Too Young to Fall in Love

June 25th, 1984

The limo was big – huge, actually – and I was more than a little shocked when it pulled up in front of my door. I was even more shocked when a little bald-headed chauffeur stepped out and approached my door, then asked to carry my bags for me. Of course, I didn't let him. I never let anyone touch my shit. But it was shocking that he offered.

The ride there took a little over an hour-and-a-half, but it felt like fifteen minutes. I was too anxious – half out of seeing my brother for the first time in months, and half out of touring the world with him and his band – to realize that we'd been driving for so long. I was actually a bit surprised to see that we were there already once we'd arrived.

The limo slid to a stop before the backstage door. The little chauffeur man came and opened my door for me. I stepped out onto the wet concrete and looked around. I'd only been to Los Angeles once or twice many years before, but it still had its gritty charm: tall, run down buildings; dark, dank streets with flickering street lamps; ambulance and cop car sirens blaring in the distance. I took a deep breath and inhaled the misty air, filling my lungs with all of its polluted wonder. Looking back to the driver, I gave him a nod and a wave, then approached the backstage entrance.

Around my neck was the VIP backstage pass Tommy had mailed me, which I showed to the two rather large bouncers that guarded the door. They inspected it warily for a moment, eying me mistrustfully, then nodded and stepped aside to let me in. I stepped inside the long, dark passageway that led to backstage, and the door swung shut behind me. I was suddenly enveloped in a blinding darkness. I blinked repeatedly for a moment, looking around but seeing nothing but a dim series of flashing lights down the hall ahead. The whole place seemed to vibrate with the reverberating beat of loud music. Squinting, I stumbled towards the light. It grew bigger with each step. Finally, I'd reached the end of the hall and had staggered into the light, and found that I was finally backstage. Looking to my right, I saw yet another small tunnel that led to the stage. Upon the stage, a show was already going on – the source of the flashing lights and the music. Beyond the stage was a humongous crowd, that throbbed and swayed with the beat of the music. I frowned and wondered if I was late. I looked to see if it was Mötley Crüe, but knew it wasn't due to the banner hanging above the stage that said “RATT.” I sighed in relief and looked around for my brother.

I couldn't see him around, but I did see the door to one of four dressing rooms that were lined up against the back wall open, and heard the noise of multiple loud voices coming from it; laughing, singing, yelling. I heard someone yell something about fucking some girl in the crowd after the show and another person going on about getting more booze. I cocked a brow and figured he had to be in there somewhere – if my brother were to be in a band with anybody, these would be the people.

I hesitantly approached the door, my stomach all of a sudden alive with butterflies. I'd been really excited for the tour for the past month, despite whether I admitted it or not; the thought of traveling around the world was thrilling. But now that I was there, at that first show and about to see my brother for the first time in forever, I was getting nervous. I'd never really been too far from my home in Fallbrook. I'd lived in Covina for most of my life with my parents, and had only moved out on my own about four years ago. Other than that, I'd never really been away from home. It was just hard to grasp that I was about to embark on some fourteen-month journey to places I'd never been before, and may never go again. It was invigorating, too.

I uneasily stepped into the room, seeing that it was filled with four men. On a sofa in the center of the room sat a man I could easily distinguish as Tommy; his dark waves and childlike features were a dead giveaway, even beneath all of his stage makeup and hairspray. He was twirling his drum sticks between his fingers and ranting about some girls he picked up after the last show. At his feet sat a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel's.

On the other end of the sofa sat a man I didn't recognize, who had black hair as well that was teased and hairsprayed so much that it was sticking out in all directions. He had piercing green eyes and big hands, and was wearing a stripe of black paint beneath each eye. On one should sat a studded shoulder pad. He was plucking the strings on his bass guitar uninterestedly while pretending to listen to Tommy's story. He too had a bottle of Jack; his was resting in his lap.

Sitting in an arm chair in the corner was a small, frail-looking man with long, black hair that I recognized as the man Tommy had described as looking like “the Hunchback of Notre Dame.”His face was fixed with a grimace as he skillfully tuned his guitar, plucking a string and listening to its tone before turning the corresponding knob and plucking it again. He looked deep in thought as he did so, most of his face hidden behind a curtain of dark hair.

The fourth man, which I assumed to be the singer, was sitting in a chair in the center of the room with his leather-boot-clad feet resting upon a small card table. Small baggies of dope and unsniffed lines of cocaine were scattered across the table in disarray. The man, who held a cigarette between his lips and a bottle of vodka in one hand, had bleach-blond hair and absolutely stunning features, even beneath his makeup. He had deep, dark eyes that glittered mysteriously; a slender nose that sat perfectly in the middle of his face; high cheek bones; a defined jaw line; and full, kissable lips. He was gorgeous – but he looked like a fucking punk. The way he took long, careless drags on his cigarette and gulped the vodka like he didn't give a fuck made him look like the world's biggest douche bag. His aura was just screaming, “Asshole!”

I hated him already.

Everyone looked up as I stepped into the room, the sound of my boots clicking against the floor catching their attention. They all stared at me in confusion for a moment, but the blond suddenly spoke up.

“And who may this fine piece of ass be?” he drawled, his eyes moving from my face and landing on my chest. His lips were turned up in a devilish smile. I made a face of disgust, and was about to call him a few choice names, but then Tommy jumped up excitedly and ran over at me, sweeping me up in a hug.

“Addie!” he yelled, twirling me in circles.

I threw my head back and laughed, crying, “Tommy! Stop spinning me!” He grinned at me as he obeyed and set my feet back to the floor. I smiled back up at him, patting down my hair meticulously.

“How are you, Addie? Aren't you glad you're here? Aren't you excited?” he blabbered, grabbing hold of my shoulders and shaking me. I pushed him away and laughed.

“Quit shaking me, idiot!” I yelled, my vision spinning. I was already dizzy enough from his previous attack; I didn't need him making it any worse by shaking me.

“Did you like the limo?” he asked, ignoring me. I nodded.

“It was fucking huge. There's no way you could've afforded that, T-bone,” I said incredulously. He smirked.

“You bet your ass I can,” he said proudly, placing his hands on his hips. “I'm a rock star, A. I've got money to burn!” I rolled my eyes, snorting. Tommy, a rock star? I'd believe it when I saw it. Though that crowd I saw when I was walking in did seem rather large...

“Whatever,” I mumbled. He suddenly grabbed me by the shoulders again and steered me in the direction of the others in the room.

“You've gotta meet my band,” he said excitedly. He wheeled me over to the card table the douchey-looking blond was sitting at and pushed me down into a chair.

“Everyone, this is my little sister, Athena,” he announced to the band. “But you can call her Addie.” They all eyed me up and down carefully for a moment. Then, the black-haired man with the bass guitar got up and approached me.

“Nikki Sixx, at your service,” he said, sticking out a hand and grinning. I smiled back and reached my hand out to shake his, but he suddenly grabbed it and yanked me towards him into a hug. He squeezed me to his chest so tight I couldn't breathe. “Nice to meet you, Addie. Welcome to the Crüe, baby.” He then released me and gave me a wink before plopping back down with his guitar.

“Want a drink?” he asked, offering me his large bottle of Jack. I shrugged and took the bottle from him, taking a few rather large swigs and handing it back. Tommy grinned at me as he fell back onto the couch as well, drinking from his own bottle of whiskey. I heard Nikki mutter something to my brother along the lines of, “If she can drink like that, then we'll get along just fine.” I was going to walk over and sit between the two, but was stopped when the cocky blond stuck out his foot to prevent me from passing.

Cocking a brow, I leaned back and set my hands on my hips, sneering, “Is there any reason you're deciding to block my way?” He raised his brows and smirked, looking slightly amused.

“I'm Vince,” he said smoothly, also sticking out a hand. I eyed it disdainfully for a moment, then looked back up at his face.

“Very unpleasant to meet you, Vince,” I said, kicking past his foot and sitting down between Nikki and Tommy. Tommy grinned and threw an arm around me, either oblivious as to what had just gone on between Vince and I or too drunk to care. He smiled gaily at me, his eyes hazy as he leaned in closely, staring at me. His looked completely hammered. I just laughed and smacked his face away. He withdrew his arm and took another chug from his Jack.

In the corner, the small man with the guitar was eying me carefully. He watched me with a wary curiosity, his face unreadable as his gaze locked upon mine. I stared at him for a moment, then quickly turned my glance away. I could feel him analyzing me from across the room.

“So, Addie,” Nikki said, setting his guitar down so he could shift over to put an arm around me, “How come it's took you so long to come up and see us?” I shrugged.

“Been busy,” I lied. Of course, I wasn't going to tell them that I thought they were some shitty joke of a band. That'd be rude. Plus, I hadn't even heard them play yet. “I take it Tommy's talked about me?”

“Tommy's told us about you,” he said, glancing me over again, “but he never said you were hot.” I laughed and scooched closer to him. I liked this guy.

We chatted for a little while before Ratt, the boys' opening band, had finished their set. I could feel Vince eying me the entire time, and looked up multiple times to glare at him. He would just pull that little asshole smirk of his and laugh. But every time I looked away, his eyes would be tracing down my body slowly. It began to agitate me.

After a few minutes, Ratt had finished their set and were making their way backstage, dripping with sweat. I watched as the five young men staggered past the door with their instruments, laughing loudly and whooping excitedly. Then, a stocky little Italian man with a thick mustache waddled into the room and yelled, “GET YOUR ASSES OFF THE COUCH AND GET OUT THERE, YOU LAZY BUMS! IT'S SHOW TIME!” He turned curtly on his heel and waddled out. I glanced in confusion to Tommy and Nikki.

“Doc,” they both said in unison.

“Our manager,” Tommy finished. I nodded and shrugged.

“Well, looks like it's our turn,” Nikki said, hoisting himself off the couch and turning to me to offer a hand. I took it and got up as well.

“Will you be watching the show?” Tommy asked eagerly, his eyes dancing excitedly as we filed out of the room and towards the stage. I snorted a laugh and rolled my eyes.

“Really, Tommy? Of course I'll be watching, numb-nuts.” He grinned and threw an arm around me, leading me out the door.

“Good. Watch and learn, little sister. We're the best band you've ever laid eyes upon,” he insisted. I rose a brow and shook my head, though smirking.

He gave me a sloppy peck on the cheek before running out on the stage, drum sticks raised over his head, screaming like some type of battle warrior. The crowd went wild as a spotlight fell upon him and he disappeared behind the large curtain, out of my line of vision. Nikki went on next, guitar strapped around his neck, winking at me before charging onto stage in a manner similar to Tommy's. Then went the small man who was tuning his guitar earlier, who's name I'd yet to learn. He simply walked out and found his spot, not making any noise whatsoever, but the crowd still screamed and cheered him on as he settled beneath his own spotlight on the left side of the stage.

And then, finally, went Vince. He pinched my butt as he ran by, causing me to jump and glare at him as he smirked over his shoulder at me. He ran out to his microphone and yelled, “Are you fuckin' ready?” The crowd roared, and, as the lights went down, the band tore into their first song of the night. The whole stadium pulsated along to the beat.

I sat back and watched the show, nodding my head along to the music as the boys danced around the stage, playing their hearts out. I had to admit, they were good. I had to give Tommy credit for this one: there was no denying that the music was incredible.

The primal beat of the songs, and the sheer lust that dripped from every riff and every lyric, was enough to keep me tapping my feet through the entire concert. Everything was alluring about the music – whether it was the hardcore guitar riffs, Tommy's heavy drumbeats, or Nikki's erotic bass lines, the whole thing was sexy and irresistible. Not to mention Vince's wailing voice – it was flawless, a high-pitch symphony of defiance and sex-appeal wrapped into one potent, irrepressible, inescapable scream. It flowed with the music perfectly, so overpowering and seductive. I couldn't lie; he had me dancing by the end of the night. I just loved his voice, whether he was the world's largest douche bag or not.

After a two-song encore, the boys finally ran off the stage, sweating and panting, grins plastered on their faces. Tommy wiped his forehead on the back of his hand before approaching me eagerly, breathing heavy.

“What'd you think?” he asked between breaths. I tried to suppress my smile, but I couldn't.

“It was awesome,” I said. He grinned and stuck his tongue out at me.

“I told you, Addie! I told you!” He grabbed my arm and steered me around, back to the room where they had been waiting before the show started. “Come on, Addie, commemorate with us. It's the first night of tour. We rocked our fucking asses off. It's time to celebrate!” He dragged me to the small card table inside the room where the others were slowly gathering, pulling up chairs and sitting down. Somehow, Nikki had gotten ahold of three more bottles of whiskey and vodka. He shoved one in my hand as Tommy pushed me down in a chair and plopped down next to me.

Grabbing his own bottle and coming over, Vince smiled mischievously and raised the booze above his head.

“To Mötley Crüe!” he cried imperiously, pumping a fist in the air.

“To Mötley Crüe!” the others repeated, tilting their heads back and pouring the liquor down their throats. I shrugged and followed suit, leaning back and taking a few rather large chugs from the bottle Nikki had given me. It ended up being straight vodka. I pulled a face as it seared my throat, but smiled as a warming sensation suddenly spread throughout my body.

“So, Addie, whaddya say?” Nikki slurred, grinning at me. “How 'bout a few lines?” He tossed me a straw and nodded towards the pre-cut lines of cocaine on the table. Then, without further ado, he dipped his head down and snorted up his own line. Echoing Nikki, both Tommy and Vince did the same, while Mick retreated to his corner and lit up a smoke. The three looked at me expectantly. Hesitantly, I lowered my head to the table, lining the straw up with the trail of white powder, and inhaled, tracing the cocaine with the straw until I'd snorted the whole line. Snorting it back and closing my eyes as it sank down the back of my throat, I smiled as the three whistled and catcalled, cheering me on. As the drugs worked their way into my system, my body slowly eased up.

Both Nikki and Tommy left shortly after, staggering out the door in search of some girls. I was sure they wouldn't have to look too far; I'd already spotted a mob of fans lining up outside near the backstage exit. I could hear them greeting the group of girls with, “Hello, ladies!” and “Look what we've got on our hands tonight, T!” I smirked and stumbled over to the couch, flopping down and closing my eyes. I felt the opposite end of the couch sink as Vince sat down.

“So, Addie,” he slurred, leaning back. I opened my eyes to shoot daggers at him, which he ignored. “How did you like the show?”

“It was...alright,” I lied. I fucking loved it. But I wasn't going to let this prick know that.

He smirked, though, as if he knew I was lying.

“I saw you dancing, baby,” he murmured as he leaned closer to me on the couch. I tried to lean away, but he just came closer yet.

“Get off me, creep,” I said, shoving him away. He laughed to himself and slid over to me again, putting an arm around my shoulder. He used his other hand to grab my hip and pull me closer to him. I grimaced as I tried to pull away.

“Leave the kid alone,” said the Crüe's guitarist, who was still sitting in the corner with his blunt. I froze underneath Vince's arms and glanced up at him, it being the first thing he'd said all night. He didn't sound too concerned, just a tad annoyed.

Vince stared at him for a moment, then reluctantly pulled away while muttering something unintelligible. He got up from the couch and left the room, taking his Jack with him. I stared in confusion, then looked back to the man in the corner.

“Thanks,” I said, furrowing my brows. “Who are you...?”

“Mick,” he said, not bothering to stick out a hand like the others had. I nodded slowly.

“I'm Athena,” I said, adjusting myself so I was sitting cross-legged. He rose a brow.

“I know that. And you're also Vince's newest victim, I see,” he said, picking up his guitar again and playing a tune on it.

“Does he usually try to feel up on his band mates' sisters?” Mick shrugged.

“He pretty much fucks anything that walks,” he explained simply. I rose my brows, my opinion of the singer not improving by Mick saying this.

“Interesting...”

“But don't worry too much, I'm sure he'll move on quickly once he realizes you won't put out.” I laughed.

If only had Mick been right.