From the Love Lust and Lies Series
Book 1 & Book 2
Alison Young was a human firecracker in a leather jacket, a whirling dervish of raw talent and calculated chaos. As the frontwoman for Ziggy’s, the all-girl goth group tearing up the underground scene, she knew how to command a stage and an audience. She also learned how to stir up trouble. It was a personality quirk, she told herself, a consequence of living life on the edge. Others, like Chrissie Brooks, called it something far less flattering.
Alison had a habit, a particularly nasty one, of flirting with other women’s men. It wasn’t about love or even lust. It was about power, proving she could turn heads and make even the most devoted husband or boyfriend momentarily question their choices. Chrissie, whose rock star husband Danny Brooks had been the target of one of Alison’s brazen displays, considered her a menace. The glares Chrissie shot Alison at industry parties could melt steel.
“She’s a viper, Al,” warned Zephyr, Ziggy’s’ drummer, one night after a particularly heated encounter with Chrissie backstage. “Just leave it alone. It’s not worth the drama.”
Alison shrugged, taking a pull from her cigarette. “Drama’s good for publicity, isn’t it?”
But then Roma, one of the ‘it’ bands of the moment, rolled into their orbit. And Alison’s carefully constructed world of calculated flirtation and casual mayhem began to crumble. It crumbled because of Nick Granger.
Nick was Roma’s magnetic frontman. He was all brooding charisma and effortlessly cool, with a voice that could soothe a savage beast or ignite a riot. For the first time, Alison felt a pull that wasn’t about control or ego. This was something raw, something vulnerable.
She started small, dropping by Roma’s soundchecks, offering to help with their setlists, even bringing Nick coffee, always black, always with a knowing smile. He was polite, even charming, but there was a polite distance, a subtle barrier she couldn’t seem to breach. He had a quiet intensity, a private world she wasn’t invited into.
The infatuation quickly spiralled. Alison stopped flirting with other men and stopped stirring the pot. All her energy, all her focus, was consumed by Nick. She started attending every Roma concert, not just the ones where Ziggy’s were supporting acts. She knew his schedule
better than her own. She’d stand at the back, lost in the flickering lights, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs, to catch a glimpse of him.
Her friends noticed the change. “You, alright, Al?” Tracy asked, concerned. “You’re…different.”
Alison just waved her off, lost in her world. “Just busy.”
The “busy” was a lie. She wasn’t writing new music or practising. Once an extension of her soul,
She spent hours analysing his lyrics and deciphering the meaning behind his enigmatic smile. She even started dressing differently: her skirts got shorter, her jeans got tighter, and her tops became more revealing leather jackets, trying to emulate the bohemian chic of the women she saw him surrounded by. She knew Deborah Richard was a woman he was into, but she had been married to Decades, Simon Richards
One night, after a Roma concert, she finally cornered him backstage. He was drenched in sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead, but he was a god to Alison.
“Nick,” she said, her voice a shaky whisper. “I… I just wanted to tell you that your performance was incredible.”
He smiled a genuine, warm smile that made her knees weak. “Thanks, Alison. I appreciate that.”
“I… I like your music,” she stammered, feeling foolish.
He chuckled. “That’s good, considering I write it.”
Then, a woman emerged from the dressing room, her arm sliding possessively around Nick’s waist. “Ready to go, Babe?” she asked, her voice dripping with a sugary sweetness that felt like acid on Alison’s tongue.
Alison stood silent as Nick introduced them. “Alison, this is my girlfriend, Izzy,”
The world seemed to tilt on its axis. The music, chatter, and flashing lights faded into a deafening roar. She mumbled a goodbye and stumbled away, the image of Nick and Izzy burning into her brain.
The next few weeks were a blur of self-loathing and desperate attempts to forget. She tried drinking, partying, and even briefly rekindling her old habit of flirting with other women’s men, but nothing worked. The image of Nick with someone other than her haunted her every waking moment.
She had to have Nick and always got what she wanted. Nick was no different; she knew she would get him. She was a daddy’s girl, and daddy always gave her everything she wanted. She was spoilt as a child, to say the least.
Her infatuation with Nick wasn’t love. It was an obsession, a manifestation of her insecurities and need for control. She had projected all her hopes and dreams onto him, creating a fantasy that had nothing to do with the real man.
But Alison knew one thing: she was a rock star, and rock stars, even those who flirt with the wrong men, always find a way to rise. And she would rise.
Thank You for Reading,
Deborah C Langley
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