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angrylizardjacket · 5 years ago

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i keep digging myself down deeper // charlotte&lola

Summary: Lola takes Charlotte to confront her mother after finding out that she lied about Lola’s dad’s death. Lola is plotting a murder. Charlotte is trying to fix her moral compass. They still end up in a graveyard.

A/N: tagging @misscharlottelee as always, and @local-troubled-writer . this made me so fucking sad folks. also i think lola is overall a better person in this au and im so sad about the main story too now. wrote it at work.

[run to paradise au]

“Take Charlotte,” Doc says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like he knows Lola’s on a knife-edge and can trust the younger woman to pull her back. He says it like he’s trying to throw a wrench in whatever malicious scheme she’s concocting that she thinks he doesn’t know about it.

Take Charlotte. Unlike you, she’s good. Is what Lola hears, and it sets her teeth on edge. It could have been Tommy, but Doc knows better than anyone that Lola’s got that man wrapped around her little finger, though he’s the backup if Charlotte won’t go, because god knows Lola hates Mick enough to murder him on a trip out of state, and she and Nikki together will never do anything good. He could ask Vince, but that’s asking for trouble, and Vince has actually kind of settled down. Lola on a rampage is liquid heroin, and Vince is finally in recovery. So take Charlotte, somehow the only stable one of the lot.

“We’re going to pay respects to your dad, right?” Charlotte’s got a backpack full of clothes for if they stay longer than intended, and Razzle on her heels, offering to drive them both to the airport. Lola confirms. “And Doc doesn’t trust you?”

“No he does not,” Lola grumbles through her teeth, throwing a glance over her shoulder at Nikki, on the sofa wearing only his boxers, covered in scratches and hickeys.

“He’s a smart man,” Charlotte says with a smile, but Lola’s not matching her energy, just rolls her eyes. That being said, Lola’s at the very least grateful that Charlotte’s not walking on eggshells around her the way everyone else seemed to, Nikki notwithstanding, since she’d found out her father had died when she was nine, and her mother had lied about it to her, and she’d believed that he’d just left because she was a bad kid ever since.

But now she was out for revenge, had told Doc she’d just wanted to visit her father’s grave, but the moment she’d been given the go-ahead, she knew she was heading home to confront and kill her mother for everything she’d put Lola through.

When they get on the plane, Lola’s pretty sure she can see Razzle waving from the terminal, and when she points this out, Charlotte leans over her and waves back, despite Lola’s noise of disgust.

“Don’t be like that Lols, notice how I didn’t say anything about your hickeys and band aids on the way here? You look like you had a raccoon try and rip out your jugular,” Charlotte tells her with a smirk, sitting back before avoiding her gaze, “and I don’t think Nikki would give it up that hard if you were still really grieving, so what’s your real plan here?” Cutting straight to the point, she’s so unbelievably no-nonsense about it, seeing through Lola before Lola had even fed her a lie. Lola knows she could convincingly lie to Charlotte in a heartbeat, but it’s not worth the effort; either way she’d have to tell her.

“I’m gonna kill my mom,” Lola tells her under her breath, before smiling at the stewardess doing final checks, while Charlotte sits in stunned silence.

“You’re gonna murder her?” Charlotte matches her volume, though her voice is full of disbelieving rage. They haven’t even taken off yet. Lola hums in agreement. “What? Just gonna shoot her in the face? You don’t even have a -”

“A plan? Of course I do. I’m gonna burn her house down. With a flare gun,” Lola fires back easily, before adding, “shooting her is Plan B. Also with a flare gun.”

The flight is only a few hours long, and Charlotte spends it fuming in silence, not wanting to cause a scene on a plane, in the airport, or in the taxi to the hotel. There’s no words for the rage, for the betray, for the being an accessory to murder, and she’d probably fight Lola if the older woman didn’t have biceps the size of a rotisserie chicken.

Lola leaves, claiming to get dinner, and comes back with a greasy burger and a flare gun, and Charlotte wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to believe this is all a bad dream.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” is what she says, and Lola gives a patient smile.

“Charlie, please just remember she set me on fire,” and she puts the flare gun on the bedside table, puts her trash in the bin, and goes to bed.

Maybe Charlotte considers taking the gun and throwing it in the ocean. But she doesn’t. Deep down, she’s pretty sure Lola’s not capable of murder, enough that she leaves the gun there; it’s trust. Lola wouldn’t make her an accessory to murder. Probably.

“You’re only an accessory if you come,” Lola tells her over a room service breakfast, and Charlotte feels like she’s going to be sick, “go sight seeing, meet me at the airport,” she shrugs, “if the cops ask you questions, just play dumb, like you do every time they come looking for Nikki or Tommy.”

“You’re not going through with this -”

“I’ll be done by midnight,” Lola’s not usually so focused and sincere, seemingly trying to ignore Charlotte’s negativity.

“Please, Lols, don’t do this; don’t do something crazy that you’ll regret,” Charlotte almost begs her, and Lola’s teeth stretch into a snarl.

“So I’m only allowed to be crazy when it benefits you, right?” She snaps, finally, and Charlotte swallows hard, eyes going wide in surprise. “Because when we rock up to your cheating ex’s house and I’ve got a baseball bat, you can call me crazy and be proud -”

“I never called you crazy,” Charlotte says through her teeth, completely unprepared to handle Lola, who’s never actually lashed out at her before.

“No, Duff called me a psycho, and you believed him, didn’t you? But I was your psycho, wasn’t I, Miss Lee,” Lola’s voice turned cruel and mocking, “it’s okay if I’m a psycho so long as you can wind me up and point me in the direction of whoever you want fucked up -”

“After fucking everything we’ve been through, you’re gonna accuse me of just using you?”

“No,” Lola said easily, flipping from feral to collected with an almost terrifying speed, “we’re friends, Charlotte, I know this, I just don’t think you’re used to my anger not benefiting you.” Her lips twitch into a cool smile, “I think you forget that we’re very different people, Charlie; before I met you, I was blowing cops to get me and Nikki out of trouble every other week, and all that’s changed is that Nikki has started bribing his way out.” it almost seems like a point of pride, and Charlotte has no fucking idea what to say to that. “But sure, I can be crazy when we’re hurting the boy who broke your little heart,” she coos in a mocking falsetto, before her expression just turns cold, “but when it comes to the woman who abused me during my formative years and set me on fire, sure,” she rolled her eyes, miming screwing a lid on a jar, voice dripping with sarcasm, “I’ll put a lid on it, for your sake.” She spat.

“I’m sorry I don’t want you to commit fucking murder,” Charlotte blurts out, realising far too late that she’s crying, and Lola’s hard resolve instantly crumbles, “I’m sorry if it seems like I’m just, just, just using you for your anger, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” and she’s just crying now, sitting in the hotel with her head in her hands, “obviously I don’t think you’re a psycho.”

“Yes you do,” Lola sighs, but it’s neither angry nor an accusation, its defeat, a label she’s worn for a long time finally spoken by one of the only people she actually respected, “and I am; there’s nothing you can do to help it.”

“Please don’t hurt anyone, Lols, please,” Charlotte begs, and Lola heaves another deep sigh.

“Go home, Charlotte, go back to Razzle and pretend this was all a bad dream; I don’t want you living in my reality. You’re better than that.”

“You shouldn’t live in this reality; Lola, you’re scaring me, I’ve known you for half a decade, and for the first time,” Charlotte snifled, sitting up a little straighter and avoiding Lola’s dark gaze, “I’m fucking terrified, okay? You’ll go to jail for the rest of your life.”

“Small price to pay,” Lola shrugs, and Charlotte’s going from guilty to frustrated fast, but Lola’s voice turns hard, “go home, Charlotte.”

“No.”

“You’re not a felon,” Lola finally snaps, voice flat and angry, “you’re a romantic at heart with terrible taste in friends.” Finally, Lola stands, and Charlotte’s shocked into silence.

“You’re the worst friend I’ve got,” it’s like it’s finally hit her, voice a little breathless, a little disbelieving, and Lola gives a wry smile.

“Now you’re getting it.” And she leaves. In the middle of the day. Leaves Charlotte alone and fragile in the hotel, off to do god knows what, possibly off to commit murder.

Charlotte calls Razzle; she’s never been scared of what Lola’s been capable of, maybe it’s that she’s never really thought Lola could commit murder, but now she’s afraid. The only thing that’s ever terrified Lola was her mother, and now, knowing what she knows, the truth about everything she’s been through, in some twisted way Charlotte can easily see how Lola’s made herself believe that the murder is just. Charlotte’s never known a killer, not really. Razzle reassures her over the phone, tells her that Lola’s just gone to blow off steam but that she’s got a good heart under all of it. She’s motivated by loyalty, not revenge. But then it hits them both; Lola’s mother besmirched her father’s name for years, the first person Lola ever truly loved and looked up to. The only man she’s been even more loyal to than Nikki is her father; and she’d kill for either of them in a heartbeat.

“I need to stop her,” Charlotte’s still got tear tracks drying on her cheeks when she sits bolt upright, phone still to her ear, “do I- should I call the cops?” She asks, and Razzle hesitates. It would be a betrayal that would send Lola spiraling further.

“Go to her, you know you can talk her down; she loves you, she listens to you,” Razzle tells her, and when he says it, so sweet, so gentle, so self assured, she almost believes him, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She tells him, before sniffling loudly, “wish me luck.” She tells him, feeling far more capable than she had minutes before; Razzle was good like that, was supportive like that, knew just what to say when Charlotte needed to hear it.

Charlotte knows the address that Lola was given, and heads there first, but the street is quiet, the house is quiet, and there were no signs of Lola to be seen. She drives for a bit down the road, heart beating in her throat, anxious and mind jumping to all sorts of terrible conclusions, but there’s no signs of any disturbance. Lola had been on foot, and had left only an hour and a half ago, she couldn’t have gotten far.

At the end of the street, there’s a park, and Charlotte comes to realise that school must be on break, because it’s teaming with parents and children, and she searches, wonders, thinks she sees someone who looks a bit like Lola, but doesn’t stick around to make sure. That woman looks too old to be Lola.

She checks bars and liquor stores and gas stations, and finally has a hit from a cashier who sold her two bottles of vodka, and the gas station attendant who had given her a pack of smokes, despite her having already gone through a quarter of a bottle in the half-mile between stores.

The only thing at the end of this street was a graveyard.

Lola’s wasted, unable to stand, sitting with her back against a faintly worn grave, mumbling to herself.

“How could she do this to us, dad?” Is the first thing Charlotte hears from her, an angry growl. With one hand around the neck of a mostly empty vodka bottle, the other comes to forlornly pet the gravestone. Catching sight of Charlotte out of the corner of her eye, Lola’s entire expression crumbles, and for the first time in their whole sordid history, Charlotte watches Lola begin to cry. Angrily, almost defiantly, she searches her pockets, before pulling out a cigarette, lighting it.

“Dad,” Lola says to no-one in particular, looking out ahead instead of at her best friend, face scrunched with angry tears, “meet Charlotte,” she announces, and Charlotte’s words die in her throat; “Charlotte, meet my dad,” and she nods to the headstone she’s leaning against.

“I thought -” Charlotte tries, but no words come to her.

“We’ve just been catching up,” Lola takes a long drag from the cigarette, coughing when she follows it with a swig of vodka.

“What happened?” Charlotte asks quietly, approaching like Lola was a wild animal. Lola grumbles something unintelligible, mostly under her breath, and Charlotte gingerly sits beside her.

“He was a really, really fucking good man,” Lola murmurs, forlorn, resting her head on Charlotte’s shoulder, startling the younger woman, who wasn’t quite sure how to deal with this situation just yet, “he would have loved them, Motley,” she clarified, and she takes another smoke, “he was always a huge fan of rock, always had the hair to match. Mom would call him a long-haired yahoo but it was never malicious, it just-” she was crying now, and she had to pause, “she would have loved them too, back then, but when he was gone, I think she just started hating everything that reminded her of him.” She pauses, taking another drink, her voice defeated when she finally spoke, “probably why she hated me so much."

Silence, then;

"She has a kid.” Its the most defeated she’s ever sounded. Even Charlotte feels it like a punch to the gut. “She gets to play happy families, and I get to slowly dig myself an early grave,” she finishes her cigarette and immediately lights another.

“Lo, what happened?” Charlotte asked once more, and Lola turns to her, eyes bloodshot and mouth in a thin, unhappy line.

“Nothing.” It sounds like it hurts to admit, “because I’m not a psycho,” she says quietly, “I’m not gonna hurt that kid.”

“Your… sibling?” Charlotte almost winces as she says it, but Lola laughs in an almost disbelieving way, leaning her head back against her father’s gravestone.

“My little brother; Milo, I think. I didn’t stick around long… she doesn’t even know I’m here."

Charlotte wraps her arm around Lola’s shoulder, pulls her in for a hug, and Lola melts into her, lets herself be pulled into hug, her head on Charlotte’s shoulder as she cries unashamedly. They sit on the grave of Lola’s father until it gets dark, wrapped up in each other, giving comfort and getting drunk, and there’s stories spilling from Lola that she’d never told anyone; happy times from before her shit got dark, before her father passed, stories she’d thought she’d forgotten.

"Did you mean what you said?” Charlotte asks finally, voice fragile, vodka burning through her veins, “do you think I have bad taste in friends?” Lola contemplates for a long while before humming.

“I think you deserve better than me. And Nikki. I think you’ve got good friends, Peach and Eileen, they’re good friends,” Lola nods resolutely, “they wouldn’t drag you down to Boston just to argue with you and watch them chicken out on murdering their mom.”

“They don’t wanna murder their mom to begin with,” Charlotte agrees with a half laugh, her arm tucked into Lola’s, resting her cheek on Lola’s shoulder. Lola hums an agreement. Gently, she rests her head against Charlotte’s.

“I’m sorry, Charlie.”

They gaze out into the graveyard, tired, drunk, and world-weary beyond their years. Moments like these are a sharp reminder to Charlotte, of just how terrifying Lola’s world can be, and just how lonely she once was. The way Lola clings to the band, to Charlotte, it very suddenly made clear and perfect sense.

“You’re not the worst friend I’ve got, Lols, not even close; you give a shit when it counts the most. About me, about our band-family; you give so much of a shit you’d kill for us. You’re probably the most loyal person I’ve ever met.” Charlotte tells her honestly, and Lola’s quiet, before sniffling loudly, and laughing.

“Stop it, Miss Lee, I promised Tommy I wouldn’t have a thing for any more of his family,” Lola jokes, but hugs Charlotte tightly as she squawks with horrified amusement.

Its a considerable walk back to the hotel, but as Lola crashes onto the soft mattress of the bed, she feels worlds lighter than when she’d woken up.

#nikki sixx #Tommy Lee #rtp #motley crue #motley crue imagine #the dirt #the dirt imagine #charlotte&lola #the angry lizard writes #lola & charlotte

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