The night was still young, but Johnny Thunders felt like he had lived through a lifetime in the past few hours. He sat slumped on the worn couch of his small apartment, the familiar haze of drugs dulling his senses. The room was dimly lit, cluttered with remnants of the life he once knew—guitar picks, empty bottles, and faded photographs.
In the corner, his guitar leaned against the wall, untouched for days. It had been a long time since he’d felt the urge to play, to create, to feel alive. The drugs had taken that from him, draining the music from his soul until all that was left was an empty shell of the man he used to be.
He was about to reach for another fix when the phone rang, cutting through the fog that clouded his mind. Johnny stared at it for a moment, his hand trembling as he considered ignoring it. But something in the back of his mind—a small, desperate voice—urged him to answer.
With a heavy sigh, he picked up the receiver, his voice rough and tired. “Hello?”
“Johnny,” came the voice on the other end, and his heart nearly stopped. It was Vitani, and he could hear the pain in her voice, the worry that laced every word. “Johnny, it’s me.”
“Vitani,” he breathed, sitting up straighter, the drug-induced haze beginning to lift. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
There was a pause, and Johnny could hear the sound of her struggling to keep her composure. “Johnny, I need you to listen to me. Claire... she’s in the hospital again.”
His heart sank, and the room seemed to spin around him. “What? What happened?”
“She’s sick, Johnny,” Vitani said, her voice breaking. “She needs you. I need you. But I can’t keep doing this alone. You have to get better, Johnny. Please... for Claire.”
Johnny’s chest tightened, a mix of fear, guilt, and love flooding his system. “Where is she? Who’s with her?”
“Walter and Jerry are there,” Vitani replied, her voice softening. “They’re looking after her, but she needs her dad. She needs you, Johnny.”
The mention of his little girl, lying in a hospital bed without him, tore at his heart. He could picture her, those big, innocent eyes staring up at the ceiling, wondering where her daddy was, wondering why he wasn’t there to hold her hand.
“Vitani, I... I want to be there,” he stammered, tears welling up in his eyes. “I want to, but I don’t know if I can...”
“You can,” she interrupted, her voice filled with determination. “I know you can. I’ve seen you fight before, Johnny. You fought for your music, for your life, and for Claire. You just need to remember why you’re fighting. She needs you. I need you.”
Johnny could hear the desperation in her voice, and it shattered him. He had spent so long hiding from his pain, numbing it with drugs and self-destruction, that he had almost forgotten what it meant to truly care about something. But Vitani’s words brought it all back, made him realize how much he had to lose.
“I’m scared, Vitani,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough.”
“Johnny, you’re stronger than you think,” she said softly, her words like a lifeline pulling him back from the edge. “I believe in you. Claire believes in you. Please, Johnny... come back to us.”
He closed his eyes, the tears finally spilling over as he clutched the phone like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. “I’ll try, Vitani. I’ll try for you and Claire.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” she whispered, a hint of relief in her voice. “Just try, Johnny. I know you can do this. And when you’re ready, we’ll be here, waiting for you.”
Johnny took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I love you, Vitani. Tell Claire I love her too. And tell Walter and Jerry... tell them thanks.”
“I will,” she promised. “We love you too, Johnny. Just take it one day at a time. We’re not giving up on you.”
As the call ended, Johnny sat there for a long moment, the weight of Vitani’s words settling in. He knew what he had to do, but the road ahead felt impossibly long and steep. Still, for the first time in a long while, he felt a flicker of hope—small, but enough to make him want to try.
He reached for his guitar, the familiar weight of it grounding him in the present. His fingers trembled as he strummed a few chords, the music coming slowly at first, but then gaining strength. It was rusty, imperfect, but it was there—a sign that maybe, just maybe, he could find his way back.
And as the music filled the room, Johnny made a silent vow to himself, to Vitani, and to Claire. He would fight this. He would find a way to be the father and the man they needed him to be.
One day at a time.
