Reggo
Blue Crack Addict
- Joined
- Mar 30, 2007
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A new chapter, yeah? Why not?
Disclaimer: All bollocks, as should be obvious.
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Chapter Four - Like It Never Even Happened
Lucy and I like to make things happen at the ends of tours.
At the end of the PopMart Tour, in June 98, Lucy gave birth to our son, Nathan Stewart Clayton. Aurora was thrilled with her baby brother and Lucy and I decided we'd like to expand our family even more. And in February of 2000, we found out we were pregnant once again. I was trying to commute between Dublin to record and New York to be with my family and the jet lag was killing me. I realised the only logical solution was to move her and the kids to Ireland, which is not as easy as it sounds. Lucy is rooted in New York and asking her to move across the Atlantic was like asking the sun to stop shining. She resisted fiercely, stating her career in the theatre, which was still going strong, as her reason for staying. So I asked her to marry me and told her about Dublin's theatre district. She joyously accepted and agreed to move to Dublin after the honeymoon. We set our wedding date for the 25th of July, 2000.
Except we didn't get married that day. That was the day that Lucy was shot and Rory was taken from us. So instead of a wedding, we had a funeral. Lucy barely got through it. If it wasn't for Nate, she might not have survived.
I brought them with me on the Elevation Tour after we did finally marry, and by the end of it, we knew we were going to have another baby, a daughter, Lola Maisie Clayton, born in September of 2002. If we hadn't had her, Lucy would have left me at the end of Elevation, and I can't say that I blame her. Making her and Nate tour with me and grieve my way, even after her father's death on 9/11 (he was on the plane that left Logan Airport), was a mistake.
It really shouldn't have come as a surprise, our blow-up in New Orleans and divorce the day the band got home from Hawaii after the final show of the Vertigo Tour. Lucy walked up the tarmac as we were getting off the plane and handed me the divorce decree and a pen. She didn't say a word, hiding behind sunglasses and a trench coat. I signed the papers after pleading with her to no avail, hugged and kissed my children, then they left to catch a plane to New York. Edge stayed with me for a few nights while I got used to my house being empty and quiet for the first time in six years.
Lucy and I share custody of the kids, which may sound impossible with my schedule, but we make it work and we split the year 50/50. Nathan didn't handle the divorce well--what eight-year-old would?--and when I took him to see a psychiatrist, he diagnosed Nate with Asperger's Syndrome, which is a high-functioning form of autism that unfortunately makes my son the most annoying kid in the world when his routine gets disrupted. I have two Blackberry phones. One exists simply to be Nate's day planner, listing exactly what he's going to have for breakfast and when he's going to eat it and how much time he's allotted himself to eat it, for example. Tuesday is oatmeal day, eaten from 8:00 to 8:10. Tuesday is usually invention day, too. He once tried to build a particle accelerator from Lucy's hair dryer and the toaster. He blew them both up and knocked out the power to the entire neighbourhood. Nate could be the next Stephen Hawking, if his mother and sister (who is a perfectly normal kid) don't kill him first.
But I digress.
Lucy and I usually only alter our lives at the ends of tours. But here, it's only halfway through the first leg of the 360 Tour and Lucy's asleep in our bed in Dublin. She's changed a bit since the divorce. A few sporadic tattoos on her left arm have turned into a full sleeve. Her usually blonde hair is dyed black, which actually complements her complexion rather than making her look pale or pasty, and she got her left breast reconstructed and I think had a lift done on the right one.
She opens her eyes a slit and looks at me.
"Hi, honey," I say, smiling. I've been watching her sleep for about an hour.
"Oh, hell," Lucy rolls over and pulls the covers over her head.
"Babe, relax. We didn't have sex last night," I put my hand on her back.
"You swear on your Entwhistle Warwick Stryker? Cause if I find out you're lying to me, I get to go Pete Townshend on that thing," Lucy props herself up on her elbows while lying on her stomach.
"May you gleefully destroy it if I am," I concede. "But, honey, you're fully clothed."
"Yeah, you've pulled that one on me before. In fact, I'm positive that's why I didn't think I was pregnant with Lola until the second trimester," she playfully shoves me.
"Well, you neutered me in New Orleans, so I guess that's not an issue is it? Besides, you were actually too drunk to fuck last night. I slept with you because I was worried you'd got alcohol poisoning," I explain. "But if you wanted to now, we could--"
"You're a pig," Lucy lays down, facing away from me. "I have a boyfriend anyway."
"Tré's eleven years younger than you. He's not a companion, he's a plaything." I roll my eyes.
Her reply? "Bite me, Clayton."
I gently pull her hair away from her neck and nibble at the nape in the spot that I know turns her on.
"What are you doing?" She rolls over onto her back.
"Biting you," I grin.
"Well, I shudder to think of what you'd do if I told you to eat me," she folds her arms. I raise my eyebrows. "You're a pig!" she shouts, shoves me and laughs. I start making porcine noises and tickling her. She squeals and howls with laughter. We wrestle around our bed until she ends up sitting on my stomach, straddling me.
"Now this, I miss. Except you're supposed to be naked," I say. She chuckles and locks eyes with me. As I stare into her vibrant, emerald-green eyes, I'm sitting up as she's leaning down and I kiss her, hard. She puts her tongue in my mouth first, then pulls me on top of her as she lays down.
Our son decides to walk into our bedroom without knocking.
"Mom, since you spent the night being amorous with Dad, I took the liberty of ending your relationship with Mr Wright," Nate says, holding out her cell phone.
I groan and start to laugh as Lucy sighs. She pushes me off of her and takes her cell phone from Nate. "Thank you, sweetie."
"Was that sarcasm?" he asks me.
"Go have breakfast, Nate," I say before his mother has an aneurysm. She's glaring at me after Nate leaves. "I love you?"
"Nice try," she says, then gets up and realises my little fib about her being fully clothed. She's only wearing one of my shirts. Lucy throws her pillow at me, pulls on her jeans and walks out of our room.
I know I'm in trouble, but I follow her to Lola's bedroom anyway.
"Hi, Mummy!" The six-year-old squeals. It's funny, Nate as a distinct American accent, yet Lola's is purely English.
"Hi, baby," Lucy picks her up and carries her out of her bedroom, ignoring me.
"Hi, Daddy," Lola grins her 'I've-got-my-mum' grin as she passes me. Lucy carries her downstairs and Lola decides she wants to go play before breakfast. Lucy sets her down and Lola runs over to her toys.
Before Lucy walks into the kitchen, I grab her arm. "Are you really that angry with me? I only changed your clothes because you had puked all over everything else."
Lucy sighs, "No. I mean, you're just taking care of me, like you've always taken care of me, ever since the first time we got arrested together. And you're right about Tré. He's a plaything, a diversion." She wraps her arms around my waist. "We never should've divorced," she adds softly.
"Really?" I lean in to kiss her.
"Sucker," she smiles and lets me go. Even I have to chuckle at that a little. Lucy walks into the kitchen where the kids' nanny is cooking breakfast. Lucy picks up a knife off the counter and throws it at Chelsea. "Get the fuck out of this house and away from my children." The steak knife lodges in a cupboard, millimetres away from Chelsea's head. The nanny gives me a terrified look.
"Lucy! What are you doing?" I ask as I wrestle a 10-inch chef's knife away from her.
"Adam, that's Mia. She helped kidnap Aurora," Lucy takes the knife back from my slackened hand. "I will not miss this time."
"You're fired," I say without a moment's reconsideration. Mia/Chelsea doesn't look shocked, sad, or outraged. "Get out." She simply nods, and walks out the kitchen door to the garden. I stare at Lucy and try to catch my breath, terrified of who I had let into my home to care for my children for the past month.
Disclaimer: All bollocks, as should be obvious.
-----
Chapter Four - Like It Never Even Happened
Lucy and I like to make things happen at the ends of tours.
At the end of the PopMart Tour, in June 98, Lucy gave birth to our son, Nathan Stewart Clayton. Aurora was thrilled with her baby brother and Lucy and I decided we'd like to expand our family even more. And in February of 2000, we found out we were pregnant once again. I was trying to commute between Dublin to record and New York to be with my family and the jet lag was killing me. I realised the only logical solution was to move her and the kids to Ireland, which is not as easy as it sounds. Lucy is rooted in New York and asking her to move across the Atlantic was like asking the sun to stop shining. She resisted fiercely, stating her career in the theatre, which was still going strong, as her reason for staying. So I asked her to marry me and told her about Dublin's theatre district. She joyously accepted and agreed to move to Dublin after the honeymoon. We set our wedding date for the 25th of July, 2000.
Except we didn't get married that day. That was the day that Lucy was shot and Rory was taken from us. So instead of a wedding, we had a funeral. Lucy barely got through it. If it wasn't for Nate, she might not have survived.
I brought them with me on the Elevation Tour after we did finally marry, and by the end of it, we knew we were going to have another baby, a daughter, Lola Maisie Clayton, born in September of 2002. If we hadn't had her, Lucy would have left me at the end of Elevation, and I can't say that I blame her. Making her and Nate tour with me and grieve my way, even after her father's death on 9/11 (he was on the plane that left Logan Airport), was a mistake.
It really shouldn't have come as a surprise, our blow-up in New Orleans and divorce the day the band got home from Hawaii after the final show of the Vertigo Tour. Lucy walked up the tarmac as we were getting off the plane and handed me the divorce decree and a pen. She didn't say a word, hiding behind sunglasses and a trench coat. I signed the papers after pleading with her to no avail, hugged and kissed my children, then they left to catch a plane to New York. Edge stayed with me for a few nights while I got used to my house being empty and quiet for the first time in six years.
Lucy and I share custody of the kids, which may sound impossible with my schedule, but we make it work and we split the year 50/50. Nathan didn't handle the divorce well--what eight-year-old would?--and when I took him to see a psychiatrist, he diagnosed Nate with Asperger's Syndrome, which is a high-functioning form of autism that unfortunately makes my son the most annoying kid in the world when his routine gets disrupted. I have two Blackberry phones. One exists simply to be Nate's day planner, listing exactly what he's going to have for breakfast and when he's going to eat it and how much time he's allotted himself to eat it, for example. Tuesday is oatmeal day, eaten from 8:00 to 8:10. Tuesday is usually invention day, too. He once tried to build a particle accelerator from Lucy's hair dryer and the toaster. He blew them both up and knocked out the power to the entire neighbourhood. Nate could be the next Stephen Hawking, if his mother and sister (who is a perfectly normal kid) don't kill him first.
But I digress.
Lucy and I usually only alter our lives at the ends of tours. But here, it's only halfway through the first leg of the 360 Tour and Lucy's asleep in our bed in Dublin. She's changed a bit since the divorce. A few sporadic tattoos on her left arm have turned into a full sleeve. Her usually blonde hair is dyed black, which actually complements her complexion rather than making her look pale or pasty, and she got her left breast reconstructed and I think had a lift done on the right one.
She opens her eyes a slit and looks at me.
"Hi, honey," I say, smiling. I've been watching her sleep for about an hour.
"Oh, hell," Lucy rolls over and pulls the covers over her head.
"Babe, relax. We didn't have sex last night," I put my hand on her back.
"You swear on your Entwhistle Warwick Stryker? Cause if I find out you're lying to me, I get to go Pete Townshend on that thing," Lucy props herself up on her elbows while lying on her stomach.
"May you gleefully destroy it if I am," I concede. "But, honey, you're fully clothed."
"Yeah, you've pulled that one on me before. In fact, I'm positive that's why I didn't think I was pregnant with Lola until the second trimester," she playfully shoves me.
"Well, you neutered me in New Orleans, so I guess that's not an issue is it? Besides, you were actually too drunk to fuck last night. I slept with you because I was worried you'd got alcohol poisoning," I explain. "But if you wanted to now, we could--"
"You're a pig," Lucy lays down, facing away from me. "I have a boyfriend anyway."
"Tré's eleven years younger than you. He's not a companion, he's a plaything." I roll my eyes.
Her reply? "Bite me, Clayton."
I gently pull her hair away from her neck and nibble at the nape in the spot that I know turns her on.
"What are you doing?" She rolls over onto her back.
"Biting you," I grin.
"Well, I shudder to think of what you'd do if I told you to eat me," she folds her arms. I raise my eyebrows. "You're a pig!" she shouts, shoves me and laughs. I start making porcine noises and tickling her. She squeals and howls with laughter. We wrestle around our bed until she ends up sitting on my stomach, straddling me.
"Now this, I miss. Except you're supposed to be naked," I say. She chuckles and locks eyes with me. As I stare into her vibrant, emerald-green eyes, I'm sitting up as she's leaning down and I kiss her, hard. She puts her tongue in my mouth first, then pulls me on top of her as she lays down.
Our son decides to walk into our bedroom without knocking.
"Mom, since you spent the night being amorous with Dad, I took the liberty of ending your relationship with Mr Wright," Nate says, holding out her cell phone.
I groan and start to laugh as Lucy sighs. She pushes me off of her and takes her cell phone from Nate. "Thank you, sweetie."
"Was that sarcasm?" he asks me.
"Go have breakfast, Nate," I say before his mother has an aneurysm. She's glaring at me after Nate leaves. "I love you?"
"Nice try," she says, then gets up and realises my little fib about her being fully clothed. She's only wearing one of my shirts. Lucy throws her pillow at me, pulls on her jeans and walks out of our room.
I know I'm in trouble, but I follow her to Lola's bedroom anyway.
"Hi, Mummy!" The six-year-old squeals. It's funny, Nate as a distinct American accent, yet Lola's is purely English.
"Hi, baby," Lucy picks her up and carries her out of her bedroom, ignoring me.
"Hi, Daddy," Lola grins her 'I've-got-my-mum' grin as she passes me. Lucy carries her downstairs and Lola decides she wants to go play before breakfast. Lucy sets her down and Lola runs over to her toys.
Before Lucy walks into the kitchen, I grab her arm. "Are you really that angry with me? I only changed your clothes because you had puked all over everything else."
Lucy sighs, "No. I mean, you're just taking care of me, like you've always taken care of me, ever since the first time we got arrested together. And you're right about Tré. He's a plaything, a diversion." She wraps her arms around my waist. "We never should've divorced," she adds softly.
"Really?" I lean in to kiss her.
"Sucker," she smiles and lets me go. Even I have to chuckle at that a little. Lucy walks into the kitchen where the kids' nanny is cooking breakfast. Lucy picks up a knife off the counter and throws it at Chelsea. "Get the fuck out of this house and away from my children." The steak knife lodges in a cupboard, millimetres away from Chelsea's head. The nanny gives me a terrified look.
"Lucy! What are you doing?" I ask as I wrestle a 10-inch chef's knife away from her.
"Adam, that's Mia. She helped kidnap Aurora," Lucy takes the knife back from my slackened hand. "I will not miss this time."
"You're fired," I say without a moment's reconsideration. Mia/Chelsea doesn't look shocked, sad, or outraged. "Get out." She simply nods, and walks out the kitchen door to the garden. I stare at Lucy and try to catch my breath, terrified of who I had let into my home to care for my children for the past month.
interesting 
ck"]i like it.[/COLOR]
