The Present, December of 1996

Jim and Nancy were more than relieved when Liz had brought Layne back. It was like an answered prayer. And the following day, they were surprised when Layne had announced that he was going to kick the dope that night.

He was more than eager after his realization of what he was doing to them. He wanted to make it up to his family by actually trying.

It was now day four of withdrawal.

He had missed out on Christmas.  His family didn't expect him to be up for it—they knew he was very sick.  And it was better to have him alive and dope sick on Christmas so they could still seem him the following years to come.

Jim had a look of shock on his face when he saw Layne coming into the kitchen.  The vocalist took a seat at the table before glancing up to force a pained smile at his step father.

"Do you want a cup o' Joe?" Jim sung out goofily.  He lifted the coffee pot up and tilted his head at Layne.

A soft laugh escaped his chapped lips, him quickly having to wrap a bone thin arm around his stomach when it ached.  He shook his head at him.  "Nah...  That'll take me straight to Puke Town."  His dull, tired eyes shifted to look towards the cabinets.  "A cup of broth or something would be nice though."

Jim nodded his head.  He turned to make him some in a mug.  Before Layne could say anything else, he felt a hand rest on his shoulder.

"Glad to see you out of your room," Liz commented when Layne turned to face her.  She squeezed his shoulder and winked at him.

Layne scratched anxiously at his scalp, pushing his overgrown shaggy hair off his forehead for a moment.  He winced when he felt the sweat seeping from the skin on his face.  "No matter how many showers or baths I take, it doesn't seem to matter," he moaned out, complaining about the sweats.

"It looks like your leg kicks are dying down though," Liz chirped a little too enthusiastically.  She couldn't fight her grin when Layne's face twisted in irritation.  She lit a cigarette and handed it to him.  He took it eagerly, causing her to laugh in amazement. "Even when you're sick, you still smoke," she went on.

Layne bit his lip after exhaling his drag.  He smirked a little, but kept quiet when Jim handed him his mug of chicken broth.

His step father's eyebrow creased with concern when he caught Layne grimacing at it.  "What's wrong with it?"

"For some reason it kinda smells like piss."  He chuckled when he caught Liz shooting him a look.

"Maybe you're just smelling yourself," Liz teased. She grinned wider when Layne laughed again.

Knowing he hadn't ate much in the past couple of days, he forced himself to chug it down, catching another look from Jim.  He was relieved, though, when his step father didn't say anything.  Instead, Liz and Jim rambled on about New Years Eve.  They seemed to be pretty excited about it.

Layne, on the other hand, was dreading it.  It would be his first New Year's without Demri.  His thoughts began to torment him as he sat there, the memories playing in his head like a film. As much as he tried his best to hold in his grief, tears began to fall all over again.  It made his stomach ache even more when he felt eyes on him.

He quickly got up from his chair and fled to his bedroom.  And before he could collapse on the bed, he felt warm arms wrapping around him.  He couldn't contain it anymore—he started bawling uncontrollably.  When he saw Liz's face glare back at him in worry, he shook his head and forced himself out of her embrace.

"I'll be okay," he moaned between sobbing.  He couldn't even look at his sister as he fell onto his bed.  "Go ahead and just talk to dad, I'll be okay."

Liz shook her head at him.  His entire body was shaking.  He was already drenched in sweat, his dim hair now sticking to his forehead.  She couldn't help herself but to ignore him and sit next to him on his bed.

"What is it, Layne?" She asked as she rubbed his back.  Her eyes quickly shifted to the doorway when she saw Jim's figure in the corner of her eye.  She gestured to him to close the door, sighing when it clicked shut.

"I'll be okay," Layne repeated.  He lifted his head to peer at her through strands of his hair.  "It's just going to take time."

She watched him curl up on his bed.  He was still crying, but he was starting to calm down a little.  Liz sighed again, eyeing how his scrawny body trembled, swallowed up by a large black sweater.

"You should take that off, Layne," she said.  She raised an eyebrow when he looked back at her in confusion.  "That sweater?  You should take it off..."

He gulped, clutching his stomach again when it churned.  "I'll just get cold all over again."

"You have a blanket, dork."

Layne rolled his eyes and sat up. He didn't bother looking at her when he tugged it off. He already knew what look she'd have on her face seeing him with only a thin t-shirt on him.  It was embarrassing.

"I don't want mom or dad to see me without my sweater on," he explained as he ran his tongue along his lips. "They've never seen me this bad..."

Liz nodded her head. She fought herself from analyzing his frail frame too much. It was scary enough seeing him back at his condo. She didn't want to see how much worse his condition had gotten from being ill these past few days.

It was quiet for a moment. She couldn't stand it, deciding to just come right out and say it.

"You can't keep all of this to yourself. You have to talk about it."

Layne bit his lip. "I don't want to talk about it."

Her face twisted in irritation. "How do you expect to move on from this?"

He shrugged, quickly tugging his blanket over his back to wrap it around him. "I plan on getting clean, regaining my health and then going back to creating music again."

"So, you basically want to pretend like it never happened?"

A grunt of irritation escaped him. He turned to give her a look of anger, though his expression instantly softened when he noticed tears were rolling down her cheeks. "Come on, Liz, don't be like that. I'm trying. I really am."

"I can tell it's eating you alive," she went on. "I overheard you crying the other day."

Layne tugged the blanket back off of him, irritation burning through him all over again. "Jesus Christ, Liz! I just got here not even a week ago. I'm fucking dope sick! What did you expect?!"

"I expected you to be a little more open." She wiped the tears away with her sleeve. "I understand that you're sick. But that's when you should talk. I know for a fact that it's worse than ever right now. You're not numbing it anymore. The feelings are hitting you full force."

He chewed on his lip. She was right. He can't keep it all to himself. The thoughts had been maddening—and they had amplified immensely ever since Christmas.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking. Those blue eyes fixated anxiously on his shaky hands, trying his best to avoid the look his sister kept giving him. "I had a memory of one of the times I visited Demri in the hospital."

He turned to see if his sister would say anything. She was dead silent, her saddened eyes bleeding with curiosity. It encouraged him to continue.

"She accepted the fact that she was dying then. And she told me that she'd still be here even though she might not physically be here anymore..." His eyes watered, his temples suddenly pulsating from an upcoming migraine. Another wince stretched across his scraggly face. "I dunno... I'd like to think she's still here with me spiritually," he moaned out as his head fell back into his hands. "But when you and dad brought up New Years, it just made me think again about how she won't be there. She won't be there with me or her friends or her family ever again. We won't be able to see her ever again..."

His mind wandered. He couldn't put words to the madness in his head and to what he was feeling. The emotions came to him in waves, the intensity of it so overwhelming that it physically hurt him.

"She's right, you know," Liz finally said. She forced a smile when he looked back at her. "She'll always be here. And, if you allow it, you can replace those dark memories with good ones."

"Demri had said before that the world we know isn't real. It's all about perspective. What someone might experience and view the world as could be completely different to how you or anyone else views it. So if you view the world as filled with corruption or darkness, that's all you'll ever expect to see," Layne mumbled quietly. He smirked in bitter amusement as he tugged the blanket back over him, his skin burning from the icy chills. "Funny. She was pretty wise but she never was able to pull herself out of viewing the world in a better light. Or just appreciating the simple things in life. She got sucked in too deep with that BULLSHIT and couldn't get herself out."

Liz's heart broke when he started crying again.

"If someone like her can't recover from something like this, how in the fuck am I going to?" He went on, his voice now strained with anger.

A loud groan of fury escaped him. His body burnt like fire all over again, throwing him into a fit of rage. He tossed the blanket back off of him, bawling in hysterics. He would've done more but he was too weak, his skeletal body collapsing back on the bed.

The door creaked open, Nancy quickly scurrying into the room to hold her son. She immediately started to cry when she finally was able to see just how bad her son had gotten. It was already apparent when she laid eyes on his face, but now that his body wasn't hidden in baggy clothing, it was beyond scary. It was terrifying.

He almost looked like he was dead...

"Baby, it's okay," Nancy soothed. She held him closer to her, having his head rest on her lap. "It's okay, sweetie... We're here for you..."

He started to shiver again. Liz quickly grabbed his blanket and wrapped it around him. She shared a look of fear with her mother but didn't say a word.

When he finally calmed down, he sat back up, shame filling him up when his eyes met his mother's. "I'm sorry you have to see me like this..." he said quietly, wrapping his blanket tighter around him to try to hide just how thin he had gotten. His skin was beginning to scorch hot again but he refused to take it back off.

Nancy took notice that he was burning up and sweating, so she took it off anyways.  Her heart sunk when she was fully able to take in the damage.  He was sickly pale, track marks that were in the process of healing scattered along his arms. There was close to nothing left on him, mostly just skin and bone. Still, she forced herself to look away and fight back tears so she could help him stand up.

"You need to rinse off, you're drenched," his mother insisted when he let go of her hand in protest.  He was swaying, losing his balance from how weak he had gotten from the sickness. The tiny fits of rage he just had had drained him of what little energy he had.

When his mother wrapped her arm around him, he gave in.  He allowed her to help him walk to the bathroom.  He sat there on the closed lid of their toilet, watching her turn the knobs to get the water nice and warm.  When it was filled, Layne gave her a look that was almost indescribable.

"You can go ahead and go..." he croaked out.  "I got it from here."

She bit her lip.  "You can barely stand, Layne."

A look of desperation welled up in his eyes.  He didn't want to take off his shirt in front of her. She had seen enough. "I got it, mom..."

Nancy didn't bother to argue with him.  When she shut the bathroom door, she stood there to listen in and make sure he didn't fall.  Afterwards, she made her way to the kitchen.

She stopped in her tracks to look at Liz and Jim.  All three of them had fear in their eyes.

"What happened?" She asked, her voice now trembling.

"Layne's having a hard time with the holidays." Liz spoke up.  She sighed, squeezing her eyes shut to try to force herself to calm down.  "He's really trying this time...  But I'm scared.  I've never seen him this bad.  When I was staying with him in his condo, it was a nightmare.  I was literally fighting to keep him alive."

Nancy looked completely heart broken.  Still, she pressed on.  "Well, I'm glad you at least got him to come back..."

Liz gave her a look.  "We have to get him to talk this out, mom.  We can't allow him to hold it in.  It's the reason why he's getting so bad.  He keeps thinking he can just 'snap out of it' and pretend it never happened."

"Well, first thing we need to do is get him healthy," Jim chimed in.  "He looks horrible..."

"He seems to be over the hump with detox," Liz pointed out.

Nancy tapped past both her daughter and husband to open the fridge.  She got out one of the many cold water bottles, handing it to Liz.  "He needs to stay hydrated.  He's been sweating like crazy."

Liz sighed.  She knew what her mother wanted her to do.  But before she went, she opened up a bottle of ibuprofen and took out a couple pills.  She braced herself when she opened up the bathroom door.

The shower curtain violently slid shut.

"What are you doing, mom?  I told you I got it..." that weak voice echoed.

"It's me, Liz," she said.  She walked over to the side of the bath tub.  She could see her brother's face through the small gap that met the wall and the curtain.  "You need to drink this..."  She held up the water bottle, jumping slightly when Layne reached out and grabbed it.

The sounds of a plastic cap twisting and thirsty chugs echoed through the tiled room.

Liz reached her palm through the crack.  "Take these, too."

She felt him take the pills from her hand, listening to make sure he was okay.  "Stay in there for as long as you can, okay?"

"Okay..." he responded, his voice now soft.

When Liz got up and opened the door, the sound of water splashing stopped her.

"I'm sorry," Layne slurred out.  "I'm really sorry that I'm putting you through this.  You shouldn't have seen what you did these past couple of weeks."

"You don't have to apologize.  Just get better," she soothed.  "Continue to talk about it, get off the JUNK and start taking care of yourself."

She heard a sniffle echo from the tub. "I promise you, I'm really going to try this time... I want to get better."

"I know you do, Layne," she agreed. She let out a breath of anxiety. "Just keep doing what you're doing. Take it one day at a time."

"Okay..." Layne muffled out.

"I'm going to head back out and get some things situated. If you need anything or any help getting out of the restroom, just call for me, okay?" Liz asked as she turned back to the door.

"K," he repeated.

She sighed as she slid back out the door and met her mother and step father in the kitchen. Nancy and Liz decided it would be a good idea to make a large batch of chicken noodle soup.  Layne couldn't continue to live off of ice cream and chicken broth. He needed some actual substance if he was actually going to work on getting better.

Jim set up a pillow and blanket for him out on the couch. He figured it would be better for Layne to stay out of his room during the day—especially since he was over the hardest part of withdrawal. He needed to be around them...

Liz perked up immediately when Layne called for her. Nancy turned to her and forced a small smirk. "Go ahead, sweetie," she assured her.

Liz quickly slid into the bathroom. She had to look away when she noticed that Layne had yanked the curtain back. He was naked and fully exposed.

She closed her eyes and faced him. "Do you need help getting out?"

"Yeah," he moaned. His face burned red with embarrassment when Liz finally opened her eyes to look at him. She hadn't seen him without his shirt on this entire time she had been fighting to get him through this mess.

"My God, Layne," she blurted out. Her eyes grew wide when she realized she had said it out loud.

His face fell, those big dull eyes now focused on the tiled floor. "I know," he squeaked out, his low voice now ringing with vulnerability. He bit his lip when their eyes met again. "Just help me out?"

She nodded her head, getting a towel before reaching down to grab him and pull him up. He was trembling all over again, his teeth chattering. Quickly, she wrapped the towel around him and helped him walk to his room.

They picked out clothes for him to wear and got him dressed.

He had seemed to build his strength back and was able to make his way back to the kitchen. A smile grew on his face when Nancy placed a hot bowl of soup in front of him at the table. His stomach churned in rage when he started to eat, but he ignored it and ate as much as he could.

And instead of fighting with Jim about going back to his room, he made himself lay down on the couch. It actually felt nice to watch TV and movies with them.  Most of the time Layne had stayed quiet while the rest were talking here and there.  Every once in a while one of them would get Layne something to drink or help him get up to use the restroom.  It didn't seem to be a big deal to any of them when it came to helping him.

He was pleasantly surprised to see all of them accept the situation for what it was:

He was healing. Both emotionally and physically.

Heck, every single one of them were healing from this.

And, for once in Layne's life, he put one of Demri's insights to practice. 

He accepted that he was in pain and that he had to experience this pain.  He didn't plot to rush into trying to find a short-cut out of the pain. Instead, he chose to relax and appreciate what he had—a loving family that would be there for him no matter what. He had loved ones that would rather him be real and honest than displaying a fake smile and having to deal with this pain on his own.

They loved him for him. Even at his most weakest, darkest moments in life, they STILL loved him and accepted him.

This is a time of healing.

And it's a rough battle. But it's worth fighting for.