Categories > Celebrities > Metallica > Epicene Part 2

Chapter 4

by Cerilla 0 reviews

Back on track.

Category: Metallica - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst,Drama,Humor - Published: 2018-06-25 - Updated: 2018-06-25 - 2008 words

“I knew I shouldn’t have come.” Kimberly said, wrapping her arms around herself for the cold. “But no, I ignored the clear warnings and now I’m here freezing my ass.”
“Consider it payback for all those awful bands you make me listen to.” Dave laughed.
“Oh, please, at least the music I like is not just angry rants with a fast-paced clank in the background.” She huffed. “But I should have seen it coming, when Dee invited us to her club so we could see ‘real’ metal bands.”
“I dunno, I like it. It’s really… intense. And powerful. And wild.”
“C’mon, go back inside. You don’t have to keep me company; go enjoy the rest of the set. I still need to rest my ears.”
“I’ll buy you a drink, once it’s over.” Dave grinned, before disappearing into the building.
“Ear-drilling noise, I don’t know how anyone could enjoy it.” Kimberly murmured, skipping in place.


“You were right, it was just… wow! Not even on the same planet of those other bands.”
“See what I meant? You have to dig deeper, but then you find the real shit.”
“Shit is the right word.” Said Kimberly. “Seriously, what’s to like about this music?”
David snickered, ”It has a driving force that none of your glam metal bands could ever pull. Kid here gets it.” he explained, pointing at Ellefson.
“Well, I don’t think it’s fair to say…”
“Hey Dee, stop slacking off and bring up a new case of beer.” Trevor the barman barged in, interrupting the conversation.
“Yeah, I’m going.” David replied, then turned to Dave, “By the way, if you want to meet the bands, they’ll probably hang around for a drink after they’re done putting away their gear.”
“Cool! Do you mind if we stay?” Dave asked Kimberly.
“Keep the drinks and the appetizers coming and I’m fine.”


The little tower of hard pretzels fell down, and Kimberly huffed. Dave had been fawning over the two bands who had played that night –Abattoir and L.A. Kaos– for more than an hour. Kimberly had tried to join the conversation at first, but she had been sharply shut down by a series of less than complimentary comments about her Dokken t-shirt. She eyed the group of men and ate the umpteenth olive of the evening. Nice circle jerk. She thought. Strike a pose, guys, beat your chest, and you may win the Mister Bad Boy competition.

When they finally left the club, Dave’s eyes were still glistening and he couldn’t stop ranting about the raw power of the sound and the mean bite of the songs and on and on like that until Kimberly couldn’t take it anymore.
She stopped in front of him and grabbed his shoulders. Before he could react, she rose on her tiptoes (she was quite shorter than him, and wasn’t wearing heels that night) and kissed him on the lips, briefly, only for a couple of seconds.
Dave stared at her with wide eyes, flustered, and Kimberly smiled sweetly.
“Why… why did you do that? Not that I’m complaining, but…”
“I wanted to shut you up.” She replied.
“You must be pretty bored, right?” He blushed. “And here I am, filling your ears with my chatters.”
“It’s ok; seems like you’ve got a new passion, right?”
“Oh yeah, this music is great! As… I made very clear.” Dave chuckled.
“Mhm… maybe the scene is a bit too cliquey for me. They don’t seem to like people who don’t tick all the right boxes.”
“Yeah, sorry for that, and for ignoring you all night.”
“Nevermind, it’s not your fault that they rebuffed me.” Kimberly shrugged. “Anyway, I also wanted to see if I liked it.”
“Uh? What?”
“Kissing you.” She said, and kissed him again. This time, Dave grabbed her by her waist and kissed her back. Kimberly crossed her hands behind Dave’s neck and pushed herself closer to the boy, deepening the kiss.
“So, what’s the verdict?” Dave asked after they broke away.
“It’s even better when you help.” Kimberly grinned back at him, and went for it again.


David plopped down on a chair, broom still in hand, declaring that either someone passed him a cold beer and a cigarette, or they could clean the restrooms all by themselves. It had been a good night, he believed. He had finally convinced Brendan, the club booker, to give the venue to two metal bands. Real metal bands, of course; it hadn’t been easy, since Brendan was very picky and not metal oriented at all, but he had managed to make the man more open to his suggestions.

David had also pushed for the concert as a test for himself, a way to put a stop to that endless ride on the fucking emotional roller coaster that his life had become, and gain back his resilience. And he didn’t break down, this time, watching the bands going wild on stage and the crowd responding to their energy. If anything, it made him want to pick up his guitar again and shred like he used to.
He wondered if his hands remembered how to play; they were smaller, but not too dainty and ladylike, thankfully. And what if he had to learn how to play all over again? He would; he would reteach his fingers how to move on the fretboard and how to pick the strings. Dave Mustaine was a musician; anything else could crash and burn, but not that; he wasn’t willing to let it happen.
“Dee! Snap out of it and go back to work!” Trevor barked at him.
“Jeez, I’m going, you slave driver!” David bit back, dragging his feet to the restrooms.


It wasn’t easy, at first; his fingers were rusty, after months of inactivity, and his left hand didn’t stretch like it used to. There was something extraneous in the feeling; it was familiar and it was unknown at the same time. Even the guitar strap didn’t feel the same against his chest, getting in the way and squashing his left boob.
Eventually, practice brushed off the dust of inactivity; the more David played, the more he felt like himself again. It was like going back home after a long journey, like putting on the most comfortable clothes. When he played, he wasn’t Vivien David, he was Dave Mustaine.

One day, David was struck with an idea, that was totally crazy and yet completely logical. He wanted to start a band, write songs, play concerts, record an album. Could a non-person do that? Not only live for, but also make a living out of music? In all honesty, he was past caring. He had never wanted anything else in his life, and so what if he got in trouble? He had never planned to have a long life anyway. Live fast and die young, that had always been the plan, and get the most of it before you burn.

David grinned. Yeah, he was fucking tired of living on hold and pining for the past. Maybe he would never get his own body and old life back, but fuck it, fuck everything. Fate had been a total bitch to him? Tough shit, honey, he could and would outbitch it, like he had always done. When life gives you lemons, you squeeze them right into its eyes. And then shove the rinds down its throat until it chokes.

The redhead was about to put down his guitar when he had a better idea. He turned up the volume of his amps and put them face down on the floor, then jumped into a hellish solo.
A few moments later, a familiar hand knocked on the door.
“You called?” Dave Ellefson asked.
“Yup.” Mustaine answered. “You wanted to start a band, right? Got anyone on board for it?”
“Oh, well, no, not yet. You know how most of the guys here in L.A. like their metal.” He rolled his eyes.
“Well, got good news for you, boy; you’ve just found your guitarist.”
“What, you? You play?”
“You thought it was a record blasting through your ceiling? That was me. Like what you heard?”
“It’s… you are a musician? Why are you telling me just now?”
“I was on a break before, let’s put it that way.” David shrugged. “Come into my room; I have a handful of riffs to show you.”

Dave was astounded; never before had he ever heard a girl play guitar with such intensity and skilfulness. She wasn’t just good for a girl, she was great, full stop. Dee was playing and talking, explaining him how she was thinking to work on the riffs and where she was planning to take a song.
“Now, what do you think?”
“Is that all? You can go more into it, you know.”
“Yeah, it’s just… impressive. You’re fucking great and your riffs are fucking great.”
David rolled his eyes, “Ok Mr. Eloquence, do you want to start a band?”
“Oh, um, I…” Dave didn’t know what to answer. Even though they had gotten over their shaky start, Dave wasn’t sure at all he wanted to be in a band with Dee. She was hot-headed as much as she was talented, and working side by side with her could easily become a living hell.

As he pondered on what to do, Dee looked at him in annoyance, as if she expected a straight, enthusiastic yes as an answer, and nothing less. He had to take his time.
“Ok, listen, I’m going back to Minnesota for Christmas in a few days. When I come back, I’ll tell you what I've decided.”
“You need weeks to make up your mind? Seriously?”
“Hey, I’m not questioning your talent.” Dave said, raising his hands defensively. “I just don’t know if we would make a good team, that’s all.”
“The only way to know is by doing it. I’m not asking you to sign a binding contract.” Dee snorted.
“Just… give me a little time, all right?”
“Fine, go do your fucking thinking. I’ll take a nap.” Dee said, lying down the bed. “Don’t slam the door as you leave.”


“See, it’s because of shit like this that I want to say no. She can be so fucking aggravating!” Dave vented, pacing around Kimberly’s bedroom.
The girl tapped her fingers on her bass guitar; it was clear they wouldn’t do any studying or practicing, as Dave was too overwrought to concentrate on anything else but Dee. Really, if the redhead hadn’t been lesbian, she would have been extremely annoyed; Dave had been rambling on about her for an hour.
“Listen,” she sighed, “Dee is clearly a handful.”
“Make it two.” Dave grumbled.
“But she’s also talented.”
“Oh, yes, you should hear her play or talk about music.” Dave’s expression lighted up. “She… she gets it, you know?”
“It. She gets it.”
“What it’s about, what it should be about.” Dave tried to explain, unsuccessfully, in his excitement. “She has a soul of metal.”
“Right.” Kimberly replied, unconvinced. That whole ‘True Metal’ shit was starting to grate on her nerves. “Consider this: many artists are hella troubled, like, really messed up. So, even if Dee’s not a paragon of exemplar behaviour, it doesn’t matter all that much.”
“That’s not really comforting.”
“What I’m saying is that you cannot play it safe if you want to be a rockstar. If you believe Dee has what it takes to bring you where you want to be, then accept her offer.”
Dave scratched his head. “So I should tell her yes. No more doubts.”
“Ride the tiger, baby.” Kimberly grinned. “Now give me a kiss.”
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