TW for suicide and mentions of SA
Johnny was laying on the floor in his hotel room, staring up at the ceiling. Numbness overwhelmed his senses, leaving him feeling so unspeakably hollow that he couldn't breathe.
That was his default at this point. He was constantly getting drunk, getting high, or getting laid. Never having to deal with his emotions for too long.
Alone with his thoughts again. A dangerous pass time for the singer.
He had left the party the band had thrown a few hours ago, none of them going to look for him other than a few texts from Vic to check on him.
The used needles, rubber cord, and white powder spread out on the coffee table was answer enough for that question.
Johnny didn't know how his life spiraled out of control the way it has. One minute he was happy, living in a van with his best friends, and trying to make a go of this music thing. Now he was more famous than the pope, and delirious in an obscenely expensive hotel suite.
Most importantly, he was alone. In every sense of the word.
His phone laid dead next to him, the battery having ran out at some point during the last time he had tried to call Gretchen. That must have been an hour ago by now.
Johnny needed her to pick up, he needed her to listen to him, to let him explain-.
"Explain what?" Johnny turned his head blearily towards the corner of the room and saw a little blond boy sitting on the floor.
"How did you-?" Johnny started to ask, trying and failing to sit up when he took a good look at the boy's face. "What the fuck?"
It was him. It was Johnny from what looked to be age seven. He was sitting crisscrossed on the plush carpet, looking at the older version of himself with a frown. "Are you okay?" He asked gently.
"Fuck, too much coke." Johnny laughed to himself, looking back at the ceiling. He's had hallucinations before, just usually not this... real.
"Too much soda can do that?" The small boy gasped, making Johnny chuckle.
"Yeah, sure." Johnny wasn't sure why he was playing along with this, but at least he had someone to talk to.
"You're weird." The little boy giggled, swatting the strand of blond hair that fell in his face.
Johnny forgot he used to have blond hair, he had been dying it for so long that he forgot what his natural hair color looked like.
This was such a strange mind fuck. Here he was, laying on the floor in some hotel room in fucking Europe, and he was having a conversation with a hallucination of himself as a kid.
What the fuck was his life now?
"Do you want some water?" Little Johnny asked, standing up to get him a bottle from the mini fridge.
"Thanks." Johnny said, sitting up slowly, and taking the bottle from the child's hand. Damn, this felt real.
Did he grab the water? Was the water already there? Johnny had no clue at this point.
"No problem." Little Johnny smiled, sitting on the floor across from the older man, and staring at him with unblinking eyes. He understood why people found it creepy when he stared now. "Explain what?" The boy asked again.
"Hmm?" Johnny hummed, shaking his head to try and focus. "Its a long story and not kid friendly." He mumbled.
"I'm you and not real, dumbass. Try me." The child said blankly.