Poison

Despite our pledge to remain "just friends", Nikki and I began to put distance between us. This just proved to me that we weren't friends at all. Far from it, in fact. After all, friends at least speak to one another, and I hadn't heard from Nikki in about a month.

Although Nikki's interactions with me grew less and less, the other members of the band continued to check up on me on occasion. But eventually, even Tommy and Vince disappeared from my life. Mick was the last member I spoke to, about a week ago.

He was supposed to call yesterday.

Sure, I could pick up the phone at any point and dial their number. I could call them all over to my empty mansion, have drinks, share stories, catch up on life. But I didn't. I couldn't. I had messed up that night when I kissed Nikki, and I'd exacerbated the situation by allowing him to walk out of my life.

I had no right to force myself back into his thoughts, especially if he was busy recording or touring. The last thing he needed was his fake ex-girlfriend pestering him.

Not only was I an ex, but I was a fake ex. He had no obligations to speak to me even if I called him, anyway. I figured it would be best if I just let him come to me. If he ever would.

Naturally, as bad luck would have it, my copy of the issue of Vogue finally arrived in the mail. The image of me, naked and lost in a state of pure bliss in Nikki's arms, only seemed to twist the knife that I felt was dug so deeply into my heart.

There were more shots of us hidden somewhere in the center of the magazine, but I couldn't bring myself to take a look at them. Solemnly, I stuffed the magazine underneath my bed and pretended it wasn't there.

This proved to be a horrible mistake on my part. I began to feel like the man in the story "The Tell-Tale Heart" by Edgar Allan Poe. The only difference was, rather than be plagued by the sounds of a beating heart, I was tormented by the sounds of Nikki's laughter, the image of his smile, the flashing of his eyes. I tossed and turned all night, my mind racing with thoughts and memories of the spiky-haired bassist.

I eventually tossed the magazine into my recycling bin, taking solace in the fact that at least I was saving the environment, even if I was destroying my memories of Nikki.

Sarah noticed my change in behavior, but stopped pestering me about it after multiple attempts of asking me what was wrong and getting no reply. One day, she finally realized that Nikki was no longer a part of my daily-or even weekly-schedule anymore. His absence proved to be the answer she had been looking for, and all of her attempts at cheering me up turned into plans to keep me busy.

Thankfully, Sarah began filling my schedule with photoshoots, commercials, catwalks, and cocktail parties. I was appreciative that I had her around to keep me on my toes and my mind off of my old friends. After all, sitting around with stuffy, old people and sipping champagne was better than laying in bed, staring at my ceiling, and waiting for my phone to ring. Always hoping it was him. Always being disappointed.

My days got darker and darker. That is, until he showed up.

I was sitting at another one of those lame, business parties that had been arranged by my modeling agency. Basically, it was an excuse for a bunch of balding men to oggle at hot, tight bodies all night. If they were lucky, they could even manage to cop a feel and blame it on the wine. Not that many of my peers minded. These men had money, and many of these models exploited their bodies shamelessly for a piece of the pie.

While groups of men laughed and chatted around my table, I sat alone in my red cocktail dress. A glass of champagne dangled loosely in my fingers and I had a far off look in my eyes. I was busy day dreaming, wishing I was anywhere but here right now. Anywhere.

"Hey, is this seat taken?" A man's voice interrupted my thoughts.

Thinking it was another old man out to ease his midlife crisis, I quickly whipped my head in the direction of the voice. I had a dirty look on my face, and I was prepared to go off on this man.

To my surprise, not only was there no wrinkles on this man's face, but he indeed had a full head of hair. His blue eyes twinkled below the bandana that was tied securely around his head, and his wide smile was flashing right at me. I immediately recognized him as....

"Bret Michaels?" I stammered, my face growing hot.

"Oh? So you know me?" He didn't sound all that surprised, but he still raised his eye brows anyway as though this was the craziest news he'd gotten all day.

"Yeah!" I said almost too hastily. I blushed and held a hand over my mouth, embarassed by my outburst. Bret, on the other hand, seemed amused and I watched as his grin grew wider.

"May I?" He motioned to the chair resting beside me.

"Oh! Yes, of course!" I nodded enthusiastically.

Another satisfied smile from the singer as he sat down. God, I was acting like an air-headed fan girl. Why hadn't I been this crazy when I'd met Mötley Crüe?

"So, I'm guessing you're a model?" He inquired.

"What gave you that idea?" I asked, my eyes widening in wonder. How would Bret know what I did for a living? Was he as big of a fan of me as I was of him? Was this a dream?

"Well, my first clue was that you were at this lame ass party...This lame ass party that is being thrown by a modeling agency."

I mentally face palmed myself for acting like an idiot and speaking before I stopped to think about what was falling out of my mouth. Of course he knew I was a model if he was meeting me at a party hosted by my modeling agency.

"My second clue was that sexy magazine cover you did with Nikki Sixx. You're Winter Rinaldi, right?"

My heart sank at the mere mention of his name. I also wasn't all too pleased that Bret knew about my relationship with Nikki. Even if I knew it was fake, he didn't. I hoped he didn't think Nikki and I were still together.

I was ready to move on from anything having to do with Mötley Crüe's bassist. I just wanted to get on with my life. After all, it was apparent that Nikki had had no problem in moving on with his. Besides, what girl didn't dream of the day that Bret Michaels would sweep her off of her feet?

"Yes. Yes I am," I confirmed, nodding my head slowly, trying not to show how much it bothered me to hear about Nikki again.

"You're even more beautiful in person," Bret commented with a wink.

I blushed and tried to act modest. "Anyone can look beautiful with the proper make-up team and hairstylists."

"Good point. That's the only reason I ever look decent," he teased, chuckling lightly at his own joke.

There was a long pause, in which I shuffled uncomfortably in my chair. Was he flirting with me? Or, was I just getting my hopes up?

"How is Nikki, by the way? I haven't seen him in a minute," Bret commented, tucking a cigarette securely between his lips and lighting it.

My smile fell at the mention of my ex-boyfriend.

Fake, I emphasized the word to myself, almost as a reminder.

"Uh...I wouldn't know. We haven't spoken in a month," I admitted with a light shrug. "We broke up a while back."

'Fake' broke up.

"You're too good for him anyway," Bret reassured me with a knowing smirk. I blushed in response and tried to hide behind my hair. Although I was flattered by Bret's obvious attempts at courting me, for whatever reason, a part of me didn't like hearing that I was too good for Nikki.

After all, Nikki was the world famous rockstar with killer looks and an even better personality. Meanwhile, I was the gorgeous model who cursed her boyfriends and was only famous for posing naked with Nikki Sixx. Who was really better than who?

Suddenly, Bret scooted closer to me. Our shoulders were brushing lightly and I could feel the heat of his breath against my cheek. Mentally, I was freaking out. Not only was I being so obviously hit on, but I was being so obviously hit on by Bret Fuckin' Michaels. I chugged some more champagne for courage.

"You wanna' get out of here? Find somewhere a little more private?"

I choked on my drink, some of the bubbly gurgled out of the corners of my mouth as I scrambled to force it all down my throat rather than spew it all over the rockstar. "W-what?"

He chortled lightly, swiping up one of the cloth napkins and dabbing at my lips. His touch was so tender, so soft. I wanted to melt into him. "I want to take you home with me."

"Why?" I managed to giggle once I had been properly cleaned up. The champagne was finally getting to my head, causing a strange numbness to take over my legs and a dizziness to overpower my mind. I grabbed for the champagne bottle, pouring myself some more.

"Because, when I see something I like, I gotta' have it," Bret insisted, a cocky smirk on his lips. "And you? I like you. In fact..."

He paused, lightly pulling the champagne bottle from my lips. In my drunken state, I hadn't even realized that I'd begun to drink from the bottle. I clumsily tried to grab it back, but Bret was too quick for my fumbling hands.

"I like you a lot."

As I leaned forward to grab the bottle, Bret fell forward as well, crashing his lips against mine. Before I could even think to pull away, I felt his hand claw its way through my hair, grabbing and tugging lightly on the brown tendrils.

The shock of it caused me to cry out, the sounds being muffled by our kiss. He must have taken my moans as a sign that I was enjoying this sudden display of affection, because his kissing immediately became much more passionate. His lips moved faster and his tongue managed to slip into my mouth.

In my drunken stupor, I relaxed into him. I was too drunk to care that I was being kissed and fondled by a man I'd only just met. I just wanted someone-anyone-to fill this hole that Nikki had left in my life. In my heart.

In my mind, I was back in Nikki's kitchen, high off my ass and ready for some hot and wild sex. I was ready to make another mistake; possibly, a bigger mistake. But this time, my mistake would tear me away from Nikki for good.

Trade in one rockstar for another. Override one memory with a new one. This time, I wouldn't just make one little mistake. This time, I would be picking my poison.