Warlord Metal

© D. Jordan Redhawk

Chapter I: Fifteen

Aenima

(excerpt) © Tool

Some say the end is near.
Some say we'll see Armageddon soon.
I certainly hope we will.
I sure could use a vacation from this
Bullshit three ring circus sideshow of Freaks.

Some say a comet will fall from the sky,
Followed by meteor showers and tidal waves,
Followed by faultlines that cannot sit still,
Followed by millions of dumbfounded dipshits.
Some say the end is near.
Some say we'll see Armageddon soon.
I certainly hope we will cuz
I sure could use a vacation from this
Silly shit, stupid shit...
One great big festering neon distraction.
I've a suggestion to keep you all occupied -
Learn to swim.

The long hair cat drowsed in the sunlight filtering through the front window. The afternoon sun was warm on the back of the couch, despite the beginning chill of autumn in the air outside. Here in the living room, however, it was nice and toasty and quiet. With uncanny hearing, the feline's ears twitched, picking up a familiar step. On the front walk, an individual wearing jeans and a tan jacket approached. There was the rattling of keys in a lock and yellow eyes opened to stare at the front door.

It opened and a teenaged girl entered. Attention on the bundle of mail she was sorting through, she absently shut the door with her hip, dropping her backpack nearby. Finding nothing of interest, she let the pile of envelopes and her keys fall onto the end table. Her jacket graced the floor as she disappeared into the kitchen. The cat lifted an interested head, but the refrigerator opened and the sound of a soda opening could be heard. There was an audible sigh from the Maine Coon and she lowered her head to her paws again.

The teenager came back into the living room and made a beeline for the couch. The Pepsi and a bag of Fritos were placed on the coffee table and her lanky frame flounced down onto the couch with a groan. Slightly irritated, the cat sat up with a look of disgust and stretched.

The movement caught the girl's eye. "Hey, Tink," she said in a naturally low voice. She held her hand out to the feline.

"Eow?" the cat asked. She sniffed at the offered fingers. Finding them somewhat acceptable, she allowed a few seconds of scratching under the collar before pulling away.

"Yeah, I know," the teenager said with a grin. She ran long fingers through her shoulder length dark hair. "I'm a rude bitch." She watched the feline wander to the other end of the couch and settle down again.

"You got that right," another voice interjected. A young man in his mid twenties shuffled into the living room, tying the drawstring on his pants. His own dark hair was as long as the girl's and sleep tousled, a dark undergrowth gracing his face. With a yawn, he plopped into a nearby armchair and scratched at his bare chest. "How'd the exam go?"

The teenager adjusted herself, shoving a couch pillow underneath her back to prop herself up. "Alright, I guess, though geometry isn't my strong suit." She leaned over and snatched up the bag of corn chips. "I am not looking forward to trigonometry next year," she said as she munched.

"So....what? A 'B' maybe?" he prodded.

The girl shrugged. "Yeah. Definitely. Maybe I'll luck out and get an 'A-'. Depends on the grading curve."

The man nodded and there was a comfortable silence, the only sounds being the crackle of the chip bag and the crunching of food. He shook his head when the bag was thrust in his direction. "Corn flakes for breakfast, not chips."

There was a snort of laughter. "Schyeah, right. Like you think it's morning or something." She looked pointedly at the watch on her wrist. "It's 3:30. In the afternoon, Tom."

"Crack of dawn." He yawned again and rose, running his hands through his long hair in an eerie echo of his younger sister's earlier movement. On his way into the kitchen, he scooped up the jacket on the floor. It sailed across the room and landed on the girl's head. He chuckled at the resulting squawk as he ducked into the other room. "Pick up your jacket, Sonny," he called.

Sonny Middlestead growled under her breath and tossed her jacket to the other end of the couch. The grey and white cat glared at her and jumped off the furniture, stalking away for quieter and sunnier climes. The teenager picked up the nearby remote control and switched on the television. Parking it on MTV, she rose and retrieved her pack. Algebra sucks!

----------

Sept 23, 1998

I'm sure that Mr. Randolph hates my guts! That stupid article he wanted us to write? He gave me a B-!! Said that I'd obviously plagiarized it! The asshole!! Tom says I should go to the principal and challenge it. I don't know. Doesn't seem worth the hassle in the long run. I've still got to go to his class all year if I want to make it to college. Damn it!

Shelly put a note in my locker. I guess there's a big party in the works in a couple of weeks. Only the most popular kids are going to be there. She wanted to know if I'd go with her. I'm sure I will. Tom won't care. Besides, I'll bet Jay will be there! That'd be so cool! Shelly thinks he's a jerk, but he's a cute one!

I had a dream about Mom and Dad last night. We were out on a Sunday drive and Tom and I were kids again. The road Dad was driving on was getting smaller and smaller and smaller until there wasn't enough room for the car. Rather than turn back, we got out of the car and continued on. Pretty soon, we're walking on this teeny little ledge over a huge cliff. And then Mom lost her balance and fell. Dad tried to catch her and went, too. I was so scared. I couldn't look down, just leaned back against the cliff behind me. I don't know what Tom was doing. And then I saw Mom and Dad again. They were floating in front of me - they had wings like those stupid cartoons, you know? And they smiled at us and waved and then kept on going up.

I woke up pretty scared. I almost got up to go check on them before I remembered that they were dead. So, I watched some of the Christmas videos instead. Fell asleep on the couch. Weird, huh?

The day after tomorrow are the auditions. Tom said I could come along and watch. It's too bad about Chris having to leave the band. He was a pretty good guitarist. Oh, well. Maybe they'll find an even better one!

Gotta go!

----------

"So, can I take that Women's Lit class this winter?" Sonny asked her brother.

Middlestead steered the beat up Honda through traffic. "I dunno, Sonny," he began, only to be cut off.

"I can pay for it! That's no problem," the dark haired girl insisted. "I've still got that money from babysitting last year. And since I'm a resident, the cost per credit is cheaper."

The man grimaced and shook his head. "Money's not the issue, sis. The trust fund will cover your education."

Sonny's dark brow furrowed. "Then what is it?"

Her brother shrugged. "I just think you're pushing yourself too hard, that's all. You're just barely a sophomore in high school and you're already trying to take college level classes." He pulled to a stop at an intersection and looked over at her with eyes that were a shade of darker blue. "I don't want to see you burn out."

The teenager deflated a bit and looked back out the windshield. "Green light," she murmured.

Reluctantly, Middlestead returned his attention to the road and continued driving. He hated having to tell his little sister no on anything, much less a decent education. But, damn it! When she isn't writing, she's reading! When she isn't reading, she's writing! That can't be a good thing! Watching her out of the corner of his eye, he could almost see the gears working and the smoke pouring out her ears. You might as well just say yes, he told himself. She'll talk you into it anyway.

The man sighed and continued to drive in silence.

As they pulled into the parking lot, the girl spoke up. "Hey! I didn't know Rita was gonna be here!"

Middlestead parked the car and glanced at the woman in question. "Well, she must have come with Chris. I wanted him to look over the new meat." He shut off the ignition and unfastened his seat belt.

"Cool!" Sonny exclaimed, unbuckling her own restraint. "We can sit at the bar and heckle you guys." She tossed an impish grin at her brother and bailed out of the car before he could grab her.

"Now, wait a minute!" the man growled, making the expected lunge. He grinned at his sister's giggle and waggled a warning finger at her. She merely slammed the door with a grin, jogging off to meet the pregnant woman at the entrance to the bar.

Middlestead locked her door while he was there and exited the Honda, securing it behind him. Not that anybody'd want this hunk of junk.... And then he followed his sibling.

A young blond man had joined the two girls. He was tall and thin with closely cropped hair. The pregnant redheaded girl he was wrapped around was laughing as she ran her fingers through the stubble.

"What the hell happened to your hair, man?" Middlestead demanded, reaching out to grasp his friend's hand. He smiled a greeting at Rita.

His friend smiled ruefully and scratched at the buzzcut. "Well, figured they were gonna cut it all off in a couple of weeks anyway." He shrugged. "Might as well get used to the look."

"Yeah, well, we need our toilet cleaned at home. Can I use you?" the dark man quipped.

Sonny swatted her brother on the arm. "Stop that!" Turning to the couple, she continued with a grin, "Never mind Mr. I-Have-No-Fashion-Sense. You look great, Chris."

"Thanks, Sonny."

"And I like it," his girlfriend said, an eyebrow raised at Middlestead.

The dark man raised his hands in surrender, taking a step backwards. "Far be it for me to insult a pregnant woman!"

Sonny rolled her eyes and brushed by her brother, purposely pushing him with her shoulder as she passed. She opened the door to the bar and yelped as she entered. Pale blue eyes glared over her shoulder as she rubbed her rear. "Payback's a bitch, Tom," she warned. "You have to sleep sometime."

Middlestead looked innocently back until she turned in to the establishment. Then he grinned and held the door for the couple.

The bar was quiet, being closed until later in the afternoon. There were a few people lounging around towards the rear by the stage. Most of the chairs were up on the tables and an older man was sweeping the floor. When he heard the door, he looked up, his face lighting. The broom was promptly propped against a table and he stepped forward, arms wide. "Sonny! How are you?"

The teenager gave the bar owner a hug. "I'm great, Lamont. How's business?"

"Not bad, not bad," he responded. "These guys bring in some steady customers on the weekends. Even if they don't know how to play," he concluded with a conspiratorial whisper and wink.

"I heard that, old man," Middlestead growled as he came in. "Are Lando and Max here yet?"

"Yeah." A workworn thumb shot backwards. "They're dumping the recycling from last night. You got some people waiting for you by the stage, too." And then he dismissed the men. "Rita! You're looking wonderful!" He took the two females and escorted them towards the bar. "Can I get you beautiful ladies something to drink...?"

Middlestead stared after the trio. With a sarcastic grin, he said, "Well, hi there, Lamont. I'm fine, Lamont, how are you? Certainly, Lamont, I'd love something to drink."

The blond man with him chuckled and slapped him on the back. "Let's go check out my replacement."

There were eight people lounging on or around the stage area. All had guitars. Most were in street clothes and the standard heavy metal leather jackets, though there was one who was in a button up shirt and tie. It was a toss up which was weirder, the preppy with the tie or the punk rocker kid in the corner with pink and green hair.

The two men jumped onto the stage. The guitarist began checking over his instrument while the other man rummaged around behind the drum set and pulled out a clipboard. He handed the clipboard out to the first applicant in reach.

"Hi, I'm Tom Middlestead, drummer for Warlord. I want you to go ahead and write your names down and a number we can reach you at. If you have any references, jot them down, too. This is Chris Fleming," he said, indicating the guitarist. "He's the one we need a replacement for. Max Hampton and Lando Atkins, our bassist and other guitarist will be here shortly and we can get underway."

Eventually, the other two bandmates arrived from their chores out back. The second guitarist was tall and well muscled with a strong jaw, long brown hair, and a wicked grin. Hampton was short and stocky, his chin sporting a stylish goatee and his head shaved. The two settled down in chairs at the base of the stage with the drummer, Fleming staying onstage under the lights.

One by one, each applicant was called to the stage. Each was required to first do a few samples of different styles of music to show aptitude with metal, funk, and blues. Next in line was a jam session with the guitarist on the stage - Fleming would play a few bars from one of Warlord's songs and the applicant was required to pick it up and go with the flow in keeping with the song. And finally, if any of them had any songs of their own, they were encouraged to play a couple of tunes.

Actually, it was a fairly quick weeding process. One man bowed out even before his name was called, citing a doctor's appointment and maybe next time....? The preppie went soon after. The third to be called appeared quite competent and had definite potential. He was been asked to stick around for a while longer. Numbers four and five were good, but not good enough. One didn't compose and the other wasn't able to pick up the band's tunes. Next came the punk rocker.

Sonny sat at the bar, keeping time on the brass footrest beneath her shoe. She'd already decided that it was going to be either the third one or the last one who got the job. She could tell by the tilt of her brother's head when number three had been playing that he was interested. The blond man on stage appeared to be pretty impressed with him, too. As for the last guy, she was merely giving him the benefit of the doubt, since she hadn't heard him yet.

As the kid with pink and green hair climbed under the spotlights, she frowned. Her eyes squinted and she scanned the slight form. Her dark eyebrows raised in amazement and she interrupted her friend. "That's a girl!"

"What?" Rita turned her head and looked up on the stage. "No way!"

"Yes, it is! The hips are too wide. See?" The dark teenager watched in fascination.

Middlestead looked back down to the clipboard. "Jordan Smith?" he repeated. He looked back at the young woman on the stage, an eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, that's me." The hair was shoulder length with stripings of the aforementioned colors. It was messily parted in the middle with long bangs hanging into the eyes. Near the scalp was a reddish gold hue where the dye job had been growing out. The apparition was clothed in baggy black trousers and a black, sleeveless "Pantera" t-shirt, the combat boots dyed a rich green. She hefted a beat up guitar, plugging it into the system.

The drummer glanced at his companions. Atkins shrugged and leered at him. The bassist scratched at his goatee. Fleming, on stage with the newcomer, wasn't paying any attention, keeping an eye on the woman.

Middlestead cleared his throat and looked back at her. "You are eighteen, aren't you?" he asked with concern. The last thing the band needed was an underaged member getting into trouble at the bars they played in.

The woman bristled and turned to glare emerald daggers at him. "Yeah. Need to see my ID?"

The dark man pursed his lips and decided to let it drop. Hell, it's not like it's an issue. "No, no problem. Let's go ahead and get started." He gestured for the punk rocker to begin playing. She can probably only play punk and ska, anyway.

Sonny's eyes were riveted to the stage. It wasn't often she was able to see a woman play in the rock genre, though it had gotten more popular over the years. Usually, the women played pop music, not metal.

There was a moment of silence, almost spiritual, from the woman on stage. And then she broke into the strains of Led Zeppelin's 'Stairway to Heaven'. A few moments there and the music melted into an old Muddy Waters tune. From there, it floated on to Black Sabbath, and then Eric Clapton, B. B. King, Van Halen, Pink Floyd, and Hendrix. She spent three to five minutes on each artist, moving effortlessly between them. Her eyes were closed under the spotlight, and she seemed far away. Finally, the music faded.

The teenager found herself standing behind her brother. "Wow," she murmured. She's better than number three was.

The blond man onstage appeared to be very impressed. He nodded grudgingly at the woman and began clapping. She inhaled deeply and opened her eyes as the other people in the room also began to applaud.

Middlestead shook himself from his reverie. He had heard his sister behind him and agreed wholeheartedly. But they weren't finished, yet. "Well, okay, Jordan. That was great," he finally said, as the applause died down. "Are you familiar with any of our songs?"

The Christmas colored hair shook in the negative as she busied herself with her guitar. "Nope. Just what I've heard here."

The drummer nodded at Fleming.

"You know the drill, then," the blond onstage began. "I play a set, you join in."

There was a nod from the woman.

As the music began, Sonny felt something hard against the back of her legs. She looked up to see the owner, Lamont Atkins, smiling at her and holding a chair for her to sit. She grinned in response and settled down to watch. Rita joined her, as well, but she was oblivious, all her attention with the stranger on the stage.

Fleming began a strain familiar to the teenager, one of the more difficult sets that he usually played with the band. He hadn't used it with the other applicants and Sonny felt a stab of anger at the thought he might be setting this woman up for failure by playing something harder. Her feeling dissipated, however, as the woman took up the gauntlet and ran with it, her own instrument providing harmony and counter point to his. There was very little flubbing on her part as she played, interweaving the tune with her own and improvising along the way.

In front of Sonny, the three other band members sat in silence. Finally, Hampton left off scratching at his beard to lean over and mutter, "Her," to the drummer.

Middlestead glanced over in surprise. "Let's just wait until we see if she can compose, too, alright?" he asked in a whisper.

The bassist shrugged nonchalantly and resumed fingering his beard.

With the second part of the audition completed, Atkins finally spoke up. "Not fucking bad, girlfriend," he commended.

Green eyes narrowed in suspicion, searching for sarcasm. Finding none, the determined set of her jaw relaxed a bit. A slight blush pinked her skin. "Thanks," she mumbled.

"You write your own tunes?" Fleming asked from beside her.

"Yeah, I've written a couple."

Middlestead piped up, "Okay. Let's hear one."

There was a slight hesitance from the woman. "I'm not that good a singer," she warned.

"Doesn't matter," the drummer shook his head. "We'd only use you as back up vocals anyway. Lando and Max do most of the leads."

The punk nodded and brushed the bangs from her eyes. A few adjustments to the equipment and she began. It was a simple melody, deep and slow and smooth. Unable to help himself, Fleming listened for a few moments and began an accompaniment.

She's right, Sonny thought. She's not a good singer. At least not metal. The woman on stage was able to hold a tune, but her voice was unusually high-pitched for the genre of music she was playing. The lyrics were what caught people's attention.

*"I've been crawling on my belly,

Clearing out what could've been.

I've been wallowing in my own chaotic

And insecure delusions.

I wanna feel the change consume me,

Feel the outside turning in.

I wanna feel the metamorphosis and

Cleansing I've endured within,"

And then the woman's guitar and voice became rougher, gaining an edge that grated on the nerves.

"My shadow.

My shadow.

Change is coming,

Now it's my time."

The teenager watched as the punk on stage broke into a solo, the blond guitarist following her lead and backing her up. Pale blue eyes noticed movement to one side and glanced over to catch the second guitarist's fingers twitching unconsciously as he followed along. She grinned as the woman on stage began singing again, her voice smooth once more but with no less intensity.

"See my shadow changing,

Stretching up and over me.

Soften this old armor.

Hoping I can clear the way

By stepping through my shadow,

Coming out the other side.

Step into the shadow.

Forty six and two are just ahead of me."

And then it was over and quiet filled the room. The young woman returned from her walk on the dark side and began disconnecting her guitar from the equipment. Silence reigned as everyone simply stared at her dumbly.

It's like she's a completely different person when she plays, Sonny observed. Everything just stays bottled up inside and then she explodes. Finally, the dark girl stood up and began clapping, breaking into everyone else's thoughts. "That was great! do you have any more?"

Emerald eyes peered through the spotlights to locate the unfamiliar voice. "Yeah, I've got some."

"She's the one," Atkins murmured to the drummer. The bassist on the other side of Middlestead nodded in agreement. On stage, Fleming was looking pointedly at the rest of his bandmates.

The dark man looked around. "Alright then, Jordan. Can you stay a bit longer?"

The punk nodded curtly, red and green hair flopping, before stepping down from the stage and resuming her seat in the corner.

For courtesy's sake, the final applicant was given a shot, though he was nowhere near as talented as the young woman had been. After several minutes of discussion, all the applicants were herded towards the door and sent their way - to include number three.

And Jordan Smith, newest member of Warlord, remained seated in the corner, a black stocking cap on her head and the leather jacket she had donned gleaming in the light from the stage.

----------

Sept 25, 1998

Well, Warlord now has a new guitarist. And it's a girl! Well, no, actually she's a 'woman.' She doesn't look much older than me, though!

I got to see Rita today. She's only four months along, but she's definitely showing! Chris should be out of basic training and AIT before the baby's born. He ships out in two weeks. All the paperwork is signed. Rita's hoping he gets a stateside post first. Otherwise, she won't be able to fly over until after the baby's born and she really wants him to be there for it.

I think I might have talked Tom into letting me take that college course this winter. I guess he's worried that I'll go bananas and freak out or something from all the 'stress' of schoolwork. All I had to do was remind him of his obsession when he was fifteen. Rock and roll..... And now look at him! His own band, regular gigs, making enough money to live on even if they haven't hit the big time, yet.

I just want to be a journalist. Nothing exciting. Well, maybe exciting. It'd be pretty cool to be a consultant somewhere like Saudi Arabia or something - all that excitement from war and stuff going on. Or maybe working a crime beat in L.A. or New York.... Have my name right up there with Dan Rather and Walter Cronkite. Yeah, I could dig that!

Oh! And Shelly called tonight. The party she was talking about's gonna be next Friday night. She said that Jay will definitely be there, even if he is a jerk. It's gonna be a little scary, though. There's supposed to be a lot of seniors going, too. Hope us poor lower classmen don't get razzed too much while we're there.

----------

"...and the look on his face! It was priceless!" the blonde girl gushed, snickering. "I told you he was a jerk."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Sonny dug her hands deeper into her jacket pockets against the chill air and continued walking.

It was after eleven at night in downtown Portland. The two teenage girls were walking along the SW 5th Street transit mall, heading for the bus stop that would lead them home. Despite the crisp weather, there were quite a few denizens in the downtown area, people awaiting buses or hanging out or just on the move from one place to the next.

The party had been a major mistake. As was often the case with a heavy senior population attending, quite a bit of alcohol had been flowing. Sonny was no stranger to beer and she kept herself limited to one. She was, of course, a minor. And a girl. And a lower classmen, at that. As it turned out, her level headedness had been an asset.

The boy she had been lusting after ever since she'd seen him on the track team the previous year had been there. And he had shown interest in her despite the fact he was a popular young man and could have any girl he wanted. Sonny could hardly believe her luck.

Eventually, the couple had made it out to the deck in the back. They were as alone as they were going to get, what with a hundred teenagers crammed into a three bedroom townhouse and adjacent yards. He had made a pass, Sonny had caught it. There were tentative kisses which escalated towards more heated exchanges. It was oh-so-romantic.

Until the young man had attached one hand rather blatantly to her breast, his lips on her throat and moving slowly southward. She demurred. There were people present and, besides, she wasn't about to do this without getting to know him better. He pushed the issue, insistent, not letting up.

Unfortunately for him, Sonny got scared. Following close on the adrenaline rush of fear was anger. There was a slight scuffle and an angry shout followed by a grunt of pain as a knee came in contact with a very sensitive area. The dark haired girl had stomped away, pushing past her wide eyed girlfriend and blushing in anger and embarrassment. The boy had yelled after her and his friends had hooted at his inability to score with the beauty.

Jay the Jerk, Sonny thought to herself over and over like a mantra. She was still pretty pissed off - especially when Shelly had told her that she'd seen a couple of the boy's friend's exchanging money. But, she was more furious with herself than anybody. God, you're an idiot. You knew he was an asshole. She shook her head.

"Did you see Stephanie...?" the blonde asked.

"What....? No, I didn't. What about her?"

Her friend leaned forward, dark eyes sparkling with glee. "She's wearing Todd Victorian's letter jacket! Isn't that cool?"

Sonny nodded with disinterest and continued walking. Her friend chattered along beside her, oblivious to the silence.

The bus stop they approached appeared devoid of other people. The dark teenager saw an odd looking heap on one bench. Somebody's clothes? she thought as they neared. She distracted herself from her anger by wondering who would leave a jacket and extra clothing at a bus stop on a night as cold as this. It wasn't until the girls were steps away before Sonny realized that it wasn't just a pile of clothes. It was actually a person.

Pale blue eyes narrowed, she kept an eye on the body as they entered the bus shelter to check the time and schedule on the video monitor. Her friend's sudden silence and intake of breath indicated her awareness of the apparent bum.

"Sonny!" she whispered, brown eyes wide. "There's a body over there!"

The teenager shook her head. "No. They're still breathing, see?"

The transient's hips and shoulders were on the bench, legs stuck outwards as if the person had sat down and then fell over sideways. Thin, dark trousers, ragged at the hem, combat boots and a black shirt of some sort were evident. The leather jacket had been pulled halfway up the torso to cover the head and shoulders more fully. It was true that there was the slight up and down movement of breathing. Even as they watched, the legs stretched out a bit, green boots digging their toes into the cement in a reflex action.

Sonny frowned. There was something familiar here. Where have I seen boots like those? Shelly was still chattering, albeit in a whisper now, verbally curious about who the bum was, where he came from, how'd he get here and in this state. And then the dark haired girl remembered.

The blonde interrupted her whispered monologue with a gasp and a squeak as the other teenager moved forward to squat by the unconscious figure. "What are you doing?!"

"I think I know her," Sonny explained with a single glance over her shoulder.

"Her? That's a her?"

The taller girl nodded absently. To the person on the bench, she said, "Jordan? Jordan, is that you?"

Another stretching of the legs was the only response.

Sonny tentatively reached out and grasped the shoulder. A slight shake. "Jordan? Wake up." Encouraged by a feminine sounding rumble, she pulled the jacket back a bit and saw pink and green hair sticking out.

Her girlfriend stood out of arm's reach, moving from one foot to the other in nervousness. She watched as the dark girl tried to wake the bum, eventually getting her to sit up on the bench. "Eeeeww, Sonny," she exclaimed with a grimace. "She's puked all over herself!"

The teenager kept the punk propped up with one hand on her shoulder. The smell of stale cigarettes, alcohol, and vomit wafted off her. There was some vomit on the t-shirt - Same one she wore at the audition last week, crossed her mind - and some on the leather jacket. Most of it had made it down the side of the bench and into a puddle, though. Whatever she's on, she's gone. The woman before her slumped in a boneless heap, mumbling under her breath and unable to open her eyes.

Sonny sighed in consternation. She glanced around, her eyes lighting on the monitor of schedules. Bus'll be here any minute. There was no way she was going to be able to muscle Jordan onto the bus and then off and the four blocks from the stop to her house. The band was playing at the bar tonight and wouldn't be done for hours, yet, so she couldn't call for a ride. Now what?

Her pale eyes lit on the payphone on the wall of the bus shelter. After some quick mental calculations, she looked at her anxious friend. "How much money have you got?"

"What?" The blonde frowned at her. "What are you gonna do? Give it to her? She'll just find another bottle." Dark eyes looked the seated form over with distaste. "Providing she wakes up before the liquor store closes."

Sonny rolled her eyes and shook her head. "No, silly! If we can afford a taxi between the two of us, I want to get one."

The girl stared at her for a full thirty seconds before shaking her head in suspicion. "What are you up to, Sonny?" she growled.

"Look, we can't leave her here. And I can't get her home by myself on the bus. At least with a taxi we can get her right to my driveway." She heaved a sigh. "You know I'm good for it, Shelly. I'll pay you back on Monday when I can get to the bank. I've got plenty in my savings, just not with me here."

"You're taking her to your house?!" the blonde demanded incredulously.

Sonny felt a tiny niggling doubt in the back of her mind. She raised her head up and glared at her friend. "Yeah, what's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong with that? You don't know this chick from Adam, girlfriend, that's what's wrong with that! For all you know, she'll go apeshit and stab you and Tom tonight in your sleep!"

The dark head shook. "No, she won't. She's the new guitarist for Tom's band. She's just tied one on and needs a place to sleep it off." She looked back at the semi-conscious form she was holding up. "She won't hurt me," she said softly, knowing it to be true.

The blonde teenager spent the next four minutes arguing with her friend. And when the bus came, it went without them. She sighed explosively and began digging into her pockets. "Oh, alright! Here's five bucks!" She slapped it into Sonny's outstretched hand with a snort. "I'm not sitting next to her! If she pukes again, it's gonna be in your lap!"

The taller teenager's face broke into a wide grin. "Thanks, Shelly!"

----------

Pain. The world was pain. A dull ache from head to toe. All nerve endings were extremely sensitive, screaming at the slightest provocation. Faint rose colors testified to the daylight behind closed eyes. Even the hair follicles complained at the abuse of living. The mouth was filled with sand, the throat with glass.

Jordan groaned and rolled over, the sheets scraping angrily across her skin. Sheets...? She lay there, eyes closed against the shards of sunlight that would stab her when she opened them. She frowned at the feel of cool sheets against her, the softness of a pillow and mattress beneath. A faint smell of coffee wafted past, interfering with the somewhat stronger and more familiar aroma of vomit.

What the hell happened last night? Scenes slowly flashed across her inner vision - partying inside the Satyricon, then outside the Satyricon. Scoring some dope and feeling no pain. There was a girl - redhead, long and shapely legs in a tight leather miniskirt. Made me wet just watching her walk. Wasn't there an angry boyfriend, too? Bloodshot emerald eyes squinted open a crack and she peered at what was within her vision.

A standard white wall met her gaze. Before it a white vanity with gold trim and a large mirror. On either side of the mirror were two posters - one of the band Kiss and the other of Aerosmith. The top of the vanity was cluttered with bottles of perfumes and other personal care items. The mirror's reflection showed a white bookcase on the opposing wall full of books and stuffed animals.

The frown on Jordan's face deepened. Did I score? Somehow, she hadn't imagine that the redhead's bedroom would look quite like this, though. Her nose itched and she sneezed explosively, groaning loudly at the pain in her head. "Ow, shit!" she muttered, her voice cracking as she curled into a ball and put her arms over her throbbing head.

The woman lay in a fetal position for a long time, drowsing despite her discomfort. With her sensitive hearing, she could detect someone rummaging around in a kitchen somewhere. The sound of a toilet flushing and a shower running. The soft ticking of a nearby clock that was beginning to drive her to distraction. Eventually, the shower shut off and soon there were voices, male and female. The angry boyfriend...?

Deciding it was probably better for her to be up if not necessarily awake when he found out she was here, Jordan forced herself to move out of the bed. Narrowly missing the white trashcan of vomit, she got a whiff of the scent and her stomach roiled dangerously. She stood still in the room, eyes closed and breathing deeply through her nose. After gaining control, she looked blearily around.

She was only wearing her black silk boxers. Did I score? She shook her head, her aches and pains making it too difficult to tell. She found a neatly folded pile of black clothing on the opposite corner of the bed. Picking up the shirt, she shook it out, her nose twitching at the smell of laundry detergent. Whoa! I'm surprised that shirt made it through a washer and dryer without falling apart. She nudged through the rest of the pile and found her trousers as well as a fresh pair of socks and flannel boxers.

"Shit, I'm gonna have to pass out here more often," she observed with a raised eyebrow. Emerald eyes glanced around the obviously feminine room. "Wherever the hell 'here' is." She quickly donned the clean clothing. Her boots were neatly placed by the dresser and, when she got them, she found her belt, cigarettes and lighter, wallet and chain, and change on the corner. Out of habit, she checked the wallet and found a five dollar bill still there. "Huh... Well, she ain't a thief," she muttered to herself.

A low voice from the door responded. "No, I'm not."

Jordan stiffened, eyes narrowed. She slowly glanced over her shoulder to see a tall, dark haired teenage girl standing there. Aw, shit! Don't tell me I fucked a kid last night! she growled at herself, not showing any of her inner turmoil. Yeah, but ain't that just like you? a silky voice asked, a familiar stabbing comment. To the girl, she said, "Thanks for washing my clothes." The smaller woman returned to picking her items up from the dresser and putting them in her pants pockets.

The teenager shrugged. "No problem." She set a coffee cup down on the dresser and walked past the punk to the bed. She flounced down on it, leaning against the headboard. "How are you feeling?"

Jordan shrugged. "As well as I can, under the circumstances." She bent down and picked up her boots. Glancing around the room, she finally walked over and settled down on a bench by the vanity, not willing to get back onto the bed with the girl there. Well, put another notch on your belt, Tiger, the voice said. Looks like you got another virgin. The guitarist growled and viciously stomped her foot into a boot, bending over to tie it and ignoring the strain on her rebellious stomach.

Sonny watched with curiosity. "Your jacket's downstairs," she commented.

"Thanks."

"You don't remember me, do you?"

Bloodshot emerald eyes peered up at her. "What do you mean?" Jesus! Was I that fucked up last night? That even she'd notice?!

"Well, we never were formally introduced and I think the lights at the bar last weekend kinda messed up your vision." The dark girl smiled at the obvious look of confusion. "I'm Sonny Middlestead. My brother's the drummer of Warlord...?" As comprehension filtered through the woman's face, she shrugged and continued, "You're lucky I found you at the bus stop last night. It was below freezing."

Jordan frowned, trying to make the connections in her foggy mind. She sat upright and winced, grabbing at her head.

"You want some aspirin or something?" the girl asked, sitting up in concern.

"Yeah, if you've got it," the punk muttered darkly.

"'Kay. Be right back." And the girl padded out of the room.

Watching her go, lips pursed, the woman considered what had been said. Bus stop? She didn't remember any bus stop. Wait a minute.... An extremely vague feeling of exhaustion, a hard wooden bench and lights overhead. That musta been it. She considered her earlier thoughts. So maybe I didn't score with her. Good thing if her brother's Tom Middlestead!

And then Sonny was back in the room, handing her a glass of water and some pills. Jordan thanked her woodenly and gulped them down, not bothering with the water.

"Ick!" the teenager exclaimed, still holding the glass. "How can you do that? Makes me want to drink this water in sympathy!"

Jordan blinked and shrugged. "I dunno. Water's not always handy." Another thought slowly made its way through her mind. "What about your parents? Do they know I'm here?"

Something flickered across the teenager's face before she answered, "No, I live with Tom. Our parents died in an accident a couple of years ago."

"Oh." Uncomfortable, the woman finished tying her boots and gingerly rose. "Guess I should be going now. My jacket's downstairs, you said....?" She headed for the door.

Sonny quickly stepped forward to intercept. "Uh, well, yeah, it is.... Um...." She blushed and rolled her pale blue eyes. "Can I ask you something, though?"

Seeing the faint flush and the icy color of those eyes up close, Jordan paused. Damn, I wish she were older. "Yeah...?"

"Well, I don't wanna pry or anything...." Her coloring increased as she prepared to do just that. "Are you homeless or anything?" At the blank look she received from the older woman, she blurted, "I only ask, because you're wearing the same clothes you wore last week. And, if you don't have anyplace to stay or anything, we've got a spare room. Right over the garage. I've already talked to Tom about it." She paused to swallow nervously. "I mean, that's if you want. It's no big deal or anything. It's a mess over there and it'll need some cleaning up...." The girl was unprepared for the response.

Jordan's eyes narrowed suspiciously and flashed. She stepped forward, invading the teenager's space, only stopping when she was a fraction of an inch from the girl. Emerald eyes bored into frightened blue. "Why are you doing this?" she demanded harshly.

Sonny had a hard time thinking, those eyes demanding an answer, the woman's breath soft against her face. She swallowed convulsively as she rallied her thoughts. "I just.... I just thought you needed a place to crash," she whispered. "And you're a Warlord, now. Warlord's stick together." Her heart was pounding in her chest, wondering what this strange woman was going to do.

"Warlord's stick together." A puzzled look crossed Jordan's face. She stepped back a bit, giving the girl breathing room, amused at the obvious slump of relief. You're a Warlord now. Wouldn't do for the new guitarist to be rolled in an alleyway or something. Kinda defeats the purpose, doncha think? She studied the pale eyes across from hers in speculation. Finally coming to a decision, she said with a faint smirk, "So, what's this room over the garage look like....?"

----------

Oct 2, 1998

Whew! Well, I'm still alive, though I had my doubts earlier this afternoon! That Jordan is a real pistol, as my dad would say. Between Tom and I we were able to talk her into staying in the room over the garage. She insisted on paying rent and all, but it's not much - she'll be making plenty to cover it with the band. And it'll be nice to have another female here to back me up against my bratty brother!

Seriously, though, I was a little scared there for a minute. Thought for sure she was gonna take me out! And all I did was offer her a place to stay! Wow! Must be what happens when you spend too much time on the streets. I don't think she's had much in the way of family life. I kind of wonder how long she's been out there.... (Excuse me while I shudder.)

Well, last night's party was an absolute bust. I've forever ruined any chances of dating for the rest of my life. I kneed Jay in the nuts because he was getting too pushy. He might be a jerk, but he's still a cute one. Don't think I'll have to worry about the senior prom in a couple of years. Hell, I don't think I need to worry about the Christmas Dance this year! *sigh* My social life is ruined!

Why are boys such jackasses sometimes?

Black

(excerpt) © Sevendust

Voices call, call out my name.. my name ..my name.
They say I'm different, that I'm not the same ..same.
You say you want to be like me.
Well, boy, let me tell you, you don't know what I see.
They say the devil is in my soul -
I promise not to let him take control.

Shadows follow so close behind me.
I look in the mirror , I don't like what I see.
Woah! God can't you help me get outta' here!
I feel like I'm living deep in hell.

 ----------

Note: *excerpt Forty-Six and 2, © Tool

Chapter 2:  Sweet Sixteen

Bottom
(excerpt) © Tool

My compassion is broken now.
My will is eroded now.
And my desire is broken now.
And it makes me feel ugly.
I'm on my knees and burning.
My piss and moans are the fuel that
set my head on fire.
So smell my soul is burning.
I'm broken, looking up to see the enemy.
And I have swallowed the poison you feed me.
Well, I survive on the poison you feed me
and it leaves me guilt fed, hatred fed, weakness fed..
It makes me feel ugly and dead inside.

Shit adds up at the bottom.

If I let you, you would make me destroy myself.
In order to survive you, I must first survive myself.
And I can sink no further and I cannot forgive you.
There's no choice but to confront you, to engage you, to erase you.
I have gone to greath lengths to expand my threshold of pain.
I will use my mistakes against you -
there's no other choice.

I'm Shameless now and Nameless now,
I'm Nothing now and No One now.
But my soul must be iron
because my fear is naked.
I'm naked and fearless
and my fear is naked.

Sonny poured herself another cup of coffee and set up the machine for another pot. The house was quiet since neither of the bandmembers in residence had awakened yet. This is my favorite time of the day, the teenager decided with a grin. All calm, nobody around.... Nice.

Even the cat wasn't anywhere around, having decided to enjoy the lower temperatures of a late summer morning. It was already seventy-five degrees and was predicted to hit ninety-five before the afternoon was through. In anticipation, Sonny was wearing a pair of tan hiking shorts and a white tank top.

With the coffee brewing, she picked up her own cup and padded barefoot into the dining room, resuming her seat at the table. The daily paper was spread out around her. She picked up the local section and began reading. So engrossed in an article about the mayor's latest coup for the city, Sonny didn't hear anything until the soft tapping on the wall by the patio door gained her attention. Looking up, she saw a stranger smiling uncertainly at her.

"Um... hi. Jordan said there was a bathroom somewhere....?" The woman was the epitome of a groupie with tight, short shorts, a stretchy midriff tank top that left nothing to the imagination, long platinum blonde hair and heavy club makeup. The hair was mussed, the makeup smeared, and there was a very evident hickey on her neck at the juncture of her shoulder. She was barefoot and clutching a handbag.

Another one?! That makes it twenty-three now! With practiced nonchalance, she answered, "Yeah, come on in" After the woman had shut the screen door behind her, the dark girl said, "Right through there, around the corner. It's the door under the stairs." She surreptitiously watched the woman leave, comparing her to the others that she had seen over the last ten months.

It didn't appear that the female guitarist had any sort of color preference in either hair or eyes. Sonny had also seen the entire spectrum of skin color. And they were all drop dead gorgeous - at night, in a dark and smoky club - promiscuous and tall. That would put Jordan at about level with.... And she blushed slightly at the imagined sight. "Well, I guess she's a breast woman, then," she muttered, rattling her paper and trying to get back to the article she had been reading. Despite herself, her mind wandered back to when she had figured out why all these women were hanging out in Jordan's room.

The band had played a Halloween gig at the Starlight the previous evening. It had been a private party with three other bands, so even though she was a minor, Sonny was able to attend. While the other bands were pretty good, Warlord was better, in her opinion. But then, it's not like I'm biased or anything! she giggled to herself over breakfast the following morning.

As usual, the morning hours were hers alone. Eventually, her brother woke up and descended to the dining room for something to eat. It was late October, cold and wet outside. The house was warm and the siblings sat at the table and chatted over coffee and cereal.

And then there was a strange woman at the patio door wearing a leather jacket and not a whole hell of a lot else . Middlestead let her in and directed her to the bathroom.

Sonny frowned in thought. "Ya know, that's the third time Jordan's had somebody sleep over. You think that girl's homeless, too?"

The dark man sputtered a bit as he fought to swallow his coffee. He eyeballed his sister carefully. "Um... no, I don't think she's homeless."

"Really? Then why'd she stay the night?" Sonny asked in confusion. "I thought slumber parties were for kids - and I can't see Jordan at one of those."

Middlestead's face turned a nice shade of pink. His darker blue eyes darted around as he tried to come up with a tactful way to explain the reality of the situation to his naive little sister. Unable to come up with one, he finally said, "Well, look, you know about the birds and the bees, right?"

Sonny was puzzled. Why's he changing the subject? "Yeah, I know. I had that talk with Mom and then there was sex ed at school." She chuckled at her brother's obvious discomfort. "But, what's that got to do with anything?"

The man just looked at her, willing her to make the connections.

Pursing her lips, Sonny fumbled mentally with the puzzle pieces. Jordan, strange women, sleep overs, birds and bees.... Pale eyes widened and she stared at her brother. "No way!" she whispered.

"Yes, way," her brother responded with an evil grin. He was smug, embarrassed and relieved all at the same time. At least I didn't have to spell it out for her.

"You mean, she...." and Sonny waved vaguely in the direction of the garage.

"...gets laid more often than the rest of the band put together?" he finished for her. "Yeah." A thought crossed his mind and he spoke again. "Well, maybe not. Lando scores about as often as she does. In fact, last week she and Lando had a little... thing going."

Astonished, Sonny sat back in her chair with such force, it rocked. "Jordan and Lando?!" she demanded incredulously.

Middlestead waved his cereal spoon at her and shook his head. "No, no, no. That's not what I meant. They spent the night at his apartment with a couple of chicks and... uh... shared."

Unbidden thoughts and images assailed Sonny's vision. She blushed furiously and glanced at her up at her brother's chuckle. "Not a word!" she hissed, pointing a finger at him.

Dark blue eyes widened in feigned innocence. He pointed at himself with a questioning eyebrow before dragging his fingers across his lips in a zipping motion.

Sonny shook her head and rattled the newspaper again. Since then, she'd counted a total of twenty-three women in ten months. Most didn't get beyond the initial visit, though there were some who made it to two. Only four women had slept with the guitarist three times - not necessarily in a row. And no one made it past the third visit. Three strikes, yer out.

Occasionally at rehearsals, a familiar face would show up on the arm of Lando Atkins, the band's other insatiable guitarist. The dark girl had been intrigued at the absolute disinterest displayed by the woman to her prior bedmates. It's like they don't even exist! And the looks of longing shot towards the rainbow haired rocker left Sonny wondering exactly how good was she?

Shrugging off her thoughts, she returned to her article, hearing the downstairs shower start up. Minutes passed. Eventually, the shower was shut off and Sonny moved onto another article. The slight noise of a boot scraping concrete drew the dark girl's attention outside.

Jordan was seated on a bench outside, smoke from her cigarette sending wispy tendrils skywards. She was dressed in baggy black shorts and a grey sports bra. Her elbows were on her knees and she was staring into the distance. On her left upper arm was a tattoo - gleaming silver claws slashing a black hole and red eyes glaring insanely out. It was if a beast was trying to rip it's way out of her soul. Her boots were still green, but her hair was currently the shade of a bird's egg - eggshell white and speckled with baby blue.

Sonny had never seen the woman with a full head of normal colored hair. She knew that Jordan was a redhead because of the rich golden hue that would grow out close to the scalp. The teenager had complimented her on the color, dropped hints and, finally, nearly begged for her to let it grow out. And every six weeks or so, the woman would get a trim and dye her head some other godawful color. Last time it had been brilliant red, like Ronald McDonald's.

The teenager liked these occasional moments, when she was able to see Jordan without the tough dyke posturing. When the woman was off in her own little world and unguarded. She's got a nice profile, Sonny mused. But always so serious. Almost sad. She watched the woman toss her cigarette butt into a nearby coffee can and rise in a fluid, full body stretch, admiring the way the rocker was built. And then Sonny's eyes looked into emerald fire. Uh oh! Busted! Her heart pounded and she felt the heat rise to her cheeks.

Jordan saw the teenager and the mask dropped firmly into place. A slight knowing smile crossed her face and she raised an eyebrow in mute challenge. As expected, Sonny turned redder and ducked behind her newspaper. The woman chuckled as she combed fingers through her hair. After a final glance around the back yard, allowing the dark girl inside to compose herself, the guitarist entered the house. "Morning."

"Morning," Sonny mumbled from behind the Metro section, still embarrassed at having been caught staring.

A grin flitted across Jordan's face as she went into the kitchen and prepared a cup of coffee. Damn, she's fun. The woman rummaged around in the refrigerator, finally pulling out a bowl of grapes that she put on the breakfast bar. With coffee in hand, she leaned a hip against the end of the bar and drank, watching the rattling newspaper. "Anything interesting going on in the world?" she drawled.

Pale blue eyes peered over the top of the paper at the smaller woman, looking for any sarcasm. Finding none, Sonny said, "Some. There was another shooting in North Portland last night. The police say it's gang related."

Weird colored hair nodded solemnly. A grape was eaten.

Encouraged by the lack of a snide response, the dark teenager continued. "And they're trying to find funding to re-open Outside In. That's a youth services organization that concentrates on runaways," she explained.

Emerald eyes flashed briefly before becoming mild once again. "I know what it is," was the bored response.

"Oh." Sonny shrugged. "Well, that's about it today," she finished lamely.

Jordan sighed, an insistent stab of conscience attacking her. Shit, give the kid a break, Jordie! She's never been anything but kind to you and you know you don't deserve it! The woman popped another grape into her mouth. "Save the crossword, okay? Maybe we can work on it after rehearsal today."

The resulting smile lit up the room as the teenager said, "Sure! That'd be cool!" She dropped the section she'd been reading and began searching through the rest of the paper on the table.

For about the billionth time, Jordan mourned the circumstances of the girl's birth. The kid's a hot little number, I'll give her that! she thought idly as she watched. Long legs, beautiful curves.... And those eyes! Mmm mmm mmm, Jordie.... Way too bad she's straight! She sipped her coffee and the other little voice, the dark one, spoke up, Maybe she just hasn't met the right woman, huh? Unbidden images and feelings coursed through the smaller woman - the sight of that long, dark hair fanning across her abdomen, those lips caressing her in the most intimate of ways, the low voice thick with need as it begged for release, the sensation of warm nipples stiffening into peaks under her palms.

This last feeling caused Jordan's hands to actually twitch, spilling hot coffee on her belly and shorts. "Fuck!" she cursed, setting the cup on the counter with an angry thump.

Sonny was up and across the room in an instant, a handtowel from the counter in hand. She blotted the shorter woman's stomach dry, studying the red mark closely. "I don't think it was hot enough to burn too much," she said as she worked.

"I'm fine," Jordan said gruffly, batting her hands away. "Just pissed." That and wanting to fuck your brains out! When Sonny didn't immediately back off, the guitarist snatched the towel from her hands and stepped back. "I'm fine," she insisted, swallowing the overwhelming desire to take the girl right there against the kitchen counter.

A confused look of hurt crossed the teenager's face. Jordan's anger and intense eyes caused a flutter in her belly. She dropped her eyes. "Sorry," mumbled, getting a little ticked off as well. "Just trying to help."

Score another one for Horny Jordie! The woman stood still with eyes closed as she fought to gain some sense of control over her temper and libido. She sighed deeply and shook her head. "I know. Didn't mean to snap," she offered after a deep, steadying breath. "I was more startled than anything." Ah, the lie is so easy, isn't it?

Sonny peered at her from beneath dark bangs, slightly mollified. "You sure you're okay?" she pressed.

With a lopsided grin, Jordan winked at the girl. "I'm okay, mother."

The teenager blushed and ducked her head with a smile. "I'll remember that next time you don't eat your vegetables," she joked, moving back to the dining room table.

"Hey, what's going on?" a new voice asked.

The two turned to see the blonde woman standing in the kitchen. Her hair was up in a messy bun and her makeup had been freshly applied after her shower.

Jordan had planned on calling a cab and sending the woman away. Another flash of dark hair, whispering moans and silky wetness put a stop to that. Turning on all her considerable charm, she smiled warmly and stepped forward, into the other woman's arms. "Just tried to scald my stomach, that's all," she purred.

"Oh, no!" the woman said with concern. Long fingernails painted fire engine red gently traced the reddened area on Jordan's abdomen. "Are you okay?"

The guitarist leaned up and whispered into her ear, "Feeling horrible. Wanna kiss it and make it better?" She nuzzled the ear, raking her teeth across the lobe. The sharp intake of breath gave her the answer she wanted. She led the tall blonde outside, pausing only long enough to grin at Sonny.

The dark teenager wasn't pleased with the interruption. She scowled at the intimate flirting going on in front of her, resuming her seat. Get a grip, girl! she scolded herself. Sonny smiled weakly back at the guitarist as the couple left.

Sitting in the quiet house, her mind and emotions a turmoil, the teenager stared off into space. Unable to make heads or tails of what she was experiencing, she shook her head and forcibly brought herself back to the present. "Crossword," she muttered. "Where's the crossword?"

Aug 16, 1999

Jordan almost blew up this morning. Boy, she has a hair trigger temper! She spilled some coffee on herself and really got pissed. I think she was more mad at herself for being so klutzy, though. I know I would have been.

It's still morning. Tom's up and roaming around. Number 23 and Jordan are probably going at it as I write. Jeez! And I thought Lando was a hound dog when it came to women! I do have to admit, though, I am curious - I mean, I learned all the normal stuff from sex ed at school.... But how to women do it? Is it like... mutual masturbation?

I also wonder what Jordan's not getting. Why else would she go through girls like underwear? I think she needs to fall in love with somebody. It's not the sex she's looking for, it's the intimacy. I hope she finds it someday. She's a nice person underneath all that 'I'm a Bitch' 'tude she's got going.

Rehearsal's this afternoon and then we're going out to dinner for my birthday. I'm sixteen now.... Doesn't feel much different from yesterday, really. Oh, well. I think I'll go get my license and drive Tom's insurance rate up! Ha ha ha!

As the Honda pulled up to the dilapidated warehouse the band used for rehearsals, it sputtered and died.

"Damn it!" Middlestead growled, hurriedly stomping on the clutch to keep the vehicle's forward momentum going. Fortunately, he had been pulling into a parking spot and it was nothing to just coast right into position.

"What happened?" his sister asked, studying the dials on the dashboard. Maybe I don't want to learn how to drive this thing!

"Dunno," the man grumbled. He futzed with the brake, securely parking the car. A few tries on the ignition only resulted in a growling noise. "Shit."

Sonny sighed. "Well, it's no big deal. We can always bus it for tonight," she suggested.

Middlestead sat back in a huff, glaring ominously at the steering wheel. "Yeah, I guess." Not quite willing to let it go, he leaned forward again and grabbed the key. "You go on inside. Tell 'em I'll be there in a sec."

"Okay," the teenager agreed, releasing her seatbelt. She clambered out of the Honda and slammed the door behind her, hearing the motor struggle laboriously. Just as she opened the warehouse door, the car roared to life. She turned to grin over her shoulder, taking one step into the warehouse without looking. Her brother grinned and winked at her and she waved before turning back to the foyer.

"SURPRISE!!!"

Appropriately startled, Sonny jumped, pale eyes wide as she stared at the sight before her.

A group of smiling people surrounded a table. There was a tablecloth draped over it and a sheet cake, ablaze with candles, on one side. The other side held a small mound of gifts. Balloons were tied at the four corners and a banner hanging overhead proclaimed, 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SONNY!'

She blinked back sudden tears as Lando Atkins and Jordan began the traditional birthday song, metal style, and Middlestead came up behind her.

"Happy birthday, sis," he said with a grin, draping a long arm over her shoulder.

Playfully, the teenager slapped his shoulder. "You set this up!" she accused. As he nodded smugly, she hugged him and whispered, "Thanks."

Middlestead returned the hug. "It's not much," he apologized. "But Mom and Dad would've killed me if I didn't do something special for your sweet sixteenth."

Sonny squeezed him tightly. "You did great," she murmured.

The song came to a crashing finish as the two guitarists tried to outdo each other for a grand finale. The rest of the party-goers stood and stared blankly at them, their singing done and waiting for the accompaniment to stop. When it seemed that there was no end in sight, the bassist, Max Hampton, strode forward and disconnected the power supply.

Silence rang through the warehouse.

"Thank you," a small redhead with a fussy baby said.

"Rita!" Sonny exclaimed. She released her brother to run over to the girl, a tall blond man in an Army dress uniform nearby.

Jordan sat alone on the edge of the stage, watching the festivities. It hasn't been too bad, as birthday parties go. Not a lot of overly emotional people gushing over each other in saccharine happiness, anyway. She munched idly on a piece of chocolate cake.

She knew most of the people here. The band members and the usual hangers on that attended regular rehearsals, a couple of groupies that Atkins had invited, and the married couple with the kid. It had been hella to see Chris Fleming again. He and the band had jammed a little bit - at least until his daughter started to cry and he called a halt to appease her tender ears.

Still wish I could at least have a beer, she sighed, taking another bite of cake. The thought of cake and beer together caused her to frown. Okay.... Maybe some blow, then.... Another sigh and she washed the last of the cake down with a Pepsi. She scratched an itch underneath the wool knit cap on her head, watching the Birthday Girl playing with a five month old.

After awhile, Atkins wandered over and plopped down beside her. "Man, I'm stuffed!" he groaned.

Jordan smirked at him. "Where's your girlfriends?"

The tall man lay back until he was on his elbows. He waved vaguely in one direction. "Powdering their noses or something."

"Probably 'or something'."

"Ya know, you're right," he said, sitting up again. He brushed his long brown hair back from his face and looked at the woman intently. "What is it that you women do in a bathroom that takes hours on end, anyway?" he asked.

With an incredulous stare, Jordan said, "And you think I'd know?"

Atkins rolled hazel eyes. "That's not what I meant, Jordan." He shook his head. "Yer a girl! You can get into the women's bathroom and I can't." His eyes became distant and the corners of his mouth quirked up a bit. "Well, maybe 'can't' isn't the right word."

"And what is the right word?" the woman asked with a coolly raised eyebrow.

Atkins chuckled. "Okay. You go in there all the time when the babes are 'powdering their noses.' What the hell does it mean, though?"

Jordan leaned back and considered her response. "Well," she drawled. "It's been my experience that they're doing one of three things. First..." and she held up a finger, "...doing upkeep on their makeup, just like they said. Second...." Another finger joined the first one. "They're discussing how best to jump your bones." She stifled a chuckle at Atkins' smug look. "Or third, they're trying to figure out a way to ditch you without being too bitchy about it."

The guitarist's face screwed up in concentration as he seriously considered her last statement. He apparently came to some sort of loggerheads with himself from his facial features.

Unable to help herself, Jordan chuckled and leaned over to smack him on the arm. "It's probably the first one, dude," she said. "Makeup's a pain in the ass to keep up."

"Oh." He tried to hide his relieved look. "Say, if you're not doing anything tonight..." he offered, wiggling his eyebrows with a leer. "We had a blast last month with the twins. And I know Rachel has been eyeballing you tonight."

In her mind's eyes, Jordan saw the two women that had accompanied Atkins to this little party. A redhead and a brunette, both leggy and busty and just what the doctor ordered. A memory of pale eyes smiling blotted the vision out. She heaved a sigh and reluctantly shook her head. "Naw. Not tonight. I promised the Birthday Girl a little one on one with a crossword puzzle."

Atkins nodded in understanding and both of them turned their attentions to the dark teenager who was now talking with Lamont Atkins, the bar owner and the guitarist's father.

"Damn! You know, I've known that brat since she was ten?" he asked idly. "She's growing up mighty fine."

"I'll say," Jordan agreed. She felt eyes on her and leveled a cool gaze in return.

"You know she's off limits," the man said, his voice a trifle flat.

"Well, duh, Lando," the woman responded scornfully. "Jailbait's nice to look at and nice to dream about, but shit! Like I wanna get tossed outta my room, my band and have statutory rape charges pending!" She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Get a fucking clue...."

The man chuckled sheepishly. "Well, you know. We're all kinda protective of her."

You should be, the woman thought. You've got a wolf in the fold and you don't even know it. She could hear the voice inside, howling and laughing. She merely nodded in agreement with him. Looking back over the party, she said, "Looks like your girls are back."

Atkins saw them as well and rose to his feet. As he stepped away, he looked over his shoulder with a lopsided grin. "Crossword ain't gonna take all night, ya know. I'll leave the door unlocked."

Jordan watched him saunter into the women's waiting arms, considering.

Sonny stifled a yawn and leaned against the doorframe, her arms laden with presents. Nearby, her brother was collecting the remains of the cake in preparation of leaving.

The party had gone on for quite some time. There seemed to be a never-ending flow of well-wishers floating through. As some left, others arrived to take their place. It seemed that there were always twenty or so people in the warehouse at any given time.

Tanya was adorable, she thought of the baby. With that red fuzz on her head and her daddy's nose.... Now, that had been a total surprise. I'm amazed Chris was able to get leave so soon after enlisting. And all the different visitors - there'd even been a distant cousin showing up that she hadn't seen in years. Sonny sighed contentedly. This has got to be the best birthday ever. Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice.

"You're looking kinda tired," Jordan commented with a raised eyebrow.

The dark girl smiled. "Yeah. I am a bit. Can't wait to get home. It's amazing how tired a person gets when they're having so much fun."

The emerald eyes sparkled. "So, you're not up to a crossword puzzle then?" The guitarist scratched at the wool cap she was wearing, fully expecting the girl to disagree with her.

Sonny's face froze. And then she remembered what their plans had been. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed, standing away from the door frame. "I totally forgot! I'm so sorry!"

Jordan felt a sudden flash of anger. What the fuck? Why'd I even bother? She looked away and shrugged with nonchalance, gaining some composure. "No biggie," she drawled. "It's been a long day for you. Maybe tomorrow." It's just a fucking crossword puzzle, Jordie. Don't get all bent outta shape.

The teenager actually flinched away from the fiery green eyes before they looked away. As the woman said her piece and turned to leave, she juggled her armload and reached out to stop her. The muscle under her arm stiffened, but when the guitarist turned back, she was grinning. Did I make her mad or not? "If you want, we can still do it," she offered tentatively.

Jordan turned further around, effectively pulling her shoulder away from the dark girl's touch. What's your problem, Jordie? She's just a kid! Jesus! "Naw, it's cool. Lando invited me over to his place tonight anyway. If I'm lucky, I can catch a ride before they leave."

"Oh." Sonny looked down and chewed her lower lip, feeling sad and angry for some strange reason. She peered from beneath her dark bangs. "Tomorrow then?"

Jordan's rather forced grin became a more natural smile. "Yeah. Tomorrow's good." There was an awkward silence. "Well, happy birthday, squirt," the woman finally said.

"Thanks." Another pause. "I'll see you tomorrow then...." A statement that wasn't quite a question.

The guitarist had moved away. "Yeah. I'll be there," she tossed over her shoulder. She got a couple of more steps away before slapping her forehead. "I forgot to give you your present!" she said with a grin, returning to the girl.

"Oh, no, Jordan. You don't need to --" and then Sonny became speechless.

Jordan had whipped off the knit hat she had been wearing all evening. Long, redgold hair tumbled down to her shoulders. She smiled at the girl's response.

"Wow!" Sonny finally breathed.

Emerald eyes sparked and caught fire. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?" she purred.

The teenager's mouth was suddenly dry. "Um... yeah.... Yeah! It's just...." She tripped over her own tongue. "Wow."

Jordan ran hands through her hair. "Glad you like it."

"Oh, yeah. I do! Are you....? Are you going to keep it this way now?" The girl held her breath in anticipation.

The woman studied the dark girl. "Maybe," she finally conceded. A glance over her shoulder and she said, "There's Lando! Gotta go!" and trotted away.

Sonny watched the lights overhead play in the redgold tresses. "Wow," she whispered.

Sept 10, 1999

Well, the first week of school is officially over. Thank God! I can't believe I actually missed this torture during the summer!! Might as well just tattoo a huge "S" on my forehead - "SUCKER!"

Tonight's the first school dance of the year. Pete Bailey asked me to go with him. He plays center on the basketball team. I'm looking forward to it.

Jordan just walked by (I'm in the living room.) She's still got her natural hair. Well, not exactly natural - she had to dye it back to what it should be. I'm surprised she hasn't had it redone in purple or lime green or something....

"Oh, yeah, baby. That's it," Jordan crooned, eyes closed. She was relatively fully dressed, her flannel shirt open and hanging loosely. She was seated in a wooden chair in her room, a completely naked woman kneeling between her legs and nibbling at her breasts. "Harder," she purred as she felt teeth brush the jewelry on one nipple.

The dark haired beauty complied, biting down. The resulting growl from above sent a rush of tingles through her body. There was a bit of pain in the back of her head where the guitarist's fingers were buried in her hair, pulling as the grip tightened.

There was a knock on the door and the naked woman started to pull back. Instead, she was pushed further into place.

"Ignore it," Jordan ordered in a husky voice. "They'll go away." If they know what's good for 'em!

There was another knock, louder and more insistent. The redhead could hear a man's voice through the door. The woman's mouth had frozen in place and dark brown eyes rolled between trying to see the door behind her and peering up at the guitarist who was rapidly getting angry.

Jordan cursed and pulled the woman's head away. She rose to her feet, using her grip for leverage. Feeling movement beneath her fingers, she glared down at the dark woman. "Don't move from this spot," she growled, planting a fierce kiss on ruby lips. And then she broke away and stalked to the door.

Even as she reached it, another round of pounding resumed. Jordan threw the door open and glared at the intruder. "What the fuck do you want?" she demanded with a scowl.

Middlestead was a little taken aback by her vehemence. He stared blankly at Jordan, his fist still in the air from his aborted attempt at knocking.

"Well?!" the redhead snapped.

"Uh." the man shook his head and dropped his hand. "Sonny's, uh... not in here, is she?" he asked, gaze flickering over the smaller woman's shoulder. He caught sight of a naked feminine back, but the hair color wasn't right. Good thing, too, he thought with a hint of anger. I'd have to kill my guitarist if that was Sonny. His glance returned to his bandmate, finally realizing that her shirt was open and her attributes were bared for his view. So they are pierced! Middlestead blushed, mouth dry, and forced himself to look back into Jordan's eyes.

"No," the woman said slowly, as if to an idiot. "She is not here. Nor would she be at..." and she craned her neck to see her alarm clock, "...three thirty in the morning." Despite her anger at the interruption, she glared at the man and asked, "Have you looked in her room?"

"Yes! Of course I looked in her room!" the drummer snapped. "When I got home, I was gonna check on her before bed. She's not in the house, Jordan!" Anger and worry fought for dominance within. "She's never done this before."

Jordan shrugged. "Maybe she just decided to spend the night at Shelly's. It is a weekend."

Middlestead shook his head. "She's not there. I've spent the last twenty minutes calling all her friends, rousting families out of bed. Nobody's seen her since the dance."

A trickle of worry ran through the redhead like ice water. Flippantly, she shrugged, "Maybe she's making out in the back seat of her date's car." Jordan felt the wrongness of it even as the words left her lips. "Whatever.... Who was her date, anyway?"

Running a hand through his dark hair in concern, Middlestead winced and looked away. "I don't know. Pete Something, I think."

Jordan's anger flared again. "Your sixteen year old sister is out on a date with a high school jock and you don't even know who the hell it is?!"

"Look, I'm her brother, damn it! Not her parent!" was the defensive answer.

"Well, here's a clue, pal," Jordan said acidly, buttoning up her shirt. "Time's like these are when you're supposed to act like a parent. Whether you want to or not." Oh, yeah, Jordie! Miss 'Oh-So-Superior' is now an expert on child rearing.

Middlestead's face was pained but he offered no argument.

The guitarist took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Opening them again, her frustration contained for the moment, she said, "Go back inside and call Shelly again. She'll know what the kid's name is. I'll be down in a minute." She used her chin to indicate the woman still kneeling behind her. "I've gotta take care of something first."

The man nodded in silent relief. He turned and hustled down the stairs.

Jordan shook her head and rolled her eyes. Men! Can't live with 'em! Can't shoot 'em! She shut the door and turned back to her evening's entertainment.

As Middlestead hung up the phone, he heard the patio door slide closed. Craning his neck from his place in the living room, he saw his bandmate coming towards him.

"Find out his name?" she asked as she put on her leather jacket.

"Yeah! Pete Bailey. But Shelly didn't know where he lives or anything."

Jordan nodded and proceeded towards the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Middlestead asked with a frown. When he got no answer, he followed the small woman up the stairs and into his sister's room. "I told you she wasn't here."

Ignoring him, the redhead switched on the light. Good thing she's a neat freak, she thought. On the girl's nightstand was a phone and Jordan made her way towards it. Opening the drawer, she said, "Bingo," and pulled out a school directory. She flipped through it.

Middlestead slapped his forehead. "Crap! I didn't even think of that!"

The woman shrugged and picked up the phone. "No reason you should have," she said calmly as she dialed a number. "You're too worried to think straight right now."

There was a pause while she waited for someone to answer the line. The man behind her began pacing nervously.

"...Hullo...?" asked a sleepy male voice.

"Yes. I'd like to speak with Pete Bailey."

"Wha...? Lady, it's four in the morning," the voice grumbled.

"Yeah, I know. And I'd like to know why my... sister hasn't made it home from her date with Pete." There was a pause before she added, "Unless he didn't come home, either...."

There was a rustling sound and murmured voices. "Look uh.... What's your name?"

"Jordan."

"Uh, Jordan.... Look, my boy's been home since a little after one. I saw him myself. I don't know where your sister is."

"May I speak with Pete then? He can tell me where he last saw her."

There was a pause as the man processed this. "Yeah. Okay. Hold on and I'll get him." Then the sound of the phone as it was laid down.

Middlestead paced nearby. When there was no more said, he stopped and said urgently, "Well!?"

"Shhhh," Jordan waved him down with a glare. "They're waking the kid up now. It's been several hours - a few more minutes ain't gonna make a difference."

"Easy for you to say," he grumbled as he resumed his pacing.

There were more voices on the other end of the line. Finally, a young man was put on.

"Hello?" he asked tentatively.

"Pete?" Jordan paused.

Her bandmate heard a distinct difference in her voice and stopped to gawk at the redhead.

"Yeah?"

"Let's get something clear right from the beginning," she said pleasantly. "If anything has happened to Sonny, either by your own hand or your own ineptitude, you are going to be in severe need of traction. You don't know me. You don't know what I look like. You'll never know if I'm across the room or right beside you. And whatever I do, keep in mind... I hold a grudge. Do we have an understanding?"

"Yes." There was a slight pause before the shaky voice said with a rush, "I didn't do anything to her, I swear!"

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"Just before I came home. Quarter after one maybe? Give or take a few minutes."

Emerald eyes narrowed. "The dance didn't go that late. They would have let you out before curfew. Where did you last see her?"

There was silence.

"Keep in mind that your future of having children is on the line," Jordan growled. "Where did you last see her?"

"Up at Washington Park," he answered slowly, the information being forced from him. "There's a place near there... on a side road, ya know. Where kids... uh... hang out."

"You mean make out, don't you?" Not waiting for a response, Jordan asked, "Why'd you leave her there, Pete?"

There was the audible sound of swallowing. "We... uh.... We got into an argument. She started yelling and jumped out of the car." His voice became an octave higher. "I didn't want to leave her, I swear! She just walked off! I followed her for several blocks but she wouldn't get back in the car so I could take her home!"

Doing nothing to soothe the teenager's fear, Jordan got the street name and directions from him.

"Um.... Sonny doesn't have a sister," Bailey said in a shaky voice when they were finished. "Who are you?"

There was a long silence. "I could be your worst nightmare," Jordan rumbled before hanging up.

Middlestead stepped back and away as the woman turned towards him and the door. Her green eyes appeared to be lit by an inner fire and her mouth was curled in a feral smile. "Where is she? Is she okay?"

"I don't know but I'm gonna find out." Jordan rattled a strange set of keys. "I'm gonna take a cruise in whatsername's car and see if I can scare her up."

"I'm going, too," the man insisted stubbornly as he followed her down the stairs. The redhead stopped so abruptly that he plowed into her and they both almost took a tumble.

"No, you are going to stay here in case she shows up or calls," she ordered.

Despite himself, Middlestead took a step upwards and away from her intense glare. "But...."

"No, buts," she growled. "You don't know the bus system and I do. I can already tell you two ways she would have gone." Jordan turned and began her descent again, continuing. "She obviously either missed the bus entirely or missed the connection and has been walking."

Middlestead trotted down the stairs after her, trying to think of a reason to go. "Two cars, two search parties. We could cover more ground in less time," he suggested.

Jordan opened the door and turned back to the worried man. "Look, Tom," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Best case scenario - I find her and you don't. You keep looking, worried sick, until dawn and you come home to find her asleep in her own bed."

He considered this with a frown before standing straighter and shrugging his shoulders, not convinced.

The redhead scowled at him and continued, an edge to her voice. "Worst case scenario - there's been a horrible accident, she needs emergency surgery and your signature on the paperwork. You're not here to get the call. She's dead and you're guilty." She glared at him. "You like that one better?"

Middlestead gulped, fear showing in his eyes. He searched the guitarist's unflinching gaze, finally breaking contact and looking down. "No," he said softly.

"I'll probably pick her up inside of an hour. I'll have her call when I do, okay?"

The drummer nodded.

"Okay. Later then." And Jordan went out the door.

I swear! All they ever think with is their... dicks! Sonny fumed. "What is it with guys?!" she demanded of the night sky.

When no answer was forthcoming, she pulled the collar of her jacket closer to her neck in the rain and dug her hands deep into her pockets. Fortunately it was the standard misty drizzle that was popular for the Portland area and not a real downpour to soak her. She continued walking.

She'd learned a valuable lesson tonight. Never, never, ever go on a date without twice the bus fare home. At the very least, she would have had the thirty-five cents for a payphone and been able to call the bar where Warlord had been playing. As it was, they wouldn't accept the collect call she'd made from downtown and she'd had to walk. At the time it was for too early to call home and now that it was late enough, there were no payphones in sight.

Sonny was in a predominantly residential area at the moment. She knew that there would be a Safeway up ahead another mile or so - it was on the bus line she took on a regular basis. I'll call Tom from there. A flash of her brother being worried sick and angry crossed her mind. "Oh, man, is he gonna be pissed."

There were headlights ahead, coming towards her. The teenager stood straighter as she strode along, head held high. At this hour, alone and in an unfamiliar neighborhood, Sonny knew she wasn't safe. She heard Jordan's voice saying, "If ya act like you belong, they'll think you belong. Don't be looking at the sidewalk with your head down. You'll have 'victim' written all over you."

The car continued along the road towards her. When the driver got close enough to actually see her, the vehicle slowed down and honked.

Sonny's heart pounded, but she kept her head. A glance at the car told her she didn't know who it was. And the streetlight overhead was reflecting off the windshield so she couldn't make out the driver. With a nonchalance she didn't feel, the dark girl kept walking.

The car, a golden late model Buick, slowed to a halt with another short honk. When the teenager ignored it again, the driver put the vehicle in reverse and began catching up.

Sonny glanced once over her shoulder at the approaching car and gulped, eyes wide. Crap! Now what?! She looked around for a house with a porch light. There! Three houses down! She picked up her pace, hearing a power window roll down.

"Hey, sexy," a rather familiar voice called. "Need a ride?"

The girl slowed down and looked back over her shoulder in amazement, her fear easing. "Jordan...?"

"Or you could keep walkin'," the redhead shrugged with a mischievous grin. "Makes no nevermind to me." The engine revved.

"No, no!" Sonny said with some haste, moving around the front of the car to the passenger side. She clambered into the seat with a great sense of relief. "I am sooo glad you're here!"

"I'll bet," the redhead responded. She waited for the door to close before putting the Buick in gear and driving away. "You okay?"

Sonny finished putting on her seatbelt. "I am now," she said with a grin. "How'd you know where to find me?"

Jordan shrugged and pulled a pack of cigarettes from her jacket. She proceeded to light one up, speaking around it as it dangled from her lips. "It was pretty self evident once I knew where you'd been and the time."

The teenager shivered as the heater began to warm her feet and legs. "And how'd you know that?"

A grin played across the woman's face. "Had a little chat with Mr. Bailey."

"Did he.... Did he tell you what happened?" Sonny asked tentatively. She was glad for the darkened interior, her face feeling heat of a different sort.

The driver window rolled down a crack and Jordan took a drag from her cigarette. "Not really, no. Just that there'd been a fight and you ditched him."

"Oh."

There were several minutes of silence, the only sound being the car as it made its way down the street.

After a while, it occurred to Sonny that they were still driving away from home. Puzzled, she asked, "Where are we going?"

Jordan pondered the question. "Well, Tom's in a dither and I told him we'd call when I found you." Green eyes sparkled at the teenager. "But, I think he needs time to settle down before we get home. His knee-jerk reaction is gonna be to start yelling and screaming. A bad scene." The redhead shrugged and flicked ashes out the window. "We'll call and then give him time to cool off a bit."

"Oh." A seed of dread lodged itself inside. It wasn't hard to imagine her brother's response to the whole mess. "Good idea," Sonny agreed.

There was a chuckle from the driver's seat.

Eventually they pulled into the parking lot of the International House of Pancakes - IHOP for short. The two locked up the car and entered the building. They stopped long enough in the foyer to make the proscribed phone call. As was expected, Middlestead was at first relieved and then yelling in anger. When Sonny pulled the phone away from her ear with a wince, Jordan snagged it.

"Cool your jets!!" she bellowed, gaining not only the attention of the raging man on the phone but two waitresses, three barhoppers having breakfast, a dishwasher and a chef who rushed out from the back, wiping his hands on his apron.

Sonny smiled weakly at the stares, a fine shade of crimson. She listened to the guitarist's side of the conversation as people settled down and returned to their own business.

"Now, look, she's fine and dandy. No more worries. I know. Yeah. NO! We're gonna siddown and have a cup of coffee or something." Pause. "Tough! We're gonna have a talk. Yes! You know, it's a girl thing." Another pause. Jordan rolled her eyes. "We're gonna have some coffee and dis the entire male population. You sure you want in on that discussion?" She smiled at the teenager beside her, drawing a circle in the air next to her ear and mouthing 'crazy.'

Sonny stifled a giggle.

"Yeah. Don't worry about it. Have a beer and try to get some sleep. We'll be home in an hour or so. Alright. Bye." Jordan shook her head in feigned exasperation as she hung up the phone. "He is such a boy."

As the pair made their way to the sign that told them to wait for seating, Sonny asked, "It doesn't get much better with age, does it?"

"Not in the least."

A few minutes later found them comfortably seated in a booth, backs to the window and legs resting along the padded benches. The older woman had coffee and Sonny had opted for a hot chocolate.

"So," Jordan began, sipping at the black liquid. "Gonna tell me what happened?"

The teenager blushed and dropped her eyes, suddenly finding the spoon stirring her drink very interesting. "What exactly did Pete say?" she asked, fishing.

"Nope. Tell me or not. I ain't gonna play that game."

Sonny nodded glumly in understanding. After a few moments, she said, "Well, we went up to the park after the dance...." Her voice trailed off.

"Did he get to first base?" the woman teased.

Despite her embarrassment, the girl snickered. She grinned up from under dark bangs. "Yeah," she admitted.

Jordan's eyes were sparkling. "Second?" she prodded.

There was a flash of anger. "No. Not second."

The redhead nodded in comprehension. "He gave you shit about it and you bailed," she supplied.

Pale blue eyes flared. "You make it sound so... so blase," she snapped. "When I say no, I mean no!"

"Whoa, whoa whoa!" Jordan said, turning to put her feet down on the floor and face the teenager. "That's not what I meant. I was simply stating a fact."

Sonny blew out a breath, feeling the residual anger and guilt at jumping to conclusions. "I know. I'm sorry." She shook her head. "I guess I'm still mad."

"Sounds like it."

There was silence at the table as the teenager was lost in thought. Finally, she spoke up again. "It was the same thing with Jay last year. Is that all they think about?"

Jordan looked into the beautiful, serious face. Boys ain't the only one, baby. "Well, that's been my experience," was the response.

"And it doesn't get any better as they get older?"

The redhead raised an eyebrow. "Lando."

Sonny scowled. "I might as well just give in and let 'em have it then," she murmured.

"No."

The strength in Jordan's voice startled the teenager. She looked into stern emerald eyes.

"Sex is one of the most powerful weapons you have, girl," Jordan insisted.

Dark brows furrowed. "What?"

"Think about it. All those males out there will run through hoops at even a hint of getting into your pants. It's a tremendous tool. A major point of control."

Sonny worked at wrapping her mind around the concept.

"You're still a virgin?" came the blunt question.

"Uh... yeah," the teenager blushed again.

Jordan nodded in contemplation. "Good. Hold onto it. Use it as the carrot to string the guys along. Don't just give it up."

Wow. She's really adamant about this, Sonny mused. She considered the implications of why. Dropping her own feet to the floor, she leaned her elbows on the table. "Did you just give it away?"

The question almost hit the redhead with a physical force. She sat abruptly back, mouth open and stared for a second. Just a second. And then her training rushed in to protect her. The mask settled into place and she raised a cool eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"

The teenager was unsure of what had just transpired and she realized she may have committed a faux pas. "I.... I was just curious. You seemed pretty.... It seemed really important to you and all."

Jordan studied the girl for long moments. Ya blew it, Jordie, a voice giggled. Don't tell, don't tell, or you're gonna go to Hell, it chanted with a singsong quality. Another voice, the smaller one that was seldom heard, whispered, Tell her the truth.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried," Sonny apologized, dropping her gaze and pulling away.

"No!" The guitarist reached out and took the girl's hand. "I just wasn't expecting it." She swallowed and wet her lips. "I don't remember losing my virginity, squirt. Simple as that."

The teenager frowned. "Were you drunk or something?" she finally questioned.

Jordan shook her head. "Nooo...." She considered her next statement, releasing the girl's hand. "It was taken from me by my step father when I was really young." The voices in her head took up a clamor and she busied herself with her coffee cup, trying to maintain control.

Sonny blinked at the woman. A sudden wave of compassion rolled through her and she reached out to touch Jordan's hand. "I'm so s--"

"Don't even say it!" the redhead warned with a glare, pulling her had out of reach. "It happened, it's over, and I don't wanna talk about it." Yeah! Don't need anybody else to wipe while yer on the pity potty, huh, Jordie? Betcha it'd be fun - crying on her shoulder, her arms around you....

The dark girl quickly debated and chose not to be hurt by the woman's brusqueness. I'd probably feel the same way, she mused. Rather, another question came to mind. She pondered it, the thing getting bigger and stronger and she was hard pressed not to blurt it out. Oh, no. Now is not the time....

Jordan wrestled her inner demons and the feelings that rampaged through her system. Finally getting herself under control, she spared a glance at the teenager. With mild surprise, she didn't see pity or sympathy. Instead, it appeared the girl was trying to keep her thoughts under wraps. And failing miserably. The guitarist tilted her head and braced herself. "What?" she asked.

"Oh. Nothing."

"You don't lie well, Sonny," the redhead said with a growl. "Now, spit it out."

The teenager flushed a fine shade of red. There's got to be a way to stop all this blushing! "I was just.... Well...." and she began to fidget and look anywhere else but at Jordan.

"Sonny..." the redhead warned, eyes flashing.

The dark girl swallowed and took the dive. "Is that why you... you know... like woman...?" The resulting laughter from across the table eased her nerves and she snuck a peek at the woman.

Jordan chortled. "Oh, no, squirt," she said, wiping at her eyes. "I've been falling for gorgeous babes since I was knee high."

Despite herself, Sonny blurted, "Really? How come?"

With a shrug, the guitarist looked with amusement at the extremely curious teenager. "I dunno. It's just always been that way. Boys were for beating up and girls were for kissing." Pause. "Among other things," she drawled. She chuckled again at Sonny's embarrassment.

"How are you ladies doing over here?" the waitress asked, a pot of coffee in one hand. "Need a refill?"

"No, thanks. We're fine, I think," Jordan said.

"Alright then. You girls have a good morning." And she left after placing the check on the table.

"So, do you think he's cooled off enough, yet?"

The redhead pursed her lips as she considered. "Yeah, maybe. Ready to hit the road?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty beat," Sonny said, stifling a yawn.

"Let's go then."

As the pair approached the Buick, Sonny asked, "Who's car is this, anyway?"

"Uh...." The redhead searched her memory. "Della? Daisy?" She snapped her fingers as her eyes lit up in remembrance. "Dolly! That's it!"

"And she is...?" The teenager climbed into the car and shut the door.

Getting in on the other side, Jordan shrugged. "Just some chick I had over when your brother came pounding on my door."

Sonny frowned. "So she let you borrow her car. Did you take her home first?"

"Naw. She's in bed," the redhead informed her as she started the vehicle. "I told her to get some sleep while I was out."

Number twenty-nine.

Sept 11, 1999

Oh, man, it's been a long night! Thank God, Jordan found me! I would have been walking until dawn before I got home!

We had a talk about guys at the restaurant. She basically told me that guys were idiots to be used. Considering her past history, I can understand her point of view. But, I don't think all guys are like that. There's my dad and Tom and Lamont, Max, Chris.... They're all decent men. I guess I'm just not lucky with boys. (Hopefully that'll change!!)

I am amazed, though. Jordan left #29 to come and find me! Tom said she argued him down and wouldn't let him go with her. Wow! Maybe she does like me. Well, that's not exactly what I meant - I know she likes me. I just didn't know how much.

We touched a little bit on why she likes women instead of men. I thought it was because of her stepdad, but she says it's not. After thinking about it, I'm pretty sure she's right. It's hard to explain, but I think she's always been this way, regardless of her past circumstances.

And I have to admit, I'm even more curious about the logistics of it all now. Maybe I'll check in the library downtown next week....

Prison Sex
(excerpt) © Tool

It took so long to remember just what happened.
I was so young and vestal then,
you know it hurt me,
but I'm breathing so I guess I'm still alive
even if signs seem to tell me otherwise.
I've got my hands bound, my head down , my eyes closed, and my throat wide open.

Do unto others what has been done to you.

Chapter III: Senior Year

My Ruin
(excerpt) © Sevendust

Inside my shadow, I can hear you.
Am I near you?
Inside my shadow, I can smell you.
Can I tell you?
Inside my shadow, I can love you.
Think I need you.
Inside my shadow, I can feel you.
I embrace you.

Am I real? Am I real?

Save my ruin in dust, my world has turned to rust.

Save my world, oh, my world.

Sonny was curled up in an old armchair at the warehouse. A heavy textbook was cracked open on her lap and a spiral notebook crammed into the side cushion as she concentrated on the print. She would pause occasionally, pulling the pen from behind her ear to jot down a quick note.

Nearby, her brother lounged on what used to be the benchseat of a van, flipping through a magazine. On the makeshift stage, Jordan and Atkins worked on a song. Rehearsal was at a standstill, Hampton having a meeting with someone "in the biz," he had said. His girlfriend, Lisa Foley, was there, seated on the edge of the stage with another woman as they watched the two guitarists work.

The teenager finally finished her chapter and looked up at the stage. The stranger - Number fifty-six, she thought - was nearly drooling as she watched the redheaded woman on stage. Sonny's lip turned up in a sneer. Do any of 'em have any brains? she wondered. Shaking her head and clearing it of the uncharitable thought, she set the book to one side of the chair and stretched out her long legs.

At seventeen, it appeared that the dark girl had finally stopped growing. She was already five foot eight, looking most of her male peers in the eye. She'd walked with a slump last year, trying to seem shorter for a time, until Jordan had made some rude remark about slouching around with a bull's eye on her forehead. From that point on, Sonny had stood tall and towered over the boys. Until they caught up with her this last year, anyway.

"How's it going?" Middlestead asked from his seat.

The teenager grimaced and ran a hand through ebony hair. "Crappy. This chemistry class is gonna be the death of me."

Her brother chuckled. "That's what you said about trigonometry last year and geometry the year before that."

Sonny grinned ruefully. With a little shrug, she said, "Guess I'm just not too logically inclined, huh? Must be the artistic company I keep."

As she stood and stretched, the drummer griped, "You saying we ain't logical?"

"No! Of course not!" the young woman denied, a sparkle in her blue eyes. She took the pen from behind her ear and tossed it onto the chair. "Any clue when Max'll get here?"

"Naw. Said it'd be at least an hour. Maybe more." The man shrugged and went back to his magazine. "Whatever it is, he said it'll be good for the band."

Sonny nodded. She wandered over to the stage and settled down to watch the proceedings.

"No, no," Jordan said over the guitar Atkins was playing. "We wanna start out quiet, just one axe in the beginning. Like this...." She played a simple melody with an odd half note that elicited feelings of strangeness and a vague sense of unease in the listener. Then, the redhead began singing, her sweet voice inconsistent with the lyrics.

*"I hurt myself today
to see if I still feel.
I focus on the pain,
the only thing that's real.
The needle tears a hole -
the old familiar sting.
Try to kill it all away,
but I remember everything."

The guitar melody changed to a more conventional tune and Atkins picked it up with his own.

"What have I become,
my sweetest friend?
Everyone I know
goes away in the end."

Jordan stopped playing. "And here's where Tom comes in with heavy drums," she pointed at the piece of paper she'd scribbled the music on.

Atkins nodded. He took up the tune, his throaty voice rough and dark.

"You could have it all -
my empire of dirt.
I will let you down.
I will make you hurt."

"Yeah!" The redhead began the odd strain again and Atkins continued on to the next set of lyrics. The two then worked their way through the next chorus and finished the tune.

"Oh, wow!" the groupie gushed at the woman beside her. "Isn't she great?"

Hampton's girlfriend smiled politely and nodded before turning away just enough to make a face at Sonny.

The teenager stifled a laugh. A peek at Jordan verified an annoyed look on the guitarist's face. Well, Fifty-Six, looks like you're not gonna make it to round two! she thought with smug satisfaction.

The redhead frowned in irritation. I hate it when that happens. Sounds like my mother gushing over Elvis on tv. Another little voice made itself known - Besides, you ain't all that anyway. "Let's take a break," Jordan growled as she turned and settled her guitar in its stand. She stepped off the stage, ignoring the suggestive leer from her bandmate. "C'mon," she said to the woman.

The groupie seemed to sense she'd made a mistake. She swallowed nervously, her eyes flickering around to look at the other people. "Sure, okay," she said softly, collecting her jacket and purse.

As the couple headed for the door, Sonny couldn't help but feel a bit of sympathy for the woman. And a little bit of guilt for her own thoughts. Lord knows, I wouldn't wanna be where she is now!

Hampton chose that moment to walk in. He passed the women at the door and continued towards the stage, unzipping his coat. Glancing back over his shoulder, he asked, "Where's Jordan going?"

"Takin' out the trash," Atkins snorted as he fiddled with one of the strings on his guitar.

"Lando!" Sonny exclaimed in indignation. She leaned forward and slapped him on his booted shin.

The tall man blinked down at her. "What?"

Hampton's girlfriend, Foley, rose and gave the bearded man a welcome kiss. "She'll be back in a minute."

"Good," he said as Middlestead approached them. "Got some big news for us." He took off his coat and tossed it onto a nearby chair.

"Any hints?" Sonny asked hopefully.

The shorter man chuckled and rubbed his bald head. "Nope."

"Bummer."

A few moments later found the band looking expectantly at their bassist/manager. Jordan had returned alone to her stool on stage and Middlestead was standing behind his sister's chair, arms crossed.

"Alright, Max. Whaddya got?" the drummer asked.

Hampton clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously, a smile on his square face. "Okay! I don't know if you guys have noticed, but we're getting really popular in the area. We've got people coming from as far away as Seattle to give us a listen."

"Really? That's cool!" Sonny piped up.

Hampton nodded. "And apparently there are bootleg tapes of our shows all up and down the west coast."

"Yer shittin' me!" Atkins exclaimed with a surprised grin.

"Nope." The shorter man stepped over to his coat and rummaged through the pockets. A cassette case appeared in his hand and he tossed it to the guitarist. While Atkins looked it over with Jordan peering over his shoulder, he continued. "There's a lot of interest out there right now. I just left a meeting with three guys who own some clubs in Seattle, Portland and San Jose. Between them and their contacts, we could actually increase our territory with a mini tour."

There was a pause and everyone spoke at once. Hampton let them go for a couple of minutes before raising his hands to quiet the hubbub.

"We could get a guaranteed itinerary of four months from Seattle to San Jose and the surrounding areas. We would make enough money on this venture to top off our savings and be able to record that CD we're always talking about."

"Guaranteed?" Jordan asked.

"Yes. All we have to do is sign an agreement that we will appear on those dates at those venues."

Atkins' face was scrunched in thought. "But what if they cancel on us? Won't we get screwed?"

The bald man shook his head. "The agreement covers our butts, too. It will stipulate that we'll still get paid half the performance fee if they should cancel out on us. Besides, I'll have a lawyer have a look at it before we sign."

"Sounds good to me," the guitarist said, looking around at his bandmates.

"When?"

Hampton turned to the drummer. "Our first gig would be scheduled for December first in Seattle."

Middlestead's face deepened into a frown. "No. I can't do it."

"What? Why the hell not?!" Atkins demanded.

The dark man looked down at his sister who had whirled around in amazement at his refusal. "Sonny's got school. It's her senior year. I can't jeopardize her chances at a college scholarship by taking her with us. And I can't leave her at home alone for four months."

"But --" the teenager began.

"No buts, Sonny," Middlestead intoned, shaking his head. "This can wait. Your education comes first." He brought his dark blue gaze up to scan the rest of the crowd. "I can't ask you to wait until summer, so I'll understand if you need to get another drummer. It's cool."

Middlestead then scooped up his jacket and strode out of the warehouse. Everyone stared after him, dumbfounded.

"Well, fuck me," Atkins breathed.

Sonny stared after her brother, feeling his heart break at such a tough decision. This is what he's always wanted, what he's worked on for years! I can't be responsible for this. There's gotta be another way.... She searched her mind and the room for answers, her eyes finally connecting with emerald green. Jordan'll help....

Nov 14, 2000

Well, it's been a couple of days since I've written. Guess I'd better catch up here. I've been so busy and have had so much on my mind....

Warlord has a chance at a tour - guaranteed income for four months! But, Tom has nixed it for himself because of me. I can't have that on my conscience. He's been working on this for nearly as long as I can remember!

So, I skipped school on Monday. Jordan took me downtown. We checked the library for books on home schooling first. Found a really good one called The Teenage Liberation Handbook. I've only been able to scan the first three chapters, but it appears to have tons of educational ideas and resources.

And then Jordan took me to Greenhouse, a youth shelter near Burnside. She knows one of the counselors there. Had a long talk with Gladys (the counselor) and she helped me brainstorm some options.

Today I had a meeting with Mrs. Rutherford, my school counselor. I laid it all out to her and what I wanted to do. She thinks it'd be great for me to do an independent study program. Since I want to get a degree in journalism and all, Mrs. R thinks I could do an extracurricular thing for the school paper. Weekly updates on the road with a rock band kind of thing. She says it'd be nothing for me to get the assignments from my classes and do the work on the road.

About the only trouble spots will be chemistry lab and tests. We could do the tests through college libraries and computers. I might have to wait on the lab work, though. It just all depends on where we are and whether or not I can get permission to use a lab somewhere....

Now, if I can just talk Tom into it. Well, tonight's the night for that. I've asked Jordan to be there and back me up. She could argue Moses out of the Ten Commandments if she wanted!

I hope this works. I have a feeling that Warlord is going to get bigger and bigger now. I don't want Tom to lose his dream because of me.

Hampton stood at the microphone, his bass slung low across his body. But his hands were still, holding the instrument under a hot spotlight. The rest of the stage was dark, but eerie strains of a guitar could be heard.

There were some hoots and heckling from the audience who had paid to see the band that was going on next. For the most part, however, the crowd had been captivated. As Hampton sang the second stanza in a mellow tenor, a few lighters lit up the darkness at his feet.

*"I wear this crown of shit
upon my liar's chair,
full of broken thoughts
that I cannot repair.
Beneath the stains of time
the feelings disappear.
You are someone else.
I am still right here."

The guitar melody changed, a second adding its own voice. Hampton began playing his bass and red lighting lit up the stage with somber darkness, showing Atkins and Jordan playing their own instruments nearby.

"What have I become,
my sweetest friend?
Everyone I know
goes away in the end."

And then the drums kicked in, hard and slow, pulsing in an almost erotic beat and leading the way for the rest of the band. The guitars picked up in volume and depth, the bass going along for the ride. Stage lights throbbed with the beat. Hampton's voice gained an edge of strength and pain.

"You could have it all,
my empire of dirt.
I will let you down.
I will make you hurt."

His voice softened again, in direct contrast with the music backing him.

"If I could start again
a millions miles away,
I would keep my Self.
I would find a way."

He hung on to the final note as the music reached a peak and came down in a crash of sound and light.

There was silence for a split second before the crowd erupted in cheers and applause.

"Thank you, Seattle!" Atkins waved at the audience with a wide grin. Everyone took their bows and trotted off stage. Behind them, the MC - a local radio disc jockey - came out.

"And that was Warlord, folks! Damn! Can those Portlanders rock or what?!" The crowd erupted loudly in agreement and he went on to introduce the next band.

"That was great!" Sonny exclaimed as the bandmembers approached her. She stepped into her brother's arms and hugged him before turning to the rest. "That song is really fantastic, Jordan!"

The redhead's mouth quirked in a grin. "Thanks," she said in an off handed manner.

The teenager thought she saw a flash of real pleasure at the compliment, despite the superior air the woman was giving off. You might act like you're all that, but I think I'm beginning to see past it. "Well, now what?"

"We gotta get my kit and our gear packed up," Middlestead said, his dark blue eyes still sparkling with the excitement of being onstage.

"Yeah," Hampton agreed. "Gotta gig in Salem tomorrow night. We wanna leave early in the morning." The shorter man looked pointedly at the two guitarists.

Jordan smirked and Atkins looked offended.

"What?!" he demanded.

The redhead slapped him in the belly with the back of her hand. "He means we have to stay in the motel tonight."

"Aw, Max! C'mon, man!" the tall man groaned. "There's this girl out front who's been ogling me all night."

"There's always a girl, Lando," Sonny piped up. She flushed a little at the snicker from the smaller woman.

Atkins said, "Well, yeah. I know that! But, this one -"

"...is going to be without the benefits of your attentions tonight," Hampton ordered. "Or we're leaving your ass here when you don't show up in the morning."

The tall man seriously appeared to be considering his chances of partying all night and still making it to the motel in the morning. And then whether or not it made a difference if he didn't make it in time. And what other options he had for getting to Salem for tomorrow's performance.

Jordan rolled her emerald eyes. With surprising strength, she reached up, hooked her hand in Atkins' collar and pulled the man down to her level. A quick whisper in his ear and then she let him go, staring into his eyes intently.

He blinked at her for a second. And then a grin broke out on his face. "Okay. Okay, yeah," he straightened and looked at the bassist. "No problem. I'll be a good boy tonight."

A startled look crossed Hampton's face before he shot a suspicious look at the drummer, who shrugged. "Okay. Let's get the gear and pack it up then."

It was a few minutes of work, the sounds of another band playing on the stage nearby, before Sonny could corner the redhead. "What'd you tell Lando?" she asked, glancing quickly around to make sure they were out of earshot.

Jordan shrugged. With a slight grin, she said, "I just reminded him of all those bodacious California girls that would miss his... expertise."

The dark teenager chortled as she helped pack up her brother's drum kit.

Jordan tossed her keys on the desktop and settled her guitar case in the corner. The teenager followed her into the room, shutting and locking the door behind her before throwing herself onto one of the double beds.

"I'm so tired," Sonny grumbled. "But if we're gonna be in the van together for three or four hours, I'd better get a shower tonight."

"I know that's right," the guitarist teased, a look if distaste on her face. She switched on the beat up television and, as she flipped through the channels, a pillow sailed through the air.

Sonny watched as it connected solidly with Jordan's shoulder and side. The woman froze for a second and then scooped it up, turning to the teenager on the bed with a feral smile. Oops.

"Little girl wants to play," Jordan purred. She stalked the dark girl, detouring long enough to retrieve a second pillow from her own bed.

Sonny sat up straighter and grabbed her second pillow, holding it in a threatening manner over her head. She giggled in nervous anticipation, wondering if she should make a break for the bathroom or not.

As if reading her mind, the redhead changed course to get between the girl and the exits. Sonny scrambled off the bed and backed away, holding her pillow out in front of her.

"N...now, Jordan," she warned, trying to be serious and failing miserably. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for and a mistake. I didn't me-" and the back of her leg hit the second bed. She stumbled, reaching a hand down to regain her balance.

And that was all the redhead needed. With no sound, she leapt forward and began pummeling the taller girl with the pillows she welded. There was a loud squawking as Sonny took the abuse for a few seconds. It wasn't long, however, before she used her longer reach to her advantage and began scoring as many hits on the woman as she was getting.

Jordan lost one pillow in the fight. It ultimately came down to the two of them standing over the bed and pounding on each other, swinging their pillows like baseball bats. Realizing that this could go on all night or until a pillow exploded, the redhead made the choice to escalate matters.

The teenager brought her pillow around, a huge grin on her face. She saw her roommate lift her arms and toss her own weapon behind her. Unable to stop her swing, the pillow she held connected with the woman's ribs. And then Jordan dropped her arms, effectively pinning the pillow against her body.

There was a scuffle, a bit of a tug of war. When Sonny felt the pillow give way a little, she hastily released it, not wanting feathers all over the place. Not to mention explaining to her brother what had happened. The redhead took a step back to keep her balance, took the pillow from under her arm and tossed it behind her, as well. And then Jordan launched herself across the bed.

Suddenly, the dark girl found herself on her back on her own bed, the older woman straddling her hips and tickling her mercilessly. She laughed hysterically, trying to wriggle away but unable. So, she attacked in kind, giving as good as she got.

Jordan laughed as the two of them wrestled around. Just what the doctor ordered. A little roughhousing to release the jitters. But, as things progressed, she began to feel other things as well. She ignored the voices, living in the moment of laughter and warmth and closeness. The sudden urge to caress the belly under her with more than her hands brought her to her senses.

Gotta get outta this! After living with the girl for over two years, she knew how to bring a screeching halt to any of the little flirting sessions that had reared their ugly heads along the way. The redhead slowly allowed Sonny to gain the upper hand.

"Hah!" the teenager grinned. She finally had her opponent pinned on the mattress, straddling her hips and holding her hands above her head. "I've gotcha now!"

Jordan's body suddenly lost its fight, no longer struggling against the dark girl. Her emerald eyes became hooded and she said in a sultry voice, "Whatcha gonna do with me?"

Sonny's heart pounded and she flushed at the immediate image the redhead's voice brought up. Damn it! Get a grip, girl! Not willing to concede so easily, she tossed her dark hair to one side and said with great courage, "I don't know. Maybe I should spank you for attacking me like that."

Eyes flashed and the teenager barely got her mouth open to yell before she found herself back on the bed, Jordan pinning her down in much the same way as she'd been moments before. The redhead leaned close, staring into pale blue ice. Their breath mingled and the dark girl swallowed, half in fear and half in hope.

"Maybe I should spank you for your insolence." An eyebrow was raised in appraisal. Yes! Do it! Jordan shook her head, clearing it of the erotic image - red cheeks, tender flesh, wet and willing. She sat up and released the teenager, a cool grin plastered on her face. "Go take your shower, squirt."

Sonny swallowed hard, slowly sitting up. She watched Jordan wander back over to the television and return to flipping through the channels.

Jan 3, 2001

Well, tomorrow we leave Medford, Oregon and head into California. It's been snowing in the mountains nearby, so it'll be rough going at this time of year. But so far, so good. Both the Honda and Max's van are still plugging away - no mechanical problems. (Knock on wood!)

We spent the week through Christmas at home. It was pretty nice. I got to see Shelly and Lamont and some other friends. Tinker was pretty happy to see us, too. Well, after she spent a day and a half being standoffish and 'punishing' me for being gone so long! Cats can be so fickle! I am glad that Shelly has been keeping an eye on her, though.

I checked in at school. I also got a lot of my chem lab out of the way.... Mr. Elliott was good enough to come in on a Saturday so we could work on it for a few hours. So, now I'm officially caught up on that aspect of my education! The rest is pretty much all finished -- I've done most of the assignments and turned them in. I took a few tests that were backed up while I was there, too.

The band is doing fantastic. Things are starting to pick up and they're actually getting people returning to their shows rather than coming to see the band they're opening for. It's pretty exciting! I know that Tom is really happy, too. This is what he's dreamed of for so long. I'm glad I was able to work things out.

Jordan's being... Jordan, I guess. About the only time she's in the motel rooms we stay in is when we're going to leave the following morning. Or to take a nap before shows. She's hardly ever here. It's worse than when we're living in Portland! I can count on a couple of girls a week at home - not every freaking night!

There's been a couple of times that she and Lando have taken over the other motel room for their orgies. Those are the nights Tom stays in my room. I don't know what Max and Lisa do. Probably sleep in his van.

I don't know what she's trying to prove. I don't know what she's searching for. I wish I did. I see some of the 'babes' she seduces and, frankly, I don't think they're all that great. They don't have what she needs. She needs a woman with intelligence, for one thing. And someone who'll give her a kick in the seat of the pants when she needs it. Someone to hold her at night. Spoil her.

Love her.

I can give that to her....

Jordan drowsed in the back of the van, the sound of the road lulling her. Normally, she'd be lounging in one of the passenger seats but somehow, in all the activity to get on their way, Sonny had ended up in the van with her.

The redhead didn't know what exactly was going on but, whatever it was, she didn't like it. It seemed that whenever the girl was in close proximity, Jordan couldn't think straight. On the nights she'd stay in the motel room, she got no sleep - preferring to stay up all hours and watch Sonny's face as she slumbered. Her fantasies more and more were consumed with imagined visions of dark hair and sky blue eyes.

Her control was slipping.

It was a rotten feeling. And so, rather than be near, Jordan had feigned a need to work on a tune. She'd used her duffel to make a backrest against all the gear and twiddled with her guitar for a time.

The woman was glad the band was heading south. It's too damned cold at night here! she groused. When she could find someone to crash with, she did. When she couldn't, she spent most of the night walking around. Doesn't make any difference, does it, Jordie? You wouldn't get any sleep in the motel, either, if you had your druthers!

All in all, it was a very unsettling feeling she had. And the more the redhead put distance between them, the more Sonny found reasons to be near. Like climbing into the van at the absolute very last minute. And the flirting - there were constant touches and innuendoes by the teenager anymore, whenever she was within reach.

So, fuck her and get it over with! You know she wants it.... What's the problem? Jordan grumbled and jammed an elbow into her duffel in an attempt to get more comfortable. The problem is, she's too close. I don't want to hurt her. I like her!

By cracking her eyes open a bit, she could see the dark girl's profile as she animatedly discussed something with Hampton in the driver's seat. She was using the brush in her hand to underscore a point in her conversation. Her voice was only a murmur mixed with the sound of the road under the wheels. A quiet little voice piped up clearly in the rare stillness of the redhead's mind. You don't have to hurt her....

Jordan drifted off to sleep, feeling warm arms envelope her and hold her, smelling the scent that was Sonny's own, feeling another heartbeat pulse in time with hers.

Sonny stepped into the motel room, closing the door behind her. Her roommate made a beeline towards the bed furthest from the door, dropping her duffel and guitar before flipping the television on and scanning the channels. As usual, the teenager thought, half in vague irritation and half in fondness. And I thought I watched too much tv!

The dark girl dropped her pack on her bed and settled her suitcase on the luggage rack. They had about three hours before they were due to meet the rest of the band for dinner. Just enough time for a shower and get my hair dry. Sonny unzipped her suitcase and began rummaging inside.

Several minutes later, a pile of clothes and toiletries in her arms, she grumbled crossly, "Where did I put my brush?"

Jordan, who had sprawled on the bed on her stomach, glanced over. "You had it in the van. Is it in your backpack?"

"Oh, yeah! You're right." Sonny stepped into the bathroom to dump her things and returned to her bed. She dug in her pack for several moments before getting irritated at not immediately discovering the item. With a muttered curse, she partially dumped the contents and fished around until she located the brush. "Aha! Found it!" The teenager turned to the woman, waving it in the air. "I'm gonna take a shower. You need the bathroom?"

"Naw, I'll just wait until you're in there," Jordan responded with a wry grin.

Sonny mock glared at her, brandishing the brush. "Don't even think about flushing that toilet!"

Face a mask of regalness, the redhead raised an eyebrow. "I believe you have me mistaken for someone else," she suggested.

The dark girl snorted and rolled her eyes before turning away. "Whatever...." She took a final look at the guitarist as she entered the bathroom. I wonder if she'll still be here when I get done...? And then she shut the door. I hope so. It'd be nice to spend some time with her for a change.

Approximately forty-five minutes later, the teenager stepped out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam in her wake. A quick glance into the room and her heart thumped a bit.

Jordan was still in the room. She'd changed positions on her bed, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. Surprisingly enough, a book was in her hands and she was flipping through it with a look of amusement on her face.

The teenager's pale eyes widened at this almost unnatural phenomena as she stopped at her suitcase to put her things away. The chatter from the television sounded like a game show of some sort. Retaining her brush, she sat on her own bed next to the mess she'd left when she'd dumped out her pack.

Sonny glanced again at the woman. The book looked... familiar. The dark girl's heart fluttered again and she quickly scanned the contents of her spilled pack. Oh, no.... Was that in there? With a feeling bordering on panic, she ran a hand through her belongings, searching. Flushing, she looked at Jordan.

Emerald fire sparkled at her. The redhead held up the book, her thumb holding her place, and said, "Interesting reading material, squirt. They assigning this stuff to you in high school now?" The book, Sapphistry by Pat Califia, waggled.

Sonny was speechless. A myriad of emotions ran through her. Embarrassment at her predicament, worry about what the woman would do in response. An irrational guilt at having been caught at something she'd been researching for nearly a year. And lastly, fear - Shit! Busted! What do if I do if she bails? What if she tells Tom? And worse. What if she won't have anything to do with me, now?

And, as was usually the case when Sonny got scared, she got angry. Her pale eyes narrowed and she stood up to tower over the seated woman. "Who the hell said you could go through my stuff?" she asked harshly.

Pale brows raised in surprise. "Excuse me?" she asked, a flash of uncertainty crossing her face before the mask settled.

"Where do you get off going through my stuff?" the teenager demanded. She reached for the book only to have it pulled out of reach, which furthered her irritation. "Give it back!"

The guitarist's eyes flashed and she scooted forward on the bed to stand. She was toe to toe with Sonny, glaring right back up at the taller girl. She kept the book just out of reach behind her. "I didn't go through your stuff," she intoned in a warning voice. "You left it on the bed --"

"Bullshit!" the teenager exploded in reaction, trembling inside from the very sure belief that the woman was right. She made another lunge for the book.

Jordan held it further down and out of the girl's reach behind her. She was beginning to get pissed off. If it had been anybody else but the dark teenager questioning her honesty, that person would have already been on the floor with a bloody nose or worse.

Trying another tact, the redhead controlled her temper and said, "Why would you wanna read something like this anyway, squirt...?"

"Don't call me that!" Sonny growled. She stopped her attempts at the book to glare down on the smaller woman. "I am sick and tired of you acting like I'm a child!"

Jesus! If it ain't one thing, it's another! Jordan rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Alright.... Sonny.... If you didn't act like a child, I wouldn't treat you like one. Comprehende?" She leaned closer, refusing to be daunted by the teenager's size. "I don't know if your PMSing or what, but back off," she hissed, "before I really get mad."

Sonny's mind cleared instantly. Everything in the room intensified. She could make out golden flecks in the woman's angry eyes, could smell the shampoo she'd used that morning. The overloud sounds of an enthusiastic television audience crashed against her ears, yet she could hear and feel Jordan's breath on her face.

It occurred to the teenager that everything, from the moment she'd first laid eyes on that pink and green haired punk rocker two years ago, boiled down to this moment, this second of time. She was at a crossroads that she knew could either make or break her. She had to make a choice between the unknown and the familiar. To break out of the box she'd created for herself in her life or to stick to the comfort zone.

All of this ran through her mind, along with remembered thoughts and actions and feelings, jealousies and insecurities and half understood desires. But it was on a subconscious level so deep, that she could barely acknowledge thought in the split second it filled her mind. She only knew that the time was now. And Sonny made her decision.

The teenager reached around as if to make another grab for the book. Jordan stood her ground, daring the girl to do something. Sonny wrapped her long arms around the redhead, effectively pinning her arms.

Stiffening, the guitarist broke her eye contact only long enough to look down. She tried to twist to one side and looked back up, snarling, "What the fuck do you --"

Sonny silenced her, ducking her head and kissing the woman soundly.

Frozen in shock, Jordan could feel the teenager's mouth on hers, tasting her, tongue exploring her open mouth. This wasn't the kiss of a tentative youth. This was a young woman who was determined to get what she wanted come hell or high water.

Despite herself, despite any tenuous thoughts to the contrary, the redhead responded, fire pumping through her veins. She pressed up against the lanky frame. The low moan in response seemed to hit her ears and race directly down to her core. Jordan began actively kissing back, tongue investigating an area only dreamed of before.

Sonny loosened her grip as the smaller woman began responding. The soft lips on hers, the voracious tongue and teeth, the lithe body pressing into her own forced a low moan from her throat. She brought her hands up to bury themselves in redgold hair, its silky strands running through her fingers, tickling. The teenager could feel strong arms wrap around her waist, hands roaming and squeezing her back and sides and butocks.

The guitarist broke off the kiss, hungrily nipping at the tender neck and throat. The hands on her hair convulsed and held her close to her task. Using the teenager as a brace, she stood on tiptoe to suck an earlobe into her mouth, biting down.

"Mmmm, yes," whispered Sonny, her heart pumping furiously. She shivered at the sudden goosebumps. And then one of the roaming hands on her back snaked around until it was cupping an aching breast. The teenager moaned again, pushing against the hand that held her. A throbbing heat developed between her thighs. A seductive whisper filled her ear.

"You like that, don't you?" Jordan squeezed the full breast, reveling in its softness. Her answer was a sudden intake of breath. "I thought you might," she smiled. A thumb brushed purposefully over the nipple, raising it to a peak that was clearly visible under the bra and heavy sweater that Sonny was wearing. The redhead looked down and squeezed again, giving the nipple a tweak between thumb and forefinger.

"Oh, God, Jordan," the teenager sighed, feeling a little weak in the knees.

The woman slid her hand downward, reaching for the bottom of the sweater. "I've wanted you for a long time, gorgeous," she murmured. She looked up into hooded blue eyes that reflected a sunny summer sky. A rush of arousal ran through her and she growled, "And now I'm going to take you."

Any response that Sonny would have made was smothered by the lips that eagerly assailed hers. She rode high on the crest of passion, her belly a flutter and a wetness at her center. The teenager could feel her skin flushing and a warm hand on her bare abdomen slowly sliding upwards.

And then everything stopped.

Jordan cursed softly as another knock sounded on their door. She stepped backwards out of the embrace with every intention of reaming somebody a new asshole. But cool reason washed over her. This can not happen.

When the redhead arrived at the door, she spared a quick glance back. The dark girl was now seated on the edge of her bed, facing away. Her sweater was back in place and it appeared she was watching the television. The guitarist took a steadying breath and opened the door.

Atkins grinned down at her. "Hey, girlfriend! I was on my way to the liquor store and thought you might wanna restock." He jingled a set of keys. "I've got the Honda for half an hour. Whaddya say?"

Jordan pursed her lips in thought. She looked back once more at the girl, almost seeing the ears grow longer. Turning back to her bandmate, she said, "Yeah. Sounds good. Just lemme hit the can and get my jacket."

"Five minutes?"

The redhead nodded. "Make it ten." A grin she didn't feel graced her face.

"Okey dokey. I'll go warm up the car," and the man was off.

As she closed the door, the redhead sighed deeply, the smile fading. She moved over to sit next to the teenager. "You okay?"

Sonny was staring down into her lap where she fidgeted with the hem of her sweater. The dark head nodded in mute response.

Jordan felt a rush of guilt. Horny Jordie strikes again! "Look, squ... ah, Sonny," she began.

"You can call me squirt," the teenager interrupted quietly, peering up from under dark bangs. "I didn't mean what I said about that."

"Okay," the redhead acknowledged. There was a pause as she mentally screamed for silence in her thoughts. "This can't.... I can't do this, squirt."

The pale eyes flashed in pain and dropped back down.

Go, Jordie! Go, Jordie! Let's see if we can twist that knife now! "It's not you, okay? It's me." When there was no response, she reached down and stopped the twitching hands. "I can't... I can't give you what you need, Sonny."

Despite her pain, the teenager peered back at the guitarist. Curiosity burned in her eyes as she asked in a soft voice, "What do I need?"

Jordan's hand moved up to caress a cheek, stopping inches away. She dropped her hand onto her own lap, balled into a fist. "You need someone who can love you, treasure you. Somebody who can make every day seem like the best day in the world." The redhead released the girl's hand and rose to her feet. "Not someone like me."

Sonny watched as the woman strode over to one of the armchairs and scooped up her leather jacket. "Why not you?" she questioned.

Cool emerald eyes regarded her, distant and aloof. The redhead pulled out a cigarette. Lighting it up, she squinted through the smoke. "I'll hurt you," came the gruff, adamant response.

Hoping the teenager wouldn't see her hands shaking as she returned the lighter to her pocket, Jordan sauntered across the room. The voices were laughing and cackling making it hard to even think. As she closed the door behind her, she thought, I need to get drunk and I need to get laid. Not necessarily in that order.

Now that she was alone, Sonny stopped fighting the tears that had been threatening to overcome her since Atkins had been at the door. She reached for a pillow and hugged it to her as she rocked gently back and forth, quiet sobs drowned out by a commercial.

Eventually, while the pain did not recede, the intensity of it did. A kind of numbness set in. The teenager fumbled around in her nearby bag for Kleenex, finally finding a small travel pack. She blew her nose and mopped her face, an occasional hitch in her breath. Standing, she tossed the wadded tissue into the trash can by the desk. Then she went into the bathroom to run water in the sink.

Sonny splashed cold water onto her face, shocking her warm skin. She looked up into the mirror. The reflection of herself bent over the sink gazed back with red, watery eyes. A bit fascinated, she straightened, droplets of water rolling down her face and throat. In her mind's eye, she compared herself to all the woman she'd ever seen with Jordan.

Her general resemblance to all of them was unnerving. Tall, shapely, long hair. Sonny turned to one side. About the standard bust size. She turned back and leaned on the counter, getting close to the mirror to search her eyes. Why am I different?

She shook her head, pale eyes no longer seeing her mirror image, ears no longer hearing the television in the other room. Instead, she saw the emerald fire flashing and heard a voice say, "I've wanted you for a long time, gorgeous."

A surprising thought popped into her head and Sonny said to herself, "She really cares about me!"

Sonny Middlestead was an astute young woman. Raised under her brother's tutelage, she'd become a bit more knowledgeable of the world and the way it worked than most of her peers. Her father had always taught her that she had a choice in all things. "You can choose to be right or choose to be happy." For the most part, the teenager had always opted for the latter.

And now was no different. She knew where her happiness lie. It was a small, redheaded, metal music prodigy who was hell on wheels. And when the teenager made up her mind to get something, she succeeded.

And Sonny was going to get Jordan.

Feb 3, 2001

Last night was.... It was the best night of my life. And the worst.

I finally kissed her. Oh, man, it was so much better than kissing a guy! I could never understand what the other girls got all worked up about.... Wow! I think I've figured it out! (I'm getting all tingly just thinking about it!)

It's so hard to describe - it was soft and rough at the same time. Hot and wet. All those silly cliches in the Penthouse letters are true! She squeezed my breast and I about fell over, my knees got so weak.... It's definitely not mutual masturbation! Wowza!

And then Lando showed up and Jordan did a fast back pedal. She tried to act all cool and shit about it. She said that she'd hurt me and that I needed someone else to take care of me and treat me right. But she doesn't realize that she's the one to treat me right. I know she won't hurt me - I've known it from that first night at the bus stop. I've just got to get it through to her that she's the One (with a capital O, damn it!)

I'm backstage at some little rock club in some little town in California. Lando and Jordan aren't jumping around as much as usual - they're both feeling pretty crappy. They left the hotel last night and went to a country/western bar, of all places, to pick up chicks.... There was a big fight outside with a couple of the local yokels. Lando ended up with stitches near his eye and his knuckles split. Jordan has a shiner that's so bad she still can't see out of it.... They're just lucky that the guys they got in the fight with were troublemakers - otherwise they'd be in jail and we'd be losing money on this contract!

I think she did it because of what happened. Maybe she was punishing herself for losing control with me, I don't know. Maybe she just had all that pent up sexual energy and needed to release it.... I guess a fight would do that.

I don't know how I'm going to do it, but I will. I will get Jordan to love me if it's the last thing I do. That's a promise.

I'm Gonna get Close to You
© Queensryche

I like to look at shadows sweating on the wall.
I get excited when I hear footsteps in the hall.
Outside your balcony I have a room with a view,
And I'm watching you.

I dial your telephone each and every afternoon.
I wait by your door till you're asleep at night.
And when you're alone I know when you
Turn out the light

Chorus: I'm gonna get close to you,
Oh-Oh so close to you.

You fumble for your keys,
I'm six or seven steps behind you -
I'm so close to you.
Are you terrified of me? What do I know about you?
How did I find out?
You think I'm a fool or maybe some kind of lunatic.
Say I'm wasting my time but I know what to do with it.
It's as plain as black and white.

Chorus

If you knew my infinite charm,
There'd be no reason to be so alarmed.
Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm right,
Maybe I'm some kind of lunatic.
You say I'm wasting all of my time,
But I know what to do with it.
It is plain as black and white.

Chorus

I'm like a hungry Criminal
and your protection is minimal,
So minimal.

Chapter IV: Eighteenth

The Whisper
(excerpt) © Queensryche

Cries from the aisles.
The tolling of the judgement bell.
Eyes watched the violence.
The absence of those who have
seen, marks the faith of the spell.

Cold, cold is the viper,
stalking the night for the heat
it must find.
Time is the promise,
delivered with stunning consistency,
line after line, time after time.
The innocent victim awaits...

Please take my hand,
don't be afraid.
I am your master,
you are my slave.

Voices are calling me back,
back to the day.
Footsteps had followed
me faster... listen.

Screams from a new love,
the passion was burning,
it singed in a stare.
Free under the night sun.
The fear of the hunger will always be
there in my mind, time after time,
the morning will close a new page.

Chorus

Follow the impulse you have,
I'll show you the way.
Forget what you've learned in the past now,
Listen...

Sonny stood over the tray of chemicals in the low red lighting. She slid in a piece of paper, using the tongs to fully submerge it. A black and white image developed. This one was a picture of the band from backstage. At the time of the shot, Atkins had just leapt into the air so it was blurred in one corner.

The teenager sighed. She removed the photo and ran it through the rinse tray before hanging it behind her to dry. Ten other students were doing the same thing, developing their very first rolls of film. The instructor wandered among them, answering any questions.

So far, there had been little usable on her roll. Well, you're only on the seventh exposure, she chided herself, preparing the eighth. And this is your first roll.... As she continued with her work, she mused over the past four months.

The tour had finished in March. After a self-congratulatory stop at Disneyland, the band went back home to Portland. By the end of April, they had burnt their first compact disc. They now had five hundred copies that they were selling for ten dollars apiece at the various venues they played.

In May, Sonny had graduated high school with flying colors. Despite several lucrative offers at various institutes she chose to remain at home, accepting a four year scholarship at Portland State. The dark girl had lasted through two weeks of scholastic freedom before she couldn't stand it anymore. Within a few days, she was working part time at a local shipping delivery company and attending a summer course in photography. She'd used part of her scholarship to purchase the camera and accessories needed, putting the remainder in her savings account for the fall semester.

Her goals had changed a bit. She was no longer interested in becoming a news journalist, per se. Sonny had made up her mind to follow a more unconventional path. She was determined to become Warlord's first publicist - doing photography and articles of the band as they gained in popularity. Granted, there wasn't much call for it now, but the teenager was sure that the band would hit the big time soon.

Which was why she had chosen this class. Candid shots of Warlord would eventually fetch a pretty penny. Especially when they became successful and people were clamoring for information from before they had 'made it.'

The next photo began to develop. Sonny blinked at it. "Oh, yeah. That turned out really well." It was a close up, three quarter facial of Jordan as she sat in the armchair at the warehouse. The neck of her guitar moved out of focus to her right. A dreamy look was on her face as she worked on a song. The teenager remembered the irritated glare that had followed the flashbulb with a grin.

"That did turn out well," the instructor said, peering into the tray as he passed. "Definitely a keeper."

"Thanks," the teenager grinned. She transferred the photo to the rinse tray as the instructor continued on his way. "Definitely a keeper."

And that was one goal that had not changed over the last few months. Sonny still had her sights set on the redheaded guitarist.

The teenager had done a lot of comparisons between herself and the standard 'Jordan-Sexpot.' While there were quite a few physical similarities, that seemed to be all. Sonny had cornered the few she could get her hands on. For the most part, they were all pleasant women with no higher education who adored the Warlord. Two outta three ain't bad.

A major point of difference was style. The women usually all wore skimpy outfits and tons of makeup. Sonny wasn't quite willing to concede the point to that degree. She had taken to wearing light makeup. Her wardrobe had changed as well. Gone were the typical baggy pants and shirts her peers were comfortable in. She now wore tight fitting jeans and shirts that showed off her attributes nicely. The first time she'd worn a short skirt, Hampton's jaw had sagged open and Lando had run into a wall.

Sonny snickered at the remembered sight, hanging the ninth exposure to dry. The band, in all its glory, had posed for her like one of those pinup posters in the teen magazines. They were all full of attitude and glaring at the camera, dressed in leather and jeans.

As her appearance became more seductive, she'd received quite a few comments, some of them unpleasant. The only thing that kept her going on this path were the occasional looks she would receive from Jordan. Looks of hooded desire. At first, when the redhead was caught staring, she would put on a sultry smirk and Sonny would blush, dropping her gaze. But, as the teenager became more and more comfortable with her new image, she was able to match Jordan stare for stare. In fact, it was the guitarist who had blushed and looked away the last time.

Sonny had also begun teasing the redhead at every opportunity. Whereas previously there had been the simple adolescent flirting, now she blatantly led Jordan on. The teenager had taken to not wearing a bra. If there was plenty of room in a doorway to pass by, she'd brush her breasts against the smaller woman. Whenever she needed something in the kitchen, it was always in the cupboard that Jordan was standing at and she would press against her to reach for the item. It was driving the guitarist crazy.

And so, the dark young woman continued to work on her photographs, dreaming of an older woman. Dreaming of new schemes to further her plans. Dreaming of a future, happy time of love and warmth.

The radio played softly in her bedroom, the only sound other than the faint scratching of pen on paper. The teenager was propped against her headboard, a composition notebook in her hand. A few times she paused, pale blue eyes searching the distant thoughts. And then the writing would resume.

On the bed beside her was a handful of black and white photos spilling out of a manila folder. One was missing from the pile, having replaced the bedside photo of her parents. The face of the Warlord guitarist stared just off camera as she composed.

Tuned so fiercely into her thoughts, Sonny didn't catch what the radio disc jockey had said. The word "Warlord" snagged her attention and she glanced sharply at the bookcase stereo on her dresser.

"...so that's this week's Lick It or Stick It, folks," Craig, the Dog Faced Boy, from KUFO said. "We'll have that one up in just a couple of minutes. Remember, all this week we'll be doing local bands for a change. Let's just see if Warlord's any good."

A commercial started and Sonny was off the bed and out the door like a shot. Clambering down the stairs, she burst into the living room where she found her brother with Hampton and Foley. "Turn on the stereo!" the teenager ordered, doing just that. The commercial for a local auto sales company blared into the room.

"What the hell, Sonny?" Middlestead complained loudly with a wince. "Turn the damned thing down!"

"No!" Sonny whirled around with a big smile on her face. "Warlord's gonna be on Lick It or Stick It!" While that got a round of appreciative comments, Sonny frowned. "Is Jordan home?"

"Um, I think --" Before the dark man could finish, his sister flew out of the room and out the back patio door. He rose to his feet and yelled after her, "I think she's got company, Sonny!"

"Tough!" floated back on the summer evening air.

Middlestead shook his head and rolled his eyes. He went over the stereo and turned down the volume.

At the bottom of the stairs leading to Jordan's room over the garage, the teenager paused. For a quick second, she took stock of her appearance, adjusting her blouse before trotting up the wooden steps. At the top, she paused and took a steadying breath, then knocked on the door.

Jordan threw the door open with obvious irritation. She was wearing nothing but a button up denim shirt, the two buttons at her belly the only ones fastened. Upon seeing her visitor, her manner changed.

As Sonny had become better able to counter the redhead's responses to her flirtations, Jordan had become more and more irritated. A sultry look of superiority didn't work anymore, the teenager simply responded with one of her own. Being stubborn, the guitarist wouldn't back down. So, their flirting became increasingly pronounced, one escalating the other until the pheromones were so thick, the men would dive for cover.

Even Atkins had noticed Sonny's changed behavior. At one point, he'd cornered his bandmate to remind her of just who she was dealing with. And then he commiserated with her in sympathy for the extreme pressures being put on her. "Shit, I don't think I coulda lasted this long," he had said with a headshake.

So, the level of sexual tension had risen over the months. Seeing Sonny at her door brought it immediately to its current intensity. The redhead went from irritation to seduction. She leaned casually against the door, one hand running lazily through redgold hair. "Yeah...?" she drawled.

Sonny forced herself to not tremble. What would Jordan do? she asked herself. Her skin tinted a little, but she kept her cool. A pale blue eye wandered slowly down the half clad frame. The slight smile on her face indicated she liked what she saw. She fought to keep from giggling nervously as their eyes met. "Warlord's playing on KUFO," she purred.

It took a second for the young woman's words to register. Jordan blinked at her, dropping her seductive pose. "What?!" she demanded in astonishment.

The teenager's smile grew wider. "Lick It or Stick It."

The redhead abandoned the door to dash across her room. She clambered across the bed, nearly trampling the woman in it, and turned on the clock radio.

As strains of 'My Ruin' began playing, Sonny let herself into the room and shut the door behind her. She swallowed the sharp stab of pain at the sight of the woman in Jordan's bed - My place - clutching a sheet to her chest. Steeling herself, the dark young woman sauntered across the room and sat on the corner of the bed. I belong here, she does not, ran through her head in a litany.

"Holy crap!" Jordan exclaimed. "It is!" She looked at the teenager, an amazed grin on her face. With little forethought, the guitarist leapt to her feet with a whoop, grabbed Sonny by the hands and pulled her into an exuberant dance.

At some point, the dance became a hug of joy. Sonny felt the full contact, the lithe body wrapped around hers. The teenager swallowed convulsively at the almost overpowering surge of arousal. Despite her control, she couldn't help but let out a little sigh and nuzzled the redgold hair.

"Hey!" the woman on the bed exclaimed. "That's one of my favorites!"

Two tempers flared. One was angry at the interruption by this interloper. The other was irritated over her loss of self control. Jordan stepped out of the embrace, a physical change once again coming over her as she reverted to the seductive game. She turned away from Sonny, moving back towards the bed. "Thanks," the redhead planted a rough kiss on the upturned lips.

Sonny resolutely refused to give the Warlord any satisfaction. She buried the rending pain deep inside and smiled into emerald eyes. "I'm going to go vote for it." She swayed towards the door, pausing to see two sets of eyes watching her. "Are you?" she asked.

There was a pause. Jordan's desire to push the dark teenager to the limit battled with the childlike happiness that bubbled up within. Finally, "Yeah. We'll be down in a minute."

There was a slow nod and then Sonny let herself out of the room. She closed the door softly behind her and stopped, leaning against it heavily. Getting her trembles under control, she thought, God, this is hard. But then, nothing worth having is easy. She inhaled deeply and stood away from the door. Time to go vote for her favorite songwriter.

An impromptu little party had popped up that evening. Someone had called Atkins who had wandered over with a girl on his arm. A couple of their more hardcore fans arrived with a couple of cases of beer. Jordan had come downstairs, her bedmate following her around like a long lost puppy. And everyone had called the radio station to vote for the band. Every once in awhile, the radio DJ would put on a couple of the phone conversations of people voting for or against. All in all, the verdict had been "Lick It," definitely a positive response.

Jordan lounged on the loveseat in the living room, her date on the floor between her legs. The redhead idly stroked the long brown hair that splayed across her knees, occasionally reaching forward to rub the nape of the neck. The woman would shiver and toss a smile backwards. The guitarist was on her fifth bottle of beer and still hadn't attained a decent buzz. Damn tolerance levels are getting way too high. She emptied the bottle and set it with the others on the table beside her.

As was her wont these days, emerald eyes kept a loose tab on the teenager. The way she looked, the way she smelled, the way she moved.... Everything about her was becoming more and more intoxicating as time went by. It would be so easy....

She shook herself, annoyed. "Hey," Jordan leaned forward to brush her bedmate's ear with a kiss. "Wanna get me another beer?"

The woman on the floor grinned up at her. "Sure." She rose, stopping long enough to thoroughly kiss the guitarist before wandering off towards the kitchen.

Jordan watched her go, imagining a dark haired teenager in her place. Again, she shook off the thought. It can't happen, she grumbled to herself. Sonny deserves a hell of a lot better than you. She contemplated a future where she allowed herself free reign. Quickly passing past the sexual fantasies - Like I need to see that - she could see Sonny curled up into a small ball, hear the sobs, her own voice telling the teenager that she was just a fuck and nothing more. Can't get too close. Can't let anybody get too close. I don't wanna hurt her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a beer bottle pushed into her hands. The guitarist looked up into the other woman's eyes, this stranger that she was sleeping with. With callous disregard, she thought, You I can hurt. What you want and what you need don't mean fuck to me. And she smiled with a wild hunger. "C'mere," she husked, pulling the woman down to sit in her lap.

From nearby, Sonny heard the strange woman's giggle as the two women roughhoused on the loveseat. A ticklefest stopped short as a coarse kiss was shared between them and she slid her pale blue eyes away from the scene. She took a swig of her beer and tried to focus on the conversation she was having with Foley and Hampton. Their voices seemed to drone on and on, and her ears could only hear the murmurings from Jordan and her date.

"Hey, you okay?" Foley asked, her blue eyes concerned.

"What?" Sonny returned her attention to the bassist and his girlfriend. "Oh! No, I'm fine, really." She held up her bottle. "Must be the beer. I don't drink that often."

Foley nodded, unconvinced. She shared a knowing look with Hampton and tucked her sandy blonde hair behind one ear. With a soft smile, she said, "Well, let me know if you need anyone to talk to, okay?"

The teenager blinked at her for a moment. A flash of pain, of embarrassment crossed her eyes. She knows! Swallowing the lump in her throat, she nodded and glanced down. "Okay. Thanks." She took a quick swig of her beer. As the conversation once again resumed, her mind wandered to a time that she would have with Jordan in the future.

Jul 11, 2001

Well, I've survived another night. Tonight was pretty rough - more than what I'm used to. I actually barged into her room and acted like I owned the place. Not too difficult until it's taken into consideration that there was another woman in her bed.

God, it hurt.

On the up side, I have to admit that she's cut her carousing down a lot from before the tour. In the past four months, I think there've only been a dozen or so women. Jordan kinda rotates through them, not spending a whole lotta time on any one. Maybe she's finally starting to settle down. I don't know exactly how old she is. She must be about 21 by now. (She still doesn't look much older than me.)

I don't even know when her birthday is.

Another good thing... This cut back has got to be healthier for her. She has less chance of catching some horrid disease or something.

Now, if I can just get her to come to me.

I think she considers it sometimes. I've caught her watching me before, kinda distant. In her thoughts. I don't know what she sees in her visions, but I don't think it's good. She becomes a bit more standoffish, a bit more of that false ego and seductress comes through. For the life of me, though, I can't figure out anything about me that would cause a negative reaction. Well, aside from the fact that I'm a virgin and don't know quite what to do in bed.

I've written a poem tonight. It was going through my head during the party. I'm going to call it '*Love's Agony.'

I ask only to exist
to bask in life
and be free from pain

But you burn me
scorching my entire being
making me writhe in agony

I can't express myself
for I now understand
the meaning of fear

There is no pleasure
only suffering
as I look upon you

You make me ache
in the furthest depths
and the broadest planes

My soul weeps
tears that I strive against
but cannot control

I yearn for you
to touch and hold
to smile and laugh with

But I see your eyes elsewhere
looking outward
away from me

I have no armor to protect me
you've bared my walls
harming me with your nearness

And so I drown
striving to remain alive
in this sea of misery

Perhaps I should leave
but I can't bare the pain
of losing you

Jordan stared out the office window, listening to the drone of her bandmates. Warlord was currently meeting with people from an independent label to negotiate a recording contract. The band's popularity had risen over the last year and their lawyer, Hampton's sister, had been approached for a deal.

But the redhead wasn't really paying attention to the proceedings. Even without the downers currently raging through her system, the talks would have been nonsense to her. It's all legal mumbo jumbo anyway, her thoughts meandered as she stared at traffic passing by on the highway outside.

Jordan wished she was back at the warehouse now, guitar in hand. Music always flowed, fast and clean, when she was high. She'd been known to compose until her fingers bled upon occasion. When she was under the influence, whatever muse roller-skating around in her head would go ballistic. And all the guitarist could do in response was try to get it all down and hang on for the ride.

The redhead's fingers twitched. They felt an imaginary guitar neck, the smooth, polished wood and cool frets moving against her skin. She could almost see the music forming in the air in front of her. It wasn't that she was hallucinating, but that the intensity of the muse was so strong at times like these, she could nearly taste the music. It was almost as good as sex.

Only almost.

"Whaddya think, Jordan?" Middlestead asked. The company men and their lawyer had left the conference room, leaving the band and their own lawyer to discuss their opinions.

Emerald eyes regarded the drummer for long moments. "I think," Jordan said, enunciating carefully, "I need to go to the bathroom." Rising to her feet felt like moving in a sea of molasses, a warm sticky sensation. She cocked an eyebrow at their lawyer. "Know where the john is?"

After getting directions, Jordan left the stifling office. Veering left instead of right, she was out on the sidewalk within minutes. Across the street was the beginning of Waterfront Park. With extreme concentration, she crossed busy Naito Parkway. Sitting on the first park bench she came to, Jordan sighed in relief, a warm breeze whiffling her bangs. "Much better," she murmured. If she couldn't make any music, at least she could drift along with the tunes in her head without further interruption.

It beats thinkin'. It beats feelin'.

"Thanks for picking me up at work, Lisa," Sonny said over her shoulder as she stepped into the house. Flipping through the mail, she stepped further into the living room and dropped her keys on the end table. Her backpack found the floor nearby.

Behind her, Foley stepped in. "No problem, girlfriend. I've got nothing better to do." The blonde woman shut the door before moving into the room and plopping down in an armchair. "Besides, I don't wanna worry alone."

Sonny answered the smile with one of her own and snorted. She dropped the mail next to her keys. "You want anything?" she asked as she headed into the kitchen.

"Yeah, something cool if ya got it," Foley called.

"Iced tea?"

"Sounds great!" She leaned her head back against the chair. "This heat wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for the humidity. I'm glad you guys have air conditioning."

"So am I," the teenager agreed adamantly. She came back into the living room and handed Foley a tall glass of tea. "Eighty four degrees feels like a hundred and ten in this city."

"Thank you," the blonde breathed, taking the glass.

Sonny settled down on the couch. The two sat in companionable silence as they cooled off from the dog days of a late August afternoon. Finally, the dark youth broke the silence. "So, you have any clue what their chances are?"

Foley set her glass on a coaster on the table. "Actually, Max says it's pretty good. Tamara looked it over and it appears to be a standard recording contract. Of course, she isn't an entertainment lawyer, you know." Blue eyes twinkled.

"But everything's on the up and up?" the teenager pressed, a bit anxious.

"Yeah. Everything's cool."

Pale eyes were distant. "I hope so. They've all worked so hard for something like this...."

The women sat in silence once more as they ran through memories of the band's labors over the years.

Foley's thoughts returned to the present. She chewed her lower lip, her face becoming somber and her brows knitting. She glanced over at the oblivious teenager, working out the pros and cons of voicing her thoughts and questions. Finally making a decision, she leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees, peering intently at the dark girl. "You realize, of course, that if they sign this contract today there'll be another party...?"

Sonny blinked at her. Oh, God. Not another one! A lump formed in her throat and she swallowed thickly.

Foley watched with pursed lips as the teenager's shoulders visibly slumped. Now is the time. With a determined air, she rose and sat on the couch next to the younger woman. She draped an arm over the suddenly stiff shoulders. "Does she even have a clue how much you love her?"

The words were a catalyst to Sonny. Months of pain and jealousies and fears surfaced in the light of another who knew how she felt about the guitarist. Unable to hold back any longer, the teenager broke into ragged sobs and the tears began to flow. Soon she was cradled in caring arms, rocked back and forth as she released her agonies, a hand gently caressing her head.

Rather than ease her sobs, the closeness intensified them. The physical sensation of being comforted harkened back to before Sonny's parents had died. Foley, realizing she was in for the long haul, slowly leaned back, putting her feet on the edge of the coffee table and pulling the youth with her. The women sat this way for nearly a half hour.

At first, the intensity of her weeping scared the teenager. It felt like she just wouldn't be able to stop - she would keep crying and crying until there was nothing left but a dried up shell. It was very disconcerting. But, as her tears flowed, the tension of being alone with her burdens eased and the pain began to recede. As the tears began to subside, real life began to intrude. Embarrassed at the emotional display, she reluctantly pulled away from the blonde woman and sat up, sniffling.

"Better?" Foley asked, not relinquishing her touch completely. Her fingers were straightening the long ebony hair down the teenager's back.

Sonny shivered at the sensation, wishing it were Jordan's hands, Jordan's fingers. "Yeah," she said with a slight hitch in her breathing. She rose from the couch. "I'll... be right back," the teenager offered, blushing. "Gonna go clean up a bit...."

The older woman nodded in commiseration and watched the youth disappear into the bathroom. She sighed and returned to her previous seat as she heard a nose being blown and water running in the sink. "You never did answer my question," she called.

Turning the water off, Sonny glanced at herself in the mirror. Her eyes looked an even paler blue when they were bloodshot. She grabbed the handtowel and patted her face dry. "I don't know," she finally answered, stepping back out into the living room with a box of Kleenex. "Sometimes I think so. Sometimes not." She settled back onto the couch and blew her nose again.

Foley digested this. "Okay. What makes you think she does?"

The dark teenager shrugged, staring down at her hands as they shredded a tissue. "Well.... I kissed her last winter." There was absolute silence and Sonny risked a glance at the other woman.

Foley's eyebrows mingled with her hairline and her mouth was wide open. Blue eyes stared blankly at the youth.

Despite herself, Sonny chuckled even as she blushed. "Close your mouth. You'll catch a fly or something."

The woman's mouth worked silently for a few more seconds, looking much like a fish out of water before she finally gained her voice. "Who kissed who?" she demanded softly.

"I kissed Jordan." Sonny's smile faded. "She didn't make the first move. I did."

Still amazed, Foley leaned forward. "Well? What happened?"

"Nothing happened," the teenager snapped. "Lando happened. I dunno." She sighed and glared back down at her hands. "He showed up at the door and kinda interrupted... things." Pales eyes cast back through the memories from the tour. "That was the night they got into that bar fight and Jordan ended up with a black eye. Remember?"

Foley nodded. "So that's why she got into a fight.... Lando said she was pushing for one with that cowboy."

Her thoughts confirmed, Sonny nodded. "I thought that's what it was, too, but I couldn't be sure."

"And you haven't talked to her about how you feel?"

Mutely, the teenager shook her head. "She told me that I needed someone who would take care of me and treat me right. That she'd only hurt me."

"When? The night you kissed her?"

"Yeah."

Foley studied the teenager before her, frowning in thought. It was obvious that despite the rejection, the youth had continued on a path to gain Jordan. And it's eating her up inside. Now all the months of outrageous flirting became clear to the blonde. Her respect for the redhead went up a notch. Jesus, it musta been driving her batty to have a beautiful young woman throwing herself at her. "Have you considered letting it go? Just walking away?"

"No!" was the adamant response. "I've known from the first time I heard her play that we were somehow connected." Sonny rose and began to pace in agitation. "I know that she won't hurt me. But she doesn't."

"Maybe you should make another move."

The dark woman stopped to grimace at Foley. She gestured at her clothing - tight black jeans and a stretchy knit tank top that left little to the imagination. "You think I haven't?! It's a constant thing when we're in the same room together, Lisa! You know that!"

Conceding the point with rolled eyes and a nod, the blonde considered the options. Flirting hasn't done it. Besides, Jordan's got women around her as thick as stink on shit. Her blue eyes narrowed. "So, the only thing that stopped you two before was Lando's interruption?" At the teenager's nod, she asked, "And Jordan responded to your kiss?"

The unbidden memory popped into Sonny's head and she blushed at the intensity of the arousing rush that suddenly pulsed through her. "Uh... yeah. I'd say she responded. If it hadn't been for Lando.... Well, let's just say we'd have... um... done it." She blushed furiously and chewed her lip but Foley didn't notice.

The blonde picked up her iced tea and sipped it thoughtfully. With the proper planning and backup.... Her eyes met pale blue and a slow smile crept onto her face.

Aug 27, 2001

Warlord now has its first official recording contract! I'm happy for the band - they've all worked so damned hard to get something like this! Of course, it's just a small independent label. A local company. But, at least they'll get more coverage and a little publicity! They're gonna go into the studio and get started sometime within the next month.

Needless to say, a party has already begun to develop downstairs. I've come up here to change and get ready for tonight. Hopefully, it'll be a really good one this time!!

Lisa's promised to help me with Jordan! Wow! She knows how I feel for Jordan. I cried for a long time with her. I think I really needed that. I feel so much better now - more alive and hopeful than I've been in a long time. And, if things work out tonight then....

No. I won't say it. I don't wanna jinx things. Not tonight.

As the last of the drug seeped from her system, Jordan put the final touches on a sixth song.

After Hampton had found her in the park, they had returned to the stuffy office and signed the paperwork. The redhead's only goal was to get to her guitar. She had been oblivious to anything else as she was deposited in a nearly boneless heap on the couch in the living room. Sonny had gone to her room and acquired the instrument, a pad and a pen. Jordan had been playing ever since, pausing only long enough to jot down the tunes and lyrics.

But the muse was slowing down. And the redhead was coming out of her drugged haze. As the last chord faded, she looked around, taking in her surroundings.

Jordan was still seated on the couch, guitar in her lap, pen and pad on the coffee table before her. Middlestead was parked in his favorite armchair, bare feet resting on the same table and a beer in his hand. On the other end of the couch was one of his friends and they were deep in conversation.

In the dining room, Hampton and his sister were seated at the table. She had changed out of her power suit to jeans and a t-shirt. It looked like they were playing cards, laughing at as they joked around. Foley appeared from the kitchen to place a bowl of aromatic popcorn beside them. She ran her hand across the bald man's shoulders and then turned, spotting Jordan. The blonde smiled warmly before moving out of sight back into the kitchen.

A hand played with her hair and the guitarist swiveled her head to see one of the women she'd been sleeping with lounging on the arm of the couch. She was a platinum blonde, wearing a skimpy spandex skirt and some sort of halter. As the guitarist's attention focused on her, the woman smiled down at her.

"Hey, baby," she cooed. "You ready for a drink, yet?"

Jordan studied her for long seconds. What the hell is she doing here? And do I really want her here? She realized that at this exact moment the answer was a resounding, "NO!" But, the redhead also knew that as the night wore on she would change her mind. Especially with Sonny here....

As if in answer to her thoughts, the teenager stepped out of the kitchen. She was wearing short shorts that hung low on her hips and a white t-shirt that had been gathered up and knotted to one side, revealing a tanned belly. She smiled warmly as she reached the guitarist and held out a shot glass. "Trade ya," she said, looking down into the woman's lap.

Emerald eyes narrowed before glancing down. The guitar.... She wants the guitar. Looking back up with comprehension, Jordan suddenly realized she was very, very thirsty. Without a word, she passed the instrument over.

Sonny's smile widened as she took the guitar by the neck. She handed the shot glass over, taking the opportunity to brush long fingers against the redhead's knuckles. "I'll be right back," she said with a wink.

Jordan watched her walk away and carefully lean the beat up guitar in the corner by the entertainment center. Her hand still tingled where the youth had touched her and she licked her lips at the erotic image that blasted through her mind. Down, girl! she growled to herself. She tossed the shot back, the warm burn of whiskey breaking the spell. With a glance to the woman beside her, she reconsidered. Maybe it is a good thing she's here.

Hearing the sound of glass against glass, the redhead brought her attention back to her hand. A bottle of Johnny Walker Red was tilted, pouring another shot into the glass she held. Even without visually following the arm up to its owner's face, she knew it was the dark woman returned. Jordan inhaled deeply of the teenager's perfume and very recognizable scent.

Their eyes met and locked. Time seemed to stand still and the room was absolutely silent. Something seemed to pass between them. And then the real world intruded once again.

The woman beside the guitarist reached out and ran her fingers through redgold hair, distracting her. At the same time, Atkins stomped into the dining room from the backyard, loudly demanding to know where the charcoal lighter fluid was kept.

What the fuck was that?! Jordan demanded of herself. She swallowed her immediate irritation at the groupie that had distracted her, forcing herself to lean into the caress and smile lopsidedly at the teenager before her. Don't make any difference, Jordie.... Gotta keep the status quo.

Did she feel that too? Sonny wondered in confusion. She blinked at the woman for a second before returning to the game. With a sultry smile, she capped the fifth and leaned over, pressing it suggestively between the redhead's thighs. "Lemme know when you're ready for... more," she insinuated in a low voice.

Jordan watched her straighten and sidle away, all leg and hip. Her center throbbed with instant arousal. Wowza! She knocked back her second drink, but it did nothing to quench the real thirst inside.

"Do you think it worked?" Sonny whispered to the blonde woman in the kitchen.

Foley risked a glance around the corner, noting the flushed skin and the sudden swallowing of the drink. "Oh, yeah," she murmured. "You did great."

The teenager fidgeted nervously. "Now what?"

"Just wait a bit. Let her get some more alcohol into her system," the older woman said, patting her shoulder reassuringly. "You know she's got a high tolerance."

Sonny swallowed. "And when she's done with the bottle...?"

Foley grinned. "Then we begin Plan B."

As the sun went down and the evening cooled, the party ended up out in the large backyard. The remains of a huge barbecue were scattered across the kitchen counter and dining room table and the drinking had now begun in earnest. As word had spread, more people had arrived to help celebrate the Warlords' victory.

To keep things safe, Sonny had gathered the notebook and guitar, returning them to the redhead's room over the garage. At every opportunity through the evening, she flirted with Jordan. However, this time it was on a different level than her other attempts. Where before she would act as a woman who wanted the guitarist, now she behaved as if she already had her.

Under Foley's expert tutelage, the teenager had stopped her usual blatant seduction attempts. No more brushing breasts, sultry posturing and hooded looks. Instead, Sonny doted on her - delivered a plate of food, refilled her drink, even lit her cigarette once. And always touching. A gentle and familiar sensation - stroking a hand across the back of Jordan's neck when leaning over with the plate, taking the liberty of brushing redgold bangs out of the woman's eyes while cracking a joke, reaching out to touch her knee to gain the guitarist's attention.

Which, of course, didn't sit too well with the platinum blonde who was hanging off Jordan. As the night wore on, she became more and more irritated with the young pipsqueak who was trying to horn in on her territory. The woman's actions became more outrageously sexual in an effort to keep the redhead's attention diverted.

Finding her bottle empty, Jordan sent the groupie inside to get something more to drink. The blonde happily complied since the kid had disappeared about a half hour prior. Maybe the brat went nitey winky, she thought as she negotiated the grassy yard in heels.

Inside, the only lights on were in the kitchen. The stereo was playing in the darkened living room, as well. In the kitchen, Hampton was rinsing dishes into the disposal and Foley was putting them into the dishwasher.

The bassist looked up and smiled at the woman in the doorway. "She run outta booze?" he asked, kindly.

The groupie smiled and nodded, waggling an empty bottle at the couple. "Yep. Wouldn't happen to have another one of these around here?" She looked about the kitchen.

"As a matter of fact, we do," Foley said with a grin. She wiped her hands on a towel and moved across the kitchen to the refrigerator. While she delved into the cabinet above, she asked over her shoulder, "How's she feeling tonight? No soreness?"

"Soreness...?" the woman asked with a confused grin.

"Well, you know how it is," Foley said. "Ah, here we go!" She pulled another fifth of Johnny Walker from the cabinet and turned around. "It was worse last week when the symptoms first came up," she shrugged. The woman handed the bottle over to the groupie.

"Symptoms...?" the woman asked, her grin fading.

Blue eyes rolled. "Oh, yeah. It was so bad, she couldn't even pee without having to fill the tub with water to dilute it." A thought seemed to cross Foley's mind and she peered at the platinum blonde before her. "You have gone to the clinic, haven't you? I mean, everybody she's been to bed with should."

"Wha...." the woman croaked. She cleared her throat, setting the bottle down on the counter. "What are you talking about?"

Hampton turned around to blink at her. "The herpes, what else?"

There was a long silence as the groupie took in this new information.

"That little shit didn't tell you, did she?" Foley demanded, hands on her hips. As the blonde shook her head no, she exploded, "Damn it! She is so irresponsible! Max! Can't we do something about this?"

The bald man grimaced and shook his head. "All we can do is let people know, Lisa."

The woman wobbled a bit, the conversation swirling around her as the couple came up with platitudes to ease the shock.

"It's alright, honey," Foley said. "I've heard it's pretty difficult to get it.... you know.... woman to woman."

"But, isn't that how Jordan got it?" Hampton asked in confusion.

The pair watched as the woman excused herself. They shared a grin between them as she disappeared into the living room. A few seconds later, the front door closed and a car could be heard starting up outside. As it faded away into the distance, laughter filled the kitchen.

The third time Jordan reached for her missing bottle, she became annoyed. What the hell's taking her so long? She have to drive to fucking Texas or something? The redhead had a good buzz going and wanted to maintain it for the festivities later in the night. With a grumble, she rose to her feet and headed into the house. Even a beer would keep her level of intoxication up enough before the whiskey arrived.

Her boots scraped against the concrete patio and she slid the screen door open and stepped inside. The only light was the one directly over the kitchen sink. The dishwasher was humming diligently away and the counters and table appeared freshly wiped down. On the end of the counter was the empty Johnny Walker bottle.

Jordan approached it with a frown. She picked up the full fifth of whiskey standing right beside the empty. She cast around with her senses, but the feeling of being alone in the house was overwhelming. Maybe she went to the bathroom...?

Taking the bottle with her, she stepped into the dark living room. The streetlight out front gave enough illumination to see the bathroom door yawning open and empty. "Well, shit...." A quick glance outside yielded no solid answers, either, as Jordan wasn't too sure which vehicle the woman had been driving. So many women, so many cars, a wry voice quipped.

The redhead returned to the dark patio. She straddled the end of a bench and lit up a cigarette, watching the festivities in the yard.

At some point in the past, a fifty-five gallon drum had been converted to a firepit in the backyard. This was where most of the partiers were in attendance. There were still about fifteen people around it, illuminated by the flames. They laughed and drank as they bullshitted one another, telling tall tales and playing 'Remember When?' They were seated on old wooden benches and cracked plastic chairs. A boombox had been brought out and it was playing Anthrax's latest CD.

Well, it looks like my night is shot all to hell. Jordan cracked the seal on the whiskey and took a long swallow. You can always fuck your hand, Horny Jordie, one of the voices responded and she grimaced.

The redhead set the fifth on the ground beside her and lay back on the bench. She watched the smoke from her cigarette meander upwards until it disappeared in the darkness. The sounds of music and laughter drifted across the night air from her left. Another sound intruded on her rare moment of peace. Frowning, Jordan turned her head to look to her right.

In the darkness, Atkins and his date had slunk away from the group and the fire. She was pinned against the wall near the corner of the house, firm legs wrapped around his waist. The tall man was hungrily devouring her neck, a large hand kneading her bared breast. The noises that had gotten Jordan's attention were the soft moans the woman made as Atkins thrust into her.

"Oh, God," the redhead groaned, looking away. "Why me?" As if she wasn't hot and bothered enough, the aural delights from nearby were putting her over the edge. Unbidden, her free hand slid under her t-shirt, moving upward with tantalizing slowness. A sigh escaped her lips as she caressed her breast, imagining another's fingers on her, another's moans floating in the night air. The redhead teased her nipple to erection, a stab of fire pulsing through her as the woman nearby groaned louder in unison.

A fresh round of laughter from the yard drew Jordan's attention. It looked like the party was breaking up - people were standing, collecting debris and personal items, talking overloud as they prepared to make their way back into the house. Grumbling, Jordan removed her hand and sat up, taking a long drag off her cigarette. Emerald eyes scanned the group of people, not finding anything or anyone of interest. Wonder where Sonny went? she thought idly, her gaze traveling up to the teenager's bedroom window. The lights were out. Probably went to bed.

The thought of Sonny naked in her bed fueled the ache between her legs. Taking a final pull off the cigarette, she tossed it into the butt can nearby, shaking her head ruefully. Time to go jack off and get drunk, Jordan thought as she rose to her feet. She stopped only long enough to scoop up her bottle before strolling towards the stairs that would lead her to an empty room. An empty life.

Jordan paused at the top of the stairs long enough to take another deep draught from her bottle. And then she capped it and opened her door. She got two steps into the room, shoving the door to close behind her, before she froze at the sight.

The beat up dresser she owned had been cleared off, the top of it covered in candles of various shapes and sizes. The glow illuminated the rest of the room and her green eyes were drawn towards the mattress on the floor. The perfunctory sheets and thin blanket had been straightened out. A few candles had also been placed on the milk crate that served as her nightstand. The windows were open with just enough of a breeze to cause the flames to flutter. Shadows sweating on the wall. The scent of roses and soap filled the air. Soap?

A warm body pressed against her back and hands reached up to cover her eyes. Despite her startlement, Jordan refused to jump at the touch. The odor of soap intensified. Aha! She took a shower and then waited here for me! Pleased that she wouldn't be resorting to Rosy Palm for relief, the redhead leaned into the woman. "I thought you'd gone," she murmured.

One hand was removed from her eyes, the other sliding over to compensate. "Shhhhhh," was whispered into her ear before warm lips caressed it. And then a piece of cloth was covering her eyes, the woman tying it off at the back of her head.

Jordan frowned at this and considered whether or not to allow the blindfold to remain. Several reasons to remove it were screamed from her depths - first and foremost being the issue of control. Still.... It would be a hell of a lot easier to imagine a certain ebony haired teenager in this woman's place without the glaringly visual evidence to the contrary.

As she debated with herself, the woman behind her continued. The bottle was pried from the redhead's fingers and set to one side. Warm hands reached under the t-shirt and began a slow massage of the lower back muscles. As the hands moved upwards, the shirt was brought with it, laying bare more and more of Jordan's back.

Ah, fuck it, the guitarist thought with a sigh. When the hands got to her shoulders, the woman leaned against her again and Jordan could feel erect nipples rubbing her shoulderblades. A sudden rush of arousal followed the imagined sight of Sonny being behind her. "Mmmm..." she purred. "That feels nice, baby."

The t-shirt was pulled over her head and discarded. The woman paused only long enough to readjust the blindfold. And then the hands were back in contact with the smaller woman's skin, massaging her neck, gently moving the redgold hair to one side. Lips caressed the juncture between shoulder and neck, teeth occasionally nibbling a wet path.

The agonizing slowness was killing Jordan. As the woman snaked her hands around the taut abdomen, she forced herself to wait a little longer before taking control of the situation. One hand reached up and caressed the same breast that the redhead had played with moments before on the patio. A nipple was rolled between thumb and forefinger.

At the same time, another flash of fantasy caused Jordan to moan thickly - she and Sonny on the side of the house in the same position as Atkins and his date. The image was so strong the guitarist could almost feel the teenager writhing against her as she slowly thrust into her. "Oh, God," she groaned, swallowing with a suddenly dry mouth.

Both hands dropped to the heavy belt buckle, prying the thick leather loose from its fastenings. Soon, the shorts were opened and fingers played amid redgold curls. The woman made a sound as those fingers dipped into wetness, a deep, throaty moan that was echoed by Jordan. The smaller woman rocked against the hand as her shorts slid down to puddle at her feet. The redhead pressed backwards, feeling the tickle of hair on her rear.

Jordan was still standing in the exact spot where her vision had been hampered. The room lay before her, a photographic image against her eyelids in a final flash of candlelight. I might be blindfolded, but I ain't blind. With strong hands, she grasped the woman's wrists, removing them from play.

Sonny froze. Shit! Busted! Her heart rate, already pounding in her ears, seemed to triple.

It had been risky, this plan of Foley's. She licked her full lips. But it was worth it. Very worth it. It had all hinged on whether or not the guitarist would accept the blindfold. When she had, the teenager's heart soared. And then she became lost in the sensations of soft hair and skin, finally able to hold and taste what she'd been desiring for so long.

But, the teenager couldn't figure out what she'd done to tip her hand. She hadn't spoken a word, not wanting to be discovered by her distinctive voice. Foley had suggested a shower to removed all perfumes that would identify her. No clothing that would cause the redhead to wonder exactly who was seducing her. And that had been the scariest part - hanging around in Jordan's room without clothes on.

The redhead's baggy shorts slipped over the burgundy combat boots she was wearing. She stepped out of them, releasing the woman's hands. In four confident strides, Jordan was at the foot of her mattress. She turned and sat down, working blindly on the laces of her footwear. I wonder why she's still standing over there, she mused in puzzlement. It's not like her to hold back.

Sonny's heartbeat eased a bit. Not caught! Whew! She watched as the smaller woman finished removing her boots before scooting further onto the bed and lounging back on one elbow. But, can she see me? she wondered, having noted the sureness of the woman's steps.

"Playing hard to get?" Jordan asked with a sultry smile. Her free hand traveled up and down her abdomen in slow motion.

Mesmerized, Sonny approached and knelt on the mattress.

The guitarist felt movement on the bed. The hand on her belly reached out and slipped up a smooth thigh. She grinned at the sigh she heard. "C'mere," she whispered, reaching out.

With Jordan guiding her, heedless of the blindfold, the teenager found herself straddling the redhead's hips. Callused fingers moved up her sides, over her shoulders and behind her head, pulling her down for a kiss.

Their lips met, a frenzied melding of tongues and teeth. Sonny's elbows were on either side of the guitarist's head, supporting her weight. The unusual sensation of naked breasts against her own sparked a liquid fire within. Jordan's hands were wrapped tightly with ebony hair as she continued her assault on the teenager's mouth, tongues engaged in passionate battle.

Breathlessly, Jordan broke off the kiss, roughly pulling the woman's head to one side and baring the tender throat. She attacked it with a vengeance, reveling in the deep moan she heard. With little effort, she could imagine Sonny's throat creating the sound. Her body responded with a flash of hunger and she bit down on the pulsepoint.

Sonny was unable to keep still during this new attack on her senses. Unconsciously, she rocked her hips, wetly marking the smaller woman's pubis. Redgold curls glistened damply in the candlelight. The dark woman transferred her weight to one side, reaching for a breast. As she massaged the flesh, she heard another growl and felt Jordan push her hips upward against her center.

The redhead worked her way down the long neck so trustingly offered with lustful abandon. She pulled the woman's head further above her own until her tongue was able to trace around a puckered nipple. The woman above her quivered and a salacious smile crossed Jordan's face before drawing the nipple into her mouth and suckling powerfully.

"Ohhhh," Sonny sighed. She felt teeth pinching the erect nub while her neglected breast ached with desire. The throbbing between her legs intensified and she ground down against the woman beneath her, panting.

The women moved together, finding a mutual rhythm. As they strained against one another, Jordan released her grip on the teenager's hair. Both hands traveled down to knead full breasts and she licked a fiery trail towards the second nipple, receiving another moaning sigh for her efforts. God, she's responsive tonight! she marveled. She must be really turned on!

Firmly attached to the woman's other nipple, the redhead's fingers scratched a trail along sensitive sides. There was a gasp and the woman shuddered, redoubling her efforts as she increased the friction between them. Jordan gripped the woman's undulating hips, visualizing Sonny above her, riding her. Maybe this blindfold thing ain't so bad after all....

Her lower lip hurt from biting down, trying to overcome the urge to speak, to plead, to scream Jordan's name over and over. Sweat glistened on Sonny's body in the warm glow of the candles and she could see the same was true for the woman beneath her. And then one of Jordan's talented hands strayed further down, squeezing and kneading a pliant rear before slipping around front. As fingers other than her own stroked her center for the first time, the teenager almost growled in frustration at her inability to speak.

Not deprived of her voice, Jordan husked through teeth clenched on a distended nipple, "You are so wet tonight, baby." With expert fingers, she located a spot that seemed to drive the woman above her to further distraction. She gently rubbed the sensuous flesh between the hard distended clitoris and the opening to the woman's vagina. Score! she cackled to herself. Now for some fun!

Sonny didn't think she could take much more of this. Just when she thought she'd reached her limit, a fresh wave of carnal delight would envelope her, bringing her to the next plateau. She was a ball of oversensitive nerves, unable to think - just feel.

Fingers rubbed the spot a few times, the sudden bucking of the woman's hips exciting Jordan immensely. And then the redhead released her oral grip on the heavy breast over her and used her other hand to clamp down on the rocking hips. "Stop," she ordered in a firm voice.

The dark teenager froze, her heart in her throat. She knows!

Jordan's fingers slowly circled in slick warmth. When the woman tried to rotate her hips in response, she applied further pressure to the hand holding her down. "Don't move," she grated in warning.

Even as she forced herself to remain still, the fingers stroked Sonny's center, evoking wave upon wave of fiery need. Her body seemed to have become one large organism of craving. But, for the life of her, the dark woman didn't know what exactly she had to have. All she could do was obey the order given and hope that her desires would be rewarded.

The guitarist continued her activity, eyes closed behind the blindfold. The woman had returned to both her elbows above her and Jordan could hear the ragged breathing. She could smell the musky scent of arousal drifting between them, could feel the muscles quivering as the woman fought her natural instincts. If anything, the woman became wetter the longer Jordan played her, breathing becoming more and more erratic. A drop of sweat splashed against the redhead's collar bone and she growled at the sudden vision of Sonny's face above her own, distorted with lust.

Every movement, every sound, every smell seemed to be connected to one place, one spot within Sonny's body. She lost herself in the feelings, unable to be coherent in thought or awareness. Only one word rambled through her mind. Almost.

"You know what I want from you," Jordan whispered, licking her lips.

Pale blue fire stared down at the redhead as the dark youth tried to comprehend, to come up with some sort of lucid response without blowing her cover.

When no answer was forthcoming, the guitarist frowned. "Playing hard to get again?" With a quick movement, she flipped them and continued teasing the woman's genitals. "Give it to me."

Sonny was startled at the sudden change of scenery. The redhead was now straddling one of her thighs, hand still planted between her legs. Involuntarily, her hips moved and all motion stopped.

Her fingers barely touching the hard nub of flesh, Jordan froze at the woman's movement. "You know better than that," she admonished with a growl. "If you move again without permission, I'll stop." The resulting loud gulp from the woman brought a grin to her face. "Now, let me hear it."

Hear?! Oh, shit! Sonny swallowed again, mind racing. What the hell am I gonna do now? What does she want to hear?

A bubble of irritation rose. The redhead stroked the woman again, hearing a gasp and feeling the muscles beneath her tremble in restraint. And then she paused. There was a whimper. Leaning forward until she could feel the tickle of hair against her cheek, Jordan whispered, "I want to hear you beg for it. Or it stops now."

Beg. The word ran around Sonny's mind for a split second as she realized the implications of that statement. Beg. Speak, converse, talk, plead. She swallowed again, hard, trying to figure a way through this obstacle.

Jordan was beginning to get annoyed at the recalcitrant woman. In retaliation for the silence, she grasped the woman's clit in her fingers and simply held it, not moving.

Sonny's eyes closed and she groaned at this new torment. The pulsating between her legs intensified to a point almost beyond her. And to not move at the onslaught was almost impossible. "Please..." she whispered.

"What? I didn't hear you." Jordan applied more pressure to the button.

"Ohhh," the dark woman moaned thickly. "Please.... Oh, please...."

Jordan considered the request and decided that further torture was in order. She nuzzled the ear, tracing it with her tongue. The woman's heart was pounding so hard, she could almost hear it. This is so much fun. With a low purr, she said, "Please... what?"

Sonny frantically cast around in her mind for a response. What?! What does she want?! She felt the guitarist above her press against her thigh, leaving a wet trail on her tanned skin. Oh, God, this is killing me!

Again Jordan rocked against the thigh between her legs, easing her own ache. She sucked the earlobe into her mouth and bit down with a growl. Between clenched teeth, she demanded, "What do you want?"

Having spent a year of research on the subject, the teenager was still at a bit of a loss. What do I want? she asked herself for perhaps the first time. Her heart felt like it was going to explode, her center was throbbing so hard she was sure she'd have to use ice to remove the swelling, and the warm, wet breath in her ear was almost too much for her overloaded senses to bear.

The woman's mouth opened as she panted, chest heaving. And then Jordan heard the magic words.

"Please... take me...."

The voice was so like Sonny's and the fantasies she'd been playing in her head all night fueled the inferno within. With a savage smile, Jordan released her hold on both ear and clitoris. Even as she devoured the woman's lips and tongue, she plunged two fingers deep inside, swallowing the cry that came up.

There was a sharp stab of pain as Jordan pushed past her maidenhood and the teenager cried out, into the mouth that was ravishing hers. And then the sensations of being filled and the movement deep inside took over and she began rocking against the redhead in a full body movement of wanton rutting. Sonny's long arms wrapped around the smaller woman who was thrusting against her thigh at the same time and she lost all conscious thought.

Jordan's experience with virginity was nigh on nonexistent. To her knowledge, she had never bedded any woman who hadn't at least been with other men, if not other women. And her own deflowering happened at such a young age, she couldn't remember it clearly. When her fingers met and broke the barrier within the woman beneath her, it took her a few moments to figure out what had happened. What the hell? Even as she moved against the firm thigh, her mind came up with the only possible answer. But that would mean.... She is... was....

"A virgin!" Jordan exclaimed. She pushed up until she was on her knees and used her free hand to whip off the blindfold. Before her was every wet dream she'd had over the last three years. A beautiful naked body writhing on the mattress, dark hair splayed across the pillow, hooded pale eyes regarding her. And there was fear in those eyes, as well.

Even as the guitarist rose to her knees, Sonny grabbed her hand, keeping it in place within her. "Don't stop.... Don't stop... please," she begged, groaning as she thrust her hips against the trapped hand. "Oh, Jordan... please... take me.... I've wanted you for so long."

A myriad of emotions coursed through the smaller woman. Gratitude, tenderness, anger, desire, passion, apathy, self-hate all swirled around with the wildness that was Jordan's soul. As the teenager continued to buck against her, her nostrils flared as passion gained the upper hand. It's too late now, Jordie, a voice whispered in her depths.

Sonny was nearly incoherent as she pleaded for her lover to continue, to bring her to climax. She saw the flash of savagery in the emerald eyes above her and shivered, a tendril of fear flickering through her. It seemed to increase her own desires and she moved against the woman's hand, moaning.

The decision was made almost before Jordan could acknowledge thought. The rush of arousal that followed in the decision's wake almost caused her to come on the spot. With a feral growl, she fell upon the dark woman's body, fingers thrusting powerfully, pressing against a well-muscled thigh as she devoured the succulent neck.

"Oh, God!" Sonny cried out in response to the renewed attack. She bucked against the guitarist, reaching new levels of sensation, hands digging into the other woman's hips, pulling her closer and closer. A thumb expertly began brushing her clit and the teenager suddenly fell over the edge, calling Jordan's name into the night as she came.

Feeling Sonny clutching at her, hearing the contralto voice calling her name, the redhead slicked across the youth's thigh. And then she, too, climaxed, adding her own voice to her lover's in harmony.

Aug 28, 2001

It's not quite dawn, yet. I've doused all but this one candle. Jordan is asleep beside me. She looks so peaceful. More at ease than I've ever seen her awake.

Lisa's plan worked. This night has been absolutely incredible. I feel so different now, even though I realize that there isn't anything noticeable.

I cried afterwards. I'm still not entirely sure why. I just couldn't keep myself from it. Kinda corny, if you ask me, but there ya are. It was kinda hard for Jordan. She didn't know what to do - whether to comfort me or run shrieking in the opposite direction. She held me, though. I think I scared her. She didn't know why I was crying anymore than I did.

We talked. No major protestations of love or anything, but we cleared the air a bit. It's true that she has wanted me for awhile. So, at least we have that in common! Ha ha ha!

I don't know what's going to happen now. I realize that there's a good chance that Jordan will move on and continue her 'liaisons' with the other women she's been with. It'll hurt tremendously, I'm sure - just the thought of it is killing me! But, I'll take what I can get at this point. Maybe I can eventually get her to understand that I'm the only one for her....

We made love several more times before she finally drifted off to sleep. I simply can't imagine anyone else making me feel the way she makes me feel! I hope I satisfied her. I know I'm a novice at this. I don't want her to toss me to the side because I don't know exactly what to do....

I've got to talk to Tom. Soon. I'm not going to hide anything from him - I haven't before. There's no reason to start now. I'm pretty sure he's gonna be furious.

Well, I'm going to go to sleep now. It's so novel having someone else in the same bed with me. And I can't wait to wake up in the morning with Jordan by my side.

Sober
(excerpt) © Tool

There's a shadow just behind me,
shrouding every breath I take,
making every promise empty,
pointing every finger at me.

Why can we not be sober?
I just want to start this over and
why can't we drink forever?
I just want to start this over again.

I am just a worthless liar.
I am just an imbecile.
I will only complicate you.
Trust in me and fall as well.
I will find a center in you.
I will chew it up and leave.
I will work to elevate you
just enough to bring you down.
Trust me.

Chapter V: Responses

The Needle Lies
(excerpt) © Queensryche

Cold and shaking,
I crawled down alleys to try
And scrape away the tracks that marked me.
Slammed my face into walls of concrete,
I stared, amazed at the words written on the wall.

Don't ever trust,
Don't ever trust the needle - it lies.
Don't ever trust,
Don't ever trust the needle when it cries, cries your name.

Wet and raving,
The needle keeps calling me back
To bloody my hands forever.
Carved my cure with the blade
That left me in scars.
Now, every time I'm weak,
Words scream from my arm.

As consciousness slowly returned, Sonny snuggled closer to the soft, warm body beside her. "Mmmmm." She could hear birdsong outside the still open window and her closed lids attested to the fact that it was now daylight. Pale blue eyes opened and blinked.

She was curled up on her side, head pillowed on Jordan's shoulder and a long arm draped across the well-toned abdomen. Beyond the mattress, Sonny could see out the window. It was grey outside - a typical Portland day any time of the year. But the cloud cover appeared high and non-threatening. It'll probably burn off by this afternoon.

However, because of the weather, it was a bit cool in the room and she shivered. Reaching down to her waist, the dark woman pulled the blanket up to her shoulder. It took her a few seconds before she realized she had help, a callused hand adjusting the covering around her. Quickly looking upward, emerald eyes met her gaze. Sonny felt an almost physical jolt in her chest at the visual contact.

Jordan quashed the wary look just before the teenager glanced up, replacing it with the mask. A captivating smile met Sonny's eyes. She tucked the blanket around the teenager's shoulders. "Good morning," she purred.

A bit unsettled at this new intimacy between them, Sonny colored a little but kept eye contact. A smile graced her own face and she said, "Hi there. Have you been awake long?"

Reaching over to brush ebony tresses away from the sleepy face, Jordan responded with, "No. Just woke up myself." Yer a liar, Jordie! a mean spirited voice crowed. But that ain't nothing new....

Sonny closed her eyes and leaned into the caress with a sigh. I hope every morning is like this, she reflected, snuggling closer to her lover in contentment.

Despite herself, the redhead couldn't help but hug the youth closer in response. It feels so good. So different from the others. A grimace crossed her face. But you don't deserve it. Composing herself, she bent to kiss Sonny's forehead. "You have class today?"

The teenager basked in the closeness that she'd worked so hard to attain. "Yeah. But I'm off work - the benefits of part time employment." She turned her head to kiss the skin near her mouth, marveling at its soft texture. The arm that was around her shoulders squeezed her in a slight hug, the hand on her back idly tracing circles. "You have rehearsal today, of course."

"Yeah." Jordan felt the young woman's hand on her waist begin to wander down her hip. "We play at the Satyricon tonight, too."

"Bummer. I can't go." She nuzzled lower, kissing the redhead where the edge of the blanket met skin. A small bubble of pride welled up as she noted the span of goose bumps her touch elicited. I did that!

The long hand trailed lower, slipping along the curve of her hip and on to the thigh. Jordan closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Despite herself, she caressed Sonny's hair with her free hand, gently tracing the ear. "You can always get a fake ID," she suggested in a low voice. What the hell are you doing, Jordie?! Let's just see if we can't get her to mainline crank eventually, too, okay?!

Sonny's hand stopped moving as she processed the suggestion. She moved a bit out of the embrace as she propped herself up on one elbow and looked down at the redhead with a contemplative face. "Ya know, I never even thought of that before.... Do you know where I could get one?"

Mind working overtime to come up with an answer, Jordan felt the hand reach its apex and begin tracking back upwards on the inside of her thigh. Her eyes closed against the sudden ache that filled her. "Ummm..." she said, licking dry lips.

Delighted, Sonny watched the guitarist's response to her attentions. Wow! Her fingers just missed Jordan's center, veering aside at the last moment to follow the crease of leg and torso. The quickened pulse in the neck beneath her was evident and the teenager leaned forward to kiss it. "You still haven't answered my question," she murmured.

What is wrong with me? a part of the redhead demanded. The lips, so soft against her skin, delicately strolled northwards until the younger woman was nibbling her chin.

"Well? You do know where, don't you?" Sonny prodded, fingers combing redgold curls.

"Uh, yeah," Jordan answered breathlessly. Her reward was a long, slow exploration of her mouth.

Sonny broke off the kiss, her eyes meeting smoldering emeralds. "I can't seem to keep my hands off of you," she whispered, her expression a mixture of desire and trepidation.

Who's complaining?! The smaller woman turned on her side and pressed Sonny close. Her hand strayed down and pulled the teenager's thigh up over her hip. "Feeling's mutual," she rumbled before losing herself in the sensations.

Jordan watched the door close quietly. With a sigh, she sat up, her blanket pooling around her waist. She had a languid upper body stretch, combing one hand through her hair before settling, cross legged, in the cool room. A pack of cigarettes and a lighter were near her 'nightstand,' and she reached for them.

The guitarist lit one up, drawing the smoke deep into her lungs. As she exhaled, she seemed to slump a bit and leaned back against the wall at the head of her bed. Her mind returned to the memories of the night before.

Entwined, the women climaxed together in a frenzied outburst of passion. And then they lay in the lethargic afterglow of sex, bodies cooling in the night air.

When Jordan's brain finally kicked into gear, she realized that it wasn't sweat on her neck and shoulder. The youth beneath her was crying. Oh, shit! I hurt her!! Her heart in her throat, she gently disengaged herself and pulled up onto her elbow.

Tears fell freely from behind closed lids. As Sonny realized the redhead was watching, her tears intensified and she blushed. What's wrong with me? She turned further into Jordan, burying her face once more against the older woman's shoulder with a small sob.

Sonny tried to analyze the whirlwind of emotion that blew through, none of which could account for this uncontrollable display of emotion. Confusion, relief, fear for the future, happiness, sadness - they all vied for a piece of the dark teenager. But the tears were cathartic, cleansing and refreshing as they carried the last of her concerns away. It seemed to be a milder form of the weeping she'd done in the arms of Foley the afternoon before.

The guitarist literally trembled in her indecision. She'd obviously hurt the girl, but for the life of her, she didn't know what the hell to do about it. A part of her was irrationally angry at this emotional display, viewing it as weak and stupid. Another wanted to take responsibility, make amends, do something. She was furious with herself and absolutely terrified at the idea of causing the young woman this pain.

Jordan was a doer, not an idler. And so, her mind focused on what to do in this situation. Different avenues of action availed themselves and she flashed across each one. Run screaming into the night? Finalize this pain by ending it, here and now, rejecting the girl? Get the whiskey bottle and just forget the whole thing? Give the teenager something to cry about? Cut her losses and leave the room, the house, the band?

And then Sonny's arm reached up, hooking behind the redhead's neck and pulling her close. All the doubts and insecurities and anger within Jordan seemed to fade away, the voices becoming whispers before finally disappearing altogether. The guitarist did the only thing possible.

Jordan adjusted herself on the mattress, cuddling the dark woman closer. She began rocking back and forth with a gentle motion. "Shhh.... It's okay. I got ya."

Sonny clung to the guitarist as the unidentifiable emotions passed over and through her. As the cloud of tears lifted, she kissed the graceful neck near her lips in thanks.

Seeing that the younger woman's crying had subsided, Jordan pulled away a bit, cradling the dark head in her arms. She reached up and used a thumb to wipe the wetness from a high cheekbone. "I'm sorry," she murmured, a haunted look in her eyes. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I won't do it again."

There was a watery chuckle and Sonny said, "You didn't. I'm just.... I dunno.... I'm not sure what this is...." Her own hand was buried in redgold hair. Her voice gained strength as she continued. "You didn't hurt me. It felt.... God! It was the end of the world! The beginning of my life! It was fantastic!"

A tentative smile creased the older woman's face. "End of the world?"

"Fantastic," Sonny repeated in a low voice, eyes focusing on the lips above hers. The hand on her cheek smelled strongly of... me! Her face tinted and she suddenly wondered what Jordan smelled like, felt like, tasted like. Tears forgotten, she put pressure on the guitarist's head, easing her closer. "C'mere," she husked.

Jordan felt an awakening in her groin at the carnal memories, bringing herself back up to the present. Her cigarette was burning the filter, stinking up the air with toasted synthetics. With a muttered curse, she stabbed it out in a small plastic ashtray on the floor. Scrubbing her face for a moment, she inhaled deeply before rising to her feet, her naked body shivering in the cool air. Time to get a move on.

A few more stretches were done before she got down to the business of a few stomach crunches and pushups. Twenty minutes later, she had used the tiny bathroom nearby to relieve herself and clean up a bit. A shower would have been nice, but Jordan wasn't quite ready to see Middlestead, yet. It was going to be difficult enough going through rehearsal and the gig tonight.

The redhead dressed in her burgundy combat boots, baggy grey shorts that hung to below her knee and a black tank top. Glancing at her bedside clock, she figured she had about fifteen minutes to catch the bus - enough time to walk the four blocks and have another cigarette. She tossed her leather jacket on, stuffing her cigarettes and lighter in a pocket. Her guitar, placed carefully in its case with the new music the night before, was scooped up and slung over her shoulder.

At the door, Jordan turned and surveyed her room. Open windows, cold and melted candles on every flat surface, the bedding tangled and strewn about. There was a liquid clatter as she moved her foot. The whiskey bottle, still mostly full, had toppled as she nudged it.

The guitarist picked it up and studied the Johnny Walker label for long minutes. She could see a corner of the bed through the amber liquid. Shoulders shrugged and she uncapped the fifth, took a healthy swig and resealed it. The bottle made its way into her jacket pocket.

Just another fuck-filled night, she thought, leaving the room. A troubled voice responded, No. It was more than that. Jordan viciously squashed it and clattered down the stairs.

Sonny moved slowly down the wooden stairs. She couldn't quite explain the feeling she had at the moment. It was almost like she was seeing the world from completely different eyes, eyes that saw with a bit more wonder, a bit more awe. Is this how it feels when you love someone? she wondered idly.

With no other situation to compare it to, she was at a loss. At the bottom of the stairs, she looked over the yard. It was still slightly trashed from the party the night before - the barbecuer hadn't been cleaned and there were a couple of cans and pieces of litter near the firepit. The clouds above were still prevalent and the cool breeze that ruffled her dark hair was clean. The teenager inhaled deeply, a smile on her face.

The noise of someone whistling and rummaging around in the house interrupted her peaceful interlude. Pale eyes opened and the smile faded a bit. Tom. She inhaled again, a bracing breath as she mentally girded her loins for battle. Time to go have it out with him.

Middlestead puttered happily around the kitchen, cracking an egg into the frying pan. Life was good. A new CD was in the works, which meant another tour and more money. More publicity. Warlord was finally beginning to get somewhere now. He sent silent thanks to whatever god had blessed him with such a talented crew of musicians.

The party had wrapped up around one in the morning. It was a weeknight and some had to be ready for work the following day. Those that could, stayed and chatted inside the house until the wee hours. It was nearly four before the last of them had departed.

Now it was two in the afternoon. Middlestead had been vaguely surprised to find that Sonny wasn't reading the paper at the dining room table. He could only count a handful of times she'd slept in later than him - all requiring her to be up way past her usual bedtime. Musta been writing pretty heavy last night, he conceded. Though he could have sworn that her light had been off when he had trudged up the stairs to bed.

The sliding glass door opened and he glanced up, a surprised look coming to his face. "Morning. I didn't know you were up already," he said to his sister. He quickly glanced out the kitchen window. "What were you doing outside?"

Sonny closed the screen, allowing the cool air access to the interior of the house. Unconsciously, she raised her chin a little as she stepped forward, sitting on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. "I was with Jordan."

A puzzled expression crossed her brother's handsome face. "Jordan?" He proceeded to flip the eggs. "What's wrong with Jordan?"

"Nothing."

Middlestead shrugged with raised eyebrows. "Okay...." He mentally shook his head. Women. Pulling the frypan off the heat, he slid the eggs onto a slice of bread. Brandishing the spatula at the teenager, he asked, "You want a sandwich?"

Sonny shook her head. Her stomach was currently tying itself in knots and food was not going to help.

Again, the dark man shrugged. He set the pan on the stove, turning off the burner. After fixing his meal, he picked up the plate and wandered in to sit at the dining table.

Well, now what? Sonny asked herself in exasperation. "Well, Tom, I got laid last night. You know. By the guitarist? She's the one I want to spend the rest of my life with." The imagined response from her brother both amused and worried her.

Middlestead chewed in thought. Something's up. He took another bite, surreptitiously studying the dark teenager fidgeting on the stool. The longer she's quiet the more nervous she gets. With a sigh, the man set down his half eaten sandwich. "Okay. What's up?"

"What...?" Sonny asked, looking startled. "What do you mean?"

"I mean you're fidgeting so much, the tremors are going to bust that stool into a dozen pieces." He chuckled as his sister suddenly stilled, blue eyes wide. "So, what's bugging you, sis?"

The teenager swallowed. "You're bugging me. Something wonderful has happened and I don't think you're going to be too happy about it."

Well. Nothing like an honest approach. A frown came to Middlestead's face as he tried to conceive of things that would make him unhappy with his sibling. "You dropping outta college before you even start?"

"What? No, of course not!" Sonny shook her head as she dismissed that particular worry. Where'd that come from? She opened her mouth to speak and he interrupted.

"You've become involved with some weird religious cult?" Before she could respond, he continued, "You wanna buy out my half of the house and kick me out? You've decided that a life of crime is worth it?"

"Where do you come up with this stuff?" Sonny demanded in exasperation.

Middlestead grinned. "You'll never know." Getting back to the topic - Or lack thereof - at hand, he said, "C'mon, sis. What is it?"

The moment of truth. Sonny gulped and blurted. "I spent the night with Jordan." There! I said it! She watched her brother carefully.

The man frowned in thought. At first, he couldn't figure out what Sonny meant. Why would she stay over there? Sonny. Jordan. Jordan's room. All night.... Sonny and Jordan.... Jordan's room all night?

The teenager watched Middlestead's face grow dark, his shoulders appearing to become wider as he swelled up in anger. Ah, jeez, he's pissed!

"You spent the night with Jordan," he repeated in a dangerous monotone. At her nod, he added, "The two of you. Alone. In her bed?"

"Yes."

A fist thumped down on the tabletop, rattling the plate and the centerpiece. "That bitch!" he snarled, rising to his feet. The chair toppled over, but he ignored it, taking a step towards the patio door.

Sonny flew off the stool and intercepted him. "Oh, no you don't, Tom! Where do you think you're going?!"

Hardly looking at the teenager, he glared out the door as he grabbed Sonny by the shoulders to forcibly put her aside. "First I'm gonna fire her. Then I'm gonna evict her. And then the best part is, I'm gonna kill her!"

"No, Tom!" The woman refused to be moved, struggling to keep her feet. "It's not her fault! I tricked her!"

"Tricked her?!" Middlestead bellowed with an incredulous look on his face. He focused on his sister. "I'm sure it didn't take a whole hell of a lot, Sonny! She's a fucking slut!"

There was no conscious thought. There was only the resounding ring of flesh on flesh. And Middlestead was left with a hand shaped imprint reddening on his left cheek, dark blue eyes wide in surprise.

"Don't you ever call her that again," Sonny warned in a low, menacing voice. She shook her stinging hand. "And for your information, it did take a lot - I've been working on this for months!" The teenager could feel tears of stress and anger well up, but she fought them back down. Not yet! Not yet!

Middlestead blinked at her. Where the hell is my sister and what have you done with her? Calming himself, he tried another tact. "Look, Sonny," he said in a voice full of common sense. "Jordan's a... she's... got a lot of experience.... I don't think you'd be able to 'trick' her. There had to've been some point where she knew what was going on...." An irrational curiosity overcame him. "Was she drunk?"

Sonny blushed, not expecting to discuss her strategy with him. "Blindfolded," she muttered.

A dark eyebrow arched. And then he remembered that he was furious. "Anyhow, there was a point in time that she knew. And she didn't stop." So, I get to kill her.

Coloring further, the teenager rolled her eyes. "Trust me, Tom. There... wasn't much of an opportunity to stop things."

"Whatever." He sighed deeply, his stomach roiling with tension. Running hands through his dark hair, he sighed deeply. "Fine. I won't kill her. But she's outta the band and I want her outta the house."

"What?!" Sonny exploded. She pushed against him and he took a step back. "Why?! Because I slept with her? She's the best thing that's happened to Warlord and you know it!"

"She took advantage of you, Sonny! She waited until you were legal age and then...." He shook his head, banishing that particular image.

Eyes narrowed. "Let's set the record straight, here.... I took advantage of her. Not the other way around." Seeing she wasn't making any headway with her stubborn older sibling, she tried another direction. "What if I had just told you that I had slept with Lando?"

"What?" The change slightly confused the man and he took a second to catch up.

"If I told you I'd slept with Lando, would you be acting quite like this?" Sonny demanded. "Would you be so bent outta shape?"

"That has nothing to do with it," he sputtered, shaking his head. "The reality is that it's the other way around!"

"I think it has a lot to do with it!" the woman insisted. "I think you'd be pissed off but you'd let it go if it was what I wanted!" She shook her dark head in frustration. "Don't you dare drop Jordan because of this! The band will fall!"

"We'll get by without her," Middlestead grumped, nose rising into the air. "We've done it before." He ignored the thoughts that agreed with the teenager one hundred percent.

"Fine!" Sonny turned away and marched towards the doorway leading to the stairs. "Then you'll get by without me!"

The man trailed after her. "C'mon, Sonny! What are you talking about?"

The dark woman whirled around. Her pale eyes were snapping with energy and she pointed a warning finger at her brother. "If she goes, I go.... Got it?"

There was a long pause before he finally nodded in comprehension.

Sonny spun back around and stomped up the stairs. Middlestead could track her progress in the upstairs hall before he heard the slam of her door.

"Shit!" he cursed, his face sour.

Jordan stepped off the bus, a fresh cigarette hanging from her lips. She moved out of the way of the other people boarding and unboarding the public transport, setting the McDonald's cup down on the wide trash can lid. Digging out her lighter, the redhead lit up before retrieving her soda and walking away from the stop.

Paper cup in one hand, smoke in the other, her guitar was strapped comfortably to her back. The neck swayed back and forth over her right shoulder as she sidled along in the industrial area of southeast Portland. In six blocks, she arrived at the warehouse. It was late afternoon and the clouds remained in the sky. Jordan fished her keys out of her shorts pocket just as she heard a familiar motor.

A beat up, rust brown panel van pulled into a parking spot on the side of the street. The engine was cut off and Hampton hopped out. "Hi," he called, opening the side door and retrieving his bass.

"Hey," Jordan responded. She unlocked the warehouse and waited for him to join her.

As they entered together, the bald man glanced at her. "Have a good night?"

The woman glanced sharply at him. Innocent curiosity met her intent gaze and she mentally kicked herself in the pants. Chill, Jordie! It ain't common knowledge. Pause. Yet. She shrugged and said, "Yeah, it was okay. You?"

"Pretty good." No complaints about her lady friend pulling a disappearing act. In-ter-est-ing.... "You must have gone to bed early. I didn't see you after we all went inside." He jumped up onto the stage and began setting up his instrument.

Jordan colored so slightly, it was hardly noticeable. "Yeah. Well, I was tired," she offered, putting her cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. She took a long swallow of her soda, enjoying the bite of Johnny Walker within before pulling her guitar from her shoulder and taking off her jacket.

"So, you were doing a lot of writing yesterday...?" Hampton hinted, deciding to drop the subject for now.

Back in her element, the guitarist chuckled. "Yeah, I got some stuff. Hold on." She unzipped the case and pulled her instrument out. She then pulled out the pad of paper with her scribblings, handing them over to the eager man. "No guarantee that they're legible," she warned. "I haven't looked at them since last night."

"S'okay," the bassist shrugged. "I've got you here to translate."

About half an hour went by. The bandmates looked over the songs, deciding which seemed the most workable. The lyrics had been cleaned up and now they were working on the melody.

"I dunno," Jordan said. "We could speed it up a bit. Maybe make it a little rougher." She sang out a line, keeping time by tapping on her guitar. "*I'm standing on a ledge, cold and naked. / Will someone come and offer me their help?"

The bald man nodded in agreement. "Yeah. That'd work." Hampton turned when the door slammed. "Cool, Tom's here. We can see what kind of rhythm to put on it."

Whatever enjoyment Jordan was getting from the collaboration evaporated. She coolly regarded the approaching man, noting the angry stance and intense blue eyes glaring back. Great. Might as well pack up and move out now. She reached down and picked up her cup, sipping the melted ice water and dregs of her whiskey. Fuck him! another voice growled. Shit happens and he needs to get over it!

"Hey! You got here just in time," Hampton said to the drummer with a grin. "We're trying to figure out the beat on this song." Brown eyes noted the stiffness in both the man and woman, the very evident anger lurking just beneath Middlestead's demeanor. Oh, yeah, he thought. If there was any doubt about what happened last night, it's gone now!

The dark man grimaced. "Another Jordan Smith Billboard Hit?" he asked with a snide voice.

The redhead stiffened but refused to be baited.

The bald man frowned. "Noooo.... Another halfway decent song for us to work on. You know, we do have a CD to burn next month."

"Whatever." Middlestead stomped up onto the stage to check out his kit.

Hampton had to partially turn, craning his neck around to follow the drummer. He noticed the flexing jaw muscles of the woman beside him. Gotta get this out in the open. "What bug crawled up your butt?" he asked Middlestead.

The dark blue eyes narrowed. Rather than answer, he began playing the drums, loosening up. I can't kill her, he reminded himself.

Hampton sighed, looking askance at the ceiling. Arching an eyebrow at Jordan, he asked in a loud voice to carry over the drumming, "Is there something I should know?"

Teeth grinding, the redhead shrugged sharply. She set her guitar to one side and the music next to her cup on the floor. "You'd better ask him. He's the one with a problem." Jordan rose to her feet and stretched before stepping off the stage and towards her jacket.

Middlestead's baleful eyes followed her movement. Why her? He pounded on the skins, wishing it was Jordan in his frustration. Would it be different if it were Lando?

At an impasse for the moment, the bassist listened to the dark man beat his drums half to death and watched Jordan light up another cigarette before moving away. He sighed deeply and set his bass in its stand. Now what? he wondered, rubbing his bald head. Something's gotta be done.... Preferably today! For lack of anything else to do, he stepped from the stage, as well, parking himself on the old bench seat.

Jordan wandered over to the armchair she usually favored and slumped into it. What the hell do I do now? she griped as she scowled. Back to the streets, back to hustling and squats and eating out of dumpsters until another gig comes along? This fucking sucks! She smoked in silence. Well, he hasn't kicked you out, yet.... Maybe he's just needing to work things out. Snort. Yeah! Working out the best way to kick my ass for fucking his little sister!

As usual, Atkins was late. He pulled the door open, almost drowning in the crescendo of the drum solo that rolled over him. With a huge grin on his face, he strode in, waving at Hampton and Jordan.

Behind him, unnoticed, Sonny entered.

"Sorry I'm late," Atkins said as he approached the pair. "Sonny wanted me to pick her up." He glanced over at the stage. "What's up?"

The bassist watched the dark teenager carefully. "Nothing. Might have some problems, though." She looks kinda pale, he thought with some concern.

"Really?" the tall guitarist asked. He looked around expectantly. "What kind?"

Hampton nudged his chin towards the drummer. "Trouble in paradise." At the confused look on his bandmate's face, he shook his head dismissively. "Don't worry about it. We'll get it worked out. He just needs to get over being mad."

Atkins nodded sagely, trying to at least look like he understood the cryptic comments.

Sonny stopped for a few moments inside the door as she surveyed the situation. Her brother was taking his frustrations out on his drum kit, a cloud of anger over his head. The two other men chatted quietly, with many glances towards the stage. Jordan sullenly put out a cigarette and immediately lit up another. Not good.

The teenager inhaled deeply, steeling herself before sauntering further into the room. She could feel her brother's eyes light on her, but she ignored him. A warm smile and a slight wave to Hampton, a wink at the tall man beside him and then her attention was captured by the seated woman. Sonny slid onto the arm of the chair, leaning her right arm on the backrest. Startled green eyes looked up at her sudden proximity and the teenager gave a sly little smile as she bent closer for a kiss.

Hampton, his suspicions confirmed, grinned. Now maybe Sonny'll calm down. This constant jealous flirtation is getting on my nerves. As the kiss broke off, he became privy to a gentle look in Sonny's eyes. And maybe she'll be happy. He turned to Atkins. Backhanding the taller man's stomach, he said, "Close your mouth, nitwit. Haven't you seen Jordan kiss anybody before?"

"Wh.... But.... Wh..." Atkins sputtered, eyes rapidly flicking back and forth between his bandmate and the public display before him. "But... but that's Sonny!"

"You're quick," the bald man chuckled.

Lost in her own thoughts of doom and gloom, Jordan hadn't seen her lover enter behind Atkins. First she was mentally pursuing a bleak future and then a warm body settled next to her. She looked up into pale eyes that sparkled and a crooked little grin that said, I understand. I'm here now. The grin faded as their lips met, soft and warm and steadying. Nothing sexual, simply a reminder of their time together. The guitarist automatically moved her cigarette to one side to avoid singing the dark hair her other hand had risen to caress. And then they were looking into each other's eyes.

There was a resounding crash, startling everyone.

Middlestead cursed, his face flushed, as he fought with a snare drum. In his anger at the blatant display before him, he'd put his stick, fist and all, through the skin. Finally freeing himself, he jumped down from the stage and strode towards the group, blood in his eyes.

"Uh oh," Atkins said.

"Did I mention trouble in paradise?" the bassist asked before stepping to intercept Middlestead.

"I think so." Atkins followed his lead.

Seeing Middlestead's approach, the redhead pushed her lover away far enough to get out of the chair.

His friends blocking the way, the dark man stopped and glared at the women. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, pointing at his sister.

Sonny stood up and took a step forward. "I skipped class. Jordan and I have an errand to run after rehearsal," she said, peering regally down her nose.

"Yeah, I'll just bet," he responded acidly. "You gonna bed all her little dyke friends, too?" Even as the words left his lips, a flash of pain crossed his eyes and Middlestead wished for them back. This isn't how it's supposed to go!

The superior air vanished as the teenager stared at her brother in abject shock. He's never spoken to me like that!

Silence filled the room as the words faded, irretrievable.

Jordan could feel a pain in her chest. She came around her lover, facing her, a hand on one shoulder and the other reaching up to caress a cheek. Their eyes met and she mentally questioned, Are you going to be alright?

The teenager's pale eyes stung with unshed tears and she nodded, biting her lower lip.

Assured that Sonny was okay for the moment, Jordan turned to face Middlestead. Emerald eyes pierced him and her presence seemed to grow and fill the room as she bristled. In two strides, she was standing in front of her bandmates. With a quick glance, Atkins and Hampton stepped aside.

For some weird reason, the drummer felt like a bug under a microscope as the smaller woman studied him. A flash of a large encampment, leather armor, a woman on a throne examining him with cold, calculating eyes. And then it was gone and he was in the warehouse once again.

"Your problem isn't with Sonny, it's with me. At least be man enough to admit it."

Dark blue eyes flashed and Middlestead growled. "Got that right, bitch!" he agreed. "You took advantage of my sister. If it were up to me, you'd be dead already."

"Tom!" Sonny interrupted. "That's not what happened!" She was cut off by a sharp glance tossed over her lover's shoulder.

Returning her attention to the man before her, Jordan nodded. "You're right. I did."

There was an immediate hubbub of murmurings, drowned out by Sonny's plaintive denial. "No, Jordan...."

"Yes, Sonny," the redhead insisted in a firm voice, her eyes never leaving Middlestead's. "I could have stopped. I had the choice."

Hearing his suspicions confirmed, the drummer seemed to deflate. Somehow, he thought it would be more difficult to get the guitarist to admit it. Now that she had, he was at a loss of what to do next.

Jordan scrutinized him a bit longer, mind racing. "You think I'm going to treat her like the others," she stated.

Middlestead's eyes hardened again, but he didn't answer.

"I don't think that's possible," the redhead continued with a slight smile. Turning, she regarded the teenager, her demeanor inviting everyone in the room to have a look, as well. "She's not like them. Not by a long shot." Her smile widened at the blush she detected beneath the tan.

The drummer looked at his sister, not seeing a gangly youngster anymore. She was a beautiful young woman with the thoughts and feelings of an adult. Mentally comparing her to the women Jordan usually bedded, he recognized the very basic difference. She loves Jordan....

The guitarist turned back to Middlestead, her smile fading to sternness. "Shit happened, Tom. Deal with it." She leaned forward, her voice dropping low enough that only he could hear. "And if you ever hurt her again, you're a dead man."

Middlestead pulled back, a little surprised at her vehemence. He blinked down at her small frame, having no doubt that his longer reach and fifty pound advantage would do him no good in a head to head with her. He nodded mutely.

"Go apologize to her."

He nodded again and stepped past Jordan, a small part of himself wondering, When the hell did I start taking orders from her?

Hampton breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, glad that's over."

The woman seemed to dwindle to her normal size. "Me, too." She blew out a breath and ran hands through her redgold hair.

"You know, I'm honor bound to kill you now," Atkins said, only half in jest.

Jordan nodded with a tight grin. "Yeah. I know."

He shook his head, long brown hair swaying. "Hell, girlfriend! You lasted for longer than I woulda, and that's a fact!" He clapped her on the shoulder.

With a rueful grin, she said, "That's because women have more staying power."

The bald man rolled his eyes, shaking his head at the sexual innuendo. "I'm gone," he said, hands raised in surrender. He turned towards the stage. "Okay, people! Let's get this mess cleaned up and some music played!"

Jordan turned back to the siblings as the other two Warlords headed for the stage.

"I just don't want to see you get hurt," Middlestead was saying.

"I know, Tom," Sonny responded with a sweet smile, a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "But, if I get hurt, it's my choice. Do you understand?"

He nodded reluctantly.

The redhead watched them, her grim thoughts returning. Oh, you'll get hurt, alright, little girl. You shouldn't play with fire.

Aug 28, 2001

I am so drained. This entire day has been a roller coaster ride.

I was right.... Waking up with Jordan was wonderful, sweet, sexy. I could get used to this!

And she's so wise! She was able to get Tom over being mad at us without resorting to violence! I really expected him to fly off the handle and smack her. Good thing he didn't, because then I'd have to hurt him myself.

It was hard, though. Quite a few nasty things were said.... I still think that if I were bedding Lando, Tom would accept it much faster and with better grace. He's raised me from eleven years old - that's gotta put some pressure on a person. Nobody would want their kids or siblings to go through the crap that gays and lesbians do.

I don't know where the boldness came from today, but I marched right into the warehouse and kissed Jordan in front of God and everybody! So, everybody knows now. I still don't know what all this is going to mean for our... mu future.... Jordan and I haven't discussed it. Don't know that we will anytime soon, either. I think she's afraid to say anything because she might not be able to hold up her end of any commitment.

And, if she did make a commitment to me, I don't know that I could believe in it. Not that I would expect her to outright cheat on me, or anything.... But, I know how she is - I can't imagine that she'd be able to keep a promise like that. At least, not right now. Maybe in the future....

We went to a friend of hers. I've now got an ID that says I'm 22. Jordan said that with a little bit of makeup, I could probably pass fairly easily. And I did! I was able to get into the Satyricon tonight and watch Warlord! (Yet another reason Tom wasn't happy tonight....) I love watching them play! And Jordan ignored all the women vying for her attention, spending her breaks with me! That felt really good....

Excuse me while I yawn! I've gotta get some sleep!

Sonny backed through the glass door and into the lobby, arms laden. She carried her pack on her back, a camera case slung over her shoulder and an armful of McDonald's bags. She grinned at the receptionist. "Hi! They in number three again today?" she asked.

The older woman looked up from her paperwork, a stylized logo of a horse gleaming starkly white against a deep blue background behind her. She smiled and nodded. "Yes, they are. How are you today?"

"Great!" The teenager propped a bag on the corner of the woman's desk and fished out a cup of coffee from it. "Here ya go. Thought you could use the extra caffeine dealing wih those yahoos." A handful of sugar and creamer packets were sprinkled on the desktop.

Surprised, the woman thanked her as she took the steaming styrofoam cup.

"No problem!" Sonny repositioned the bags in her arms with a smile and a wink. To one side of the reception desk were a pair of wooden double doors and she approached them. The secretary jumped up to help her through and then the dark woman was alone in a hallway. She went in search of Warlord.

The technician closest to the door heard a rattling at the knob. He frowned a bit, keeping his aural attention on the guitar strains as he rolled his chair over a couple of feet and opened it.

"Thanks," Sonny breathed in relief and rolled her eyes. She made her way into the recording booth, hearing the door click softly shut behind her.

The wall to her left held shelves of recording equipment, standing waist high. Above was the stylized logo on a dark blue wall. On the wall across from the door was a small table and chair. It was here that Sonny settled her packages. To her right were several sound boards, currently manned by two technicians and the producer. Glass filled the rest of the area in front of them, a picture window looking into another room. Music filled the room and the three men conferred back and forth as they adjusted switches and mixed the sound.

Sonny removed her camera bag and backpack, rotating her shoulders in relief at the loss of the burden. Settling down in the chair, she finally afforded herself a view of the other room. As usual, the first sight of her lover caused an almost physical jolt within her.

Jordan and Atkins were laying down the guitar tracks on a song. Both their eyes were closed as they flowed with the music in their headphones. The other two bandmembers were watching from their places, their own headphones on, as well. The woman's hair was pulled back out of her eyes in a ponytail. She wandered the realms of inner darkness, interpreting what she saw into sound. Her tattoo seemed to flash ominously in the flourescent lighting overhead.

And then she and the tall man beside her finished the song with a flourish. There was dead silence for a few seconds before a tech flipped a couple of switches and nodded. The producer, an older man with long, grey hair, leaned in with a smile and said, "That's a wrap, folks. Sounds great!"

"Break time?" Sonny asked.

The producer glanced over at her. She held up a Big Mac container and waggled her eyebrows with a grin. Smiling in response, he said, "Sure." Turning back to the microphone, "Half hour break, kids. Looks like dinner's here."

There was hooting and hollering in the studio proper at this announcement. The band began setting things down and turning of equipment.

Sonny handed the sandwich to the older man and a largish bag to the nearest technician. "Taco Time tomorrow, guys," she informed them. "Lemme know what you want." And then she picked up the two other large bags and left the room.

Atkins met her at the door, almost running over the teenager in his haste to get out of the room. She heard him mutter something about a "smoke" as he disappeared down the hall. She pushed into the room and headed for the unused piano to set her items down.

"Man, am I glad to see you!" her brother exclaimed as he approached. "My stomach's been making so much noise, I'm surprised it hasn't messed up the recording!" He draped an arm companionably across her shoulder.

A tinny voice came over the speakers. "It did," one of the techs acknowledged. "But it sounded good so we kept it."

There was laughter as Sonny set out the fast food, holding onto the items for herself and the redhead.

Jordan had taken a few seconds to gather herself after the song. She had heard the producer accept it and then a voice in the background. The guitarist couldn't make out the words, but she knew who it was.

Torturing herself, her eyes opened but she refused to look into the control booth. As she powered down her instrument and shut things down, a dinner break was called and she could hear Sonny enter the room. Jordan fiddled with her guitar as she reflected.

Months before, while they had been on tour, she had found herself in such close proximity to Sonny, she couldn't even think. It was not something she enjoyed. The loss of personal control when in the teenager's presence got on her nerves. So much so that she had done everything to keep away from her. The nights were filled with haunting dreams and the days with irrational feelings coursing through her.

Once the tour was over, things returned to normal. Well, almost normal. The dark young woman still invoked these weird emotions in her presence. But, at least Jordan didn't have to be present so much anymore. She rarely just 'hung out' with Sonny - unless she had a woman on her arm to take out her libidinous reactions on.

Three weeks ago, that had all changed.

A part of Jordan was damned glad she'd finally gotten to bed the teenager. It'd been a part of her masturbatory fantasies for months. She'd hoped that by achieving the fantasy, the apparent depth of feeling she had for Sonny would mellow out. It'd happened before when she'd finally bagged someone who'd been unattainable for a long period of time. Given a couple of days, fucking like bunnies, the infatuation faded. Real life intruded. The woman was then left on the side of the fast track Jordan travelled.

The guitarist was unprepared for what happened this time. The longer she was involved with the dark haired beauty, the stronger the attraction became.

It was terrifying.

"Hey, sexy," a low voice insinuated itself into her thoughts.

Jordan set her guitar in its stand and turned to finally regard her lover, eyes sweeping up the long frame.

Sonny was still in her work uniform, khaki shorts and short sleeved shirt. Sturdy walking shoes were on her feet and the shirt was unbuttoned to where it disappeared beneath her belt, revealing a white tank top beneath. Her dark hair was pulled back at the temples, exposing a long, graceful neck.

The slow burn of lust sparked deep in Jordan's belly.

The younger woman settled the food and drink containers on a folding chair she'd scooted over. She straightened and stepped forward with a smile. "I got you a Crispy Chicken," she said.

Jordan stepped into the teenager's space, not touching. She let her eyes roam the tall body before her, inhaling deeply as she leaned close. "I'm hungry," she rumbled before nibbling the inviting flesh at the edge of a khaki collar.

Shivering, Sonny sighed and closed her eyes, knowing the redhead didn't mean food. "Now?" she asked, half in chagrin and half hopeful.

The guitarist closed the fractional distance between them, pressing her body against the taller woman. "Now," she confirmed.

Sonny blushed in embarrassment, imagining all eyes on the two of them. She swallowed nervously.

Sensing the teenager's hesitation, Jordan pulled back a bit to look into sky blue. "Unless you'd rather not...?" she offered in a low voice. Schyeah, right! Like you're gonna let a little thing like her modesty stop you!

As a moth to flame, Sonny nodded in answer, the excitement overriding her need to keep things low key.

That was easy, Jordan mused as she took the dark woman by the hand and led her out of the studio. Wonder what else I can get away with?

The rest of the studio inhabitants watched them go. The techs in the control booth were openly gaping. Hampton surveyed the drummer, checking his response. Middlestead was a little grim, but he continued to eat his hamburger.

The teenager allowed herself to be led towards the women's room. Sometimes this was the way things were with Jordan. The redhead would get a wild hair and Sonny would find herself being ravished in all sorts of places. It was exciting and dangerous and the dark young woman enjoyed it immensely.

Which was her reason for being embarrassed. Sonny had been raised in a house that frowned on blatant displays of sexuality. Jordan's 'free spirit', as she called it, had fascinated her from the very first. For some reason, it had never occurred to Sonny that by virtue of being Jordan's sexual partner, she'd be treated in much the same way as all the other women she'd seen. Not that it wasn't welcome, just unexpected.

The two women entered the bathroom, a single little room with a toilet and sink. Jordan led the way, tugging the teenager behind her. As Sonny got past the door, the redhead pushed it closed, and then trapped her lover against it until it was completely shut. She hit the lock as she pressed firmly against the dark woman, pinning her to the cool wood.

Mere seconds swept past and Sonny's tank top had been pushed up to her chin, her bra following close behind. Jordan attacked a nipple with voracious intent, teeth biting down, hands roaming the writhing body, a strong thigh clamped against the teenager's center.

The dark woman groaned at the sudden infiltration, moving against her lover. It was always this way with Jordan - a sultry look followed by a passionate strike that left her breathless and wanting more.

Jordan transferred to the other breast, treating it in the same manner as she rubbed against the taller woman's thigh. There wasn't going to be much time for more, but the redhead had to take the edge off her ravenous sexual appetite or go insane.

A hand buried in redgold, Sonny arched into the eager mouth. Her right hand convulsively grasped the demon-eyed tattoo. The teenager's center throbbed in time with their movement and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Hands fumbled at her shorts, opening them, delving inside.

The guitarist was able to reach her goal, feeling warm wetness on her fingers. But the angle wasn't right for anything further. She growled in frustration. Releasing the dark woman's breast, she pulled back and grasped the flared hips. With a quick movement, she spun Sonny around and pressed back up against her from behind.

The younger woman found herself pushed against wood, it's gentle chill against her cheek and breasts. Again hands slid netherwards and she gasped and moved at the contact.

Atkins was walking down the hall towards the studio and food, nerves relieved now that he'd had his nicotine fix. As he passed the restrooms, he heard a slight thump against the door.

With a frown, the tall man stepped closer to listen. The sounds of apparent movement, heavy breathing and soft moans reached his ears. He grinned a little and shook his head, resuming his walk.

"You are so hot," Jordan grated. Her hand was buried in the teenager's warmth and she humped the firm derriere that was available. Her other hand had snaked up to massage a breast, hardwood brushing against her knuckles. "You drive me crazy with need."

Sonny let the words wash over her, exciting her, drawing her closer to the edge.

"All I can think of doing when you're near is fucking you." There was an answering moan. "Like now," Jordan whispered.

The woman against the door redoubled her efforts, the flesh beneath her lover's hands reaching the pinnacle. And then she came, almost explosively. She could feel the shorter woman thrusting harder and harder against her rear until she climaxed as well with a deep growl.

They stood there, holding each other up for several minutes, catching their breath.

Jordan's forehead was leaning between the dark woman's shoulder blades. She shook her head slowly. "What you do to me, woman," she murmured, not altogether happy.

Sonny smiled in contentment.

Atkins entered the studio and made a beeline for the piano. "Looks like they're at it again," he announced, scooping up a container of French fries.

"Kinda figured," the drummer said in a low voice. "I mean, when aren't they?" He sighed deeply, wishing things were different. I'm not cut out for this parental shit, he thought. Knew that when Mom and Dad died. But Hampton's older sister, fresh out of law school, took up his banner and won him custody of an eleven year old girl. I just hope things work out for her.

Sep 14, 2001

Warlord's almost finished with the CD. I've heard part of it.... Of course, it sounds great! Mike Hoffman, the producer, says that things are going along smoothly and it's been a snap working with the band.

I was working on my photo portfolio while they were recording. Mike saw all my pictures - not just the artsy fartsy ones, but the ones I have of the band. He's going to look into what White Horse has scheduled for a CD cover. Maybe my photos will be added! Cool!!

The band's playing at Satyricon this weekend. It's an early gig and they should be finished around ten p.m.. Jordan's going to take me dancing! I've never been in a gay bar before. It should prove to be interesting! I can't wait!

Things are still a little strained between Jordan and Tom. I can't blame him.... He's been raising me since I was a kid. It's gotta be tough. I'm just glad that he's not being a jerk about the whole thing. He's just being protective of his little sis.

I've seriously been considering getting a tattoo or something. I'm not sure I want to pierce my nipples or anything, though Jordan's suggested it. She says that it increases the sensations in them.... But, jeez, it musta hurt! She says that it did, but not for a long time. I dunno.... Still gives me the shivers, just thinking about it!

Roads to Madness
excerpt © Queensryche

Most of this is memory now.
I've gone too far to turn back now.
I'm not quite what I thought I was but
Then again I'm maybe more.

For now I'm standing here -
I'm awaiting this grand transition.
The future is but past forgotten
On the road to madness.

Time's measure rusts as it crawls.
I see its face in the looking glass - stop!
This screaming laughter hides the pain of its reality.
Black, the door was locked. I opened -
And now I've paid that price ten-fold over.
Knowledge - was it worth such torment, oh,
To see the far side of shadow.

Oh, I think they've come to take me.
I hear the voice, but there's no-one to see.
I can't scream, too late, it's time.

Chapter VI: Popularity

Walk in the Shadows
© Queensryche

What? You say you're through with me,
I'm not through with you.
We've had what others might call love.
You say it's over now.
What's done, what's through?
You can't stay away.
You need me, I need you.

When the fire starts the pain's too much
For your mind.
You need attention. What's good is only mine.
I can cure the hunger that burns in your heart.
Just come to me,
I'll take you home.

Chorus: We'll walk in the shadows,
By day we'll live in a dream.
We'll walk in the shadows.

You say you don't feel safe alone tonight
Cause you feel the pressure building in your head.
Our secret's safe for one more night,
But when the morning comes remember,
I'll be with you.

Chorus

One day you'll be with me,
If only you believe.

"Mitochondria," the Hispanic man across from her stated, his book held across his chest.

"Small granular bodies found in the cytoplasm of the cell," Sonny responded. The woman next to her scribbled furiously in her notebook.

Reynalto turned to the other woman at their table. "Mitosis."

Hazel eyes rolled and she nervously tucked short brown hair behind her ears. "Oh... man! I'm gonna flunk this final, I just know it!"

The man sighed and reached forward to snag a French fry. "You will with that kind of attitude," he predicted, readjusting his wire frames as he glanced back into his biology text.

"How do you do it?" the woman asked her dark companion. "How do you remember all those technical terms and stuff?"

Sonny shrugged and finished her carton of milk. "I dunno. I've just always been good with tests." She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. "Have you ever thought of taking one of the study skills classes, Miranda?"

The woman shook her head. "You think I should?"

Shrugging, the teenager answered, "It couldn't hurt."

As the trio took a break from their studies, another young man approached. He dropped a heavy shoulder bag on the only empty chair. "Sorry, I'm late," he apologized, grabbing another chair from a nearby table for himself. "Had to finish that term paper for Writers Comp." He straddled the folding chair and rested his elbows on the back.

"S'okay, Steve," Sonny said. "It looks like we're taking a little breather."

"Frigid!" Steve said. "In that case...." He pulled a compact stereo and a CD case out of his bag. "I just picked this up before class today. I've been wanting to hear it."

As the new arrival set up the music, Sonny's brow furrowed. She picked up the now empty case and studied the familiar cover. "Hey," she said with a grin, "that's my brother's band!"

"Warlord?!" Steve asked. "Rock on! They're hellacious!"

"No way," the other man scoffed. "Your brother isn't in Warlord."

"Yes, he is. He's the drummer. Tom Middlestead." The dark teenager handed the jewel case over to her friend. "Check the credits."

The young man adjusted his glasses again as he scooped up the case and pulled out the inner front cover. Meanwhile, Steve had set up his player and began the disc, strains of a guitar swelling in the immediate area of the college cafeteria. Hampton's voice began singing.

"*As you woke up this morning
and opened up your eyes,
did you notice the tear-stains
lining your face were mine?"

"Wow, he's good," Miranda commented, eyes wide.

"They're kickass," Steve agreed. "My friend got it last week - that's where I heard 'em." Turning to Sonny, he asked, "Think you can get me autographs?"

The teenager almost choked on her sandwich. When she was able to speak, she exclaimed with amazement, "Autographs!?"

Steve shrugged. "Yeah. If these guys do well, it'll be worth some money, ya know?"

"Hey," the other man interrupted. "It says here that photo credits go to Sharon Middlestead." He looked at the teenager across from him. "Who's that? A sister?"

Sonny blushed. "Me. It's my real name."

"Sharon?" the woman beside her blinked.

Pale eyes rolled. "Yeah. My nickname is Sonny. You know, the first and last two letters of Sharon." Damn! I wish I'd have caught that!

"How much did they pay you for the photos?" Steve asked.

"Two hundred and fifty dollars."

Reynalto looked sour. "Well, that ain't much."

"No," Sonny agreed. "It isn't. But, the band's not really big, yet. As they get more popular, my pictures will sell for more."

"How about an autographed picture?" Steve asked.

The dark woman chuckled. "Okay! I'll see what I can do!"

"Cool!"

"Now, can we get back to work? We've got a test on this in two hours."

With good natured grumbling, the group returned to their studies.

Middlestead looked up from the music magazine that he was reading when the front door opened. His sister stepped in, dropping her pack and the door with a sigh.

"How'd it go?" he asked.

Sonny nodded her dark head speculatively. "Not bad." She tossed herself onto the couch. "Had a little trouble with cell separation, but that's about it."

"And that was your last one?" Middlestead set the magazine down on the coffee table, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Last one," the teenager confirmed with a grin. "No more headaches for two weeks."

"Great."

The siblings sat in silent contemplation.

Suddenly, Sonny sat up with a broad smile. "Hey, can I get the band to autograph a picture for me?"

"What?" The dark man frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"An autographed pic! Some guy at school wanted to know if he could have one."

"You're shittin' me, right?" Middlestead asked with a grin and a raised eyebrow.

The teenager shook her head with a smug look. "Nope. He bought your CD and we were playing it while we studied."

"Huh." The drummer contemplated the news, a mixture of suspicion and joy flowing through him. "Well, I don't see why not," he finally allowed. "I'm sure the other's will go for it."

"Great!"

There was silence again. Middlestead was shaking his head slightly in wonder. His sibling sat back and propped her feet up on the edge of the coffee table.

"Have you seen Jordan, yet?" Sonny asked.

Middlestead shook his head no. "Not since last night. I think she's still in bed."

The dark woman nodded. "You guys play at La Luna tonight, right?"

"Yep."

"Cool." She put her feet down on the floor and sat up. "I'm gonna go take a shower. I'll wake Jordan after that if she's not up."

The dark man furtively scanned his sister. She appeared happy with her choices in life. He'd noticed, however, that the longer she and Jordan continued seeing each other, the guitarist began flirting more and more with other women. Middlestead wasn't sure, but he thought Sonny was aware of it - the redhead didn't blatantly do it in front of her, though.

He blew out a breath and leaned back in his armchair. With feigned nonchalance, he asked, "So, how's things going between you and Jordan?"

Sonny stopped her attempt to rise and peered at her brother.

Her face was closed to the drummer and it wrenched something deep inside. "Look, Jordan and I got along just fine before..." and he waved vaguely, "this. I'm just concerned for you, you know that."

The teenager considered his comment, nodding in acknowledgement. Seeming to come to some sort of decision with herself, she offered, "Things are okay."

Dark blue eyes regarded her, a little sadly. "Only okay?"

Sonny thought about a response. I don't want to hurt him. But, I am by not talking to him. She sighed and searched her mind for an answer. "Yeah. Okay. It's not like we're a couple or anything." Deciding to take the bull by the horns, she continued, "Frankly, I'm surprised I haven't lost her interest, yet. It has been over six months."

Middlestead nodded. "True. I'm surprised, too. It's not a Jordan thing to do." He examined his sibling carefully. "So, what happens if she does?"

Sonny gave a sharp laugh. "Don't you mean when?" Her derisive humor vanished and she shrugged her shoulders. "Simple. I'll deal with it."

The man's face became grim. You, of all people, don't deserve this, sis.

Shaking off the maudlin mood that was developing, the dark woman smiled and stood up. "I'll be okay, Tom. I'm a big girl now."

Middlestead put on a false smile. "I know, kid. You're a tough bitch."

"Yep. That's me!" Sonny scooped up her backpack and headed for the stairs. "See you in a few."

The scowl returned to the drummer's face once she was gone.

Sonny sat at the bar with Foley. Nearby, the two women that had come in with Atkins tittered and giggled together. As usual, the dark young woman's attention was entirely focused on the stage.

Her lover was onstage with the band, her guitar wailing out a melody. A fine sheen of sweat covered her body, her only clothing being boots, shorts and a flimsy black tank top. She and Atkins were leaning against each other, back to back, her head barely coming to his shoulders as they slammed out the song's finale.

It was particularly crowded in the establishment, an indicator of Warlord's level of popularity. The floor in front of the stage was hopping in beat with the music, a mass of humanity that seemed to have no beginning and no ending.

"Hey, can I buy you a beer?"

Sonny blinked and glanced to her right.

A fairly good looking young man smiled warmly at her. When she didn't respond, his grin widened and he waggled his Heineken bottle. "A beer?"

The teenager gave him a slight smile, shaking her head. "No, thanks." She returned her attention to the stage where the band appeared to be preparing for a break.

Sensing her apparent fascination with the people onstage, the man leaned forward. "Which one are you watching?"

Sonny chuckled a little, tossing a rolled eye at Foley. "The guitarist," she answered.

He nodded sagely. "Ya know, I know those guys.... I could maybe introduce you."

Foley chortled as the dark woman raised an eyebrow.

"Can you?" Sonny asked.

"Oh, yeah!" the man bragged. "Me and Joe go way back."

"Joe...?"

"Joe Prescott," he elucidated, gesturing towards Atkins.

Grinning, the teenager said, "Actually, I was interested in the other guitarist."

The man frowned, trying to make the connection. "You mean Hank?" he finally asked, looking at the shorter man.

Sonny snickered despite herself, feeling the waves of laughter from the woman on the stool beside her. "No, not 'Hank'. The redhead's more my... type."

As the Romeo tried to fathom this statement, the band clambered off the stage for a break. When Hampton arrived at the bar, he gave his blonde girlfriend a hug.

"Hey, Hank."

The bassist looked into her laughing eyes. "What? Who's Hank?"

Romeo became a little flustered. But, before he could extricate himself from a potentially sticky situation, Jordan showed up.

She sidled up to the pair, snaking an arm about the seated woman's waist. She eyeballed the blushing man. "He bothering you?" Jordan asked, implicit menace in her voice.

Romeo opened his mouth but Sonny cut in. "He was offering to buy the beer." She grinned angelically at the man, who was now sputtering .

A redgold eyebrow raised and Jordan appeared impressed, her threatening demeanor fading away. "Thanks!" She pounded on the wooden counter to gain the attention of one of the bartenders. "Hey! One round of drinks! On him!" she pointed at the man.

The man good naturedly paid the tab, especially when he found Atkins and Middlestead behind him. And then he melted back into the crowd.

Sonny had a tough time holding her laughter. "That was good," she giggled as he disappeared.

Jordan took a drink from her free beer. "Yeah, it was. Always good to have fans." She grinned in sardonic response to the dark woman's chuckle. The redhead felt arms wrap around her waist, drawing her into an embrace, long legs straddling her. The smaller woman relaxed into it.

Sonny sighed and enjoyed it while she could. Sometimes her lover didn't allow this closeness when in public venues. Her larger than life stage presence slopped over into real life and the redhead became all macho and posturing, preferring to be the one to initiate contact.

Nuzzling the long neck, inhaling the scent of roses, Jordan murmured, "Was he bothering you? I can still go break his legs." She grinned as she felt the dark woman tremble in laughter.

"No. No need to break his legs."

The group of people remained on break for about fifteen minutes. As Jordan drained her beer bottle, the bassist clapped her on the shoulder. "Time to get back to work," he announced.

The redhead nodded, amidst the good humored grumbling, and placed her bottle on the counter. She leaned into Sonny for a quick kiss. "See you in a bit, sexy."

"Okay. Give 'em hell," the teenager smiled, watching her lover lead the way back to the stage.

Halfway through the crowd, Jordan nearly ran over a woman who turned abruptly into her path. The guitarist reached out and grabbed her by the arms to keep them both upright. "You okay?"

"I am now," the woman purred with a broad smile. Her grey eyes ran illicitly over the smaller woman. "You are a killer guitarist."

A redgold eyebrow raised, recognizing the speculative look. "Thanks," she answered with a crooked grin. Play the game, Horny Jordie!

The woman leaned forward without warning and captured Jordan's lips in a rough kiss.

Having spent years leisurely sampling the wares of the many women along her path, the redhead responded. She was allowed entry and their tongues explored each other, her hands gripping the woman's arms firmly. Gotta get back to work. The guitarist backed out of the kiss in increments.

As the kiss broke off, the woman said in a low voice, "I hear you're killer in bed, too."

Jordan smirked. "Shouldn't believe everything you hear, babe." She resumed her trek to the stage. By the time she arrived, she was acutely aware of her bandmates' eyes on her.

Atkins clambered up beside her. "What the hell was that?" he demanded, retrieving his guitar.

"What?" Jordan settled her own guitar's strap on her shoulder. "It was a girl, lando.... Ain't you seen one before?" She rolled emerald eyes at him in disgust. "Shit, man, it's not like I'm married! Or a nun!"

Atkins pursed his lips in slight disapproval. The bassist set his instrument up, acting as if nothing had happened.

Middlestead was the last to the stage. He had seen the liplock and he was definitely not happy about it. A quick glance back at his sister had verified that she'd seen it, as well, her face pale and Foley reaching to take her hand. He glared daggers at the redhead, wanting to say something - Anything! - but she wouldn't look at him.

I didn't do a damned thing wrong, Jordan growled at herself, adjusting the guitar. Fuck somebody for a few weeks and suddenly you're inseparable, a voice complained. Another piped up as she glanced across the sea of faces to see a pale, dark haired teenager at the bar. Horny Jordie strikes again!

Sonny's stomach had dropped out from within her when the woman had kissed Jordan. The fact that the redhead hadn't initiated the intimacy was noted. But, also the fact that she hadn't really stopped it, either.

It was bound to happen sooner or later, she thought, the pain in her chest seeming to deafen her. Sonny glanced over at Foley, seeing the sympathetic eyes and feeling a hand take hers. The nausea passed and numbness set in.

The band began their next set and the redhead's eyes met hers from across the room. It saddened the dark woman that only the mask was shown to her. Does she know? Does she care?

The band played for another forty-five minute set, the crowd filling the area before the stage with a hyper energy. Atkins did his usual hot-dogging - leaping about and careening from one side of the stage to the other. The bassist and Jordan played with a more sedate demeanor, the redhead giving off the aura of the stern and serious musician.

Middlestead pounded on his drums with a bit more force than usual. He'd learned his lesson months ago and didn't attack his kit with quite enough force to break them. No, I'd rather break someone else, he scowled, baleful eyes following his sister's lover.

The bitch is going to two-time my sister, I just know it! It's only a matter of time. And there was nothing he could do. The feelings of helplessness were the absolute worst. The drummer hadn't felt like this since just after his parents had died.

The look of heartbreak on Sonny's face.... Middlestead growled, banging his cymbals with a little extra strength. And Jordan had completely ignored him since the set had started, not even glancing his way for tempo cues. She knows she's gonna do it, too. And that thought put his anger on whole different level of fury.

Deep inside, however, there was a hope. A hope that maybe Sonny's emotional suffering wouldn't be in vain. Hope that she'd let go of this path, this woman and find someone that would at least take care of her and love her. Hope that Jordan would leave his sister alone and go fuck her little sluts instead. And buried beneath all those was a secret, dark hope that he refused to acknowledge within himself - hope that this was just something Sonny was experimenting with and she would come to her senses and find a nice young man to be with.

Warlord finished up with a flourish, basking in the applause of the audience. Hampton, who'd been singing the lyrics to their last song, spoke into his microphone, "Thanks, folks! And have a good night!"

The bar had put out the last call about half an hour ago. The band was finished. And so, the people on the floor began making their slow way out of the establishment, finishing up their drinks, gathering up jackets and scarves. A few approached the stage to give their personal thanks for a great time and were met with gracious smiles as Warlord began dismantling their equipment.

It wasn't long before most of the people had left. The band was on stage, their voices echoing in the suddenly empty room as they packed up their gear. A couple of the diehard fans/friends were helping Middlestead out with the drum kit.

At the bar, Foley and Sonny sat with Atkins' dates, watching. The dark woman's face was worried as she studied a small cluster of groupies that hadn't left. One of them was the woman that had kissed Jordan. Behind her, the three bartenders were washing glasses and putting away the liquor.

"What am I gonna do, Lisa?" she asked the woman beside her, her voice hushed so as not to carry. "I haven't had to deal with this before."

Foley sighed, her lips pursed in thought. "Is she worth fighting for?"

Pale blue eyes blinked in surprise at the question. She looked to her left with a frown. "Of course she is!"

The blonde nodded. "Then I guess you'd better do something to remind her you're here." She studied the gaggle of groupies. "Give me a minute."

Sonny nodded, watching the women, as well.

Warlord finally finished putting things away and Hampton had left to get the van to the stage door. The drummer had 'accidentally' bumped into Jordan several times during the packing, each time getting a little rougher. As the subtle abuse continued, the redhead's scowl deepened. Atkins was playing it smart and steering clear of the two of them.

Finished, Jordan crossed the stage, attempting to step down and walk over to the bar. At the same time, the groupies nearby began drifting towards the stage.

Foley gauged their trajectory, grabbed Sonny by the elbow and boosted her off her stool. "Interception," she murmured, heading for the women.

Swallowing, the dark woman nodded in understanding and went with.

Before Jordan could get off the stage, however, Middlestead took the opportunity to 'bump' her once again with a shoulder, putting her off balance and causing her to stumble.

Alright! That's it! She whirled around, hands fisted at her sides. "Just what the fuck is your problem, Tom?" the redhead demanded.

Dark blue eyes narrowed. "You are my problem." He faced her fully, puffing up in unexpressed anger. "You're going to hurt my sister. You're messing her up more and more each day." He leaned even closer, his voice lowering in menace. "She thinks she loves you. And you're gonna break her heart."

Sonny, seeing the beginning of the exchange between her brother and lover, veered away from the groupies and picked up her pace. Uh oh!

Seeing her course change and the tension surrounding the stage like a cloud, Foley continued on her original path to intercept the groupies before they got to the stage and muddled things up further.

She loves me?! Jordan's tension increased at the whirlwind of emotions that the comment had stirred up. Gritting her teeth, she growled, "What of it?"

"What of it?!" the drummer yelled, his face flushing. He trembled at the effort it took to hold back from hitting her. Middlestead sputtered, his anger overcoming his ability to think and speak.

"Yeah. It's not your life. It's hers." She can't love me! Can't! She's not that stupid!

Middlestead pulled back, his fist clenched and aching to come into contact with the grim young woman before him.

"Tom! Stop it!" Sonny ordered, jumping onto the stage and getting between them. She reached up to grab his shoulders and stepped him backwards.

"Stop it? She's as much as admitted that she's going to hurt you, Sonny!" Middlestead's face was a mixture of fury and confusion. Why is she defending her!? Why can't she see!? "You need someone who can love you.... Can't you see that?"

"Jordan does love me.... In her own way," the dark woman insisted. "And if I get hurt, it's my own problem. Not yours!"

The redhead could hear the voices in her head, cackling. What the hell is there to love!? She loves me, she loves me not, she hates me, she wants me to rot. Sonny's last comments filtered through and she blinked in shock. I don't love her! No! The darkest little voice, the one that had guided her for years, piped up. Guess you'll just have to show her how wrong she is, huh, Horny Jordie?

The mask firmly settled into place, Jordan took the two steps needed to be within reach of the siblings. She reached out to touch Sonny's shoulder, gaining her attention.

The dark teenager looked over her shoulder, seeing the cool, aloofness in her lover's eyes. Her heart leapt into her throat, knowing instinctively that something wasn't right, something ominous was happening within the redhead.

"He's right, you know," Jordan confirmed with a purr. "You are going to be hurt." And to prove her point, she scooped up her jacket that had been draped across an amplifier and jumped off the stage.

Foley was still trying to talk the groupies into leaving, but the altercation on the stage had further garnered their attention. She was surprised when Jordan was suddenly there beside her.

With great purpose, the redhead thoroughly kissed the woman that had waylaid her on her way to the stage earlier in the evening. "You got someplace?" she asked, her voice husky.

The delighted woman blushed in anticipation and nodded happily. "Yes, I do."

"Let's go, then." And Jordan led her and her entourage out of the establishment.

Sonny watched in first amazement and then heartrending sorrow at the exchange. She seemed to deflate before her brother, turning away from the apologetic and sympathetic look on Foley's face. As her lover left the bar with the other woman, she stepped down from the stage and returned to the bar to get her jacket, shoulders drooping.

A gleeful feeling overtook Middlestead when he saw the guitarist kiss the groupie. Yes! Maybe now she'll listen! And then, he returned his attention to his little sister and his face fell as he realized the extent of her pain. His anger drained out of him, leaving him feeling hollow and empty.

Hampton entered through the stage entrance, wondering at the strange tableau he found awaiting him. "Where's Jordan?"

The tall guitarist sighed heavily. "Don't ask," he warned, watching the no longer volatile Middlestead return to his gear with a lost expression on his face.

Rubbing his bald head, Hampton looked to his girlfriend who approached with a concerned look on her face.

Mar 16, 2002

I've been sitting here for half an hour and I still don't know what to write.

I'm in Jordan's room. I know I probably shouldn't be here. God knows what'll happen if she brings that woman here and finds me. But I needed to be close to her. And this is as close as I can get right now.

The woman.... It hurt so much when she kissed Jordan. I know that Jordan didn't start it. But, she enjoyed it - I could tell. I don't know if I should feel jealous or not, or which one to be angry with. At least Jordan didn't pursue the matter initially. I think she would have come to me if Tom hadn't interfered.

I can't even look at Tom. I realize that he's only looking out for my best interests.... But, damn it! He's complicated things so much with his idiocy! Pushing Jordan like that! And then expecting me to just say, "Oh, sure, bro. You're right. How silly of me."

I'm not sure exactly what set Jordan off. I don't think it was him saying she would hurt me.... She told me that a year ago. I hope it wasn't anything I said....

Anyway, I couldn't even be in the same room with Tom afterwards. Max and Lisa drove me home. I brought Jordan's guitar up here and have been here ever since. I don't want to see Tom right now.

I just want to see Jordan. To tell her it's okay. To tell her that I don't have to like it, but there's nothing tying us together except having some good times.

I wish there was more than that.

Jordan lay naked in a strange bed with a strange woman wrapped around her. It wasn't anything that hadn't happened a multitude of times before. Casual sex had been her byword for so long, she couldn't even remember when it hadn't been. But, this time it was different.

This time Jordan didn't want to be there.

The woman - I don't even know her name - was soundly asleep, her head resting on the guitarist's shoulders. Her arm was around Jordan's waist and she cuddled the Warlord in her sleep.

The redhead couldn't close her eyes. Every time she did, she could see Sonny's face crumbling as she comprehended what her lover was going to do. And then she and the stranger were in the backseat of some car, making out as her friends giggled and chattered and drove them to this small, neat apartment.

Jordan sighed and craned her neck to read the bedside clock. The luminescent green numbers proclaimed it to be precisely 3:12 a.m. Even as she watched, it changed to 3:13.

I can't stay here. She looked back down at the sleeping stranger's face. With slow, methodical movements, Jordan was able to ease herself out from under the woman, wrapping her arms around a large, stuffed bear that had been tossed to the floor during their frenetic activities.

Finally free, she stood at the side of the bed and glanced around. They had stripped each other of their clothing as they made their way to the tiny bedroom. The gentle light from a single lamp in the main room caused just enough illumination to see dark shadows on the floor. Jordan followed the trail, donning her clothes in the reverse order of losing them.

At the door, the redhead shrugged into her leather jacket, her hands digging into the pockets reflexively. Smooth glass met her fingers and she pulled out a tiny vial and studied it.

Jordan weighed the pros and cons before finally shrugging her shoulders. A quick search revealed a bathroom and she entered, shutting the door and switching on the light. She checked the medicine cabinet first, pushing aside various vitamin bottles and toothpaste. Not finding what she wanted, she switched her search to the three small drawers in the vanity. The first yielded a razor blade and the third had an old handheld mirror. Bingo!

With experienced hands, Jordan poured out a small amount of white powder onto the mirror before recapping the vial and putting it back in her pocket. She used the razor to cut it and then form the powder into two thin lines. A dollar bill from her wallet was rolled up into a small tube. The redhead used this as a straw to inhale the methamphetamine into her nostrils.

Jordan's nose burned, causing tears to spring to her eyes. She used a wetted fingertip to pick up the rest of the powder on the mirror, licking it clean. The mirror and razor were then rinsed off and put away.

A quick glance in the cabinet mirror assured her that she didn't have anything on her face. Jordan ran her hands through redgold hair, already feeling the bizarre sensations of her fingers against her scalp. "Much better," she murmured to herself, sniffing a little.

In a matter of minutes, Jordan had let herself out of the woman's apartment and started walking down the street.

Fortunately, the woman had only lived about a mile from the house. Jordan was able to make it home within half an hour. Moving around the side of the house in the dark, she opened the gate leading into the backyard and the stairs to her room. Closing it quietly behind her, she stepped onto the patio, looking up at Sonny's dark windows.

Despite the euphoria of the drug in her system, Jordan didn't want to go to her room. There was too much of Sonny there now. Ain't that a laugh!? She shook her head ruefully and settled down on one of the benches. Her breath steamed in the chill March morning and she fished out her cigarettes, her heel tapping restlessly all the while.

As she smoked, she could hear a dog barking at some delivery truck in the distance. The lights went on in the house next door, the inhabitants rising to prepare for another workday. The cold air smelled clean and fresh. The temperature had dropped a bit, as was normal for the early morning, but the redhead's jacket was open and she was sweating a little.

She jerked around when she heard the screen door opening behind her and her eyes narrowed.

Middlestead stepped out of the house, zipping up his own jacket and shutting the door behind him. He approached Jordan's bench and sat on the other end. They sat in tense silence for long moments before he finally spoke. "Got a cigarette?"

Jordan blinked emerald eyes at him. "You don't smoke."

The dark man shrugged. "First time for everything." He glanced sidelong at her. "Well? Do you?"

Wordlessly, the redhead slid her pack and lighter down the bench to him. She continued to fidget as she watched him light one up and inhale deeply before breaking into dry coughs. With a raised eyebrow, she asked, "Feel better?"

Knowing she wasn't referring to the smoking, he scowled at her. "No. Do you?"

Jordan debated whether or not to be honest with him. What the hell. Whaddya got to lose, Jordie? She sighed and looked away, legs bouncing. "Not in the least."

Middlestead nodded and the tension seemed to ease between them. They smoked quietly for awhile, the only sound a car engine as the newspaper deliverer made his rounds, the only movement Jordan's fidgeting.

Perversely, the guitarist asked, "How'd Sonny take it?" She tossed aside her cigarette and lit up another one.

"Not well," was the gruff answer.

Jordan nodded in thought. "It's for the best."

The drummer chewed the inside of his mouth, his stomach acid. "I don't think so," he finally said, the words almost being dragged from within.

"What?" The redhead turned to regard him in suspicion. "This is what you wanted, wasn't it? For Sonny to be away from my 'evil' influences?" And you haven't even begun to corrupt her, ya dog!

Middlestead rolled his dark blue eyes and blew out a breath. "Yeah, yeah, it's what I wanted." He tossed the half-smoked cigarette into the nearby butt can. "But, I don't think it's what Sonny wants."

"Oooh, there's a surprise," Jordan responded sarcastically. "What gave it away? Her telling you to back off?" Dammit! Shut up! she ordered herself. Unable to sit still any longer, she rose to her feet and walked a few steps away.

Stiffening in anger, the dark man glared at Jordan's back. And then he forced himself to look at the situation, accept his culpability in it. He dropped his gaze. "Yeah, so I'm dense. No big surprise there. If she hadn't have told me to begin with, I would have never figured out you two were an item."

Jordan considered this. "I think it might have been obvious the first time I planted a big, ol' wet kiss on her lips." She shook her head and turned around to face him. "Look, Tom, you know I'm bad news. I know I'm bad news. Even Sonny's gotta know I'm bad news. Shit, she's seen the women come and go as much as anybody else."

Middlestead recalled a fifteen year old teenager on a wet October morning finally figuring out that the women that their roommate had over weren't homeless. Despite himself, he let out a dry chuckle. "No.... I don't think she knew you were as bad as all that." An amused look crossed his face. "She thought all those women were attending slumber parties when you first moved in."

There was silence for a long moment. The redhead snorted. And then chuckled. A vision of the groupies she'd hung out with doing the slumber party gig straight out of the movie 'Grease' was hilarious. Jordan's laughter was infectious and soon they were both holding their sides with tears streaming down their faces.

Eventually, their laughter died off and they were back to sitting quietly, albeit a bit more pleasantly, although Jordan still jittery.

"My apologies for being an asshole. She's all the family I've got and I don't like to see her get hurt."

Jordan shrugged. "Don't blame you. She's a good kid and deserves better."

A speculative look crossed Middlestead's eyes as he regarded her. "I don't know."

The guitarist raised a redgold eyebrow. "Look, Tom, there's one major problem here. I'm not a man." As he opened his mouth to protest, she overrode him, standing up and towering over his seated form. "No, now listen to me! I'm not saying you're prejudiced. Hell, if you were, I wouldn't be in the band, would I?"

Frowning, the dark man shook his head. "No. You wouldn't."

Jordan waved her arms and shrugged. "She's your sister. It's understandable. Even if I were a man, there would have been some friction between us over the whole mess. But, it woulda been a hell of a lot easier for you to accept."

"Do you...." Middlestead stopped and reconsidered. Deciding to forge onward, he asked, "Do you think she's gay...? Really?"

Emerald eyes lost focus as Jordan considered. She scooped up her cigarettes and dumped them in her pocket. "I don't know for sure. She's had absolutely crappy luck with young men her own age. I can't say as I've ever seen her lust after any man. Schoolgirl crushes, yes, but never anything else." Again she sat on the bench, foot tapping to the unheard beat of crank. "The men she chooses to hang out with are her friends, comrades, helpmates. I haven't seen a romantic attachment." That's 'cuz she's already attached, Jordie! To you! Pause. Would it have been different if I had stopped that first night? A tiny voice whispered, I don't know.

Middlestead was nodding to himself in solemn understanding. "I know what you're talking about. I haven't seen anything either."

Jordan snorted again. When he glanced at her, she said, "Buddy, you didn't see her throwing herself at me for the last year either." She snickered at his chagrin, imagining a blush in the dark. She stuck her hand out towards him. "Truce?"

The drummer regarded her for mere seconds before taking her hand. "Truce."

They sat for another few minutes in silence, Jordan's body in a constant state of motion, letting the last of the feud between them settle into the concrete beneath their feet.

Middlestead finally glanced at his watch. "Damn. Already nearly five in the morning. I've gotta get some sleep."

"Yeah. Me, too," Jordan lied. The two stood and regarded each other for a moment. "Night, Tom."

"Night, Jordan."

The redhead moved quickly up the wooden steps to her door. Behind her, she could hear Middlestead going back into the house and shutting the sliding door behind him. She slipped inside and closed her own door, leaning against it briefly as she scanned her room.

Her eyes needed no adjustment as a single candle was burning in the window, illuminating the space in golden hues. I didn't have that burning when I left, she frowned. Jordan stepped further into the room, shrugging off her jacket and dropping it onto the floor. And then she saw the form in her bed.

Sonny was sound asleep, breathing easy. Her long frame was wrapped around one of the redhead's pillows, hugging it close in her slumber. She was still dressed in the jeans and sweater she'd been wearing at the bar, her shoes and coat lying on the floor nearby.

Jordan moved closer to the bed, her movements stealthy. She squatted down beside it and stared at the dark woman. The drug in her system screamed at her to keep moving and her hands twitched on her knees. But the guitarist ignored it, forced it down and refused to respond. It was a torment, but nothing she didn't feel she deserved.

And so she stayed, watching her lover sleep peacefully, studying her. No matter how hard she thought, Jordan couldn't fathom what made the teenager tick. Her mind worried it like an old bone, her thoughts racing as she tortured herself by not moving, not risking awakening Sonny.

Hours later, grey light showed through the window. And still Jordan remained motionless.

"Hey, sexy," a low voice murmured into her ear.

Jordan, her sleep disturbed, growled and rolled over, pulling her pillow over her head. She heard a soft chuckle and felt the sheets shifting as someone else slid into her bed.

"Time to get a move on," Sonny said, caressing her lover to wakefulness.

She grumbled, "Don't wanna."

The redhead had finally crashed from the methamphetamine early Sunday morning. She'd barely made it in the door after their gig at the Satyricon before falling into her bed. Jordan had slept most of Sunday away, recuperating from nearly twenty-four hours of crank.

Now it was Monday. And the hands on her body were warm and inviting. The post-high depression had lifted somewhat, but her eyes still hurt and her skin seemed to crawl with itchiness.

Sonny grinned as her lover squirmed a bit, trying to burrow unsuccessfully into the bedding. She snuggled closer in response.

The dark woman had awakened early Saturday morning to find Jordan peering down at her from the side of the bed. Neither of them had mentioned the night before - it was almost as if it hadn't happened. Instead, the redhead had made gentle love to Sonny. At the time, it seemed to almost be in apology for the fiasco at La Luna.

The teenager stroked her lover's arm, feeling the tattoo against her fingers. Almost like it's trying to get out for real. At some point on Friday night, Jordan and her brother must have settled their differences. The tension and animosity had fairly disappeared on Saturday and their last gig had been one of the better ones to date. Now it was a new day and the band had an appointment with White Horse Records.

Sonny continued her subtle attack. "C'mon. You've got a meeting to go to."

There was a groan from under the pillow. "Go without me," Jordan mumbled, knowing that it wasn't an option.

"Nope." The teenager slowly pulled the pillow away, revealing tousled redgold hair and eyes that were firmly closed. "Betcha they're wanting to organize a more extensive tour for the CD."

Jordan sighed. No rest for the wicked. She cracked open one emerald eye and gazed at her tormentor. "I'm awake," she growled, rolling over onto her back.

With a suspicious look, Sonny studied her. "You sure?"

"Lemme prove it to you," the guitarist purred. She reached up and grasped the back of her lover's head, forcing her closer for a rousing good morning kiss. Fuck morning breath!

The small meeting room was crowded. Not only were the members of Warlord present, but Sonny and their lawyer were in attendance, as well. On the White Horse side were the producer, Mike Hoffman, two of their own lawyers, an executive vice president named Jonathon Allen, a publicist and a secretary taking notes.

Jordan lounged in her chair, mirror shades on to protect her still sensitive eyes from the overhead flourescents. A couple shots of Jack Daniels before leaving the house had also helped make her feel a little more human. Beside her, Sonny watched the proceedings with intense curiosity, having never been privy to the business side of the band's dealings.

The VP tossed a magazine out onto the table with a grin. "Here ya go. Warlord just debuted on Billboard at number thirty-seven."

"Thirty-seven? No shit?" Middlestead asked with wide eyes.

Allen's grin widened. "No shit," he agreed. As Hampton reached out for the magazine to have a look, he continued, "Seems that 'Face' is getting quite a lot of airplay."

"Far fucking out!" Atkins exclaimed. He leered at Jordan from across the table. "Must be my singing expertise."

"Schyeah, right," the redhead snorted. "You keep telling yourself that."

"So," the bassist interrupted, passing the magazine to Middlestead for a look. "What's that mean for us?"

"Well, frankly, we weren't expecting it," the VP said, rubbing the side of his nose. "The CD's been out for five months. A few play dates in the area and we called it good." He glanced to one side and the publicist took her cue.

"We don't know what happened," she said, with a delighted smile. "Apparently, your fans have been generating requests at various radio stations up and down the coast." She pointed at the magazine which was now in the hands of the Warlord lawyer. "Considering it debuted at thirty-seven, we think there's some room for further options."

"Which is why we called you in here," Allen finished for her.

Tamara Hampton, the band's lawyer and sister to the bassist spoke up. "My clients have already fulfilled their part of the contract they signed in September of last year. What do you have in mind?"

"A new contract," the VP stated with a smile. "Another release of the CD, maybe with a new cover. A wider distribution and a national tour of one hundred cities."

"Do you have the contract handy?"

"Certainly." Allen waved at one of his lawyers who produced the document in question and handed it to the woman.

"Why did you ask me here?" Sonny finally asked. She'd never been involved with the business aspect of Warlord before and couldn't figure out what her purpose could be in this meeting.

The producer, Mike Hoffman, smiled at her. "I asked for you. I suggested to Janet here," and he nodded to the publicist, "that we already have a wealth of information, talent and photos available for a new CD cover and perhaps some merchandising."

"Merchandising?" the dark woman nearly squeaked, her pale blue eyes wide.

Janet stepped easily into the conversation. "Yes, we'll need to consider T-shirts and such, photos for autograph sessions, a program book.... Have you ever been to a larger venue concert with a big name band?" At the teenager's nod, she continued. "Then you recall the various sales going on at that time. Merchandising brings in quite a bit of income when done properly."

Jordan frowned. "So, you want a look at her portfolio and buy her photos like you did for the last CD cover?"

The VP cut in. "Yes, that and to offer her an opportunity to do some freelance photography during the tour with Warlord."

Sonny openly gaped at the man.

Chuckling, her lover sat forward and nudged her with an elbow. "Close your mouth," she murmured. As the teenager complied with a snap, she returned her attention to the White Horse negotiators. "You have a contract for her, as well?"

"Certainly!" The second lawyer produced a document and slid it over.

The Warlord lawyer looked up from the first contract. "I'd like some time with my clients to go over these." She swiftly intercepted the one meant for Sonny. "Perhaps we could meet back here this afternoon?"

"Of course!" Allen exclaimed cheerfully. "In fact, why don't I have my secretary make a lunch reservation for you...? Say, Jake's on 10th? My treat!"

Middlestead's eyebrow rose at that and he looked meaningfully at the bassist beside him. The bald man shrugged slightly.

"That would be fine," the lawyer said with a smile. "We can meet back here around four?"

"Certainly," the VP agreed.

"Whaddya think, Tamara?" Middlestead asked the lawyer as she finally put the documents down.

She raised her eyebrows and grinned. "I think it's a pretty good contract." She took a sip of her tomato juice and blotted her lips with her napkin. "With very little editing, you've got a good thing here."

"What kind of editing?" her brother asked. He dipped a piece of bread into the garlic butter of his escargot.

"Well...." She flipped through the contract. "They've tried to gain the rights to the songs on the CD again." A pen was pulled from behind her ear and she drew a line through that section. "And full copyrights on the photos involved." Another line. "The tour looks pretty good, though I'd probably ask for some sort of compensation in the event that venues are cancelled. They don't have a clause for that."

"Sounds good," Hampton nodded. "Let's do that."

As their lawyer scribbled along the bottom of a page, the drummer asked, "What about Sonny's contract?" He looked over at his sister who was working on a salmon filet.

The lawyer swapped documents with a smile. "Actually, pretty good. Aside from the copyright crap." A line went through yet another clause. "They've nearly doubled the last amount they paid for the photography usage. They've also offered an advance to get her set up for the tour." She frowned. "Again, I would ask for a lump sum in compensation should they decide not to use any of your work during the tour. And pay your way on the tour, regardless."

Sonny nodded.

"But, when would the tour occur? Do they have any kind of indication there?" Middlestead asked with a frown.

"Well," the woman sighed. "Looks like they're aiming for an almost immediate one. They want to have a go at it somewhere towards the end of next month. You're looking at six to nine months of touring time."

The dark man looked pointedly at his sister. "What about college?"

Sonny sighed and stared off into space. "What about college?" she repeated to herself. Go to college and stay home for the next nine months? Or take a hiatus and do what I've wanted to do for over a year now - the band's first publicist....? Her eyes fell on her brother and she could feel Jordan watching from beside her. "There's hardly a choice, Tom. I go with you guys."

"Are you sure?" For so long she'd babbled about going to college and becoming a writer, Middlestead still hadn't gotten used to the course change that had occurred over a year ago. "Won't that mess up your scholarship?"

She shrugged. "Possibly. But, I've got the money in savings still. If they want it back, they can have it. I can pay for the next semester I attend with the trust fund."

He nodded solemnly. Glancing at the redhead beside Sonny, he mused, Like there was any doubt.

To the lawyer, Sonny said, "Count me in."

Apr 17, 2002

Well, tomorrow's the big day! We open for Silverchair here in Portland and then we go with them for the next 18 tour dates here on the west coast! After Silverchair, I'm not sure who they'll hook us up with.... It's gonna be cool hanging out with other bands, though. I'm really looking forward to it.

We got to see the tour buses. Wow! Totally amazing! Pretty ritzy living for a roadtrip. I can imagine why, too. All the comforts of home. We've got two of them. We'll be traveling with four drivers, a couple of security people, and the tour manager and his assistants.

The CD cover is looking mighty fine, if I do say so myself! Ha ha ha! It's been released all over the United States and has already shown great sales. It hasn't gone gold or anything, but Jonathan Allen says it looks pretty promising.

Tonight we're having a dinner party at Lamont's Place. He's closed down for the night and having it catered in celebration! I think there're about a hundred people on the guest list!

I've gotta finish packing...! And then get ready for the party...!

Crawl Away
© Tool

You crawled away from me.
Slipped away from me.
I tried to keep ahold,
but there was nothing I could say.
You slid and crept away
and there was nothing I could say.
So what you're trying to say
is you don't wanna play.
But what you want and what you need
don't mean a fuck to me.

Because I can see your back is turning.
If I could, I'd stick the knife in.
This is love.
This is my love for you.
Say you won't go.

Chapter VII: Turbulence

Face
© Sevendust

Come along with me upon a acid trip.
I'll take your mind to a terminal bliss.
You're bound and gagged,
Ahaha, motherfuckers, I laugh.
This chick that stayed with me last night,
I despise the reason she stayed the night.
I swear she screamed, she screamed so softly.

Rape

Days go by, they last so long.
She's still tied, she wants to go home.
I can't let her get away.
I promised some day she'll pray for me,
To forgive me for all I've done
"It ain't easy," that's what she said.
I swear she screamed, she screamed so softly.

Chorus: Rape me, don't make me wait.
Rape me, don't make me wait you, fucking disgrace.
I love the pain.
I love the pain.

Disgusted with myself with all the work I've done,
I can't imagine - it was so much fun.
It lasted so long, the trip went on and on and on.
And then she said, "Remember these words I say to thee."
I swear she screamed, she screamed so softly.

Chorus

Despite the air conditioning on the bus, it was still a warm and sunny June day that sparkled through the windows as the miles went by. The band was currently en route to Des Moines, Iowa for their next stopover. They were now opening for an east coast band called Manowar.

Their last concert in Kansas City had been sold out. Everyone had returned to the hotel in high spirits. Of course, it had taken quite a while for the band to unwind and get to sleep. The early morning departure had been extremely humorous for the harried hotel staff as they watched groggy and disgruntled people shuffling out to the buses in the lot.

Middlestead had finally decided to take a nap around ten in the morning. It wasn't long before his sister took his cue and wandered off to the small bed she shared with Jordan.

Sonny had removed her jean shorts and curled up under a thin sheet. Sunlight fell over her from the window, the play of light and shadow dancing across the lanky form. Tinker, who'd finally gotten her feline graces back after the initial shock of being in a moving house, was curled up nearby.

And the teenager was having the most wonderful dream.

They were back on the beach in Texas where their bus had broken down for a few hours. However, instead of the entire band and crew cavorting around in the waves, it was only she and Jordan. No one could be seen for miles around. The water was warm and a crisp blue-green.

After playing in the surf, the two trotted back to the blanket they had spread on the sand and applied suntan lotion to each other. As always when they were together, the lotion sparked a hotter fire than the sun overhead. Soon, they were both naked, their swimsuits tossed with careless regard into the warm sands.

Sonny could feel firm hands on her body, caressing, tickling. Lips hungrily claimed hers, nibbled at her lower lip. The dark woman sighed, pulling the smaller woman closer to her, burying her hands in redgold, guiding those magic lips and tongue further down.

The teenager's breasts received loving attention before Jordan moved on, licking and tonguing the lithe torso beneath her. Sonny felt like she was going to go insane with the uncharacteristically languid pace of her lover's attentions. It was both excruciating and delicious.

And then the redhead was teasing her lover's center, stroking with an expert tongue, tasting the salty sweetness. Here, in the dream, Sonny moaned aloud.

"Shhh," Jordan urged before continuing.

And so the dream went with the guitarist orally exciting the younger woman, easing her up through the thin clouds above them, the sandy beach far below.

The texture between her legs altered. Something hard was sliding in her wetness and Jordan's face was above her, gazing down with lust filled eyes. Sonny recognized the sensation and she felt a tightening in her belly mere seconds before her lover thrust into her.

The sudden sensation of being filled pulled Sonny to complete wakefulness. She groaned deep in her throat, clutching at the warm body above her.

"Shhhh," Jordan whispered again in her ear. She rotated her hips and the teenager gasped and opened pale blue eyes.

"Tom..." she whispered, licking her dry lips.

"...is asleep. And if we're quiet enough, he won't wake up," the redhead assured her. With agonizing slowness she withdrew the strap on dildo that had been buried within her lover. She could feel the pull of the piece inside of herself in response and bit back a moan.

Panting, Sonny glanced to the head of the bed, to the thin partition that separated the two of them from the rest of the bus.

Jordan reached her apex and just as slowly returned her toy to its nest. "And everybody else is playing poker," she added, her voice husky. Her hands grasped the dark woman's hips as she pushed in to the hilt. "You want me to stop?" she growled, nibbling at the tender neck.

In response, Sonny's legs wrapped firmly around the older woman's waist and she pressed into her.

Chuckling, the redhead murmured, "I'm gonna fuck you long and slow, sexy. It's gonna take forever." And she proceeded to do just that.

Several times Sonny tried to coerce her lover into speeding things up, to no avail. The guitarist remained true to her word, prolonging the sweet agony for as long as she could, leisurely sliding in the wetness between them. When the teenager began to get vocal despite herself, Jordan smothered her with ravenous kisses to keep her quiet.

Soon, they were both sweating profusely, trembling in their efforts at holding back. Jordan had pulled her lover closer to the edge of their bed and she crouched on the floor, her toes digging into the carpet for better traction. Sonny still had one hand tangled in her hair, the other having reached around front to play with a nipple ring, twisting and squeezing as she panted.

Unable to hold back any longer, the redhead picked up the pace, smoothly thrusting and rolling her hips. Her lover's heavy breathing was harsh in her ear and she could hear a whispery moan. The dildo nestled within herself increased its friction with each movement, urging her higher.

Sonny strained against her lover's hips, clutching at her with her firm legs. She was beyond thought, the toy stroking her center with strong purpose. The dark woman could feel Jordan's hands digging into the soft flesh of her hips and buttocks, a mouth passionately blazing a trail to encircle an aching nipple - her tank top long before discarded. Despite herself, she growled deep in her throat, tossing her head back. Above her, she saw blue sky through the window and passing tree branches.

The redhead could feel the tension rising in her lover, could feel herself tighten around the dildo within herself. She slid a hand down a taut, sweaty belly and began massaging Sonny's erect clit, biting down on the nipple that was still in her mouth. As the teenager cried aloud, Jordan climaxed, convulsing against her with a deep groan. In response, Sonny suddenly stilled, the sensations rolling over her as an orgasm welled up and overtook her world.

They lay in silence for a few moments, hearts slowing, the only sound being the wheels on the road beneath them.

"Now, that was a great dream," Sonny murmured with a smile. She combed her fingers through redgold hair.

Jordan chuckled. "Interrupted a dream, did I?" She swirled her hips, enjoying the gasp it illicited from beneath her.

The dark woman said breathlessly, "Oh, yeah. Either that or you started it."

"I couldn't help it," the guitarist explained. "I came in here to get something and you looked so delectable I had to have a taste." She slowly withdrew the strap on and rose to stand on her feet.

Sonny scooted back further onto the bed and lounged on one elbow, watching her lover remove the toy. "I'm glad you did," she murmured.

"Hmmm.... So am I," was the response. Jordan set the toy to one side and climbed back onto the bed. She lay on her back, gathering her lover into strong arms.

They lay together for a time, the summer sun playing across their nude bodies, cuddling. Both women were silent, each for their own reasons.

Eyes closed, Jordan relaxed into the embrace, her mind strangely at peace. The voices were silent more often than not when she was in physical contact with the dark young woman beside her. It was strange and awesome and she took what little inner stillness she could get. The only other times the voices didn't torment her were when she was drunk or high.

Sonny's silence was, in effect, based on fear. She enjoyed the physical closeness with the redhead, but that was all there was. Time and again, when she would begin the tentative foray into an intimacy that was not physical, she was rebuffed. Sometimes it would take days before her lover would come back to her, to hold her and not have a haunted look in her emerald eyes. There was so much she would have liked to say to Jordan - a world of emotions and wonder and love. But it couldn't be. Not yet, anyway, she mused, fingers mentally crossed.

The teenager traced intricate patterns on skin. "Know how long before we get there?" she finally asked.

Jordan shifted a bit as she glanced at her watch. "'Bout an hour," she murmured, returning her hand to ebony hair. "We get dropped off at a record store for a signing. Everybody else checks into the hotel and goes to set up the show."

"How long are we in town?"

"I think three days. We've got two gigs and I'm pretty sure Craig was talking about a day off before we head over to Dubuque."

Sonny nodded, knowing that the guitarist was referring to Craig Tramuto, the tour manager. "That'd be nice." She paused for a moment, chewing her lip. "Think maybe we could do something together on your day off? You know.... A picnic or something?"

Picnic!? Schyeah, right! And don't forget the little clapboard house with a white picket fence, Jordie! the derisive voice popped up out of nowhere.

Feeling the woman tense beneath her arms, the dark woman inwardly cursed. Dammit! I wish I knew what's setting her off! Rather than allow Jordan to pull away from her yet again, the teenager squeezed her in a hug. "Or maybe we'll just barricade ourselves in the hotel room with strawberries and whip cream," she suggested flippantly, appealing to her lover's libido.

That brought a lascivious chuckle and Jordan's body relaxed again. "I'm liking that," she purred. She thoroughly kissed the teenager before pulling away and rolling out of bed. Jordan slipped her shorts back on and reached for her sportsbra, her clothing of choice during summer months. She scooped up the dildos and moved towards the door.

"Wait! Where are you going?" Sonny asked, eyes flickering nervously to the toys in her lover's capable hands and then to the partition door.

Jordan grinned at the blush that was developing on the dark woman. She waved the items in the air between them. "Gotta go clean these up."

"But...!" Sonny paused and swallowed anxiously. "But... they'll see," she finally whispered. She looked pointedly at the partition.

"Sexy, they've already heard quite a bit," the guitarist laughed. "You weren't very quiet towards the end, ya know."

Sonny groaned and pulled the sheet up over her head in embarrassment. "Oh, man...." And then she could hear rummaging at her feet. Peering over the sheet, she saw Jordan grabbing a plastic baggy out of her drawer.

Turning back around, the redhead realized she was being watched. "Almost forgot what I came in here for," she grinned. She wiggled the baggy which had several black capsules in it.

"What's that?" Sonny asked, concern in her heart.

"Black Beauties. I'm not gonna be worth shit tonight without a pick-me-up." Again, Jordan kissed her lover senseless before heading for the tiny bathroom.

As the partition door opened, Sonny could hear the poker players in the other room with their raucous comments. She groaned and hid underneath the sheet again in embarrassment. "God, I hope Tom didn't wake up...."

The tour bus pulled up outside a downtown record store. Posters covered the windows with pictures of album covers and various recording stars. The two dimensional faces looking out onto the street were predominantly rock and roll.

In front of the establishment were two dozen women, ranging in age from about fourteen to their mid-thirties. As the bus slowed to a stop, they began to chatter excitedly and drift in that direction. It was plain they had been waiting for Warlord.

"This is so unreal," Hampton murmured as he eyed their fans from a tinted window.

Surprisingly, it was the tall guitarist who agreed with him. "You ain't a-kiddin'."

The bus door opened and the tour manager climbed aboard. "Okay, folks!" he called. "Let's get a move on!" Craig Tramuto was a stocky man with thick black hair that wasn't quite kinky in its curl. "I've got Beth and Ignacio running security for y'all. Sonny? You stayin' or goin', honey?" he drawled.

"I'm staying," the teenager confirmed, shouldering her camera bag.

"Great!" Tramuto exclaimed. He handed over two boxes of photographs with a box of black markers balanced on top. "If you'd be so kind as to be their gofer this afternoon...?"

"Sure, I'd be glad to." Sonny took the supplies.

Relieved of his burden, the manager rubbed his hands together. "Alright, then. There're a hundred rabid fans inside, so be careful. They seem polite enough, but you know the score." He bent over and peered out the window at the business' door. "Okay.... Looks like they're ready for ya."

And then the band was ushered out of their relative safety. Outside the bus, the two security guards took over and helped Warlord make it to the record store through the small crowd.

Sonny, the last off the bus, was stopped by the tour manager.

"We'll drop your stuff at the hotel. Tell 'em we'll send a car to pick 'em up in about two hours, okay, honey?"

She nodded confirmation and was out the door, as well. The buses pulled away as she followed in the wake of the band.

Inside, the store was cramped, the crowd of people making it feel smaller than it really was. It looked like the band had been placed at a table all the way in the back. Even as Sonny eased her way through the throng, she could hear someone over a loud speaker.

"Hey, Des Moines, look who we've got visiting us!"

There was a smattering of applause and whistles.

"It's Warlord, folks! Straight from their last gig in Kansas city!" After the next round of cheering died down, the announcer continued, "And they're here in town to put on two shows for us at Super Toad! Let's give them a big welcome!"

More applause and Sonny finally reached the table. She scooted behind it, the female security guard stepping back into place to thwart a hopeful fan. With quick precision, the teenager opened the boxes of photos as the announcer asked people to organize themselves for the signing.

The speakers began playing the band's CD and there was a steady hum of activity as fans approached, said a few things, received either a signed photo or CD or both, and moved on. While the band was busy, Sonny poured them each a glass of water from the pitchers provided. Once everything was settled, she pulled the camera out of her bag and set up to take a few pictures.

So far, the Warlord publicist had been averaging two rolls of thirty-six exposures per city. A pen and notepad was slipped into her hip pocket, her notes regarding each exposure - where it was shot, what kind of light was used, whether or not she'd done anything unusual with the exposure. Lately, Sonny'd been playing around with different types of filters. Her favorite to date was the color filter that caused everything to appear in sepia tones, like an old fashioned photograph.

Today, let's try the soft focus one, she decided as she dug into her camera bag. The filter was quickly attached, as was the flash. Sonny checked the film and stepped out from behind the table, scanning for angles.

"Man, how long you been playin' drums?" a teenaged boy asked Middlestead, handing over his newly purchased CD for an autograph.

The dark man grinned and shrugged. "All my life." He raised an eyebrow as he paused, pen to cover.

"Oh! Ummm.... Make it out to Matt."

"Sure thing, Matt." He scribbled some sort of platitude as he continued, "I was banging on pots and pans in the kitchen at a fairly early age. It was just a matter of safety for the cookware...."

The youth snorted as a fourteen year old girl at the other end of the table shyly asked Jordan for a picture. Smiling, the redhead pulled one from the top of the box sitting nearby, a shot of the four of them doing a 'pin-up' pose for Sonny.

"Can you put it, 'To Marcia, love, Jordan'?" the girl asked.

The guitarist nodded and began writing. "You bet, Marcia."

"Oh, I'm not Marcia! It's for my best friend." The teenager leaned forward with a conspiratorial air. "Her mother wouldn't even let her come down here today."

A redgold eyebrow raised. "She wouldn't, huh? How come?" Finished signing, she handed the photograph to the girl. When the kid rolled her eyes in parental exasperation, Jordan could remember the same expression from her lover at about that age. A strange nostalgia crept over her.

"She thinks you're evil or something." A pert nose wrinkled and the youth shook her head. "She says that your songs are bad and won't let Marcia even listen to your CD!"

"Really?" A spark of anger burned in emerald eyes. What a fucking bitch!

The girl nodded. "Uh huh. Pretty mangled, huh?"

"Yeah. Pretty mangled." Jordan glanced next to her to see if Hampton had heard the story.

The bald man pursed his lips and shrugged slightly. "Well, they did put a warning label on the CD," he murmured as he signed an autograph for a fan. "Some parents just don't let their kids listen to that stuff. Nothing personal."

"Whatever," she grumbled. Good thing you didn't have that problem growing up, huh, Jordie? A dry wind blew in her soul. Oh, yeah, damned good thing.

"Thanks!" the teenager grinned as she turned to get the next Warlord's signature.

As Sonny got more experience with photography, she planned her shots more often, taking less film to get decent pictures. By the time the signing was over and the owner was locking the door, she'd only used about a dozen exposures, catching three or four of the crowd and the remainder of the band as they interacted with their fans. Her expertise had increased by this point that she was confident that most of the shots would come out well. Besides, the less film she used, the lower her overhead.

"Well, that was a blast!" Atkins exclaimed, rising to his feet and stretching kinks out of his back. He picked up several pieces of scrap paper and proceeded to file them in his wallet. "I think I've got at least nine phone numbers here."

The security guard, Ignacio, clapped him on the shoulder with a wry grin. "A woman in every port, eh, Lando?"

The tall man snorted. "Only one? I don't think that'd be enough, Iggy!"

The dark teenager snickered as she moved around the table to put her camera gear away. A strong arm reached out and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her backwards. She spun around as Jordan rose to plant a long, wet kiss on her mouth.

"Hey there, sexy," she murmured.

Sonny smiled and snuggled close, holding her camera to one side. "Hey there, yourself. Have a good time?"

The shorter woman shrugged slightly. "Alright, I guess, for being an exhibit in a zoo." She pulled back and looked into pale blue eyes. Jordan seemed to be... searching for something and there was a long silence between them. As her lover's brow furrowed in puzzlement, a voice in her head screamed, What the fuck are you doing!?

Sonny frowned. There was something elusive in her lover's eyes and she couldn't quite catch it. And then the mask was in place and the redhead stepped out of the embrace. The teenager watched her swagger over to one of the counter people, asking for a restroom. As Jordan left to take a break, Sonny returned to putting her camera away, mulling over the strangeness that had just transpired.

Closing the bathroom door firmly behind her, Jordan leaned against it and closed her eyes. You're getting too close, she warned herself. You're looking for something that's not there. A whispered, But, what is it? And what if it is there? She thumped the back of her head against the door. "I don't know," was the plaintive response to an empty room.

Several minutes passed before the redhead stepped over to the sink and vigorously washed her face with cold water. Peering into the mirror, bloodshot eyes stared back. Jordan frowned and reached for the paper towels, drying her face off. Then she dug into her pocket and pulled out the baggy of pills. She dry swallowed two of them before stashing the rest away. With a sigh, she squared her shoulders and left the bathroom.

Out in the store, she found Middlestead on a ladder behind the counter, signing a section of wall. The store owner was holding the ladder for him and talking excitedly with Sonny and Hampton.

"What's going on?" Jordan asked as she sidled forward.

Sonny grinned and waved her arm at the wall behind the counter, a long expanse of white peppered with signatures in varying colors. "Mr. Thanapolis asks everyone who's popular and visits to autograph the wall here." She excitedly took her lover by the arm and urged her down a few feet. "Look! See!? He's even got Steven Tyler's signature!"

The redhead nodded solemnly, noting the autographs of the other members of Aerosmith, as well. "Not bad." Yeah? Big fuckin' deal, a voice grumbled. Who really gives a shit anyway? Jordan mentally shook the voice off. She heard her name and turned, seeing the bassist waving her over to the ladder. "Guess I'd better add my name to the wall, too, huh?" she smirked at her lover. Oh, yeah.... Horny Jordie the Superstar.

The dark teenager grinned in encouragement and nodded. The two women walked over to the ladder.

A surprise was in store for the band. Rather than the usual rental car or van that would pick them up from their publicity spots, a limousine awaited them at the back door, the driver standing attentively nearby. They were sufficiently impressed, circling the sleek, white vehicle before piling in with excitement. On the road, Middlestead and Atkins spent most of the trip standing in the sunroof, whooping and hollering at passing vehicles and pedestrians. Sonny wondered how long they would have the car and whether or not she would be able to get a few shots of the band in it.

The limo pulled smoothly into the parking area of the large nightclub, passing through a chain link fence that had four security guards. There were several fans hanging out there, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite band, calling out to Atkins who waved back. Additionally, there were three older people to one side, holding themselves away from the groupies. These were holding placards that read 'Warlord is Evil!' and 'Just Say NO to Violence Against Women!'

Once everyone was checked in with security and received their backstage passes, the group moved to the main stage area. Manowar was just finishing up their own sound check, the various speakers and equipment set to their specifications and dutifully marked. The foursome, all in long dark hair and black leather, clambered from the stage to head towards the dressing room where they were scheduled for an interview with 'Metal Edge' magazine.

The two guards with Warlord moved away, looking for the chief of security, Doug Pillsbury. Still excited from their unexpected set of wheels, the band fairly bounced onto the stage and began their own soundcheck. Middlestead's drum kit was rolled onto the stage as the other band's drums were lifted by a hoist to the ceiling.

Sonny settled down in a seat about four aisles back. She decided to forego any photographs during the sound check, preferring to hang onto the film for the potential limo shots. Instead, she pulled out her journal and pen.

A good half hour passed before the tour manager slumped down in a seat to one side and just beneath the teenager. Tramuto sighed deeply and rubbed at his face. "How'd it go at the record store?" he asked, peering up at the dark woman.

"Pretty good," Sonny reported, setting her pen inside the notebook to hold her place. "They were all quite nice. No riots or anything."

"Good, good." The stocky man idly watched the band go through the motions onstage. "What'd they think of the limo?"

The dark woman chuckled. "Loved it! Jordan perused the wetbar while Tom and Lando hung out the top and heckled people." Sonny leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Why'd we get it?"

Tramuto grinned, a glint in his eye. "You'll find out after the concert tonight," was the cryptic response. "Oh!" He removed a packet of papers from his vest pocket. "Here are yer hotel room keys."

"Thanks." Sonny stuffed their tickets into the side of her camera bag and zipped it up.

"Craig?" an older man interrupted with an apologetic grin. He poked a thumb behind him, indicating a group of newly arrived security. "The locals are here. Doug wants you to go over the warplan with him and the new meat."

Tramuto sighed and forced himself to his feet with a groan. "I'm off.... In more ways than one." A chocolate brown eyes winked at the teenager. "Have a good night, honey."

"I will. You, too, Craig."

For the millionth time, Sonny considered investing in a video camera as Warlord played for the crowded stadium. Or maybe four or five of them, she considered. She seemed to recall a video on MTV that had been shot strictly from the band's point of view as they played a concert. From publicist to video director! she chuckled, shaking her head.

The dark woman was standing to one side of the stage, in an area blocked off from the crowd on the floor. There was a wide mass of people in front of the stage 'moshing' to their hearts' content. Looking to the audience, she could see that the nightclub was almost completely sold out, with no available seating except for the nosebleed sections.

It had been an uphill roller coaster up to this point. It seemed that as time went on the venues they were asked to play were getting larger and larger, the crowds more and more excited at hearing Warlord than the band they opened for. There had been a week stopover in Burbank as the group taped a video of 'Face,' the song which had been gaining the most airplay on the radios. Their popularity had risen exponentially ever since.

Sonny's attention was brought back to the stage. Of course, that also meant the various fan interactions had also increased. Even as the teenager watched, a young woman was boosted onto the stage from the left and made a mad dash for Hampton. A burly security guard in a yellow t-shirt neatly scooped her up before impact and rushed her offstage.

The band finished up their song, the last of the set, with a flourish. The bassist thanked the crowd and Warlord trotted offstage. The houselights came up, though not as bright as they'd been before the concert had begun.

Sonny watched in amusement as the crowd went ballistic, stomping and clapping and screaming for more. As expected, her brother and his bandmates came back out, the cheering rising to a crescendo at their appearance. The dim lights went back down and a spotlight hit Atkins who had moved to stage front.

"I guess y'all wanna little more....?" he asked with a seductive grin.

A collective yell of agreement came from the audience.

The guitarist tossed his head, long brown hair moving over his shoulder as he glanced around at his mates. Once everyone appeared ready, he turned and nodded to Middlestead.

The sound of ripping cloth filled the stadium as the audience quieted down. And then the drummer began the beat, followed by Hampton's accompaniment with his bass. The guitars kicked in and Atkins stepped closer to the microphone. His smoky voice spoke out the lyrics to their hit, 'Face'.

The spectators were jumping up and down in time with the music. Sonny watched in a mixture of amazement and humor at their reactions. She frowned when she saw the banner raised from the furthest seating - 'Just Say NO to Violence Against Women!' Looking around on her level, she waved her arms and got the attention of the security chief. The teenager pointed at the banner and she saw Pillsbury nod and start pushing through the crowd, speaking seriously into his radio.

Sonny kept an eye on the banner as she listened to the now familiar lyrics. When the chorus was sung, she could hear Jordan's voice mixing with Atkins before the rest of Warlord joined in. She shivered, not liking the words of the song but realizing that the fans loved it. Hearing Jordan's voice calling out, "Rape me," wasn't pleasant. But, hey.... It probably helps her to write about this stuff. Get it out of her system in a constructive manner.

The area around the banner was converged upon by several yellow shirted security guards and the sign was pulled down, the people responsible herded towards the exits. Oblivious, the rest of the crowd continued cheering and singing along with their favorite song.

The second surprise awaited the band at the hotel. A guest service aide with a big smile met them at the door as they piled out of the limousine. She escorted the band through the lobby and to the elevators. "We've got everything set up for you. Your rooms are on the sixteenth floor, right near the elevators. If you need anything, just give the front desk a call."

Puzzled at her attentiveness, the bandmembers thanked her with confused smiles. Atkins stopped long enough to ask for her phone number.

"C'mon, Lando!" Jordan called from the crowded elevator. She was surrounded by Warlord, her lover, and three security guards. "I wanna catch a shower before we go out tonight!"

The tall guitarist jumped into the cab with a grumble. "Alright, alright!" The doors closed and he glanced down at his diminutive partner. "She was a cutie, wasn't she?"

Jordan shook her head with a snicker and the rest of the occupants chuckled as well.

The remainder of the ride was in silence. They reached their destination and stepped out onto the sixteenth floor. A sign in front of them indicated the directions to different rooms and told them that the Concierge Lounge was located down the hall to their right. Directly across from the elevator was a set of double doors with their room number on it.

The teenager dug out the keys that Tramuto had given her earlier in the day. While the three guards wandered off to their own rooms on that floor, she handed out the room assignments. "Looks like they've got you, me and Max in this one," she said to Jordan, approaching the double doors, a puzzled look on her face. "Tom and Lando each have their own rooms."

Rolling emerald eyes, the redhead snorted. "So much for privacy."

Hampton used his keycard to unlock the door before him. "Never stopped you before," he murmured as he opened the door with a smile.

Sonny blushed scarlet.

The lights were already on in the room. There was a short hall with two doors off of it. The three stepped in, Hampton leading the way into the living area.

"Whoa!" he muttered.

There were two couches in the suite. On each table were assorted flowers. To the right of the living area was a large dining table that was covered with various foods. The television was set to MTV, popular music floating through the room. There were three other doors in the room. One on either side wall near the windows and a set of French doors.

Sonny poked her head into the room to the left off the hallway. "Wow!" she exclaimed as she turned on the light, her voice echoing. "This bathroom is huge!" She stood in the center of the room with amazement. "And it's got two toilets!" the teenager called out. Directly across from the door she'd entered was another doorway.

Just as the dark woman peered out of the bathroom, Jordan opened the French doors on the right, revealing a king sized bed. "Hot damn!" she said with a lecherous grin and a wink for her lover. She then looked over her shoulder at the bassist. "We got dibs on the bed!"

The teenager giggled as Jordan jumped onto the bed and splayed out on her back.

"Oh, yeah, I could dig some strawberries and whip cream right now," the guitarist said with a suggestive wink, waving the dark youth closer.

As Sonny joined her, the door in the far corner of the dining area opened and Middlestead looked in. "Hey! I knew I smelled food!" He looked around as he entered. "Damn, but this rocks! Wonder if they gave us the wrong rooms or something?"

As the drummer began filling a plate with food, Jordan called from the bed, "If they have, lets not tell 'em until tomorrow."

"You've got the right rooms," a new voice said.

"Lisa?" Hampton stared at his girlfriend. A grin broke out on his face and he rushed forward to envelop the blonde woman in his arms. "What are you doing here?"

"Surprising you," she responded with a happy smile. "Is it working?"

Atkins stepped into the room from the other connecting door. "I'll say! How ya doing, girlfriend?"

There were rounds of hugs and kisses between them as everyone sought to welcome Foley to their suite. And then food was dished up, a minibar was discovered and cracked open and everyone settled down to fill their bellies as they caught up.

"Well, they flew me in for the weekend," the blonde woman said as she sliced her steak into bite size chunks.

"So, why all the hoopla?" Sonny asked. "I mean, we've ridden a limo twice today and now a suite with connecting rooms...? What's going on?"

Foley grinned secretively. "Can't tell. It's a secret." She waved her eating utensils in the air at the sudden verbal attack from all sides. "I ain't saying!" she insisted. "Craig swore me to secrecy. He'll be here as soon as they've finished preparing everything for tomorrow."

"Are ya gonna be traveling with us, now?" the drummer asked, scooping up a mouthful of green beans.

"No," the woman said with a little shake and a sad smile. "I've still gotta work. Besides, who else is gonna watch the house while yer gallivanting all over the countryside?"

"Bummer," Sonny murmured.

Foley's face agreed with her as she looked at her lover with apologetic eyes. The bassist reached over and squeezed her thigh in understanding.

It wasn't long before Tramuto showed up at their door. Jordan answered the knock and followed him into the room.

"Well, I see y'all found the food," he drawled with a dimpled grin. A glance at Jordan and he added, "And the booze."

The redhead settled back down next to Sonny and tossed back her whiskey with a smug look.

"So, what's this all about, Craig?" Middlestead asked, setting his plate aside and eyeballing the covered item under the tour manager's arm. The rest of the group piped up in question as well.

Tramuto waved them to silence. Running his free hand through his curly hair, he said with his best Texas twang, "Well, kids, y'all done good. White Horse decided to give ya a bit of a surprise." He waved expansively around the suite. "Ya got this for the weekend. We'll do a show tomorrow at Super Toad and then y'all got the next day off."

"Not that I'm looking a gift horse in the mouth, no pun intended," Hampton said. "But what the hell for? Why now?"

The manager's face broke into a wide smile. He pulled the package out from under his arm and uncovered it with a flourish. "Because yer CD just went gold!" He held up a plaque with a gold record and a brass plate shining in the lamplight.

There was absolute silence.

A frown crossed Tramuto's face. "Well...? Say sumpin...!"

After a long pause, Foley said, "I think they're in shock."

Jun 9, 2002

This weekend has been absolutely incredible! Warlord has really hit the big time now! Their record went gold last week and it's been nothing but a party ever since!

Friday after the show, we finally got to the hotel room. Lisa was here! It was so good to see her! White Horse flew her in to surprise us. (And, boy, was Max surprised!!) And a huge suite! Catered meals! A limousine! Wow!

I don't remember much of Friday, though. Yesterday I spent a lot of time with the toilet. I'll never drink that much again! Yick! I don't see how Jordan can do it! She drinks and smokes and pops pills and stuff.... She doesn't ever seem to suffer from hangovers, though I can usually tell when the drugs wear off.

She's been doing a lot of speed lately. Staying up late and partying, getting up early for interviews and photo shoots and the like. I'm beginning to get worried. Sometimes she's so wired, she can't even come to bed, can't sit still long enough for me to hold her. I think that's why she drinks the alcohol, trying to counteract the speed. And it doesn't work.

I just know that I'm starting to get a little worried. I don't ever see her 'straight' anymore. It's starting to get scary.

Speaking of scary, there are some people out there who definitely do not like the songs! I've seen people boycotting the concert! Waving signs and stuff!! There was even some of them at Super Toad on Friday night! (Super Toad! What a name for a nightclub!) It's that song - 'Face'. I haven't figured out if it's the point of view of the rapist or the victim's idea of what the rapist is thinking. In any case, a lot of people don't like it.

Small wonder. Even I don't like it. Maybe because I know about Jordan and her step-dad, what he did to her. Sometimes I wish I could just go back in time and stop him from hurting her like that. She must have been so scared and alone.... It's no wonder she's turned to drugs and alcohol. I hope she'll finally realize that I'm here for her....

As Sonny awoke, she could feel sunlight warming her body where it filtered through the bus window. There were sounds out in the main area, people murmuring, the clinking of metal against plastic. The bus was running, the air conditioning keeping a tolerable temperature in the mid-August heat of New York City. She inhaled deeply, smelling coffee and the unfamiliar odor of bacon. Wow! Breakfast? That's a surprise!

The teenager stretched out her lanky form, luxuriating with feline grace. Pale blue eyes opened. And widened in surprise as she abruptly sat up.

Sonny was surrounded by a riot of metallic color. The little alcove she shared with her lover had been filled with a huge bouquet of helium balloons of all shapes and sizes. With a delighted smile, she pulled an unusually large mylar heart towards her, turning it to read the writing. 'Happy Birthday!' read the cheery letters.

"Oh, wow!" she breathed. "They remembered!" Stealthily, the partition inched open and the teenager turned to watch with a curious smile.

An emerald eye peered in. The brow lowered in a scowl and Jordan turned to the rest of the bus' occupants. "She's awake already. You guys are making too much noise." Grumbling over their denials, the redhead used a booted foot to slide the partition the rest of the way open and stepped into the tiny room, carrying a tray laden with a large breakfast.

"This is fantastic," Sonny smiled, shifting in the bed and pushing balloons to one side. "Thank you!"

Jordan turned a little red and shrugged. She settled the tray on the teenager's lap and bent forward for a kiss. "Well, we aren't in a hotel, so I couldn't very well order room service."

The dark teenager looked over her food, finally grabbing her silverware and napkin. "Who's idea was this?" she asked, reaching for a slice of toast.

"Hers!" a voice from just outside the doorway answered. "You decent, sis?"

"Hold on!" Jordan scooped up a t-shirt from the foot of their bed and the youth tossed it on, almost losing her tray in the process. She giggled as her lover juggled the food until it was stable once more. "C'mon in, Tom."

The dark man, wearing only jeans leaned smugly against the doorway, arms crossed. "Don't let Jordan fool ya," he said, dark blue eyes sparkling. "Deep inside that bitchy exterior beats a heart of gold."

"Bite me," the guitarist grumbled, looking out the window.

Middlestead held up a thumb and forefinger about a centimeter apart. "A little one."

Sonny chuckled and picked up one of the two mugs of coffee. A quick sip and she grimaced, handing it to her lover. "Yick! This one's yours."

Jordan rolled her eyes and rescued her mug. "Sorry. Mine has less sugar and more alcohol."

Smacking her lips in distaste, the dark woman eyed her lover. "Way more alcohol.... Is there any coffee in there?" She'd meant it as a teasing remark, but immediately after the words slipped from her mouth, Sonny wished for them back.

Emerald eyes flashed in anger. Jordan peered into her mug, teeth grinding on her immediate response. "Well, you know how us musicians get," she said with a feigned grin. "Gotta have something to write about in our obituaries." Seeing Sonny flinch, she felt both furious at herself and bitterly happy she'd scored a point of damage.

"Well, that's a pleasant way to start your day," Middlestead said, trying to lighten the mood. Turning, he called over his shoulder, "Hey, guys! Get in here!"

The rest of the people on the bus crowded around the doorway and sang an enthusiastic rendition of 'Happy Birthday.' Oblivious, Sonny reached out to take her lover's hand only to have the redhead shift until she was inaccessible. While it appeared natural, the separation was not lost on the teenager. Swell. If this is how my birthday starts....

Jordan's day was rapidly going from bad to worse.

First the near mob scene when she had gone into that Mom and Pop grocery store for a half dozen eggs. Some teenage punk with dreadlocks, tattoos and piercings had recognized her. Before the redhead knew what was happening, she was surrounded by a handful of skaters demanding autographs.

And then that shit with Sonny, she grumbled to herself. Jordan glanced across the limousine at her lover who was being dragged into a conversation with Tramuto regarding potential photographs from an overhead crane during the next concert. She was just teasing. You're being too sensitive, a quiet voice whispered from her depths. "Whatever," the guitarist growled.

"You say something?" Atkins asked from beside her.

The redhead shook her head no and slumped further into her seat. She glared out the window at passing scenery, ruminating over her bad day.

To top off the morning, she'd found that she had used the last of her uppers the night before. And her connections among the roadies hadn't been able to score since they'd hit New York State. She could already feel the depression setting in. The alcohol wasn't helping her mood any and Jordan knew better than to take downers when she was feeling this way. Dammit! I need a booster!

The limo pulled smoothly into a parking structure off of famed 42nd Street. Warlord was headed for an interview on MTV, a guest VJ kind of thing. They would be required to film a couple of commercial spots plugging the cable company, do the interview, sign a few autographs and the like. All the publicity stuff that Jordan was definitely not in the mood for. Even as the vehicle parked near an elevator with four people awaiting, she could hardly keep her eyes open.

The band, three security guards, Sonny and Tramuto exited the limousine. Introductions were made all around, the four individuals waiting for them being a junior vice president, his aide, and a couple of technicians. The crowd climbed into the elevator and they took off. Jordan purposefully avoided the teenager, putting herself into a crowded corner with one of the techs and the aide. She had a cross look on her face as she focused on staying awake until this fiasco was over. The voices of the occupants chatting back and forth washed over her, irritating her further.

"You okay?" the tech murmured, peering down at her.

"Fine," the woman snapped.

Nonplussed, he shrugged, still watching her. "You look like you could use a little pick up or something. Have a bad night?"

Emerald eyes narrowed. "Something like that."

The elevator reached its destination and the doors opened. In the activity of people getting off, the technician reached out and shook her hand. "Well, lemme know if you need anything else, okay? I'm sure I can be of assistance."

Jordan felt warm glass in her hand and raised a redgold eyebrow. She accepted the handshake and palmed the vial. "Thanks." Yes!

"No problem," he said with a warm grin before turning to join the rest of the crew that were preparing to tape the interview.

As everyone was briefed on who was going to be where and what was expected of them, Jordan gained the directions to the nearest womens' room. Upon her arrival, she found a large expanse of room with several stalls to the left. The redhead went to the furthest stall and stepped inside, anticipation coloring her thoughts.

She pulled the vial from her pocket and studied it closely. Looks like crank. Unscrewing the cap, she covered the small opening with a finger and tilted it. Jordan took a closer look at the powdery substance on her fingertip. A light dab to her tongue brought a familiar, bitter mental taste.

Yes! Cackling gleefully, the guitarist glanced around the stall, finding a folding shelf just behind the door. She pulled it down, using her elbow to brace it against springing back into place. Jordan poured a small amount of the precious white powder onto the metallic surface.

She heard the outer door open and froze for half a second. But the call of the methamphetamine was not to be denied. The guitarist pulled out her wallet, thankful that the substance was more powder than crystal, and pried out her identification card, using the edge to form lines. The stall walls shook as the other woman entered nearby and used the facilities. A dollar bill was removed from the wallet and made into a straw. As the other toilet flushed, Jordan snorted the crank deep into her nostrils.

The initial euphoria was mild but, to her tender nerves, it was ambrosia. Jordan exhaled and slumped in relief, her forehead resting against the cool surface of the door. She took a few moments to savor the feeling. The door shook as the other occupant left the stall. Then there were the sounds of running water and paper towels being used, echoing in the room.

Jordan waited for the woman to leave. Once the outer door thumped closed, she raised her head and took a deep breath. She sniffed and wiped at her runny nose before cleaning up the shelf and letting it snap back into place. Stepping out of the stall, the redhead went over to the vanity and ran some water, splashing her face. The door opened behind her and she looked into the mirror to see her lover.

A smile broke out on the guitarist's face and she turned off the water and turned around. "Hey, sexy," she greeted as she pulled some paper towels from the dispenser.

Sonny smiled in return, though her pale eyes studied the redhead intently. "Hi. I've been sent to find you." She's high again. Why'd she wait until now?

Jordan tossed the used towels into the trash and swung her arms open wide. "Well, here I am! They ready to go?"

The dark teenager nodded. With little prodding, she sank into an embrace, smelling leather and soap. "About this morning...."

"Nope. Don't say it," the redhead rumbled, her hand caressing the back of Sonny's head. "My fault. I was just being overly sensitive." Before her lover could argue the point or make further comment, Jordan soundly kissed her, reveling in the sensations that were altered by the drug in her system. "C'mon, sexy. They're waiting."

Sonny allowed herself to be led out the door.

The mental hospital was fairly pleasant as mental hospitals went. A score of white buildings on a hill encircled by a few acres of well kept grounds. The tall chain link fence surrounding the property was the only thing that looked out of place, clashing with the old Southern plantation feel of the property. On sunny days, the inhabitants would come out to play or sit on conveniently placed park benches to enjoy the occasion. Various nurses and doctors and aides would also be seen, interacting with their patients, observing their behaviors or having lunch meetings.

It was raining today, however, the cool drizzle speckling the windows and keeping everyone inside. There were rooms where group therapies were going on, individual office sessions, staff meetings. There were also common rooms where quite a few of the residents gathered. Here they were vegetating, fidgeting, rocking repetitiously or talking to themselves and others. Games were being played, pictures drawn, jigsaw puzzles worked on and television watched. Additionally, it was visiting day which increased the hospital's population a bit. Sadly, not by much.

Sitting in front of a rainy window was a woman. Her hair was dark with just a smattering of gray, cut short in a manageable style. She was wearing a pastel blue button up shirt and tan slacks, a beige sweater draped across the back of the wheelchair she was perched on. She appeared to be about thirty years of age. She stared off into space, appearing to be looking out the window. But her gray eyes never moved, only blinked occasionally. She was focused inside and had been for about five years.

Nearby sat two other women - an older and younger version of the patient. The elder one, the patient's mother, was prattling on about the family news as she worked on a needlepoint project. The younger, the patient's sister, listened idly and watched, occasionally interjecting her own comments. Their voices droned on and on, never impinging on the inner horrors their relation held close to herself. Nothing and no one ever made it through the walls she had erected years ago.

But there was a voice that worked its way through the thick barrier she'd erected. It was the voice of her personal demon, her terror. Most times it would only be inside her head and drive her to bouts of violence but, lately, she'd begun hearing the voice outside her head, tickling her ears, pricking at her barriers, dredging up memories and terrors in her mind.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the woman's head turned. Her eyes, rolling in her head, straining from their lack of use, searching.

Nearby was a ratty television set and a cluster of donated couches and chairs that held a handful of the residents. One of them, a young man with stringy black hair and smoking a cigarette, was avidly watching an interview. His body vibrated from the constant tapping of his slippered foot and he held himself close, pulling at his upper lip between puffs. It was his television time and he'd chosen a station that played music videos. His mother had told him that Warlord was being interviewed on MTV and he'd been an absolute angel all week long to obtain the privilege.

The woman in the wheelchair focused on the television screen.

"So, how is success sitting with you?" the VJ, a blond young man with a nosering, asked.

The members of Warlord were seated to his left. Behind them was a large floor to ceiling window that showed the famed corner of Broadway and 42nd Street.

"So far, so good," Jordan responded exuberantly. "It's been a wild ride!"

"We've been on tour for... what? Five months now?" The drummer looked to his bandmates for confirmation. "It's definitely been an interesting progression in that amount of time."

The VJ nodded. "And how's the tour doing? You're opening for Type O Negative right now. Is it any different than when you were opening for the other bands?"

"Well, yeah," Atkins answered. "Different bands have different... flavors, ya know?"

The VJ laughed. "Well, I haven't heard it put quite like that before, but I understand what you mean." He shook his unruly blond dreadlocks from his eyes. "From all reports, your song 'Face' has been the most popular. I'm kinda curious. The song appears to be about a rape. is this true?

There was silence for a moment. Finally, Jordan spoke up. "Yeah, it is."

Jordan's demeanor cued the VJ that he was treading on a very tender subject. The baleful gazes directed his way, not only from the diminutive guitarist but the teenager behind the cameras, made it rather obvious. Howard Stern, I'm not. He diplomatically let the matter drop, turning to camera #2 and said, "Wow. Talk about a sensitive subject. Let's go ahead and give it a listen. Here's Warlord with their hit single, 'Face'."

The screen faded to the video, a standard concert scene.

At the hospital, the woman's strange behavior had been noticed. The younger woman interrupted her mother's blatherings by tugging on the sleeve of her blouse. "Mother!" she exclaimed in a hushed voice. "Look!"

The older woman looked up from her needlepoint. She'd seen the behavior in her eldest before, this almost lucid reaction to some outside stimuli. But, she knew better than to dash the younger woman's hopes. They had argued for years over what triggered the response. She had long ago stopped getting excited about it. Her afflicted daughter would follow this behavior by either returning to her catatonic state or screaming and fighting off her hallucinatory attacker until she was sedated.

"Yes, honey, I see," she said, returning to her project. She kept a close eye on her daughter, giving the appearance of not paying attention.

"But, what's she looking at?" the younger woman wondered curiously. It had been her theory that, if they could just figure out what caused these breaks, they might be able to reach inside and pull her sister back out. She rose to her feet and stepped over to the wheelchair. Kneeling beside it, she took her sister's hand. "Sylvia?" She followed the nearly sane gaze.

"Wow!" the VJ exclaimed with a smile. "That's a pretty intense song!"

"Yes, it is," Hampton agreed. "That's why we decided to include it on the CD."

The VJ nodded. "But, we've had reports of a lot of... negative response, as well. People have been petitioning at your shows and record stores that carry your CD all over the country. How do you feel about all that?"

"Personally?" Jordan asked. "I consider it free publicity. By raising hell over it, they're putting more light on the CD and we, in turn, get more publicity." She looked directly into the camera and said with a triumphant gaze, "Thanks for the support!"

"Mother! Isn't that Jordan Chizu?"

Silvia looked into the evil green eyes of her demon, heard the honeyed voice thank her - thank her! - for her support. And the voices and screaming welled up from her wounded soul, obliterating the vision.

Sonny lugged her suitcases up the stairs and to her bedroom. She dumped the bags on her bed and looked around, hands on her hips.

It felt really weird to be back at home and in her own room. The teenager had, in effect, been living with Jordan for the entire tour, sleeping in the same bed every night for seven months. Returning to sleeping alone wasn't going to be easy.

It was the end of September and a typical Portland day. A light drizzle kept the air smelling clean and fresh. The cloud cover kept everything in a light gray. Sonny went to her window overlooking the backyard and stared at the scenery that was both familiar and not.

Sonny saw the redhead, an unfinished cigarette dangling from her lips. Jordan clambered down the wooden stairs from her room. She stopped at the patio long enough to take a final drag before tossing the butt into the can. Beneath her, the teenager could hear the sliding door open and close.

Well, maybe she'll chill out on the drugs now, the dark woman hoped, moving back to the bed and fumbling with the fastenings on a bag. No need for her to be up all the time anymore. A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts and she looked up.

Jordan leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed and an easy grin on her face. "Hey, sexy."

The smile was returned, despite the mood. "Hi. Got everything unpacked already?" Sonny got the bag open and peered down at the jumble of clothes.

The redhead shrugged. "You could call it that," she allowed. "At least all the clothes are in the same corner."

"Ah, you're a slob," Sonny laughed.

Moving into the room, the guitarist chuckled as well. "And you're a neat freak." She settled down on the corner of the bed and captured one of her lover's hands, pulling her close.

Sonny closed her eyes, feeling the redhead's arms around her waist and a cheek resting against her belly. She ran a hand over the older woman's shoulders and back, the other caressing redgold tresses. A feeling of love welled up from within her heart. The urge to speak it was so strong, it hurt. The teenager bit the words back.

Ask her, ask her, ask her! a voice whispered urgently. No way, Horny Jordie! It's been nice with a steady piece of ass, but let's face it.... You ain't the 'living with' type! The redhead inhaled deeply, trying to draw all the comfort from the embrace while she could. The tiniest voice murmured, Stay with me, accept me, love me.

Feeling her lover stiffen, Sonny sighed imperceptably and slid out of the embrace, knowing it was going to end soon anyway. She returned to her bags as if nothing were wrong, sorting through her clothes. God, how much longer can I do this?

Jordan watched in silence, a hidden war raging within her soul. She wanted so badly, needed Sonny so much. But she didn't know why she needed and wanted. The guitarist just knew that it made her weak and vulnerable. The unknowing power the teenager welded over her was distressing. The voices screamed and argued and bickered back and forth until the quiet one was drowned out.

All she knew was that the loneliness of her room was intolerable. And she found herself drawn to Sonny's room. I need a distraction. Jordan considered asking her lover along but decided against it. We're too close already. I need to put some distance between us.

Rising, she smiled at Sonny and walked to the door. "I'll see ya later, sexy."

A brief moment of panic hit the teenager. "Wait!" She thought rapidly as her lover turned back to her, curiosity on her pretty face. "Uh, where ya going? You want some company?" she finally asked, attempting to sound nonchalant.

Despite her initial desire for the dark woman's company, Jordan shook her head with a rueful grin. "Naw. I'm not going anyplace in particular. Just out tom cattin' it around."

Sonny swallowed. "Oh."

The redhead stomped down the pain at her lover's crestfallen face. Yer doing her a favor, Horny Jordie! "Later." She turned away.

The phone rang on the nightstand. As the guitarist sauntered out the door, Sonny picked it up. "Hello? Oh. Yeah, hold on." She held the receiver close to her chest and called, "Jordan!"

"Yeah?" came from the hallway.

"It's for you. It's White Horse."

Jordan stepped back into the room. "Thanks," and took the receiver. "Hello? Yes. Really? Why?" Puzzlement became grimness. "I see. Alright. I'll be there." She hung up the phone.

"What's up?" Sonny asked, concerned at the mood change.

The redhead glanced sharply at her, almost surprised to see her still there. "Uh...." She shrugged. "I have a meeting with some lawyers tomorrow." She moved to the door again.

"But... why? Did they give you a reason?"

The mask that was never far away was back in place. Bored emerald eyes looked at the teenager. "Someone's filing a civil lawsuit against me and the lawyers wanna go over it before I get a subpeona."

Dark brows furrowed together. "A lawsuit? Whatever for?" She watched her lover shrug her shoulders and leave the room. "Jordan?"

Sept 22, 2002

Well, the tour's over and we're back home. I'm too late to register for fall semester, so I'm going to go back to work at my old job until December.

It felt strange to be back. We've all changed, I think, everybody in the band and myself. It was pretty awkward with Jordan this afternoon. I think she just wanted company when she came in. Why else would she have come up to my room? And then she pulled away from me - same ol' same ol'.

I really love her. But, I've been too scared to tell her about it. I know she'll run away when she finds out. She's got it in her head that she doesn't deserve love - and until she decides different, she won't accept it from anybody. Not even me.

But, I can't go on much longer like this. She's destroying herself with the drugs and alcohol. I can't talk to her, not about the things that are really important to me. I feel kinda selfish for saying this, but I don't deserve this kind of relationship. I know that telling her my feelings is going to cause her to bail on me, but I have to tell her before I explode!

And when she's gone, I'll always remember her and love her anyway. I just hope that somebody somewhere will be able to get through to her, get her to see she's not a bad person.

I was planning on telling her tonight, but she took off after that call from White Horse. When Tom got back from the store, I put him up to calling them back and digging for some information.

When Jordan was a kid, she apparently was involved in some big incident with a grown up. She had lots of charges put on her - assault, battery, possession and usage of illegal substances. Even attempted murder! But, then all the charges were dropped. Well, now that she's gotten famous and has some money, the family of this shadowy victim has come forward and slapped a civil suit down to get some cash.

So, until we find out exactly what's going to be happening, I'm gonna keep my mouth shut. If this is as serious as the lawyers are making it sound, she'll need all the support she can get. And if I say anything, she might just disappear. That won't help the situation.

Jordan came home drunk. I don't think she's had any drugs. She usually goes for the stimulants and the alcohol doesn't even touch her when she's flying. She went right to sleep tonight, though, which is why I think she stayed away from the stuff. I'm watching her sleep as I write this.

Once this mess is cleared up with the civil suit, I'll tell her. I have to. Or else I'm going to go crazy from this inability to share with her.

Will it Bleed
© Sevendust

confusion, obsession,
rage inside of me.
will it ever, can it ever, will it ever take me?

chorus:
i'd rather kill myself than put you through the pain again.
i'd rather kill myself than put you through the pain.
i'd rather kill myself than put you through the pain again.
i'd rather kill myself than put you through the pain.

impression, find direction,
hate inside of me.
will it ever, can it ever, will it ever take me?

chorus

I'd rather kill myself.
I'd rather kill myself.

chorus

Chapter VIII: Vicious Truth

My Empty Room
© Queensryche

Empty room today,
And here I sit -
Chalk outline upon the wall.
I remember tracing it
A thousand times the night she died.
Why? Why?
There's no sleep today,
I can't pretend
When all my dreams are crimes.
I can't stand facing them.
Now who will come
To wash away my sins,
Clean my room, fix my meals,
Be my friend?

1997

The techno-goth music was loud, the bass causing her eardrums to vibrate as she moved through the crowd of teenagers and adults towards the bar. Jordan's only concession to the gothic nature of the club was the jet black hair. Her clothes, of course, were all black as befitted a heavy metal aficionado, her naturally light skin seeming to glow against the dark backdrop. She was all of fourteen, having just had her birthday three weeks prior.

Jordan sidled up to the bar and ordered a soda. It arrived and she paid for it with the last of her cash. Better pick something up, Jordie, or yer gonna be in some serious pain. She took a sip from the straw before turning to size up the crowd as she leaned against the bar.

The club's interior was painted black, floor to ceiling and wall to wall. Every shiny surface was chrome and chain and mirror. Behind the bar, the mirror was etched with an intricate design of fake cobwebs. The few wall sconces holding dim lights looked like brushed silver, gleaming dully.

It was a standard Friday night, the mix of minors and adults about equal at the Erato Nightclub. To her right was the dance floor, a mass of people moving as one to the beat of a Joy Division song. On the left and before her were tables and chairs, filled to capacity. There were plenty of people who appeared attached, groups of twos and threes sprinkled throughout the establishment - runaways escaping the chill of winter, schoolkids trying to be risqué. There was even one massive group of about ten laughing uproariously at a table in the back corner. However, a few others could be seen - adults sitting alone, scanning the crowds, cruising, searching. Hunting.

As was she.

Warming up some from the heat of the collective crowd, Jordan unzipped her thin, corduroy jacket and removed it, revealing a cropped tank top and little else. She sighed in relief as the material was removed from her arm. She'd just gotten the tattoo finished a few days ago and the abrasive cloth brushing against it had been agony. Her step-father, Louis, had paid for it - Lucifer - payment for a job well done. The teenager peered at her arm, the red eyes glaring back at her. Who sees who?

"Nice tatt," a voice commented from beside her.

Jordan looked up into grey eyes. "Thanks," she grinned. She allowed her vision to ramble up and down the woman beside her suggestively. "Just got it done last week."

The woman nodded. She appeared to flush a little at the frank gaze she received and she tucked her dark brown hair behind her ear. "Mind if I...?" she asked, reaching out towards the tattoo.

"No. Go ahead. It's still a little tender, but it's healing up fine." The woman slipped a long hand around her upper arm and Jordan could feel the backs of the woman's knuckles brushing the side of her breast. As the woman appeared to study the colored skin, the teenager studied her.

She appeared to be in her mid twenties, dressed in gothic clothing as everyone else. A long black skirt, slit up the side, revealed dark stockings and long legs. The white ruffled collar of her shirt was opened to her bosom, the black leather collar gleaming in the lights of the club. A leather cuff adorned her right wrist, an intricate silver bracelet on her left. There was a delicate chain connecting the bracelet to a ring on her finger.

Cuff, collar and a slave bracelet.... Looks like ya got a custy, Horny Jordie! To test her theory, Jordan's presence seemed to fill the immediate area. Her confidence made it appear that she was towering over the woman who was actually the taller of the two.

In response, the woman seemed to shrink away. But she didn't release her grip on Jordan's arm. Rather, her thumb moved slowly in teasing circles, just on the edge of the irritated flesh. Grey eyes peered at her, gauging.

Bingo! Play your cards right, Jordie, and Lucifer'll leave ya alone tonight! Her voice pitched low, the teenager asked, "Like what you see?"

The woman blushed again, dropping her gaze.

"Don't look away when I'm talking to you."

Grey eyes snapped back to the youth. The woman swallowed nervously, but there was another light in her gaze. Imperceptibly, her breathing rate increased.

Jordan kept her mask on, a sovereign authority that made people believe she was far older than she was. "You didn't answer my question," she said with a raised brow. "I don't like to repeat myself."

The ruby lips parted and a whispered, "Yes," was uttered.

Nodding thoughtfully, the teenager reached to her side and picked up her drink. She took a long swallow of the soda, foregoing the straw, her emerald eyes never leaving the woman before her. Jordan set the glass back down and reached for the woman's free hand, drawing it towards her mouth. Cold lips pressed into the woman's palm and the teenager watched her prey's eyes flutter closed. She stepped closer, those same cold lips lightly brushing an ear. "How badly do you want it?" she asked.

The woman shivered, her hand clutching Jordan's arm, but didn't answer.

Deciding to let it slide for now, the teenager pulled back a bit. She moved her arm from the woman's grasp and slowly slid onto her barstool. "Maybe you should tell me what you want. And then I'll tell you what I want." Give it to me, babe.

For a few moments, the woman stood still, apparently debating with herself. Chewing her lower lip, her dark brows furrowed in thought, she drifted closer to the regal teenager, a moth to flame. But still she was silent.

Jordan sighed in exasperation. Time's a wastin', Horny Jordie. Either shit or get off the pot. "You don't do this very often, do you?" she finally observed. At the woman's headshake, she pursed her lips. "Here's the deal, babe. This is the negotiation phase - you tell me what you want and we see if we can work out a... compatible transaction."

"I understand," the woman said, her voice low and her skin flushed.

"And what you want is...?"

There was a long pause. "You," she eventually responded. Her following words were in a rush, as if she was fighting to get them out before she lost her nerve. "I want you to... um... be in charge, to force me." Grey eyes looked away, her face crimson, the voice lowered in shame. "To have your way with me."

Fingers touched the woman's chin, guided her head back around to look at the teenager. Is she a candidate? "What are the limits?" Jordan asked.

The woman looked slightly surprised. "No limits."

Emerald eyes widened. Ahhh, the night is good. "No limits?" The eyes narrowed and wandered over the woman again. No wonder she's so submissive. "Public sex? Showers? Scat? Bleeding? No limits on any of it?" She doesn't look like a kid, though. Twenty-something?

The dark head shook. "No limits on any of it."

Jordan inhaled deeply and tried to puzzle this person out. She'd been hooking for Louis for about four months. Usually, she brought him home money, though he was always on the lookout for new 'adventures' as he called it. The teenager had only found one person in that time who was willing to roll over and accept whatever another could dish out, regardless of the dangers and consequences. And those were the only kind that her step father would accept. Her mind shied away from the memories of that last encounter. "What about safewords?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"No safeword. I can take whatever you've got."

An eyebrow raised at the subtle challenge. Got a live one here, Jordie! a voice crowed. Tonight had been a tough night. She hadn't made much money and Louis was waiting at home. A whisper deep inside said, Don't do it. She doesn't deserve it. Jordan stomped the voice down. It'd never done her any good when she was a kid; it wouldn't help her now. She turned her gaze to the bar crowd, appearing aloof as she scanned the patrons. "You got a car?"

Eagerly relieved that her search appeared over, the woman nodded, a smile coming to her face. "Yes. It's in the parking lot." She, in turn, looked around their immediate vicinity. "Do we have to leave just yet?"

Time to play the game. Flinty eyes gazed on the woman at odds with the seductive grin playing across Jordan's face. "No. Not just yet." She pushed away from the bar. As the woman moved to join her, she pressed a hand against the white clad shoulder. "Stay."

The woman froze at the command, trembling.

The teenager stepped behind the woman, head tilted to one side as she regarded the long form. Very nice. Lucifer likes 'em tall. The palm slid from the shoulder, meandering down the back, across the swell of hip and further down the thigh and calf. Jordan, squatting beside the woman felt a familiar tingle at the sight of the shapely leg peeking from the opening of the cloth.

Startled, the woman jumped a bit as she felt the hand slide back up the inside of her leg, pausing to knead the firm thigh. Another jump when the teenager found her garters and snapped a strap before finishing its path and brushing the moist panties.

Jordan rose again, removing her hand from the damp cloth. Oh, yeah. She's a hot one. The smallest whisper was heard, Stop this! This isn't right! It was ignored. The ebony haired teenager rose and pressed her body against the woman's back, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other hand pulling dark brown hair aside. She had to tiptoe, but was able to breathe into the woman's ear. "What's your name, babe?"

The woman swallowed, her belly cramping with the familiar sensations of mingled dread and arousal. "Sylvia," she said hoarsely.

"Sylvia." The name rolled off Jordan's tongue. There was a pause, the beat of the music seeming to surround and invade the pair. "Lose the panties," the teenager ordered.

"B... but.... I can't!" the woman gasped, grey eyes rolling to see behind her. The hand on her waist slid up and harshly tweaked her nipple and she gasped again.

"Let's not use that word. I want your underwear off," Jordan growled, knowing full well that the woman couldn't comply. Not without removing the stockings and garter belt first.

Sylvia swallowed, panic fluttering her heart. "The garter belt.... It's over my panties," she whispered, half afraid there would be reprisals at her refusal. And half hopeful.

Appearing to consider this, Jordan's hand gently caressed the breast it had just pinched. Time to up the stakes. "Get my jacket and come on," she said, dropping her hands from the woman's body and stepping away.

The woman retrieved the clothing and obediently followed.

The teenager led her prey into the bathroom, ignoring the couple making out in the corner by the door. She moved down the line of stalls, all without doors, and ushered the woman into the last one. Jordan took her jacket from nerveless fingers and draped it over the stall wall. Pushing the woman's back against the partition, she pressed against her and nibbled at her neck. "Grab the top of the wall," she murmured.

Sylvia did as she was told, stretching herself out and pushing her breasts forward into the teenager against her. There was a soft snick as theyouth pulled away, and a stiletto was suddenly caressing her cheek.

"Don't move." The woman obeyed and Jordan idly traced a path across the smooth skin. A part of her mind wondered what kind of person could get a kick out of being the submissive. It was always a puzzle to her. I sure as hell don't like it. But that thought brought memories of Louis and his friends, flashes of pain and blood and screaming, and she shut them down. Not now!

The stiletto's long and torturous trail roamed over the woman's body. Her eyes were closed tight and she quaked, but her hands never left their position on the stall and she made no moves to pull away. Her breathing quickened as the tip scratched across the material of her shirt, circling her nipples and tickling her ribs.

Jordan concentrated on the task at hand. She had to admit that this was a turn on, this absolute control welded over another person. The effect it had on the woman before her was erotic and the teenager could feel her own heartrate speed up in response. But it's not for you, Horny Jordie. Back to the task at hand, she quietly asked, "You got friends here?"

"No," Sylvia gasped. The edge of the stiletto was moving down the thigh of her dress. The blade slid underneath the dress at about knee level and drew itself upwards. The woman shivered at the feel of her stockings catching on the tip before whisking away. And then it was past the material, pressing inexorably along her inner thigh, the woman's muscles shaking in tension.

Using her knee to widen the stance, Jordan slowly caressed the woman's panty clad center with the point of the sharp instrument. The resulting whispery moan brought a rush of arousal and she unconsciously licked her lips. Using her other hand, she guided the stiletto into the leg opening. "You did say no limits?" the teenager husked.

Sylvia swallowed, feeling warm steel against her nether parts, pressing gently against her erect clitoris. "No limits," she gasped in agreement, fighting the urge to rub herself against the sweet, dangerous pressure.

With a quick, precise movement, Jordan twisted the blade and tugged, severing the offensive material. The woman could feel cool air against her center, the severed cloth brushing against her pubic hair.

"Problem solved," the teenager murmured. Just as slowly, the stiletto retreated, spreading a humid warmth in its path. And then it was gone. "Open your eyes."

Peeling her lids back, Sylvia saw the stiletto glistening wetly before her.

"Clean it." Emerald bore into smoky grey. As the woman delicately began licking the blade, Jordan growled in appreciation. Take her now! a voice demanded. Another whined, No! Lucifer'll kill ya! She closed her eyes and wrestled with her desires. Louis' voice echoed in her head, Either bring home money or bring home a babe tonight, Horny Jordie.

Sylvia watched the play of lust cross the pretty face, watched the eyes close, wondered if this youth could give her what she so desperately needed. She finished her chore, enjoying the salty taste of her juices mingling with the metallic tang, enjoying the fear coursing through her veins.

At the stall entrance, there was a gasp followed by a giggled, "Sorry!"

The knife disappeared in split seconds and Jordan glared at the intruder. "Back off!" she snarled. "We're busy!"

The interloper rolled her eyes and grimaced. "Chill, sweetheart! I'm going!" She could be heard grumbling to a companion as she moved out of the doorway.

Jordan sighed deeply, her mood broken for the moment. Probably just as well. She pushed away from the woman's long form, dropping her knife back into her pocket. That was nice. Gonna have to try that again someday when I've got more time. She could hear the music outside of the bathroom, recognizing the opening strains of one of her favorite songs. "C'mon, Sylvia, let's go." The teenager scooped up her jacket and handed it to the woman, turning away.

Obediently, Sylvia followed.

The Type O Negative song was slow and seductive. I'm gonna meet them some day, she mused. No matter what Lucifer says! The megabass voice of the lead singer could be heard through the beginning piano strains. Leading her prey out onto the dance floor, Jordan found a relatively quiet corner. She took her jacket back and tossed it to the ground, turning to face the woman with her arms crossed. "Dance for me."

Sylvia appeared surprised at the command. Her heart fluttered. With nervous anticipation, she glanced around the dance floor, watching other couples moving in time with the music, seeing the tables of spectators watching the floor, watching her. Jerkily, she began to move, her embarrassment at dancing alone causing her to lose the beat. And then there was sudden, sharp pain as Jordan stepped forward and twisted her arm behind her, turning her to face the tables.

"Look at them!" Jordan ordered.

The sharp pang in her shoulder warred with her increased excitement and she did as she was bade, grey eyes looking over the crowd. People in all manner of gothic dress and undress drank, laughed with each other, seriously conversed. Some were watching Sylvia and her tormentor with eyes of wariness, interest, avid curiosity and lust. She felt the teenager's breath in her ear.

"Ignore them. They aren't important. I am! Dance for me. Or this ends now." Jordan applied a smidge more pressure on the trapped arm to make her point, knowing that the submissive in her arms would do as she was told to continue the potential for pain. And then she released her prey and stepped back.

Sylvia turned back around, a slow pirouette. She licked her lips, a passion glowing from her eyes before she closed them. There was a moment of stillness as she prepared herself. And then she was moving, following the words of the song.

*"In her place one hundred candles burning
As salty sweat drips from her breast.
Her hips move and I can feel what they're saying, swaying.
They say the beast inside of me's gonna get ya, get ya, yeah...."

Her mouth was cotton and Jordan licked her dry lips. Fuck, I wish I had money for Lucifer tonight! she mourned, watching the woman before her lose herself in the deep bass and metal guitar strains.

The slow beat was erotic. Sylvia moved to the sound, hips swaying as the song had said, her arms and hands moving in the air around her in alluring intent. Hands ran through her hair and she tossed her head back, revealing her collared throat as her hands moved further down to caress her breasts, holding them, pushing them upwards. An offering.

*"Black lipstick stains her glass of red wine.
I am your servant, may I light your cigarette?
Those lips smooth, yeah, I can feel what you're saying, praying.
They say the beast inside of me is gonna get ya, get ya, yeah...."

Smoldering grey eyes opened and the woman eased forward, wondering if she could get away with touching her mistress. Sylvia circled to one side, draping an arm across the teenager's shoulder, dragging her hand across flesh and cloth and hair as she slipped behind the still form. The woman pressed herself up against the girl's back, sliding down, her hands moving on strong thighs.

Jordan forced herself to not react, though she was trembling inside at the rage of passion that welled up. And then the dark haired woman was continuing her circuit until she was standing in front of the teenager, arms draped over her shoulders.

*"I beg to serve. Your wish is my law.
Now close those eyes and let me love you to death.
Shall I prove I mean what I'm saying, begging?
I say the beast inside of me is gonna get ya, get ya, yeah...."

Jordan's hands found the woman's hips. Sylvia undulated against her, head thrown back in invitation. The teenager's eyes raked hotly over the body offered to her, felt the pressure building in her loins as the woman ground against her thigh. With a feral snarl, she swiftly bent forward and took the smooth flesh above the collar bone into her teeth.

The woman gasped at the attack, startled. And then she pressed harder against the well muscled thigh between her legs, groaning out over the music, no thought to the eyes that were watching them, watching her. Her hands were buried in ebony tresses, painfully wrapped in the hair as her vampire, her mistress devoured her.

*"Let me love you too.
Let me love you to death."

Things were beginning to get out of control. Not now! Not yet! Jordan pulled back as the song ended, forcing the woman's hips away from hers. The long hands in her hair tried to push her back into place, but the teenager wouldn't have it. There was a flash of anger in emerald eyes and she growled, "Back off, bitch!"

The tone and words splashed cold water onto Sylvia's desire, trepidation rushing to fill the void. Her arms dropped and she bowed her head in shame, hands fidgeting together before her, shaking from her thwarted desire.

Jordan resumed control, forcing her fiery need down. With a stern look on her face, she circled the woman on the dance floor. Another song started up. Dancers left and others arrived to take their places. And the women were left alone in their little corner. "Does your mother know you're a slut, Sylvia? That you come to a place like this and let people fuck you? Hurt you?" the teenager asked, brushing the woman's ear with her lips, simultaneously pinching her ample rear with sudden viciousness.

Sylvia's eyes were shut and she shuddered, blushing. There was another pinch, this one on her upper arm, and she forced herself not to jerk away from the flaming sensations. "No. No mother." The lips moved to her other ear, she could feel a tongue lick along the delicate organ and she sighed.

"What about Daddy? Does he know you like to be brutalized? In pain? Screaming?" Jordan reached inside the slit of the skirt and pinched the tender inner thigh of one leg, knowing she was leaving red marks on the skin.

The warm hand was still inside her skirt, moving in slow circles over the sensitized flesh. "No, I don't have a father," she murmured. That appeared to be the correct answer, because the fingers under her clothing reached up and caressed her opening, gathering moisture.

"You're so wet, Sylvia." Jordan caressed the hood of the woman's clitoris, feeling her lean back. I've gotta get us outta here. Lucifer's waiting.

Sylvia almost fell as the hand was removed and the body behind her stepped away. She teetered and regained her balance, opening her eyes once again. She blushed as she saw all the people that were avidly watching the drama on the dance floor, the warmth intensifying between her legs.

Jordan moved back around, licking her finger clean, trying to gain control of the voices whirling about her head, telling her what to do. She stepped away and picked up her jacket. "Let's go."

The woman swallowed in anticipation before following the teenager out of the bar.

Sylvia parked where she was told and shut down the engine. They were in a fairly well-to-do residential area of town. A place of BMW's in every garage and the requisite 'help' working in gardens and kitchens during the day. It was nearly midnight, however, and all was dark and quiet. Lights could be seen in a few windows, mostly on the upper levels and with drapes tightly drawn.

Jordan popped her seatbelt and opened the car door. "C'mon," she said, stepping out into the chill air, her breath puffing into a cloud of vapor before her.

The woman nodded meekly and followed suit.

Keeping her senses on alert, Jordan eyed the suburban setting she resided in. It was a pretty sure bet that the others living here were all wrapped up in their own lives. No one would notice the neighborhood rebel returning home with the catch of the day. Fuckin' sheep.

The teenager led her prey, not to the house they had parked near, but down the tidy little alley behind it. Her back still twinged from the beating received last month when she'd stupidly had her prey park in the driveway. Louis had not been happy.

Three yards down Jordan reached a high wooden fence. At the gate was a heavy cord and she yanked on it, opening the gate onto a well manicured lawn. The teenager quickly ushered her charge in before closing the gate and locking it with the padlock that had been hanging on a peg.

She took Sylvia's arm roughly and hustled her across the yard to the back door of the Victorian style home. A light was on in the living room, shining dimly through to the kitchen window. Good. Lucifer's still up. Wonder if he's got any company. Jordan pulled her prey up the stairs, purposely putting her off balance so she stumbled, making noise on the wooden floor of the porch. The hand tightened on the woman's upper arm, crushing the flesh, and the teenager growled, "Be careful."

Sylvia's arm ached under the viselike grip and her mouth was dry. She stood quietly as her mistress dug keys out of a pants pocket. Her blood was singing in anxiety, wondering what would happen to her once the door was closed. And then it was unlocked and opened and she was propelled inside the yawning darkness.

Pushing the woman before her, narrowed emerald eyes peered past and down the hall to the living room. Jordan locked the door behind her without looking, an automatic gesture as she saw a shadow moving at the front of the house. Make it look good. "Take off the skirt," she ordered, eyes glittering in the dim light.

Not expecting the command, the woman hesitated.

Jordan was on her with lightning reflexes, a hand pulling the dark hair, yanking the woman down. She bent over and hissed into her ear, "I gave you an order." With surprising strength, the teenager grabbed hold of the skirt's waistband and tore it from the woman's body. The sound of ripping cloth and buttons clicking on the floor echoed in the kitchen.

Tears were in Sylvia's eyes, tears of pain and embarrassment and relief. She was bent double with the tattered remains of her panties brushing against her ass. Her mistress was standing beside her, supporting her, holding her by the hair as her center glistened wetly for anyone to see. It was exactly what she needed.

Jordan ignored the dark silhouette in the doorway, silently watching the proceedings. If Louis wanted to join in, he'd do so. Until then, his voyeuristic tendencies were to be indulged and he was merely a fly on the wall. Shit. If that were the case, I'd have taken a flyswatter to his ass years ago! The teenager shook off the thought. Get to work! Before he gets to work on you!

Sylvia jerked forward, the resounding slap of flesh on flesh ringing through the air. Her hair was pulled tightly and a stinging erupted on her rear. She was spanked again, her other buttock receiving a similar warming. And then her mistress' hand was caressing the sensitive skin. Despite herself, the woman moaned and pushed back into the touch.

"You like that, huh?" Jordan asked, dipping a finger into wetness. When there was no answer, she pushed Sylvia away, causing her to stumble and fall against the refrigerator. "Answer me, dammit!" she yelled, apparently furious.

The woman held a hand to her rib cage, already feeling the bruise developing from hitting the refrigerator door handle. Her grey eyes were wide and she peered fearfully up at the ebony haired youth. "Yes," she whispered. "I like it." Relief flowed through her as her mistress appeared mollified.

Jordan fought down the nausea that was developing. Quit being a wuss! Beat the bitch and get it over with! The whisper was back, making itself a nuisance, stirring up the already boiling mess in her gut. Stop now. Make a stand. Violence isn't the way. The rage that welled up from her constantly warring interior took over and she stepped forward.

Even as the teenager approached, Sylvia tried to straighten. She saw the sudden flash of fury in emerald eyes and raised her hands to protect herself on reflex. Her wrists were plucked out of the air and pressed against the freezer door on either side of her head. The woman could feel refrigerator magnets poking into her shoulders and back, her mistress pinning her to the appliance.

The woman squirmed beneath Jordan, exciting her. "That's it, babe. Fight it," she hissed. The struggles intensified on command and her arousal increased as they wrestled, despite the disgust at herself. Whaddya expect from yerself, Horny Jordie? Fruit doesn't fall far from the tree. Granted, he ain't your real dad, but you are what you eat.

It stopped being a fight when a thigh pressed into slick flesh. Sylvia groaned aloud, her center throbbing with the contact. She clutched the appendage between her legs, rubbing against the coarse cloth. Her mistress was growling, chewing hard on the tendon beneath her ear, humping her in return. "Yesss," she whispered.

In the doorway, the silhouette had not moved. Not now! Gotta get her downstairs! Panting, the teenager pulled away. She smiled ferally at the whimpered moan of frustration. "Patience comes to those who wait, babe." With a rabid fierceness, she devoured the woman's mouth, swallowing the groan as she bit down on the soft lower lip. Retreating, she released one of the woman's wrists and grasped the ring in her collar. Roughly, she pulled Sylvia towards the basement door. "We've got a long night ahead of us," she promised, stepping down into the darkness and drawing the woman with her.

The silent shadow followed.

Jordan released Sylvia's other wrist and hit the lightswitch as she passed at the top of the carpeted stairs. She moved swiftly down the steps, tugging the woman behind her and keeping her off kilter.

The stairs opened to a mid sized room. On the left wall were a washer and dryer. A utility sink on the far wall shared space with a solitary toilet and what appeared to be a makeshift shower - nothing but the showerhead hanging from the ceiling over a drain in the concrete floor. To the right was a doorway, gaping blackly. As was the door in the remaining wall next to the stairs. It was to the second door that Jordan dragged her charge.

Stepping inside, the teenager flicked on another light. She pulled Sylvia through what appeared to be a small family room - an entertainment center sat beneath the stairs and comfortable chairs and tables were placed strategically. There was another door here, this one closed. And on either side of it were bamboo wall hangings.

Sylvia was roughly deposited on a couch and she felt her mistress' hand leave her collar. Grey eyes watched the ebony haired youth go to the stereo system, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it into an armchair. The CD selection was perused, a case chosen and pulled out, the disc put into the player.

As the strains of Mozart's 'Magic Flute' filled the room, Jordan schooled her features to not reflect her distaste. How Lucifer listens to this shit is beyond me. Having heard the same music through every abusive encounter with her step-father and his friends only served to have the teenager further shut down on some of her deepest emotional levels. The whispered voice was finally silenced.

Sylvia swallowed in nervousness as her mistress turned to her, a manic gleam in her eyes and a smile that was almost a snarl. The woman's belly was a-flutter and she could almost feel herself soaking the sofa cushion beneath her.

With slow, seductive movements, Jordan went to the closed door, pulling her keys from a pocket and unlocking it. The door swung open onto darkness and she held out her hand to her prey. "Playtime."

The woman saw not a teenager, but a strong youthful angel of darkness with red eyes glittering from her arm. As if possessed, she rose and walked to her vampire / mistress, a part of her realizing that this was it. There was no going back from this point. And the emerald and red eyes mocked her, promising her that things would never, ever be the same.

Sylvia took Jordan's hand and allowed herself to be led into the darkness.

Present

Sylvia's scream amid the harsh voices and laughter pierced her consciousness. Jordan bolted straight up in her bed, the scream still echoing on the edges of her mind. Hands were on her body trying to pull her down and voices were whispering to her. The redhead scrambled away in terror until she fell off the edge of the mattress and scuttled away to crouch on the hard wooden floor.

Wild eyes looked around, trying to place herself. A mattress on the floor, the smell of rain and candles, pale blue eyes watching in shock and a whispered voice trying to soothe her. It was a dream! A fucking nightmare! The relief that welled up inside caused a lump to form in her throat and the guitarist could feel the sting of unshed tears. No! Don't cry! Lucifer hates that!

Sonny slowly eased forward, continuing her litany of calming words. Her lover was cowering nude before her, all disheveled hair and panicked eyes. The teenager slid off the mattress and scooted closer. Her first attempt at brushing the redgold tresses away from Jordan's face were rebuffed, a hand reaching out to swat hers, the body flinching away. Refusing to be daunted, the dark woman forced past the feeble defenses. Soon, she was seated on the cool wooden floor, rocking her lover in her arms.

It had been the tossing and turning that had originally awakened the teenager. Her usual tricks to calm Jordan down during a nightmare hadn't work, however. The blood curdling scream that had erupted had scared the daylights out of both of them. As Sonny held and caressed the woman in her arms, she could only wonder at the depth of pain that had to be buried inside. What happened to you, love? What can I do to let you know it's safe to deal with it? That I'm here for you? Knowing there would be no answers from her broken lover, she whispered calming words and rocked her, swallowing the desire to cry in sympathy and frustration.

As the terror from the nightmare faded, a bone deep weariness invaded her. Jordan stopped fighting off her lover's assistance, too emotionally weak to put up any more of a struggle. She relaxed into the embrace and enjoyed a modicum of peace before the voices could reassert themselves again.

Long minutes passed. As the redhead gained her composure and woke a bit more, she began to pull away. Sensing that the nurturing moment was now over, Sonny stopped rocking and loosened her arms. "You okay?" the teenager asked softly, brushing a wisp of hair aside so she could see her lover's eyes.

Jordan looked away, embarrassed, struggling with her mask. "Yeah. I'm fine." She sighed deeply, noticing the foul taste in her mouth and dryness of her eyes. That's right! You tied one on last night, Jordie, Louis's voice echoed in her head, as it had for years. "I need a drink of water," she mumbled, pulling further out of Sonny's grasp.

"Okay." The long hands gave her a final caress. "I'll get it. You get back in bed."

Nodding, the guitarist crawled back to the mattress and sat down on edge. She rubbed sleep from her alcohol puffed eyes and glanced around. Jordan couldn't remember getting home the night before. Obviously, the dark woman had gotten her upstairs and undressed. The clothes she'd been wearing were sitting in a neat, folded pile nearby. If I did that, I'd have to be drunker than I thought. She rooted out a cigarette and lit it.

Sonny approached from the tiny bathroom and handed her lover a glass. "Here ya go, sexy." She smiled at the brief look of thanks as the redhead took it from her and had a long swallow. The teenager climbed onto the mattress herself, curling up on her side behind Jordan and propping her head up on an elbow. The skin of the shorter woman's lower back pressed firmly against her own torso, and she gently ran her palms along the available flesh.

The water was cool against her parched throat. She drained the glass and set it down on the floor, sighing again at the comforting sensations on her back. Eyes closed, she enjoyed the caresses for long moments, no sound in the room except their even breathing.

Sonny had laid her head down, peering up at the guitarist's profile as she smoked. I wish it could always be this way, she thought wistfully.

Deep in the abyss of self disgust, Jordan mused, I wish this was real. But, as usual, the voices she lived with were there to torment her, deny her, tell her what the reality of her world was. The redhead took a deep breath, breaking out of her reverie. Turning to glance at the bedside clock, she surprised a strange look on Sonny's face. Her emerald eyes narrowed, her mask firmly in place. What the fuck was that?

The dark woman dissembled, shuffling the feelings of tenderness and love away. "What time's your appointment with the lawyers?" she asked, scratching the smooth skin beneath her fingers.

Jordan studied her for long seconds, suspicious. "At eleven." She looked at her clock. "I've gotta get ready. The next bus outta here is in half an hour."

With a startled look, the teenager said, "Bus? You can't ride a bus, Jordan."

"Why not?" the redhead asked in irritated puzzlement. She rose and padded to her clothing stacked nearby.

Pale blue eyes rolled in exasperation. "You're the guitarist for Warlord, sexy. You get on a bus, you'll get mobbed." Sonny sat up and reached for her own clothes. "Remember what you told me about that little store in New York."

Jordan sniffed at the t-shirt she had worn the night before, smoke and whiskey and sweat making her nostrils twitch. She tossed the offending item into the corner meant for dirty clothes and rummaged in another pile of material, pulling out a shirt. "Well, how the hell else am I supposed to get there? Call a fucking limousine?" she asked sarcastically. Vague memories of the bars she'd been at plagued her and she could remember feeling surprised at just how many people wanted to buy her drinks. Well, duh, Jordie. You need a clue.

"No, silly," Sonny said with a slight grin. "We'll just call a cab."

Freezing in the process of pulling her shirt on, Jordan stared at the younger woman. "Whaddya mean 'we'll' call a cab?"

Here it comes. Sonny shrugged, buttoning up her jeans. "I'm coming with you."

Jordan's breath caught in her throat and her pulse quickened. No! She'll find out! Another voice, the one that sounded like her step father, spoke up with a snide tone. Well, hell, Jordie. Isn't it about time she did? Found out exactly what kind of animal she's been sleeping with for over a year? Exactly what kind of damage you can do? The guitarist shook her head and continued pulling her shirt down over her torso. "You are not going," she intoned.

A dark brow raised. "Yes, I am. You can ban me from the meeting, of course, but I will be there when you get out."

Stomping on the panicked babbling voice, the redhead gave her lover a stern frown. The dark teenager stood before her, her hands on her hips and reflecting the look back at her, determined. The whisperer said, She should be told. And for once, Jordan listened to the quiet little voice, agreeing. Maybe that'll send her packing. Nothing else has. There was a dry chuckle. Oh, yeah, Horny Jordie. If that doesn't do it, nothing will.

Sonny raised her chin in defiance, knowing what her lover's response would be, knowing she'd have to put up one hell of a fight. Knowing she'd probably have to get a separate cab and meet the guitarist at the White Horse offices. Her mouth dropped open in surprise at the response.

"Okay."

The dark woman watched her lover stooping to pull her boots on in shock. That was too easy, she considered, a trickle of fear mixing with the elation of winning the goal.

Sonny sat in the meeting room with Jordan, two of the White Horse lawyers and the vice president, Jonathon Allen. "I still think we should wait for Tamara to get here," she murmured to her lover.

The redhead shrugged. "What's gonna happen's gonna happen. Ain't nothing she can do about it."

Pursing her lips, the teenager refused to respond to the doom and gloom.

"Well, I'd like to thank you for coming in, Jordan. Sonny," Allen said with a smile. "We just want to go over our bases here before they call you in for a court appearance."

Jordan nodded. "I understand. Have you been in contact with the Mueller's lawyers?"

Lawyer Number One nodded and handed over some papers. "Yes. They're suing you for half of your income on the sales of this album as well as any future recording projects you might be involved with."

"Also, I believe a lump sum is asked for," Lawyer Number Two mentioned, rooting through a manila folder. "Ah.... Yes. Three hundred thousand."

Sonny looked dumbfounded. "Three hundred thousand? Plus half her royalties!? Isn't that a bit extreme?"

"And what happens to my contract with White Horse?" Jordan asked, ignoring the teenager's outburst.

The trio of men looked from one to the other. "Uh, well, that depends on the public relations aspect," Allen finally allowed.

The guitarist regarded him coolly. "Give me some examples here, Jon."

The VP blew out a breath, obviously uncomfortable. "Well, if the Mueller family insists on going to court and refusing a lump settlement, we can count on quite a bit of bad publicity." He fiddled with the cuff of his shirt. "Frankly, Warlord is too new a band to handle that kind of negativity. Granted, your first CD has been going like wildfire but, until you have a successful second recording, you're still considered a flash in the pan."

Sonny stared blankly at the executive, her mind refusing to wrap around what she'd just heard. "So... what? You'll drop the band because of this?" she questioned, her brow furrowed in growing anger.

"No," the guitarist answered for the men. "They'll drop me. The band can go along just fine."

Realizing that the redhead was taking everything in stride, Allen nodded, relieved. "Yes. The contract was signed by each individual member. The remaining members of Warlord will still be on contract for the required four recordings." As the storm clouds gathered over the dark woman, he held up his hand and smiled winsomely. "That doesn't mean we'll have to resort to that, however! We could still get a settlement out of court !"

"You can't do that!" Sonny insisted in a loud voice. "You can't just throw her to the wolves out there! She's the best thing Warlord has got!"

"Sonny..." Jordan growled warningly.

"No!" The teenager turned to her lover. "You can't let this happen without a fight, Jordan!" She lowered her voice, trying to sound calmer. "If you have to go to court, we'll find the best lawyer around. This has got to be a mix up. I know that the charges were dropped against you! You shouldn't have to pay guilt money to a greedy family! You didn't do anything!"

Emerald eyes flashed and the rage boiled just beneath her surface. "You got a copy of the original police report?" she asked of the lawyers. At their nod, she waved her hand, asking for it. A rather thick folder was removed from a briefcase and shoved towards her.

Sonny studied her lover as she flipped through the file, concern on her face. She's just gonna roll over on this. She thinks she deserves it! She doesn't!

Looking through the file brought back a rush of memories howling through her mind. Oh, yeah, Jordie! Wasn't this fun? Oh, man! They've even got the photos here! She glanced up at the lawyers, noting that they looked away quickly from her manic gaze. Betcha it's been the talk of the company for the last week! Deep inside, the swirling maelstrom of buried memories reared its ugly head.

"Jordan," the dark woman began, preparing to state her case.

"Shut up," the guitarist snarled. Irrational rage, screams of pain, blood and leather. Laughing voices, crude speech, begging whispers.

Shocked, her lover became stared at her.

Jordan laid the file open on the table in silence, spreading the glossy eight by ten color photos. Watching eyes, smeared crimson on white cloth, grunts of rape, pain. "Remember how I told you that I'd hurt you?" When there was no answer, she snapped, "Do you remember!?"

Swallowing, scared, instinctively not wanting to go through this door that was yawning open before her, Sonny nodded.

"Meet Sylvia Mueller," the redhead said harshly, holding up a photo. The sound of flesh on flesh, ripping cloth, metallic taste.

The face of a woman staring dully out of the picture was almost unrecognizable. The skin was blue and red and mottled, one eye swollen completely closed, the nose broken and bloated. There were marks around her throat, almost black in their color and stains of blood trickling from her scalp and ear.

Sonny winced and looked away. And then a strong hand was grasping her neck, pinching the nerve there and causing pain, forcing her to look back at the pictures. No no no no no....

"And this is Sylvia Mueller." Another vivid picture, a hand and forearm that was abraded from ropes and sliced up. "And this." Cigarette burns on thighs. "And this." Bleeding, oozing welts on thighs and buttocks. "And this. And this. And this." With each photo, Jordan held her lover's neck, forcing her to witness the destruction of another human being. The smell of burnt flesh and fear and death and decay.

"No!" Sonny whispered, trying to shake her head in denial.

"Yes!" the guitarist insisted. "I'm the one responsible for this! I'm the one who did the damage!" Her grin was feral and an insane light seemed to glow from her green eyes. "I put her in a fucking mental institute, Sonny! She's a fucking vegetable!"

Wide blue eyes rolled to catch sight of this woman, this stranger that was smiling at her from the depths of hell. "But...."

"No buts, Sonny." Jordan released her and leaned forward, forcing the dark woman to lean back and away. "I enjoyed it," she hissed. "Watching her scream and bleed and beg. It was one of the best things that ever happened to me." Grey eyes reflecting nothing, and nothing, and nothing....

Horrified, the teenager tried to fight back the wave of nausea at the magnitude of the redhead's statement. Her head was shaking numbly, a part of her refusing to believe the evidence she saw, the confession she heard. Feeling her stomach roll, she stumbled out of her chair and ran from the room, tears flowing freely down her face.

There was quiet in the emotionally charged room.

You go, Jordie! I'm impressed! Chip off the ol' block! Jordan took a deep, calming breath, fighting the beast back down and returning it to its cage. It was the only way to get rid of her. Now she'll be safe. The whisper returned. Will she? Or will you be safe?

Shaking off the voices, the guitarist looked up at the three men still in the room. A redgold eyebrow raised at their open gaping. She began gathering up the photos and putting them back into the folder as the two lawyers looked away and shuffled papers, flushing.

Allen cleared his throat cautiously. "Um, Jordan. That's not quite what the report said."

Jordan shrugged, a nonchalance evident that she didn't feel. "It was something that had to be done." Now she can have a life. Deep inside of her soul, she curled up into a little ball. And you can come back to hell, where you belong.

There was a knock on the door and her lawyer, Tamara Hampton came in, a puzzled look on her face. "What happened to Sonny? She just ran out the doors and wouldn't stop when I called her."

Sep 23, 2002

Oh, god! What am I gonna do?! That poor woman!

Jordan sat hunched over the bar, nursing her drink. She'd been here ever since the meeting was concluded at White Horse, not wanting to go home. Not knowing if she had a home to go back to. Horny Jordie, the Wonder Whore! Shoulda known better than to hook up with the kid anyway, an oily voice stated. She wasn't your type.

"Got that right," she muttered darkly, tossing the remainder of her whiskey down her throat. She rapped her knuckles on the wooden counter, gaining the attention of the bartender. Pushing the glass away, she ordered another.

The older woman studied the redhead carefully as she removed the empty glass and put it in the sink. The kid apparently had an amazing tolerance level. She'd already had seven doubles and it didn't look like it was affecting her in the least. Shrugging and shaking her head, the woman poured another and settled it on a fresh napkin before the kid.

Jordan took a swallow, enjoying the burn down her throat, and glanced around for the first time in an hour.

The Egyptian was a small establishment, lesbian owned and operated. Being a Monday night, things were pretty quiet. The television over the bar was showing the game, though it wasn't apparent that anybody was paying attention. Beneath it, the relief bartender/cook was slouched on a stool and playing the video poker game, the soft bells and music at odds with the roar of a television crowd as a team scored.

Further past the bar was an alcove that held a pool table. There were three women smoking cigarettes and enjoying a game, chattering and laughing among themselves. The only other occupants of the main bar were the couple that were behind Jordan at a small table against the wall, engrossed in conversation.

The guitarist was antsy. She needed something, something to help her forget the fiasco at the meeting, the pain and fear in Sonny's eyes, the memories welling up from inside. But she'd left her stash at home and didn't know anyone here. And the alcohol wasn't touching her. With your tolerance, it'll take so much booze, you'll die from alcohol poisoning. There was an idle thought that perhaps that wouldn't be such a bad thing, but Jordan dismissed it. Like you deserve to 'get away from it all', Jordie. Schyeah, right!

Seeing the pictures at the meeting had opened up memories inside, memories that she'd thought were locked up forever. Hell! I thought the whole thing was done forever. Disjointed flashbacks kept occurring, derailing her train of thought, interrupting a perfectly good pity potty session.

Heavy leather restraints around the thin wrists, the flash of metal as the chain was attached, hanging the woman from the ceiling. Louis watching, directing.

"Well, hey there, sexy!" a voice insinuated itself into her musings.

Jordan turned her head and watched a woman settle down on the stool beside her. The mask fell into place and she grinned at one of the many women she'd bedded over the years. "Hey, babe, how's it going?"

The brunette tossed her hair back with a smile. "Pretty good. How's fame treating ya?" She waved the bartender over to give her order.

Shrugging ruefully, the guitarist said, "It's been a roller coaster." Unnatural rage overcoming her. The heavy strop rising and falling, over and over and over. The drink was delivered and she told the older woman behind the bar, "Put it on my tab."

A dark eyebrow arched and the groupie smiled. "Heard you're not available any more," she said, fishing for information. "Something about somebody's kid sister...?"

"Old news," Jordan responded, taking a swallow of her drink and looking away. Visions of Sonny's face, twisted in passion just before an orgasm. Sylvia's grey eyes fearful and needing.

Sensing a recent rift, the groupie scooted a little closer. "I think I remember her. Dark hair, blue eyes?" At the agreeing nod, she looked down into her own drink. "Didn't think she was quite your type, ya know?"

Steeling herself, Jordan muttered, "She's not." The voices in her head roared and sighed in a maelstrom. It won't give up. It wants me dead. Goddamn this noise inside my head.

A tentative hand reached out, gently caressing the musician's thigh. The hand became bolder when it wasn't rebuffed. "Want company tonight?"

The redhead considered the question. It's been a long time, Horny Jordie. You remember how to play the game? She covered the woman's hand with her own and squeezed. "Yeah. That'd be nice." You'll never forget, Jordie. You were born and bred to play this game.

The groupie was able to refrain from crowing in delight. Barely. To bed Jordan Smith of Warlord now that she was famous? Definitely a major coup in the rock and roll world! "Ya know, I've got some stuff. Didn't you like downers?"

The night was a blur of alcohol and music and flirting and drugs. Floating on downers, drinking shots of whiskey, dirty dancing at several different bars. Soft and rough, dark corners of heavy breathing and inadequate climaxes. Trying to forget. Trying to remove vivid flashes of pale blue eyes full of love. Trying to deny.

Other flashes, scenes of violence and rape. Grey eyes pleading for relief from the pain, retreating into themselves. Unable to block them out. Unable to drive them away. Violation, desecration, penetration, complication. Angel bleeding from the tainted touch of her caress. Soul bleeding.

More booze. More pills. More sex. Nothing works.

And everything finally, mercifully darkens.

Sep 28, 2002

Day Five:

Jordan's still in intensive care. They plan on removing her from life support tomorrow morning. I hope her body can take it.... I hope she wants to live. I'm pretty sure she was so messed up that night, she just wasn't paying attention. Didn't realize exactly how much she'd been drinking when she took the pills.

God, I hope she makes it! I don't know what I'll do if she doesn't.

Lando's with her now. I'm here to relieve him. He said he was gonna play her guitar and sing for her while he was here this morning. She needs music in her life, even now. It was a hell of a fight letting visitors in, let alone round the clock surveillance. But Tamara really came through for us. She had nurses and doctors running every which way Tuesday morning!

And White Horse still hasn't recovered. The band might lose their contract or be sued over it, but everybody's stuck together and told the label to shove it. No Jordan, no Warlord, no albums. I'm so proud of these guys! I told Jordan years ago that Warlord sticks together. Wait'll she finds out just how tight-knit we really are!

I finally finished reading all the paperwork that Tamara gave me. She and I both realize that it's an ethical no-no to give me the files, but after that scene at White Horse, she thought I really needed to read it. I feel so drained and exhausted now. I've spent quite a bit of time crying for my brave woman - I know she's never allowed herself to.

She's lied about some things to me, to us. Like, she's only a few months older than me. All this time she'd been making it appear that she was oh-so-much-older... only to find it's been by five months and nothing more! She had a fake ID when she joined the band. (Now I know how she knew where to get mine!)

And her name's not legally Smith. Her step-father legally adopted her when she was three. Her last name had been his - Chizu. When everything went down in Boston, that was the name they had her under. When she ran away from her foster home, she took Smith.

I remember that night she found me walking home from that fiasco of a date. She told me then that her step-dad had molested her, took her virginity. She neglected to mention that it wasn't just him.... It was his friends, some members of his family, even complete strangers! Oh, I wish I had the opportunity to throttle the bastard! He did so much more to her than she lets on.... He was heavy into sadism and trained her from the time she was little....

And the case was just one big convoluted mess - people pointing fingers, name calling. There was a lot of press over it in Boston. Chizu spent a lot of time and effort trying to get Jordan to take the rap. And she let him, refusing to testify against him. God, she was so messed up! It's a wonder she's survived this long with all that pain.

It's no wonder she doesn't want my love. She really doesn't think she deserves it. And it's on such a deep level, I don't think she realizes. I don't think it's so much that she doesn't want it, but that she doesn't' want to need. That's what scares her silly, drove her to try a last ditch effort to get rid of me, get rid of the band. Get rid of everything she loved.

She loves me. I know it now.

And that woman she was reported to be with that night! I'd like to get my hands on her, too! Giving downers to her when she'd already been drinking. Grrrrr.... At least she had the presence of mind to call 911 before bailing from the hotel room.... Otherwise, Jordan would be dead now....

And she still may be. If her body can't take over when they remove her from life support.... No. I can't think like that. She'll know I've given up when I talk to her if I go in like that.

All this information and confusion in my head.... I went to the mental health wing, to find someone to talk to. I can't say that I really understand exactly what's been going on within Jordan. But I've got to try. The lifestyle she was raised in.... I can't even fathom! I've spoken with a counselor twice this week and I have another appointment day after tomorrow. And I've begun reading up on the BDSM lifestyle on the web and at the library. Some of it's not pretty. But I need to understand! To know how she could have been involved with Sylvia Mueller's destruction, to know why Sylvia responded the way she did.

I've been reading her a trashy romance novel I picked up at Borders. A lesbian one! Ha ha ha! If that doesn't get her out of it to demand an action adventure, nothing will!

Well, I've gotta go. I'm up next and Lisa relieves me in a few hours. Except for a few hours at night, we've been sitting with her in shifts, keeping up conversation and stuff. Tom even smuggled Tinker in yesterday.... He'd heard that people in comas came out of it faster with tactile stimulation. (Tinker wasn't too pleased! Giggle!) We're hoping we can keep her mind alive - to bring her out. It's worked for some, it'll work for her. She's too damned ornery to die.

I know it.

Suicidal Dream
(excerpt) © Silverchair

I dream about how it's gonna end,
Approaching me quickly.
Living a life of fear,
I only want my mind to be clear.

Chorus: My suicidal dream.
Voices telling me what to do.
My suicidal dream.
I'm sure you will get yours too.

Help me, comfort me,
Stop me from feeling what I'm feeling now.
The rope is here. Now I'll find a use.
I'll kill myself, I'll put my head in the noose.

Chorus

Dreaming about my death.
Dream.

Chapter IX: Awakenings

Eyes of a Stranger
excerpt © Queensryche

All alone now
Except for the memories
Of what we had and what we knew.
Everytime I try to leave it behind me
I see something that reminds me of you.
I lie awake and sweat, afraid to fall asleep
I see your face looking back at me.

Chorus: And I raise my head and stare
Into the eyes of a stranger.
I've always known that the mirror never lies.
People always turn away
From the eyes of a stranger,
Afraid to know what
Lies behind the stare.

Is this all that's left
Of my life before me?
Straight jacket memories, sedative highs.
No happy ending like they've always promised.
There's got to be something left for me.

Chorus

How many times must I live this tragedy?
How many more lies will they tell me?
All I want is the same as everyone.
Why am I here, and for how long?

Chorus

She didn't know how long it had been. At some point in time, the blackness surrounding her had just faded away, like a fog burning off in the noon day sun. Leaving her... here. Wherever here is.

As time passed, further sensations and awareness of her surroundings increased. First it was simply that she was, existing. Nothing more. And then the feeling of coolness, a not-uncomfortable breeze that occasionally brushed her skin. Next came the feeling of rough-hewn wood and she discovered she was seated, her elbows and forearms resting on a table.

This realization seemed to cause the blackness to ebb a bit more and she was able to see the table, its surface hand worked and scarred. She saw the cup in her hand before her fingers felt the smooth wood. A vague curiosity overcame her and she tensed an arm, watching the muscles play beneath her skin. Another experiment and the cup was raised to her lips.

The smell of apples arose from the cup and she peered in, seeing amber liquid. She took a taste, her eyes widening at the riot of flavor on her tongue. Apple cider never tasted like this! And then she drained the contents with the air of a woman dying of thirst - using her fingertips to catch the overflow at the corners of her mouth. The cool liquid coursed through her, strengthening her, serving to bring her further into the present.

She set the cup back down and released it, splaying her hands across the wooden table. Looking down at herself, she saw the familiar shorts, her belly bare below the sports bra. The floor beneath her combat boots was wood, as well, and covered with sawdust. A wood shop? Odors reached her nostrils and she decided she was wrong. No wood shop smells like beer and chicken! Her stomach grumbled loudly and her mouth began watering from the aroma of freshly roasted meat.

As if on cue, a form materialized out of the darkness. An older woman stepped towards her, long dark hair going grey, laughing blue eyes holding hints of past pain. She was wearing a long blue dress, the color bringing out her eyes. An apron, off white from years of apparent use, was around her waist and she was using it to wipe her hands on. With a warm smile, she asked, "Are you ready for something to eat, sweetling?"

She stared blankly at the woman for long moments. Something about the eyes was familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. The woman reached towards her in a natural gesture to brush hair away from her face and she flinched aside, blocking the touch with her forearm.

The woman's eyes became sad rather than angry and she pulled back. "I've got some nice chicken and vegetables for your supper. You just sit here and I'll go get it."

As the woman turned away, she felt a vague sense of panic. She opened her mouth to speak, a croak coming from her once again dry throat.

The woman turned back around. A concerned smile crossed her face. "Don't worry, sweetling. I'll get you some more cider, too." The woman leaned closer and peered into her eyes. "You're not alone."

And she knew that it was true, her unease fading away under that pale blue gaze. They look like Sonny's eyes. There was a wink and the woman moved away again, towards the darkness. She concentrated on the woman, watching her move away. The darkness faded further as the woman walked, appearing to shepherd it before her. Other sights and sounds and smells caught her attention and she realized she really wasn't alone.

She was in a large room, a wooden construction of some sort. There was a fireplace crackling to one side, an iron hook holding a bubbling pot of some wonderful smelling stew hanging over the flames. Several other people were in the room, dressed in strange clothing and eating or drinking or talking to one another. The woman in question disappeared through a door by a bar.

She studied the other people, finding some of them familiar. Over in one corner, she could see Atkins with her guitar. He appeared to be singing to himself. She could just barely make out the tune and realized his voice was hoarse. He musta been singing for a long time.

At the same table was Middlestead. He held the cat in his arms, petting her while he listened to his bandmate play. Tinker's yellow glare caused a flicker of amusement within her and she could feel her mouth quirk into a smile. Nearby, Foley and Hampton were sharing a cup of something. As she regarded them, they both turned and waved at her before going back into their discussion. Their voices tickled the edges of her mind, not quite able to catch what was being said. Wonder where Sonny is.

And then a plate with a wonderful aroma was placed in front of her. She looked up into the laughing blue eyes.

"Here you go, sweetling. There's nutbread for desert if you want it." The woman poured more cider from a pitcher into her cup. Finished, she stood for a second, expectantly.

She cleared her throat. "Um.... Thank you," she finally responded.

The woman smiled. "You're welcome, sweetling." And then she moved away, stopping to refill the cups of her other patrons.

Her stomach growled again, aching with need. She dug into the repast with relish, almost groaning in ecstasy at the flavors assailing her senses. She worked her way through steamed vegetables and tangy chicken, her hunger abating, leaving behind a feeling of fullness. I've gotta be in heaven.

Her brow furrowed. Now, why the hell would I think that? I'm not dead.... Emerald eyes narrowed and flashes of whiskey and sex and drugs flickered through her mind. "Am I?" she asked aloud.

"Not yet," a low voice responded.

She looked up. And saw.... "You're... me?"

The redhead before her grinned. "Yep. Who else would you listen to?" She settled down on the bench across from her, a cup of cider in her own hand.

Jordan studied the woman across from her with no little suspicion. A closer inspection proved that it indeed was herself sitting there. The eyes were the same, as was the face, the hair. But there were subtle differences. Her face wasn't as hard, the eyes not quite as wary. While she was dressed the same, there was no tattoo on her arm and her body had the rosy shine of good health.

The other Jordan allowed the inspection, her mouth quirked to one side. She drank from her cup in silence.

Looking around the room - tavern, her mind supplied - once again, Jordan said, "Okay. If I'm not dead, than where the hell am I? What is this place?"

With a shrug, the Other's grin widened. "An ancient memory. A limbo of sorts. Someplace you created to feel safe and wish to experience again." The smile faded and she tilted her head, her eyes intensifying. "But this is only in your imagination."

Emerald eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said without thinking. But, it is safe here.

The Other smiled. "Yes, you do. You've just decided to be stubborn about it."

Jordan let it slide, a scowl on her face. It felt right and that irritated her, but her mind was occupied with other things. First and foremost was the fact that the voices that usually inhabited her head were... missing.

"They don't belong here. They aren't a part of you. This place is."

"How do you know what I'm thinking?" the guitarist demanded, a trickle of anxiety in her heart.

The Other drank from her cup again, emerald eyes peering over the rim. She set the empty cup down. "I'm you."

Jordan snorted in derision. "Trust me, babe. If you were me, I'd know it." She glanced to one side and saw a peasant at a nearby table. "And what's he? I've never seen him before." she scoffed.

The Other leaned back in her seat. "No. Just window dressing. Not like them," and her long arm waved towards her bandmates and friends along the wall.

Instinctively, emerald eyes followed the arm, watched her friends as they conversed or sang. Brightness caught her eye and she noticed others that hadn't been there upon her first examination - a doctor and a couple of nurses sporting their white jackets and uniforms, standing by a window. The doctor had a stethoscope around her neck and a chart, discussing something that was just out of earshot while one nurse nodded and the other prepared a hypodermic of some substance.

So much for feeling safe! she thought. And then she heard another voice in her head. They're only trying to help you. The whisperer was still there, the one that had been there all her life, the advisor that was consistently wrong, suggesting things that only caused more grief, more pain, more hurt.

Jordan shoved her plate to one side, a stern look on her face. "You gonna tell me what the hell is going on or what?"

"Definitely haven't learned patience, have you?" her doppelganger said with a wry grin. She shook her head and waved a finger at the redhead's apparent attempt at a response. "Sorry. Rhetorical question. Let's get on to what you want to know."

Sourly, the guitarist nodded in agreement.

"You're not dead yet, Jordan. But it's a possibility at this point. You'll be removed from life support soon and no one's sure whether or not you'll fight to remain alive."

"So, this is a delusion because of the downers and booze?" she asked, feeling on firmer ground.

The Other's eyes widened in surprise. "No. I told you. This is an old memory. A place of safety. This is where you've gone to escape the real world."

The redhead rolled her eyes and looked away. "It ain't like the real world is all that great, ya know," she muttered. "It's full of shit and blood and pain. Nothing more."

"And Sonny," the woman added, her emerald eyes pained.

Their eyes met for mere seconds before Jordan looked away again. Whaddya getting so worked up for? It's just a hallucination! She heaved a sigh. Or is it?

"Go look out the window."

Jordan debated whether or not she should do as she was told, a part of her not wanting to give in to this strange woman who looked so much like... me, the whisperer filled in. That does it! She dug in her figurative heels and shook her head.

Exasperated, the Other sighed deeply. "Damn, that stubborn streak is still a fathom wide." She also shook her head and added, "Fine. Then don't." She waved the older woman towards them, lifting her cup as a signal.

Despite herself, the guitarist glanced at a nearby window. It appeared to move closer with surprising speed until it was directly in front of her. There was no place to go and she could only stare out onto the scene before her.

A hospital room with sunlight entering from a window. A changing of the guard, as Atkins rose and Sonny hugged him. Words were exchanged, but Jordan couldn't hear them. And then the tall guitarist was gone, leaving her guitar in the corner by the bed. Sonny looked upon her still, pale form with deep sadness. And then she leaned over, kissing her on the forehead.

Jordan could feel a light caress on her forehead as she continued to watch.

Sonny settled down and pulled a book from her pack. She found her bookmarked place and opened it, her mouth moving as she read aloud to the comatose woman in the bed.

Almost. Almost, she could make out the voice. Make out the words.

"Hardly shit, blood and pain," the Other's low voice murmured.

Jordan started and the window was suddenly back where it was supposed to be. She was still seated at the table, the woman across from her. Her cup had been filled to the rim with more apple cider. "Look, what the fuck do you want from me?" she growled.

"To admit that you love and are loved."

Emerald eyes blinked in incomprehension. "Love?" she finally sneered. "Love is a myth. It doesn't exist." But isn't that what you feel when you're with.... "And even if it does exist," Jordan hurriedly added, "I don't deserve it."

"Why?"

"Why?" the redhead spat in disgust. "Get a clue, bitch! If you're me, you know exactly why!"

The Other studied the smaller woman for long moments. "So, what Lucifer started, Sylvia finished?"

"No. What I started finished Sylvia."

Lips pursed in reluctant understanding, the woman nodded her head. "You talking about this?"

And the window was back with a vengeance, making Jordan feel a bit dizzy from its speed of approach.

A very young girl with inky black hair was tying an older blindfolded woman, restraining her wrists, hanging her from a chain in the ceiling of a typical dungeon. Chains, whips, clamps, strops, rack, leather harnesses, dental chair complete with hydraulic drill. A bamboo screen was raised, revealing a small man of dark European descent, smoking a cigarette and watching the scene.

The redhead's stomach clenched at the memory. Her mind blithered on other topics, trying to ease the familiar feelings of panic and fear. Jesus. Was I ever really that young? She tried to turn away from the view, but couldn't move, helpless as she watched the past replay itself.

The young girl began doing things to the woman, slapping her, caressing her, applying nipple clamps, attaching restraints to her ankles, a spreader bar. The man in the window pulled a cellular phone out of his pocket and made a few phone calls, idly stroking his manhood between cigarettes.

"Stop this!" Jordan demanded aloud, her voice echoing eerily.

And then the man rapped on the window, calling the girl out of the room. He gave her money and a pack of cigarettes in reward. He ordered her to strip and she did. After a fierce kiss on the lips, he handed her pills, insisted she take them, give them to the woman inside. Which she did.

The same feelings from the drug she had taken all those many years ago began to surface. Jordan watched her younger self go back into the room and administer the pills to her captive. Fear and anger began to pulse within her breast.

The girl continued as she'd been doing, torturing, teasing, tempting. She retrieved a leather strop and began to give the woman what she'd come to receive. Stinging lashes were laid on back and buttocks and thighs. But the girl became paler as the drug took effect. And the woman began to look less like she enjoyed the treatment and began to struggle against her restraints.

The fear and anger Jordan was feeling suddenly exploded into a fury. She shook with it, sweat running from her in rivers and teeth grinding painfully together, fists knotted.

The girl began to growl, to use more force. What had begun as pink welts soon became red. The edge of the strop began slicing the pale skin of the woman, blood welling up, staining the leather, further striping her back. The woman screamed out in pain and terror. The man pulled his member out and began to masturbate.

Jordan's heart ached at the violent explosion from her younger self, revisiting the morass of seething emotion that had set her on her course.

Her own low voice soothed over the violation of her soul. "Do you actually believe that there wasn't something else going on here? Something you had no control over?"

The man reached his climax. He used his step-daughter's shirt to clean up the mess. Another man joined him and they chatted as the girl continued venting her fear and rage. The men joked and laughed and then entered the dungeon. The first man intercepted the girl, removing the strop and tossing it to the new arrival. As the second man continued what the girl had begun, the first strapped her to the rack.

"You don't remember much past this point, do you?" the Other asked.

The window was gone again. Jordan sat ramrod straight on the bench, breathing heavily. The emotions that had been seething through her had disappeared and she was left only with a vague physical detachment and exhaustion. She swallowed, her mouth dry, and lifted the cup of cider to her lips with shaky hands.

"Do you remember what happens next?"

Jordan shook her head. "No," she said in a low voice. "I woke up in my room the next day."

The Other leaned closer, peering at the redhead in concern. "You stayed away from the dungeon for quite a while, didn't you? It was days before help came?"

Needing no window to relive the memory, Jordan nodded, eyes closed.

The girl snuck into the dungeon while all were asleep. She was horrified at the amount of damage done to the once beautiful young woman. With solid resolve, she retrieved the bloodied and tattered shirt, dashing out of the house with it. The girl stuffed it into the garbage can in the alley, right next to the old pizza she'd had for dinner the night before. And then she went into the house and picked up the phone.

"What'd you tell them to get them there so quickly?"

Eyes stinging, the guitarist gave a watery snort. "You know. Told 'em I'd been shot and hung up the phone."

"How many days was it?"

"Six," was the whispered response.

"For saving her life, for bringing your step father to justice, for stopping the continuation of a viscous group of sadists who cared for nothing but their own entertainment you don't deserve love or to be loved?"

"No!" Jordan pushed away from the table, rising in her denial, wanting to leave this conversation, this tavern. Long arms reached out to stop her and she turned and swung.

With ease, the Other dodged the blow and caught her hands, pulling her into an embrace that was more a wrestling match. The redhead struggled to get away, to run from the tears that were threatening to start, knowing that should she cry, she'd never stop. Refusing to be daunted, the Other held on tight.

And Jordan's dominant will finally broke as great sobs shook her small body for the first time in her conscious memory. She cried for her broken childhood, the torments of her step father, the abandonment of her mother. All the disgust and hatred and doubts, the sympathetic looks from strangers, the knowledge that nothing would ever save her, stop the pain, stop the hurt, stop her own rage and violent soul.

The arms holding Jordan eased as she stopped fighting their containment. She was whisked up and carried like an overgrown baby back to the table. There the Other settled back down on the bench, cradling the woman, rocking, caressing, singing gently in a low voice.

Hours seemed to pass before the misery finally appeared to reach it's end. The sobbing quieted and the tears tapered off. The redhead felt exhausted and drained. But not in a bad way. She sleepily listened to the woman singing, her voice surprisingly like Sonny's. Completely relaxed in the embrace, feeling wonder at the familiarity of it, Jordan asked, "Why are you here?"

The singing stopped and the Other hugged her gently. "Because you don't think Sonny's strong enough to handle it."

Recognizing the truth in that statement, Jordan nodded.

"But, she can handle it," the woman continued. "She does have me to fall back on." Long fingers brushed redgold hair, tucking it behind an ear.

Emerald eyes narrowed as she tried to comprehend the statement. Even as she tried to think, she realized that the woman holding her wasn't her doppelganger.

And then her eyes closed. So tired. The memory faded. Instead, she heard the low voice of the woman - Sonny - holding her, speaking to her.

"* Next time we'll be born on the same day. I'm eager to...."

"....do it all again, even the sad parts, but especially that first winter." A few more paragraphs were read and Sonny closed the book, finished. She looked over at the figure in the bed, trying to see past all the tubes and wires.

Emerald eyes looked back at her.

The teenager's heart lurched for a second. Calm down, girl! It could be just an automatic reaction! You've seen it before! She set the book down and rose.

The eyes followed her movements.

Swallowing, half in fear and half in hope, Sonny stood next to the bed and leaned closer. "Jordan?" she softly asked.

Under the oxygen mask there was a croaked response.

"OhmigodohshitIloveyou!" The young woman dived for the call button and mashed down on it. Within seconds, a bevy of white clad men and women burst through the door and hustled her to one side. She anxiously watched as they poked and prodded and took vital signs.

"Back off!" Jordan growled, her voice raspy from lack of use.

The sound of her irascible lover sent a shiver of happiness through her and Sonny couldn't help but giggle at the stern faced nurses.

Refusing to be daunted, the staff continued their ministrations until they were satisfied. The head nurse turned to her as they all filed out, a warning look on her face. "Don't tire her out," she ordered. "I'm going to call the doctor to have a look at her." And then she was gone, as well.

Sonny approached the side of the hospital bed, reaching to take her lover's hand. "Hey, sexy," she murmured with a large smile on her face.

Grinning in response, Jordan answered, "Hey, there." She weakly squeezed the hand that was warmly wrapped around her own. "How long?"

"Five days." Her other hand reached up and brushed redgold bangs from the guitarist's forehead. "You passed out in a motel room and someone called 911."

Jordan nodded. Her eyes closed and she let herself float with the feelings of love that emanated from the dark teenager. The voices in her head were strangely silent, but she was sure they'd return with a vengeance once she acquired more strength.

The dark woman continued to caress her lover's face, a slight twinge of anxiety fluttering through her heart as emerald eyes sagged closed. But her lover's breathing remained normal and she sent a silent prayer to anyone, asking that Jordan not return to her coma.

Now's the time, woman. Before you turn chickenshit. Jordan opened her eyes and stared intently into pale blue concern. She chewed her upper lip in a moment of indecision. "I love you, Sonny," she rumbled. There was a sudden increased beeping as the machine nearby picked up her heartrate.

The dark teenager blinked, stunned. She said it? The words echoed in her head. She said it!!

The smile that broke out on her lover's face seemed to brighten the already sunlit room. Jordan felt tears of relief fill her eyes and, for once, she didn't try to fight them away. An ancient voice repeated, "She can handle it."

"I love you, Jordan," Sonny said, bringing the redhead's hand up to her lips and kissing it. "For a very long time now."

"I know. I... wasn't able to hear it." Jordan swallowed, nervous. "To say it."

"It's okay," the teenager soothed, knuckles brushing a fine cheek. "You don't have to talk now. Just rest until the doctor gets here."

"No." Her grip on Sonny's hand tightened. "There's something else...." Jordan searched her mind for the words.

Sonny waited patiently, letting her lover work through years of self-discipline, self-hatred.

"I.... I have a problem." Hot tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. "Several of them." The guitarist closed her eyes in misery. I have to get through this! She can handle it!

"I know. I know," Sonny murmured. "It's okay."

"No, it's not okay!" Jordan exclaimed. Her eyes flew open, burning with intensity. "I can't handle this alone. I'm an alcoholic and a drug addict. I need help." Pause. "I'm so sorry I hurt you." There! I said it!

Tears of sympathy, relief and joy flowed from the dark woman's eyes. She leaned over the bed. "I'll help you. We'll work on it together," she promised.

Oct 30, 2002

Jordan gets out of the hospital today. She's completed the program with flying colors and has really been working hard to clean herself up.

It's funny, but her struggles have brought something to Lando, too - he's cleaned his act up quite a bit, as well. Of course, he wasn't as heavy into the drugs as Jordan, but he's cut back on his drinking and carousing a lot.

I've been meeting with my own counselor every week. That and attending AA and joint counseling sessions with Jordan. It's been very educational all the way around. I hope I can get through my own issues with her problems. I hope I'm able to help her get through this all. She says she knows I'm strong enough now. Makes me feel both happy and sad. I'm happy that she feels she can trust me with her Self, but sad it too so long and so much pain before she figured it out.

White Horse has kept the contract. The band goes in next month to negotiate the next album with their producer. Jordan's musical output has nearly tripled while she's been in the program. The drugs were interfering with her creativity and she didn't even know it! She's written at least two dozen songs in the last two weeks!

The Mueller's have dropped their civil suit. With Tamara and White Horse on it, there was no way they could get any money out of Jordan. The police records pretty well exonerate her in the whole mess, laying the blame on her step father and his cronies. Jordan still hasn't forgiven herself, though. She's been working with Tamara to start a trust fund for Sylvia Mueller to defray the costs of the hospital where she's been placed. It's probably not exactly what the family wanted, but Jordan needs the chance to repay Sylvia for all the trouble she feels she caused.

The press, of course, has had a field day with all this. Amazingly enough, their album's gone double platinum! White Horse was worried about losing money and it only served to increase the band's popularity!

I hear Tom calling me. Gotta go pick up Jordan. On her first night of freedom, we're gonna take her to dinner at the Rhinelander.

I can't wait to hold her, to wake up with her beside me.

To Have and To Hold
© Depeche Mode

I need to be cleansed.
It's time to make amends
for all of the fun.
The damage is done.
I feel diseased.
I'm down on my knees.
I need forgiveness,
someone to bear witness
to the goodness within
beneath the sin,
although I may flirt
with all kinds of dirt.
A point of defeat.
I want relief.
All is decay -
take it away.
There's someone there,
someone who cares
with a heart of gold
to have and to hold.

The End

Discography

Depeche Mode. Music for the Masses. Mute. 1987.

Nine Inch Nails. The Downward Spiral. TVT/Interscope. 1994.

Queensryche. Warning. EMI. 1984.

Queensryche. Rage for Order. EMI. 1986.

Queensryche. Operation: Mindcrime. EMI. 1988.

Sevendust. Sevendust. TVT. 1997.

Silverchair. Frogstomp. Sony. 1995.

Tool. Undertow. BMG. 1993.

Tool. Aenima. Volcano. 1996.

Type O Negative. October Rust. Roadrunner. 1996.