Gateway Drug | Volume I

Gateway Drug | Part Forty-Eight

"Just fuck off." He says to me, trying to stand up on him own, but he nearly falls out of the tub.

I just ignore him, helping him out, careful not to get the vomit that's clinging to his skin, on me.

"You need to rinse off in the shower." I suggest to him.

"Get me a shot of blow." He tells me slowly.

"I'm not getting you drugs." I reply calmly, moving his wet hair from his face as he holds himself up using the counter.

"Then what's the point of having you around?" He snaps.

"You're fucked up, covered in your own vomit. I don't think you're in any position to piss off your only help at the time you need it most." I tell him as politely as I can. "Please let me help you, Nikki. I think we've done enough damage to each other the past couple of months to last a life time."

He looks at me, a mixture of defeat and exhaustion cloaking his features.

He doesn't argue when I turn the shower on.

By the time he's rinsed off, the door bell's ringing, and I'm handing him a towel and going to the door to see Doc once I've got it open.

"Hey." He says. "How is he?"

"He just got out the shower. I'm gonna try to get him to go to bed. He looks like he hasn't slept in days." I explain.

"Alright." He nods. "I'll check back in later. Just call if you guys need anything."

"Thanks, Doc." I reply and he gives a sad look before going back to his car.

I go back the bathroom to see Nikki rinsing his mouth out with Jack.

I take the time to notice he's gained some weight back. I thought he'd lose more of it, especially since he's on crack now, apparently.

"Funeral's saturday." He says out of nowhere, and I bite my lip nervously, not saying a word. "My granddad gave me directions to get there but I forgot already."

Again, I don't say a word.

I don't have to. He can read my expression.

"I mean, that's why you're here, isn't it?" He asks, knowingly. "Pretty sad it takes the woman who raised me, dying, in order for my fucking wife to come home."

"You need to sleep." I ignore his comment, guilt reeling through me.

"And you just need to go back to your replacements for Mötley. I don't need you here." He argues.

"Pretty loud barking for someone who spent how many nights calling me, crying for me to come home?" I remind him as I cross my arms.

"I was fucked up." He states.

"Sober thoughts." I counter him.

"Vivian. I'm not fighting with you. Fuck off or shut up because I've got enough going on right now and I'm not wasting time on going back and forth with you." He steps past me to the bedroom and I follow after him.

"Of course not. You'd much rather waste time shooting up and free basing." I scoff, and I'm quickly dodging an empty bottle of whiskey as it collides with our bedroom wall right beside my head.

"Go to hell!" He screams at me, shaking, angry tears sprouting down his cheeks. "I can't even grieve in peace because you just refuse to let me do what I need to do! You aren't happy or satisfied unless I'm fucking miserable! I'm in hell right now and you come in and start shit just because you can, and you know exactly what fucking buttons to press to get under my skin and suck the life out of me like a fucking leech!"