Johnny & Sid one shot(s)

Wanna share a ciggie?

"Oi, Monk ?"

Propping himself up on the mattress of his single bed, Sid scanned the room, eyebrows knitted together in concentration. As if he could see anything in the darkness swallowing him whole. It could've been pretty late already, though he had no clue. All he could remember was, he must've passed out for a while, because drool had dripped down his chin and he felt all groggy.

"Monk? I wanna go out."

Another attempt at getting the lad's attention, but this call out fell just as flat as the previous one. Monk and him had adjoining rooms, probably some relief off Boogie's shoulders, shoving the job of stupid babysitting-like deed to someone else. Sid did not mind though; Noel Monk was a cool dude, the only one who seemed to accept talking to him after he had gone twice on a little rampage. A though guy, providing him Valiums and company. If he wasn't answering, then, it was most likely he had dozen off, or left. It couldn't be that he wasn't hearing him, they had settled to keep the door between their rooms open, at least a few inches. Quiet, the lanky boy waited. Silence was similar to a scream to his ears. Something was buzzing, or maybe it was just his head. Well, shit. What the hell was he even waiting for? What could possibly hold him back from getting out of here? This was the perfect opportunity, despite the tight throb in his guts whispering it would be equal to break some sort of trust. But guilt was not strong enough. Not stronger than the need to shoot up.

With a grunt, Sid sat up, the bed creaking under him at the sudden change of weight. Slowly, his eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness. He could distinguish the bedside table where he had carelessly thrown a pack of cigarettes and a magazine he stole from Paul's stuffs. Probably just to annoy him, because he hadn't even given it a glance. The curtains were drawn, obscuring the room a little more. Once he was fully aware of his surroundings, he jumped to his feet, blindly grabbed his leather jacket and a pair of shoes lying under the turned-off heater. Now that he was paying attention, he could hear slow breaths, that could turn to snores, from the other end of the room. Yeah, Monk was asleep. And wouldn't need to know about his escape, he'd be short and back before sunrise. That was, without getting lost. Doing his best to be as discreet as possible, he sneaked out of the room. Bad idea that he had been giving time to his sight to get used to everything being pitch black; the lights of the inn's corridors immediately made his head pound.

Eyes closed tightly, Sid leaned his back against the nearest wall, one hand lifting to meet with his forehead. His nose was soon pressed against the bandage wrapped around his wrist, one that Monk had prepared a few hours ago after almost burning his forearm with damn Mercurochrome. It still smelled like the bitchy liquid, mixed with something else. Something he couldn't identify yet. It was easy for his anxiety to skyrocket, for his mind to go wild and get the worst scenarios. What if his flesh would rot and fall off? That he'd die from an infection a wound he had himself inflicted to his own body?

"You're gonna be fine, Sid." That was what Monk said. But how could he know shit about that?

Pain was similar to a wave; eventually, it started to die down, and soon, was just an old memory. His eyes opened again, and the light wasn't so unbearable anymore. No one was out, the corridor leading to the reception desk was empty. Just a few rooms to walk by, said desk to cross, then he'd be out and free in the night. He couldn't believe how easy it all sounded. How he had been left with no surveillance again. It shouldn't be surprising, should it? One way or another, he'd always manage to slide between their fingers. That didn't mean he had no remorse. Actually, he felt bad for doing that every damn night. But it wasn't his fault. He needed it. He needed the crack. The adrenaline. In the end, he was a slave. A slave of this cruel, vivid, sick addiction. When he was with no one but Nancy, he couldn't see the side effects, the bad it would spread. She was in the same situation as him, and they were fine like that. But away from her, in a whole other country, with his supposedly mates, who he was working with... There was a different view to the lifestyle he had settled into what seemed like ages ago. His behaviour was starting to irritate everyone, he could feel it. It came to the point it was easier to chat with the bus tour driver than with the guys from his band. John was the least reachable. The glares, the insults, it turned into an endless routine. Most of the time, he wouldn't reply anything. Sometimes, he'd spit on the ground, flip him off or return the dirty words. It was no fun, really. Yet, it was his life now. He couldn't do much about it. Sighing, a sign of resignation, he dropped the boots on the floor and lazily slipped them on. That done, he put his jacket on and started walking down the corridor. Only a few seconds later, his pace lowered, ears catching a familiar voice tinted with obvious anger and frustration. Being John's friend for years, it was simple to recognize him, even behind closed doors. Eventually, Sid came to a stop, standing still in front of the right door.