Johnny walks into his dressing room after the concert, slamming the door with a bottle of tequila in his hand. He walks over to the mirror and takes a few sips with a satisfying growl. Johnny notices a familiar face sitting on the couch in the reflection and abruptly turns around and asks, "What are you doing here?".
Alt flinches at his harsh voice, feeling uncomfortable. But she still gets up from the couch and comes closer to him. "I missed you, honey," she whispers with tenderness and love, stroking her palm on his sweaty T-shirt.
"I don't believe in love," he says through clenched teeth, turning away from her. "Now, get the fuck out." He downs another swig of tequila before slamming the bottle on the counter.
"You don't have to be like this, baby," she whispers softly, moving closer and wrapping her arms around him, trying to comfort him. "We can work through this together."
He pulls away roughly, glaring at her. "Don't touch me," he growls, shoving her forcefully enough to make her stumble back a step. His anger flares hotter at the sight of her hurt expression, but he refuses to relent. "I don't need your pity or your lies."
Alt feels her heart ache painfully at his words. "Johnny... Please," she whispers softly, remaining in place, "I'm not lying to you... I really love you. Why are you so blind to see this?".
He laughs bitterly, taking another swig of tequila. "You think I haven't been burned before? You think you're the first one to tell me that?" He gestures wildly around the room, his anger and cynicism boiling over. "Love is a trap, Alt! A cheap trick the corporations pull to keep us all in line."
Her eyes widen as he speaks so harshly, and she takes a step closer again despite his rough words. "No, it's not like that," she insists softly, reaching out to touch him once more. "I may be from the label, but my heart chose you." She tilts her head up to meet his gaze. "Please believe me."
He shrugs off her hand roughly, not meeting her gaze. "You don't know anything about me," he says with a snort of derision. "I'm not some nice guy you can just pick up and take home to mom. I'm the enemy." He takes another long drink from the bottle, feeling the liquor burn its way down his throat.
"Have you come to fuck again? Well, take off your clothes," he sneers derisively, taking out a cigarette.
Alt feels his venomous words seeping into her heart. Her heart aches so much for him; he truly believes that love cannot exist between them. But deep down she feels that there is something between them. And she knows him too well... She knows he's manipulating and pushing her away. But she doesn't leave this time. She takes off her leather jacket, throws it on the dressing table and begins to take off her snow-white top.
He watches her undress with a mix of lust and contempt, his eyes drawn to her perfect body despite himself. "That's better," he mutters as she bares her breasts. He grins wolfishly at the sight before turning back to pour himself another drink.
"Go on, Alt," he snorts, "You know how to turn me on."
The more he mocks her and pushes her away, the more she wants him. It's almost like some primal instinct kicks in, something that tells her not to give up so easily. With determination, Alt reaches for his leather pants and pulls them down, remaining only in a lacy black thong.
He groans and drops the tequila bottle on the counter, splashing alcohol everywhere as he stumbles forward to her. His hands are rough as he grips her hips, lifting her up onto his waiting cock. She winces in pain at the sudden invasion, but she doesn't cry out; instead, she looks up into his eyes, willing him to see something true here.
But what he sees is only a reflection of his own dark desires, and as he thrusts roughly inside her, he growls, "That's right, bitch... This is who I am."
Her breath hitches in her throat at the pain and his callous words, but she doesn't resist as he takes what he wants from her. She meets his gaze as best she can despite the tears burning behind her eyes, refusing to give up on their connection even now. Maybe one day, he'll see how wrong he is...
The harsh reality of their situation hits him like a sledgehammer as he forces himself deeper inside her, their bodies slapping together in a brutal dance of desire and desperation. He shoves his hands roughly through his tangled hair, the sound reminiscent of iron spikes scraping across stone. His expression darkens even further as anger wars with self-loathing, making it difficult to breathe, let alone focus on anything other than the pain and shame that coursed through him.
"Fuck...," he grunts roughly, his hips moving faster now as if trying to escape from the truth that taunts him mercilessly, "It's all just a fucking game..." His gaze drifts somewhere distant, somewhere far away from her pleading eyes.
"Take what you want... Take it all..." he growls hoarsely, his words barely audible above the pounding bass of the music in his head. He thrusts deeper still, desperate for some semblance of release even as part of him begs for this to end. But it seems there is no escape from the prison of their own making; no respite from the endless cycle of hurt and anger and lust that drives them both to madness.
Her grip tightens around him as she moans, feeling his rage and confusion within her body, almost as if it were her own. She presses closer to him, seeking some sort of connection despite the pain and the distance between them. "I'm here," she whispers, barely audible above the music. "I won't leave you."
His anger flares hotter at her words, and he nearly snaps in protest before remembering that she's not lying this time. He grits his teeth and focuses on the pain, letting it wash over him like a cleansing wave. Her body moves against his, and despite everything, he finds himself matching her rhythm. For now, at least, they are connected in this twisted dance of desire and despair. With a deep growl, he releases himself deep into her, tearing a primal moan from her lips.
Her back arches as he fills her, and she bites her lip to hold back a cry of pleasure amidst the pain. She holds him tightly, her breath hot against his neck as their bodies move together in a rhythm born of need and loneliness. Despite everything, there is a strange sort of intimacy here, an understanding that only they share.
He clenches his teeth and looks away, trying to hide the truth that despite his words, she was right. He doesn't want to feel this way; he wants her out of his life, but he can't seem to make himself let go. This moment, as fleeting and painful as it is, is the only thing keeping him connected to something real in a world that's nothing more than an illusion.
Exhausted and satisfied, they collapse onto the couch, trying to catch their breath. Alt takes his rough palm in his own, as if he wants to commit him to memory. "It was great," she says admiringly, and looking away, she quietly adds, "It's even a pity that we won't succeed."
"Don't you ever say that," he snarls, jerking his hand free. "There is no 'we', Alt. There's only me." He glares at her from under furrowed brows, daring her to contradict him.
The air between them grows heavy once more, the tension palpable as they lie there, bodies tangled and sore. Their hearts beat in tandem, but their minds seem light years apart. The music still thunders outside, a reminder of all that lies beyond this moment, all that they can never truly have.
Her heart aches to hear him say it, but she doesn't contradict him either. "Johnny..." She sighs and rest her head on his chest, wishing for a different reality where they could be together without all the pressure from their pasts and corporations.
He sighs heavily, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the ache in his chest. "I'm going to sleep," he mutters, even though it's barely past midnight. "Don't bother trying to fuck me again tonight." He hopes the harsh words will keep her at bay, but deep down he knows they probably won't make much of a difference.
Maybe you just need time to cool down, she thinks to herself, kissing his chest lightly before curling up against him, her body fitting perfectly into the space between his arm and torso. With a tired sigh, she closes her eyes, hoping that this will be enough for tonight.
He doesn't respond to her kiss, his breathing growing steadier as exhaustion finally claims him. The events of the night replay like a broken loop in his mind, tormenting him with the knowledge that no matter how hard he tries, there is no escape from the prison they've built for themselves. Right now, he's just enjoying her warm body next to him.
The ache in his chest lessens as he focuses on her breathing, soft and steady against his skin. It's almost soothing, this closeness to another human being... Even if it is just for tonight. Maybe there is some truth in what she says about them belonging together. But then again, maybe not. Either way, sleep calls his name, and he lets himself drift off into the darkness, caught between dreams of freedom and memories of a life that could have been.
The first rays of the sun begin to penetrate the dressing room, forcing Johnny to open his eyes. He feels like his head is aching from a hangover, his thoughts are confused. His gaze wanders around the dressing room, noticing the scattered bottles, trash, and drug syringes. But he doesn't see the most important thing...
His breath catches in his throat as he sees her gone. The empty place next to him feels like a physical pain, and anger flares up inside him like an inferno. "Fuck," he mutters bitterly, struggling to sit up despite the pounding in his head. With shaking hands, he reaches for his cigarettes and lights one, taking deep drags as he tries to clear his mind. "Alt!?" he snarls, tossing aside the empty tequila bottle and slamming his fist against the wall.
"Where did that stupid bitch go?" he mumbles to himself. He knew she wouldn't just leave him like this. Her disappearance can only mean one thing... Another part of him knows better, but denial is such a strong emotion for him right now that he can't bring himself to accept the truth.
He grabs his jacket off the chair where she had thrown it earlier and storms out of the dressing room, slamming the door behind him. The club is still empty except for a few stragglers leaving as he makes his way through the dimly lit corridors toward her quarters. "Alt!" he shouts angrily, kicking open her door and entering the small room. His bleary gaze falls on the crack in the bathroom. He carefully opens it, noticing how his beloved is lying in a tub of ice, attaching the wires of the communicator to her implants. He understands what's going on.
Alt lies almost unconscious, not even reacting to his arrival. Her body drifts through cyberspace, where she feels at home and safe. It's the only place where she can be herself. Johnny sits on the edge of the tub and waits patiently for her to come to her senses.
His gaze wanders over her pale, unmoving form, anger and despair warring within him. He wants to shake her awake, demand to know why she would do this to them, but something holds him back. Maybe it's the look of calm on her face or the memory of how good they were together last night. For now, he can only wait and hope that when she returns from cyberspace, they will find a way forward together.
He leans in and whispers close to her ear, "When you get back... I need you to talk to me." His voice is hoarse, barely audible above the thrumming of the bass in his head. "We need to figure out what's going on between us, Alt. We can't keep doing this to ourselves."
His fingers brush lightly against her cheek, tracing the curve of her jaw before settling on the back of her hand, gripping it tightly in solidarity and hope.