Karma's Happenstance (Guns n Roses - Izzy Stradlin/OC/Nikki Sixx - Mötley Crüe)

Same fucking shit

Izzy POV

I wake up to that familiar doomed feeling. Shaking commences beneath my skins surface. My nose is starting to run a little. My body is starting to get a slight ache deep inside. I'm craving a fucking fix. This is normally how every morning goes. Usually that's the first thing I do in the morning.

Prep a fix, shoot up and go back to sleep or relax until I'm straight enough for the day. Then I'll try to come up with enough cash to buy more dope to get high later in the evening. We go out, deal, rob, steal, con, beg, and borrow. Junkie routine. Like I said: Scoring dope is like having a full time job. It consumes your every waking moment. Unless you're connected. Or have junkie rock star friends with enough cash to provide it to you.

Shit! I knew I would regret taking shit out on Sixx like that. How in hell am I gonna manage to score dope in Vegas? I didn't know anyone around here and just shuffling through the streets, trying to find a fucking dealer is way too risky. I could get stabbed again or jacked for whatever cash I manage to round up. Damn Isbell, you just couldn't mind your own god damn business for once, huh? No fuck that, I'm glad I didn't in this case. Fuck Sixx.

You know, the thing with Mr. Bownstone is: as soon as he starts knocking, everything else just seems pretty fucking irrelevant. All you can think about is that you don't want to feel the symptoms of withdrawal. Nothing is worse. Nothing. I'm not sick yet. But I know I'm gonna be soon if I don't shoot up in the next few hours. Life comes calling. Time to do the junkie thing.

I look beside me and watch as church girl sleeps. She's lying on her stomach, the flaming red hair spread all over the white pillow. The bed sheet has been moved down a bit and exposes the creamy white skin of her shoulders and part of her back. I still remember the way it feels. God, she is beautiful. And those tiny little freckles are fucking driving me nuts. I swear this shit is torture. My dick is already trying to get hard again. Get it together Isbell. Fucking think man.

That chick has no fucking clue what she'd gotten herself into by relying on me like this. How in the fucking hell should I take care of her? I can't even take care of myself. My priorities are smack, booze and music. How would she fit into this? Where is she gonna sleep? How will I feed her? What am I gonna do with her? And better yet, why did it even bother me?

I jump out of the bed, lightening a smoke while I sneak silently out of the room to find Slash. I find him sitting on the couch, scratching his arms awkwardly. Yeah, I know what that means. At least that fucking Sixx-cocktail fixed me up long enough to hold my shit together until we'll score. Slash doesn't look this fortunate.

His frantic seeming eyes look up at me. "So I take it you've got nothing left too, huh?"

I sit down next to Slash. He gives me a look of disgust. Yeah, that's my entire fault fucker, I know. I do feel a little bad for him.

"You think Sixx meant what he said? He's cutting us off now?" Slash asks and I can see him freaking out a little. His mind is panicking because he thinks he's gonna have to be sober till we go back to LA. Yeah, me too.

I give him a shrug. "He's your fucking friend, but I am pretty sure he won't give me a fucking crumb, man." I drag at my smoke and let out a small sigh. "I need to go score. Any ideas on that?"

He just shrugs, taking a swig from a dwindling bottle of Jack that's resting on the table. I'm relatively sure it's the last he will have access to. Sixx will see to that for sure. That motherfucker. I empty my pockets and throw everything on the table. Shoving shit like guitar picks and random chickýs telephone numbers aside, I quickly count every fucking dime I have. And fuck even this is Sixx's money. It's what I have left of the wad he gave me to leave LA. Fuck! This is it?

"Six bucks and sixty cents" I mumble while I dump my cigarette in the overloaded ashtray.

"Thatýs fucking perfect. I can't even afford a bottle of booze, man." Well, actually I could get about four or five bottles of Night Train at $1.29 each, but you can't find that shit outside of LA. Fuck. This just ain't enough to score.

Slash digs through his pockets and throws all his shit out on the table. A couple of bills tumble out of the mix. A five and five ones.  Ten bucks, man. That's all I have. I swear."

Frustrated like hell, I kick the coffee table. I take a few deep breaths trying to calm down. This shit just never ends. Here we are, at the same point that almost got me killed. As much as I love getting high, being a fucking junkie sucks. It's never ending. Just this long continuous cycle that never ends or breaks.

"Maybe you should apologize to Sixx, man." Slash suggests with as he plugs off one nostril and blows snot out of his nose onto the carpet.

"My ass. That sick fucker isn't getting anything from me. I'd prefer cold turkey. He tried to fuck a...Fuck Nikki goddamn Sixx." I say confidently. Let's see if I still like that idea when withdrawal really sets in.

Just then a door opens. Nikki's door. He's standing there naked with a towel covering his junk. His nose is pretty swollen. Too bad I didn't fucking break it. I really wish I had at this point. His sleepy face manages to form that smirk I hate so fucking much.

"What's the matter guys?" He says and I want to cringe at the sound of his fucking voice.

"Coming down? Need a fix?"

"Fuck yeah," Slash says hopeful.

His smirk gets even more smirkish. "Wish I cold help you Slash...but I'm sure Stradlin will manage something when you guys get back to LA."

"Fuck off Sixx," I snap.

"Gladly," he huffs and disappears back into his room.

"You're hung up on this chick aren't you?" Slash asks before evacuating his other nostril at my feet.

I jump aside, "It's not like that."

Slash just huffs. "So does that mean I can..."

"Fuck you man," I cut him off. Then I just give him a stare and drag from my cigarette. He knows not to fuck with me.

"We could like case Wayne Newton's house or some shit," he suggests and changes the subject from my church girl. Smart move Slash.

I just sigh and shake my head. "Man don't you think Wayne Newton has an alarm you dumb fuck?"

I shake my head again and smoke my cigarette.
He shrugs and takes a drink. "Rob a store?" He adds after a moment.

"Too hard...too many people at all times in Vegas, tourists and shit," I shake my head.

"Pan-handling?" He asks.

I drag from my cigarette and think a minute. Fuck this was pointless. Even if I did come up with the cash I still had no idea to find dope. I look over to the other side of the room and see a guitar sitting there. Hummm. Pan-handling. That would be totally doable here in Vegas. You see shit like that all day long.

"Grab your guitar,! I say. "What what about..."

"We're not taking your chick with us are we?" Slash asks in surprise.

"No. We can't"

Slash chuckles softly, "I doubt he's gonna try shit on her judging from the size of the potato you put on his nose."

I smirk in satisfaction. "Good, but I still don't trust her around him."