Baby Girl's Got A Face Like ***

I woke up last the next morning, like I always did. And when I rolled out of my bed, I was tackled by a little blond midget.

"GOOOOD MORRRRNINGGG!!!" Jess sang, and if it wasn't so bleedin' loud, I'd say she had a wonderful singing voice.

Who knows, maybe she could replace Sykes in the band.

I laughed at the thought, and Jess thought I was laughing at her, so she pouted and sat up, straddling my waist.

"Why are you laughing at me? I just gave you the best greeting ever, and you laugh in my face! Shows what kinda mate you are," she grumbled, and I held back another laugh.

"Aww, I'm sorry baby cakes. You know I love being tackled at the arse crack of dawn," I said sweetly, poking her sides and causing her to jump.

"Eli, it's almost one in the afternoon. You've slept quite long enough. Curtis is lost without you right now," she snickered, and I motioned for her to get off me. She stood up and offered me a dainty, french-manicured hand. I took it, and she didn't so much pull me up as hold my hand while I got myself off the floor.

I went to the bathroom and fixed my make-up quickly, before teasing my hair. I sprayed it twice and then pushed it up and out to give it volume, back-combing some of the roots to make my hair even bigger. I separated the black and pink extensions on either side of my neck, before braiding them loosely. After I tied my pig-tail braids off, I left the bathroom and changed in the narrow hallway. I pulled off the shirt and shorts quickly, before pulling out a pair of hot pink skinny jeans and a black deep v-necked shirt that had a cupcake pattern on it.

I dressed fast, not caring that the center edges of my bra peeked past the collar of the shirt. I grabbed my small Hello Kitty plush backpack, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and my Ray Bans sunglasses. With my backpack on my shoulders and my sunglasses resting on the bridge of my nose, I stepped into my metallic silver flats, before following Jess into the venue. I pinched my lips around a Virginia Slim and pulled it from the pack.

One of the guards standing by the door stood in our path, glaring until we flashed him our card passes. He didn't move though, and I wondered what his deal was, when he pointed to the "No Smoking" sign.

"It's not even lit, you ponce. I don't have time to piddle about with the likes of you," I grumbled, pushing my way past him. He didn't put up a fight, and Jess walked past without saying a word to him. I wished that she would stick up for herself against face-aches like him. If there's one thing that the guards all have in common, it's that they're all sodding ugly.

I lit my cigarette as soon as we were past the guard, and walked with Jess down the hallway where she insisted the dressing room was.

It was strange that we could walk shoulder to shoulder and there was still enough room on the other side of her that a relatively meaty guy could fit past comfortably. We must have been in some big city, because this building was bigger than most venues the band has played in.

"Right there," Jess told me, and I opened the door that she pointed out.

"Just the petal we were talking about," Oli smirked from his seat on the little leather couch.

"Sod off. I'm not in the mood. What was so important that you made Jess come and get me?"

"Well," Curtis started, hesitating slightly before Oliver continued for him, "Kean is puking his guts out in the bathroom."

"Is he hung over?" I narrowed my eyes and Oli shook his head, smiling small.

"Well, what the hell is wrong with him?"

"Took him to the doc this mornin'. Said it was a "twenty-four hour stomach flu". Also said he'd be over it by tomorrow," Lee spoke up, seeing that I was about ready to kick thatadorable stupid smile off of Oli's face.

I thought for a moment about where we were going to find a fill-in that knew all the songs, and then it dawned on me. It was the reason they were all staring at me with big smiles, and the reason that Oli looked very smug as he watched my fall tightened and my jaw strain.

"Oh no, I'm not filling in. I haven't played bass since high school!" I exclaimed, and Oli rolled his eyes.

"That was like, a year ago, Eli. You're the only one who knows our shit! And we don't have to pay you either," he added, glancing down at my hand. I hadn't realized that I had clenched my fist with my cigarette still between my fingers until I saw his eyes flick down and then back to my face.

Ah, sweet comfort, I thought as I lifted my cig to my lips and took a long drag.

I used to play bass for Oli's first band while they were looking for a more permanent line up, back when he first decided that he was going to be a rock star. I looked around; everyone was avoiding my eyes now after seeing how I'd reacted initially. Everyone except Oli, like always. I'm pretty sure the only person that Oli feared was his mum. In fact, everyone including myself was afraid of Oli's mum. Let's just say we know where Oli learned to scream.

"There's no fucking way I'm getting out of this, is there?" I muttered, my cig still between my lips. I was pretty good at talking past cigarettes, because I did it all the time. Oli tried once, and he ended up getting a burn hole in his brand new shirt.

"'Course not, petal," Oli was the only one left in the room at this point, and I sighed, shaking my head slowly.

"If I'm doing this for you guys, you'd better get me fucking wasted tonight," I insisted, and the smile on his face turned into an arrogant smirk.

"Hopin' for an encore of last night, hm?" he asked, and I stared at him for a moment, my eyes turning to slits.

"What're you talkin' about?" I remembered what had happened, but I usually didn't, so I was very good at feigning memory loss.

Oli speculated, his lips puckering as he thought. I remembered how those lips had felt against mine, and fought to keep the innocent look on my face.

"Right," his smirk returned, and I've known Oliver long enough to know that he didn't believe me.

"Don't get cute with me, Sykes. What d'you mean, 'right'? What happened last night?" I asked, keeping up the act. His smile faded a little and his eyebrows went up.

"You really don't remember?" he asked, and I scoffed.

"If I remembered, would I be wastin' my time askin' you?" I sneered, and he laughed.

"Guess not. Well, maybe it's better that you don't know. It wasn't too interesting anyway. Though I do think you enjoyed yourself," he said, and I felt my ears growing warm.

Since when do I fucking blush?

"Oliver Scott Sykes, I swear to god if you don't tell me what happened, you'll be screaming and not for your fans," I said, and regretted it as soon as I did. More like as soon as I heard Oli's surprised laugh, before he stood from the couch and started toward me.

"That sounds kind of fun," he wiggled his eyebrows, and if I wasn't so god damn embarrassed, I would have thought it was cute.

"We'll see if you think so," I snapped, and flicked the butt of my cig at his face, before stomping out of the dressing room.

I don't think that encounter could have gone worse.

Oliver Sykes was such a pig.

I was seriously going to have tospank him kick his arse someday.

***

Playing on stage wasn't as bad as I thought. Playing bass was like riding a bike to me; it was something that I would never forget how to do, because I'd started very early.

And the whole experience was over quickly. Not as fast as I hope it would, but I wouldn't complain.

Oliver kept shooting me glances between songs when he would take a swig from his can of Monster. I ignored him as much as possible, and thought about the fun I was going to have tonight.

"If you're not telling me that there's a party tonight, bite your tongue," I told Oli as soon as he tried to talk to me when we were back in the dressing room.

"Actually, I was just going to ask if you were coming with. Din't think you wanted to stay in the bus with Matt when you could be gettin' your drink on," he told me, and I smiled at him.

"You know me well, Oli-Pop," I walked next to him, and soon we were at someone's house, drinking someone's booze, and dancing on someone's table. Or I was. I had a bottle of cherry vodka in one hand, and a Virginia slim between the fingers in my other hand. My sunglasses were still on, slipping down my nose as I shook my hair and my hips to the music. I could hear people cheering me on, and a slow, lazy smile spread across my lips as I continued to dance.

I glanced down at Oli, who had just came back into the room and was insisting that I get down.

I was much more drunk than I was last night, and so I obliged, but he had to help me down. Even with his hand steadying me, I stumbled and tripped over nothing.

"Good god, Eli. How much have you had to drink?" Oli laughed, and we were tripping up some stairs when I answered.

"Probly too much," I laughed, and took another drink from the bottle as if to prove a point.

It was amazing to me that I ended up with Oli at all. I usually hooked up with some guy that was only too eager to rattle my bones, and that was that. Oli was the same way with the ladies.

So why did he keep coming to find me?

I probably wouldn't have known the answer, even if my mind wasn't clouded by cherry vodka.

"Well I'm cuttin' ya off," he decided, and pressed his lips to mine heavily. I pushed against him, keeping our lips connected, and we stumbled into a bathroom that was miraculously unoccupied. I kicked the door shut behind me and climbed up the front of Oli's body, dropping the bottle on the floor. I must have dropped my cigarette a while back, because it was no where in sight at the moment.

With quite a bit of assistance from Oli, I clamped my legs around his waist and ran my hands over his chest as I continued to kiss him. He leaned back against the counter, and I felt my now-bare feet touch the wall behind him.

I gasped as he pulled his lips from mine, moved them to my jaw and throat. He sucked gently at my collarbone, coaxing a soft groan from my throat. He peeled my shirt off and moved his lips to my chest, kissing a line between my breasts.

"Oh god," I breathed, squeaking when Oli's hands groped at my arse.

"Call me Oli, love," he laughed, and I arched myself into him involuntarily when his tongue flicked out and licked the top of my stomach.

"Fuckin' smartass, aren't ya?" I laughed, bringing his lips back to mine for a deep, slow kiss.

Then he pulled back and looked at me for a moment, before sighing and trying to worm his way out from the vice that my legs made.

I whimpered quietly, and he laughed before looking at my face again.

"You'll regret it, love. I know you, and you will," he insisted, and I growled, "no" before pulling his face to mine again.

He pulled back though, and he was very obviously stronger than I was, because it was easy for him to get away.

"I'm sorry," he smiled small, and I sighed, pushing him away from me before hopping down from the counter. I put my shirt back on and threw one last look at him, shaking my head as I left the bathroom. i slammed the door behind me, deciding to first go and find my shoes.

I quickly abandoned that idea when I got back downstairs and membered how many bloody people were at this party. I tried to remember when they'd fallen off, but I hadn't even noticed they were gone until I was in that horrid bathroom.

I took the stairs quickly, not stumbling as much as I should have. I started to squeeze my way through the crowd until I got irritated. Then I was shoving my way through.

"Fuckin' move. Get outta my way. Move," I demanded at people, and they were quick to listen to me.

I wondered if it was because they knew I could be a bloody cruel person when I was sober, or because of the running make-up that probably was staining my clear ivory cheeks.

A lot of people cry for no reason when they're drunk. Curtis, the corny bastard, calls 'em "Criers". He used to say to me when I'd get angry with intoxicated, "Well, at least you're no Crier" and then I would laugh at him, which was most likely his intent in the first place.

I had a good reason to cry. I was frustrated. Frustrated with Oli, with myself, with the rest of the band. Oli because he pushed me away, myself because I allowed myself to think that maybe Oli really wanted me, and the rest of the band because without their pressure, their heavy glances, I wouldn't have been so afraid to tell Oli that I wanted him so badly.

Don't get me wrong, the boys in the band are wonderful, brilliant people and they probably wouldn't say a peep if Oli and I hooked up. At least not to my face. I knew that they would disapprove at first, and that's part of what held me back.

Secondly, after I thought about if for a moment, I wasn't sure that I wanted to live with this shit Oliver would give me if I told him and he didn't take me seriously. It would be humiliating.

And frankly, I was pissed that I wasn't getting what I wanted.

So I did what every good drama-sucking, spoiled little daddy's girl does. I cried about it.

I was about to make my way back to the bus, hoping that Matt was feeling better so that I could go to him for comfort, before I realized that I had no idea how to get back to the bus.

"Fucking wonderful," I grumbled, and collapsed right there in the grass. I lied there on my back, staring at the inky sky, and cried silently. The grass was poky and itchy, but I ignored it.

My vision was blurry from a mixture of tears and alcohol, and eventually, after laying there for about twenty minutes (or so I though; I wasn't too sure) I started to feel tired.

I knew that I should have stood up, but I didn't feel like it. Someone would find me and take me back to the bus, I trusted.

But if I'd have known that it was going to be Oliver, I would have stood from the ground that instant and wandered in the direction I thought the bus was in. If I'd have known that everybody else went back to the bus, or someone else's bus, I would crawled back if that meant not having Oli's hands on me ever again.

But I didn't know either of these things, so I let my eyelids drop and curled up on my side.

I was out within a matter of seconds.

That must be some sort of record.