wall, with her tounge stuck as far as possible down the mans throat. Safe to say Cherry was no where to be found or no where she would want be found. But that wouldn't stop Robbie, would it? Robbie marched around back stage as the men followed her like magnets, as she rambled on to Lars about the Stones new song. All of a sudden she stopped in her tracks, hearing the unmistakable sound of muffled and desperate moans, coming from one of the dressing rooms. Robbie, fuelled by liquid courage, burst open the changing room door, to find her friend in a somewhat 'compromising' position.

'CHERRY MARIE CAMPBELL, RULE NUMBER THREE!'

Cherry stood topless in the smokey room, a deep shade of red, clinging desperately to none other than Axl fucking Rose.