When the bassist from Mötley Crüe, Nikki Sixx, falls for their stage manager, Bella Mejia, who has to maneuver her way around his life style, and chooses to aid him in getting clean.
"Better turn me loose, better set me free, cause I'm hot, I'm youn...
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i wanna get the shirt with this pic on it. BELLA - MY EARRINGS were off, "anyone got a hair tie?" I ask and Monica hands me one, "you fucking asked for it."
I swung and hit her nose, her glasses broke and she held the spot where she got hit with her hand then pulled my hair, petty bitch. When I got in the floor I wrapped my legs around her torso and pulled her down with me. She quickly jabbed my nose and I pused my right hand to swing at the side of her face, this went on for awhile.
At the point her lip was split open, my nose was bleeding too. She did some damage but I was for sure winning. We were sitting up, my arm was under her chin from behind, a position people use for choking but I'm not that fucked up.
"You're not gonna win this Lyd, you never did as a kid, won't now" I say through gritted teeth.
"Enough!" Monica screams. "You guys are acting like children! This has been going on for too long! Plus Lydia you can't just say things like that, no wonder you got your ass kicked. And you, did you have to punch her?"
"In my defense she did slap me," I throw my hands up.
"And you deserved it! No one just goes up to their sisters door to tell them they're parents didn't want them!" She growls.
"Fuck it, family therapy," Dylan says.
Lydia, Roxanna, Monica and I all sat on the couch, "here ya go," Mike brings in some ice.
"Thank you," I say grabbing the ice and placing it on my cheekbone.
"I didn't know you didn't like each other this much," Roxanna says with a disgusted face. Her English has improved. It's not the greatest but not the worst, sometimes she doesn't feel like speaking it so she'll pretend not to understand us.
"So how did this start?" Dylan asks in front of us, knowing damn well how it started.
"Anyone want coffee? I'll go make some coffee," I say making my way to the kitchen.
"It's midnight," Nikki furrows an eyebrow.
"Hispanic people," everyone says in unison.
"Ah," he follows me to the kitchen, "where's the coffee maker?"
"There isn't one," I say grabbing some mugs.
"So you aren't making coffee?" He leans against the counter.
"I am, instant coffee, don't worry it's from El Salvador, so it isn't bad," I grab a pot from the oven to boil the water in.
"What the fuck," Nikki mutters under his breath, referring to the placement of the pots and pans.
"What happened out there? I've never seen you get that angry," he asks as I pour water into the pot and start crying.
He gives me a hug and I cried into his chest, "I just have been trying to hard to repair our relationship and it never works." I explain.
