The very last thing that Christine Hill expected was the exponential success of Mötley Crüe-the band she loved to hate.
And she never would've surmised that she'd be dragged-kicking and fucking screaming, by the nape of her neck-along for the wilde...
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Christine's POV
Silver heels clutched tightly in my left hand, the strap of the pink satin dress I'd thrown on was now falling from my shoulder, and mascara ran down gaunt cheeks as I inhaled a precarious drag of cigarette smoke.
Red lipstick smeared against the butt of the stick, and also the tips of my fingers, caused my brows to furrow as I was almost certain that I'd rubbed it all off on the journey back home. Nevertheless, I flicked the remainder of my cigarette to the glass ashtray that Nikki and I kept on the patio table out front, and pulled a tissue from my purse to clean myself up.
If I was going to walk back into my husband's life mere hours after walking out of it, then I felt that I should've at least made the effort to look presentable.
"Please be unlocked, please be unlocked," I whispered lowly to myself as I approached the front step, praying that Nikki hadn't locked up because I left my keys at home when we left for the wedding and knocking on the door to get his attention would've been humiliating for me.
Internally, I cursed him out when I tried the door handle and recognized that he'd not only locked it but bolted the door shut from the inside--which was a dead giveaway that he was either freebasing or just shooting up in our bedroom.
The sudden shift in temperature then caused my weak frame to grow a hell of a lot more unstable as I raised my fist to beat against the door.
Precipitously, suddenly a lot more irritable than what I was in the moments prior to requesting access to my own home, I waited for the inevitable grumbling and usual "who the fuck is it?" from the other side when Nikki would eventually stomp his way to the front of the house.
And almost on cue, the pointed bang of the glass divider that lead to the porch slammed against the wall before he trod out to unbolt the front door.
My heart constricted within my chest.
"Christine?" Vigorously, his pointer and middle fingers rubbed at his right eye, almost as if he was attempting to determine whether I was actually in front of him or if I was just a figment of his imagination.
He remained tight-lipped for a few moments before noticing the way I was shaking out on the front step, starting to frown.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my eyes filling up, "I'll--uh--I'll go--"
"--No," apprehensively, his hand reached out for mine. Getting a feel for just how bitter it really was when his fingertips met my freezing skin, he emanated a sigh. "Stay. Don't leave me again, Chris."
He pulled me inside, forcing me to stumble over the threshold, before slamming the door shut and possessively wrapping both arms around my body.
