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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Nikki's Diary
May the--who really gives a fuck right now? 1986. Van Nuys: 3:55 pm.
Aimlessly, emptily, my eyes seem to fixate on Christine's side of the closet--her completely vacant side of the closet. She's taken everything. She's even taken the Ratt shirt I always let her sleep in when I wasn't around to be with her at night.
I suppose that she's done me a favor. Anything left behind would've either been burnt, sold, or given to Vanity. She and Christine are about the same size, even though Vanity seems to be a bit shorter than what she is. But the point still stands.
This whole 'pretending that I don't give a shit that my wife walked out on me instead of trying to talk about what happened' act, is beginning to get fucking rough. I'm numbing this ever-present ache with as much heroin as what I can engrave my veins with, but nothing seems to take away the pain of knowing that she isn't coming back to me.
I'm seriously considering giving that bitch Beth a call because I know for a fucking fact that she's the only person Christine would have trusted enough to talk to about this. Hell, she probably helped her pack her shit up and ship her off to wherever the fuck she is right now.
As time is going on, I'm growing a hell of a lot more pissed off because I'm spending all of my days getting fucked up, listening to Vanity's demented theories, trying to avoid Tommy because I will put a fist through his face if I hear his stupid fucking voice, and attempting to downplay the impact that Christine really has had on my life.
I can't do anything without thinking about her. I can't even go and take a piss without seeing some of her empty shampoo bottles on the bathroom counter, or when I grab a beer from the refrigerator I'm constantly faced with the half-empty bottle of her favorite wine that she couldn't finish the day before the wedding and I should probably get rid of that but I just can't bring myself to do it. I mean, what if she comes home and wonders where her precious Malbec has gotten to?
And I found one of her fake eyelashes stuck to the inside of my jacket last night and I almost broke down in the middle of Robbin's fucking kitchen, but I just stuffed it in my wallet and that's probably where it'll stay until I can bring myself to take it back out. I know how disgusting that sounds because it was obviously used but--not only have I handled a lot worse--as I said, she has taken pretty much everything. The one thing that she doesn't have, and that she didn't even know that I had, is currently sat around my neck on that same chain that I keep my wedding band on. I don't think she ever realized that I put her original ring with mine, but I did. Not sure why because they don't match and, to be honest, it looks a little stupid but I guess it's sentimental.
As I'm spewing out more of my feelings, I'm quickly realizing that I'm not okay. I thought that I would be able to at least cope, but I'm really fucking failing at that. I truly never realized how much I did depend on Christine to provide me with some sort of stability and a routine for my day-to-day life, despite neither one of us actually having a routine more so a sick codependence on one another. But it was all okay. We worked decently together and that's all we needed. Or, at least, that's what I thought.
