Feelgood // Nikki Sixx X Tommy Lee

Chapter 12 - Awake

Tommy-

I take hold of Nikki’s twitching hand, wanting to calm it. I hold it with both of mine, the twitching stops, as he curls his fingers around my bottom hand. “Hey guys! Guys! Yo! I think Nikki is responding to me!” I spit out excitedly.

Vince dashes over to the other side of the bed, brushes his hand through Nikki’s hair, nudging him a bit, saying, “Come on Nik, time to wake up. Come on, I know you can hear me, open your eyes.” He doesn’t wake up, but he let out a small groan and shifts his body a bit. Vince and I both look at each other, encouraged. He’s showing signs of life, other than just breathing. Vince continues to urge Nikki to wake up. I join in. He seems to be struggling. I try to reassure him that he’s OK, and to take his time. I can see the peaks on the heart monitor getting closer together. I’m thinking that he’s distressed. It makes me nervous. I shush in his ear, and tell him everything is OK. 

Mick has a different approach, “Oh for fuck’s sake, you saps!” He comes over, between me and Vince, and slaps Nikki’s face with moderate force and says, “Open your fucking eyes, asshole. You’re not dead.” I turn and give Mick a what-the-hell look, and he shrugs and says he’s just speaking Nikki’s language, “Think he wants to hear all that sappy shit! He probably thinks his mother is here, and he’ll never want to open his eyes to that shit show.” Mick’s sentiments make me laugh a little. We all seem to have a different approach to help him wake up. As I turn back towards Nikki, his eyes blink open. 

He chokes out the word "fuck". It figures that's his first word out his mouth on this side of death. I have a feeling it was also his last word before dying. He immediately throws his forearm over his eyes, an indication that it’s too bright in here. Vince gets up to tug the gaps in the drapes closed, and he switches off the overhead light. I just start telling Nikki that he’s OK and he’s in the hospital. He whispers in a low, broken voice, “What happened to me?” His dry throat making his inquiry barely coherent. Mick chimes in, and tells him that he OD’d and almost died. Nikki nods his head, to let us know he understands. He says he doesn’t feel good, and he that hurts. I feel badly, but so relieved at the same time because he’s awake, and his talking and comprehension indicate that he probably escaped brain damage. I don’t want him to be in pain, but I know that it will be a temporary struggle, which he’ll eventually recover from. Better than being dead.

Nikki then asks for a drink. Oddly, I wonder whether he’s already asking for whiskey, or if he’s just thirsty. I ask if he wants water or if he means a stiff drink, and tell him that we might have to ask a doctor first. Mick slaps the back of my head and starts bitching, “Just give him some fucking water! Besides it will take the staff a half hour before someone decides that he can have it. They seem to like to have fucking meetings about these types of decisions. Call everyone in! Let’s discuss if Nikki Sixx can drink some fucking water, while everyone weighs in with their lame professional ass opinions. None of that shit matters. Things take forever to get done around here, and meanwhile he’s dying from thirst. It’s not like he had surgery or internal injuries. This is why I don’t like hospitals. Too much redtape bullshit.”

I remind Mick that they saved Nikki’s life last night, he waves me off as he proceeds to get up to get a cup of water from the bathroom. I ask if the bathroom sink water is OK for drinking. Mick yells back, “No, that’s why I’m getting him water from the shitter, dipshit,” as he emerges from the bathroom with the water [from the faucet] and sits back down on the edge of the bed while shaking his head at me. I don’t know why I’m so on edge. I just don’t want to make anything worse for Nikki.

I start babbling, whether we’re allowed to move his bed to an upright position. Mick looks like he’s going to dump the water on me, “Shall we instead spit little droplets into his mouth like a mama bird? Raise the fucking bed, assholes! C’mon!” Vince attempts to adjust his bed so that Nikki is more upright, first pressing the wrong button which moves his entire bed higher an inch or 2, causing Mick’s feet to come up off the floor, which unbalances his stance, and which makes some of the water to spill. “Fuck!” Mick stands, planting his feet back on the floor, turns towards us and throws the rest water on me and Vince. “Are you two fucking idiots?” as he walks back to the bathroom for another cup full. Maybe Mick is the one on edge, not me. Damn, he’s moody. I just don’t want to take any steps backwards by doing something that we shouldn’t do.