#the old viv can't come to the phone right now

[warlockisaslur]

Emporium // a drabble

or: How Darcy Learned There's Even More Weirdness to Wanda's Family

Billy didn't get to go home often. Earth was just so far away from the Alliance, from where he was needed, that visits to his homeworld were agonizingly infrequent. Of course, the compromise he and Teddy had made stood fast -- once things were settled, once the hard work was done and the Alliance's governing bodies were self-sufficient without their symbols -- Earth would be home, again.

Still, now and then when the opportunity presented itself, when there was simply nothing pressing that needed doing, Billy would kiss his husband, promise Lauri-Ell he would come to no harm, and teleport himself across the vastness of space -- back, and back, home again, to the blood and souls that tethered him to the blue-green world of his birth. His ring and their bond could always get him back to Teddy if he was needed, after all… but as he'd been reminded so often since his marriage, a Terran's heart always calls him home.

Normally the visits were fairly mundane. Brunch with Kate or Cassie, catching-up time with Tommy or Viv or Luna (if she happened to be on Earth at the time), maybe dinner with his parents. Sometimes even clubbing with some of the young heroes from the old phone tree, Julie or Brandon or Karolina often bugged him to go dancing. But now and then, his shadow would darken the doorway of a certain shop in a certain town…

The Emporium is a staple in Lotkill, New York, and beloved by its patrons. It's not an uncommon sight to see the brilliant pinkish glow of Wanda's magic from the windows even when the shop is closed -- she lives there, after all -- but the eerie blue glow from behind the blinds is different, strange even for such a strange location. Darcy knows Wanda is busy with a Last Door case, probably won't be back for another day or two -- which is why she hurriedly opens the door and reaches for a tee-ball bat she'd stowed behind the curtains at the front of the shop, only to be pulled up short by a green blur that snatched it out of her grip.

Now, Darcy knew that sort of "draft" by now, Pietro had visited enough times for her to get familiar with speedster backdraft, but this had a different quality. Less refined, more chaotic. About as chaotic as the situation in the shop itself.

Every shelf was bare, and all the contents were either in piles on the floor or the various surfaces, or floating in that eerie blue glow all around the room. And in the middle of the room seated cross-legged -- well, on nothing, really -- was a kid who couldn't be any older than her, eyes and hands gleaming with that same eerie light, while a green blur zipped this way and that throughout the space.

"Oh -- hey. You're Darcy, right?" The books suddenly shelved themselves, seemingly finding their proper places amid the stacks, the magical reagents, concoctions and other trinkets finding places in among the books.

"You'relate-moveityou'reinmypath--" came a voice that started at her left elbow and moved to her right, before another boy -- damn near identical to the first, except this one had white hair and green eyes that were so like Wanda's it was a little jarring -- paused, grinned, and then disappeared again. Darcy had to keep dodging as the blur flitted here and there, so she ended up sitting on top of the counter.

"Okay -- am I going nuts or did Wanda and Pete… get replaced by a couple'a kids?"

The speedster stopped, laughing, and the other one laughed, too, and it was really weird how alike they sounded like that. Spooky.

"Wanda asked me to come by and do something with the inventory system here. No offense, but it takes a magical eye to make sure all this stuff is categorized right -- you can't just stick any old book next to another, they might talk." The one with black hair, the one with the magic in his eyes, unfolded his legs and stood, brushing down his clothing before reaching out to offer her a hand to shake. "I'm sure she's told you about us -- I'm Billy. The blur is Tommy." On cue, the aforementioned blur ceased movement, perched in one of the little cafe chairs.

"… OH. Wait -- seriously? Those pictures she has must be old."

The black-haired one -- Billy -- chuckled again, straightening a potted plant which had taken new residence at the top of a shelf. "Yeah, we really should get her some newer ones. Anyway --" He looked around, hands on his hips. "I think we're good here. Tommy wrote up a new inventory system for you --"

"Well, we worked on it together. Vocal algorithmic searching. Just… ask it for something, and it'll tell you where it is in the store. Billy wanted to use a spell --"

"But if the shop gets destroyed again I'd have to come back to re-do it. So the spell's integrated into the program's code. So as long as the tablet's safe --"

"-- andyoubetterkeepitsafe!"

"-- then you'll always know right where everything is."

"… you two are weirder than your mom and uncle, you know that?"

Tommy grinned. "You aren't the first to say that. Billy's the weirder one though -- you know he married an alien??"

"I'm telling Teddy you said that."

[evreuxdharcourt]

𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐃𝐎 (𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙄𝙄)

I'm like a skeleton, can't shut my eyes Right now I feel like I'm an alien I'm so fucking dangerous Cover up the evidence with medicine I can't find the life

        QUINTA-FEIRA, 29 DE OUTUBRO DE 2020, PARIS.

                               Geneviève aterrissou no Charles de Gaulle aquela noite com uma sensação provisória de calma. Tinha pisado ali tantas vezes que o ato tornava mesmo os pensamentos mais obscuros em familiaridade e conforto. Por alguns minutos, pensou que tudo ficaria bem. Por alguns minutos, quase foi capaz de rir da própria preocupação. Mesmo com a sensação que se instalara nos últimos dias de puro vazio e choque, Viv foi adiante. Precisava sempre seguir adiante. Isso tudo seria em vão no fim. O ser humano é capaz de se adaptar em qualquer ambiente, seja lá o que for que acontecesse. E de qualquer forma, estava apenas arranjando alguma coisa para se preocupar como sempre. Seria uma ótima comemoração de aniversário antecipada e só.

                                Os pais mandaram Jean Louis lhe buscar. A visão do irmão a ajudou deixar tudo de lado, mesmo que momentaneamente. Era bom ver aquele rosto familiar; o sorriso foi instantâneo. Ouviu durante os quarenta e cinco minutos de trajeto sobre a diplomacia e os relatos da vida no Cairo, o país no qual agora representava a França. Era sempre bom conversar com o mais velho dos irmãos; trocaram indicações de livro e piadas internas e mesmo com óculos de aro grosso e importante e terno de última linha, para ela Jean Louis sempre seria o garoto que pulou no sistema de esgoto ao perder uma aposta e que fazia tudo sem pensar antes, só para mostrar que podia. Sentiu o coração diminuir um pouco do peso enquanto conversavam, porém a sensação dissipou ao estacionarem na frente da Mansão dos Harcourt. O coração dela batia forte e de repente as mãos suavam. “Não deixe as mentiras dela te desestabilizarem”, falou para si mesma enquanto pensava nas palavras de Chloé pela enésima vez desde a véspera.

                               Os Harcourt viviam ali há mais de trinta anos. O local era casa, não só no sentido material, mas afetivo também. Fez o caminho conhecido até os portões e atravessou o grande pátio. Apesar de escuro, tudo continuava igual e impecável, é claro. Suspirou ao passar por ali e relembrar todos os momentos da infância. Passou a vida inteira ali; subiu nas arvores, aprendeu a nadar na piscina dos fundos, teve festas de aniversário nos jardins, pensou que se casaria com Maxine no pátio. Agora aquilo tudo parecia embaçado e distante, como se fossem memórias pertencentes à outra vida, à outra pessoa. Entrou pela enorme porta frontal. O chão de mármore fazia o barulho do seu salto sobre ele. Fizeram caminho pelos corredores luxuosos e brancos até a sala de estar. Foi bom rever a família reunida sob o mesmo teto depois de tanto tempo. O sorriso foi automático.

                               Quase que propositalmente, a Harcourt esqueceu o que precisava fazer. Beberam vinho, brindaram, jogaram conversa fora. Quando a mãe anunciou o jantar, a loira levantou-se da sua poltrona habitual para seguir a família até o cômodo seguinte. Como se o destino quisesse lhe apresentar a oportunidade perfeita, Étienne ficou para trás enquanto terminava de atender uma chamada no telefone. A noite toda ele ficara reservado; Viv não deixou de observar a sua postura mais calada, porém atribuiu aquilo à própria personalidade dele, que sempre fora daquela forma. Ou ao menos isso era o que queria pensar. ❝ — Et tu? Como vai a vida de professor?❞ — perguntou como quem não quer nada. Viu um pouco de surpresa no olhar dele. A garota analisou suas feições suaves, diferente das dos demais irmãos. Ele exalava calma. Deu-lhe um sorriso amarelo. “Vai bem. Como vai a vida na Truffaut?”. A pergunta a fez estremecer um pouco por dentro. Pensar na escola e no que acontecia lá era desesperador. ❝ — Acabando, felizmente.❞ — ouviu-se responder e notou como era genuíno o desejo de deixar logo o local para trás. Sempre achou que seria difícil, mas nos últimos meses vinha fantasiando o momento em que tudo acabaria e seguiriam em frente. Étienne riu. “Isso sim é novidade. Já decidiu o que vai fazer?”. A pergunta engatilhava pensamentos nada agradáveis. Não, não sabia. Não estava nem perto disso. Se fosse honesta, ultimamente só pensava em terminar a semana sem ter que presenciar mais uma morte. ❝ — Non, mas eu vou descobrir.❞ — respondeu com um sorriso e o viu espelhado na expressão do irmao. “Eu sei que vai, Genny. Vamos?” chamou, fazendo sinal para que fossem para a sala de jantar. ❝ — Attendrez, Tiennou.❞ — pediu-lhe para esperar, utilizando o apelido carinhoso da infância de ambos. Viu que chamou-lhe a atenção. Aproximou-se um pouco dele e abaixou o tom de voz. ❝ — Nunca chegamos a conversar sobre isso, mas... Por que mesmo você não quis continuar na Université?❞ — perguntou, tentando parecer mais despreocupada do que realmente estava. Mesmo assim, notou que o seu tom era ansioso. A expressão do mais velho endureceu um pouco. O coração de Geneviève voltou a bater mais forte. Não pode ser, não é isso. “Só queria fazer meu nome fora da asa dos Harcourt. Independência. Tenho certeza que você entende”, respondeu ele. Ali estava, a resposta que a garota estivera esperando. Era exatamente o que queria ouvir, contudo, não a convenceu. Conhecia o irmão e sabia que estava mentindo. ❝ — Por que você está mentindo, Tiennou?❞ — inquiriu, a voz não endureceu, acusava-o de maneira quase que infantil. Precisava da verdade. Viu-o começar a olhar para o chão. “Genny, é seu aniversário. Por que não vamos jantar e deixamos esses assuntos chatos de família para outro dia? Eu vou até Cannes e aí podemos conversar melhor sobre isso...”, respondeu ele. Bom, não seria má ideia. Abrir a caixa de Pandora no próprio aniversário não era uma boa pedida. Entretanto, a voz de Chloé continuava soando em seus ouvidos. Não, aquilo era urgente. ❝ — Étienne, s’il te plaît. Eu imploro. É meu aniversário e eu mereço a verdade. Não sou uma garotinha mais para ter que ser protegida da maldade do mundo. Por favor.❞ — implorou. Viu que a expressão dele era de pânico; tinha-o colocado em uma saia justa, sabia disso. Talvez sentisse que não era seu papel contar aquilo e sim dos pais. “Genny, é complicado. Eu não quis ficar na Université por diversas razões. A principal foi que eu não concordo muito com o jeito que está sendo administrada. É isso. O resto você deveria realmente conversar com o pai e a mãe”, ele respondeu. Não concordava com o jeito que a universidade era administrada. Isso podia ter tanto significados. ❝ — Eu não sou idiota. Você sabe que não vão falar a verdade. Eu sei o que está acontecendo, sobre o atleta famoso e os demais! Eu fiz minha pesquisa, mas preciso saber se isso é mais do que rumor digital. Então, Étienne Stannilas, eu vou te dar uma última chance antes de fazer uma cena que nunca fiz antes: o que realmente aconteceu?❞ — indagou com dureza.

                              Aquele era o momento. Geneviève esperava saber tudo o que tinha acontecido conforme leu pelo usuário do Reddit na noite anterior. Precisava saber se a família compactuava com bullying e se tentou abafar o suicidio de um aluno. Precisava saber se esteve errada o tempo todo sobre sua familia e no fim seus membros eram apenas o que fuckthewhiterich os acusou de serem: mercenários. Étienne parecia um pouco boquiaberto com a postura da irmã. Para ele, era incrível pensar naquela menina uns seis anos mais nova e que até ontem era um bebê como uma mulher decidida, forte e tão teimosa quanto o restante do lado feminino da família. Acima de tudo, odiava ter que romper a bolha da perfeição familiar para ela. “Até isso eles tiraram de mim”, pensou consigo com bastante raiva. Mesmo assim, sabia que a mais nova estava certa; os pais jamais admitiriam, iriam enganá-la e o pior, ela podia acabar acreditando para fugir da realidade. A realidade podia ser dura, mas era necessária. Suspirou pesadamente antes de respondê-la. “Ok. Você tem o direito de saber. Mas lembre de não odiar o mensageiro. Genny, os rumores são verdade. Eles estão realmente vendendo diplomas. Os famosos ou então as pessoas com dinheiro suficiente fazem uma espécie de acordo e não precisam nem comparecer nas aulas, só dar as caras de vez em quando para fingir que estão indo e não deixar tão na cara, mas é tudo um esquema. É tudo esquema. Um esquema secular, que todos os envolvidos no ramo da educação da nossa família parecem saber e não se importarem porque... Olha só o que o grandpère teve a coragem de dizer: é tradição! E que eu tinha que aceitar isso para tomar o que é meu e ensinar meus filhos e netos. Putain”, ele falou, visivelmente irritado.

                          Geneviève não respondeu imediatamente. Parecia que estava em um sonho, daquele tipo que você está caindo sem parar e não consegue se segurar, nem acordar. Sentia que estava mal piscando também. O coração agora parou de acelerar, apenas batia de uma forma dolorosa, como se o simples fato de mantê-lo funcionando fosse tarefa difícil demais para o seu corpo. A informação trazida pelo irmão agora infiltrava-se em seu consciente como se fosse um veneno poderoso, de maneira sorrateira, porém perigosa e devastadora. Iria matá-la em silêncio. “Genny?”, ouviu o irmão chamá-la. ❝ — O que... Eu não entendo...❞ — conseguiu pronunciar. Viu que ele a olhava de forma confusa. Achava que ia ouvir a história de como um atleta fez bullying com um aluno e ter sido encoberto pela reitoria. Aquilo ia muito além, era muito pior do que jamais considerou. Era surreal. Não podia ser verdade. “Eu achei... Genny, merde, você disse que já sabia, achei que estava falando disso”, Étienne falou com um tom nervoso; seus olhos estavam tristes, como se odiassem presenciar aquela cena, mas a conhecesse bem até demais. ❝ — Eu achei... Eu achei que você fosse falar sobre o suicídio.❞ — falou com a voz falhando. Sentia agora que todos os órgãos internos estavam sendo dilacerados. A garganta ficou seca e sentia que lágrimas queriam vir a tona. “Big girls don’t cry”, falou para si mesma. Imaginou que receber um soco do irmão doeria menos do que aquilo. “Merde... Gen, isso vai muito além de só esse caso. Eu realmente achei que era disso que você estava falando. A verdadeira motivação do meu afastamento foi ter descoberto que a honra e dever que nossa família prega tão veementemente é pura hipocrisia. Imagina descobrir isso depois de anos de inseguranças e cobranças internas para ser tão bom quanto o seu sobrenome enquanto ele é na realidade uma porra de piada”, complementou. Viv notou que ele desabafava sobre o assunto pelo que parecia ser a primeira vez. E também pela primeira vez, a loira não se importava mais com acalentar os sentimentos alheios. Só pensava em si e em como sentia que algo dentro de si estava morrendo. ❝ —Je pense que je connais le sentiment.❞ — respondeu sarcasticamente, porém seu tom saiu ferido e fraco, nada perto do que mediu quando pensou nas palavras. Étienne acabava de derrubar todo seu mundo.

                              A mais nova dos Harcourt andou até a lareira com os braços cruzados sob o próprio peito, não conseguindo digerir tudo. O choque a consumia e ela mal sabia como agir. As fotos familiares na lareira não ajudaram em nada. Mentiras, tudo mentira, todos esses anos. Todos esses anos. ❝ — Os outros sabem? Mamãe? Papai? Os meninos?❞ — fez a pergunta mais temida. Que seus avós possuíam intenções deturpadas, Geneviève não duvidava nada; agora aqueles ali presentes... Ela não podia aceitar. “Os meninos eu não sei, mas mamãe... Ela é a reitora. E papai... Ele é o filho mais velho e acionista principal da Université”, respondeu Étienne com um suspiro. Entendeu que ele agora tentava poupar seus sentimentos. Tarde demais para isso, Tiennou. Enquanto pensava em como responder, como reagir, a mãe apareceu no recinto. “Mes chérs, a comida vai esquentar. Geneviève, mon amour, o que aconteceu?”, inquiriu ela. A sua voz e presença foram outro golpe que quase a nocauteou. Aquela mulher era tudo na sua vida; seu porto, sua inspiração, sua deusa, sua guerreira, sua conselheira e melhor amiga. Como ela pôde? Como pôde todos esses anos esconder aquilo e ao mesmo tempo lhe ensinar morais, valores, lhe colocar padrões e expectativas tão pesadas que moldaram toda a sua personalidade por tantos anos?

                                   ❝ — Comment osez-vous putain?❞ — perguntou em tom mais alto, sentindo a raiva consumir toda a sua existência. A mulher demonstrou confusão, procurando os olhares de Étienne e de repente entendendo o que estava acontecendo. Viu que Anne Blanche tentou iniciar algum tipo de defesa ou argumento, porém o grito de Viv atraiu os demais até a sala. Ver a cara do pai também foi fonte de uma raiva inesgotável para Geneviève. Depois de tantos “você precisa ser a melhor em tudo o que faz”, “a imagem é importante e perfeita”, “a educação é a chave preciosa que abre todas as portas do mundo”, de “ser a mudança que quer ver no mundo”; como conseguia dormir a noite sabendo o que sabia? Como conseguia se olhar no espelho? Queria gritar, queria agredi-los. ❝ — Foda-se. Eu preciso sair daqui.❞ — falou, saindo em ímpeto da sala para os corredores suntuosos. Orgulhava-se da boa condição de vida dos Harcourt e de como eles cuidavam da educação parisiense, a nobre causa da educação. Era tudo mentira, era trouxa por acreditar. Aquela mansão fora construída com dinheiro sujo. A casa podia estar limpa como brinco, mas todas aquelas superfícies eram sujas.

                                Apesar dos irmãos a seguirem até a saída perguntando o que tinha acontecido, os passos decididos de Geneviève guiaram sua mente perdida e desconsolada. ❝ — Eu preciso ir. Não posso ficar nessa casa de hipócritas de dinheiro sujo. E se não sabem nada sobre o que estou falando, melhor perguntar para Étienne antes que seja tarde demais. E se sabem... Bom, então me deixem sozinha, porra, porque não quero mais saber de vocês também.❞ — pronunciou aquelas palavras enquanto olhava para o rosto dos seus três outros irmãos. Jean Louis, Henri Phillipe, Pierre Fleury. Não sabia se eles estavam envolvidos ou sendo cúmplices da sujeira parental, mas a imagem perfeita da família tinha ruído pela segunda vez na sua vida, contudo agora de maneira definitiva e irreversível. Entrou no carro do chauffer do pai e pediu para que o levasse sem demora ao Charles de Gaulle novamente.

                                 Durante o percurso do carro, tudo o que Geneviève conseguia pensar era que a sua vida fora uma mentira. Anos de dedicação, de ser a garota perfeita que fazia jus à herança educacional e intelectual, de cuidar dos irmãos como fossem filhos, de defender com honra a coroa metafórica que vinha com ambos sobrenomes. Depois de ter centrado toda sua vida ao redor dos lemas de liberdade, igualdade e fraternidade, de ser e seguir todos os passos que sempre estiveram bem bolados mesmo antes de ela sair do útero. Tudo o que fazia Geneviève Sylvie ser Geneviève Sylvie — o clube de políticas e ciências sociais, o cargo de presidente do Grêmio Estudantil, o clube de debates, o próprio status de rainha e garota popular na Truffaut; era tudo mentira, era tudo descartável. Geneviève Sylvie Evreux d’Harcourt não era nada, não era ninguém senão uma combinação de preconcebidos conceitos, uma pessoa moldada pelo que os pais achavam ou não ser certo. E o que eles sabiam sobre o que era certo? Aparentemente nada.

                                    No aeroporto, a garota andava meio perdida, sem rumo. Precisava adiantar a sua passagem de ida, mas não se achava capaz de encarar outro ser humano e dar sorrisos, fingindo que estava tudo bem. O celular não parava de vibrar com mensagens dos irmãos e dos pais. A cabeça doía muito e, ao contrário do que pensou no momento que ouviu a notícia, parecia incapaz de chorar. Talvez a ficha não tivesse caído ainda. Era difícil aceitar que os últimos quase dezenove anos foram mentira, que se acreditava em algo completamente frágil e calunioso. O cérebro pulsava de dor, o coração também. Sentia como se os seus arredores estivessem mais lentos do que o normal, como se a cena toda fosse em câmera lenta. Um grito de desespero estava preso na garganta. Por mais que o modo resolução de problemas de Viv antes tivesse sido a resposta para as crises vividas até então, naquele momento não existia plano algum. Não existia vontade de agir, nada. Não queria resolver porra alguma. Irritada pela vibração constante do telefone, a loira desligou o aparelho. Só sabia que precisava sair dali.

                                 Mudou a passagem para aquela mesma noite e foi até o bar do aeroporto. Pediu drinks, os mais caros que o dinheiro podia comprar. A torpez da bebida ajudava a tornar aquilo tudo suportável. Beber até esquecer quem era, principalmente porque não sabia quem era. Pegou o avião para Cannes na primeira classe e chegou na cidade em pouco mais de uma hora. Tinha conseguido licença para faltar o dia seguinte de aula para ir à Paris comemorar o seu aniversário e mesmo que não tivesse, voltar à rotina de se preparar para o dia de aula, acordar cedo de maneira impecável e prestar atenção em todas as aulas como se nada tivesse acontecido simplesmente estava fora de questão. Pf, licença. Como é boazinha essa Geneviève. Com licença, posso comemorar meu aniversário? Que idiota. Aquilo tudo era idiota. Chegou no apartamento e por mais que tivesse ficado apenas três horas fora, tudo parecida diferente aos seus olhos. ❝ —Fuck this shit.❞ —falou em voz alta. Ninguém lhe respondeu. Entrou no quarto e de cara viu as fotografias familiares. O sentimento de raiva lhe preenchia de maneira assustadora. Arrancou todas as fotos dos porta-retratos e as juntou na lixeira. Abriu uma das suas gavetas e tirou de lá um isqueiro artesanal, com brasão da família. Seu pai sempre dizia que existiam certos objetos que não custava nada se ter em casos de emergência. A ironia da situação a fez soltar uma risada meio nervosa e desesperada. Pegou o objeto pesado e acendeu, levando a chama próxima dos papéis dentro do lixo até que eles incediassem. Viu os sete rostos parecidos e sorridentes desfigurarem e virarem cinzas. 

                                 Só conseguia pensar em como tudo tinha ido por ladeira abaixo tão rapidamente. Primeiro a vinda dos Titãs, seguida da morte de Eloise, o término do namoro, as ameaças do anônimo, a culpa de estar escondendo cada vez mais coisas de todo mundo, a pressão constante na escola. E para quê? Qual exatamente era o motivo? Fuck me if I know. Não mais. Chega. 

[ message from Genevieve ]: vem me buscar aqui.

[ message from Genevieve ]: no questions asked.

                               O ser humano é capaz de se adaptar em qualquer ambiente, seja lá o que for que acontecesse. Era hora de se readaptar.

[whats-wild-to-you]

The Chosen One (Jay Park fiction)

Chapter 2

"Who was that girl at Loco's place yesterday?" Woogie asked nonchalantly. Him and Junwon were currently in the studio, working on new songs.

"Huh? Oh, I used to know her back in New York." Junwon responded absentmindedly.

"An ex-girlfriend?" Woogie doubled down.

"No, just a friend!"

"You like her?"

"As a friend, yes. Why?"

"And as a woman?"

"Why am I being interrogated?" Junwon spat out, visibly irritated.

"That's enough! Leave him alone!" Jay pleaded. He was sprawled over the couch, checking his schedule.

"I'm just curious, that's all." Woogie said in his defense.

"There's nothing to be curious about!" Junwon was immersed in his writing and didn't pay attention to Woogie who glanced back at Jay while talking to him.

"Let him work." Jay got up and pushed Woogie out the door, closing it behind him.

"You can't fool me, Jaebeom!"

"Yeah, yeah alright. What do you want?"

"Tell Junwon to invite his friend over. He'll know right away you're interested in her."

"And then what?" Jay asked, frustrated that Woogie thought more about Jay's dating life than his own upcoming projects.

"Then you'll get to know her! You saw her at Loco's place. She genuinely had no idea who the people with Junwon were!"

"She'll find out soon enough."

"Yes, true! But if she gets to know Park Jaebeom before she meets Jay Park then your chances go up significantly. I'm leaving! Go back in there and talk to him. He knows you're a good guy!"

"Eh!" Jay shrugged and gave his friend a bro hug before entering the studio again.

"Junwon..."

"Do you want me to invite her to hang out with us?"

"Huh?"

"Yes or no?"

"Yes!"

"Why didn't you say so earlier, hyung?"

"How do you know her?"

"I used to have a crush on her sister when both of us worked in the same dance studio."

"Oh, I see."

"V always used to tag along to keep an eye on her sister."

"How old is she?"

Junwon thought for a moment. "She must be 30 now! If I'm not mistaken she's born in '91."

"And V is short for...?"

"Vivian. Her Korean name is Ji Won. But nobody except her family calls her that. It's either V, Viv or Vivian."

"I see. But, Junwon, how do we do that?"

"Do what?"

"Invite her to hang out."

"I can call her, tell her we could catch up, invite a few more people. Girls too, cuz we can't have her be the only female in the room."

"Right, right." Jay said absentmindedly.

"One thing I don't get though. I don't think I ever saw you freak out because of a woman! Usually you're very suave."

"Yeah, when it's someone that's easy to talk to because I know they like me. Or girls I'm not that interested in, I have no problem flirting with them. But when it's someone I like, I get tongue twisted."

"Daebak! Never thought I'd live to see that day!"

"Btw, do you know what she does for a living?"

"5 years ago she was a nurse. I don't know if that's still the case though seeing as she moved all the way to Seoul. Oh no!"

"What?"

"5 years ago she met a guy. They seemed pretty serious from the get go. But he wouldn't move to Seoul with her, would he? Nah, they probably broke up."

"Quick! Call her!" Jay ordered.

Junwon picked up his phone and dialed the number off the piece of paper Loco had given him the previous day. Next to him, Jay urged him to put the call on speaker.

"Hello?"

"Hi Viv, it's me!"

"Oh, hey! What's up?"

"I was just wondering what you were doing?"

"I'm at work right now."

"Oh, sorry! Is this a bad time?"

"No, no! It's fine."

"I was thinking we should meet and catch up."

"I'd love to! Let me check my schedule."

After some rustling, Ji Won spoke again.

"How about today? I'm free after 6pm."

"You're still working as a nurse?"

"Of course! What else would I be doing?"

"Okay, it's a deal. I'll text you the details."

"Alright, I'll talk to you soon."

"Fighting!"

"What should I text her? Where are we gathering?" Junwon asked his hyung as soon as he ended the call.

"Here!"

"Here?"

"Yes. Here."

"Okay. I'll tell her to come by at 7pm."

"Okay."

Junwon texted Ji Won and an hour later she replied with a smiley face.

"She'll be here at 7." Junwon stuck his head inside Gray's studio, informing Jay.

"Are we having a party tonight?" Gray asked suspiciously.

"Just a small gathering, you're invited too." Jay blurted out.

"Cool, thanks boss!" Gray joked in return.

Around 6.30pm people started gathering in the lounge. Simon Dominic was there alongside Gray, Loco, Woogie and of course Junwon. Jay was pacing the floor, checking his watch every 2 minutes.

"What's with him?" Simon D asked perplexed.

"Remember the woman who came up to me at The Famous Burger yesterday? Jay has a thing for her so I invited her to hang out!"

"Oooh! Sajangnim!" Simon D playfully punched Jay's arm.

"Right! Let it all out now! I don't want you to embarrass me in front of her."

"Oh, he's serious!" Loco added. "But how come she didn't recognize you, hyung? I mean I get that she might not know the rest of us, but you?"

"It's better that way!" Jay replied soberly.

With only 10 minutes to go, the door opened and Hoody and Sogumm entered the lounge.

"I did not know we were having a meeting? No one told me anything!"

Simon D chuckled while lightly patting Hoody's head. "No meeting, just a small gathering. We're trying to set up Jaebeom with this girl."

"What?! I was watching Penthouse on Netflix!"

"You can watch it tomorrow." Gray scolded her.

"This was a bad idea!" Jay mumbled under his breath but Woogie was sitting next to him and was able to hear it.

"It'll be fine. Don't mind us, we're just here for decoration. You do your thing!"

Junwon checked his phone and read the message he just received. "Okay, people, she's here. Listen up! I told her we were having a small gathering, nothing crazy. So I want you to behave yourselves, and most importantly, respect and try not to embarrass Jaebeom hyung, alright?"

***

Chapter 3

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Ninety

Words: 4k

Warning(s): explicit language, mentions of violence, mentions of drug abuse

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"Hey, Viv, it's Tansy...I got your flowers and was calling to let you know I'm getting out of the hospital today, and I'm heading to the same place the guys are at, Nikki said it doesn't suck as bad as the other places they've tested out, um…" Tansy's sweet voice sounds over my answering machine. "...I'm really sorry for not calling earlier. I'm just now getting off methadone, so I've kicked smack successfully. I just wanted you to know I'm doing okay and getting some help, and Nikki called and told me you two were working things out." She adds. "Come visit me, soon, okay? We have a lot of shit to talk through, and I know we do, I just don't know where to start but I love you. I'll see you later." 

She hangs up and I smile a little bit, rubbing my lips together.

I haven't heard anything on her since Steven told me she was in the hospital back in New York after her overdose not long after Nikki's. I sent flowers when he told me she had to undergo emergency surgery to cut a part of her liver out that was turning necrotic. 

I hope we can get through things like me and Nikki are trying to do, I think Amber's going to try to bring Vince and Tommy in to talk about our relationships as a whole the session after this next one Nikki and I have...maybe Tansy and I can sit down a few times and hash things out, too. 

I head to get a bath, but it's not long before my peace is soon disturbed. 

This is the fifth time the phone has rung in the past two minutes, and I roll my eyes and pull myself out of the bathtub, grabbing my towel and stepping to the living room. 

I already see my message machine blinking from unheard voice-mails, and I pick the phone up and answer it. 

Before I can even say, "hello," Sharise starts in. 

"Vivian, what is going on, why didn't you say anything about it, why--"

"Sharise, slow down," I'm bombarded with a million questions, paranoia making my chest tighten. 

"Vivian, you're pregnant, apparently, that's what's going on." She clarifies, and I feel the color drain from my face. 

"Did Vince hear that from Nikki and tell you or--"

"--You're actually pregnant?!"

"You didn't hear it from Vince?" 

"No, Vivian, it's all over MTV!" She says next, not sounding angry at me, just shocked. 

"What?!" 

Just as soon as she says it, there's a sharp beep from the phone, indicating someone's trying to call. 

"Gimme a second and I'll call you back." I assure her. 

"Fuck that, I'm coming over." She tells me before hanging up and I take the next call while turning the TV on to MTV. 

I just see a picture of Nikki and I on the screen as I hear, "again, congratulations to Nikki and Vivian Sixx on the news of their…"

"Hello?" I answer the call that has interrupted Sharise and I. 

"Why the fuck is Page Six running a story about you being knocked up with Duff fucking McKagan's kid?!" Doc yells and I nearly fall out, starting to panic.

"Because I am, but I have no idea how the hell anybody other than Nikki and Duff know about it, Doc, I haven't even told any of my friends or family yet, I swear." I promise and I hear him curse and throw stuff around on the other end for a good two minutes before calmly saying, "this isn't good, Viv." 

"No, shit, Sherlock." I reply. 

"I'm going to talk to Sixx, you just stay at home--don't do anything irrational, we'll take care of this." He states, hanging up. 

My phone is ringing again as soon as he hangs up. 

My phone starts ringing off the hook within three minutes and I have to step outside to the back yard with Whisky to get away from it.

I'm sitting on the edge of the pool when Sharise gets here, this look of disbelief on her face. 

"I had to drop Sky by my mom's, what the hell, Viv?" She asks me, sitting beside me. 

"I was gonna tell you and everybody once I got past the first trimester, Sharise, I promise." I say, honestly. 

"I'm not mad that you didn't, I'm just...I didn't realize you and Nikki were sleeping together again." 

"We're not." I state. "And Doc said that Page Six already knows it's Duff's and has it plastered everywhere so somebody said something to somebody." 

"Duff?! Holy shit, Vivian." She breathes out, her eyes wide. 

"This is bad." I squeeze my eyes shut, rubbing my face. "This is so, so bad, Sharise." 

"What're you gonna do?" She asks me. "I mean...when did you two even start…you know?" 

"September." I tell her. 

"Are you gonna admit it's Duff's or just play it off as Nikki's publicly and then privately it's gonna know Duff is really it's dad or does he even want anything to do with it?" 

"Yeah, he does, and Nikki's managing." I inform her, and she nods slowly. "It's nobody's business. It's not. So I shouldn't have to explain myself to anybody but I know everybody will want an explanation and we'll just admit it's Duff's and ignore the bullshit people are gonna throw at us...I just don't want to lose any friends over this…"

"If you lose friends over this, they're not your real friends, because everybody you're close with knows exactly what kind of marriage you and Nikki have been having the past year and you've both been struggling with different things and his affair with Vanity and so I think everybody should be pretty understanding of the situation." She tells me. 

"They should be. Doesn't mean they will." 

"Well, the ones who matter right now will." She reassures me. "And from what I've been gathering the last six months, that doesn't include Tommy and Vince right now because I already know they're probably gonna be on Nikki's side completely." 

"Yeah, so will all of the fans." I mumble. 

"Well, if you're gonna confirm it's Duff's, is he gonna come out and say that he actually did have an affair with Vanity or are you just gonna be the sacrificial lamb in all this?" 

"I have no idea, Sharise." I admit.

"I think he should." She states. "Because it's not gonna be fair for people to think you just went to another man and 'cheated' on Nikki out of nowhere." 

"It doesn't matter what Nikki says about the Vanity thing, he's just gonna be a God and I'm gonna be a whore." I argue, sighing out. 

"You really think that?" 

"I know that." I state, matter of fact. 

And, boy, was I right.

"Did you two talk about the relationship you have with your mother?" Amber asks Nikki. 

"I haven't had time to because we've been dealing with a lot of shit right now." He states. 

"Okay," she nods in understanding, because there's no way she hasn't heard what we're dealing with, now. "Do you want to talk about it now, then?" She asks. 

"Yeah, I can." He agrees. 

"Okay, go ahead." She leans back, letting him have the chance to talk to me.

He just stares at me, sighing out, looking as if he's struggling with talking to me about it. 

"Nikki, if you don't tell her, she can't understand." She adds and he rubs the back of his neck, looking at her to help him a little bit. 

"Start with dad," she suggests. 

"He left when I was little." He says to me. 

"And mom…" 

"...And mom started spiraling when he left." He explains. "She and whatever boyfriend she'd have at the time, would drop me off with Nona and Tom for months at a time, then when she'd come get me she'd be with a different man--sometimes married to them." He continues. "And, me being the smartass I am, when I get old enough to want to voice my opinion, I'd bump heads a lot with some of the dudes she brought around and things would get physical." He says next. "But, of course, she wouldn't feel like dealing with it because I was always ruining her partying anyway, so she'd send me off, again…things got really messy when I was, like, thirteen. Me and her got into it pretty bad and she started in on me and I told her I just wanted her to fuck off--I was just tired of it, so I hurt myself and called the cops and told them she attacked me, and she was arrested and I was sent back to Idaho to be with my grandparents." His voice shakes a little and I feel my heart hurt in my chest. 

I remember Nona telling me he and his mom had a lot of issues with each other, but I didn't think it was to that extent. 

"Have you talked to your dad at all?" I ask him, furrowing my brows a little and he rubs his chin, shaking his head a little. 

"I tried, like, ten years ago, and he told me he didn't have a son." He states. "Mom's always said I ran him off, but I was only two, so I know that's bullshit." He adds. 

"When I talked to you about all of this, it was very clear that you felt discarded, inadequate, and abandoned, because you have spent a good part of your childhood yearning for your mother's approval." Amber says. "Do you think that's true?" 

"Yeah." He nods. 

"Jumping through hoops at times to get it, but still being ditched with your grandparents while she went on and pretended she didn't have a little boy she needed to be responsible for."

He agrees, again, and she gives him a smile. 

"A woman is who her mother makes her to be and who her father says she is. A man is who his father makes him to be and who his mother says he is." She tells us. "And you didn't have a father around to make you, and all your mother told you was that you weren't appreciated, you weren't approved of, you weren't worthy of the love and attention you deserved." She states. "And you married a woman whose mother made her to strive for this unattainable level of perfection and have a complete come apart when it can't be reached, and a father who told her she wasn't worth the trouble it took to protect her." She tells us."I want to know--because it is so evident that you two carry so much resentment toward one another--what is one reason--out of many-- that it's there."  

"She's always looked down on me." Nikki says it. 

"Why?" 

"Because I don't live like she does." 

"Explain what that means." 

"She believes in God, I don't. She's spent our relationship sober, I haven't. She's more modest and conservative, I'm not."

"I don't resent you for not believing in a God and not being modest and conservative--those are a few of the things I respect about you, Nikki." I argue. 

"Bullshi--"

"--No, no, no cursing. Take a breath." Amber reassures him, calmly. 

"She hasn't let me do what I want to do. If I do what I want to do, she's on my throat over it or guilt tripping me or attacking me over it." He states. 

"Because all you've wanted to do the past three years is drugs, Nikki." I mumble. 

"Go back to guilt tripping." Amber tells him. "Does she put you on a guilt trip, or are you guilty after you do something you know she would not like for you to do and you beat yourself up for it?" She asks. 

"She just shuts down." 

"She shuts down?" 

She looks at me. 

"Why do you shut down when he does something you don't like?" 

"Because it's always drugs or something mean he does when he's on drugs, and I don't want to be around it, but most times I can't get away from it so I just go somewhere else, mentally." I admit. 

"And you see when she does that, and it makes you feel bad." Amber says to him. 

"Yeah." 

"That's not guilt tripping you, Nikki, that's her protecting herself because you won't." She points out. "Vivian, what's one of the reasons you carry resentment for him?"

"I'm not a priority." I tell her. 

"The amount of money I've spent on you since we got together, and you're not a priority?!" He asks me, pissed and shocked I have the audacity to say that. 

"Buying me a house and a new car and getting me nice things isn't showing me I'm a priority, Nikki, it's just you feeling bad for the shit you've done and buying me things to make yourself feel better for it. I'm grateful that you've made sure I've been taken care of in the sense that I've never gone hungry, I've never been out on the street, I've never had to go without utilities and hot water and things like that, and I've lived a spoiled life in terms of finances and the car I drive and the house we've lived in. You're a great provider--you just…we wouldn't be in this position if you didn't choose drugs over me." I say to him. 

"I haven't." He argues. 

"You blew off our wedding night to go to a party with Tommy." I remind him and Amber raises her brows. "Then you got in that accident on your way back home and hurt your shoulder and started smoking heroin to get through the pain so you could finish the album." I add and he rolls his jaw. "I love everything about you, except your drug abuse. And I've been so angry because there is no line with you. You just keep getting worse and worse and then turn around and convince yourself that I'm ungrateful and I don't approve of who you are because I'm perpetually bitter about the marriage I've been in--and it's all my fault in your eyes. Everything bad that's happened is all my fault." 

"I don't think that, I just put blame on you where it's due, you just refuse to see that you're a problem in all of this, too." He explains. 

"If you weren't on smack, we wouldn't have problems, Nikki." 

"Vivian." He says it as if saying, "you know that's bullshit." 

"What?" 

"The amount of times me or somebody would tell you to take your medication and you'd blow us off and just let yourself get more--"

"--You can't compare depression to drug addiction. Depression didn't turn me into a completely different person. You shot me, Nikki. You shot me. And that still didn't make you realize you needed to get sober." 

"You've physically assaulted me and other people, Vivian, in a frenzy, and still didn't see the issue with your mental state." 

"You've put your hands on me before, too, so don't make me sound like--"

"--I've grabbed you a few times and that's been when you were trying to beat me. So don't start that shit." He snaps. "The times I physically hurt you, I was doped up and wasn't thinking straight. The times you've physically hurt me and other people, you were sober, you just weren't taking your medicine. So you can keep saying that I chose drugs over you, but the amount of times you've chosen your pride and, 'I don't need to be on medicine,' over me is just as bad." He says. "If you weren't so damn angry all the time over tiny shit."

"No, no, it's not just her being angry over tiny things. It's you getting with a seventeen year old girl, and placing the responsibilities of a forty-one year old mother on her." She adds and he breathes out. "Your wife has been raising you the past seven years. She's your wife. She's not your mama. And you have been punishing her like she is. Her not wanting you to destroy yourself with drugs doesn't equate to the times your mother wouldn't let you dress the way you wanted to dress, or do the artistically productive things you wanted to do that she couldn't understand that you'd fight about. This woman was seventeen years old. You had no business being twenty-two and seeing a seventeen year old, let alone putting that much weight and expectation on her shoulders and getting angry and saying she didn't appreciate you because she didn't know how to handle it all while every year you'd push further and further." She goes on. "Years of anger and resentment and bitterness towards your mother, all turned loose on a girl who didn't cause any of it, just because she didn't want you running yourself into a grave." She adds, pointedly. "When me and you first started working together to get to the bottom of all of this, you told me that she went from worshipping the ground you walked on, to being an evil demon from hell--do you remember saying that?" 

He hesitantly replies, quietly, "yes." 

"Do you realize that you have done everything in your power to verbally, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually beat the hell out of the very girl who saw you as her God before she was even old enough to really know who God was?" She asks him. "All because the woman who made you feel like you weren't worth the trouble it took to stay around and raise you, was never there to answer for her actions so you started chopping at the next one in line."

"Okay, I get it, I'm fucked up, I fucked her up, I've ruined our marriage, it's all my fault, and she's the innocent angel who was seduced by me and dragged to hell, I get." He stands up. 

"Nikki," Amber starts. 

"Nikki," I say as he steps to the door, "we can't fix this if you--"

"--Yeah, fix this." He flicks me off before slamming the door. 

I grind my teeth and stomp after him, ignoring Amber's warning against it. 

"You are such an asshole!" I bark at him, following him. 

"Wow, I've never heard that one before!" He laughs humorlessly. 

"Nikki, seriously, she got all over me for being mad at you for sleeping with two-hundred girls, you can take her pointing out that you hate me because I remind you--"

"--I don't hate you, Vivian, alright?" He stops, turning to face me. 

"Well, you're really acting like it." I cross my arms. 

"I don't. I'm just pissed that you refuse to accept that I'm not the only problem in this shit show and if you wanna work on us you need to realize that you'r--"

"--Baby," I breathe out, grabbing at his hand and he rubs his forehead, "I know it's my fault, too, but it's just…" I blink back tears, looking away from him. 

"...Just what?" He asks. 

"Embarrassing." I wipe my eyes, sniffling. "It's embarrassing having to sit there, pregnant with another dude's baby, and tell a stranger about how I've abused my husband and people around me." 

"You think it's not embarrassing for me to sort through shooting you and strangling you and still not walking away from drugs?" He asks. "Don't even get me started on having to tell you I've cheated that many fucking times and even had a mistress?" He adds…"I think I've embarrassed myself, and you, more than you've embarrassed yourself and me." 

"I'm pregnant. And it's gone public. And it's not yours. And it's gone public. I think I've won with which one of us has embarrassed the other the most." I mumble. 

"Well, I'm not embarrassed. Those people don't know shit." He tells me, furrowing his brows. 

"I am." I say, trying not to cry again. 

I'm taken back a little when he hugs me, tightly…"Why didn't you tell me about your mom?" I him, my face in his chest, tears rolling down my cheeks. 

"Because I didn't want to bother you with it." He says. 

"I wouldn't have been bothered by it, Nikki." I sniffle, looking up at him. 

He blinks a couple times and breathes out. 

"There's a basket on the closet shelf at home with several of my journals in it." He explains. "Filled with things I didn't want to bother you with." He adds. "I really think if you feel too embarrassed or ashamed, reading those will prove my point that I've been worse than you have." He admits. 

"I'm pregnant--"

"--I know you are." He grabs the sides of my face, looking me in the eyes. "Just read them if you want to, but I say a lot of shit in there I wrote when I was high, so there's your warning." He adds. 

"Are you sure you want me to read them?" I ask. 

"Yeah." 

***I wish he would've said, "no," because I screwed myself over while reading them.***

NIKKI 

I turned into a senseless moron the second she got ahold of my hand, looked at me with watery, pretty eyes, and said, "baby." 

I would've let a train hit me if I knew it would've made her feel less embarrassed and ashamed. I didn't think reading my journals would've made her feel better--just help her gain an understanding that she's the smart one out of the two of us…

If this was one year ago, I'd have her face down on a mattress, making up for our argument. 

But obviously that isn't much of a solution...so I just pull away and smile with my teeth at her the best I can, feeling better when her thumbs graze over my dimples and she smiles, too. 

"I'm sorry I was rude in there." She tells me, next. 

"I'm sorry for being an asshole." I reply, honestly…

"Do you really think I look down on you because you don't believe the same things I do?" 

"Sometimes, I guess." I admit to her. 

"I don't." She tells me. "I never really have." She adds. "I just don't like when you make fun of it or mock it." 

"...Yeah, 'Wild Side' was kinda a dick move…" I tell her and she looks at me. 

"A catchy dick move." She says. "And I like the song, I just wish you wouldn't have made it simply to spite me for the most part." 

"I'll try not to use my powers for evil against you again." I assure her…"But you gotta quit using sex to try to get out of stuff, and I will, too." I say next. "This shit's so hard because we don't talk about stuff, and we never have, and it's just better to go ahead and embarrass ourselves and talk about it instead of trying to fix it with something we can obviously go get from other people--and have gone and gotten from other people."

"And we can't blow up on each other when we do try to talk and work things out." She adds. "So no screaming at each other." 

"And no hitting." I say. 

"Ever." She agrees.

I hold my pinkie out to her and she smiles softly, taking it with hers before I kiss her cheek and pull her to me again.

I didn't know, a week from then, I'd be screaming up a storm from learning about seven fucking miscarriages from '83 to '87 that she didn't tell me about.

[ready8210]

“Let me in your heart again”

1. He hates me

Vivian

Munich / Germany - Musicland Studios

I nervously pluck my blouse, sitting in the sparing lobby of Munich's „Musicland Studios", as I wait for the first "meeting" with my future „boss", no less than QUEEN.

You've read correctly. QUEEN! I can't get my head around it yet.

The band was searching for a photographer, to document the tour life and studio work of their upcoming "works" album and their following world - tour, which would later lead them - or should I say US - from Europe, over Asia, Australia to America and Africa.

I was one of the lucky ones, the band and management put on the shortlist in late October, last year. A view weeks later, I was informed that it was me, who would attend the band for the next two years.

Two years, I think to myself, wrinkling my brows in disbelief.

At this moment I don't know if I am incredible lucky or should be scared.

I still desperately try to smooth out the wrinkles on my pastel - yellow blouse, as I nervously scan the room. Leaning back in an uncomfortable armchair, I inhale deep as I gaze over my chosen outfit.

Earlier today I was frustrated standing in front of my closet, throwing around varying outfits, unable to decide what to wear for my meeting with the band.

What would one wear when meeting Queen?

I racked my brain this morning, that would change my whole life.

Needles to say I didn't come to an answer.

After one hour of putting on nearly all content of my wardrobe, I decided to go for casual and simple. I really didn't want to look like an applicant for a secretary job.

I wear that pastel yellow sleeveless blouse I already mentioned 2 times (you have to excuse, I'm extremely nervous), paired with light blue skinny jeans and simple pumps. My wavy hazelnut brown hair is put into a ponytail on this hot July summer day.

Fiddling with the strap of my bag, I hear a door open and dull music echoing in the hallways of the oppressive building.

It is QUEEN, I recognize immediately, forming a smile on my lips.

The music reaches my ears as I am leaning myself forward, trying to get closer to the source of sound.

There it is, the mesmerizing voice of the one and only Freddie Mercury, bringing on goosebumps all over my body. I cling to the armrest, on the chair I am sitting in, as the door closes and the sound fades all to fast.

As you can imagine, this last event didn't lessen my massive nervousness.

You now may've recognized for whom of the four bandmates my heart beats.

In certain circumstances this may change within the next hour. But it don't want to anticipate things.

„Miss Kurzmann" a monotone voice behind a to high counter tears me from my thoughts. „Mr Beach will arrive in about 15 minutes. Can I offer you some tee, coffee or water in the meantime?"

„Just water, thank you" I respond barely audible, biting on my lip. I couldn't handle more at the current stage of my tense mood.

15 minutes. Great. 15 minutes unsuccessfully trying to cool down my nerves, to later make a "smooth" impression.

"Here you go, Ms", I hear the monotone voice again, coming closer, handing me my water.

She's a quiet conservative dressed, middle aged woman, wearing her grey curly hair in a shoulder-length bob. The kind of person, you wouldn't expect to work in a studio, with an endless coming and going of superstars.

Otherwise today its me, sitting in that exact same front hall.

I am by all means far from being conservative, but at the same time, even more far from being some "rockstar material".

The reserved type, always taking a backseat and avoiding the spotlight like wolves the fire.

Ok, I have to confess "reserved" is an understatement. I'm hopelessly shy, especially when it comes to situations like today. Not that I would experience something like this every day.

The only possible outcome for today is disaster.

"Ok, time to relax Viv, you already have the bloody job. Get a grip!!" I quietly whisper, trying to convince myself for the remaining time sitting there.

"Still 11 minutes to go" I mumble, as I look at my watch with trembling hands.

"Your first time?" A voice from the other end of the room brings me back to reality.

"Please excuse me, is it your first time working for a band like Queen?" She quickly continuous.

All I can manage as response, is putting on a tortured smile while nodding almost invisible.

"Don't worry Ms, the band is absolutely thrilled by your photographs and barely can await to finally meet you. And by the way, they won't give you a hard time. They're all relaxed, down to earth guys.

Relaxed,.... so the complete opposite of me, it crosses my mind, as I stare at my watch again.

"9 minutes" I whisper, while watching visitors entering the building.

I hesitantly sip on my water, to not look to helpless and lost and to somehow BRIDGE the DAMN REMAINING 9 MINUTES. Please excuse my little emotional outburst.

Ok Viv....

Oh, crap! Now I realize, I haven't introduced myself to you.

I'll cut it short.

I'm Vivian Kurzmann, 33 years old/young (it's up to you to decide), born and raised in Germany, living in London, in the middle of a divorce, freelance photographer with passion and right now on a kamikaze mission.

"Ok Viv. Think about ways to relax!" I tell myself a tad to loud.

"Excuse me? You need something Ms?" It echoes in the room.

"Oh, I'm ...I was just reading something". To cover up my little white lie, I grab the first magazine I can find, from a massive steel table, right in front of me.

Under extreme tension, I flip through the magazine, without even realizing what I'm looking at.

Maybe I find an article about reducing stress in here?

Come on Viv, figure something out. I try to remember while laying back the unhelpful piece of paper.

"Autogenic training!" I mumble. Wrong time wrong place. Don't be ridiculous.

"Smoking?" Yes, I smoke now and than, an awful habit, I know. I decide to quit smoking for today, not wanting to risk to smell like a bilgy ashtray.

"Meditation, Yoga, ...." Google shows me some options on my phone, which I grabbed earlier to soothe my trembling hands.

"Very helpful fuc*** World Wide Web. I cannot possibly roll out my yoga mat in here and do the downward dog." I mutter and shut google down.

Taking a quick look on my phone, I realize: 4 more minutes to go.

Breath Viv, you can do this!!!!! I remind myself over and over again in my mind, that goes absolutely crazy at the very moment.

"Ms Kurzmann, Mr Beach has arrived and will be here in a minute." the nice woman informs me.

Nodding confirmative I gasp a simple "thank you."

Time stretches like chewing gum, as I finally hear a male voice approaching me. "Ms Kurzmann, I welcome you to the "Musicland Studios". I'm delighted to finally meet you in person. I'm already a big fan and admirer of your work." a brightly smiling, effusive gesticulating man surprises me, holding out his hand to me.

"Oh excuse me Ms. My name is Jim Beach."

"Kurzmann, the pleasure's all mine." I babble, while standing up way to fast, almost bumping into him.

Where's the exit? Last chance to do a runner. I helplessly look around. I must look like turkeys voting for christmas, at least I feel this way.

Mr. Beach wastes no time, taking me along the gloomy corridors towards the studio where the band is recording. "I will introduce you to the band to get to know each other and have a quick talk. Let me tell you, you really made an impression." He winks at me walking besides me. "May I ask you to take you to my office afterwards. I would like to discuss the business side and do the paperwork?"

As I stammer a convincing "sure", we reach the door of our destination, noticing, considering the amount of noise and swearing, a heated discussion reaches its peak.

Mr beach opens the door, rolling his eyes while he whispers at me "please excuse this....rockstars at work."

I can't bite back a chuckle, as the door swings open.

"Guys I want to introduce you to Ms Kurzmann." He shouts.

For a split of a second I want to curl up and die.

Much to my reassurance, the band don't even recognize the two intruders and continue their argument.

The man at my side now starts to get uneasy and tenses up, as he screams again. "DAMN GUYS!!!!"

I quickly notice the heat growing in my cheeks, as all eyes lay on us. No, on ME.

Viv, damn, now of all times. Think about ....ice....no, Antarctica, .....uh. FU**

I can only let my gaze wander for a view seconds and take in the room, as a sympathetically grinning young man, with blonde tousled hair and sunglasses - I guess the sun always shines for him, even in a pitch black cellar - room. - sprints towards me, with joyfulness and flings his arms around my neck. "Hi sweetie. Vivian, right? I'm Roger. Roger Taylor, the drummer of the pack." He sputters, as he steps back again, while turning to face the band and rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Taylor." I smile at him bashfully.

"I'll call you Viv...can I call you Viv?" I'm just Roger." He grins, with the brightest smile he can pull of.

"Alright, just Roger ." I joke, unable to suppress a giggle.

"Brian, come over!" He shouts to a large, lean man with a giant mane of brown curly hair.

The shaggy man puts down his guitar, leaning it against the wall and strolls towards me, kindly smiling, reaching out his hand for me. "Ms Kurzmann, it's a pleasure. I'm Brian May."

I like him already. He has this strongly soothing impact. At this moment....priceless.

"Vivian Kurzmann, my pleasure." I reply affectionately.

Viv, you're almost done, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale...it wheels in my head.

Suddenly a shyly smiling man with guitar, is standing in front of me and introduces himself as John Deacon, the bassist of the group. "Miss Kurzmann, welcome to chaos." He jokes.

"I'm very pleased to meet you Mr Deacon." I give him a handshake, a bit to long as I try to interpret his restrained smile.

I think I like John Deacon, he's just like me. Exaggerated shy and reserved. My clone.

I neglect the fact that this man is a music genius!

"FREDDIE, what the hell takes you this long? Take your ass over here!!! I hear the blonde yell behind the mixing console, interrupting my thoughts.

Ok. The time has come. Breeeeath! Don't get hysterical. I internally scream. There's still some hope, this will work out right.

After a while, what seemed like eternity, no less than Freddie Mercury in flash and bone, appears in the room.

Like a tiger on prowl, he paces at me with slow, cautious moves, his lips formed into a devilish grin.

I can swear everything happens in slow motion.

I can feel his eyes - oh yes, his eyes, his beautiful big brown oceans, framed by those incredible long lashes, I could sink into right now - examine every inch of my trembling body as he spits out words, that break down my idyllic world.

"So you're the one to trample on my privacy from now on, like any greedy paparazzi, reporter and journalist out there?" He hisses while hesitating to reach his hand out to me.

I suppose that means FREDDIE MERCURY HATES ME??!!

As he construes my slack jawed and shocked expression, he continues in a dismissive tone.

"I think you know who I am, but what's your name again?

Pulling my hand away that won't receive a handshake from Freddie Mercury today, I stutter "Kurz.....Vi Vivian Kurzmann."

"Kurz Vivian Kurzmann?" he apes me, grinning cheekily, waiting for me to break down.

"This will be fun." He laughs, while shaking his head and stepping back.

STOP! Can we go back please? That's not how I fantasized this!

The thoughts in my head ride a rollercoaster when my stomach cramps at the last spoken words, still echoing in my head.

Everything feels unreal, as I stand there, watching everything in a haze.

Before I can realize what happens, he continues with a disdainfully look on his face.

"To get it straight. I'm not thrilled by the fact someone is chasing me day after day, to document every fucking move I make. I really appreciate my privacy and want you to respect this. No photos beyond the studio and the venues. Got it?"

This will be the most horrible two years of world history. Freddie Mercury hates me.

As he turns round and starts to stroll away and I almost pass out, I begin to stammer

"Mr Mercury I assure that your privacy and the privacy of everybody involved is crucial to me and I..."

„I find this a little hard to believe, considering you do the same like any fucking journalist. Dig around in others life's and take what you can get." he spits at me and turns his back on me.

Bracing up one last time, I start to answer him, as I hear John entering the conversation

"Freddie, calm down. Don't give that pure girl such a hard time."

Freddie disdainfully gazes at me one last time, before he enters the side room.

I can feel a hand on my shoulder, as I come back to reality. „He has his moods. Don't worry, in a view days he will be fine with it and won't cause any trouble." John is trying to calm me.

All I can manage is to nod like an idiot, still standing there, paralyzed from shock.

As I let my eyes wander around the room, Mr Beach stands behind me. He must have left the studio for our short encounter and came back at this disastrous moment.

„Ms Kurzmann, may I walk you out" he asks me politely. „I love to." I answer quickly, in a relieved voice. I just want get out of here. Somewhere far away from the predator, that just rent me.

John, Brian and Roger farewell me, cheering me up by telling me how they're looking forward, working with me.

„Don't worry about our little diva, Viv. He will calm down." Roger nudges me from the side.

„You'll see, he's not that bad." Brian encourages me calmly.

„Unless his shadow follows him." a joking Roger lets out.

„Shadow?" I can manage to ask, confusion washing over my now chalk white face.

„PAUL" they all shout, rolling their eyes in unison, before bursting out laughing.

As I want to dig deeper, Mr Beach interrupts us. „Ms Kurzmann..?" Turning towards him I notice,, he already stands besides the open door, waiting for me to follow him.

I turn to face the boys again. "See you in a view." I wink towards them, as I leave the room.

Disappointed, I couldn't take a closer look to the studio and the band working, I make my way out, following Mr. Beach.

A nice bunch of men, I think to myself, as we walk down the barren corridor, were it not for my new nemesis.

As I told you. Disaster.

Part 2 will follow soon.

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