Junkhead

So Unsure, We Reach For Something Strong

*******

Layne shot up from his hospital bed.  He tried to catch his breath as he analyzed his room, a jolt of relief shocking his system. Slowly, he stood up from the mattress, taking off his pajamas that were soaked in sweat.

He didn't even think twice as he reached into the slot in his mattress & gulped down the last 5 valium mike had given him.  He needed it.  His mind wouldn't stop flashing those ugly images of that skeletal, toothless version of his corpse, slowly decaying on his couch in his condo.

Layne jumped into the shower, rinsing the sweat off of him and running his hands through his now short hair.  The rehab allowed him to go out with Sean & Jerry to get his hair cut. They also got him in to see the dentist, who had to take out the rest of his remaining teeth & make molds on his gums for dentures.

When he stepped out of the shower, he glanced at himself in the mirror.  He had lost some weight over the past month of being in here.  He couldn't eat.  He felt hopeless & unwanted...he felt alone.  He wanted someone to love him the way Demri did.  He couldn't get himself to continue talking to Nicky after the strange stunt she pulled in her bedroom.  He was scared she would end up just like Demri did...extremely bitter towards him & buying her way to death.

He sighed, reaching to grab the dentures from the cup full of sanitizing liquid near the sink. Layne had just gotten them a week ago.  They tended to really hurt his jaw at times, but he couldn't bare to be around anyone without them in.  Plus he had spent a couple grand just to get them done.  He couldn't just allow that money to go to waste.

Layne smiled at himself through the mirror, analyzing his false teeth.  The dentist did an impeccable job at making them look like true, real teeth.  Aside from how skinny Layne was, he was actually beginning to look like his old self again.

He towel dried his short dirty blonde hair & combed it back, away from his face.  He then combed his short goatee, smirking to himself when he remembered when he went to New Orleans with the band.  His hair & beard back then looked almost exactly like it does now, only he didn't bleach it blonder this time.  He sighed, remembering when he was doing that Head Bangers Ball interview with Mike... How the interviewer, Ricky Rachtman, rudely pointed out his dope-eyes near the end of the recording.

That's when the media wouldn't leave me the heck alone, that MTV jack ass, Layne thought to himself bitterly.

He spun around & wrapped a towel around his tiny waist.  Tapping his bare feet along the tiled floor, he went through his wardrobe, grabbing black pants & a plain white t-shirt.  He didn't care anymore if people saw his track marks.  It was, unfortunately, apart of who he was in a sense.  He's been considering seeing a dermatologist to get them laser removed, either that or just tatted over.  He didn't know if he wanted to let them go yet, though. 

He didn't know if he would relapse.

"Layne...?" John's voice blurted through the doorway.

Layne looked over to him, sliding on his shirt.  "Yeah?" He muttered, his voice drenched with pessimism.

"The physician wants to see you..."

Layne raised a brow in question, but didn't ask anything.  He just followed John down the lounging area and through the therapy session hall.  John opened the door to the physician's office, nodding at Layne to head right on in.

Dr. Ryan glanced up at Layne, his expression blank like always.  Most rehab doctors were like this because they knew if they showed an addict any sign of weakness, they would try to work their way into manipulating them.