Hold On To Love || Kirk Hammett

Part 3- Workin' For The People

Savannah's POV

Trying hard to sleep in the open
With nothing else but guitars and flies
Have to find a job tomorrow
We're feeling quite cold tonight
But you with all your glamour and good luck
Don't make me envy 'cause it made me decide

I had an endless list of bad idea's I've had in my lifetime but I must say; this must be number one on that list because calling Kirk was one of the worst options.

The guys and I could have checked into another hotel, but I didn't think of that. Conclusion: my brain doesn't work past 9.

In my defense, we were tight on cash and I was under a lot of pressure, being the soberest person, with four immature drunkards tailing behind me.

My head was close to bursting out in pain, my eyes weighing a thousand elephants, begging for sleep. My legs, my back, my arms. They were all aching to fall onto the couch and rest- but my pride and dignity wouldn't allow that in any circumstances.

I stumbled to the nearest pay phone and punched in his number. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. Frissons of anxiety and anticipation coursed through my veins.

Was I asking for too much? He did initially offer for me to stay. What about the rest of the band, would there be enough space? Oh god, is this gonna make me look like a shitty person? Would he still like me after this?

I mean, I just met the guy, and now I'm asking to crash at his place, and I'm asking to bring four other people. Oh well, no going back because...

"Hey, uhm, who is this?" He answered, sounding rather out of breath. Was he working out? Damn, I would love to see those muscles...

My heart thrummed, trying to find something to say. "Hey, Kirk, it's-"

My heart skipped 1

2

3

4

5 beats. My jaw dropped as my throat went dry.

No. Fucking. Way. On Earth.

Pornographic moans blared through the receiver as my knees were close to giving out.

Suddenly one thousand pounds of common sense hit me. He was having sex. He was fucking having sex. He answered the phone while his dick was up a chick. Oh my god, he's having sex.

No. No. That's far-fetched. He wasn't. It was impossible.

Oh, come on, Savannah. He's a 20-year-old guy. Obviously, he's having sex. But how? Less than five minutes ago, he was sitting in a bar. It must be some bitch that took advantage of him while he was drunk. Wow, Savannah. That's even more far-fetched.

Oh my god, am I jealous? Of course not I mean, I just met him, please. Ya neh. I'm jealous. And he is so fucking someone right now. Boy, do I love my life...

"Uh, I'm sorry, who?" he asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.

O. My. God. Fokken hell. He's having sex. And I called him. Fuck.

"I, uhm. Savannah, from the bar. Uhm, is this a bad time?' I asked, stumbling over my words. I cannot believe it. What is the name of Jesus damned Christ? I'm talking to him. While he's having sex.

"No, uhm, actually, can I call you back? I'm a-a bit busy," He said. Thank god.

"Yea, sure, bye," I said without hesitation and slammed the phone down. I can't believe it.