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A week later, Grace was smack-dab in the middle of detoxing, not that she particularly wanted to. She hadn't had the heart to tell Mick or any of the other guys at first, but she didn't want to get clean. She didn't want her head to be clear. She was perfectly happy with being fucked up all the time. The fact that she was killing herself didn't really bother her. She was glad Mick and the guys cared, but she just... didn't.
She'd been vocal about all of those thoughts with the guys since. All of them were fully aware that she almost definitely would use again if presented the chance, and because of it they were watching her like hawks. She couldn't even go to the bathroom without one of them asking her what she was doing. Though it probably should've, it didn't really bother her. She knew they were just looking out for her, and she also knew that eventually she'd find pills on the tour somewhere from someone. She could wait. She didn't want to, but she could.
Finally, at a show a few weeks in somewhere in Idaho, there was a club next to the venue. Grace managed to sneak away while the guys were onstage, donning someone's hoodie to cover her face just in case they had their security watching her too. She made it out of the venue pretty easily and walked down the block to the club.
Once inside, she could immediately tell that this was probably exactly the kind of place she'd wanted it to be. It was dirty; her shoes stuck to the floor as she walked and everything she laid her hands on was equally as sticky. It was trashy, too; there were multiple fights actively going on in different corners and she was pretty sure that a couple in the middle of the dance floor was actually fully naked and screwing. A place like this was bound to have just what she wanted somewhere. It was just a matter of finding it.
Just as she was really heading into the crowd to search, a sturdy pair of hands found their way onto her hips from behind. She was just about to drop an elbow to whomever's gut when she cast a glance behind her and found herself staring right at Jim's chest. She adjusted her gaze upwards to his face, annoyance flashing across her expression.
"We were on the last song when you left and every one of us watched you walk past the stage, genius," he explained, shaking his head. She strained to try and get away from him with no luck. He wasn't overly muscular or toned, but he was almost a foot taller than her and had arms that were probably the length of one of her legs and hands that almost felt like they could've wrapped all the way around her waist.
"I just... I need to blow off some steam," she told him, and he nodded.
"Okay, then come back to the bus and get laid or something. I'm not letting you find drugs in here, Grace."
His voice was sturdy, adamant.
"I liked you better when you were too shy to talk to me, Peachy," she said begrudgingly, rolling her eyes and turning back around to face in front of her.
She smirked, thinking back to when Jim had been too shy to even really look her way. It was kind of adorable, this hulking 6'6" guy who was the tallest in the band but also the most timid. She'd been glad when he'd warmed up to her; he was one of her best friends in the world now, one of the warmest and kindest people she knew, but in that moment in that shitty club she wished he never had.
Her eyes scanned the crowd, and Jim's voice was suddenly right in her ear.
"I'll carry you out of here if I have to, just so you know," he informed her, and she groaned loudly and turned around, ignoring the goosebumps that raised over her skin at his close proximity.
"Fine. Let's go," she said, defeated. He reached for her hand and she raised her eyebrow. He shrugged.
"I'm not letting you out of my sight."
She groaned again, interlocking their fingers and feeling like a little kid crossing the street as he led her out of the club. He held her hand all the way out onto the street and as they started walking towards the bus.
Everything in her wanted to snatch her hand away from his, to yell at him about how he was embarrassing her, but suddenly... suddenly, she didn't have the energy to argue. She left her hand wrapped up in his all the way to the bus almost a block away and just outside the door, she turned and looked at him in the dim light from the street lamps above them.
She could hear racket inside the bus; most if not all the other guys seemed to already be inside. She had no idea what time it was or how long she'd really been at the club, but she figured it was probably close to the time for them to leave.
"You okay?" Jim asked her as she looked around, her gaze landing back on him eventually. She shook her head.
"Not really. I don't want to be clean. Like, I really don't fucking want to," she admitted, and he nodded.
"I know."
"Why are you bothering then?" she asked him, genuinely curious. He shrugged, shaking his head.
"Because you're important. You're important to Mick, you're important to me, you're important to all of us," he told her, and she closed her eyes tightly, tears rising to them. He pulled their hands apart to level his onto her shoulders gently.
"I'm gonna regret this," she whispered, standing on her tiptoes and angling her face upwards so that she could just reach his lips. He closed the small gap that remained, kissing her gently and carefully.
His arms snaked around her waist slowly, holding her to him. Her hands found their way into the back of the t-shirt he'd had on underneath his stage jumpsuit, his skin still sticky with sweat. He kissed her harder at the movement, more unbridled and less like he thought he might break her. Her nails dug into his back at his change in pace and a small sound escaped her lips and floated into his mouth. He smiled against her lips and she absently thought about just how sexy confident Jim could be.
"Get a fucking room! Jesus Christ."
Mick's rough voice made them fly off of each other like he'd set them on fire. He opened one of the bottom storage compartments on the bus and shoved a guitar case inside, looking at them both in annoyance. Jim smirked at Grace before turning and walking away, up the steps and into the bus.
"You better not've found anything or I'll beat the shit out of you for that and for fucking with the Peach," Mick said to her quietly, closing the gap between them with a few long strides and studying her in a way that she knew meant he was trying to see if she was high. She shrugged.
"I didn't find anything, and I'm not fucking with him. He's sweet. He could be good for me," she mused, thinking about just how true that statement was for the first time. Mick nodded.
"He could be good for you, until you chew him up and spit him out," he replied, and though the comment should've probably hurt her feelings, it didn't. She didn't have the best reputation with guys, so it wasn't surprising at all that he'd be less than enthusiastic about her messing around with one of his friends.
"Would you rather me make out with the Peach or be off somewhere getting high?" she asked, mostly just because she knew exactly how he was going to respond and she wanted to end the conversation.
As expected, Mick just rolled his eyes and climbed aboard the bus himself, turning around to make sure she was following. She did, pulling the door shut behind her.
