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by Fred's Angel 1 He slammed the door behind him, threw his bag halfway across the room and stormed over to the mini-bar. "What�s wrong?" she asked sleepily, sitting up slowly in the bed and rubbing her eyes. She knew something serious must have happened for him to come in like that and wrench her from her sleep when he was usually so considerate. "I�m sick of it! Sick of their bullshit! When we started out it was a three-man show. We all had equal part in the performance. But lately it�s just them, with me tacked on the end. �The Good, the Bad, and the Guitarist�, that�s what we�ve been labelled. And I�m just f---in� sick of it! I stand there and play the music, and sing my bit, while they spend all their time flirting and f---ing around for the audience. I�m just sick and tired of not being appreciated! And what�s made it worse, is that lately they�ve been making me the butt of more of their jokes than usual. It�s fine every once in a while, but not all the friggin� time! I can�t even insult them back anymore because they reckon the audiences prefer me to play the victim, the dumbshit! Well it�s not going to happen any more. No way." Richard took the double bourbon he�d poured from the bottle he had found, and walked over to the table and set it down. She watched him carefully. His tirade had served as a rather loud wake-up call, and she was now completely alert. She could see the frustration and anger smouldering in his eyes. Cautiously, she spoke. "Have you tried talking to..." "Of course I�ve bloody tried! But they don�t want to listen, that�s their problem! As long as the crowd continues to cheer their antics on, they couldn�t give a flying f--- about me!" he shouted. She was a little taken aback by his outburst, but then found it understandable. "I�m sorry they treat you like that, Richard," she said softly. "Just once I want to feel like I�m in charge of what�s happening. Rather than being pushed around by them!" he spat out. "You can push me around as much as you like," she smiled, trying to change the subject. He raised his glass to his lips and emptied it quickly before refilling it and swallowing that too. He studied her carefully, but said nothing. She wasn�t sure if he�d even heard her because he wasn�t saying a word. Suddenly he stood up from where he was leaning against the table and crossed to the bed. He leaned over her, put one hand on the back of her neck and kissed her roughly. She was a little startled at first, but gradually began kissing him back, savoring the taste of him and the bourbon mixing in her mouth. He hastily pulled back and silently moved to his side of the wardrobe. From it he removed a navy tie she had bought him while they were in London. He walked back to the bed while she looked on curiously. He shrugged off his jacket and threw it onto a chair before sitting down on the bed next to her. He took her wrists in his hands and brought her arms up towards the wrought iron bedhead. She wasn�t sure she believed what he was doing at first, but as he tied her wrists together and then to the bed, all doubt left her. She pretended to struggle and play along, but once he saw she could move, Richard tightened the tie roughly around her wrists. She winced slightly as the fabric squeezed her skin. She looked up at her hands above her head as the pain in her wrists grew. She could almost swear she saw her hands slowly turning purple. She returned her eyes to Richard. He had climbed off the bed and was busily undressing. When he was clad only in his pants, he reached for the bedclothes with one hand, and ripped them back, revealing her body. His gaze travelled down over her black singlet and matching underwear. Tearing his eyes from her for a moment, he crossed to the table and retrieved the bottle of bourbon and took a large mouthful. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 2 "Richard-" Gemma began, uncertainly. He turned and glared menacingly at her, the bottle dangling from his right hand. She gulped and slowly tried again. "Uh...Richard...what are you�" "What do you bloody well think?" he cried, continuing to glare at her. Never before had she been as terrified of someone as she was at that moment, especially not Richard. Paul, yes; he could be extremely cruel and always to your face, but Richard wasn�t like that. At least, she hadn�t thought he was. She began to squirm on the bed, desperately trying to loosen the bonds around her wrists, but to no avail. He took another long swallow from the open bottle and stormed over to the bed. He carelessly dropped the bourbon onto the floor, spilling most of its contents. He lay his long body over hers, preventing her from struggling. He covered her mouth with his, kissing her sloppily. He was pressing against her mouth so hard, her lips felt bruised. One of his hands was on her throat while the other moved down to her breast. She took a sharp intake of breath involuntarily as he circled the nipple with his fingers. Suddenly he grabbed it and squeezed it painfully. She yelped into his mouth and tried unsuccessfully to get away. Not knowing what else to do, she bit down hard on his tongue as it thrust inside her mouth. He groaned in pain and pulled back sharply. "You bitch!" he yelled, and slapped her across the face. Her cheek stung from the action and she could feel tears prickling the back of her eyes. He noticed this and sneered at her. "Go on, cry! Go on! But you deserved it, you f---ing bitch!" His words hit her harder than the blow of a few seconds ago. She couldn�t believe it was Richard who was saying this to her. The tears flowed freely, spilling over and running down her cheeks. He lay there, watching her. She tried to look at his face, to read his expression, but his image was blurred. "Richard," she stammered. "Richard, why are you doing this? Why?" He looked at her cruelly. "You know you want it," he growled. She continued to cry. "But, Richard-" He silenced her by once again enveloping her mouth with his. He was determined this time not to give her the opportunity to bite him. Instead he kissed her violently and painfully, occasionally biting her lips. His hand was back on her breast, pulling on her singlet, trying to get inside it. She heard the black fabric tear as he pulled it roughly. His long, callused fingers grabbed her, squeezing tightly, bruising her soft flesh. He gradually began to rub his body against hers and she could feel him hardening. Suddenly a thought struck her. Oh God, what if he tries to� Instinctively her body thrashed about beneath his. She tried to kick her legs wildly to get him off her, but he was too heavy. He was getting a little frustrated at the way she was squirming beneath him. He pulled away from her and kneeled on the bed. "Stop it!" he shouted, his eyes flashing dangerously. He backhanded her cruelly. Her tears continued and she began to wail. He reached for his belt, hastily undid the buckle and slid it off. He folded the strip of black leather in half and glared at her hatefully. "I said stop it!" he screamed, bringing the belt down on the bed frighteningly close to her bare legs. She shook uncontrollably on the bed, vainly trying to wrestle her bound wrists free, and crying even louder. He was about to raise the belt a second time - but not aiming to miss in this instance � when suddenly he stopped. He looked down at her - her wrists were red from the tie; her top was torn open, exposing her breasts; her face was red, blotchy and wet from the crying; she whimpered loudly; and her eyes had the look of those belonging to a frightened animal. He stared at her, then at the belt in his hand. He dropped it as if it were red-hot. He looked in shock at his crying girlfriend, horrified at what he had done and what he seemed about to do. He scrambled off the bed and found his shirt, putting it back on. He looked down at the now empty bottle of bourbon lying in a puddle of alcohol on the floor. He found another half-full bottle on the table. Picking it up, he stumbled from the room, slamming the door behind him. Gemma continued to lie on the bed, tears streaming down her face, her breathing ragged, whimpering. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 3 Richard was still fuming, but was now also angry and shocked at himself for what he had just done. She didn�t deserve it, but he knew who did. From where he stood outside the door, Richard could hear muffled voices and the occasional laugh. This caused his anger at Paul and Tim to resurface. He took a quick swig from the bottle in his hand, replaced the cap, then pounded loudly on the door. The laughter and talking continued, and the door remained closed. He thumped on the wooden surface again, only louder than before. Still no one answered. Richard�s anger was increasing. He formed a tight fist with his hand and pounded on the door a third time. This time he heard the noise from inside quieten. Tim came to the door, and stood there grinning. "Hey Rich. What happened? Gemma finally come to her senses and kick you out?" he joked. Inside the hotel room, Paul laughed. "We need to talk," Richard replied coldly, pushing the door open fully, and moving inside past Tim. "Would you like a drink, mate?" asked Paul politely. "Oh, you brought your own," he said, taking note of the bottle Richard held in his left hand. Richard didn�t say anything; instead he glared at Paul. From behind him, Tim could see Richard�s hands gripping the bottle so hard his knuckles were white. He looked at Paul who was sitting on their bed, and seemed unaware of Richard�s dangerous stance. Tim walked around Richard carefully and sat down on the bed, placing an arm protectively around Paul�s shoulders. "Sit down, Rich. Don�t just stand there," Paul smiled. He still didn�t notice Richard�s obvious anger, but it was clearly evident to Tim. "Anything wrong?" ventured Tim slowly. Richard continued to glare at them. Finally he grated through clenched teeth, "Something�s got to change." "What d�you mean?" asked Paul. He was starting to realise something wasn�t quite right about how Richard was acting. "The way you two treat me onstage. It�s got to stop." Richard was desperately trying to control his temper, and was so far managing quite successfully. "What are you talking about, Rich?" Paul asked, confused. "What the f--- do you think I�m talking about!?!" Richard yelled, bringing the bottle of bourbon down heavily on the table next to him. The bottle smashed open at the bottom, the alcohol splashing across the table and the carpet. Paul and Tim jumped in surprise. They had seen Richard angry before, but this was different. Tim held Paul more tightly, and the smaller man in turn wrapped an arm around his lover�s waist. "I hate the way you two treat me. We used to work together, but now it�s just the two of you, with me providing the music. I hate it! And I want it to stop!" cried Richard. Paul and Tim were stunned. "But, Rich, mate -" began Tim, but Richard cut him off. "No! I�m not going to listen to your shit! You�re going to listen to me for a change!" Richard snapped. "I started this whole group, but lately you leave me out all the time! Remember how we all used to take it in turns to be the �victim� while the other two insulted us and put us down, just to entertain the audience? Why did we stop that? Now I�m the one who�s always being laughed at and ridiculed, and I hate it! I absolutely hate it!" "But you never said anything," interrupted Paul. "I did f---in� so!" came the reply. "I�ve mentioned it more than once to you guys, but you don�t listen. You�re too busy groping each other or screwing to take notice of anything other that what�s in each other�s pants!" ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 4 Paul rose from the bed in anger. "Don�t you dare speak to us like that," he hissed. Richard glared at him ferociously. "I�ll say what I bloody well like, McDermott," he sneered in response. "Especially when it�s the truth!" "Come on, guys," Tim soothed from his seat on the bed. "Why don�t we all just calm down and -" "Why the f--- should I calm down, Ferguson? It�s all your fault � both of you. It�s your fault that I-" "That you what?" snapped Paul. "That I...that I...Gemma...that Gemma is..." he stammered, the words tumbling over one another as he became distressed at the memory of what he was trying to explain. Paul and Tim exchanged concerned looks. "Richard, where�s Gemma?" Tim asked urgently. Richard started to sob. His mouth couldn�t form the answer for Tim, so he merely pointed towards the door. Tim rushed over to it and left the room to check on Gemma. Paul stood there, stunned. He couldn�t believe Richard, his oldest friend, would have done anything to physically hurt another person, let alone his girlfriend. Richard covered his face with his hands and sobbed openly, his body spasming as he took in great gulps of air. "What the f--- have you done, Richard?" Paul muttered, wondering aloud. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 5 "Shit!" swore Tim when he reached the door to Gemma and Richard�s room. It was locked. Luckily Richard had given him the spare key because he was afraid he would lose it. Tim fumbled with it, before finding the keyhole, and unlocking the door. The room was silent and in almost complete darkness. As he searched clumsily for the lightswitch, Tim heard whimpering and a woman�s voice softly chanting, "no...no...no...no..." Finally he flicked on the light and looked around. His eyes rested on the bed. He was shocked at what he saw. "What the f--- have you done, Richard?" he murmured. "Tim!" she choked, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. "Tim�I thought you were Richard." She lay limply against the bed, all her energy spent from the struggle with her boyfriend. Her face was still red and wet, her wrists more sore than before � the pain having just started to really reach her, and her torn singlet still open. Tim�s initial shock had momentarily overrun his natural instinct to help her, but now he moved quickly towards the bed. He made soothing noises to comfort her as he reached to untie her wrists. He noticed that the skin had been rubbed red-raw in some places, obviously from her attempts to struggle out of the bindings. When her wrists were no longer tied, Tim gently lowered her arms from the bedhead. She could feel the pain in her wrists quite palpably now, as well as the dull ache in her shoulders from remaining fixed above her head for so long. Despite this, she wrapped her arms around her saviour and hugged him hard, grateful to finally be free. The strain of what had happened caused her to break down again. Tim held her, letting her cry, as the warm tears soaked into his dark shirt. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 6 Richard stopped sobbing and looked at Paul. "It wasn�t my fault! If you two hadn�t �" "How can you try and blame us? You�re the one who did it! Whatever it is!" Richard�s distress was rapidly being replaced by anger. "If you guys would just listen to me every so often, I wouldn�t get so damn frustrated!" he yelled. "You�re so full of shit, Richard! We do listen to you! You just never have anything intelligent to say!" Paul�s anger was rising to match the other man�s. "You bastard! Take that back!" shouted Richard. Paul set his jaw and shook his head. Richard clenched his fists. One hand reached for the broken bourbon bottle on the table. His fingers curled around the neck and lifted it. A look of fear appeared on Paul�s face as Richard raised the bottle to level with the shorter man�s throat. Paul held up his hands in surrender and stepped backwards. "Come on, Richie, you know I didn�t mean it. Why don�t you put that down and we�ll have a drink or something?" Richard continued to advance threateningly on Paul. He was enjoying having Paul at his mercy for a change. Suddenly the door to the room opened and Tim entered. He had since established Gemma in a new room far away from Richard�s, where she would be safe, and was totally unprepared for the scene that greeted him now. Upon seeing his friend holding a broken bottle to his lover�s throat, Tim rushed forward. Richard swung around to fend off Tim, slicing the jagged piece of glass across Paul�s face. The cut was deep and quickly coloured with dark, glistening blood. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 7 "Paul!" cried Tim as he saw the blood start to drip down his boyfriend�s face. Gingerly, Paul raised a hand to his cheek. He drew it away slowly and stared in astonishment at his fingers, which were now slick with the warm, red fluid. "You prick, Richard!" Tim growled. He pulled back his right arm and punched Richard in the face, sending him stumbling backwards. Tim turned to Paul who was holding his face. The smaller man could not feel any pain whatsoever, despite the severity of the gash across his cheek. All he could sense was the warm trickle of blood snaking down his face and neck. Tim put one hand on the other side of Paul�s face while he stared helplessly at his lover�s cut cheek. "Oh Paul," he whispered. Paul slowly raised his eyes to meet Tim�s. Tim couldn�t believe how vulnerable and adorable he looked at that moment. Before he could say or do anything to help comfort Paul, Tim felt something hit him squarely in the centre of his back. He fell forward against Paul, who was still standing there like a stunned child. Regaining his footing, Tim turned on Richard. He was about to strike out at him again, when Richard beat him to it, punching him in the stomach. Tim was winded, and doubled over in pain. Richard took it as another opportunity to hit him, so he cracked Tim over the back of the head with his elbow. Tim fell to the floor, slumped on his stomach. Richard began kicking him repeatedly in the back and then stomach as well when Tim rolled onto his side, semi-conscious. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 8 Paul watched Richard�s actions with glazed eyes. He didn�t know what he was doing as he suddenly launched himself at Richard�s back, knocking him to the floor, before falling heavily against him. With a blood-covered hand he began pummelling Richard. Unfortunately for Paul, he was no match for his taller friend. Richard rolled himself onto his back, crushing Paul beneath him. He turned over again, and straddled the other man. The blood continued to spill down Paul�s face as he struggled beneath Richard. Richard grinned lecherously at his fellow band member. He had never really been attracted to Paul, but the way the little guy was squirming and rubbing his stomach against Richard�s groin was starting to have an effect on him. He could feel himself hardening, and apparently so could Paul, judging by the shocked and disgusted look on his face. "What d�ya say, Paul. Wanna have some fun?" Paul�s eyes widened. Richard didn�t wait for an answer. He leaned down and bit Paul�s lower lip. He started to rub himself against Paul�s body and captured his mouth with his own, thrusting his tongue roughly inside. Although he hated his body for doing it, Paul felt himself becoming aroused as Richard moved himself on him. Richard could feel Paul pressing against him; proud of the effect he was having on his friend. His tongue delved deeper inside Paul�s mouth, while his movements on top of Paul became more urgent. They were both painfully hard now, and as much as Paul tried to fight it, a low moan escaped him. Richard�s mouth moved to bite along Paul�s throat, licking at the trail of blood there. Paul�s head was turned towards where Tim lay in a crumpled heap. Slowly he saw his lover�s eyelids flutter open. Paul instantly felt guilty for what he was doing. He couldn�t believe his body would betray him like that, while Tim lay so close. He saw Tim looking at him, confused. Paul�s eyes pleaded for forgiveness even as he felt himself reach orgasm, moments before Richard. They lay together, shuddering, while Tim watched. His mind was too cloudy to fully grasp what he had just witnessed, but one thing he was sure of was that he needed to get Paul away from Richard. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Now, this is where you decide the outcome, 9a or 9b? 9a Richard went back to kissing and now biting Paul�s neck. He was so engrossed in what he was doing that he didn�t hear or see Tim pull himself up from the floor. Tim picked up the heaviest thing he could find ; the Gideon Bible that sat beside the bed � and brought it down hard across the back of Richard�s head. Richard cried out in pain and raised a hand to where the book had made contact. He could already feel a lump forming. He rolled off Paul and lay glaring up at Tim. Paul took the opportunity to scramble across the floor, far away from the other two. He sat underneath the table, ignoring them. His face was still bleeding and gradually starting to throb in pain; his lips and throat felt bruised from Richard�s mouth; his jeans were stained and soaking - both from himself and Richard; he smelt of sex and Richard�s perspiration. He felt horrible, and was appalled at himself for what had happened between him and Richard, while Tim lay almost unconscious. Paul curled up in a ball beneath the table and began to cry. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 9b Meanwhile, Tim dragged Richard roughly to his feet and shook him. "What the f--- do you think you�re doing, Fidler? You�ve got to stop this shit!" Tim shouted into Richard�s face. "But-" faltered Richard. "But nothing! I�m sorry Paul and I have been a little preoccupied with each other lately, but this is not the way to go about telling us how you feel! Next time, just say something, for f---�s sake!" Richard could almost sense something snapping loudly inside his brain. How many times did he have to tell them that he had tried time and again to get them to listen to him? He could feel his anger bubbling inside him. He thought he was going to explode � literally. At that point, he didn�t care what he did or who he did it to. "f--- you, Ferguson!" he bellowed at the top of his voice. With one almighty push, he shoved Tim reeling towards the table. He fell against it heavily, and the wood split loudly. The entire thing came crashing down with a thud, Tim on top of it. Beneath him, Tim thought he heard something other than the wood crack, but he wasn�t sure. That was the last thing Tim thought of before Richard brought the heavy, old-fashioned telephone down forcefully against his temple. Richard looked emotionlessly at the stream of blood that ran down the side of Tim�s face. He turned on his heel, and left the room. He knew there would be a pub open somewhere. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 10 Richard opened his eyes with great difficulty. Every muscle in his body ached, and he could feel the blood pumping through his head. It was like being pounded with a sledgehammer. He closed his eyes briefly, before opening them again and trying hard to focus properly. He glanced around at his surroundings. He was lying on his back in the darkened hotel room. Reaching across the bed carefully, he searched for his girlfriend, but the bed beside him was cold and empty. He tried to remember when he had last seen her. The hazy memory of her tied to the bed came to him and he grinned; he hadn�t had that dream for a few months now. But then another vision appeared in his head ; Gemma lying beneath him, her face red and tear-stained. Suddenly a barrage of fragmented images flew through his mind � a navy tie; spilt alcohol; torn clothing; a wooden door; a broken bottle; a trickle of blood; a broken table; and a heavy, old-fashioned telephone. Richard tried to concentrate on any or all of these things, but they vanished as quickly as they had appeared. He had no memory whatsoever of the night before, other than the Allstars� show. He knew he had been furious at the other two for the way they treated him onstage and he had wanted to say something about it, but was too much of a coward to do so. He realised he must have just dreamed doing those things to Gemma, Tim and Paul. His subconscious had merely been performing some form of therapy on him. The thumping in his brain intensified as he tried to think. From the severity of his hangover, he assumed he must have just gone out alone and well and truly drowned his sorrows. He lifted his wrist and squinted at his watch. It was almost two in the afternoon. He knew he had to get up and find the others so they could rehearse a couple new routines for the show later that night. He sat up slowly and his head swam. He squeezed his eyelids shut tightly, until the sensation lessened, then opened them again and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His body groaned in protest and the sledgehammer inside his head continued to thump mercilessly, wreaking havoc on his fragile brain, but somehow Richard managed to locate his shoes and jacket. After pulling them on, he found his roomkey on the table. Letting himself out and locking the door behind him, he failed to notice the large bourbon stain on the carpet and the empty bottle lying in it. As he stumbled along the hall, he raised a hand to his head to scratch it. His fingers travelled over a large bump, which was tender to touch. "Where the f--- did that come from?" he wondered foggily as he went in search of his friends. |
