We're from America (Marilyn Manson)

Fundamentally Loathsome

And I want to wake up in your white, white sun
And I want to wake up in your world with no pain
But I'll just suffer in a hope to die, someday
While you are numb, all of the way

When I hate it, I know I can feel
But when you love, you know it's not real, no
When I hate it, I know I can feel
But when you love, you know it's not real

And I am resigned to this wicked fucking world
On its way to Hell
The living are dead and I hope to join them, too
I know what to do and I do it well

When I hate it, I know I can feel
But when you love, you know it's not real, no
When I hate it, I know I can feel
But when you love, you know it's not real

Shoot myself to love you
If I loved myself, I'd be shooting you
Shoot myself to love you
If I loved myself, I'd be shooting you

Shoot myself to love you
If I loved myself, I'd be shooting you
Shoot myself to love you
If I loved myself, I'd be shooting you

His lyrics speaking to her on another level was an everyday occurrence at this point. She wondered if he had her in mind when he was writing them. It wasn't even funny anymore. Nothing was funny. She had adopted an apathetic state of mind. At this point she still had the self-control to act as if she were okay and cheerful and most importantly - clean. They practiced day in and day out and none of them had time for any parties or movie nights or gathering of any kind, therefore it was safe to hide her stuff in her hotel room. Nobody ever came over. Which was good. They were on day 7 of their prerecording practice sessions. Only a week to go before they began recording. She had gotten a bit used to seeing Brian every day, and well it was said before, she couldn't care less that she was in his close proximity. Thank you, heroin!

They were very close to knowing all of the songs by heart and they were only an inch away from sounding heavenly, or well hellishly in their case. She didn't have a favorite among their songs yet, they were all very good. Their front man never disappointed in this regard.
He still avoided her, though, which was also good. She didn't have the strength to talk about what had happened all those months ago, nor did she have the will. She knew that if he tried, she would avoid it. And she knew that if he took a second to observe her, he would know about her relapse. He knew her very well. Better than Daisy, better than anyone. And so, it was best that he kept his distance.

They were wrapping up for the day and she was really itching for a hit. She shot up in the morning before she came. As always, it didn't affect her playing and she was able to speak normally. The studio wasn't at all well-lit, luckily, and they couldn't see her eyes. Although her apathy was enjoyable, it was also kind of thrilling to know she was getting away with it. She gave the phrase "a functioning addict" new meaning. It was wrong to feel pride in that, and yet that is what she felt. Coma Black ended and they all put down their instruments. "Alright, I'll see you all tomorrow." was all he said before leaving abruptly. As always.

"I'm really looking forward to when his panties won't be in a twist anymore. This is starting to get on my nerves. He was okay when we were writing the songs. Or you know, his version of okay." Twiggy was grumpy. "I'll see you tomorrow guys. Take care." She smiled and left too. She wasn't in the state of mind to be discussing Brian. Ever.

She walked all the way to her hotel. It wasn't that far. A 20-minute walk was all it took. When she entered, she literally ran all the way to her room. Quickly locking the door and grabbing her kit.

Drop some h on the spoon. Heat it up. Insert into syringe. Put syringe in vein. Draw some blood. Push down. Lean back. Wait for feeling to return to legs. Feel like God. Light a cig. Inhale. Exhale. On repeat.