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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And maybe she was a prude, but she didn't appreciate the rude--lust-fueled--wake-up call at four o'clock this morning.
In a fervent haze of sleep deprivation and irritation, Christine pulled the satin pillow out from beneath her hair and pressed it hard against her head. In some kind of desperate, utterly pathetic attempt to smother herself to fucking death.
Because absolutely anything would have been better than being forced to listen to Vince's headboard hitting Nikki's bedroom wall. Again. And again. And. Again.
She surmised that it wouldn't have been even half as bad if Beth's unpalatable moans weren't quite as loud, or if she hadn't been so tired after such a long day.
But it was terrible. And Christine found herself mithering beneath her breath, laying flat on her back and staring at the ceiling. Just wishing for the sweet release of death.
Dramatic as always.
"Fuck this." She grumbled, ripping the comforter away from her scantily-clad frame.
Being half-asleep and completely thoughtless when she first roused, Christine hadn't heeded the empty spot beside her where the obnoxious bassist once rested. But Nikki was nowhere to be seen and, for her, that was partially worrisome.
Because Nikki had a habit. A bad one, at that. And though she didn't care very much for him, she didn't care to see another person she had become acquainted with fall into such a tragic orbit that same way Lilian did.
He was grown, though. He was his own man and she had to simply trust that he would take more care...But she wasn't too hopeful.
Plus, he might've still been out with his friends. She had just always learned to assume the very worst.
And, at that very moment, Chris wasn't very sure that she had the capability to conjure up any semi-rational thoughts the more she heard Beth whimpering next door.
She had seen what Vince was working with, and she was not convinced that he was able to satisfy his wife in such a way. Especially given that she knew he was one selfish bastard in any and all aspects.
Jesus, she thought. As she slid her silky robe over her svelte shoulders, Christine could no longer handle such faux-lustrous moans at this hour and decided to pad to the kitchen.
She hoped that if she spent enough time flicking through a few discarded issues of Playboy, the racket would cease to persist...But she could never tell, with them.
And apparently the noise coming from the master bedroom was enough to elicit a reaction from Tommy too. She smiled when she caught sight of the mass of black hair, barely visible beneath the sparse artificial light of the living room.
