NO WAY IN HELL! (P2) - Gothic Trauma

NO WAY IN HELL! p2: Gothic Trauma - Chapter Eleven

Jeordie/Twiggy's POV:

I scowled as he reached his hand down as an offer to get the fuck off the ground.

I slapped his hand away harshly. "Fuck off Swede, I don't need your fucking help.."

I winced as I picked myself up from the ground, a now bruised tailbone throbbing through my body.

Tim chuckled. "My my, what a mouth you have" and with one quick, sudden movement, his big hand yanked my body up by the collar of my dress, and I squeaked as I was lifted from the ground.

He leaned his face close to mine, the smell of stale cigarette smoke flowed through my nostrils as he made a disgusted, scowling face.

"I suggest you watch your tongue, White!" He growled, and I spat right back at him, my bloodied saliva hitting him right between the eyes. "Go fuck yourself!" I snarled.

And before he could throw me hard against the wall, a booming voice echoed though our ears, and I let out a sigh of relief.

"Skold! Out" Marilyn growled, his finger pointed towards the exit door where some of the fans were standing.

Tim looked back at me, then let go of my colllar, pushing me back against the damp, concrete wall.

He curled his lip up at me before he left, then making a flirty face to Marilyn, "see ya pretty boy" he waved as he squeezed through the exit.

I let out a sigh of relief again, and Marilyn put a hand on my shoulder. I only gasped a little bit, as this is as close as we'd been in a few months, due to his own self segregation from the band, apart from rehearsals.

"Apologies, Jeordie. He hasn't been on the best of behaviour lately" he mumbled quite angrily, his jaw clenched, obviously pissed.

I only nodded and looked at my feet. "It's okay.." I meekly spoke.

Brian looked at the side of my head, I could feel his stare burning holes into my skull, yet I refused to look up to meet his eyes.

He sighed and dragged his hand from my shoulder, walking further back stage to the meet and greet. Honestly, I didn't even feel like going. I didn't want to be around my fans at the moment, let alone the rest of the band.

And so I pulled a leather jacket from a wooden chair next to me, and pulled it over my shoulders, as well as the hood over my head. I had no idea who's it was, and I didn't care.

I just needed to get of here, and have vodka shots, and there was, thankfully, a bar just down the road.

The night was cold and I pulled the jacket further up my neck to trap in my body heat, but lost.

Many many streetlights blurred my vision, and the echoing sound of excited screams and arguments rang throughout the street as I got closer to the bar.

Usually I'd be frightened, wanting Marilyn to at least be by my side for protection or just comfort.

But I was just that pissed and done with that I couldn't give a fuck less if I got beaten up right now.

I took two steps into the bar and cigarette smoke immediately hit me in the face, making me think that I'm pretty much up for one right now.

A few steps more and I planted myself on a bar stool , putting my finger up casually for the bartender. He came over almost immediately, and he smiled warmly.

"Jeordie White huh?" He asked, laughing a little bit. I smiled back.

"Yeah man, that's me" I chuckled and looked down, and I heard him chuckle again.

"Alright, on the house man, what can I getcha?" He was still smiling and he leaned against the bench.

I looked up and met his eyes, a smirk meeting my lips. "Surprise me pretty boy"

He blushed and laughed, looking down then looking back up. "Gotcha"

And he leapt off.

I smiled to myself. Cute.

My eyes wandered around the room, nobody really seemed into the goth scene here, which I think I might need. Just a break from everything, just to feel like a normal person again.

Not long after, the bartender came back with a pretty big glass full of something that looked like poison.

He smiled as I immediately picked up the glass and took a mouthful, downing it pretty quickly, and I cringed hard as it ran down my throat.

It felt like death had slid its cock down my throat, honestly, and I knew exactly what it was.

The artist's drink.

I sighed and looked back up to the battened who was smiling away viciously. I laughed.

"Don't drink much absinthe I take it Jeordie?" He asked, chuckling.

I shook my head "nope", and downed another few mouthfuls, kinda getting used to the burning sensation, and it wasn't too bad.

By the time I had finished cringing and whining about the taste of the absinthe, I had downed my second glass, and it was about time that I got at least a bit drunk.

As gay as I thought that cute bartender was, we had a pretty in depth conversation. He's pretty straight.

"So what did you even come here for anyway, where's the rest of the crew?" I only just noticed a slight Australian accent.

I sighed. "They're off signing girls tits and getting photographs with the fans"

He chuckled. "And why aren't you?"

"I saw someone I didn't need to see, and I needed to get out, go for a break yknow?" I said as I sighed again.

He didn't ask any further questions or press me any harder. He just nodded and made a face. "Yeah man, I get ya"

When he left my side of the bar, I felt myself shiver a little bit, getting a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I feel as if that person that I didn't need to see, will find me eventually, and get me back for five years ago.

I just wish I had a form of protection.