𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐫

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞

591 words

A month after James and Veruca met, James came to her apartment after he called her begging to come over.

He needed to talk to someone, anyone except for the rest of the band because he already went over the issue with them. Metallica needed a new guitarist, that much was true. Once James came in her wordlessly took a seat on her couch.

Veruca did the courtesy of getting him something to drink before he spilled about what happened. "What's the matter, James? What did you want to talk to me about." He sighs and rubs the back of his neck before looking at her.

"It's Dave, we're done with him. He's an asshole and we're kicking him out." His voice was surprisingly calm at this moment. "He tried to kill our fucking bassist last year." Her eyes widen as she crosses her arms. "Cliff? He tried to kill Cliff?"

He shakes his head and downs the rest of his water. "He tried to kill our original bassist. He came to his fucking house and poured beer into his bass and amp. Ron tried to play it but he was electrocuted."

The purple-haired girl sighs and leans her head back on her pillow. "That's awful. I'm glad you're getting rid of him." James couldn't sit still anymore and he was now pacing the room. He was breathing heavily and kept clenching his fists.

"I just wanna- I wanna fucking kill him! Why does he have to be so arrogant? He's the best guitarist we've got I don't know how we'll find another one." He put his hands on his head, his face was now beet red. "Breathe, baby. Breathe. It's going to be okay." Veruca encouraged as she put her hands on his chest.

She made the bold move of kissing him to stop him from hurting himself. She grabbed the collar of his leather jacket and leaned up to kiss him. He instinctively moved his hands to her waist and after a few moments, he moved his lips in sync with hers. Once they needed air, he rested his forehead on hers.

"Can you do that when I'm pissed off about something stupid in the future?" She giggles and nods in response. "I think I can arrange that."

Once the band arrived for practice, it was time to unleash hell onto Dave. Veruca was brought along for moral support in case shit hit the fan and Dave or James went haywire. "So, Dave, there's something that we have to talk about." Lars started as he fiddled with the tape on his fingers.

"Oh yeah? What do you assholes want now?" Dave responded as he turned his attention back to tuning his guitar. "You're out of the band." James blurted out, his face stone cold. By this point Dave had thrown down his guitar, nearly breaking it in the process.

"Well what the fuck did I do?! I didn't do anything!" James stood up, now eye level with the raging guitarist.

"You almost fucking killed Ron! You fuck everything up and your ego has gotten too big!" Dave grumbled and scoffed, putting his hands on his hips. "When's my flight?" James handed him a plane ticket.

Veruca tentatively put a hand on his arm. "James, babe, calm down." She advised. The room was quiet, as if you could hear a pen drop. All that was heard was James' heavy breathing. Dave grit his teeth and stormed out.

"Well, I guess shit hit the fan." Lars remarked with a playful scoff.