Bellamysbanana
Banned
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- Posts
- 14
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- Seen Jan 30, 2010
Hey guys, im new. And i thought maybe you guys would like to read some good fanfic. :)
Im not trolling. :(
Muse r rly good. :)
PART ONE: CRASHING DOWN TO EARTH
New York City, August 2007
By after-party standards, the one going on in the fearsomely chic bar in Lower Manhattan that night was impressive. The sleek, minimalist steel and glass space was crowded, the beautiful people and a smattering of scruffy and eager concert-goers and band crew mingling freely amongst the sweaty scene of excess and glitz, the air thick with the shimmering August heat and the sound of music, laughter and chatter. It was a far cry from the old days of a pile of cheap booze in the back of the bus and a motley collection of strays assembled by the three men holding court on a plush black couch in a corner of the room.
All three eyed the party-goers with a fair degree of cynicism- the executives from Warner's in their casual suits, models and rent-a-celebs, the odd hobnobbing musician along to see what the fuss was about, and their crew, taking a much deserved break by consuming vast amounts of expensive liquor and eyeing all the airbrushed and lightly clad women on display. They had just played the biggest gig of their lives in this huge and complex country and it had been a triumph. Their sweat-grimed bodies were still fizzing and popping with adrenaline, the wild and incredulous shrieks of the heaving audience still ringing in their ears. But none of them- not the drummer with the tousled mane of blonde hair and gleaming, sardonic smile, not the tall, placid bass player toying with a packet of Marlboros on the coffee table, and not the slight, dark man slumped over a bottle of whisky, his piercing blue eyes wandering from person to person in the room, none of them believed for a moment they had now 'made it.'
The mood between the trio had been somewhat sombre since they had entered the bar and received the gushing congratulations of their guests, all three sunk in thought over what they had achieved over the last year, wondering whether it was really what they had asked for. They had been on the road for months, selling themselves with no end yet in sight and while they loved it, lapped up the attention and adulation of their fans, absorbed and experienced new sights, sounds, tastes and textures of their exotic surroundings, all three had to sacrifice something for it. And for Matthew Bellamy his particular sacrifice was itching away at his mind that night, his temper rising and demeanour edgy as he waited in vain for someone to appear in the crowd, someone he actually wanted to see. Lise's continued absence soured his achievement and added to his isolation from the celebration, his sense of not being complete. It had been a recurring theme all year.
"****ing woman," Matt muttered viciously, taking another swig of his drink, his skinny throat working as he downed the glass in one, the rich stinging taste of the single malt scotch burning in his stomach. He had slammed the glass down on the table and was about to pour another when a pair of girls approached, their faces red and words jumbled as they attempted to chat with their idol, who had been strutting and writhing in front of their noses not an hour since like some kind of modest-sized god. He forced a polite smile on his sulky face and shyly listened to their babbling stream of compliments, his hands flailing about nervously as if he was trying to bat them away. As they were fans and not sycophants he was not rude, posing for the camera shoved in his face and quickly scribbling his sprawling signature on various items pushed his way, making sure they left happy and with memories to treasure.
Sighing subtly with relief when they moved away to approach Dom he sloshed more whisky into his glass, not missing Chris' suspicious glance at the level of liquid left in the bottle. "What, Grandad?" He snarled, his thin shoulders hunching defensively under his white t-shirt, his friend's warm hazel eyes full of exasperation and concern.
Chris had noticed Matt's somewhat poisonous mood as soon as they had reached the party, and the presence of whisky in his hand instead of the usual glass of red clearly showed he was bent on drowning his sudden pique. He felt sorry for Lise when she turned up. "I'm sure there's a bloody good reason why she's not here yet, Bells," he said quietly, ignoring the urge to pop outside for another cigarette in order to give his companion a stern talking to. He was half drunk himself on the only decent beer he could find in the pretentious bar, but he hunted for calming words. "She knows how important this gig was to you, something must have happened on her way from home."
The blue eyes that glanced up from the glass on the table did not soften- they remained brittle and uncertain as he met Chris's gaze. "Do you know what, mate, I don't think she does know anymore," Matt said wearily. "She should have sodding well come on this tour with us from the start. Ditched that stupid job and kept me company. She's so bloody stroppy with this 'I'm not a ****ing groupie' ********." He took another generous sip of his drink, words already blurring at the edges from the potent alcohol. "It's like she doesn't want me, the full package," he murmured, embarrassed by the display of weakness but unable to stop talking. "Lise is so, **** it, defensive."
Chris grunted uncomfortably, turning to Dom and poking him in the ribs to get his attention, desperate for the drummer to chip in since he knew Lise better than he did. The bassist was very fond of the feisty girl, admiring her independence, her sharp wit, the way she put up with Matt's long absences without complaint and just got on with life- a woman in the mould of his own distant partner. But it was obvious that her decision to let Matt wander around the world without joining him was starting to sour things, and he himself was beginning to wonder why she continued to play it so casual when the couple had been together for over a year. "Lise loves you to bits," he said firmly. "Don't be such a silly bastard. I've never seen two people so into each other. It's just...she's probably a bit leery of trusting you."
"Yeah," Dom added, finally waving away the two tittering girls and turning his attention to the conversation. "Much as I can't be arsed with this serious shite at the moment, I must agree. You've had like, three weeks alone at the most since you got back together, it's still the honeymoon period ain't it? Give her a chance; she's just...not too sure of you yet." He ruffled his friend's messy black hair in cheeky reassurance and shot Chris an exasperated look, wanting to be off to mingle in the crowd and not be forced to play relationship counsellor to a moody Matt all night.
There was truth in both their words, but they did not wipe the abstracted frown from Matt's face. Suddenly he felt dead tired, tired of the glitz and bustle of being on the road, tired of being lonely and sitting in various hotel rooms waiting for Lise to call or message him, always an excuse on those full, luscious lips as to why she couldn't be there. Sighing he fished in the pocket of his red trousers for his phone, checking the screen again for a message, but there was none. For weeks they had planned for her to come over for the Madison Square Garden gig and stay a couple of days in New York before she flew back home and he continued on the road, one of the only occasions she had agreed to venture out of the shadows since Wembley. She professed to be too tied down with work now she had been promoted to gallivant about, but Matt knew it was not entirely the truth. Lise had always been a bit wary about following him on tour, loving the gigs and the travel but hating everything else that went along with it- attention from fans and press and the false camaraderie of backstage parties. In his dark mood it was easy to believe she had bottled it and decided not to come, irrational though it probably was.
Dom stood up and stretched with a luxurious yawn, pushing past Matt to head for the tempting crowd of women surrounding the bar, a teasing grin appearing on his face as he glanced down at his rattled friend. "Stop being such a miserable arse," he lectured, "the lovely Lise's plane probably got delayed or something. Go and get pissed and socialise for ****'s sake." With that he left, working his way through a throng of well wishers and eager looking females to fetch another drink, wondering idly why Lise and Matt seemed to be going through a rough patch. He had seen her only once since Wembley, and she had acted decidedly odd that night- sitting on the other side of the backstage party with her mates and eyeing the band almost in awe until Matt had dragged her to her feet and kissed her, the girl melting in his arms and appearing as flustered as those fangirls he'd just seen off tonight.
He hoped they could work it out whatever it was, his secretly romantic heart touched by the couple's strange reunion after so many years had passed and still deeply envious of the intense, sexual connection that burned between them, blatantly obvious to anyone that saw them together. They'll probably just scrap, **** each other's brains out and everything will be fine again, he told himself before a pair of sculpted blondes descended upon him with promising smiles, his friends forgotten as he proceeded to put on the patented Howard charm. "Why hello, ladies," he drawled. "Want to hear a good drummer joke?"
*
With a few more decidedly fatherly words Chris got up and followed Dom for his long-awaited fag break, leaving Matt alone on the couch to mull over what they had both said. They were both right, Lise did not trust him in the way it really mattered. She had always given him all of herself in bed, surrendering her body to his hands with a savage joy that continued to delight and rouse him, keeping him chained to her alone despite the myriad temptations thrown his way, but in all other ways she was guarded. Continuing to cling on to her tiny flat in Kilburn, now completely crammed with his possessions so it was impossible to move without knocking something over. Continuing to work as a housing officer for a council estate on a poxy thirty thousand a year and refusing to take time off to follow him on tour. Even telling him off for buying her presents. It was as if she was bracing herself to be cast adrift by him at any moment and it hurt, by Christ it hurt.
Bile filled his stomach, not helped by the amount of whisky he'd consumed, his mind now drifting to the last time he'd spoken to her, trying to look for proof of his misgivings. It had been a video call on MSN two days ago after the gig in Michigan, when he had woken her from her sleep with the pinging of her laptop, always kept on the bed so he could call her whenever he was able:
"Ugh, it's 4AM, you git," The dozy girl mumbled, her pretty face creased and half hidden by her long dark hair in the webcam as she propped herself up against the pillows, blinking like an owl with her big gold eyes. As her mind cleared and she finally took in the image of him sitting on another hotel bed in his yellow boxers she smiled ruefully. "Bloody teasing me already, you skinny saucy *****. God I can't ****ing wait until I get there."
The man on the other side of the ocean gave her a slow, promising grin, his blue eyes devouring every inch of her he could spot on the tiny screen. After a few mumbled endearments and questions about her work and the gig he'd just played, he stirred on the bed, throwing Lise a sultry look. "I have two questions for you, bad girl," he said sternly, waving a finger in the direction of the camera. "One, did you find somewhere in that hobbit hole for the delivery men to put my piano, and two, why are you wearing ****ing pyjamas? I'm most disappointed."
Lise laughed lowly. "It's shoved in the corner of the lounge. I sacrificed the bookcase; it's gone into storage at my Dad's. They tuned it once they got it in and I played Chopsticks on it to check it out when they'd left." She paused, watching Matt roll his eyes and mutter 'Chopsticks' in a contemptuous tone. "And as for the pyjamas, contrary to what you like to imagine, I don't wander around the flat all day naked. Just when you're here."
He shot her a look through his lashes, a tiny determined smile appearing on his lips. "When you get to New York, you're going to be naked. Permanently. Even when I take you out sightseeing." Lise tossed her head, a noticeable blush appearing on her cheeks. "And we're going to have a little talk about you getting off your plump arse and finding us a house. Because I cannot stand that ****ing grotty flat for any longer."
Lise's expression grew hunted. "I cannot afford a bloody house in London, and I don't want you paying for it. I can look after myself, Matt, I-"
"Enough, Lise," he said wearily, raising a hand, unwilling to get into the same old discussion when he was tired and already frustrated. "I don't want to hear it again. I don't know why you insist on keeping that ****** housing job running after chavs all day for peanuts and refusing to let me care for you-"
"Don't be such a pompous snob," she snarled, bridling, her expressive eyes narrowing. "How many times do I have to tell you that the only place I'll be your ***** is the ****ing bedroom?" His face went cold in the video screen, his previous playful mood now shattered. Neither of them spoke for a moment, both refusing to apologise for their harsh words, until Lise sighed sadly, her hand reaching out to touch his image. "I've got to get up in three hours, I'll see you soon. Enjoy Lollapalooza."
His stomach lurched in regret at the bitter end to their conversation but knowing nothing would be achieved by going on he nodded jerkily into the camera. "Don't be late for the gig. I want to see you beforehand and make sure Tom gets you a spot by the side of the stage."
Her wary expression softened slightly and she lifted her hand to her mouth, blowing her distant lover an apologetic kiss. "I'd rather be in the pit, cracking skulls and listening to what the girls say about you," she said flippantly, "but I will do what I'm told, for once."
His mouth curled at the corners in amusement and he waved at her with the tips of his fingers. "That's my girl, now go back to sleep. See you on the other side, love."
"I love you," she said softly before the screen went blank.
"****ed if I know," the dark haired man muttered to himself. Fed up with brooding in the corner like some emo teenager he got up, smoothing his rumpled, sweat stained clothes over his slim frame. The room swirled around him- he had eaten next to nothing all day due to horrendous pre-gig nerves and the raw whisky was charging through his veins in a sickening manner. But he straightened his back determinedly and set off across the room, now lubricated enough to overcome any reluctance at socialising with the crowd who were allegedly here to celebrate his achievement. He began to work the room, exchanging witty words with the hangers-on and record company suits, knowing they were wankers but enjoying their shallow, bright company nevertheless, his wild giggle ringing out over the pounding music from the DJ booth and causing more people to be drawn into his fascinating orbit.
Matt drunk even more, flirted and charmed, his absent girlfriend pushed to the back of his mind as the night drew on, growing both more relaxed and more jittery as the alcohol and hot glances from the women and not a few men were absorbed into his tense body. Eventually he ended up on the dancefloor, grinding with one of the crew's girlfriends, a buxom woman who had started an outrageous suggestive banter session with him, ignoring her partner's suspicious looks to drag the handsome singer out for a sexy dance. It was all in fun, the bird pretending to swoon as she jerked him closer to her swaying hips, laughing wickedly and professing to be the luckiest ***** in the room. But he couldn't help getting roused by her play- it had been some time since he had last got laid and had been holding himself back from relieving the pressure in the knowledge Lise would be there that night.
Before he could make his interest baldly obvious he excused himself and left, leaving the girl to be swept up by her thunderous bloke. He started to shoulder himself over to the safety of the bar, his head down so he could concentrate on where to put his unsteady feet, when he was brought short by the smell of expensive perfume and a tall, rangy body in a silver dress blocking his path. "Sorry," he muttered apologetically, glancing upwards to be greeted by a feline smile in an impossibly gorgeous face.
"Well, well, well, lucky old me," the girl drawled in a thick New York accent, licking her painted lips. "I've been waiting to ambush you all night." Brazenly the mystery woman reached out to skim a soft hand over the curve of his neck, closing her slanted eyes in a wince of delight, sucking in a breath suggestively. "Good lordy, I am just dying to bite that beautiful neck right now."
Matt froze in astonishment, an unwise dart of excitement flickering through his groin. He was well used to random women approaching, touching him and saying saucy things, but the words combined with her stunning looks and aggressive manner meant he did not immediately giggle and move away as normal. Instead he eyed her, having to tilt his head to get a good look at her face. An ash blonde, rake thin with cheekbones as sharp as his own, blue eyes under perfectly plucked brows, she towered over him by at least five inches. Her ice cream scoop tits were barely concealed by her skimpy dress, and her honeyed legs seemed to go on forever. She was as different to Lise as a racehorse was to a comfortable pony, as glossy and perfect and brittle as a glass sculpture. He swallowed, clearing his throat of an appreciative groan, ego stoked to life by this ice queen's fevered interest. "Er, hi." He muttered, trying to drag his eyes away from her chest but failing, his hands darting nervously to smooth his unruly hair.
The strange woman smiled slowly at his reluctant interest, swaying forwards on her kitten heels so close he was forced to move a tiny step back, taking on the role of instigator with this delicious but evasive man. "I'm Vanessa, and I know who you are," she purred. "Dance with me."
*
The girl with the mane of long dark hair barrelled through the still half- full arrivals hall with a thunderous expression on her tired, pale face, her black boots thumping across the marble floor as she hurried for the taxi rank, dragging her small red suitcase behind her jerkily. More than one person stopped to stare at her as she whirled past, her stormy demeanour and edgy gig clothes of fishnets, heavy lace-up boots and a tiny red kilt seeming very out of place.
As soon as she was outside Lise leapt into the nearest yellow cab, leaving her suitcase on the kerb for the fat, slovenly driver to put in the boot. The man hauled himself from his spot against the bonnet of the car, tossing away his half-smoked fag to stow her luggage, making a show at earning his exorbitant tip as the fuming girl waited impatiently in the back seat. It was too late now for the gig, even the after party would be winding down. It was 3AM New York time and she had left her flat eighteen long hours ago, a two hour check in and eight hour flight turned into a complete ****ing nightmare by one stupid drunk on the plane Lise could happily throttle to death with her bare hands.
She had settled into her seat in business class, stubbornly paid for by Matt, when the ruckus had erupted back in economy, an Arab-looking gentleman discovered by a stewardess drunk and possessing of a hip flask he had smuggled on the plane despite the 'no liquids' rule. The man fought attempts to confiscate the item and a standoff occurred between the offender and jittery staff, the plane being grounded for a number of hours as security boarded and crawled all over the plane, menacingly armed and looking for terrorists. Finally the man had been restrained and they had been given leave to take off and, barred from using her mobile, which was flat anyway, Lise had been unable to contact Matt or Tom and tell them she wasn't going to make it. He was going to be pissed. Very pissed.
"****ing hurry up, you fat ****er," she hissed under her breath as the driver sauntered to the driver's seat. As he settled himself she barked the name of the hotel at him curtly, deciding to flag trying the party. Matt would likely be in bed already, not sleeping but sitting reading one of his beloved dotty, incomprehensible books and scowling, tapping his long fingers impatiently as he waited for her to show. So miserable was Lise at missing the gig and letting him down, even though it was beyond her control, she almost dreaded seeing her lover, despite aching for him every minute he was out of her sight. It did not help that she looked and smelt like **** after her overly long trip- she was going to jump in the shower as soon as she got to the hotel and give herself a nice twenty minutes to hide from Matt's acid disappointment and make herself pretty.
To her relief the traffic was light due to the late hour and driver moved swiftly through the streets of steel, glass and concrete, chatting at her constantly over his pudgy shoulder, undeterred by her sullen grunts in response. Lise stared blankly at the glaring lights and massive buildings that closed in around the cab as they hit Manhattan Island, strangely familiar due to movies and television. She was looking forward to three whole days with Matt showing her around, after some much needed rough and angry sex and that dreaded 'little talk' he wanted to have. Squirming and sighing at both prospects the anxious girl tried to relax into the lumpy seat, her mind going over what she was going to say to him when the dust had cleared.
She was not thick- Lise knew Matt was getting fed up with her elusiveness and it was long past the time to give in. The love she had for him was all consuming and she needed to push past her lack of confidence once and for all and admit that she needed him in her life, forever, regardless of the long absences and constant worries about what he was up to when she wasn't there. So she would take the stupid house, take some unpaid leave from work and get to know the man who had been part of her life for six long years but still remained unexplored territory. The capitulation filled her with fear as she sat there, but she stiffened her spine in determination, more than ready to give him everything she had to make him stay.
After fifteen tedious minutes of weaving their way through Manhattan the cab finally pulled up outside the swanky hotel where the band and crew were staying and Lise leapt out, fumbling in her large red handbag for her roll of US dollars. She peeled off a handful of notes and handed them to the driver, then fetched her case from the popped boot, and with a hurried thanks she darted through the revolving glass doors and into the lobby. She suffered a flash of déjà vu as she entered, thinking back to that fateful night when she had been reunited with Matt in Knightsbridge in a similar flash hotel. Her skin warmed at the vivid memory and her face brightened with a dreamy smile, recalling the song that had brought her back from the past and back into his bed. "Romantic little sod," she muttered to herself happily, all previous reluctance gone and she almost skipped to the front desk, eager to get upstairs to the man himself.
"Hi there," she said to the girl behind the counter, a perma-tanned vision of bouffant hair and caked makeup that made her inwardly giggle. "I'm Lise Arnold, the partner of Mr. Bellamy in Room 69. Can you check me in?"
The girl gave her an incredulous look, taking in her rumpled punkish clothes with a sniff of disdain, but after checking her computer she grudgingly smiled and handed over a form and a keycard. "Of course, Miss. Arnold, if you can just complete the check in form you can go right upstairs."
The scruffy English girl rolled her big cat-like eyes impatiently and picked up a pen, scribbling her details quickly and shoving the form back over the counter. "Cheers," she said shortly, not in the mood to be polite to the haughty woman. With her keycard in hand she turned and headed for the lifts, shaking her head when the bell hop offered to take her bag. "No thanks, mate, I can handle it," she demurred, stepping into the elevator and punching the button for the sixth floor. The sleek lift swept her up fast and she hopped out into the dimly lit hallway, laughing when she could her familiar drunken voices coming from a nearby room. Dom and Tom, pissed up and on one of their long ******** sessions. She waved at the closed door, not stopping to look in and say hello, her lover, a nice shower and a shag making her almost run down the hallway in glee.
She knew something was amiss as soon as she let herself in- the room was dark, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up in warning, a primal instinct telling her Matt was not alone and waiting for her. As she moved further inside, peering into the gloom blindly, she heard a light moan, a distinctly female noise of pleasure. The suitcase dropped from her hand as she froze in place, her vision sharpening to take in the tableau on the bed. Her bed. Now never to be hers again.
There was a girl there, a blonde, scrawny, perfect girl, sitting bolt upright facing in Lise's direction. Her doll-like face was screwed up in blissful concentration as she undulated up and down over Matt's comfortably sprawled body, riding his **** as he watched lazily through heavy lidded eyes. An invisible sword plunged into Lise's chest, ripping through her heart and guts and spilling her life out over the toes of her boots.
Sensing the intrusion the blonde girls' eyes opened, taking in the blank face of the other woman. "Who is she?" She drawled drunkenly over her bony shoulder, causing the dopey man to gasp and sit up, pushing the girl off his body. Lise watched Matt rid himself of the woman, sending her toppling over on her side as he scooted back defensively against the headboard of the bed, the bones in his face showing through like a death mask as the full horror of his mistake came crashing down upon him.
She was very strangely calm but like a rock thrown at a windscreen the cracks were spreading fast. "I was his ****ing girlfriend, you malnourished *****." Lise finally said, repressing the very strong urge to leap on the bed and smack the girl's face in. Instead she turned on her heel without another word, scooping up her case as she hurried for the door, her body disintegrating as the shock wore off, leaving her shaking with agonising pain, harsh sobs growing in her throat.
As Lise began to walk out Matt suddenly came to life, launching himself off the bed to stop her, absolute panic swamping his senses and causing his heart to leap and thud erratically in his chest. "Get out," he spat at the pouting girl who had so recently been riding his now deflated dick. "Lise, stop for ****'s sake!" He shouted at her retreating form, but she ignored him and passed through the door and into the hall, starting to run when she heard him curse and pursue her, still stark naked and uncaring so desperate he was to stop her. "Don't do this!" He called out harshly, his heart stilling in fear as he realised she wasn't listening. "Come back here, woman, I'm so sorry. Please let me...God I can't ****ing stand it!"
Halfway to the lifts she halted and whirled around, eyeing his naked form and miserable face, his beautiful hands flailing about in complete agitation, only contempt in her glistening gold eyes, the tears already starting to leak down her white face. "You can't stand it?" She shrieked, her voice carrying into the adjoining rooms along with his. "You have ****ing killed me tonight." Angrily she brushed the tears away with the back of her hand, getting herself under control so she could leave without collapsing in a heap on the carpet. In the corner of her blurred vision she could see doors opening and people coming out to inspect the commotion, but she couldn't give a toss, all her focus was on the man she loved, tormented and swaying drunk, advancing down the hall to try and snatch her back. "I never want to see you again," she snarled. "I never want to hear you again. You are ****ing dead to me, Bellamy."
Just before she turned to go she saw something snap in his blazing sapphire eyes, a choked sob audible down the hall, but she hardened what remained of her heart and left, not noticing the audience they'd acquired for their little freakshow.
Dom had emerged from his room with a plaintive 'what the ****?' in time to catch Lise's final words before she disappeared into the lift. Chris had stumbled out as well, his hazel eyes growing hard as stone as he took in the sordid scene- the sobbing girl leaving, her naked boyfriend squirming in despair, an unknown blonde girl slinking out of Matt's room, shoes in hand. He walked over to his friend, so full of disgust he could barely restrain himself from giving the smaller man a clip round the ear. Matt looked up dully as he approached, his eyes filled with defeated tears. "What have I ****ing done," he said brokenly.
Chris scowled fearsomely and loomed over him, his fists clenched as he settled on the right words running through his head, and with an angry growl he finally spoke in response.
"You stupid little bastard."
Im not trolling. :(
Muse r rly good. :)
PART ONE: CRASHING DOWN TO EARTH
New York City, August 2007
By after-party standards, the one going on in the fearsomely chic bar in Lower Manhattan that night was impressive. The sleek, minimalist steel and glass space was crowded, the beautiful people and a smattering of scruffy and eager concert-goers and band crew mingling freely amongst the sweaty scene of excess and glitz, the air thick with the shimmering August heat and the sound of music, laughter and chatter. It was a far cry from the old days of a pile of cheap booze in the back of the bus and a motley collection of strays assembled by the three men holding court on a plush black couch in a corner of the room.
All three eyed the party-goers with a fair degree of cynicism- the executives from Warner's in their casual suits, models and rent-a-celebs, the odd hobnobbing musician along to see what the fuss was about, and their crew, taking a much deserved break by consuming vast amounts of expensive liquor and eyeing all the airbrushed and lightly clad women on display. They had just played the biggest gig of their lives in this huge and complex country and it had been a triumph. Their sweat-grimed bodies were still fizzing and popping with adrenaline, the wild and incredulous shrieks of the heaving audience still ringing in their ears. But none of them- not the drummer with the tousled mane of blonde hair and gleaming, sardonic smile, not the tall, placid bass player toying with a packet of Marlboros on the coffee table, and not the slight, dark man slumped over a bottle of whisky, his piercing blue eyes wandering from person to person in the room, none of them believed for a moment they had now 'made it.'
The mood between the trio had been somewhat sombre since they had entered the bar and received the gushing congratulations of their guests, all three sunk in thought over what they had achieved over the last year, wondering whether it was really what they had asked for. They had been on the road for months, selling themselves with no end yet in sight and while they loved it, lapped up the attention and adulation of their fans, absorbed and experienced new sights, sounds, tastes and textures of their exotic surroundings, all three had to sacrifice something for it. And for Matthew Bellamy his particular sacrifice was itching away at his mind that night, his temper rising and demeanour edgy as he waited in vain for someone to appear in the crowd, someone he actually wanted to see. Lise's continued absence soured his achievement and added to his isolation from the celebration, his sense of not being complete. It had been a recurring theme all year.
"****ing woman," Matt muttered viciously, taking another swig of his drink, his skinny throat working as he downed the glass in one, the rich stinging taste of the single malt scotch burning in his stomach. He had slammed the glass down on the table and was about to pour another when a pair of girls approached, their faces red and words jumbled as they attempted to chat with their idol, who had been strutting and writhing in front of their noses not an hour since like some kind of modest-sized god. He forced a polite smile on his sulky face and shyly listened to their babbling stream of compliments, his hands flailing about nervously as if he was trying to bat them away. As they were fans and not sycophants he was not rude, posing for the camera shoved in his face and quickly scribbling his sprawling signature on various items pushed his way, making sure they left happy and with memories to treasure.
Sighing subtly with relief when they moved away to approach Dom he sloshed more whisky into his glass, not missing Chris' suspicious glance at the level of liquid left in the bottle. "What, Grandad?" He snarled, his thin shoulders hunching defensively under his white t-shirt, his friend's warm hazel eyes full of exasperation and concern.
Chris had noticed Matt's somewhat poisonous mood as soon as they had reached the party, and the presence of whisky in his hand instead of the usual glass of red clearly showed he was bent on drowning his sudden pique. He felt sorry for Lise when she turned up. "I'm sure there's a bloody good reason why she's not here yet, Bells," he said quietly, ignoring the urge to pop outside for another cigarette in order to give his companion a stern talking to. He was half drunk himself on the only decent beer he could find in the pretentious bar, but he hunted for calming words. "She knows how important this gig was to you, something must have happened on her way from home."
The blue eyes that glanced up from the glass on the table did not soften- they remained brittle and uncertain as he met Chris's gaze. "Do you know what, mate, I don't think she does know anymore," Matt said wearily. "She should have sodding well come on this tour with us from the start. Ditched that stupid job and kept me company. She's so bloody stroppy with this 'I'm not a ****ing groupie' ********." He took another generous sip of his drink, words already blurring at the edges from the potent alcohol. "It's like she doesn't want me, the full package," he murmured, embarrassed by the display of weakness but unable to stop talking. "Lise is so, **** it, defensive."
Chris grunted uncomfortably, turning to Dom and poking him in the ribs to get his attention, desperate for the drummer to chip in since he knew Lise better than he did. The bassist was very fond of the feisty girl, admiring her independence, her sharp wit, the way she put up with Matt's long absences without complaint and just got on with life- a woman in the mould of his own distant partner. But it was obvious that her decision to let Matt wander around the world without joining him was starting to sour things, and he himself was beginning to wonder why she continued to play it so casual when the couple had been together for over a year. "Lise loves you to bits," he said firmly. "Don't be such a silly bastard. I've never seen two people so into each other. It's just...she's probably a bit leery of trusting you."
"Yeah," Dom added, finally waving away the two tittering girls and turning his attention to the conversation. "Much as I can't be arsed with this serious shite at the moment, I must agree. You've had like, three weeks alone at the most since you got back together, it's still the honeymoon period ain't it? Give her a chance; she's just...not too sure of you yet." He ruffled his friend's messy black hair in cheeky reassurance and shot Chris an exasperated look, wanting to be off to mingle in the crowd and not be forced to play relationship counsellor to a moody Matt all night.
There was truth in both their words, but they did not wipe the abstracted frown from Matt's face. Suddenly he felt dead tired, tired of the glitz and bustle of being on the road, tired of being lonely and sitting in various hotel rooms waiting for Lise to call or message him, always an excuse on those full, luscious lips as to why she couldn't be there. Sighing he fished in the pocket of his red trousers for his phone, checking the screen again for a message, but there was none. For weeks they had planned for her to come over for the Madison Square Garden gig and stay a couple of days in New York before she flew back home and he continued on the road, one of the only occasions she had agreed to venture out of the shadows since Wembley. She professed to be too tied down with work now she had been promoted to gallivant about, but Matt knew it was not entirely the truth. Lise had always been a bit wary about following him on tour, loving the gigs and the travel but hating everything else that went along with it- attention from fans and press and the false camaraderie of backstage parties. In his dark mood it was easy to believe she had bottled it and decided not to come, irrational though it probably was.
Dom stood up and stretched with a luxurious yawn, pushing past Matt to head for the tempting crowd of women surrounding the bar, a teasing grin appearing on his face as he glanced down at his rattled friend. "Stop being such a miserable arse," he lectured, "the lovely Lise's plane probably got delayed or something. Go and get pissed and socialise for ****'s sake." With that he left, working his way through a throng of well wishers and eager looking females to fetch another drink, wondering idly why Lise and Matt seemed to be going through a rough patch. He had seen her only once since Wembley, and she had acted decidedly odd that night- sitting on the other side of the backstage party with her mates and eyeing the band almost in awe until Matt had dragged her to her feet and kissed her, the girl melting in his arms and appearing as flustered as those fangirls he'd just seen off tonight.
He hoped they could work it out whatever it was, his secretly romantic heart touched by the couple's strange reunion after so many years had passed and still deeply envious of the intense, sexual connection that burned between them, blatantly obvious to anyone that saw them together. They'll probably just scrap, **** each other's brains out and everything will be fine again, he told himself before a pair of sculpted blondes descended upon him with promising smiles, his friends forgotten as he proceeded to put on the patented Howard charm. "Why hello, ladies," he drawled. "Want to hear a good drummer joke?"
*
With a few more decidedly fatherly words Chris got up and followed Dom for his long-awaited fag break, leaving Matt alone on the couch to mull over what they had both said. They were both right, Lise did not trust him in the way it really mattered. She had always given him all of herself in bed, surrendering her body to his hands with a savage joy that continued to delight and rouse him, keeping him chained to her alone despite the myriad temptations thrown his way, but in all other ways she was guarded. Continuing to cling on to her tiny flat in Kilburn, now completely crammed with his possessions so it was impossible to move without knocking something over. Continuing to work as a housing officer for a council estate on a poxy thirty thousand a year and refusing to take time off to follow him on tour. Even telling him off for buying her presents. It was as if she was bracing herself to be cast adrift by him at any moment and it hurt, by Christ it hurt.
Bile filled his stomach, not helped by the amount of whisky he'd consumed, his mind now drifting to the last time he'd spoken to her, trying to look for proof of his misgivings. It had been a video call on MSN two days ago after the gig in Michigan, when he had woken her from her sleep with the pinging of her laptop, always kept on the bed so he could call her whenever he was able:
"Ugh, it's 4AM, you git," The dozy girl mumbled, her pretty face creased and half hidden by her long dark hair in the webcam as she propped herself up against the pillows, blinking like an owl with her big gold eyes. As her mind cleared and she finally took in the image of him sitting on another hotel bed in his yellow boxers she smiled ruefully. "Bloody teasing me already, you skinny saucy *****. God I can't ****ing wait until I get there."
The man on the other side of the ocean gave her a slow, promising grin, his blue eyes devouring every inch of her he could spot on the tiny screen. After a few mumbled endearments and questions about her work and the gig he'd just played, he stirred on the bed, throwing Lise a sultry look. "I have two questions for you, bad girl," he said sternly, waving a finger in the direction of the camera. "One, did you find somewhere in that hobbit hole for the delivery men to put my piano, and two, why are you wearing ****ing pyjamas? I'm most disappointed."
Lise laughed lowly. "It's shoved in the corner of the lounge. I sacrificed the bookcase; it's gone into storage at my Dad's. They tuned it once they got it in and I played Chopsticks on it to check it out when they'd left." She paused, watching Matt roll his eyes and mutter 'Chopsticks' in a contemptuous tone. "And as for the pyjamas, contrary to what you like to imagine, I don't wander around the flat all day naked. Just when you're here."
He shot her a look through his lashes, a tiny determined smile appearing on his lips. "When you get to New York, you're going to be naked. Permanently. Even when I take you out sightseeing." Lise tossed her head, a noticeable blush appearing on her cheeks. "And we're going to have a little talk about you getting off your plump arse and finding us a house. Because I cannot stand that ****ing grotty flat for any longer."
Lise's expression grew hunted. "I cannot afford a bloody house in London, and I don't want you paying for it. I can look after myself, Matt, I-"
"Enough, Lise," he said wearily, raising a hand, unwilling to get into the same old discussion when he was tired and already frustrated. "I don't want to hear it again. I don't know why you insist on keeping that ****** housing job running after chavs all day for peanuts and refusing to let me care for you-"
"Don't be such a pompous snob," she snarled, bridling, her expressive eyes narrowing. "How many times do I have to tell you that the only place I'll be your ***** is the ****ing bedroom?" His face went cold in the video screen, his previous playful mood now shattered. Neither of them spoke for a moment, both refusing to apologise for their harsh words, until Lise sighed sadly, her hand reaching out to touch his image. "I've got to get up in three hours, I'll see you soon. Enjoy Lollapalooza."
His stomach lurched in regret at the bitter end to their conversation but knowing nothing would be achieved by going on he nodded jerkily into the camera. "Don't be late for the gig. I want to see you beforehand and make sure Tom gets you a spot by the side of the stage."
Her wary expression softened slightly and she lifted her hand to her mouth, blowing her distant lover an apologetic kiss. "I'd rather be in the pit, cracking skulls and listening to what the girls say about you," she said flippantly, "but I will do what I'm told, for once."
His mouth curled at the corners in amusement and he waved at her with the tips of his fingers. "That's my girl, now go back to sleep. See you on the other side, love."
"I love you," she said softly before the screen went blank.
"****ed if I know," the dark haired man muttered to himself. Fed up with brooding in the corner like some emo teenager he got up, smoothing his rumpled, sweat stained clothes over his slim frame. The room swirled around him- he had eaten next to nothing all day due to horrendous pre-gig nerves and the raw whisky was charging through his veins in a sickening manner. But he straightened his back determinedly and set off across the room, now lubricated enough to overcome any reluctance at socialising with the crowd who were allegedly here to celebrate his achievement. He began to work the room, exchanging witty words with the hangers-on and record company suits, knowing they were wankers but enjoying their shallow, bright company nevertheless, his wild giggle ringing out over the pounding music from the DJ booth and causing more people to be drawn into his fascinating orbit.
Matt drunk even more, flirted and charmed, his absent girlfriend pushed to the back of his mind as the night drew on, growing both more relaxed and more jittery as the alcohol and hot glances from the women and not a few men were absorbed into his tense body. Eventually he ended up on the dancefloor, grinding with one of the crew's girlfriends, a buxom woman who had started an outrageous suggestive banter session with him, ignoring her partner's suspicious looks to drag the handsome singer out for a sexy dance. It was all in fun, the bird pretending to swoon as she jerked him closer to her swaying hips, laughing wickedly and professing to be the luckiest ***** in the room. But he couldn't help getting roused by her play- it had been some time since he had last got laid and had been holding himself back from relieving the pressure in the knowledge Lise would be there that night.
Before he could make his interest baldly obvious he excused himself and left, leaving the girl to be swept up by her thunderous bloke. He started to shoulder himself over to the safety of the bar, his head down so he could concentrate on where to put his unsteady feet, when he was brought short by the smell of expensive perfume and a tall, rangy body in a silver dress blocking his path. "Sorry," he muttered apologetically, glancing upwards to be greeted by a feline smile in an impossibly gorgeous face.
"Well, well, well, lucky old me," the girl drawled in a thick New York accent, licking her painted lips. "I've been waiting to ambush you all night." Brazenly the mystery woman reached out to skim a soft hand over the curve of his neck, closing her slanted eyes in a wince of delight, sucking in a breath suggestively. "Good lordy, I am just dying to bite that beautiful neck right now."
Matt froze in astonishment, an unwise dart of excitement flickering through his groin. He was well used to random women approaching, touching him and saying saucy things, but the words combined with her stunning looks and aggressive manner meant he did not immediately giggle and move away as normal. Instead he eyed her, having to tilt his head to get a good look at her face. An ash blonde, rake thin with cheekbones as sharp as his own, blue eyes under perfectly plucked brows, she towered over him by at least five inches. Her ice cream scoop tits were barely concealed by her skimpy dress, and her honeyed legs seemed to go on forever. She was as different to Lise as a racehorse was to a comfortable pony, as glossy and perfect and brittle as a glass sculpture. He swallowed, clearing his throat of an appreciative groan, ego stoked to life by this ice queen's fevered interest. "Er, hi." He muttered, trying to drag his eyes away from her chest but failing, his hands darting nervously to smooth his unruly hair.
The strange woman smiled slowly at his reluctant interest, swaying forwards on her kitten heels so close he was forced to move a tiny step back, taking on the role of instigator with this delicious but evasive man. "I'm Vanessa, and I know who you are," she purred. "Dance with me."
*
The girl with the mane of long dark hair barrelled through the still half- full arrivals hall with a thunderous expression on her tired, pale face, her black boots thumping across the marble floor as she hurried for the taxi rank, dragging her small red suitcase behind her jerkily. More than one person stopped to stare at her as she whirled past, her stormy demeanour and edgy gig clothes of fishnets, heavy lace-up boots and a tiny red kilt seeming very out of place.
As soon as she was outside Lise leapt into the nearest yellow cab, leaving her suitcase on the kerb for the fat, slovenly driver to put in the boot. The man hauled himself from his spot against the bonnet of the car, tossing away his half-smoked fag to stow her luggage, making a show at earning his exorbitant tip as the fuming girl waited impatiently in the back seat. It was too late now for the gig, even the after party would be winding down. It was 3AM New York time and she had left her flat eighteen long hours ago, a two hour check in and eight hour flight turned into a complete ****ing nightmare by one stupid drunk on the plane Lise could happily throttle to death with her bare hands.
She had settled into her seat in business class, stubbornly paid for by Matt, when the ruckus had erupted back in economy, an Arab-looking gentleman discovered by a stewardess drunk and possessing of a hip flask he had smuggled on the plane despite the 'no liquids' rule. The man fought attempts to confiscate the item and a standoff occurred between the offender and jittery staff, the plane being grounded for a number of hours as security boarded and crawled all over the plane, menacingly armed and looking for terrorists. Finally the man had been restrained and they had been given leave to take off and, barred from using her mobile, which was flat anyway, Lise had been unable to contact Matt or Tom and tell them she wasn't going to make it. He was going to be pissed. Very pissed.
"****ing hurry up, you fat ****er," she hissed under her breath as the driver sauntered to the driver's seat. As he settled himself she barked the name of the hotel at him curtly, deciding to flag trying the party. Matt would likely be in bed already, not sleeping but sitting reading one of his beloved dotty, incomprehensible books and scowling, tapping his long fingers impatiently as he waited for her to show. So miserable was Lise at missing the gig and letting him down, even though it was beyond her control, she almost dreaded seeing her lover, despite aching for him every minute he was out of her sight. It did not help that she looked and smelt like **** after her overly long trip- she was going to jump in the shower as soon as she got to the hotel and give herself a nice twenty minutes to hide from Matt's acid disappointment and make herself pretty.
To her relief the traffic was light due to the late hour and driver moved swiftly through the streets of steel, glass and concrete, chatting at her constantly over his pudgy shoulder, undeterred by her sullen grunts in response. Lise stared blankly at the glaring lights and massive buildings that closed in around the cab as they hit Manhattan Island, strangely familiar due to movies and television. She was looking forward to three whole days with Matt showing her around, after some much needed rough and angry sex and that dreaded 'little talk' he wanted to have. Squirming and sighing at both prospects the anxious girl tried to relax into the lumpy seat, her mind going over what she was going to say to him when the dust had cleared.
She was not thick- Lise knew Matt was getting fed up with her elusiveness and it was long past the time to give in. The love she had for him was all consuming and she needed to push past her lack of confidence once and for all and admit that she needed him in her life, forever, regardless of the long absences and constant worries about what he was up to when she wasn't there. So she would take the stupid house, take some unpaid leave from work and get to know the man who had been part of her life for six long years but still remained unexplored territory. The capitulation filled her with fear as she sat there, but she stiffened her spine in determination, more than ready to give him everything she had to make him stay.
After fifteen tedious minutes of weaving their way through Manhattan the cab finally pulled up outside the swanky hotel where the band and crew were staying and Lise leapt out, fumbling in her large red handbag for her roll of US dollars. She peeled off a handful of notes and handed them to the driver, then fetched her case from the popped boot, and with a hurried thanks she darted through the revolving glass doors and into the lobby. She suffered a flash of déjà vu as she entered, thinking back to that fateful night when she had been reunited with Matt in Knightsbridge in a similar flash hotel. Her skin warmed at the vivid memory and her face brightened with a dreamy smile, recalling the song that had brought her back from the past and back into his bed. "Romantic little sod," she muttered to herself happily, all previous reluctance gone and she almost skipped to the front desk, eager to get upstairs to the man himself.
"Hi there," she said to the girl behind the counter, a perma-tanned vision of bouffant hair and caked makeup that made her inwardly giggle. "I'm Lise Arnold, the partner of Mr. Bellamy in Room 69. Can you check me in?"
The girl gave her an incredulous look, taking in her rumpled punkish clothes with a sniff of disdain, but after checking her computer she grudgingly smiled and handed over a form and a keycard. "Of course, Miss. Arnold, if you can just complete the check in form you can go right upstairs."
The scruffy English girl rolled her big cat-like eyes impatiently and picked up a pen, scribbling her details quickly and shoving the form back over the counter. "Cheers," she said shortly, not in the mood to be polite to the haughty woman. With her keycard in hand she turned and headed for the lifts, shaking her head when the bell hop offered to take her bag. "No thanks, mate, I can handle it," she demurred, stepping into the elevator and punching the button for the sixth floor. The sleek lift swept her up fast and she hopped out into the dimly lit hallway, laughing when she could her familiar drunken voices coming from a nearby room. Dom and Tom, pissed up and on one of their long ******** sessions. She waved at the closed door, not stopping to look in and say hello, her lover, a nice shower and a shag making her almost run down the hallway in glee.
She knew something was amiss as soon as she let herself in- the room was dark, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up in warning, a primal instinct telling her Matt was not alone and waiting for her. As she moved further inside, peering into the gloom blindly, she heard a light moan, a distinctly female noise of pleasure. The suitcase dropped from her hand as she froze in place, her vision sharpening to take in the tableau on the bed. Her bed. Now never to be hers again.
There was a girl there, a blonde, scrawny, perfect girl, sitting bolt upright facing in Lise's direction. Her doll-like face was screwed up in blissful concentration as she undulated up and down over Matt's comfortably sprawled body, riding his **** as he watched lazily through heavy lidded eyes. An invisible sword plunged into Lise's chest, ripping through her heart and guts and spilling her life out over the toes of her boots.
Sensing the intrusion the blonde girls' eyes opened, taking in the blank face of the other woman. "Who is she?" She drawled drunkenly over her bony shoulder, causing the dopey man to gasp and sit up, pushing the girl off his body. Lise watched Matt rid himself of the woman, sending her toppling over on her side as he scooted back defensively against the headboard of the bed, the bones in his face showing through like a death mask as the full horror of his mistake came crashing down upon him.
She was very strangely calm but like a rock thrown at a windscreen the cracks were spreading fast. "I was his ****ing girlfriend, you malnourished *****." Lise finally said, repressing the very strong urge to leap on the bed and smack the girl's face in. Instead she turned on her heel without another word, scooping up her case as she hurried for the door, her body disintegrating as the shock wore off, leaving her shaking with agonising pain, harsh sobs growing in her throat.
As Lise began to walk out Matt suddenly came to life, launching himself off the bed to stop her, absolute panic swamping his senses and causing his heart to leap and thud erratically in his chest. "Get out," he spat at the pouting girl who had so recently been riding his now deflated dick. "Lise, stop for ****'s sake!" He shouted at her retreating form, but she ignored him and passed through the door and into the hall, starting to run when she heard him curse and pursue her, still stark naked and uncaring so desperate he was to stop her. "Don't do this!" He called out harshly, his heart stilling in fear as he realised she wasn't listening. "Come back here, woman, I'm so sorry. Please let me...God I can't ****ing stand it!"
Halfway to the lifts she halted and whirled around, eyeing his naked form and miserable face, his beautiful hands flailing about in complete agitation, only contempt in her glistening gold eyes, the tears already starting to leak down her white face. "You can't stand it?" She shrieked, her voice carrying into the adjoining rooms along with his. "You have ****ing killed me tonight." Angrily she brushed the tears away with the back of her hand, getting herself under control so she could leave without collapsing in a heap on the carpet. In the corner of her blurred vision she could see doors opening and people coming out to inspect the commotion, but she couldn't give a toss, all her focus was on the man she loved, tormented and swaying drunk, advancing down the hall to try and snatch her back. "I never want to see you again," she snarled. "I never want to hear you again. You are ****ing dead to me, Bellamy."
Just before she turned to go she saw something snap in his blazing sapphire eyes, a choked sob audible down the hall, but she hardened what remained of her heart and left, not noticing the audience they'd acquired for their little freakshow.
Dom had emerged from his room with a plaintive 'what the ****?' in time to catch Lise's final words before she disappeared into the lift. Chris had stumbled out as well, his hazel eyes growing hard as stone as he took in the sordid scene- the sobbing girl leaving, her naked boyfriend squirming in despair, an unknown blonde girl slinking out of Matt's room, shoes in hand. He walked over to his friend, so full of disgust he could barely restrain himself from giving the smaller man a clip round the ear. Matt looked up dully as he approached, his eyes filled with defeated tears. "What have I ****ing done," he said brokenly.
Chris scowled fearsomely and loomed over him, his fists clenched as he settled on the right words running through his head, and with an angry growl he finally spoke in response.
"You stupid little bastard."