Living Like A Runaway

Every Rose Has Its Thorn

[A/N: This isn't exactly how the song used in this chapter was written, as I had to alter the story of its creation to go along with the this plot line. Check out Poison's episode of "Behind the Music" for the accurate backstory to this song. I did keep original elements incorporated, though. And again, I do NOT own this song, Poison does, and I don't own Poison, either.]

"You're going where?" Both Nikki and my dad blurted out at the same time. Axl rolled his eyes, taking a drag from his cigarette. He wasn't exactly the happiest about it, still- he even gifted me some pepper spray 'just for this trip'- but all three of them would have to get over it. 

I shrugged, making sure I had my old journal, a pen, my pepper spray, and everything else I needed in my purse. "Bret Michaels' house. He asked me to work on a song with him, and I said yes, because it's an amazing opportunity to collaborate with someone who is extremely talented, whether you like him or not." I glanced more at Nikki and Axl when at the last part; dad was actually a Poison fan as well.

Nikki rolled his eyes. "Someone's time of the month then, ain't it?" Axl snorted and I rolled my eyes.  

"What's it to you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. Nikki shrugged, rolling his eyes, and I frowned a little. "Sorry... Anyway, I don't know how long I'll be, so don't flip your shit if I take a bit." 

Axl pulled me in for a hug, resting his chin on my head. "I trust you,"  he mumbled, "But I don't trust him."

"I promise, babe, you have nothing to worry about, okay? And I love you." He told me the same back, and then, I was on my way.

I had to say, Bret had a nice house. It was stereotypical glam metal rock star chic, and I appreciated it a lot. Since Poison was aesthetically synonymous with Steel Panther, I instantly found the place to be very tasteful. "Stella!" Bret chimed happily, pulling me in for a hug. "So fuckin' glad you could come, girly! C'mon, we're writing outside, it's fuckin' nice out today. Uh, beer okay?"

I laughed, nodding. "Yeah, I'm good with whatever. Oh, and your house is beautiful, by the way!" Bret chuckled, thanking me and grabbing two bottles of beer.

Once we were settled out on his patio, Bret set down piece of paper with some lyrics scribbled on it. "So, uh, it's actually a pretty sad-romantic ballad. Last week, I was in the laundromat doing my laundry, right? Well, I went to call my girlfriend on a payphone, and I'm talkin' to her and shit, and then I hear this guy's voice in the background..." His voice trailed off for a second. "I started to write this song in there, but I couldn't get past the chorus. I dunno, I guess I don't know how to process any of it."

I sighed, looking at him sympathetically. "I'm so, so sorry," I told him, unsure of what to say. He sighed, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. He offered me one as well, but I refused. 

"Don't be," he assured me, "Guess it just wasn't meant to be. I'll be right back," he told me, and whisked off only to return minutes later with a guitar. "I'm gonna write the rest of the music with the boys, probably, but it might help us to hear the kind of sound I'm looking for?" 

Bret sang out the chorus with that magical voice of his: "Every rose has its thorn, just like every night has its dawn; Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song, every rose has its thorn..." It was an absolutely alluring tune, and his voice made it sound even more mystifying. 

"Holy shit..." I breathed out, a warm smile coming to my face. "Bret, that is absolutely fantastic!" A grin came to his face, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You have such an incredible voice, of course, and given the topic, it's just so beautiful! Those lyrics speak wonders, and I mean that."