DIRT: the grunge diaries (𝒱𝒾𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇𝒾𝒶'𝓈 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃)

entry #143 - be all end all

I'm in the backstage now, at the catering to be precise... and guess what? I befriended a bunch of people while making drinks for my boyfriend and I, because I am a sociable, super chatty person, and no cunt's hatred is gonna take it away from me, ever ! I also made new admirers, in the form of road crew stuff members drooling by the side of their mouths for me, using their worst pickup lines in the hope of charming me... and ewww... I wasn't charmed one bit. I just cringed the entire time, especially when a roadie told me that if I slept with him, he would've given me backstage passes for the next show, and a chance of fucking my hunk of choice from the bands. I, a rather private person, didn't tell him that I am the girlfriend of the drummer who was relentlessly playing Waiting Room 2.0 in the background. I just shrugged his 'offering' away, and put all of my focus on mixing a super dry gin tonic for my boyfriend, and a Jack and Coke for me. Still, the 'charming' thing went on... and I was only able to draw a slight sigh of relief when the person I was expecting the least to 'defend' me chimed in, and sent the fuckers away by saying that I'm Sean's girlfriend. Aka, someone not to fuck with, because my boyfriend has a reputation for taking no bullshit from anyone, and delivering a couple of fists to make himself understood. The hero of the afternoon and circumstantial scarecrow for creeps I'm talking about was no one else but the tour bus driver who got a lamp thrown by Sean himself, a few days ago. Yeah, the one who walked into us snuggling post deed back to that night in Oakland, and made a comment on how happily he would've fucked me, while I was all cuddled up with the guy I'd just been intimate with. I appreciated his very unexpected kindness, I apologised to him on behalf of Sean for the 'lamp incident', and he told me that it was no big deal. That the wound on his head still hasn't healed hundred percent, but that he can't be mad at me for something that I ain't responsible for. There's some good in every single person in this enlarged gang, even the ones who seem unhealable... except Gerry. Gerry just needs professional help, and another hobby besides hassling people. I've heard that he's into hunting, and for how lame it is of him to kill poor animals for his own 'amusement', and for how much it makes me want to skin his ass raw to make him feel like these poor furry babies... I get the vibe that I'm his favourite creature to hunt. Because he's here now, right at the backstage booze buffet, smoking, and looking at me mixing Sean's drink like I've just diluted it with my piss. Oh shit, here we go again, and even if we haven't exchanged a word just yet, I just ain't having any of it by the premises. But hold on a second ... didn't he say that he was gonna get the fuck out, post storming off stage? Then how come he's still here and obsessed with me? Why do I get the feeling that he's obsessed with Bessie, but even more fucking obsessed with me, if that's possible ?

'Khair? Can I talk to you seriously?' He speaks, his figure enveloped by a thick cloud of cigarette smoke escaping his lips. I don't know when the decency has kicked back into him to begin with, because he was a vulgar mess until five minutes ago... but now he's sounding oddly calm, he's telling me that he wants to talk to me seriously, and he's even handing his pack of Marlboro Reds over to me. Gerry Cuntrell is offering me a cigarette, and I, smart woman, ain't accepting it for three reasons: first, I don't feel summoned one bit by his Chair with a K name calling thing. Second, I only smoke Lucky Strike, got no Marlboro-oriented taste buds. Third, how do I know that he hasn't put drugs in his cigarettes in the hope of poisoning me to death? Could also be it, he hates me that much, and I'm pretty hellbent on wanting to watch my ass from his free of charge hatred/murderous attempts. Hence, I get myself a cigarette from my own pack, and borrow Gerry's lighter while I'm at it. I light the tip of my nicotine stick, I take a long draw of smoke... then I blow it out from the nose like the disgusting man that I am, and think about something. Gerry's been telling me that he gotta talk to me since last night at the club. And for how much I can't stand him, today in particular, I think I'll just let him do the thing. If I don't do it now that Sean is far out of sight and playing, when else am I gonna do it? When he's present and swinging his fist in front of Gerry's face ?