Don't Go Away Mad // Nikki Sixx x Tommy Lee - Lexx

Chapter 3 - The Clean Out

Nikki - 

Why is this my fucking life right now? I was just woken up for complete bullshit, and now I’m fully aware that every inch of my body is radiating pain. Make it stop. Please give me something to make it stop.

The nurse tells me that she already has my dose of Methadone and Tylenol ready, but wants me to get up to the bathroom first. I can do it myself at this point. I tell her that the IVs are making me feel puffy, and I want them out of me. Thankfully, she tells me that I am done with them, and that they’ll take the oxygen off too.

That leaves me free now. I consider walking out once she leaves, but I guess there’s no point. I don’t have clothes or shoes, and I want whatever doses of pain meds that I can get. 

Makes me think about my stash of shit at home. It would make me feel better instantly. That’s why I’m here though. I know I need to get off the junk, but I just feel so shitty and conflicted right now. I know I need help; help in the head too. Maybe a nice bullet in my brain would do the trick. Kidding. But seriously, I feel like complete shit and the pain is getting the better of me.

I get up myself up to use the bathroom. Conveniently, I throw up while I’m in there too, better than it happening in my bed. As I wash my hands, I feel the need to pat water on my face, feeling sweaty and sick. I force myself to look in the mirror for the first time since being here. I’m horrified. I can’t even begin to understand how this nurse and Tommy are remotely interested in me. Or why Vince would have even wanted to be within inches of me while he’s getting it on with the nurse.

I’m disgusted. How can I face my grandfather looking like this? I lift up my hospital gown to look at my chest. It hurts. There’s bruising. I feel fat from the IV fluids, yet I know I’m skin and bones underneath the temporary padding. I feel like a sick fucking monster. How did I get myself here? What have I done to myself? I feel faint, and lower myself to the floor, so that I don’t pass out. Tears start leaking out. I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this.

I hear a knock on the door. It’s the nurse, asking if I need help. I told her to fuck off. I can hear Tommy say something to her. Then the door opens, and I’m paralyzed with fear, not wanting the nurse to see me cry. I’m looking down, as I hear the door click shut, and I see Tommy’s feet, not the nurse’s.

I breathe a sigh of relief. Tommy gets down on the floor with me, and wraps his arms around me. He said that he knows that I feel like shit, but that I’m going to get through it. I told him that I can’t do it. He asked me what the alternative is. I said that I’d rather just die happy, hooked on heroin.

“Dumb answer, Nikki. Not after all you’ve gotten through already. If it makes you feel any better, I feel like shit too from my own withdrawals. Sometimes misery loves company. Let’s just help each other through.”

I asked Tommy why he even wants to be around me when I’m so disgusting.

He laughs, “I’ve known you for a long time Nik. I’ve seen you looking way worse than this. Believe me. I’m no dream either, wearing the same fucking dirty clothes since I’ve been here. I put them on already dirty because they were the first clothes that I saw when I had to get dressed in a hurry to get here. At least you showered. I haven’t.” 

I ask Tommy when we can leave. I just want to go home. He tells me that I’m going home today, but to just be patient. He said that he’d feel better if we wait until the doctor clears me. I tell him that the fucking doctor doesn’t care. She only sees me once a day. Who cares what she thinks. The nurse thinks I’m good, right? She’s the one who’s been seeing me.

Tommy lifts me up off the floor, and walks me back to my bed. The nurse is not there. I want my dose. I tell Tommy that if I’m staying here to find the fucking nurse for my dose.

Tommy - 

I feel badly for Nikki. I can tell he’s hurting. He wants his meds now. I need to track down the nurse after I told her to leave us the fuck alone. I stick my head out the door, and see too many people around, as the night lull is turning into an active day. I don’t want to be seen. I come back in and press the fucking buzzer again. The nurse returns after a few minutes, looking bitchy, at least towards me. 

Nikki tells her that he needs his dose. The nurse hands it to him, sits next to him on the bed and starts running her fingers through his hair. She tells him that her shift is over in about 10 minutes, and how she loved having him a patient. She tells him that she hopes that they can get together soon. Nikki shrugs his shoulders, while she reveals to him that she’s already taken his phone number off of this paperwork. Nikki tries to smile, probably fake, and tells her thanks for taking care of him. She kisses his forehead, then tries to kiss his mouth as he pulls away.

As she gets up, she winks and blows me a kiss, and says thanks and Merry Christmas, then walks out. Nikki asks if I did something with her. I told him no.

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Nikki wound up being discharged around 1:30pm. He spent the rest of the morning here, laying in bed shaking, and complaining, trying to sleep, although not successfully, and being forced to eat. Even though he was miserable about all of this, his new shift nurse was very kind. She was a mom who had kids who were fans of ours. But instead of admonishing him, she tried to encourage him to get well, as not disappoint our fans.

Nikki liked her, and commented that she’s as close as he’d ever get to a mom taking care of him. He and I signed our signatures on some random things for her to give to the kids.

I called Doc and told him that someone would have to bring clothes and shoes for Nikki, and that we’d also need a ride home. Nikki wasn’t happy when our band’s drug counselor, Bob, was the one who showed up with Nikki’s clothes to bring us home.

Slash returned Nikki’s jacket, which was left in the party apartment, to someone associated with our band. Nikki's house keys were in the pocket, so someone could go in his house for clothes; setting off his security alarm. We promptly got a call at the hospital for his code. Geez, bunch of annoying shit. I know he just wants to get home.

When the doctor finally came in with discharge papers, Bob was present when she told Nikki that it was in his best interest to check into a nearby rehab to finish detoxification under medical guidance. Bob reinforced this suggestion, saying that he’d find a way to get him in today. I know Nikki had already shut down this idea yesterday. He won’t go, even with the doctor, Bob, and the mom nurse urging him. 

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Bob wasn’t happy that Nikki refused rehab. He drives us to Nikki’s house, and comes in with us. Bob says, “First things first. Let’s clean out. Where do you keep your stash?” Nikki shakes his head no. He tells Bob that he’s not ready to commit. Bob sternly tells him that he has the choice whether to go to rehab or not, but he has no choice about whether he’s going to stop using, telling him that he’s putting the future of the band in jeopardy, not to mention his life.

Nikki reluctantly leads us to his closet. We’ve both seen it before, so it’s not exactly shocking anymore. But there’s still something about seeing bent spoons, used syringes, scorch marks, and empty bindles everywhere you look, not to mention piles of filthy clothes. It makes things real, not that him dying didn’t make things real. That’s as real as you get. I saw where things end, and I’m now seeing where they start, also hits you between the eyes.

Bob suggests that Nikki take one of the prescribed sedatives, and to go lie down on his bed, while he and I clean up in here. I still feel like total shit. I want to lie down too, but I play the part, as I don’t want to give Bob any indication that he might need to do a sweep at my house next.

Nikki has a lot of shit stashed. He must have splurged when we got home from the tour. It pains me to get rid of it, my own mouth watering at the sight of the bindles of cocaine. What I wouldn’t do for a few lines right now. I know Bob has his eye on me. He’s not stupid, and used to be a junkie himself.

Nikki emerges from the bed, probably after overhearing us talk about his stash. He just stands there staring at us with a dead-pan look, rubbing his fingers together, then clenching them into a fist, then walking away. I got up and followed him. I ask Nikki if he’s OK. He tells me that he feels betrayed. “Why, because we’re getting rid of stuff that’s going to kill you?” Nikki says, “No, because you’re getting rid of the only stuff that makes me able to live.”