by Amity Cross
We came hard together, clutching each other desperately, our bodies sticking together with sweat. Delicious annihilation. I knew I'd feel where he'd been all day, especially after last night. I had never been taken with so much force and just thinking about it made me want to go again, but West pulled out and settled beside me, not taking the condom off yet.
"I have to go out today," he said, stroking my face. "I have to make up for the lost time."
I wasn't sure of his meaning, but he didn't have to stay in Melbourne with me. He didn't have to rearrange his super important rock star schedule for the best fuck of his life. I was a big badass girl. "You didn't have to stay with me, West. I could've handled all that crap on my own."
"I wanted to."
"I wasn't going to run away." That was what he was worried about wasn't it? If he took his eyes off me for one moment, I'd bolt the other way? That all that was left of me was a puff of smoke on the horizon like some bat shit crazy cartoon? He was the first person who'd stayed. He was the first person I'd ever told about my parents. Dear old Daddy who'd blown my Mum away with a shotgun then followed her into the abyss. He'd stayed after hearing all of that. He'd stayed after dealing with my terrible defeatist attitude. He wanted the mega bitch Blair with all of her casual sex and foul mouth. I was still trying to find out what was wrong with him.
Maybe it had something to do with his past. Two people brought together by sex and broken by different things. Maybe that was our affinity with each other, not that his cock tasted delicious. That was certainly the cherry on top. The icing and the sprinkles, too and I was more than willing to suck it all off.
"I know you wouldn't have," he said. "I wanted to help you. I care for you, B and I know you seem to be having a hard time believing it-"
I pressed my lips to his, silencing his mid-sentence. A typical bitch tactic on my part, but I wasn't ready to have that conversation yet. The deep and meaningful, 'I care about you without telling you, I love you' conversation.
"I'm going to have a quick shower," he said, frowning.
I let him go, alone, and I lay in bed, my eyes on the ceiling, listening to the running water in the next room. I still didn't know what I was meant to feel about our situation. Healthy relationships weren't really my forte. Thinking over my many failed attempts, I began to feel depressed. If the same thing happened with West, what was I meant to do then? I didn't know what it was about me that kept fucking everything up, even when I tried.
The shower stopped running and I sat up, wrapping the sheet around myself. I'd given up a long time ago and now that I was supposed to start giving a fuck, I found myself struggling. My natural reflex was to run and disappear. West walked out of the bathroom in a waft of steam, looking sexy as all fuck in nothing but a towel and my worry began to subside.
I took in the lines of his tattoos as he dressed, running my eyes over his perfect ass and he shot me a wicked smile.
"You've gotta stop looking at me like that, beautiful."
"I have this urge to sink my teeth into your tight ass cheeks," I said, clenching my thighs together.
Hissing through his teeth, West ran a hand over his face.
"What are you getting dressed for?" I asked as his eyes began to darken. When he got that look, I knew he was full throttle turned on.
"Got stuff to take care of," he replied not explaining. "Before I forget, I got Furlough to get one of those prepaid credit cards for you." He rifled through a bag and pulled out a white envelope. "It's got a few grand on it."
He was giving me money? The thought hadn't crossed my mind and maybe it should've, but this uncomfortable feeling began rising in the back of my throat.
"There's nothing I want," I said a little too meekly for my tastes. I didn't want his money, but the fact was, I didn't have anything. I didn't have a job to go back to, I didn't have a home. All I had was a couple of shitty boxes of stuff in storage and a few hundred dollars in my Bank Of Whatever Freedom Account. And their idea of fucking freedom came at the price of the seven dollar account keeping fee per month.
"It's London," West said with a cocky smile. "You'll never know what you'll find. It's yours to do whatever you want with."
"I don't want it."
He frowned, sitting on the bed next to me, caressing his hand over my bare legs. "I don't give a flying fuck about the money. I want to take care of you. I want you to enjoy yourself. I'm sorry I can't be here all the time, but I can't leave you locked up in a hotel room for the next four months. You can go out, you know." His phone started to ring and he picked it up with a sigh. "It's Furlough. I have to go or I'll be late."
I smiled thinly. I knew he'd have to go off on his band duties and I'd be left to play with myself, so why was I still being a haughty little bitch about it? He'd been upfront about it and I'd promised to try. I had to change. I was done giving up.
"If it's any consolation," West said with a smirk, "I'll be thinking about my cock in your greedy pussy all fucking day. You know how uncomfortable that'll make me?"
Leaning over, I captured his mouth with mine, sucking on his perfect lips. He dropped the phone and it fell to the floor with a dull thud as he buried his hands into my hair, his tongue teasing mine.
West had kick started my heart and I didn't know if I hated him for it or not. Bottom line was the fact I felt like I owed it to him to at least try. He did save me from potential rape from my now ex-boss after all. He had that going for him.
"There's gunna be a lot of stuff going on," he said, shifting back. "VIP parties, meet and greets, sound checks with media, photo ops. If you don't have anything to wear, get yourself something."
"So I can be your arm candy slut?"
"No," he said, pulling my onto his lap. "I want you there as my girlfriend."
My gaze met his and I just froze. What the fuck was I meant to say to that? I'd never been anyone's girlfriend before. I'd never been anyone's at all.
West brushed his nose against mine, his chocolate eyes piercing mine, willing me to say something. When I didn't move, he said, "That's what we're doing, right? This surpassed fucking a week ago."
His phone began to ring again from wherever it had fallen on the floor, and his eyes squeezed shut in frustration. I was majorly thankful that I'd been saved by the fucking bell, because I didn't know the answer to that yet. Scratch that. I knew the answer, I still hadn't admitted it to myself yet.
"Go," I whispered. "I'll find something to do."
"I fucking hate leaving you here." An agonized look passed across his face.
"Me too, but I get it. You've got work to do." I got up and pulled him against me. West smelt absolutely delicious from his shower and I was still naked and sweaty, the scent of our fucking clinging to my skin, but he didn't seem to care. He buried his face into the crook of my neck and sighed.
"Go," I said again, pushing him gently toward the door. "I'll be here when you get back."
As the door finally closed behind West and I was alone for the first time in more than a week, I found myself wondering if I actually would.
I stared up at the grey London sky and could hardly believe I was here.
Turned out the hotel was near Oxford Street and I'd heard it was good for shopping, but crazy as fuck busy. I stood on the corner of Oxford Circus, and took everything in. Masses of people flowed around me and cars, black taxis and those big red double decker busses roared up and down the street. It was a fucking circus alright. The world went by so fast, no face was ever the same. It was a city I could get lost in…a city I could disappear in.
I felt all my old tendencies banging at the door and I sighed sharply. It was day fucking one, for crying out loud. Of course it'd be hard to deal with.
Glancing at the shops around me, I could see a H&M and TopShop on either corner. I had no idea what else there was to do, I hadn't looked at a guide book or anything, so all I had to do right now was wander through the shops and along the street. Crossing at the pedestrian crossing, I was j
ostled side to side in the river of people and I walked and walked until I found Selfridges. It had that designer department store look to it, kinda like Myer back in Melbourne. The windows out the front were done up with elaborate displays. Armani, Chanel, Gucci…all stuff that was out of my stratosphere, but being the rebel I was, I went inside anyway.
The security guard looked me over as I wandered through the door and into the eye bleeding lighting of the perfume department. I wondered if he thought I was going to steal something or he was checking me out. I could never tell, but it was probably the former. When in doubt, aim low.
Leaving the designer stink behind, I found myself in amongst the women's clothing. I wandered through the racks and picked at things that caught my eye, some hipster indie song playing on the sound system. Looking at a few tags, I snorted at the prices. So it cost a fortune to look like you we're dressed by your grandmother in pastel floral prints.
Finding a section that was a little more my speed, all dirty denim and graphic prints, I did a double take when I saw the hottest leather jacket I'd ever seen in my entire life. It was a black biker number, each arm studded with small silver spikes down to the elbows. It had a prickly exterior just like me. It was the most perfect jacket and it made me want to rub up against it like a cat in heat.
Flipping the tag out, I grimaced at the price. Three hundred and fifty pounds. People always said when you go to the UK, double the price of everything to get the Aussie dollar equivalent. That meant it was seven hundred bucks. For a fucking jacket. That was almost two months rent. It seemed like a stupid frivolous thing to be spending so much cash on and once upon a time, I'd walk right out, find something else in a discount store and DIY the studs myself, but this time I had a credit card loaded with dollars I couldn't fathom.
Somehow it didn't feel right spending West's money. It was one thing letting him pay for the storage back in Melbourne, but it was another having him pay my way. I shook my head and resisted the urge to call myself a stupid needy, dependent bitch. I'd learnt at a young age never to count on anyone but myself and having West doting on me, giving me money and flying my sorry ass to the other side of the world, fucked with everything I knew about humanity. Having someone care for me was alien.
I let out a long sigh and glanced at my reflection in a floor to ceiling mirror, the bright lights of the store shining around me. How the fuck was I meant to live otherwise? Get a side job sucking off roadies? Performing stripteases, giving lap dances? It wasn't like I could get a job being on tour with Affliction. I could never afford to pay my own way. West knew it, of course he did, he'd told me he didn't give a flying fuck about the money...but I did.
Fuck me, I thought, stop being such a stupid bitch and just buy the fucking jacket.
The woman at the counter looked me over as I paid with the card West gave me and I got out of the place before someone called me out like the fraud I was currently feeling like. Phony, fake, gold digger.
I couldn't stop thinking that maybe I was out of my depth. West and his lifestyle would swamp everything that I was and I'd either drown or float to the surface. His life was too big for me and knowing that I mightn't ever be able to handle it, put a crack in my heart I wasn't sure I could stitch back together.
The desire to run was rising and I was tempted to let it overwhelm me.
Fuck me, I needed a drink. I strode back the way I came, the bright yellow paper bag swinging back and forth in my hand, searching for somewhere to ease my tumble dryer of a mind until West came back to do it for me.
Five solo-interviews down, en-route to the sixth, I banged my head into the window of the town car, the dull thud reverberating through my tired brain. Furlough shot me a look from the seat beside me, but I flat out ignored him.
The last appointment on the list for the day was a radio station in central London. One of those commercial places that threw advertising in your face and relished whatever stupid gossip and trend was the flavor of the day. I was fucking dreading it, since that photo of Blair and I back in Melbourne had reached international levels as of a few days ago. The only thing that calmed me down about being at this stupid interview was the fact that the guys were going to meet me there.
The car pulled up out the front and I was surprised to see another already waiting. I hadn't spoken to Joe or the boys since the night of our last gig back in Melbourne and fuck it was good to see them. Joe was on the footpath, a fag hanging out of his mouth, looking at his phone. I'd known him since forever and he'd always been the voice of reason in every hair-brained scheme we'd cooked up back on the farm. Fame hadn't changed him one bit.
Rob and Mick stood just inside the foyer, talking to some woman who I guessed had something to do with the radio station. When I got out the car, my best mate's face lit up with a goofy smile.
"It's good to see you, man," Joe said, slapping me on the shoulder. "It feels like a fucking age."
"Hey," I replied, my thoughts still on Blair despite my mood slightly picking up.
He dumped his cigarette into a tray and we went inside, Furlough hot on our tails.
"Hey," Rob exclaimed when he set eyes on us. "Who the fuck is this guy?"
"It's been less than two weeks," I said, rolling my eyes.
"Two weeks is a long time when you've been dumped for a woman," he replied with a chuckle.
"When do we get to meet her?" Mick asked. "She's gotta be something else if she's got you by the balls."
"She's incredible, mate," I said, and I couldn't help the stupid grin that spread across my face.
"It's good to see you smile like that, man." Joe shoved me from behind.
"Yeah, but when do we get to meet her?" Rob asked.
"Friday. At the Paris gig."
"What? Not tonight?" Joe joked. "We can all get some grub, get pissed and catch up with your woman. There's things she's gotta know." He wiggled his eyebrows at me suggestively.
"Ahh, shit," I cursed, running a hand over my face. "I've gotta ease her into this. You fucks will scare her away."
"C'mon guys," Furlough said, ushering us deeper into the radio station. "We're on shortly."
Thankful for the break in the guy's badgering about Blair, we were shown into the studio and introduced to the presenter. He was some popular shock-jock with an afternoon drive program. It wasn't a music station, even though they played whatever they were paid to, it was commercial bullshit. Our last album had gone number one in the UK, so that meant we were played on rotation on these kinds of stations. It also meant we had to entertain the idea of interviews and call-ins if we wanted it to continue. It fucked with everything I wanted out of a music career, but it was one of the things that helped put money in the bank. No money equaled no tour and no next album. It was a vicious money grabbing circle.
The interview started off well, they usually did, but I knew it was a tactic to build up a little good will until they dumped the question on you that you didn't want to answer. All the radio shock-jocks did it and in the past, I'd thrived on giving them a witty comeback, something full of sexual innuendo, but this time I was dreading it. Who the fuck knew what my reaction would be? I had feelings for Blair, there was no doubt about it, but I wasn't sure the lengths I would go to protect her from all of this until it was time to get down and dirty.
We answered stuff about the tour, our record, the money making questions that gave us our plug. When the guy finally landed the question, I knew it was gunna make or break me.
"So, West. Everyone's talking about that photo from Melbourne and the recent photos that were snapped of you two at the airport and the burning question is, who is she?"
"It's none of your business," I snapped, my hackles rising. I saw the look Joe shot Furlough, but I didn't give a flying fuck. My personal life was remaining personal and sure as fuck Blair's would.
The interviewer paused for a second, shock passing over his face, but kept going. I had to give him points since this was live on air, but fuck, he pissed me off. "Oka
y, well, we won't go there. The European summer tour is going for four months, are you going to treat fans to any new material?"
I felt the vein in my forehead throbbing and Mick came to my rescue.
"Maybe," he said. "We've done it in the past, so you never know."
Furlough gave me a look and nodded toward the door, but I shook my head. I'd chucked tantrums during interviews before, but there was no way I was storming out live on air. Especially now. I was trying to change and deal with my addictions, not feed them. I didn't want oblivion anymore. I wanted Blair.
This overwhelming need to see her flared through my veins and I knew as soon as this stupid as fuck interview was done, I was outta here like a bat out of hell. When the on air light flashed off, that's exactly what I did. I pushed out of the studio without as much as a thank you or goodbye and stormed through the offices, heads turning to watch my abrupt departure.
Bursting out onto the street, I saw the car idling at the curb and the driver nodded to acknowledge my existence. Before I could get in, someone caught my arm and I turned to find Joe behind me.
"Room for one more?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
I spied Furlough through the glass doors and I nodded. "Get the fuck in before Furlough catches us."
Joe knew all about my need to keep things from our illustrious manager. The man knew his job and did it well, but he could be a manipulative prick when something didn't go his way. I owed him for saving my life, but sometimes I thought he used it as leverage. I had no proof, but until then, I had to roll with it.
The car took off the moment we got in and I didn't bother glancing out the window. I asked the driver to take us back to the hotel, wondering what Blair had been doing all day.