Status: Live
Holding Hands Won't Be Enough
Chapter 81: Parasol
4 Years Ago
“For fuck sake.” Milly seethed, kicking the covers off of her and swinging her legs out of the bed in a rage. She grabbed the closet item of clothing she could reach and pulled it on as she stormed out the room. The sound of Marshall amps reverberated through the house, Mige’s bass practically shaking the walls at their very foundations. Descending down the stairs with haste, she heard the clutter of beer bottles being knocked over which only made her angrier. “No more.” she growled as she reached the bottom step, before purposely marching through the back room where they were yelling loudly at each other over the noise; she pushed past Mige and a very drunk Ville, both of whom had yet to notice her. She walked straight behind the amp and pulled the power board plug from the socket. “It’s 6 fucking a.m” she shouted, her ears ringing from the noise.
“Darling..” Ville grinned, before walking towards her, his stale ashtray breath reaching her before he did, “..hello.”
“Don’t.” she snapped, holding her index finger out. Mine sniggered. “And you can shut up.” she added, pointing at Mige.
“Sweetheart you must hear this son-“
“Sweetheart,” she started patronisingly, “it’s all I’ve been fucking hearing it since you got home two hours ago. Our home is not Tavas-fucking-tia, Ville.”
“Well w-“ he started drunkly. She shook her head and widened her eyes.
“Well nothing. You cannot plug in amps and have a fucking doom party at 5 a.m. I have a real job, during real people hours and I’m really sick, and I do not fucking need this.”
“Darling, forgive me.” he slurred, stepping towards her with his arms, knocking over a chair as he did so.
“Don’t,” she sighed exasperated, “I am so angry with you. Just a bit of fucking consideration Ville, that’s all I want.” she said seriously, staring him in the face. She had been working day and night, day in day out, for over a month now. She was doing the hard yards to get her business of the ground, as well as doing her 9-5 job running someone else’s interior design company, on top of managing the merchandise of Ville’s band - as she had done since they were teenagers. And having recently come down with some kind of flu, she was bordering on exhaustion. Ville’s drinking had increased ten fold since the cancellation of a long leg of tour due to Gas badly injuring himself, and while months ago she would have loved to have sat up all night drinking with him instead of pining for him to come home from tour, she was now simply too busy to now that he was home.
They had never lived together for such a long period of time, and Milly slowly started remembering why she hated going to his flat before they had the house - because it was a trash heap of discarded paper, ashtrays, beer bottles, guitar cables and coffee cups. He never cleaned and he never tidied. Granted, the room he and gas were currently in was a dedicated jam room wherein he could do as he pleased - but playing a festival volume set was out of the question and the mess was slowly creeping out the room and spreading to the kitchen, with discarded bottles, glasses and take out boxes all over the kitchen; overflowing ashtrays and crushed beer cans covered the table in the courtyard out back; Milly had on multiple occasions found beer cans perilously left on the toilet cistern. She would get home late and he’d either not be there, or passed out on the bed, the couch or in an armchair with his guitar in his lap and drool crawling down his chin. Every morning this week she would clean up, leave early and slip out as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake him less she tear his head off in anger - and she had finally reached boiling point.
“I just..” she started, her voice crackling and desperate, “I just need you to support me right now Ville.” her arms fell limp by her sides and she started to cry. Mige and Gas exchanged a sobering glance and quietly gathered their things, Ville nodded almost unnoticeably to them, signalling that it was probably, definitely, absolutely, for the best that they left - which they did, promptly.
“Mil-“ he said, reaching out and touching her hand.
“I’m not your housekeeper, I’m not your life coach, your assistant or your mother.” she said tiredly.
“I know.”
“If you did you wouldn’t keep doing this.” she snapped, pulling her hand away. “Where’s my Ville? My loving, thoughtful, romantic Ville? I’m sick to death of absent Ville, drunk Ville, passed out Ville, grumpy Ville, messy Ville… I feel like your fucking carer.”
“Well maybe if you weren’t always in meetings or fucking around with paint swatches, or fabric rolls or whatever other bullshit is so fucking important you’d be around when that Ville is actually present.” he spat defensively. “Where’s my Milly? Huh? My fun, laughing, silly girl… Where the fuck has she gone? You’re so serious recently and you’re always busy. All I’ve felt like to you in the past few months is an irritating tenant you can barely look at.”
“I can barely look at you because it breaks my heart!” she shouted, sending a beer can flying from the top of an amp as she swung her arm out. “Why can’t you see how much I do for us? How exhausted I am? You have your career, your hobby and I encourage and nurture that and have done my whole life… I don’t want to spend the rest of my life just being “Ville Valo’s wife”, I’ve worked too damn hard on my own path prior to being with you. And now I’m trying to set up a business, whilst working a full time job so I don’t lose clients and can pay my way in this relationship, managing your band’s bloody merchandise, trying to set up our lives in this house and planning a wedding that I don’t even know will happen. I can count on one hand the times I’ve gone to sleep and woken up next to you in the past few weeks. But I lose count of the fucking photos I’ve seen of you out partying with god knows who, the times I’ve been woken up to the sound of blaring music, groups of people in the house or you retching into the toilet bowl at 4 a.m. I’ve had to wipe vomit off your face before I’ve left the house every morning this week, most women get a kiss from their partners to start and end the day Ville.” He looked like a child that had been told his favourite toy had been smashed to pieces. She stared directly into his eyes, it was only now Ville could see how tired and drawn they were; the dark circles, the heavy lids, the exhaustion in her gaze. “It shouldn’t be this hard to love you.” she breathed, her eyes welled with tears. All she wanted in that moment was for him to say something, anything, that would do some way to making her feel better, more assured. Instead, he dragged one hand through his long hair whilst rubbing his chest, scanning the destruction of the room and smacking his dry mouth.
“I’m sorry.” he spoke dryly, before padding over to pick up his cigarettes. He shunted a beer can out the way with his foot as he then made his way to the French door that led outside, swinging it open as he lit the cigarette, the morning air rushing in quickly against Milly’s legs as she stood in the middle of the room. “I’m sorry,” he repeated again, in the same deadpan tone that she found hard to place, “it’s so hard for you to love me, Matilda.” Two tears dropped from her eyes as his words cocooned her in his apathy. He looked across at the clock on the wall in the sound booth and cocked his brow, stumbling slightly backwards into the door frame as he tried to steady his drunk body. “It’s almost 6.30… better get ready so you’re not late for work. I’ll try not to vomit on myself before you leave, wouldn’t want to make it even harder to love me.” he offered, before turning and facing out into the garden.
————
Milly pressed her fingers into her eye sockets and took a deep breath in as she tipped her head back to face the ceiling. She hoped and wished with every bit of intent she could muster that when she opened her eyes the mountain of work on her desk before her had evaporated. It hadn’t. She scraped her fingers through her hair, slipping the soft elastic tie off her wrist as she did so, wrapping it haphazardly around her mass of black hair out the way of her face and sighed. “Right.” she said out loud, somewhat to encourage herself, “Get it done, get it done, get it done”, she repeated as she rearranged everything to tackle it with a new found gusto. “I’m so fucking tired, I’m so fucking tired, I’m so fucking tired.” she spoke like a mantra, before descending into singing it to herself as she sorted the papers into piles. The buzz of her intercom scared her to death, she was so caffeinated she felt she could travel through time given the will and intent. “Yeah?” she jumped.
“Uhh, food delivery guy here for you.” her assistant, Janne, informed. She paused, not having remembered ordering food at all. Though, she had spent five minutes scrambling around looking for the phone she was holding before, so she may well have ordered food too.
“Oh, sure, send him up.” she said, uncertainly. She leant back in the chair and realised in that moment how truly starving she was; it was 3 p.m and she hadn’t eaten all day.
When she had been leaving the house at 7 that morning, she definitely remembered grabbing a banana, however she never ate it. As she walked through the house, she couldn’t see nor hear Ville anywhere. She went back towards the recording space and found nothing but the open door, mess still everywhere and no Ville. Quietly she walked through the room and poked her head outside, hoping he didn’t notice her as she couldn’t bear another exchange like the one they had just had. He was passed out on the bench shirtless with his jeans unbuttoned - one arm draped down onto the ground with a burnt out cigarette, the other up and bent over his face to shield his eyes from the light, only his lips peaking through. Her heart beat heavily and she sighed. She did love him, with every fibre of her being to the point of agony. She hated that the stresses of their lives was putting so much pressure on their relationship but she didn’t know how to fix it. Sometimes she resented their beautiful home, because that’s where all the problems began, when they started to co-exist. She shook her head free of all thoughts and stepped back inside, before emerging a minute later with a throw, a pillow and a bottle of water. She knelt next to him and gently lifted his head just enough to pull the pillow under with her free hand, she then covered his bare chest, discarded of the cigarette and placed his arm across his stomach. He stank of whisky, beer and sweat but she couldn’t help but find the lingering intoxication of the sweet scent of his skin comforting. She wanted to be angry at him, but her heart just hurt that this is what they had become. She softly kissed the underside of his arm that was over his face and stood to her feet, squinting in the rising light. Decisively she turned and headed for the small shed to retrieve the table parasol, that was a lot heavier than she remembered. It being Spring, she knew it would only be an hour or so before the sun would be beaming into their garden, onto a sleeping Ville, so she positioned it in front of him and opened it, making sure he’d be shaded completely from any angle, set the bottle of water down beside him and promptly left.
“Come in.” she said loudly, sliding a pen out of her hair to sign a contract she was currently scowling at. She heard the door open but didn’t look up, “Be with you in on-“ she began, as she finished signing and looked up. Her heart pounced. “Oh.”
“For fuck sake.” Milly seethed, kicking the covers off of her and swinging her legs out of the bed in a rage. She grabbed the closet item of clothing she could reach and pulled it on as she stormed out the room. The sound of Marshall amps reverberated through the house, Mige’s bass practically shaking the walls at their very foundations. Descending down the stairs with haste, she heard the clutter of beer bottles being knocked over which only made her angrier. “No more.” she growled as she reached the bottom step, before purposely marching through the back room where they were yelling loudly at each other over the noise; she pushed past Mige and a very drunk Ville, both of whom had yet to notice her. She walked straight behind the amp and pulled the power board plug from the socket. “It’s 6 fucking a.m” she shouted, her ears ringing from the noise.
“Darling..” Ville grinned, before walking towards her, his stale ashtray breath reaching her before he did, “..hello.”
“Don’t.” she snapped, holding her index finger out. Mine sniggered. “And you can shut up.” she added, pointing at Mige.
“Sweetheart you must hear this son-“
“Sweetheart,” she started patronisingly, “it’s all I’ve been fucking hearing it since you got home two hours ago. Our home is not Tavas-fucking-tia, Ville.”
“Well w-“ he started drunkly. She shook her head and widened her eyes.
“Well nothing. You cannot plug in amps and have a fucking doom party at 5 a.m. I have a real job, during real people hours and I’m really sick, and I do not fucking need this.”
“Darling, forgive me.” he slurred, stepping towards her with his arms, knocking over a chair as he did so.
“Don’t,” she sighed exasperated, “I am so angry with you. Just a bit of fucking consideration Ville, that’s all I want.” she said seriously, staring him in the face. She had been working day and night, day in day out, for over a month now. She was doing the hard yards to get her business of the ground, as well as doing her 9-5 job running someone else’s interior design company, on top of managing the merchandise of Ville’s band - as she had done since they were teenagers. And having recently come down with some kind of flu, she was bordering on exhaustion. Ville’s drinking had increased ten fold since the cancellation of a long leg of tour due to Gas badly injuring himself, and while months ago she would have loved to have sat up all night drinking with him instead of pining for him to come home from tour, she was now simply too busy to now that he was home.
They had never lived together for such a long period of time, and Milly slowly started remembering why she hated going to his flat before they had the house - because it was a trash heap of discarded paper, ashtrays, beer bottles, guitar cables and coffee cups. He never cleaned and he never tidied. Granted, the room he and gas were currently in was a dedicated jam room wherein he could do as he pleased - but playing a festival volume set was out of the question and the mess was slowly creeping out the room and spreading to the kitchen, with discarded bottles, glasses and take out boxes all over the kitchen; overflowing ashtrays and crushed beer cans covered the table in the courtyard out back; Milly had on multiple occasions found beer cans perilously left on the toilet cistern. She would get home late and he’d either not be there, or passed out on the bed, the couch or in an armchair with his guitar in his lap and drool crawling down his chin. Every morning this week she would clean up, leave early and slip out as quietly as possible, not wanting to wake him less she tear his head off in anger - and she had finally reached boiling point.
“I just..” she started, her voice crackling and desperate, “I just need you to support me right now Ville.” her arms fell limp by her sides and she started to cry. Mige and Gas exchanged a sobering glance and quietly gathered their things, Ville nodded almost unnoticeably to them, signalling that it was probably, definitely, absolutely, for the best that they left - which they did, promptly.
“Mil-“ he said, reaching out and touching her hand.
“I’m not your housekeeper, I’m not your life coach, your assistant or your mother.” she said tiredly.
“I know.”
“If you did you wouldn’t keep doing this.” she snapped, pulling her hand away. “Where’s my Ville? My loving, thoughtful, romantic Ville? I’m sick to death of absent Ville, drunk Ville, passed out Ville, grumpy Ville, messy Ville… I feel like your fucking carer.”
“Well maybe if you weren’t always in meetings or fucking around with paint swatches, or fabric rolls or whatever other bullshit is so fucking important you’d be around when that Ville is actually present.” he spat defensively. “Where’s my Milly? Huh? My fun, laughing, silly girl… Where the fuck has she gone? You’re so serious recently and you’re always busy. All I’ve felt like to you in the past few months is an irritating tenant you can barely look at.”
“I can barely look at you because it breaks my heart!” she shouted, sending a beer can flying from the top of an amp as she swung her arm out. “Why can’t you see how much I do for us? How exhausted I am? You have your career, your hobby and I encourage and nurture that and have done my whole life… I don’t want to spend the rest of my life just being “Ville Valo’s wife”, I’ve worked too damn hard on my own path prior to being with you. And now I’m trying to set up a business, whilst working a full time job so I don’t lose clients and can pay my way in this relationship, managing your band’s bloody merchandise, trying to set up our lives in this house and planning a wedding that I don’t even know will happen. I can count on one hand the times I’ve gone to sleep and woken up next to you in the past few weeks. But I lose count of the fucking photos I’ve seen of you out partying with god knows who, the times I’ve been woken up to the sound of blaring music, groups of people in the house or you retching into the toilet bowl at 4 a.m. I’ve had to wipe vomit off your face before I’ve left the house every morning this week, most women get a kiss from their partners to start and end the day Ville.” He looked like a child that had been told his favourite toy had been smashed to pieces. She stared directly into his eyes, it was only now Ville could see how tired and drawn they were; the dark circles, the heavy lids, the exhaustion in her gaze. “It shouldn’t be this hard to love you.” she breathed, her eyes welled with tears. All she wanted in that moment was for him to say something, anything, that would do some way to making her feel better, more assured. Instead, he dragged one hand through his long hair whilst rubbing his chest, scanning the destruction of the room and smacking his dry mouth.
“I’m sorry.” he spoke dryly, before padding over to pick up his cigarettes. He shunted a beer can out the way with his foot as he then made his way to the French door that led outside, swinging it open as he lit the cigarette, the morning air rushing in quickly against Milly’s legs as she stood in the middle of the room. “I’m sorry,” he repeated again, in the same deadpan tone that she found hard to place, “it’s so hard for you to love me, Matilda.” Two tears dropped from her eyes as his words cocooned her in his apathy. He looked across at the clock on the wall in the sound booth and cocked his brow, stumbling slightly backwards into the door frame as he tried to steady his drunk body. “It’s almost 6.30… better get ready so you’re not late for work. I’ll try not to vomit on myself before you leave, wouldn’t want to make it even harder to love me.” he offered, before turning and facing out into the garden.
————
Milly pressed her fingers into her eye sockets and took a deep breath in as she tipped her head back to face the ceiling. She hoped and wished with every bit of intent she could muster that when she opened her eyes the mountain of work on her desk before her had evaporated. It hadn’t. She scraped her fingers through her hair, slipping the soft elastic tie off her wrist as she did so, wrapping it haphazardly around her mass of black hair out the way of her face and sighed. “Right.” she said out loud, somewhat to encourage herself, “Get it done, get it done, get it done”, she repeated as she rearranged everything to tackle it with a new found gusto. “I’m so fucking tired, I’m so fucking tired, I’m so fucking tired.” she spoke like a mantra, before descending into singing it to herself as she sorted the papers into piles. The buzz of her intercom scared her to death, she was so caffeinated she felt she could travel through time given the will and intent. “Yeah?” she jumped.
“Uhh, food delivery guy here for you.” her assistant, Janne, informed. She paused, not having remembered ordering food at all. Though, she had spent five minutes scrambling around looking for the phone she was holding before, so she may well have ordered food too.
“Oh, sure, send him up.” she said, uncertainly. She leant back in the chair and realised in that moment how truly starving she was; it was 3 p.m and she hadn’t eaten all day.
When she had been leaving the house at 7 that morning, she definitely remembered grabbing a banana, however she never ate it. As she walked through the house, she couldn’t see nor hear Ville anywhere. She went back towards the recording space and found nothing but the open door, mess still everywhere and no Ville. Quietly she walked through the room and poked her head outside, hoping he didn’t notice her as she couldn’t bear another exchange like the one they had just had. He was passed out on the bench shirtless with his jeans unbuttoned - one arm draped down onto the ground with a burnt out cigarette, the other up and bent over his face to shield his eyes from the light, only his lips peaking through. Her heart beat heavily and she sighed. She did love him, with every fibre of her being to the point of agony. She hated that the stresses of their lives was putting so much pressure on their relationship but she didn’t know how to fix it. Sometimes she resented their beautiful home, because that’s where all the problems began, when they started to co-exist. She shook her head free of all thoughts and stepped back inside, before emerging a minute later with a throw, a pillow and a bottle of water. She knelt next to him and gently lifted his head just enough to pull the pillow under with her free hand, she then covered his bare chest, discarded of the cigarette and placed his arm across his stomach. He stank of whisky, beer and sweat but she couldn’t help but find the lingering intoxication of the sweet scent of his skin comforting. She wanted to be angry at him, but her heart just hurt that this is what they had become. She softly kissed the underside of his arm that was over his face and stood to her feet, squinting in the rising light. Decisively she turned and headed for the small shed to retrieve the table parasol, that was a lot heavier than she remembered. It being Spring, she knew it would only be an hour or so before the sun would be beaming into their garden, onto a sleeping Ville, so she positioned it in front of him and opened it, making sure he’d be shaded completely from any angle, set the bottle of water down beside him and promptly left.
“Come in.” she said loudly, sliding a pen out of her hair to sign a contract she was currently scowling at. She heard the door open but didn’t look up, “Be with you in on-“ she began, as she finished signing and looked up. Her heart pounced. “Oh.”