Söbriety • Mötley Crüe •

113. Happy Ending Part Two

Warnings: Mentions of Past Drug Use/ Suicide Attempt & Child Loss

February 14th, 2005

Ryan's POV

"Momma! Dad says he needs your help!" Wylie screams across the ocean-decorated suite, a hint of annoyance coloring her voice from being pulled away from whatever she's doing.

Although, I can't remember a time that she wasn't annoyed. At least not since she turned thirteen and abruptly decided that we were the most uncool, painfully embarrassing humans to walk the earth.

More so her father than me.

She still calls me momma, so I know deep down in that angry body she still at least sort of likes me.

"I could've done that, Wylie." Nikki huffs, rolling his eyes as I walk into the bedroom to see them having a wild west-esque stand off.

It's always something; some sort of disagreement or argument that places them on opposing sides, both too stubborn to back down without a fight.

"Then you should have." She quips, pulling her book back up to her face.

"Attitude, little girl." He warns, pointing. "Or I'll take that phone and that book and force you to actually hang out with your family."

She throws her hands up in surrender, curling her nose as if that's the most degrading punishment he could give, "Sorry. I'll be nice."

She normally caves first, throwing on a forged smile if only to save herself the brutal discomfort of being disconnected from the outside world.

Teenagers are difficult in general, but trying to separate this teenager from her phone is nearly impossible. Honestly, it really only punishes us in the end when we have to suffer through an even more putrid mood swing.

I don't know why we didn't prepare ourselves better for her inevitable cross over that tempestuous threshold. I don't know if we assumed she'd stay little forever, or if we just didn't expect it to be such a day and night shift in her personality, but either way, we still don't know what the fuck we're doing.

It's like walking through a minefield, hyper alert to not step the wrong way and be blown to pieces.

"What do you need help with?" I ask sweetly, attempting to cut through the tension.

"I can't find any of my stage gear." Nikki sighs, his thick brows furrowed. "Do you remember where you packed it?"

"It's in the blue bag marked stage gear." I mock, threading my hands through the air into the shape of a rainbow.

He lowers his eyes, unimpressed with my smart remark, but I actually get a chuckle of Wylie so it's a successful joke in my book.

"I looked, but it's not in there." He argues, distressed. "We have sound check in two hours. Will you look for me? You're better at finding stuff."

"If I go look and it's exactly where it's supposed to be, I'm gonna kick you in the balls." I snort out a scoff, earning another laugh from my perpetually uninterested daughter.

"And you wonder where she gets her attitude from!" Nikki calls after me as I pad into the living room to find the blue bag in question.

"I know where she gets it from- you!" I laugh as I pull the fifty pound bag onto the leather couch to unzip it, frustration quickly building when everything is right where I told him it was. "Nikki, it's right fucking- oh."

My anger dissipates at the sight of the little black box tucked in between the dozens of leather outfits and cases of dark make-up, a pink card attached to it.