Kiss of Death- Dave Mustaine Fanfiction

Wish Away the Nightmare

Jigsaws falling into place
There is nothing to explain
You eye each other as you pass
She looks back, you look back
Not just once
Not just twice
Wish away the nightmare
Wish away the nightmare
You've got a light you can feel it on your back
You've got a light you can feel it on your back
Jigsaws falling into place - Radiohead

Today the movie I starred in released to the public. It was a huge hit. The general consensus and reception for the movie was that it was way too violent and was way too mature to be accepted by everyone. But what were you going to expect anyway. This was the eighties for crying out loud. Sure different forms of media were getting to be much more experimental and much more boundary pushing than before, but that still doesn't mean that our work was looked at favorably.

However, I couldn't ask for anything else. I was happy. I finally starred in a real movie and now I was about to look for more projects to be a part of. You on the other hand were still with Metallica, however, I could notice the growing tensions between you and them. Whenever I had some spare time to myself I went to go and see you and your band practice and perform. Sure you guys were educative about playing at small clubs together, but seeing you guys break out into fights about how a measure was suppose to be played or about who was currently acting like a douchebag seemed to now be a daily occurrence now.
You were also drinking even more than usual now. But not only were you dabbling with the typical normal stuff like alcohol and marijuana, you were now using cocaine and heroine. You never brought it around me. I guess it shamed you for me to witness you with narcotics on your person. However, I began to see you intoxicated a lot. You would come home with your clothing and hair a mess, your walking patterns disorderly, and just a complete wreck in general. It broke my heart to see you like this. For the first few times you came home high like this it was just laughs and giggles. You were just an obnoxious excitable man-child. Nothing more, nothing less.

However, in 1983 you weren't your typical dumb happy high self. You were livid, outraged, must most of all destroyed and broken. You came back home quite drunk and disorderly as usual as I was reading through a script. Your eye were blotched red, your face was drenched in tears, your clothes were sloppy, and your Flying V was sloppily hung across your shoulder.  I stood up in surprise a bit hesitant to try and approach you. You stood there detached and broken. You suddenly threw your guitar on our floor and ran to tightly hug me and sob into my chest as I tried to calm and cease your crying.

You were never like this before. When we were younger you told me about how crying was a sissy thing to do, and how crying showed vulnerability and weakness in a person's character. You vowed to never cry in front of me. But this was different. Your family, your friends you have grown so fond of, have kicked you out with no warning and no second chance. As soon as you fond someone to get close to you were kicked out along with your stuff, while they keep all of your music and write it off as their own. 

For the rest of the day you laid within my lap miserable, weepy, and dreary with bloodshot eyes as you began to sober up from your high. You continuously mumbled to yourself about how you fucked up, and let me and yourself down. "Come on, let it out." I urged you as you continued to softly weep. I tried to comfort you, whisper sweet nothings in your ear, and comb my fingers through your hair, but to no avail. However, after about thirty minutes you finally tired yourself out and went to sleep. It was still relatively early in the day. It was only about 11 in the morning. They kicked you out really early in the morning, and you arrived home only about 15 minutes later. I quickly got up from my position on the bed to tuck you in. I then went to the kitchen to try and assemble together some sort of breakfast for you since I doubt that you have ate anything  before you came here, and beer wasn't a meal.

I set the food down next to the bed on the nightstand. However, to my surprise you were already up and in our bathroom. You began to wash your face rubbing away all the sleep, grease, and tears that was evident on it. You seemed tired and weary. Your face certainly showed it. Afterwards you sat down and began to take off your old clothes and throw on some new clean ones.  

You kissed me and said that you were going out. However, unlike before you seemed unusually happy and perky. You were the complete opposite from earlier. You were beaten down from the world yet now here you are going out trying to form a new band. As you closed the door behind you I couldn't help but let out a soft sigh and have a faint but sad smile appear on my face. 

I was so stupid. How come I didn't see it before, rockstar? You were merely covering up your pain. While, you were physically by my side you were metaphorically running away from me. You were unraveling in front of me earlier, and you still were despite your happy go lucky attitude that appeared out of nowhere. But it wasn't in you to tell me how you felt. However, while you were out there searching the streets of LA for your new band members and setting up your Jigsaw pieces so that they would fall into place for you revenge against your former bandmates, I was trying to wish away the nightmare of what would be our growing 'fame' and public reception.