A/N: so I was looking through the very first chapters of this story. They were from august 2nd and august 4th because I didn't update this story for like 3 or 4 months. And OH. MY. GOD. My writing was legit awful. Like fucking ridiculously dumb. I'm honestly surprised you guys stuck with me after that.
Nikki Sixx
Pain. That's all I feel. Light shines through my closed eyes. I can vaguely feel a breeze on my body, and something is poking me in the goddamn thigh. Slowly, I force my eyes open.
I'm laying in a pool of my own vomit, dried out in some spots. Others, not so much. The sun shines through a tree. It takes me a second to realize I'm in my back garden.
I sit up, pain thudding behind my eyes and in my shoulder. The thing that was poking me, was a broken tree branch.
I look around at the dead and dying flowers. They symbolize me internally. Fucked up and slowly dying. I look down, and realize that I'm naked. As long as I didn't kill someone, I'm fine with it.
I slowly creep inside, stepping over shattered glass. I'll probably clean it in a month, or hire someone else. I look at the two new bullet pholes. Last night I saw midgets in my backyard, so I did what any sane person would do. I shot at them.
After I come down from my highs, I always realize what I saw while I was high was just a hallucination. Probably from free basing coke.
Free basing is taking cocaine and compacting it into it's purest form, stable enough to be smoked, while removing any extra shit. And here's your science lesson from Sikki Nixx children.
I have my daily breakfast of Jack, heroin, LSD, and waffles. I burned the waffles, but I don't care. It all tastes the same anyway. I'm just waiting for my glorious high.
After injecting, I start to feel okay again. I feel less like a piece of my body is missing. I walk into the living room, and survey the mess, before collapsing into a heap on the floor.
The vomit just rushes out of me. I can't control it, I can't stop it, and I don't want to. I love heroin, it's whats keeping me going. There's nothing better than the feeling of getting high.
Of course there are downfalls to it, but there are even downfalls to breathing. I need this, and if anyone else sees this, they're gonna try and take it.
I can hear pounding, but I don't care. It sounds like it's circling my head, slowly baring down on my chest as I flop down beside the puddle of vomit.
"NIKKI!" I hear a distant voice yell.
"Go away, whoever you are." The high is clouding my thoughts, strangling all coherence.
A few moments later, as the psychedelic colors are starting to blur everything, I hear a splintering sound.
"Nikki!!!" Doc yells, kneeling beside me.
I can barely make out his face, and I don't care. I'm lost in my own world. I only know it's him because he's fat and his hair is starting to thin. He shakes me. I feel kinda awkward, considering I'm not wearing clothes. I'm starting to slightly come back to earth when he slaps me.
"Goddamn it what are you doing to yourself?!" He cries, slapping me across the face again.
"WHAT THE HELL MAN?!" I exclaim, using what little of my body strength I have to slap him back. The high is twisting my own body, making it seem like my hands are falling off.
"AGHHHH!" I yell, scooting back desperately until I scrape myself against the wall.
"Tommy had me come and get you. He was worried you died or something last night." Doc informs me.
"I didn't think he'd care." I scoff.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Doc asks, giving me a glare that a dad probably would. I wouldn't know, never had one.
"He's off with that bitch and everybodys got someone else. You know what? I do too. I got heroin and I got jack and thats all I need. I don't need you, I don't need him, and as long as we're on people, Why should you give a shit about me? As long as I write the music and play the bass, thats all I'm good for to you, so just get the fuck out of here." I growl.
"Nikki you know damn well you're more than just that. And I have a right to be worried when an emotional man child calls me at 5 in the morning blubbering like a baby. He told me that he thought you shot yourself. He was crying Nikki. He was fucking hysterical and screaming that I had to come and check on you. He wanted to leave Hawaii, he wanted to come back. But Heather convinced him not to."
"Fuck you. Get out. I don't care anymore." I order, searching desperately for my whiskey.
"Thats it. I'm calling Tommy, and I'm telling him to come fix your sorry ass before you rip the band apart."
"Phones out of comission." I warn, giving a small burst of laughter.
" yeah I can see that." Doc replies, looking up to the chandelier in the dining room, phone cord wrapped around. wires are hanging from the wall.
"So this is your hobby? Redecorating?" Doc snarks.
"Fuck you." I say, cracking open a cold one, ready to bust it over his head if needed.
"Sixx whats happening to you?"