I sat there in the arms of Ronnie Radke. The position every girl dreams to be in, with his Skittles and alcohol filled breath intoxicating me. His breath on my neck. I knew what I was doing and I knew I would probably never see him again. But at that moment I didn't really care. His arms making their way around my waist. I was no stranger to being every rock god's fantasy. My long dark brown hair inviting them in and my even darker eyes keeping them wondering what's inside my head. I became a groupie at the age of twelve. Going to concerts with my sister, Serenity. At that age, I didn't know what being a groupie meant. Nor did I care. But when I lost my virginity at the age of fifteen to a member of My Chemical Romance in a drunken state, I suddenly realized what I was. I hastily put on my clothes and ran to my sister, tears streaking my face, to demand why she let this happen to me and more importantly why she had insisted it did. But when I reached her, she wasn't even listening. Too drunk to hear my cries of frustration and confusion. Sloshing her drink around while trying to convince Mikey Way to sleep with her. Needless to say, she won. It was Mikey's older brother, Gerard, who took me home that night. Serenity didn't even notice I was gone. So, after that I continued going to concerts with my sister, only agreeing to go backstage and "meet" the band under the condition that I didn't drink. I went there, backstage only interested in friendship and not a good fuck. But every time I refused to bed a bombed band member Serenity would call me a kill-joy. That's why I was here. No matter how much it killed me. Because somewhere along the lines of meeting Ronnie adn ending up here in his motel room, I fell in love with him. But I was here for one purpose. I would sleep with Ronnie and be gone by the time morning comes.

            I had met Ronnie at other concerts and parties. We had become a sort of friends, so we exchanged phone numbers and e-mail addresses. I guess somewhere between all the text messages and e-mails talking about how stupid MTV was with their rap Sunday shit that I had fallen for him. I loved everything about that boy. Right down to the tousled black hair of his. Or the interesting friendship between him and Max Green. But beyond that, I knew the real Ronnie. But I had no choice. I knew what groupies were for. Which is why  last night at the concert when Max wrapped his arm around my shoulders and whispered, "Tonight's the night, Ray," in my ear my stomach dropped. It's also the reason why I had to do what I was about to. I would leave before the sunrise. Before he does.