entry #142 - pick me up (or not quite)

                                    

                                          

'Get rid of her, now'. Gerry blurts out, pointing to the exact spot where I'm standing, aka right beside Sean's drum kit, hip almost touching the rack of his tallest, widest Crash cymbal of two. I furrow my brows in confusion, because I honestly don't know what I've done to deserve Cuntrell's very unwanted attention, this time. I've been silent, I haven't followed Sean, and I haven't even asked him what did he do/say, in order to get Cuntrell back on stage post storming off... and the fact that he's telling Sean to get rid of me like I've done a bad thing to begin with, well, I just can't understand. What's that, another one of his mood swings? Does he hate me that much? Well, he probably does. He definitely hates me so much that venting on me, while he's beefed up with everyone else in this gang but me, is totally normalised to him. He's fine with rehearsing with his bandmates who tag team fucked 'his woman', last night, he can stand the presence of the woman in question, but he just can't stand mine, for some reason still very unknown. What is ahead of me, besides the unmotivated disrespect towards me, is that he's giving Sean, the only person who gave a flying fuck about him and made sure he'd get back on stage, a whole lotta crap. What's the point of telling him to get rid of me? Totally out of the blue? Sean is literally the smartest person I've ever met, and he's perfectly able to tell his impulses and act accordingly. If he wants to get rid of me, he will eventually do the thing, in the most forward way ever, but only if he'll be the one to want it. He most certainly ain't gonna take orders from a pissy blonde who hates on me for a hobby... because let me tell you, Sean doesn't take orders from anyone. Not even from me, and not even over the stupidest things.
'Am I the problem? All of a sudden?' I ask, very peacefully so, keeping all of my chill together, and almost sighing my words away. I'm tired of being the ultimate end of Gerry's mood swings and hate, always, even when I don't do a bad thing or say a single word to begin with. This time, I just don't have a clue what I've done to deserve his relentless hatred and disrespect: I didn't stand up for Bessie and I didn't try to protect her from Gerry's violent, insulting yells like I would've normally done. I didn't even meddle into their conversation to have my own say, or to ask for the catching up I was lacking. I didn't take sides. I didn't cheer. I didn't affirm my point of view. I didn't even follow Sean through the hallway, although I was quite afraid he was going to throw hands at Gerry. I didn't even look Gerry's way for one second. I've been peaceful and silent, sitting on a fucking Marshall amplifier by the side of the stage, chatting with Sean's drum tech, toying a bit with the surgical tape around my fingers, and overall minding my own business. But apparently, me doing my own thing is much more of an issue, to Gerry, than having to share the stage and rehearse with the two men who tapped his woman from all angles last night. It doesn't make sense ... but I'm not surprised one bit. Because at the end of the day, it's Gerry Cuntrell we're talking about, and everything he says and does doesn't make sense. 
He doesn't answer my question, though, because let's not forget ... he's as open to civilised confrontation as a wall of concrete. He just looks at Sean like he's utterly annoyed by my presence... and I, smart woman who always feels unwanted to some extent, get his silent message loud and clear. He wants me gone, at least for the rehearsal's time, and I'll be going away... he doesn't have to worry that much, nor get too passive aggressive with me, in order to achieve the damn thing. I grab my bag, I startle myself a little, and I begin to walk shy steps towards the backstage curtain. I don't care if my boyfriend is on stage and I will miss his soundcheck, I just want peace of mind. And if watching Sean banging the hell out of his drums somehow takes away my peace of mind, because I am unwanted by one of his three bandmates... then I just won't be attending the damn soundcheck. It's literally that easy, to me. I'll rather leave this squalid arena and head back to the hotel to study, than let a cunt come for me when I've been the total definition of harmless. No time for bullshit today, I only want what's good, and he's clearly no good for me.