Buttered Popcorn

Chapter 15: May 16, 1987

~3rd person P.O.V~

"Oops, sorry! Have fun!"

Slamming shut the occupied bedroom door and giggling drunkenly, Jimmie grabbed at the wall for some sort of stability. After deciding to stay with the touring bands for a few days longer- for lack of a reason to not- she had ended up at a party in The Crüe's old apartment, while they were still in L.A.

Everything in her line of vision spun viciously, tossing her brain and making her just that much more nauseous. The girl desperately needed to lie down, hence why she was sifting through the small number of bedrooms in the apartment. With the music thumping the ground and people packed like sardines, Jimmie quite obviously was craving a moment of peace.

Shoving open one last door, her vision steadied for half a moment to see two blurred figures on top of each other on the bed. She laughed yet again and slapped a hand over her mouth, "Whoops! Didn't mean to barge in, sorry!" Before leaving, she caught one of the shapes look toward her, and mutter something once they locked eyes. All of a sudden, everything became disgustingly clear for Jimmie.

"Oh.."

Her quivering voice broke the pair's attention as they brought it to her weak figure in the doorway. The hot tears stung her eyes while she bit her lip to refrain from crying. Jimmie hoped to God that this wasn't what she thought it was. She wished- prayed, even- that she was too drunk. Far too drunk to see what she had saw.

The blond eruption of hair against the dark room. The bright blue eyes staring desperately back into her own, searching for some sort of jealously within Jimmie's hazel ones. How his tattoo on his bicep stood out so prominently against his fair skin. The jungle of hair across his chest that was pressed flush against the girl that was moaning under him.

All within moments, Jimmie's poisoned brain sobered up. Her stomach dropped. Her eyes brimmed with confused tears. Her heart skipped off-beat. And everything broke for her.

She slipped back out of the room after staring at the pair for far too long, and slammed the door behind her, miserably staggering out of the apartment to escape it. To escape the feeling of catching him in the act.

"Jimmie?"

She ignored Nikki's calls, followed by Tommy's and then Duff's. It was almost humorous to her, how those guys seemed to care so much for her, and the one she thought she actually might have a connection with had shattered her just as fast as she fell for him.

Her feet mindlessly led further and further away from the house, it fading into a blur of colored light in the horizon. Her finger rubbed the metal guitar pick around her neck while she choked back sobs. Jimmie didn't know where she was going, she only knew that she needed to get away from the heartache that was thrusting into a groupie at a shitty party. She knew she should have never stayed with those stupid fucking rock bands. Those idiots. Goddamn idiots.

As she found herself standing on the street corner, she realized The Crüe's apartment was right on the Sunset Strip, meaning Guns' apartment wasn't too far. Finding her way to the familiar, small place she called somewhat of a home, she began trudging to the front door. Bringing up her cloudy eyes to open the door, shattered glass was scattered around her feet.

Yet again, her heart stopped as her breath hitched in her throat. The window had been busted, along with added cracks along the wood of the front door. She shoved the metal key into the lock and hastily jiggled it open, hopelessly eager to see if they'd stolen anything of value, though that'd be hard to find in the dingy apartment. The table was flipped and the couch was cut with a large slash, though it wasn't the curly haired guitarist she had become accustomed to.