The story of a lonesome ol'Jerome
I don't belong here
I wasn’t a complete idiot. I didn’t belong here, something was terribly wrong. Something had gone against the grain. I had wondered, briefly, if I were in a coma (admittedly chuckling briefly- how’d I get in CC, never met him?!?) or if ‘Andy’ was someone other than BVB’s Andy Biersack. But the guy I had just fucked, aside from looking like him, seemed about the right height (about the same as my ex, Drake, who was 6’ 2”), sounded the same, and, oh yeah, had the same tattoos. Those were all pretty strong arguments against being some other dude. So would being inside the large tour bus outside the venue BVB had just played in. So scratch that.
So why had the Andy Biersack just aggressively pursued and sexed me up? And I knew there could be a few reasons, but none of them were good.
Pity, for one. Maybe he felt sorry for me; my hands had gotten a little fucked up earlier. Possibly someone had dared him to. Conceivably someone had paid him to, but who? Or maybe he was on drugs, or drunk, and I hadn’t noticed. I hadn’t thought he was a drug user, but public personas versus reality were two different things.
Regardless, I had to get out of there. I didn’t want to know the shitty truth, I just wanted to go. At least my clothes actually had been in the fucking pillowcase, like he said. Stupid big boots! They were taking forever!
I grabbed my purse and was almost to the door, the sink was running, when I heard the bathroom door open. Shit! Andy saw me and called out. “Wait, what? Please!”