فيزا
'Sean... Jennifer? How the fuck do y'all know eachother?' A voice speaks from behind us, and before I can turn and slap Mark Frangipan so fucking hard he forgets my name which ain't Jennifer, because it's him speaking and I know it as I have PTSD from his voice and I could recognise it even if everyone around here was shouting... he emerges and stands well in front of Sean and I. Delusional as heck, full of shit and sense of entitlement, couldn't be any other way 'cause that's how all lead singers except Layne are bred, kinda tipsy as his usual (he's Irish, always drunk and into calling me Jennifer, so he has more things in common with Sean than I'd ever like to admit), and quite proud too. Looking at us with a hint of scrutinising in his face that... well, reminds me of my mom. More like, that gives me the same exact vibes and sense of discomfort as if it was my mom looking at us. Looking at us and judging us. And hating us too, as in her delusional book, this nose pierced, long haired, homelessly dressed guy over here and I were never meant to be together because he's out of my league. As if he was. As if it wasn't the other way 'round, even. Bullshit.
Right now, I'm feeling a little uncomfortable, couldn't be otherwise 'cause my creepiest fan, the guy who once dared to follow me all the way back home from work and tried to bed me at least a hundred times is ruining my moment with my boyfriend, for no reason but trying to make sure how the heck do we know eachother ... but I'm feeling WAY more mad at Sean than at Mark, 'cause he lied to me when he told me I had nothing to worry about but choosing what I want to do after we leave this backstage together. I get it, it was a white lie, probably also a very cryptic, very Sean way of letting me know that for as long as I'm with him, nothing bad can happen and no one can fuck with me, not even a guy who'd notoriously do everything in his power in order to fuck me, including sacrificing his own mother ... but I have all rights to feel like wanting to take a swing at him, right? I know that he will handle this for me, I know that he'll handle this a thousand times better than I ever could myself, I know he will slander me too at some point, calling me Jennifer like it's my first given name as he hasn't done that in TOO long, and he's dying to do it... but none of these things can give me the slightest kind of relief. None of these things can make me wanna slap him any less. None of these things can make up for the sense of discomfort and awkwardness I'm feeling right now. On the contrary, all these things make me wanna get in charge of the whole situation and answer creepy man Mark's 'question' before Sean does it for me ... and perhaps does it in his usual, sarcastic, questionable manner.
So, a quick glance at the shituation in front of my eyes, huh? I'm sitting on a Marshall amplifier, all hugged up with a part Irishman who, back in the day, found out about my existence and realised he had a fascination for me through my porn movies. Then he met me in person, fell in love with me beyond my appearance and my 'secret' set of sexy skills (or at least so I like to believe), he never judged me, he always treated me as a princess no matter my career 'choice'... and in the end, he pulled me out of my movies 'cause he was a little possessive... I mean, protective of me. We're being heavily scrutinised by yet another, part Irishman music dude who found out about my existence through my movies too... and who didn't stop stalking me and trying to fuck me even when I called Sean's policeman father on him. Thrice. And in the third instance, Sean's policeman father issues a restraining order (that he ain't even respecting and that he's never really respected) against him. He's never once respected me either, he's always treated me as if I were a low league woman just because my job in porn made him think I was one, but that's another story I don't wanna talk about now 'cause throwing up with an empty stomach ain't my intention. So, I'm sandwiched by part Irishmen here, I love the Irish, all of them, especially Sean, but I ain't loving this. How uncanny is it? And most importantly, how do I pull myself out of whatever this is? How do I make sure that Sean ain't gonna open his big fucking mouth and say something either regrettable or embarrassing here? Or something that might piss Mark off and make him become even more ... obsessed with me? How do I prevent Sean from showing me off to my not very secret admirer, because I'd hate it if he made me go down in history book as a fucking... toy to brag about in front of his friends? How do I find the cheek to pipe in, pull a Bianca Jagger of whenever someone would ask her how she met Mick of the Rolling Stones (not Gossard), and tell Mark that 'when you're pretty and intelligent, you can easily meet anyone you wanna'? Or whatever she said, it doesn't matter that much? 'Cause that wouldn't apply to me as I wasn't the one who tried to meet Sean... but Sean was the one who tried to meet me instead? Since way before I even knew him and his Honda Four existed? By asking about my name and my number to one of my most notorious porn co-stars? Who, unironically much, happens to be his ex girlfriend's best friend? And his lead singer's girlfriend too? And a bitch too, 'cause she shouldn't have shown our sex tape to anyone, as it was made just for... fun? Yikes.
