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The Road To Hell	By : Crystal_Sugar Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Marilyn Manson Views: 3377 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN MARILYN MANSON OR AM IN ANY WAY CONNECTED TO HIS FRANCHISE, NOR DO I KNOW ANY OF THEM PERSONALLY. THIS STORY IS PURELY A WORK OF FICTION, AND ANY SITUATIONS OF THIS FAN FICTION ARE FICTITIOUS. THERE IS NO PROFIT FROM THIS STORY

Chapter List
- 12
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- 14
THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION, ENJOY!

ANGEL'S POV

The last few days I have been completely sober and my withdrawals were finally becoming less frequent. Manson has helped me through each moment of temptation and held me as I cried and begged him for something to take me out of my sober mind.

One thing I never anticipated was to have these vivid hallucinations, Manson has a large bruise on his cheek and is covered with claw marks from my hallucination last night where I saw him as a grotesque monster and thought bats were flying through the room.

Everything between Manson and I seemed to be getting better, we aren't arguing, he hasn't hit me again, and he hasn't cheated with another random slut. The cheating is something I can't handle. It feels like a stab in the heart and is the ultimate betrayal, and I can't help but wonder if he will fall in love with one of them or have an ongoing affair.

He promised me it wouldn't happen again and assured me that it doesn't mean anything, that they are just another faceless vagina, but I can't help but worry.

I have never fucked anyone except Manson (save, Sarah going down on me) and I know I love him with all that I have, and love Sarah. I couldn't imagine being so close with someone, becoming one with them in that way and them not meaning ANYTHING to you.

But, I tried to push aside my thoughts and focus on the party going on in the cramped tour bus.

Manson and the band just finished their last concert and we were all celebrating, except Sarah. She was in her's and Pogo's bunk with the curtain closed since she has been sick these past few days, nauseous and throwing up constantly. She didn't even get to see their last concert of the tour.

Manson has "allowed" me to have a couple of drinks tonight, that I have already quickly downed and still feel my buzz racing through me as I sit on his lap, with his arms protectively wrapped around me to show that I'm just his.

As Manson spoke to me while swigging down more absinthe, I just nodded and pretended to understand I could make out one word coming out of his mouth. I have seen him drunk before, but he is fucking shit-faced drunk right now.

I could probably get away with just about anything, I could take some of the wonderful colorful pills everyone had been taking, or maybe snort a mountain of cocaine like old times, perhaps even sneak away with Pogo to mine and Manson's bedroom and smoke rock with him....But no. I shouldn't think like this, I don't want to disappoint Manson.

He didn't even notice when I began digging my long fingernails into my wrists. Just focus on the pain, just focus on the pain, just focus on the....

I was interrupted from my thoughts by Manson throwing up all over me. His watery vomit dripped down my "I LOVE DADDY" shirt with his his picture on it that he insisted I wear to tonight's concert.

I almost threw up, myself, from the putrid odor as Trent helped Manson up and walked with his arms around him to our back bedroom. I followed behind them, and helped Trent remove his clothes, leaving him in his boxers, and then I covered him up.

I gathered some new clothes and stepped into the bathroom to change. When I came out, I saw Trent struggling to peel Manson off of him.

"An-gel, baa-bby, I love you", Manson slurred, clinging to Trent. I died laughing at the sight before me and at Trent's desperate expression for me to help.

Manson tried pulling Trent down to lay with him and slurred out some sexual obscenities to him, thinking it was me, as Trent repeatedly told him he was drunk and that he was not me.

I decided this display has went on long enough and finally went over to help after collecting myself from my laughter.

I wrapped my arms around Manson and he immediately recognized it as me and released his grip on Trent.

Eventually Manson just passed out, snoring loudly. I kissed his forehead gently. I could smell the alcohol sweating through his skin.

"Goddamn, we should have recorded that", Trent said, chuckling.

"Yeah, that would have been great", I said, while settling next to Manson and giggling.

"Why are you laying down? Come back to the 'party'", Trent said from the doorway.

I thought about it a moment and decided to go back out with Trent. I would just keep coming every now and then to check on Manson.

When we stepped out of the room, Pogo was waiting on the other side of the door with a beer in his hand, shifting from foot to foot.

He took a long drink then pushed the bottle to my lips for me to drink, which I did. He pulled me over to the empty couch with him.

"Your lips taste good", Pogo said lowly after drinking the rest of the beer and grabbing another.

That was awkward, but he's drunk and high.

"Do you want me to get a beer for you?", Pogo asked.

"No, I can't drink anymore tonight", I replied, regretfully.

Pogo hummed in thought then pushed the beer bottle to my lips, again. "Then you're sharing this with me", he said, shrugging, as if there were nothing wrong with that....Maybe there's not, so I took a long drink, then that drink turned into sharing beer after beer with Pogo, I probably might as well have been drinking on my own, but I think we both strangely preferred to be sharing.

After awhile of drinking and talking with Pogo, one of the groupies that were loose on the bus came and sat next to Pogo and began stroking his leg. She whispered something in his ear, and he pushed her hand away. "I'm not interested", he said coldly.

She huffed and walked away, immediately walking up to Twiggy and doing the same. He must have took her up on whatever she was offering, because he smiled and they walked hand in hand to his bunk....Gross, Twiggy.

"I don't get how y'all can fuck those THINGS", I said, gesturing towards a groupie that was in Trent's company, who was retreating back to a bed with the slut, like everyone else. "Someone who would fuck a man just because they're a fan of their work....Imagine how many rock star cocks they have had in their mouth before you", I said shaking my head.

Pogo laughed loudly...."I don't", he said.

"Well I know you don't now because of Sarah", I responded.

"No, I don't fuck groupies, period....Free pussy comes with a hidden price tag, such as stalking and venereal diseases", Pogo said.

I giggled, but agreed.

"Well, Sarah would be an exception, but she didn't strike me as someone who made a career out of fucking rock stars. And I was really high and horny after that concert back in Texas, but I never thought I would see her again, so it was pretty surprising when I found out you were friends. That's why we connected so easily when I saw her at your apartment, because we met before", Pogo said.

"Wait, WHAT? When was this?", I inquired.

"I guess some months before Manson met you", he said.

"You fucked Sarah before I met Manson and y'all at the strip club that night?", I asked, completely in shock.

"Yeah, after a concert she was one of the last people in line that wanted an autograph, we got to talking, she looked sexy as hell, beautiful and it just happened", he said.

I think I remember now. After a Marilyn Manson concert Sarah came to my house at 3 in the morning and told me to tell her parents and mine that she was here the whole night. She told me she had car trouble, but just didn't want to hear her parents mouths. I wonder why she didn't tell me she slept with a member of Marilyn Manson? I guess because of how I was at that time, she might have thought I would judge her or think less of her. I actually might have.

Pogo was progressively getting closer to me, then wrapped his arm around me. No one seemed to notice....Not that it was bad....

"Sarah has changed a lot now, though. It doesn't really feel like I'm with the same person", Pogo confessed.

"Are you saying you don't want to be with her?", I questioned.

After a moment of silence, Pogo spoke, "I love her, but sometimes I feel like maybe you and I should have been together", he said softly. He was now even closer than before, his piercing blue eyes boring into mine, hand gently rubbing my shoulder, slightly hovering over me....I couldn't help but notice how attractive he is.

His face came even closer to mine and I could feel his breath on his face....Fuck, this was wrong, but the alcohol in me told me otherwise.

He looked between my eyes and lips a moment. "....but that didn't happen", he husked out, then pulled away, quickly standing up and walking back to his and Sarah's bunk without another word. I just sat there under his spell, left wondering what came over me and what I could have just done.

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

Today is the day I will be seeing my new home with Manson. Manson has described the house, but he said words couldn't do it any justice.

Sarah will be staying with Pogo for a week until she leaves back to Texas. Apparently they are going to be giving the long distance relationship thing a try.

After a long drive, we finally got to Manson's house. We pulled up to a huge, iron barred gate that says "Manson", written in old English lettering.

I am in awe. His mansion resembles a castle, only much smaller.

We drive up the cobblestone driveway and Manson gets out to open my door and takes my hand.

"Ready for the grand tour?", he asks with a smile.

"Absolutely, babe", I answer.

"This is my Marilyn Mansion", Manson joked, half laughing at his terrible joke as he opened the huge french doors.

It is beautiful, in a creepy way.

He has black marble floors, stained glass windows, black walls, and low lighting emitting from torch like lights hanging from the walls.

He walked me from room to room, each more interesting than the last.

I especially love his library, it had shelves full of books that reached from the ceiling to the floor. Very interesting books that I have always wanted to read, but could never bring into my parents house. But one in particular caught my eye, Manson's autobiography "The Long Hard Road Out of Hell".

I took it from the shelf and carried it through the house with us until lastly, he walked us to the master bedroom. It had black carpeting, a king size canopy bed with a mirror attached to the top. I can just guess why. Ha.

There was black satin bedding on it like the bedding on the bus, but these weren't full of cum stains.

"Your house is so beautiful, baby", I said as I turned to look at him after I examined the room.

"OUR house, my love", he corrected and squeezed my hand a little.

I returned his smile.

"You can explore further throughout the house anytime you want, baby", he added. I intended to.

We broke in my homecoming by having sex in multiple rooms of the house.

As much as I enjoy sex with Manson, I am not fond of his gentle lovemaking he has been doing lately. He gets the job done, giving me intense orgasms, but I wanted more....I wanted the pain and bondage of it as well. What we did before.

Manson has become increasingly gentle in EVERY way since he admitted his feelings for me.

There is something wrong with me. My rock star boyfriend whom was addicted to drugs, abusive, controlling, and a pain in the ass has changed for the better, and I miss the OLD him.

Maybe it was the rebel in me. I'm so tired of the mundane.

After fucking so much I was so sore I never thought I would be able to have sex again, Manson helped me unpack my bags and get settled in.

Afterwards, we walked back downstairs, and Manson stepped out of the room for a moment.

I glanced around the house and a bottle of whiskey sitting on the kitchen counter seemed to be calling my name. If I couldn't do drugs, then I needed something to fuck me up.

I grabbed a glass from the cabinet and shakily unscrewed the cap and quickly began filling the glass.

I let the intoxicating scent fill my nose before I began quickly downing it.

I barely got a mouthful when I felt Manson's arm reach around me from behind, then he aggressively took the glass from my hand.

"Don't trade one bad habit for another", Manson said, glaring at me while emptying the whiskey in the sink.

"Now, I was going to ask you if you wanted to go for a walk around the neighborhood and look around, familiarizing yourself with the area?", he asked, still obviously slightly annoyed with me attempting to drink.

"Sure", I said, equally as annoyed.

We walked out the door and Manson locked the it then grabbed my hand. He smiled down at me as we began to walk down the quiet street.

Each house was spaced far from each other, giving plenty of privacy.

After walking less than 10 minutes, we eventually came to a park and sat on a bench with a hanging tree. Parents gasped as they saw him and pulled their children away, and even though Manson laughed and seemed amused, deep down I knew it bothered him. I could see the hurt flash in his eyes and he slightly lowered his head.

I felt so bad for him. He was a great man and would never hurt a child, I knew it had to hurt to have people snatch their kids kids away as if he were a monster.

"Why don't we finish walking around the neighborhood?", I offered to get him out of this situation, to which he quickly agreed.

We walked in silence and I could still tell he was upset. Finally, he turned to me and looked at me inquisitively. "Do you want kids?"

I shrugged. "I like kids, but I don't want any. At least not for a long time, I still have a lot of living to do. What about you?", I was curious why he was asking, and nervous.

"I guess I'm like you, I like kids but don't want them. I don't think my lifestyle would be appropriate to bring a kid into. And look at what just happened, people would treat the kid different just because of who I am.", he answered.

I was relieved by that. It was a weight off my shoulders, I had been worried he would want kids before me because he is 10 years older than me and would probably reach that point of his life first.

But, I also felt bad. He was right, everyone would automatically assume he couldn't be a good father and would treat the child different. Not having kids because you don't want them is fine, but not having them out of fear isn't a good thing.

But as selfish as it may be, I didn't point that out to him. I didn't want to give him any ideas and change his mind. At least not for many years from now.
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The Road To Hell