Set against the frenzied world of heavy metal superstardom, Sixx, a talented yet troubled musician and the co-founder of Sixx:A.M., struggles with his unflinching and gripping descent into his drug addiction during the year he plunged to rock bottom...
Except normally they have somebody to say it to. They have friends and family, and they haven't crouched naked under a Christmas tree with a needle in their arm like an insane person in a mansion in Van Nuys.
They're not out of their minds, they're not writing in a diary, and they're not watching their holiday spirit coagulate in a spoon.
I didn't speak to a single person today. I thought, 'Why should I ruin their fucking Christmas?'
I've started a diary, and this time I have a few reasons.
One, I have no friends left.
Two, so I can read back and remember what I did the day before.
And three, so if I die, at least I leave a nice suicide note of my life.
It's just you and me, diary. Welcome to my fucking life.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
He walked along the bustling streets of Los Angeles, California, having emerged from the Greyhound bus. His survival kit consisted of bags, a guitar case discreetly concealing a bass guitar, and his life bundled together. It was no small feat that he made it this far, arriving at the place he both wished to be and wished to avoid.
He wandered down the streets that converged at the heart of his destination-the Sunset Strip. A place he often referred to as his paradise, his Heaven, though the reality wasn't quite so heavenly. Having just left the place where he officially changed his name, was ready to abandon what remained of his past and mould his identity into a name that the world would remember. It had never been easy, not since the beginning, and even now as he stood at the crossroads of his dreams, the path ahead seemed uncertain.
His dream was clear: he didn't want to be a rock fan; he wanted to be a rockstar.
But the question lingered-how does one become a rockstar when they don't even have a place to call home? The journey from Idaho back to this bustling city had left him weary, his belongings becoming heavier with every step. Yet, a glimmer of hope still shone.
Just off the corner of Hollywood Boulevard stood a record shop, Modern Vintage Vinyl. Nestled on the ground floor of a residential walk-up, the shop has found its home in what used to be a hardware store. The store had remained closed for years until earlier this year, but remnants of its past still lingered; a makeshift sign hanging above. The exterior bore teal blue paint, with raindrops dancing on the windows.
From outside, amid the rhythmic rhythm of raindrops, he caught a glimpse of a woman from within the shop. She moved around, arranging boxes and adjusting headphones around her neck. She picked up a broom that leaned against the counter, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of intrigue. He briefly averted his gaze from the record store, scanning the wet and heavy air of the neighbourhood, and searching for other potential options.
However, something about the record shop drew him in. It wasn't just the hope of finding shelter from the rain; it was as if fate had nudged him toward this place. His heart raced with a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty as he approached the entrance, the sound of rain serving as a constant backdrop to his thoughts.
I should go there and knock, he thought to himself, contemplating his next move.
But doubt gnawed at him.
Rejection was a possibility he couldn't ignore. Maybe if he just waited until she noticed him--no, that could come across as creepy, and he didn't want the cops involved. Or he could return tomorrow. However, that meant spending another night on the streets, and he had work tomorrow night--
"The store's about to shut up if you're wondering."
The unexpected voice broke through his train of thought. Startled, he looked up to find himself face-to-face with the woman from the record store. She was adorned in chunky black boots and a Bob Marley tee, her hands cradling a champagne bottle. He stood there, taken aback, lost for words.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Passion surged within him like a tidal wave. Every detail about her; the shadowed brown hair, the amber eyes, the brown skin made him weak. It was like meeting someone for the first time but recognising so much of himself in them that their very presence felt familiar and intimate. The desire to connect was almost overwhelming, an urge to touch and hold like he had known her for a lifetime.
"Oh, really?" He managed to stammer, offering a nervous laugh. "Guess I didn't make it in time, huh? Just got back from the Greyhound bus to change my name."
"Wait a second, I know that face," she remarked, curiosity glinting in her eyes. "You were in a band-Brides of Destruction, right?"
"Wow, guess you weren't as clueless as I thought you were. Long time no see. Aren't you Tracii's chick or was that just a one-time thing?"
"Not any more, remember? So, do you live around here?"
He hesitated, his gaze shifting.
"I don't know... I mean," he murmured. "I don't really have anywhere else to go. Except for the Whisky."
Leaning against the wall, she looked at him with a mixture of surprise and interest. Her attention was drawn to the guitar case by his side and his other belongings. It was clear he didn't have a car, let alone a van. Considering the rainy weather and the fact that it was Christmas, she couldn't help but exhale in sympathy.
She closed the shop door, locking it securely before pulling on her hoodie. Confusion etched his features as he watched her.
"You coming or not?" She prompted impatiently as she walked toward the back of the store. "I don't plan on letting you sleep out in the cold all night."
Without hesitation, he gathered his belongings and followed closely. He was led to another flight of stairs, each step feeling like a struggle, but he pressed on. He had to consider himself fortunate that someone was willing to offer him a place to stay. One step at a time, the sound of his luggage clattering against the stairs echoed while the woman waited. He finally reached the top, dropping his things with a sense of relief.
His eyes widened in wonder as he looked at her, her kindness striking a chord within him.
"Rae Martins," she introduced herself, extending her hand as he caught up. "What's yours?"
"It's Sixx now," he replied, a hint of awkwardness in his voice as he shook her hand.
