Hallelujah

That night did not go over well.

Why must Brian be so sweet and concerned when I come home a pallid grey and shaking as though I might collapse?

I guess that is a stupid question to ask..

What a better question to ask may be,
How the hell can just one song effect me so much, to the point where I wanted to stop and tell Brian everything?

That isn't what happened though, mostly because I'm too much a coward to stop this destructive (in ways of the heart) cycle.. if there even really is a way to describe it.

Instead I said I was just hungry. Which was relatively true. I'd had coffee and a bagel. That's it, but at the moment it'd probably be impossible to even open my mouth, let alone eat.So we went out to dinner and I acted my way through it, being the notoriously sweet yet spunky as hell "rockstar's girlfriend" throughout the entire night, while fourteen and fifteen year olds tried to win over Brian's heart, giggling and touching his shoulder while he signed autographs. Needless to say the "sexy," green-eyed, blonde/bimbo with a few tattoos, (being me, of course) who kept getting loving looks from said rockstar, got many a burning glare from said horny teenage girls. Oh yes, it made me feel all warm and fuzzy.

And then came the know-it-all, the Goth Teen Supreme, if you will. She looked from Brian to me, from me to Brian, before stating in an overly authoritative (yet high-pitched) voice,

"Hey, you're Cady Gianello." I nodded slowly, not used to actually being recognized, saying,

"Yes..." quite warily. She looked very happy now. I wondered dryly what torture she had in store for me. Must I sign a horrible drawing of a purple deathbat too? She wassqueaking talking again:

"Oh, so you're the whore that broke up with M. Shadows! And now you're just moving on, right? Then you'll break up with Syn and go onto.. who, Zacky next?" I blinked.

You little fucking bitch! It took every ounce of energy I had to keep from throwing my large dirty steak knife into that girl's (huge and most likely fake) chest. It probably would just make her deflate anyway, causing her no harm but to yell out Oh! My seventeen thousand dollars were wasted!. Brian stopped writing immediately and glared at the GTS.

"If I were you, I'd leave before I call security on your bitchy ass," he growled. Brian was possibly the most terrifying to insult, though Matt was the one with the supposed anger issues...

The GTS backed a few paces away, the smug look never leaving her face. She called,

"Well I guess she's got you wrapped around her little finger, doesn't she? That's too bad.. Just remember, I'll be waiting for when your whore (My hand twitched towards the knife; she pretended not to notice.) stomps on your heart," She turned on her (stripper boot heels... That explains the huge boobs, I guess.) heel and stomped out.

Brian and I wenthome back to his house right after that incident, him slamming a hundred dollar bill down on the table and practically dragging me out after him.

"Brian, you're hurting me," his grip was so tight on my hand it seemed any second now the bones could snap. He apologized and loosened his grip, lacing his fingers with mine. We got out to his Escalade and I found myself thinking:

Is it me, or is he incredibly sexy when he's pissed?

Probably just myself and all the other eight thousand horny teenagers looking at every picture of him they could get their grimy little hands on, thought that. I shuddered as I slipped into the passenger seat, not liking the fact that I had something in common with those sort of people.

"Cold?" Brian asked, his teeth still gritted. I shook my head and put my (slightly sore, but otherwise undamaged) hand on his arm. He untensed a bit. "I just hate jealous fucking bitches like that," he fumed, "People used to come up to Michelle and I and do that to her... It's so unfair to us." I assumed he meant the entire band and their love interests. But jealous people live everywhere, even in the land of walking Barbies and Kens.

"You were so pissed, I bet you didn't even notice when she rammed her tits into your face," He snorted and shook his head.

"Nah, I like yours better," He reached toward my chest and I squealed, slapping his hand away but giggling profusely. It was a relief, everything was okay again. He started up the black SUV, the engine thrumming, and we went home.

So much for a private dinner, I thought, but at least it took my mind off of...

No! Don't even think it. Thank you, berating voice that lives in the back of my skull.