The Highs of Lowlives

I was bored without Liv so decided to travel back to the store to see her. Must’a been bad timing cause when I rounded the corner I saw her stood with seventy-five percent of Motley Crue and she’d hit twenty-five percent of them. I continued on towards them.

Nikki and Tommy were howling with laughter.

“You fuckin’ bitch!” Vince yelled as was about to hit her back when Tommy grabbed his arm.

“Dude, chill,” he said.

“Let’s take her with us,” Nikki laughed, passing some bottles to Tommy. He picked up Liv and threw her over his shoulder.

“Whatthefuckareyou doing?” Liv yelled the first part as one word quite literally.

“What are you guys doing with her?” I asked standing in the way as they moved towards me.

“Taking her with us, what does it look like, Eva/” Tommy was one for the obvious.

“Put me the fuck down!” Liv thrashed about angrily, “I’m gonna kick the shit outta you assholes!”

“If you say so, sweetie,” Nikki laughed at her continuously.

“Eva! Lock up for me while I get out of this,” she threw the keys at me.

Unluckily for Liv, she had the biggest and most unadmitable crush on Nikki Sixx at the time. She’d decided they were two peas in a pod, but of course she would never tell him because she wanted everyone else to think she was better than that. She was an upgraded version of him, cause she had tits and he ‘just acts like one’.
Liv always had her hair jet black and sky high; whatever the occasion she wore black and never had an off day where she didn’t look like a rock star. Well, it was either a rock star or a hooker look that she had, nothing else. She had ambition and a bigger fuck-you attitude than I. And lets face it; I had a pretty bad attitude. We could party harder than any other women we knew and basically leaked punk.

I wanted to tell her I’d spoken to Kim Fowley, but ended up locking away her job for her.

A week had passed and all I was hearing all fucking day was “Ford…fucking Ford…Lita fucking Ford…fucking Ford…fucking Lita” from Liv.
Whether it was in her room or shouting out the window over her Stones records or any opportunity at all. Any more than three words was asking too much.

“For fucks sake shut the fuck up about her and do some fucking work you…fuck!” I’d had enough. I’d been drinking vodka and writing non-stop for nearly forty hours and I was at the end of my tether.

“Fuck you Eve’ you don’t get it!” she shouted.

“I got it after ten minutes. I don’t need to hear any more!”

“What has she got that I don’t?” she screamed.

Here we go again.
Except this time I was about to give her a piece of my mind rather than comfort.
“She doesn’t start fights, she’s got fucking poise and dignity and she acts like a woman rather than a fucking dude like you fucking do!” I shouted at the raging lunatic.
The look Liv gave me was fucking murderous. She just glared at me across the table as if a demon was about to rip its way from her soul and give me a very messy and painful ending any second.

“At least you left out the record deal part,” she sighed calmly, finally.

“I don’t think…her having one…would benefit Sixx,” I responded slowly.

“Fuck it!” Liv rose to her feet and strode from the room. Moments later Dressed To Kill was on full volume, erupting from the stereo in her room.

“What are you fucking now?” I shouted at her doorway.

“I’m fucking going out. And if I break someone’s face during the night, I don’t care.” She told me, not looking away from her closet.

“Fine, but I’m coming with. I need a break from using my brain,” I sloped off to my own room, rubbing my temples.