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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Friday 13th June, 1986. Part One--Nikki.
Once Nikki realized that it was Friday 13th, waking up next to Vanity suddenly made a hell of a lot more sense.
Of course, it made sense anyways--considering he did take her to bed last night--but it was just his luck to rouse from a deep, heroin-induced, slumber to find his mistress sound asleep where his wife should've been.
"Good morning, baby," Vanity's claws sank into the back of his neck while her lips--still dyed with whatever cheap lipstick she was wearing last night--pressed against Nikki's shoulder, causing an ungodly shiver to dart down the length of his spine.
She was an early riser--that, he learned the hard way. Whereas Christine would start to wake up early but let Nikki sleep in until he felt like getting out of bed, Vanity refused to let him lay in any longer than she did because she grew impatient very quickly.
And he thought that he was the codependent one. Vanity couldn't last an hour without Nikki before she went absolutely insane from boredom. It was times like that where he truly did ail for his wife.
I don't even remember taking her to bed last night, he thought to himself.
I wonder if Christine is waking up next to some random or if she's alone right now--which, the latter, seems pretty doubtful. Fuck.
"Did you wanna do something with me today?"
Nikki refused to raise his head at the sudden tumultuous nature of Vanity's voice, unusually crisp for a morning after a heavy heroin-binge.
Fuck off, Vanity.
"No," he rasped out, feeling her gasp against his shoulder blade. "I'm supposed to be at the studio in--" his eyes flicked up to meet the clock next to the bed, "--an hour. We can do something when I get done tonight."
"But..." she whimpered, perfectly unintentionally, mirroring Christine.
"'But' nothing. I have to go or Doc will beat my ass."
With a grumble, he got out of bed and turned to see her splayed out on Chris' side with the covers bunched around her torso.
"What will you be doing today? Don't you need your drummer to, you know, drum?"
"I already told you, like a million times, that we are not recording," she raised both brows as he snapped. "I'm just showing Doc whatever material we have so far, and when I say 'we'--"
"--You mean you?" Defeated, she asked.
Nikki nodded. Maybe she did pay attention to what he said sometimes.
"Yep. I mean me." He gulped, trying not to think about the way that she was quickly becoming Christine's replacement.
Every predicament, every trivial conversation, every single thing that Vanity did incited Nikki's thoughts to dwell on one question--the only question that he had managed to think about for the best part of five weeks.
