End Of Passion Play - {James Hetfield/Metallica}

Chapter 15 | Pinky Promise

(A/N: TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter deals with an eating disorder.)

Spring 1994

The end of our long tour was almost over. We were ending with a couple of dates in New York, then heading back home, with plans to begin a new album.

The four of us walked through a strip mall after a late dinner and some drinks. By that point, I was a little tipsy.

I held James' hand (he now had 2 free hands; his injured arm had healed) as we walked, and I got so many stares from men. In fact, over the last four or five years, we'd been getting more stares from everyone, probably due to our fame.

"James," I giggled. "Why are all the dudes staring at me?".

"Because you're gorgeous, that's why." James answered. "Oh, hey, look, a scale! Lars, go weigh yourself!". He pointed to a scale outside a doctor's office.

"What? Why?" Lars asked.

"Because… I think you've got a bit of a beer belly starting!". Me and James and Kirk burst out laughing, Lars just crossed his arms and glared at us.

"Fine. But I bet you that I haven't gained any weight since the beginning of the tour!". Lars stepped on the scale and we all watched the numbers go up.

"Okay, me next!" I said as Lars hopped off the scale, disappointed that he had gained three pounds.

I watched the numbers shoot up. Oh fuck, that's not good. I thought to myself as they surpassed 125. They landed on 133, seven pounds more than the last time I weighed myself.

"I don't feel so good, I'll be right back." I said, running down the long hallway to the bathroom.

I locked myself in a stall and forced my finger up my throat, making myself gag. I shoved my middle finger in, too, still nothing.

"Goddamnit!" I muttered. I forced my fingers into my throat again, further than before, and this time, I puked up my dinner.

A thought occurred to me as I stared down at the gross bile in the toilet. I stuck my fingers up my throat again, puking out only a thin, white stream of bile.

Wait a second… I can't get sober by throwing up… I once heard alcohol gets into your blood… so I can't get sober! I realized. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I can't get sober!

I stood at the sink and splashed cold water over my face. "Fuck me." I muttered, looking in the mirror. "Oh, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!". I noticed a girl with shoulder- length brown hair staring at me. I couldn't tell if she was confused or disgusted by the look on her face.

"What?!" I shouted at her.

"Are you okay?" she asked me.

"Yes! Well, no! Just mind your own fucking business, okay?!".

James' p.o.v

Sarah walked out of the bathroom, looking down at the floor.

"Is she alright?" Kirk asked me.

"Doesn't look like it." I sighed.

Sarah glanced up at us. "I wanna go back to the hotel." she told us, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

I placed my finger under her chin, trying to get her to look up at me. But she resisted and swatted my hand away. "Hey, babe, don't do that!" I said. "What's wrong?".

"Nothing! I want to go back, though.".

I exchanged worried glances with Kirk and Lars.

"You're a terrible liar." I told her. That made her look up at me, anger flashing in her eyes. She parted her plump lips to say something, but Kirk spoke up.

"Y'know, maybe we should go back." he suggested, his eyes darting between me and Sarah.

"Alright, fine." I sighed, taking out my phone from the pocket of my jeans. "I'll call a taxi.".

***

Later that night, when we got to our hotel rooms, Sarah was still in a bad mood. I hated seeing her upset because I loved her and she deserved to be happy.

"Babe," I sighed, sitting on top of the bed with her as she filed her nails. "I know something's bothering you.".

She looked up at me for a second, then went back to filing her nails. "James," she sighed. "I just… I want to sober up. But I can't. We're way to fucking used to this routine we're in, and it's destroying us.".

"I know.".

"Well then let's do something about it!".

I sighed, the warm spring breeze drifting in through the open window. "I don't know what to do.".

Sarah dropped her nail file on the nightstand, letting out an exhasperated sigh. She rose to her knees, her black satin nightgown clinging to her curvy body.

"Tonight, I was a hundred thirty three pounds." she said under her breath, a strap falling down her shoulder and her messy blonde hair cascading her face. "I gained seven pounds, James! Seven fucking pounds! Because… because I'm becoming a fucking alcoholic!".

"You still look great." I told her.

She sighed, falling onto me, her head on my chest. "I'm turning into my mom!" she cried. "I'm becoming what I never wanted to be!".

I put my arms around her and held her close to me. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she held onto me tight, her face buried in my chest.

"I-I-I want t-to g-g-get better." she said, her voice muffled and shaky.

"I know, babe. I know." I replied.

"Help me.".

"Oh, god, I dunno how.".

She wiped her eyes and sniffled loudly. "W-w-we can do it t-t-together.".

"Yeah… okay… we can.".

"Can you promise me something?". She looked up at me, her makeup badly smudged under her eyes.

I nodded, wiping her tears away with my thumbs.

"Can you promise that you'll help me get better?" she asked.

"Yes." I replied. "I'll help you get better, Sarah. I want you to be happy.".

"Pinky promise?". She held up her pinky, and I wrapped mine tightly around it.

"Pinky promise.".

She sniffled and buried her face in my chest again. I sighed and rested my chin on the top of her head, holding her body close to mine. The only noise I could hear was the sound of her breathing and the sound of distant traffic coming through the window.

It didn't take long for Sarah to start snoring lightly.

"I love you." I whispered very quietly. "I love you so much.".