***A/N This is another A/U story that I've been thinking about off and on for the last few months. Because I love The Dance Era about as much as I love Tusk and Rumors I had to write this, and I hope you all like it. Standard content disclaimer, sex, drugs, rock star behavior blah blah blah...This is a fictional story portraying highly fictionalized versions of real world rock folks. And I do mean highly fictionalized, the idea and the plot belong to me but any recognizable copyrighted stuff is owned by some billionaire in Beverly Hills, or Sweden. Also the timeline is going to be a bit choppy because Alternate universe. Lindsey's POV***
Los Angeles California 1997
"Jesus Christ Lindsey could you be anymore transparent? How about you fuck her on Mick's drum kit, huh? Is that next?" I've made a horrible mistake. Horrible, awful, irreversibly bad, monumentally fucking stupid, tragic, Greek even. How did "Lindsey I'm pregnant" turn into "False alarm, you still have to marry me though". Wait I know because the second I did propose and try to do the so-called honorable thing the woman I've always wanted to be with told me on no uncertain terms to go fuck myself sideways with a jagged glass dildo. I do love that woman, colorful phraseology and all. The two women I'm referring to in the vaguest of terms are my current girlfriend.
Kristen Messner
And my former girlfriend/eternal soulmate
Stevie Nicks.
Kristen started off as something to stave off boredom and loneliness, she ended up being a nightmare. Stevie started off as puppy love, turned complicated semi-abusive obsessive love, turned heartbreak, turned mental break down, turned re-kindled puppy love, turned to rage induced hate. And while she has every right to feel all of those things toward me I'd rather she wipe all the horrific nonsense from our past and start off like we're two people who've never met. But that shit ain't happening.
"I asked you a question Lindsey-" God how am I going to marry this woman? "I'm sorry honey what did you say?" something about me fucking Stevie on stage "I asked you why you two performed THAT song again! I told you I don't like what it implies" ah yes, our weekly Bleed to Love her fight. This never gets old "It's part of the set baby, I can't change it now" I don't want to. I wrote that song for Stevie, I wrote that song so that she would know how very much I'm still in love with her. now I pelt it out at her on stage as loudly and angrily as she screams Silver Springs at me.
"That's such horseshit! One call to Mick, that's all it would take" why should I give her the satisfaction? Why am I marrying her? she's not pregnant. Lindsey snap the fuck out of it! The stagehand walks in front of our room and I push past Kristen to chase him down the hall for a scotch and soda. My fourth one of the night, my seventh drink overall. When I get back I watch in exasperation as my---er-fiance digs through my gig bag.
"What the fuck are you doing?" my head is pounding, my throat dry. Stagehand guy forks over my scotch and I drain it in two sips asking him for another one. He looks worried, I look pissed. He gets me my God damn drink "I'm trying to find my tennis bracelet, the one you bought me for my birthday" wiping sweat from my brow I plop down in the chair next to her "First, this is my private stuff. Your jewelry shouldn't be in there, second I didn't buy you that bracelet princess. You bought it with my credit card and didn't tell me until I got the fucking bill" rolling her eyes Kristen ignores me.
"Jesus, have another drink and fuck off" love to, those are my two favorite hobbies of late. Fucking off and drinking, can't do coke anymore since one more good bump could send me into a massive epileptic seizure. And marijuana is, according to Kristen, so 1960's. apparently I'm socially okay to be pickled by bourbon, scotch, or whiskey. There's a tap on the door frame and Kristen shoves my bag to the ground in time for my drink to be delivered.
