Feelgood // Nikki Sixx X Tommy Lee

Chapter 5- Drugs and Journals

Tommy - 

If Nikki didn't shoot himself up with dope during his earlier bathroom visit, I'm sure as hell that's what he's doing now. He's left me in an awkward position, with the 2 girls here in his room. I guess, technically, I can just leave to go back to my room, but I'm not sure what state Sixx is putting himself in right now. He'll probably need my assistance or watchful eye later. I quickly find my pants and put them back on. The girls see me getting dressed, and they follow suit. I'm not sure if they want to leave, want to stay to party, or want to sleep here, but I feel that it's time for them to go. I ask if they have a long drive home, and the blonde says, no about 45 minutes or so. I tell them that we were going to need to get some rest for the night in order to be functional tomorrow. They're getting the hint that it's time to leave.

The blonde hugs me tightly, and thanks me for a fun night, lingering and nuzzling her head into my bare chest. The brunette gives me a hug too, and tells me to tell Nikki that she had a good night, then she asks if he's OK. I think that perhaps she's wondering if supplying him with drugs in exchange for a fuck was a smart thing to do. Probably not. I don't think that some of these girls use their brains at all. They leave.

I look at the state of Nikki's room. It's pretty fucked right now. I gather his array of dirty clothes, tossed about the room, into a lump and place it near his suitcase. I throw out empty bottles and bindles laying around. Tube of lube, back in the drawer. Then I try to straighten out the well-used sheets on his bed. No use. It's a mess, and I'm no fucking maid. Nikki has been in the bathroom for at least 20 minutes. I knock on the door, and there's no answer. I twist the handle, hoping he didn't lock the door, it opens. There's my friend, passed out on the floor, his head and shoulders propped up on the bathtub, needle nearby, and tie-off still around this arm. I'm more sad than worried right now. How has he gotten himself here in life; into such a dark place, where seeing this no longer shocks me.

I bend down to pick up the used needle to place it on the sink. Then I get myself down on the floor to try to bring Nikki around. I pat his face, and he doesn't stir. I lift his upper body into my arms, and pat his face again, and his eyes flutter open. "Sixx, c'mon. Let's get you to bed," I say in a soft tone. He starts whining, and trying to sit up on is own. I'm sure he has no idea where he is, and who's with him. I help him to his feet, and walk him to his bed. When Nikki sees it, he just takes a tumble onto it head first and lands tangled up, legs hanging off. I attempt to get all of his limbs up onto the mattress. He's not an easy individual to move about. He's on his bed in a messy heap, still naked, and on top of the covers, so I can't get him underneath them. I don't have the strength, this late at night, to wrestle with his body anymore. But at least he's better off here than on the bathroom floor. I lay down on the other side of the bed, again as usual, sticking around because I worry too much. He'll sleep it off and be fine.

I lie awake for awhile, thinking about the day's events. Seems like the longest fucking day that's never ending. I'm still intrigued by Nikki's actions in the limo, on the way back from the concert, while he was "sleeping" on my lap. I want to know what his motive was. Was it to coax me into his room to help with the girls? Probably. I'm pretty sure he's toying with me somehow. But maybe he wants more from me. I don't know. I'm the fool for sticking around, as he continues to take jabs at me. I ponder why we're so close. Sometimes I think we have nothing in common. Then other times, I know he's the perfect friend for me. I know because we've had so many good times, so many laughs, so much funny fucked up shit to think back on. The stuff that I'll miss and cry over on the day I find out that he's gone; done in from the shit that he can't stop pumping into his body. "Please stop, Nikki." I say, knowing he doesn't hear me, extending my arm just to graze his back with my fingertips, which is all I can reach. I feel crushed in so many ways. It's time to get some sleep. I can't do anything more.

Nikki -

I came to on my bed, feeling cold with no covers nor clothing on me. I'm pretty sure that I nodded out in the bathroom after shooting up a long awaited fix. I guess I stumbled out and got to my mattress. I don't remember. I get up and sit on the edge of the bed to hold my head for a few minutes, as I emerged from my dazed state-of-mind. I spy the bottle of Jack, and take some down. My hangover cure; at least that's what I tell myself. I really have no idea what time of day it is; nighttime I guess. Memories of my day prior are fuzzy right now. I decide that maybe I can catch up in my journals.

I've been keeping personal journals since 1984. I started them so that I could remember the things that I have done, but writing in them has also become therapeutic for me. I don't usually have someone to talk to, nor do I care to talk to anyone, so I talk to my journal. It's become an outlet for me. It's been at least a full day or maybe two since I've picked it up. I can't quite figure out where in the timeline of events I am right now. I only remember bits and pieces. I know that stuff happened between me and Tommy. I'm pretty sure that I had some girls here tonight. I realized that I haven't even turned around to see if anyone is in my bed with me. Upon turning, I see only Tommy, fast asleep on the far side of the bed. The girls must be gone, if they were even here. Or was it part of a dream? They must have been here. One of them gave me drugs; that I remember.

I hate feeling like this. What the fuck is wrong with me; always pushing things to the extreme, then feeling like shit afterwards. I stand up from the bed, still feeling cold. I don't give a fuck about my clothes. I don't need them right now, but I would like to be under a warm blanket. Tommy is fucking half wrapped up in it. I can't quite make sense of the semblance of the bed covers. They're all over. The bed hasn't been made since we arrived at this hotel, maybe about 3 or 4 days ago. I never let housekeeping in my room during our stay. There's too much evidence of bad behavior lying around, and I don't need my shit rifled through. I sit up against the headboard and try to yank some covers up onto me. Fucking Tommy selfishly taking what's mine. He should be in his own fucking room.

I start writing, not sure what the date is. I'll fill it in later. My head is a little clearer, as I remember more of the sequence of events from the last few days. Even though this is my personal journal, and no one else will read it, I can't bring myself to write about anything that happened between me and Tommy. I don't know if I want to remember it. I just write that some fucked up shit happened between the 2 of us. I figure if I need to look back in my journals, I'll know what that means without having to write it down in detail. I spend time journaling about the shows, the girls, my drug score, and some personal thoughts about how pathetic my life is. Most of the pages of this journal are about that. I often blame it on my upbringing, but I know that a lot of my poor choices were all on my own. It's too much to think through sometimes, which is exactly why I love my journals. I can just write whatever I'm thinking, even if it contradicts what I wrote the day before. One day, I might be able to look back and make sense of all my scattered fucked-up thoughts. Maybe these individual entries would make sense if looked at from a wider perspective some day down the road.

I'm finished writing for now. I'm not tired enough to go back to sleep. I'm debating whether I should snort some more coke. I'm bored, and not tired, but I'm not sure if I want to be wired at this lonely hour of the night. So, I instead down more whiskey. The hotel floor seems quiet. I don't hear any hollering or loud bangs and thumps. I guess the nightly, partying rituals have settled down. I turn towards Tommy. I wish I was asleep like him; at peace, no worries. But then my selfish thoughts emerge; if I can't join him in rest, then maybe he can join me awake. I want a redo of what happened in my dressing room. The arrival of those fucking drug girls kind of cut that short. I clear Tommy's hair off of his face, and lay down, face to face. "T-Bone, wake up." I nudge his shoulder, and say it again. His eyes open. "Huh?", he mutters. "T, c'mon. Wake up. I want you to do to me what you did before," I say in a whisper. He looks at me in a confused manner. I turn back to my side of the bed to pull the bottle of lube out of the drawer, and toss it to him.