Deanna • Duff McKagan

Chapter Seventeen • Hypocrisy

July 24th, 1985

Blank. My mind is blank as I stare at the wall in front of me, sitting cross legged on my bed. High. The only thing I've been for the past six hours, every time it starts to go down I simply take some more.

I stand up quickly, stumbling over a pair of Duff's leather pants as I head to the place I know Izzy would be; the balcony. "Izzy," I say once I reach him. He glances at me, shaking his head.

"No, I'm not selling you any," he answers, looking down at the cars on the streets below us. "Haley noticed something about you that was unordinary, pinpointed it. She told me you were doing harder shit with Nikki, Deanna. I'm not gonna be responsible if that happens again." He drops his cigarette off the balcony before turning to me. "I may deal, but I'll never deal to you."

The rhythm guitarist turns away from me, sliding the glass door open. "Hey, Iz," This day is proven to be about to get worse as the familiar blonde steps onto the balcony. Izzy just nods as a greeting, sidestepping Duff to make his way into my apartment. "Hey Deanna.."

I refuse to make eye contact with him, in fear that the bassist would be able to see right through my facade. "Duff," simple, one word. I haven't said much to him lately, and I think he's starting to catch on to what's happening.

"Listen, did I, uh, did I do something?" He asks, shifting from one foot to the other awkwardly. "We share a room, and you haven't come to bed in a few days."

The truth: I haven't come to bed because what nobody - not even Izzy - is aware of, the coke he sold me was gone quickly, and from there I turned to my old friend, Crystal Meth. Little did Izzy know, I had asked him to sell me more coke in an effort to stop doing meth. Have to fill the void somehow. I haven't slept in four days, instead spending my nights here on the balcony, just staring down at the streets below.

I shrug, my drug haze meaning that I don't really have emotions right now. "I haven't felt the need to sleep. But, to answer your question, no, you didn't do anything." I turn away, heading back toward the sliding glass door, in hopes that I could try and avoid this situation all together.

Duff steps in front of me, blocking my pathway into the house. He puts his hand under my chin, looking into my eyes. "Are you high?" He asks, eyebrows furrowed.

"Might be, what's it to you?" I glare at the bassist, this conversation not one I want to have. "You're in a rock band in the eighties, you're high all the time."

He ignores my attitude, shaking his head before turning around and heading inside. Good, he's finally left me alone. That's all I want to be, is alone.

"If you don't get your shit together, Axl is gonna wanna find a new Manager." He doesn't turn to face me as he speaks, just shutting the door behind him.

Drugs. All throughout life, they would tell you drugs are bad, don't do drugs, just say no, or anything at all they could possibly do to try and warp your brain into following their rules.

I, for one, am sick of following other people's rules. Until I left home, I was following my father's rules. And now, I'm adult, and these people are still trying to get me to follow their rules.

I scream, so loud that I'm surprised the sliding glass door leading into my apartment didn't shatter. The people on the streets below me look around, possibly wondering where that noise is from.

This is difficult. Sure, Nikki had left me at his first glance of a record deal, leaving me on the streets until I was able to find a place bunking above The Troubadour with Andrea, before eventually giving in and moving in with Haley.

Duff and I aren't a couple, not in the slightest. We've had sex once, he sleeps in my bed because it's better than sleeping on the floor. But for some reason, Duff thinks that I should follow his rules. Nikki was never like this, Nikki never tried to make me stop doing drugs. Nikki wasn't a hypocrite.

Maybe that's exactly the reason I did what I did, descending down the staircase at the fastest pace I could possibly manage. The payphone is fifteen feet away, my legs carrying me into an unsteady run as I make it to the phone booth.

Fuck, it's all in the name... I need a quarter to use the phone, a thing I didn't think to grab as I made my escape from the place that has turned into a prison.

"Hey!" I yell, grabbing a teenage boy by the back of his t-shirt and pulling him back to me. His hair is shoulder length, and quite ironically, he's wearing a Mötley Crüe t-shirt. "I need a quarter."

"Well that sucks," he takes a drag of his cigarette, his eyes trailing down my body before he turns to leave again.

"Wait!" The kid groans, turning back to face me. "If you give me a quarter right now, I'll introduce you to Nikki Sixx."

He scoffs, rolling his eyes at me before leaning against the fence next to the phone booth. "I doubt someone who doesn't even have a quarter knows Nikki Sixx."

"I have a quarter, dumbass, I just left it at my house." I glare at him, already sick of this kid's antics and I haven't even known him for five minutes. "I'm surprised you don't recognize me, Crüe fans everywhere loved to hate on me in '83."

His jaw drops, the cigarette between his fingers falls to the ground. "Holy shit, you're Deanna!"

"Yes, I am, now give me a fucking quarter," faster than I thought was humanly possible, the kid digs in the pocket of his blue jeans, pulling out the shiny piece of American currency. "Thanks, it's appreciated."

I slip the coin into the slot, dialing the number I've had memorized for years. Well fuck, I hope his number didn't change. "Hello?"

"Hey, Nikki, it's Deanna... wanna fuck?"