Junkhead

Little Blue Friends...

They were seated at a table in the center of the cafeteria, a couple PCA's wandering around the room.  Mike watched them as they walked across the cafeteria to talk to the lunch ladies. He couldn't hear anything they were saying aside from moments of laughter.  He glanced back over at Layne, who was staring off into space into his traveling mug the psych unit had given him as a "welcoming gift".  Layne's pupils were tiny pin dots, his eyelids sloppily hanging over his bloodshot, glassy eyes.

"How in the heck are you stoned in rehab?" Mike muttered quietly to Staley, a look of disappointment matted on his face.

Layne glanced up at him from his coffee, taking a sip from the mug. He clumsily tried to place it back down on the table, laughing quietly when it dropped to the floor & bounced against the tile. The coffee spilled out into a puddle of brown liquid.

"Shit," he murmured to himself. He yanked a few napkins from the steel container on the table and wiped up the substance from the floor, tapping the mug back on the table.

"You okay, over there?!" One of the PCA's voice echoed from across the cafeteria.

"PEACHY KEEN!" Layne shouted, grinning over at Mike.  His smile faltered when he recognized the judgment on his friend's face.  "What?" he asked, brows crinkling in confusion.

"Oh, don't try to act all innocent, Layne," Mike barked. He leaned back in the shitty plastic chair & crossed his arms over his chest.  His curly brown hair slid down over his face, making him look all the more pissed off.  "What the fuck are you on?  And how in the world did you get it in REHAB, of all places?" he whispered, resting his elbows on the table and leaning on his hands.

Layne sighed, thumping his leg up and down, glaring wearily back over at the PCA's.  They were supposed to be here with them to keep an eye on them, but instead they seemed to be more concerned with cracking jokes with the lunch ladies...

"I met a guy in here.  I don't know how he got it, he OBVIOUSLY wouldn't tell another patient in here where."  He narrowed his eyes at Mike, grinning maliciously at him.  "And you're stoned, too, I can tell.  Most likely on that fucking Valium, aye?"

Mike gave him the death stare, fidgeting into his pocket, & holding out a blue round pill.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Layne shrieked through clenched teeth, eyes slanting back over at the PCA's.

Mike laughed softly.  "They don't care what we're doing.  They're not even watching us."  He popped the pill under his tongue, smirking at Layne as he watched his face turn red.

"What...what the fuck, Mike?"

He shrugged.  "They're my blue little friends, just like your needle & crack pipe," he reached over and grabbed a straw out of the round container from the center of the table. He stripped the paper sleeve off of it & began to roll it into a ball.  "You have no right to judge, junky."

"Well, I wouldn't be if you were in here with me," Layne spat, eyeing the straw in Mike's hand.

"What did that other junky give you?"

Layne smiled, yanking the straw away from Mike and tossing it into the trash can behind him.  "Pain killers.  Why do you care, you benzo freak?"

Mike shrugged, smiling.  "What's rehab like, anyways?"

Layne sighed loudly, irritation shrouded deep in his core. "I really don't want to talk about it."  He narrowed his eyes at Mike & raised a curious brow.  "How's that hot little groupie you picked up at the detox wing?"

"She's addicted to Xanax," Mike said, laughing.

Layne rolled his eyes.  "Oh, the irony..."

He smirked.  "I know, right?  She has to get her friend's pee so she can continue to work," he giggled, "she's a freak, though.  Great in bed."