Beautiful Mess || Johnny Rotten

Chapter 27: Seventeen

Violet was at work, the quiet little pub on the corner of Marchmont Street—The Stag. It was just past midnight, the last few stragglers being ushered out onto the streets with protests of curses and jeers. One man was particularly persistent, lazily pounding his fists against the glass pane, his words a jumble of slurs and nonsense, slathered with the thick weight of alcohol.

This was the way most nights went at The Stag. Violet had worked there long enough to know its rhythm, its regulars, and the kind of chaos that came with closing time. She sighed, gliding the rag over the beer-slicked wooden table, soaking up the golden-brown pools left behind without much thought.

Her mind drifted. Ever since her night out with Chrissy, her name and face had appeared in almost every tabloid. The images haunted her, messy hair, lipstick smudged, leaning against Chrissy as if the other woman were her only tether to the ground as they left Dingwalls.

The Daily Mail:
MISS ROTTEN LIVES UP TO HER NAME
Last night, Violet Webb, girlfriend of punk icon Johnny Rotten, was spotted leaving Dingwalls in less-than-ideal condition. Johnny, currently on tour in Germany, was unavailable for comment.

NME:
ROTTEN TO THE CORE
Violet Webb, partner of Johnny Rotten, lead singer of the Sex Pistols, was seen stumbling out of Dingwalls in the early hours of the morning with an unidentified companion.

When questioned about her late-night antics, Miss Webb reportedly retorted: "What? Do you think this is the 18th century or something?"

The article continued, warning of the punk scene's influence: Should we be scared of the impression the punk rock movement leaves on today's youth? Could this be your daughter if things don't change?

Avoiding the sting of those headlines wasn't easy. Violet wasn't the sort to let words sink in, but this felt different. Johnny's opinion was the only one that mattered to her, and she knew coming home to the news would hit him hard. The thought of his reaction made her stomach twist.

A voice broke into her spiral of thoughts.

"Violet hun, what are you still doing here? Weren't you meant to finish at 8 tonight?"

Violet blinked, shaking herself out of her haze. Mariam, a thirty-something waitress with sharp, no-nonsense energy, was standing by the bar with her hands on her hips.

"Y-yeah, I was," Violet admitted, picking at a loose thread on the rag.

"Grab your stuff and get going, yeah? You don't want to be lingering in this grotty old place any longer than you need to," Mariam said, gesturing toward the door with a firm wave.

Violet nodded, forcing a small smile, and headed toward the back to fetch her coat and handbag. She took longer than usual, her thoughts dragging her back to Johnny. He and the band would be back tonight. The idea of him opening a paper and seeing those headlines waiting for him made her insides twist.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The Pistols disembarked from the plane, Sid being the first out. He stretched his legs with a groan and looked out at the relentless downpour and gray, overcast sky.

"Good ol' England," he grinned.

Steve chuckled as he followed behind. "Is it bad that I actually sorta missed this weather?"