Beautiful Mess || Johnny Rotten

Chapter 29 : The American Dream

"America!" Violet exclaimed, sitting cross-legged on the bed. John stood in front of her, his expression conflicted.

"When? And... for how long?" she asked, her voice rising as she tried to piece it all together.

"We're set to leave in two weeks," John said, rubbing his face with a sheepish look. "The tour's all over the States, so... I don't know. Maybe six months? Give or take."

"Two weeks? Six months?" Violet jumped to her feet. "You only just got back from Berlin!"

"I know, I know," he sighed. "But we're still banned from playing in the UK. This is the only option."

"The only option?" Violet's eyes narrowed. "So what—I'm just supposed to stay here like some good little housewife, waiting around for you to come back?" She threw her hands up, clearly exhausted.

"That's not what I'm saying, and you know it," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Then what are you saying, Johnny?"

John fell silent, his eyes fixed on the scuffed wooden floorboards, avoiding the girl standing before him, waiting for an answer.

"You knew what being with me would entail" John said, trying to reason with her.

But Violet cut him off, sharp and fast.
"What—never getting to see you? Barely hearing from you? Always feeling like I'm on the outside of your life?"

John's jaw tensed. "Or maybe you just thought the Pistols would never actually go anywhere!" he snapped, his voice rising as he finally met her eyes. "That we'd burn out like every other no-name band, and I'd just come back to you with nothing!"

"You know that's not true!" Violet fired back, her voice cracking with frustration. "I've been there—every gig, every rehearsal, every insane idea you and the boys came up with. I've supported you through all of it. Don't stand there and act like I haven't!"

John's jaw tightened. He couldn't deny it—she had been there. Always. Even in the moments when, truthfully, he'd wished she wasn't.

"I just..." she faltered, her eyes dropping to the floor. "I hate missing you all the time. I hate waking up and reaching for someone who's never there. It feels like I'm always holding on to pieces of you... and never the whole thing."

John's heart skipped at her words. He wasn't used to this—to being missed like that, to being cared for so deeply it ached. It caught him off guard, lodged in his chest like something fragile.

"C'mere," he whispered, his voice low. Violet stepped forward, pressing her face into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her without hesitation, pulling her in tightly. His chin came to rest on her shoulder as he exhaled a soft, weary sigh, like he'd been holding his breath for far too long.

"It won't be like this forever," he said, softly, carefully. The only words he could find to try and reassure her. But even as they left his mouth, they rang hollow.

He felt her press herself closer, clinging to him like she was afraid he might vanish if she let go—even for a second.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The night before John's departure, Violet spent every moment she could with him. She wore a smile, trying desperately to stay positive, but John could see through the cracks in her facade. He didn't mention it, because admitting it would mean acknowledging the same fear and ache inside himself.

John lay back on the bed, hands clasped behind his head, watching Violet as she moved around the room, methodically packing his suitcase. She'd insisted on doing it herself, needing something to focus on, and he didn't stop her, understanding it was her way of coping.

After a while, he couldn't hold back any longer. Sitting up, he moved to the edge of the bed.

"Vi," he said softly, but she didn't pause. He let out a long sigh, "Vi, love... please, just stop for a moment."

She stopped folding the jumper and turned to look at him. He reached out his hands, and without hesitation, she took them. Pulling her gently closer, he looked up at her from the edge of the bed, his thumbs tracing slow circles over the backs of her hands.

He released her left hand and brought his up to cup her face, gently drawing her down to his eye level. His gaze softened, flickering over her features as if seeing her for the very first time.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers—soft, slow, and searching. For a fleeting moment, it was as if time paused. Like he wasn't leaving tomorrow. Like six months apart wasn't waiting for them just beyond the sunrise. For that brief moment, it felt like everything was okay. Like they still had all the time in the world.

She shifted slowly, easing into his lap, driven by a quiet desperation to be as close to him as possible. His hand slid to her hip as she settled against him, fingers slipping beneath her shirt, brushing over the smooth, porcelain softness of her skin like he was trying to memorize it.

He eased them over, guiding her gently beneath him as he settled between her thighs. His body fit against hers like it belonged there. His lips met hers again, more insistent this time—full of the ache of goodbye, of everything he couldn't bring himself to say out loud.

Violet's fingers threaded into his ginger locks, tugging softly—not to pull him closer, but to ground herself. To remind her this was real, that he was still here, even if only for now.

His lips traced a path down her jaw to the delicate curve of her neck, leaving warmth in their wake. As he moved, his fingers worked deftly at the buttons of her shirt, each one undone with quiet intention.

He tugged the loosened shirt free, tossing it aside. In one swift motion, he pulled the jumper over his head, shedding it like a layer of hesitation.

Not long after, the rest of their clothes joined the growing pile on the floor, leaving them bare and vulnerable to each other. His hand slid to her thigh, gently hooking her leg over his hip as they quietly braced themselves for what was to come.

"Vi," John breathed, his eyes locked on hers. "I love you." The three words, unspoken until now, slipped from his lips effortlessly—raw and true. In that moment, it felt undeniable.

Her face brightened, eyes shimmering in the soft, warm glow of the lamp on their bedside table. He held his breath, heart pounding. "I love you too," she whispered back, her voice barely more than a breath.

Relief flooded through John, sweeping away the tension and doubt that had built up inside him for so long. It was like a heavy burden lifting, leaving his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. He breathed easier, his gaze locked on hers. Without hesitation, he closed the small distance between them again, their lips meeting in a tender, urgent kiss.