All In The Name Of.... // Nikki Sixx X Tommy Lee

Chapter 11 - Uncomfortable

Nikki’s POV - 

The damn phone is ringing again. How the hell did it come back to life. Just to haunt me, I surmise. I open my eyes, and reach for the receiver. It’s Doug, our other manager, this time, telling me that the limo is leaving in an hour, and to be ready. Thanks, I guess. I feel a little calmer, and less jittery. But, still tired and a bit nauseous. 

I sit up, put my feet on the floor, and just sit there for a few minutes, using my hand to keep my head propped up. I’m thinking whether I want to take a shower. If I have time, if I care. I turn around to peek at the clock. It’s around 3pm. I take in my surroundings, strong rays of sun forcing their way in my room through the cracks in the drapes, and see all kinds of evidence lying around from last night’s debacle. My head hurts again. I decide that I do need to shower, if only to scrape all remnants of last night from my body. 

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I’m showered, dressed in the same leather pants with a clean sleeveless t-shirt. I feel a chill, so I put my leather jacket on. Maybe I’m coming down with something. I never can tell whether I’m getting sick or if I’m just hungover. I do a few lines for a quick pick-me-up. I also inject a little dope from my dwindling stash, into my veins, because I’m starting to get dope sick; besides it will make the 2 hour limo ride more tolerable. I think I’m ready. I’m doing hair, make-up, and accessories in the dressing room at the venue, as usual. It’s a lot simpler these days; just street clothes and a little eye make-up so I look half alive. 

I have to get down to the lobby. I tell myself that I’m just going to act normal when I see Tommy, then try to distract myself with someone else. I’m not mad, and I don’t hate him. As a matter of fact, I think that I kind of miss him already; or I at least miss our camaraderie. I’m not sure. I just want things to be back to normal with us. I can’t let our friendship get fucked-up. I just need a little time to work on getting it back to where we were. 

I head downstairs to the hotel lobby. Management and Mick are down there already. They seem surprised to see me; not only because I’m here before Vince and Tommy, but because I’m here, period. It’s as if they were already discussing who was going to be the chosen whipping boy to go up to to pry me from my room while enduring my bitchfest and threatened violence towards them. 

Tommy and Vince stroll in together a few minutes later, laughing about some stupid shit.  A surge of jealousy sweeps over me. Tommy and Vince haven’t even been getting along anymore. Tommy and I shoot each other a glance. He attempts a slight smile, but I’m newly put off by his arrival with Vince, and can’t give him anymore than a harsh glare. 

The limo is here. I hang back. There’s no way I can sit up towards the front, facing backwards. I’ll get sick in no time. Tommy, Vince, and Mick get in. Doug, Doc, and Fred, our road manager, follow them in. I’m last. I see Doc and Fred in the back, the only front-facing seat. I need that. I tell Doc to move. He calls me a whiney pain in the ass, but moves toward the front, near Tommy. 

I take the open seat next to Fred. I’m glad to be sitting next to him. When he’s not slapping me and the rest of the band around to keep us in line, we actually get along quite well. Fred parties with us on occasion and he supplies me with party drugs. He and I have also had some wicked, deep late-night conversations. He’s just who I need now. Fred starts by mentioning that he didn’t see me at all last night after the concert. Sometimes we all hit a strip joint together, or we shuffle around to each other’s hotel rooms, and up and down the hallway on a quest for something fun, dumb, or crazy to do. I swallow hard and tell him that I wasn’t feeling too great, and T-Bone and I just watched movies and got wasted in my room. My heart is racing, and I think I just stammered like an idiot trying to get those words out. Tommy, must have heard me, as shot me glance; his face is nondescript, and mine is full of panic. With my eyes wide, I search Fred’s face for a minute, trying to determine whether he buys it; knowing damn well that he has no clue, no one does. But the tension between me and Tom is so thick in here, I’m convinced someone’s going to catch on. They must know what we did. Fred looks at me, and says he thinks that I had one too many lines of coke, as he notices my deer-in-headlights look. He takes the butt of his palm and raps me on the forehead with it, to snap me out of my crazed looked. Then he says, dude, listen up, I got a story for you, and starts telling me about his paid fare last night, who turned out to be a crazy, wild bitch. I relax. Fred always has a bucketful of fucked-up stories like this to tell. I’m glad, because I’ve got nothing to share. My mind can only think of one story right now, and it’s never going to get shared.