FANDOM: Good Charlotte.
RATING: M15+ for language sexual references. And me being a dork.
PAIRING(S): PaulXChris, Paul/OFC.
SUMMARY: Is it possible to love two people at once, so very very much?
My name's Paul. Paul Thomas, you might have heard of me? No? Are you sure? I'm in a band called Good Charlotte, we're pretty famous.
I'm the bass player. Stuff is okay, we've got a new album coming out soon, we're not touring (which is so unbelievably awesome.), and I have a fantastic girlfriend.
Well, had a fantastic girlfriend, anyway.
I've got this sort-of problem. Like, I know it's stupid and basically, well, even more stupid, but it's a problem anyway.
Whenever we're on tour - me and the rest of the band that is - I'm completely incapable of remaining faithful.
I know, I know. I'm a famous musician, that's practically my fucking duty! But it's disturbing because when I'm home, as soon as I see her pretty smirking face - she never "smiles", she always "grins" or "smirks" - I know I could never do anything to hurt her feelings. But as soon as she's out of sight (and partially out of mind.), it's like she doesn't even exist.
I love her so much, right? Once we had a fight that lasted over a week, before we were even going out, when we were just friends. Just the thought of maybe never speaking to her, seeing her, was unbelievably... painful, I guess.
When I'm at home, and she's a few streets away in her own house, it's overwhelming how much I miss her. I just really, really love her. So fucking much I think about her constantly, and honest to everything, nothing makes me happier than when I'm with her!
And it drives me fucking mad!
So why is it, then when I'm in the next state, country, continent, hemisphere, I just don't think? There must be some part of my brain, the monogamy-controlling part of my feeble brain gets drowned with excess beer - my favourite is Corona by the way, if you'd like to buy me a drink, it'd be much appreciated - and I'm convinced it's 100% okay to consort with some cheap strumpet even at the sake of my relationship!
I knew that if she found out, she'd be heartbroken. Which was why it was stupid of me to do what I did. No, not just cheat on her by having sex. Not sex, no. (though that was what started it all, really.) No, I had a relationship with someone else.
Hard to do when you're on tour right? Wrong!
TOURING BAND'S CODE:
1. Life on the road is completely separate to life at home.
2. Never get drunk before the concert.
3. Do not engage yourself with multiple groupies if any other band member is left unattended.
4. Do not shag band members.
5. Do not get emotionally involved with band members.
6. The same goes for managers.
7. Do not attempt that guitar solo, no matter how high being on stage makes you feel. Trust me.
8. Just because you can make leather pants work does not mean you should proclaim yourself God. Or even leader of the band.
9. Consorting with groupies does not make you "more in touch" with the fans.
10. If in doubt, stretch out your only well-known single with extra choruses and audience participation. It's safer that way.
These 10 little rules. Most of them aren't bothered with, especially not the one about not getting drunk before a concert. That's just stupid.
But guess which one I broke? The one everybody follows, no matter how much the fans wish we wouldn't?
I'm an absolute tool.
I broke four and five.
So who was it, you ask? Which band member did I deem worthy to fuck, in the crudest word usage I can come up with?
Pretty, fuckable Billy. All pink eye shadow and tight t-shirts, which beautifully coloured arms? And that verticle labret, yum.
Hot, hot Benji, who is practically raw fucking sex on legs?
Emo-kid Joel, with those cute starred shoulders?
Chris, with that fucking sexy bald head of his?
My band mates probably wouldn't like hearing me talk about them like this. So who was it? Why do you care? Why am I asking so many fucking questions? You really wanna know?
Chris. Chris Wilson, our fucking drummer.
I can't help it. He's... it's... It's that thing, that some people have. They might not really be that attractive. I'll admit Chris isn't. I'm not either. A lot of people aren't. It's when you get to know them, you get used to the sight of them, and then one day you realise.
Oh my God he/she is really, really fucking hot.
They might be ugly. They might be annoying. They might be your girlfriend who you love but find odd-looking, but then after that, they seem to be nothing but sex on legs.
Chris is like that. I'm not quite sure when it happened, I think it was after a concert one evening. We were all coming back off-stage, and Chris was peeling - yes, peeling - off his hoodie. It was just that sweat-soaked.
I was half-turned away, putting my bass down when I caught a glimpse of Chris. I think half of it was his facial expression. Tired, but unbelievably happy. His shirt, or lack-thereof. The way his jeans hung really low on his slim hips. (Chris was nearly as thin as Billy, and still is.) The sweat glistening all over him.
Now you look me in the eyes and tell me that's not sexy.
You can't, can you?
That was months ago. When Chris was still "The New Guy". Not too long ago, I did something more stupid than lust after my band mate.
We got drunk and shagged on the table behind bathroom cubicle on the tour bus.
The circumstances that led to that incident weren't too weird really. We were really drunk, and I mean, really drunk, and talking about what else, sex.
Chris had a girlfriend too, and we were lamenting over them being in our respective hometowns, and not there with us on the bus.
From sex we moved on to sexuality, and from sexuality, bemoaning the fact that no other bi guys were on the tour. I already knew Chris was. He'd told me long before, during another drunken ramble.
Neither of us had managed to fuck another guy in practically forever. Him in months, me in years. I'd tried to stick to girls for a while, I'm not quite sure why.
So two drunk, horny guys alone on a bus? You can't really blame us. It even rhymes.
That turned in to another night of shagging, this time in a bunk. Then a few nights later, in a real bed. That night was amazing. Me, Chris, and a double mattress. Wow.
Soon it was every night. The other guys knew, I mean, it was kinda hard to miss. Middle of the afternoon (sometimes we just couldn't wait for night.), mad thumping coming from the back of the bus, and orgasmic screams? You'd have to be totally out of it to miss it.
Then I don't know what happened. I think, and this is really stupid. I think I fell in love with him.
I hate myself for that. Suddenly everything was Chris. And to Chris, everything was me. It wasn't just sex anymore, it was other things. It was the kissing. It was the holding hands discreetly under tables, and letting go when we thought somebody was looking. It was the talking, even when we were sober.
I don't know. I just honestly don't know.
You know what happened then?
The tour finished.
My girlfriend and I had arranged to see each other as soon as the tour had ended... which we did. And stupid stupid stupid me nearly died from shock as my brain tried to comprehend what my heart was saying, or screaming really.
I. Still. Loved. Her.
The curly reddish hair, the sharp blue eyes, the ever present smirky-grin.
I hate myself.
Did I really still love her? I'm not sure. I'm not sure about anything. Supposedly, life on tour is 100% completely seperate from life elsewhere. I totally agree. When I'm on tour, I don't even remember home. I have no thoughts. Anything that happened at home just doesn't apply.
And when I got home, I completely forgot about Chris, and everything that happened between us.
As soon as I saw my girlfriend, it was if I'd never been away. I grabbed her and, well, marathon sex ensued. That is one thing similar to touring, I suppose.
I hadn't fucked a girl in a while. While I had Chris, groupies were meaningless. While I had my girlfriend, Chris was meaningless.
With Chris, one of the moments I remember knowing I truly loved him was when we were sitting on the couch, when Matt and Nick from MEST - you know them, don't you? - invaded our bus.
Now Joel, Benji and Billy all knew. But no one outside the band, not even Steve (our manager.), knew about us.
We were quietly sitting there, holding hands, I was smoking and Chris was humming, loudly. But I didn't care. Even though he had been humming Foo Fighters songs for the past three hours, I didn't care.
Ain't love grand?
Chris shoved a pillow over our hands, which somehow managed to fool Matt and Nick, who soon left looking for Tony. Tony usually came over to our bus looking for Benji.
But what made me love him all the more was the fact that he covered our hands. Not because I liked having to hide our relationship, not at all, but the fact that he'd rather risk being caught than just letting go.
Then there's other love.
After two straight days in bed - yes, I can last that long! - my girlfriend had gone off to have a shower. I had chosen to stay in bed. I can go for surprisingly long periods of time without showering. Disgusting, I know.
She walked out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her torso. Getting out of the bed, I walked up behind her as she rummaged through a drawer looking for underpants.
"Uh-uh, you don't need those now." I couldn't help saying, grabbing her around the waist from behind.
"Eek Paul, get off me!" she giggled, dropping the offending undergarments.
"Mmm, no. I'm not letting you get away from me, ever!" I replied, kissing the back of her neck.
Right then. Holding her wet, towelled body against mine, kissing the back of her neck while she giggled and shrieked.
Was that love as well?
Right then, right there, it was.
Is it possible for someone to be in love with two people at once? Supposedly it's not, but I think it is. They're both from totally different parts of my life, and wouldn't fit in with the opposite lives I lead. They both fulfil me.
I can't live without either.
For an entire month, life was fantastic. Then we started recording our new album. My girlfriend had moved in with me, a rash decision, but it helped me straighten my life out.
The album recording.
I saw Chris again.
Stupid stupid stupid.
Did I mention I hate myself?
From the moment I saw him again, me and my girlfriend were all over. I'd tasted blood and I wanted more.
We had sex that same afternoon, in a janitors closet somewhere in the studio. It was crude and fast, but it was Chris. It was Chris, all sweat and slick skin.
So different from my girlfriend, whom I fucked soon after arriving home. She was sweet-smelling and soft, not hard and muscular, and reeking of week-old sweat.
Let me take that back. I made love to her. I fucked Chris.
Chris was my down-and-dirty side. My girlfriend was my passionate and romantic side. I needed to have both.
I'm greedy and male!
My girlfriend never suspected I was having an affair. I don't know, I guess was paranoid that Chris would give me a hicky in some place that I couldn't just pass off as a bruise, or something stupid like that.
Or that one of the other guys would notice, and they'd pass the message on to my girlfriend...
We kept it a secret. Chris wasn't happy about that, and neither was I. But it was either keep it a secret, or break up with him. Or my girlfriend.
Did I mention my girlfriend was my fiancée by this point?
We were engaged, and I was fucking another man behind her back.
She wouldn't be happy if she found out. So of course, she did.
Chris was never happy about me wanting to keep us a secret. He said if I really loved him - which I did - I wouldn't. But I loved my girlfriend, and I wanted to marry my girlfriend. I knew I could have been happy forever with my girlfriend, but not as happy as if I'd had both. And still not as happy as if they had both known about each other, and been cool with it.
He showed up at my house, while my girlfriend was at work. He said he wanted to break it off, or come out. I said no. He said goodbye.
"You can't just leave me, Chris!" I said, pleading. He turned. I'll never forget the look in his eyes, right then and there.
"You can't just leave me when it's convenient to have a girlfriend, then."
Chris was right, totally, absolutely, 100%, ain't no doubt about it (baby got to go out and shout it!) right.
I was a complete fucking asshole.
I cried. I'll admit it, I wept like a fucking baby. He slowly walked back to me, and hugged me. Arms around each other, crying in my living room together.
Chris kissed me. I kissed him back. He stroked the back of my neck with his rough fingers, and stared into my eyes.
"I love you Paul, I really do."
"I love you too Chris."
The front door opened.
"What the fuck?!"
Who else? My girlfriend.
Chris stuttered and babbled, I gaped, and my girlfriend ran off to our bedroom. Emerging soon after with a bag, presumably containing her most important things, she left.
One less decision to make.
Chris mumbled and apology and left soon after. I couldn't convince him to stay. He had come over trying to break up my relationship with my girlfriend, but that wasn't how he had planned to do it. So he left.
That was a few weeks ago. We finished up on our new album, which is being released soon. I haven't seen Chris since. I've rung my girlfriend a few times on her cell. She usually hangs up on me, but I've left her a stack of soppy messages, and her friends assure me she'll come around. She just needs to hate me for a while.
I still love Chris. I probably always will. But I do want to settle down, get married, have kids. Blah blah blah. And my girlfriend is the best person for that.
Whatever happened between me and Chris is gone. If we tour again, I don't think it could ever come back. I know it has so many times before for me, but I just don't feel it anymore.
My name is Paul Thomas, and I'm in love with Chris Wilson.
But I can give him up, if it means being mostly happy for the rest of my life.
No matter how happy Chris made me, either.