𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐫

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞

758 words

1986 European leg of the Master of Puppets tour

As time went on, Metallica became more of a well-oiled machine than a band. They would play concerts, make albums, tour and do it all over again in a year or so. It was exhausting but it made a living.

All of the beer and headbanging made the band want to vomit but it was how they lived their lives. The rockstar lifestyle was not for the weak. Their lives changed in 1986, though. Everyone involved was forever changed after September 27th, 1986.

It was early in the morning when the accident took place but what led to the event just so happened to be the luck of the draw. By sheer luck, Lars wasn't the one who died. It was Cliff, why did it have to be the cool one?

Before bed the night before, the band drew straws to decide who would sleep on the top bunk of the bus. Cliff lost the bet and when the bus hit black ice while on the road in Sweden it flipped and crashed. Lars was the last person to find him. For years to come, he would always feel responsible for what happened. He and Cliff had been drifting apart days leading up to his death. Any time Cliff was mentioned, Lars didn't allow himself to feel sad because he knew that he would just fall into a deep depression.

The cold air in Sweden nipped at the remaining band members as they stood on the sidewalk near the wreckage. The rest of the tour was going to go on as planned but they needed to make funeral arrangements. They were all still in shock after they got the news from the hospital that Cliff had passed.

This wasn't supposed to happen. There weren't supposed to be any more replacements in the band. Kirk couldn't stop crying, Lars just sat in the snow in his underwear, and James's immediate reaction was to get angry. His drinking became more of an addiction and his mood was always sour.

His relationship with Veruca was strained severely. She just wanted him to let her in but that proved to be no small feat.

The girl was notified by Kirk, of all people, that James was in bad shape once again and he needed her help. "You're the only one that he asks for. I think that at this point he trusts you the most."

The guitarist had said to her. She drove the few blocks down to his apartment. He had gone so far as throwing out his TV. Glass from the window lay on the lawn, shattered and in pieces. The broken television lay scattered as well. He really was childish sometimes.

The door was unlocked when she opened it. James was on his couch in nothing but his boxers, normally this would be an exciting sight to see but with his tear-stained cheeks, he was just a mess. A shell of the man that he usually was.

"I don't want you to be alone, it hurts me to see you like this," she cried. He wiped away his tears and allowed her to hug him. His body engulfed her in the tightest hug possible. He let out all of his emotions into her hair, sobs wracking his body as he held onto her for dear life.

"Why did he have to go?" He mumbled into her hair. She then pulled back from the hug and wiped away his tears. "I don't know, honey. I just know that we all miss him dearly." She responded.

The day after Cliff's funeral, the band immediately had to start their search for a new bassist. It was heartbreaking all on its own. Their grieving came to a screeching halt when they had to hold auditions. They were never good enough because they weren't Cliff.

They'd never amount to him and that was the hard truth of it all. They had to settle. Jason Newsted, a fresh face to the music scene ended up as the replacement. He soon became a good friend to the band although the hole in their hearts couldn't be filled. And so, the band finished up the year's tour with a new bassist.

Their grievances had to be suffered in silence. Therapy wasn't the "manly" thing to do at the time so that was never an option for them. Veruca would drag James to the occasional therapy session, though. Their meetings would always end in sobs. Desperate cries for help...