The Road To Hell

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION, ENJOY!



ANGEL'S POV





It took a couple days before we arrived in Fort Lauderdale, Florida for the venue, which was still two days away.



I took in all the surroundings, knowing this is where Manson spent a good amount of his life, as well as the other Marilyn Manson members.



Is was a beautiful state, just not an ideal one to form a rock band....Or so Manson told me.



I sat on the edge of the bed, looking out the window, watching palm trees whirl by as I listened to Manson snore heavily with his mouth agape and drool pooling on his pillow, myself unable to sleep from us both snorting a mountain of cocaine earlier.



The difference between Manson and myself though, was he counteracted the effects of the cocaine by also popping a handful of Vicodin when he was ready for bed. I preferred to feel everything as long as possible.



As my high came down, I wasn't prepared to feel the effects of my poor decision with the physical and mental pain that would come along with me crashing. I lightly scratched at my leg to take my mind off of wanting to get high.



After a moment, I could no longer resist my urge and quietly sneaked out the bedroom. I crept into kitchenette, beginning to shake as I felt beads of sweat roll down my face.



I fumbled with the drug teddy bear and removed its cocaine contents. I was so caught up in trying to get the drugs as quickly as I could that I didn't notice Pogo sitting on the long couch across from me.



He cleared his throat, causing me to slightly squeal and jump, dropping the bag of white powder to the floor.



"Fuck, Pogo, you scared the hell out of me", I said, clutching my rapidly beating heart.



He giggled and patted the seat next to him.



"What are you doing up?", I asked in a whisper as I sat next to him.



"The same reason you're up, I presume", he said gesturing towards the cocaine residue on the table.



I laughed awkwardly.



"Well don't let me stop you", he said. So I shakily prepared a line for myself and as I was leaning in to snort it, he stopped me.



"I have something way better than that, if you want to try it", he said reaching into his pocket.



A straight pipe and a white crystallized rock was retrieved. "I-I'm not doing that, it's crack", I said in disbelief.



He just giggled and sat the rock inside the pipe as he rocked back and forth. "If you snort it then you might as well smoke it....It's pretty much the same thing, just gets you higher", he said.



He held the pipe to my face and struck the lighter. I hesitated a moment, wanting to try it, but unsure if I should.



"You will like it, I promise", he said assuring and pressed the cold glass to my lips.



"Fuck it", I said, shrugging then allowed him to put the pipe in my mouth and light it.



I puffed in the white cloud of smoke, choking instantly and gagging on the horrible taste and odor of burning piss and hair.



But upon getting past the initial shock and toxic fumes, he was right. I did like it. It was the best high I have felt. I was in complete nirvana and felt invincible.



I fell backwards on the couch, my eyes starting to roll in the back of my head.



Pogo leaned over me, smirking. "How does it feel?", he asked, his voice seeming to echo.



"Amaziiiing", I replied, barely able to articulate the word.



I saw him pull away and hold the pipe to his mouth, lighting it then smoking it.



I attempted to sit up, but fell back again, Pogo chuckling a bit too loudly.



A moment later Sarah walked into the area we were in and began choking violently.



"What the FUCK are you doing, Stephen?!", she whisper yelled then snatched the pipe from his hand then gasped and dropped the pipe to the floor, causing a small shatter sound. She clutched her burned hand, whimpering slightly.



"You're fucking smoking crack, Stephen?", she asked angrily then her head snapped to me. "And you, Angel? You know, you're taking this shit WAY too far!", she hissed.



"Come on, Sarah, it's rock-n-roll", Pogo said, tugging Sarah so she fell in his lap.



"I'm not sure about this....", Sarah began to say, unsure, when she was cut off by an increasingly annoyed, Pogo.



"Look, just let it go. You're beginning to act like a stuck up bitch!", Pogo boomed. Sarah shrank down a bit. "I'm sorry", she said quietly. Then, she turned to face me and said "just know what you're doing."



She placed a quick peck on Pogo's lips then stood up and kissed me on my cheek and returned to their bunk, with Pogo stumbling after her a second later. As he walked after her, he turned to face me several times.



***********************************************



As the sun began to peak, the big black bus pulled up to a hotel, that I assume was going to be ours for the next few days.



It was perfect timing too, because just a few minutes prior to us arriving here, I could hear Pogo and Sarah fucking the shit out of each other and their bunk rattling and banging into the wall.



I stepped in the back bedroom to get Manson, semi antsy because I was afraid he would be able to tell I was high.



"Good morning, my love", I whispered in his ear then cringed at my use of words. I just couldn't stop using the word 'love', even though he hasn't said it to me. God, I am pathetic.



He seemed to enjoy it though, and smiled brightly. I kissed him all over his face then tugged at his arm, so he would get up.



He let out an overly-exaggerated groan and got up. When we stepped out of the room, everyone else was dragging out their bunks and making their way into the hotel. I felt relieved Manson didn't notice I was high, I guess there are some things I can get past him.



When we arrived in our room, Manson wasted no time in ripping off the little clothes he had on, and hopped back into bed. The crack was wearing down a lot, so I was getting tired, myself.



As Manson spooned me, he buried his face in my hair, inhaling deeply. As soon as I closed my eyes, he moved his face so that his lips were touching my ear.



"Don't you FUCKING think for a second I can't tell you're high. I'm way too exhausted right now to beat your ass, and these Vicodin is kicking my ass right now. And, you're so goddamned high I'm quite sure you wouldn't feel it anyways. But, if you DARE disobey me again, then not only will I beat your fucking ass for that time, I will do it for this time as well. You WILL regret it. Now, do I make myself clear?, he asked, pulling away from my ear not to look at my face, dominantly. He won, I averted my gaze and shrunk into the sheets, then nodded.



"Good", he yawned. "Goodnight, baby", he said then kissed my forehead and snuggled into me again.



I swear to shit this man must be bipolar with his loving personality one minute, and evil side the next.



But, I guess nothing gets past him after all.



***********************************************



"Baby, I'm leaving now", I heard Manson whisper in my ear and it caused my sleepy eyes to flutter open. He was going to spend the day with his parents. "Alright, sweetheart", I said, then turned back over.



I felt his arms wrap around me and lightly squeeze. "That's all? No telling me that you love me and no goodbye kiss?", he asked. Does he like when I say I love him? Even though he doesn't share my feelings.



I giggled and turned to face him, and was attacked with his kisses.



"I will probably be back in the morning", Manson said, pulling himself up from the bed, after composing himself.



So I guess it went from him spending the day with him to him spending the night as well.



***********************************************



Later in the day, Twiggy and Sarah forced me out of bed and into the tour bus. Everyone was drunk and staggering around with music loudly playing.



Twiggy handed me a glass of whiskey and clanked his glass to it. "Cheers!", he screamed, clearly drunk, also.



I swallowed the dark liquid as fast as I could, wincing from the intense burning in my throat.



"Where's Manson?", Pogo slurred out.



"Oh, he's going to spend the day and night with his parents", I said, while Twiggy refilled my glass with whiskey and I quickly downed it.



"The night too?", Pogo asked with a raised, nonexistent brow. "Huh, that's funny", he added.



"What? He's never done that before?", I asked nervously. Pogo shrugged.



"Why is it 'funny'?", I asked, getting impatient.



Pogo got closer to me so that only I could hear what he was about to say. "Well, I know he has an ex girlfriend in this area that he fucks with from time to time", he said.



My heart dropped and I began walking towards the front of the bus, to run out and leave to who knows where, but Pogo stopped me.



"Don't worry about him, just enjoy yourself", he said, gently grasping my arm and tugging me towards the familiar bedroom in the back of the bus.



Pogo pulled out a new pipe and a crystallized rock, as he did last night/early this morning, and lit it for me. We both smoked it, and quickly left the room so no one came looking for us.



I felt invincible again and no longer worried with if Manson was with another bitch, I felt numb....It was a much needed numbness.



Everyone continued drinking heavily, so it wasn't long before they were falling and passing out, on the couch, floor, EVERYWHERE. Sarah got so drunk that she was projectile vomiting and soon went to lay down in her bunk.



So the last ones standing were Twiggy, Pogo, and myself, but at this point I was barely coherent.



"You know, I feel these past few days we have gotten incredibly close. It's funny because at first, when I first met you, I thought you would be a catty bitch", Pogo blurted out, drunkenly while wrapping his arm around me.



I giggled at that. "WHAT?! Why the hell would you think that?", I asked.



He shrugged, "Because of your demeanor and how you refused to dance for us at first, that one night. But I get it now you weren't being stuck up, you were just out of your element, not used to the 'unsheltered' life", he finger quoted. "But now that I have gotten to know you, I get you, because you're so much like me. It's crazy", he said.



He was right, as far as I knew. We both loved drugs and we both saw the correlation between pleasure and pain. A conversation we had a couple of nights ago helped me better understand why I subconsciously enjoyed when Manson hit me. He said it's impossible to have pain without pleasure, and pleasure without pain. And Manson doesn't tell me he loves me, but when he hits me, it shows some sort of emotion from him that I desperately crave, just like our violent sex.



Twiggy patted my shoulder, "well I always liked you, Angel", he said.



"Aww, thanks, Twiggs", I cooed.



"But you are so much different now, not so innocent anymore, huh?", Twiggy teased.



"More like a 'fallen angel' now", Pogo joked. "All you need now are blackened and scabbed wings", he added.



"That would make one bad ass tattoo", Twiggy giggled.



"Fuck it, I would get it", I slurred.



Twiggy bounced excitedly. "Well let's go have it done!", he screamed. "Just let me get onnnne more drink", he added, hopping off the couch and running towards his bunk.



After 10 minutes he still didn't return so Pogo went to retrieve him. He came back laughing and said he was passed out on his bunk with a bottle of whiskey in his hands, so we laughed and decided to go without him.



Pogo instructed the bus driver, Mike, to drive us to the nearest tattoo shop in their rental car, and he reluctantly did.



Pogo and I stumbled out of the car and into the tattoo shop, me almost tumbling over multiple times, but Pogo wrapped his arms around me, preventing my fall.



We walked up to the front desk and Pogo spoke, "we need a tattoo of black angel wings for her", he said gesturing towards me.



"Um, sir, we can't give tattoos while someone is intoxicated or under the influence", the man behind the counter said.



With that, Pogo pulled out a large wad of cash and threw it on the desk. The man's eyes grew and he fumbled to pick it up. "Right this way, ma'am", he then said.



He led me to a semi-secluded room with a large leather chair. When I sat down, he handed me a clipboard with a waiver to sign for my tattoo, then he snapped on black gloves and told me to remove my shirt as he sat down in a stool next to me.



In a flash I had it pulled over my head and ripped off. I sat there shirtless and braless, amused as I watched Pogo shift nervously as he fought between the natural male reaction of wanting to look at my breasts and trying to be a gentleman and turn away.



That soon ended though, because the tattoo artist handed me a hospital-like paper gown to wrap around the front of me like an apron.



Then, within seconds I heard the buzz of the tattoo gun, then a stinging sensation tearing into my skin. I enjoyed it.



After awhile, it was finally over and the tattoo artist walked me to a large mirror, showing me the work of art that adorned my body now, covering all the way from my shoulder blades to the small of my back.



The tattoo was bandaged and I was given some ointment to put on the tattoo each day until it healed.



Pogo and I were driven back to the tour bus, and everyone was still sleeping, it was late now, and I was still drunk, so we decided to call it a night. Pogo walked me to my hotel room so I could sleep.



He helped me lift my shirt and remove the bandage over my fresh tattoo, and helped me apply the ointment.



He moved his hand questionably slow, but I guess so he didn't hurt me.



"Beautiful", he muttered.



I turned to face him. "What?", I asked confused.



"I-I mean your tattoo....It's beautiful. Very nice", he stuttered out.



"Oh", I said, turning the other way again.



Pogo was stiff behind me and his hand lingered on my back. I finally pulled my shirt down, assuming he was finished with the ointment.



"I n-need to, uh, get b-back to the bus now before Sarah wakes up", Pogo stuttered out after standing there awkwardly for a minute.



"Okay, goodnight", I called to him as he walked away.



"Oh, and don't tell Manson tomorrow about me getting drunk and doing drugs with you", I added.



He flashed a gentle smile and nodded, then walked out the room.



I sighed and laid down. I certainly hope Manson didn't find out.