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Won't You Die Tonight For Love?	By : BVB.HIMisMIW Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > HIM Views: 1760 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't know anyone from HIM, Jukka, or Jarppi, or own Viva La Bam and/or make any money off this FANFICTION. It's a complete work of FICTION. IT'S NOT REAL.

Chapter List
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I smiled softly at the woman across from me. On her lap was a notepad. Leaning back in the leather couch I crossed my legs while throwing my arms over the back. I flipped my white loose curls back out of my bloody orbs as I continued to watch the woman fidget. "Um…" she mumbled.
"Just call me Ana, everyone does nowadays… I can't even remember my own last name half the bloody time." I told her while fixing my button-down white dress shirt. Even though I'm one hundred percent Russian I spoke with a British accent. I have ever since I moved from Moscow to the sunny beaches of Miami. Oh how I craved for the cold touch of Mother Russia.
"Yes, Miss Ana. Please, can you tell us what made you start your cover band?" asked the lady. Oh, yes. That.
I sat my feet down and leaned forward so I could rest my elbows on my knees. The soft white leather of my trousers felt simply divine against my skin. "You mean HER? I was completely drunk the first time we even thought of being a cover band." I explained lightly. "We were all sitting in some pub in Ireland when the song In Joy and Sorrow started to play. At the time I was going through a very bad break-up with an ex-girlfriend at the time and started singing. Everyone was just telling me to get my arse on the bar and start doing whatever. Mind you, I was drunk off my rocker and wouldn't even remember this if a friend didn't catch it on film. So I got my arse on the bar and started spinning around the poles and everything.
"I just couldn't stop crying while I sung. I really liked her, she was my polar opposite, but that was the thing that I liked about her. The owner of the pub turned off the music and let me continue on solo. A few others went to the bad and took their instruments. It seemed we all had something in common dealing with the song and took it out while playing. One thing led to another and we ended up staying in my hotel room. One of my mate's sister – whom I am great friends with now – came by and asked for her sister. In her hands was a video recorder. I asked it what it was for and she showed me. Since then we've just been covering songs that had meaning to us."
"What's the next song you girls thinking about covering?"
I placed my pointer finger under my lower lip as I thought. "I really don't know as of yet. We've been just going through iTunes and our CDs looking for songs to cover. One of them that we're thinking of is Buried Alive by Love."
"Why?"
"Well, I've had this fear for years since I was in my pre-teens of just dying and never telling that one person that I loved them then I'd live with a whole deal of regrets. I'm not the only one with this fear. Our bassist, Jessica – or Jay, also has the same fear. So it means something to the both of us."
"Would you classify yourself as a great band, just like HIM?"
"Oh heavens no! I think we've got another decade to go before we're nearly half as good as the originals. If anything I think HER is the bastard satanic worshiping child of HIM." I chuckled at my own little joke.
"Okay then, would you count yourself as vain Miss Ana?"
I frowned slightly. "No. You don't see me on every magazine that you go out and buy in my knickers, now do you? If anything I'm quite modest. I love wearing trousers and long-sleeves compared to skirts and halter tops. So to answer your question, no I'm not vain. I just don't like going out in public with a giant zit on my forehead or snot hanging from my nose. I like to at least be tidy before I leave home."
"Well then, Miss Ana, would you say you're like the female version of HIMs singer Mr. Valo?"
I chuckled slightly. "That I would say would be a maybe. I'm more like the inverted female version of him. Where he likes black, I like white. He has dark hair, mine is white. He's pale; I'm an inverted albino with tan skin. His eyes are normal and light, while mine are abnormal and dark – just like the color of blood. Most of his friends are guys, mine are all woman. His dad owns a sex shop, my mother owns one. He smokes a lot, I don't. I'm only a pack a day smoker. I'm a woman, he's a man. Completely different." I was being a complet smarass answering that question. In truth, I think we're very much alike, but also oh so different.
"It seems you love to talk."
"I do. Talking is fantastic! How else are you going to learn without asking the right questions?" the woman nodded her head. I reached over and picked up my pint. "Cheers!" I said before downing it in one go. It was only my third.
She moved on. "You say you are only slightly like HIMs frontman, Ville Valo, yet you have most of the same tattoos as he does." She gestured to my sleeve tattoo on the heart on the inside of my wrist. "Care to explain those?
Cracking a smile I leaned back in my seat, keeping my legs apart. "Sure can. My good friends paid me a thousand dollars each to get the sleeve, wrist, and pelvic tattoo done. But the nipple and eyes were all of my own choice." I explained lightly. "Do you want to see?" I asked. The woman's face flushed brightly.
"That's really improper —"
"I wasn't talking about my chest. I was talking about my shoulders." I started laughing as her face burned brighter. She nodded her head. I twisted around after undoing the buttons of my shirt and slid it off my shoulder. Done in black and deep purple ink was a pair of eyes engraved onto my shoulders. The woman gasped as I pulled the shirt back on.
"What's the story behind that?" she asked.
I smiled sadly. "The eyes represent a friend I had years ago back in Moscow. He always had my back, but he never fully trusted me with his secrets when I trusted him with all of mine. He was a pretty screwed up kid. Growing up he learned to hate people cos of how they treated him cos of his abnormal eyes. I guess in some twisted way he hated me too. My Mum and Dad loved me even though I had tan skin, white hair, and blood red eyes. While his beated him to an inch of his life, calling him a mistake and a freak, just wishing he would die.
"Eventually he committed suicide shortly after his thirteenth birthday. That's when I found out about him abusing pills and doing the hard stuff. He also was a serious cutter, but sometimes his parents would just give him the straight razor and watch as he hurt himself. Only thing I knew was that he cut nothing else. After every session of hurting himself he'd come over to my place and get bandaged up. He'd leave and go get a fix somewhere, but I never knew until he OD'd about a year later. Funny thing is, ever since we've became friends I had saved all the money I earned doing silly little odd jobs for people and went out and bought him this acoustic guitar that he had been wanting for ages. I was going to give it to him as a surprise, but I couldn't make it on his birthday. So I decided to sneak into his room and leave it there.
"I was the one that got the surprise instead. At first I just thought he was sleeping so I quietly walked over to his bedside and leaned the guitar there so when he woke up he'd be surprised. But then I noticed his body wasn't moving to signal that he was breathing. I turned him on his back to see his eyes still open and rolled in the back of his head, and next to him was this needle. I just had to be sure, so I pushed up his sleeves and saw all the marks from the needles. I ran over to his window and jumped out while crying. Running as fast as I could I got home and called the hospital, saying that one of my friends wasn't breathing and might've OD'd on something. I gave them his address and hung up before running back to his place.
"It didn't take them long to get there. I heard screaming from both of his parents as the paramedics broke into his room. I just stood there like an idiot bawling my eyes out. I just couldn't believe it. His mother had seen me and started accusing me of breaking in and stealing from her and all this other nonsense. The police officer that came with told her to calm down. She didn't and tried to come at me. I screamed as loud as I could as I fell back against the wall; knocking down a book he had. Scraps of paper fell out, all saying the same thing. They all said 'I want to die.' 'They hate me.' 'I'm better off dead.' 'I only had one friend and she doesn't know,' and 'I'm sorry,'" I wiped away my tears that started to fall. Streaks of black ran from my kohl- rimmed eyes.
"We can stop if you want…" whispered the woman that sat across from me as she patted my knee gently. I shook my head.
"No. I need to get this off my chest." I told her before taking a deep breath. "After taking me home from my near hysterical meeting with the death of my best friend, did the police come back over to my house. I hadn't bothered going to bed and had woken up my parents and told them what happened. They stayed up all night waiting with me as the police officer came in and asked questions. I told him the truth. That I was just delivering a gift and that I noticed he wasn't moving like he should be. I told him I ran home and called the hospital and ran right back. The officer told me that they found a note under his pillow and handed it to me, asking if it was his handwriting. I read it and re-read it again two times. It was explaining how abusive his family was, how he hated his eyes, how he hated me at times. But it also said I was his best friend in the whole world and that he was sorry that he couldn't have my back anymore. That he was a pansy and took the easy way out. It also said that all of his things that he loved were to be left to me. I told the officer that it was his handwriting. The officer thanked me and said that his parents have been abusing him since he was tiny and that they were probably going to get life if proven guilty.
"Shortly after that both of his parents were sentenced to life without the chances of early release or parole. I cried when we went to his wake. It was so heart breaking. My hands were both tightly wrapped from me digging my nails into the soft flesh of my palm. I had taken to bringing his birthday present with me where ever I went. I even started teaching myself how to play. Everyone that attended the funeral had left me alone. I just took a seat on the cold snow of late winter and started playing a random song that I knew he would've liked. During that I only had one single tear run down my face a drop onto the guitar. I said my final goodbyes and left with my family. It was then that I wanted to do something for him. He always loved hearing me sing so I thought, why the hell not? My mum signed me up to attend music school after that. And the rest, as they say, is history."
I was handed a few tissues. I took them gratefully and wiped my eyes before blowing my nose. "I don't know what to say…" she whispered softly.
"Saying something is always better than saying nothing." I told her. "You might never get another chance."
She cleared her throat while wiping away her own tears. "You're right. May I ask who did your tattoo?"
"Another friend of mine from Moscow. She was a pro snowboarder/surfer, but gave all that up to start tattooing. Jen, for the lack of a batter word, is like a calmer female version of Bam Margera. She went to an art school that was inside my music school, so we would always run into each other. We had a ton of things in common, including knowing someone who died not that long ago. After she became a professional tattoo artist did I call her up, asking if I could be her first client. Jen said sure and I went to her shop that she was working at. I had shown her one of the pictures I had with my friend that died and asked if she could tattoo his eyes on my back. She nodded in understanding and went in the back to get it set up. After half an hour she came back with a sketch that looked like a blown up version of his eyes. Jen led me over to her booth and set to work. In total the tattoo took about three hours to do."
The woman nodded. "What other tattoos did you get that have meaning to you?" I pulled up my right pant leg and shown her the tattoo on my calf. It was of HERs band logo, which happens to be an hourglass trapped in, what looks like, two spinning rings. Inside the hourglass was the symbol for female acting like the grains of sand. All the ink was done in dark rainbow colors, representing Gay rights and everything, but our version of it. I quickly explained what it meant before pulling my pant leg down.
"One last question, Miss Ana. What would you and your band do if you were to ever meet and compete in a battle of the sexes with HIM?"
"To meet the originals would be brilliant, and who wouldn't want to see a battle of the sexes? If Ville Valo thinks he can handle real woman, then bring it on. Let the world decide who is better. As the old saying goes; Girls rule and boys drool." I started to cackle as I left.
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Won't You Die Tonight For Love?