It's 1989, you are in a highly successful all girl, hard rocking metal band. You're touring the world with a number of bands who don't take you seriously. One of them being Motley Crüe.
While most of the bands view you as groupies turned femrockers...
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"What are you doing here?"
"Frankie please, I've got nowhere to go. I came all the way out here to see you.."
"I've got nothing to say to you. I reached out to you when I was getting clean and you turned me away."
You watched the scene play out in front of you as you sat on the stairs. Nikki was cold, he had the door tight against his body, almost like he didn't want her to see the house.
"I can't deal with this shit." He looked at you and threw his hands up in the air. "Get rid of her."
You could tell he was losing his patience, fast. He walked into another room and you winced as you heard the door slam. You looked at the older woman on the doorstep. She looked at you with a sad smile, tears in her eyes.
"Frankie doesn't know what he's saying. Please, let me speak to my son. It's been years since I've seen him. I just want to make amends"
"Deana, it's not my place. If Nikk..If Frankie..Wants to make amends he will reach out. It's probably best to wait for him to do that." You explained. It felt horrible, rejecting the woman who clearly needed your help, needed to speak to her son. But it would be the biggest betrayal you could commit.
"Well,..Thank you anyway" She said turning away. He must have been watching in secret because he came running out the room as she walked down the steps of the house.
"Deana, just..just wait" Nikki called her exasperated with himself. "We can talk. But if we do, we be civil."
You swallowed as he waited for her. She seemed, happy? He seemed conflicted. You watched him take her to the living room. He looked at you and gave you a small nod before closing the door on them.
It had been a few hours of them speaking. You heard yelling and screaming between the two at one point before it went quiet again. You tried to concentrate on writing and looking at riffs but you were distracted. You were worried for him.
Your ears perked up as you heard the door open downstairs.
"It was your fault he left, nobody else's! You're a mess Frankie. You're a junkie, a drunk. Good luck keeping anyone around."
"Get the fuck out of my house! You're a fucking bitch and you never change. You come round asking for money again and I'll call the cops."
You sat on the top of the stairs looking through the railing below. She stormed out and he slammed the door after her. He turned around and booted the ornament you had in the corner. Your heart hurt for him. He grabbed something off the side and threw it at the mirror you had hanging up, smashing it to pieces. He screamed, he yelled and finally he slid down the door with his head in his hands.
You walked down the stairs, minding the broken pieces of glass and ceramic on the floor. You sat beside him and held his arm. You eyed his hand that was cut up and bleeding. You went to take it but he snatched it away.
