"Well...I don't know if you guys know this but...when I was eight--"

The door flung open, interrupting Layne.  All three of them looked over at the doorway.  mike's brows raised when he noticed the dark haired nurse peeking her head through the crack of the door.

"Erica...?" Mike blurted aloud.  His head cocked to the side with curiosity.

"Layne?" Erica asked, looking past Mike. Layne just blinked, as still as a statue.  "One of your friends is here...he's wondering if it's okay if he visits with you."

Layne's brow curled in confusion.  "Who is it...?"

Erica opened the door all the way, moving closer to the edge of the doorframe.  There stood a tall, gangly man, his blonde hair reaching all the way down to his mid-back.  He looked tired.  His eyes were blood-shot & his clothes were a raggedy mess.

"Hey Layne..." his deep voice muttered.  He bit his lip nervously.

"Jerry?" Layne shrieked.  His body jolted up in his bed.  He winced when he felt the tug of his NG tube in his nose, turning and grabbing the pole & scooting it closer to himself.  "What...what are you doing here?  I thought you hated me."

Jerry clumped into the hospital room, turning & nodding at Erica.  "We'll be fine," he muttered to her.  It was quiet until the gorgeous young woman slowly shut the door behind him.  He gulped down his nerves, fidgeting with his leather jacket pockets.

"Dude, you smell like fucking Bob Marely," Layne retorted, anger steaming again.  He peered around at all of his old band mates.  He couldn't help but to shake his head in snide amazement.  "All of you are fucking stoned.  On a drug detox floor in a hospital.  What the fuck, man?!"

Sean stood up again & yanked out his flask.  Violently, he jabbed it right in front of Layne's face.  "If it bothers you so fucking much, HERE, have some fucking jaiger!"

Layne smirked & shrugged, taking the flask and slurping down a large swig.  He coughed weakly afterwards.  Mike slid over next to Layne, freaked out.  "Why the fuck did you do that?!  You're on methadone & getting an NG treatment.  Pretty sure they'll check your blood soon & realize you just drank hard liquor!"

Layne laughed & threw his hands up in the air.  "You guys are all stoned on your drug of choice anyways," he nagged.  "I assumed we were partying down."

Jerry scratched his head & sighing.  His light eyes softened as they studied the mess that laid before him on the hospital bed.  "It's just reefer, Layne." His face fell when he noticed the pitiful expression on his best friend's face.  "If it means anything to you, I'm sorry," Jerry continued.

"Sorry for what?  The reefer, or acting like an arrogant faggot at the studio 4 years ago?" Layne spat.  A pink tongue swiped at his lips.  Agitation encumbered him, causing him to peer back down at his arm & pick at one of his bulbous track marks.

Jerry shrugged as he glanced over at Mike & Sean.  He looked back at Layne, sighing again.  A lanky arm yanked one of the stools from behind him at the sink area across the room & dragged it right next to Layne's bed.  He plopped down on it, trying his best to stay calm despite the tragedy of how broken his best friend had become. 

"It wasn't my intention to come off as a douche to you back then, Layne," Jerry started.  "I was just..."

"Tired of dealing with a piece of white trash junky, right?" Layne growled, narrowing his eyes at Jerry.  Deep in his heart, he still loved the man...shit, they've been through everything together.  He just couldn't stand it that Jerry knew everything.  Layne motioned back over to Sean.  "Gimme more of that jaiger, huh, bud?"

Sean huffed.  Still, he handed him the flask.  His expression glowed with urgency when he saw his friend gulp it down viscously.

"Hey!" Sean freaked as he watched Layne finish the entire bottle.  "What the fuck dude, now I gotta go back to my car..."

Jerry glared over at Sean, shaking his head and mouthing 'no' to him.  Sean lowered his head.  He fell back into the recliner, glaring back out his window. 

"Layne," Jerry continued.  He eyed the man's frumpy, bony face.  It was unsettling, but he knew he had to stay strong.  He couldn't break down in front of Layne, it would only make the situation even worse.  "I could never think of you as just some 'piece of white trash junky'.  And you know that.  I was upset when I saw you that night...missing teeth...  And fuck I thought you were too skinny then, but..."  His eyes went wide, motioning up and down Layne's body and then at the NG tube pole.

"He only weighs ninety pounds right now, Jer," Mike muttered from near the doorway.  He walked over to the sink area to drag out a stool for himself to sit on.

Sean shook his head in astonishment.  "You only weigh ninety pounds?  My sister weighs more than you and you're 7 inches taller than her..."

Layne moaned, face flushed with embarrassment as he glared over at the NG tube bag.  Three quarters of the way empty...and he was already so full that he felt like he was going to explode.

"Yeah...yeah, I know I'm way too skinny," he grumbled, glaring back at Jerry.  "Anyways, please do go on, Jer..."

Jerry grabbed Layne's hand gently.  He analyzed the needle probing bruises & the gnarley track marks on his stick arm. His heart sunk with despair when his eyes met Layne's again.

"You scare the shit out of me, Layne," Jerry admitted.  "I love you like you're my own family.  And you're committing a slow suicide.  Yeah, I guess it was wrong for me to accuse you of wanting to get high when you suggested we rush through those last two recordings, but you gotta see it from my point of view, L..." he bit his lip to try to hold the overwhelming emotions in.  "You look like you're dying..."

Jerry's face fell onto Layne's arm.  He couldn't control it anymore, the tears just came streaming out like a fountain.  It made Layne tear up, having to watch the man sob into him.

"I'm so glad to see that you're okay," Jerry whimpered.  He wrapped his arm around Layne's tiny waist.  "When I saw your condo on the news, I had to come here and see if you were okay...  Shit, I had to lie & say I was your brother to the receptionist on the first floor just so I could at least have the opportunity to check up on you..."  Jerry's slim body shook as he cried harder into Layne's rib cage, feeling Layne's hand reach around him and rub his back.

Mike slumped over to Jerry & placed his arm around him.  "I know he looks like shit, J...  But I got him here.  They're taking care of him..."

Sean just sat there awkwardly.  He wasn't used to dealing with this kind of drama.  Watching all of this made him want to drink even more.  He eyed Mike's shaking hand as it stirred around in his military jacket pocket, pulling out a few light blue, round pills.  Mike quickly popped them in his mouth, rolling them under his tongue to allow them to dissolve. 

Sean sighed.  Seems like we really all are addicts...  He thought to himself, resting his head into the palm of his hand.  He glared at Layne, who had tears rolling down his sharp cheek bones.

"SOOO," Sean began loudly, making his entire band look up at him.  "You were just about to tell us why you're doing this crap to yourself...  I don't know about Mike, but I still would like a fucking answer to that, considering I haven't spoke to you in TWO FREAKING YEARS."

Jerry shot up, giving Sean the stink eye.  Sean shrugged & sneered at him, basically telling him telepathically to fuck off.  "I know exactly why he had gotten so bad," Jerry growled at Sean with narrowed eyes.

"Oh, REALLY?  Are you so sure about all of this?" Sean snapped.

Mike shook his head, his eyes still on Layne. "I honestly don't care if you know, Jer.  I want to hear it from Layne's mouth, not your's.  It'll be good for him anyways."

Layne sighed, his eyes stuck on Jerry.  The blonde nodded at him & gave him that look he was all too aware of.  "Fuck," Layne squeaked, squeezing his eyes shut.  He tisked his tongue anxiously, sliding deeper into his hospital bed.  "Well...like I was about to say until Jer showed up," he mumbled, peering back at Mike.  "When I was eight years old, my father left me.  My mother told me he died...  But he wasn't dead."

"Wait a minute, your biological father is actually ALIVE?" Sean probed.  His back went stiff with shock.  "You told me he was dead..."

Mike nodded.  "Yeah, you told me that, too."

"Well, he's still alive and kickin," Layne muttered, his voice thick with disgust.  "He left me and my sister and my mother to starve just so he could nod off on smack.  It wasn't until my step dad came into the picture that we were okay.  That's when my depression intensified...right when I hit 14, in high school, I was introduced to drugs.  Before then, I always stayed away from the druggies at school...  They scared me because of what I had found out about my dad through my sister," his upper lip curled with disgust.  "She told me she saw him on the streets, pretending to be homeless so he could score a bag with free hand-outs."

"Mother of God," Mike slurred, grossed out.

Layne shrugged.  He kept his eyes on Jerry.  It was easier that way, pretending he was talking to Jerry.  The brother he always wanted.  The only person in his life that was there to talk to him when he was depressed & ashamed of being depressed.

"It started off with just weed & booze," Layne went on.  "But after a concert that my step dad took my old friend and I to, I began to get really into the music scene.  I just found the art form of music to be exhilarating...not to mention the interesting life style they lived.  I remember watching a TV show about some rockstar.  He was in a limo surrounded by sexy half-naked women, doing lines of coke...  I wanted to be that," he rolled his eyes, ashamed of his teenage stupidity.  "So, me and my friends got into buying speed.  I bought a drum set--"

Sean laughed.  "Your drumming skills are so half assed, dude."

Layne grinned widely, baring the gray teeth that were still left.  He immediately shut his mouth and grimaced when he realized that they all saw his sad excuse for chompers. 

"Yeah," he agreed with Sean, laughing loosely.  "I realized I sucked so when I hit 17, I decided to work on being a vocalist.  My mom and step dad kept telling me I sucked, but I didn't care.  My band mates then liked it, therefore I decided it was good..." He shut his eyes again.  "Then...well...I graduated high school and started to hang out with Demri..." A small tear streaked down the side of his nose.  He covered his face, a whimper retching from him.  "We both got into doing lines of H once we hit 20..."

"Right when our band was formed," Jerry said, finishing Layne's sentence.  "He actually let me stay at him & Demri's place back then, you guys remember?"

Mike nodded, smirking a little.  "Yeah, you were homeless & starving...  Met Layne at that party & he decided to allow you to crash at his place, right?"

Jerry nodded, baring a soft smile over at Layne.  "I knew straight away you were a good person.  With true talent, too."

"Too bad I morphed into yet another drug addict of the Staley family," Layne muttered mournfully.  His face twisted in pain as he rubbed the arm with the IV.

"IV hurting you?" Jerry asked, concerned.

Layne shrugged.  "Not as much as my heart hurts me..."

"For fuck's sake, I need a smoke," Sean growled.

Mike glared at the drummer with disgust. "Let the man finish, what the heck?  He's finally being open with you and you're being a dick..."

Sean's brows furrowed in shame.  He nodded & glared back at Layne.

"Anyways...Demri and I weren't addicted then.  We just used H and speed on occasion for fun, you know?"  Layne winced a little as he clenched his aching arm.  "Until my dad found me due to our first cover story on Rolling Stone's magazine...  I bumped into him at a bar with Demri.  He was really nice and tried to convince me he was clean, but right when we got back to Demri and Jerry and I's place, he convinced Demri & I to mainline with him.  His excuse?  He told me he always wanted to know what it was like to get stoned with a 'rockstar'.  He stroked my ego by saying how proud he was to have a son who was famous for doing something he loved.  He taught Demri and I how to shoot up...taught us how to sterilize needles & how to cook the heroin just right...  That's when we got hooked.  And that's when I began to really fuck up our band, cancelling tours and shit.  As you guys know, my mom tried to talk Susan into getting you guys to throw auditions for a temp singer for our tours, but Susan refused.......  Which ruined OUR reputation, especially when Metallica decided to make fun of me on stage," he face twisted with bitterness.  "Those alcoholic SELL-OUT bastards..."

"I thought you didn't have anything against their joke?" Sean interrupted, crossing his leg over the other.

Jerry glared at him.  "Layne's more sensitive than you think, dude.  Part of why he abuses drugs."

"Yeah," Layne murmured.  His eyes wavered back at his NG tube bag.  It was almost finished. He felt the nausea crawling up his throat again, but he swallowed the vomit down and continued.  "Anyways, so after a few rehab trial and errors...even once going in with Demri, as you know...  I had to break up with her.  She was beginning to make friends with fucking prostitutes and I found out she was spreading her legs for more H.  We were fucking engaged, damnit."  His eyes teared up again.  Sheet-white hands covered his face as he choked back a sob.  "She fucking died...she died because I gave up on her..."

"That isn't true, Layne, you know that," Jerry soothed.  "I've been telling you that since the funeral, Layne.  Her parents even agreed with me.  She just wasn't strong enough, the addiction took hold of her and never let go..."

"I still feel like it's my fault," Layne whimpered.  "I loved her so much, Jer...  I let her know EVERYTHING.  She was the closest person to me aside from you...  And now she's fucking gone...  I can't live without her..."

"Do you think that if Demri saw you in this position, she'd say you deserved it?  Do you think she would blame you for her death?  Come on, Layne...have some logic..." Mike murmured, gripping Layne's hand.

Layne's face turned violet as he flicked Mike's hand away from him.  "She did blame me.  The night we fucking broke up!!!"  He screamed.

His heart monitor went off.  All three of his concerned friends jumped up from their seats.  Layne's face glowed a violent green.  His skeleton body writhed to its side, mucousy vomit violently spewing from his mouth.

Mike & Jerry ran out of the room.  Sean stayed & held Layne's head to the side, murmuring comforting words.  He was terrified the vocalist would pass out and choke on his own vomit.

3 nurses came dodging in, 2 male and the other one actually Erica, the black haired blue-eyed woman.  She rolled up Layne's bed sheet and gave him a shot of zofran in the somewhat meaty part of his butt cheek.  The other male nurse gave him a shot of Ativan through his IV.  The larger male nurse pushed Sean to the side, holding Layne still on his side as the other male nurse handed Erica the needle.  He grabbed the wetted towel from her & cleaned up the vomit that was slimed across Layne's face. 

The dog-faced phlebotomist then came in, strolling in a portable bed.  The large male nurse easily slid Layne onto it.  Erica then tore off the bed sheets and handed them to the other male nurse to toss into the trash bin nearby.  They all changed the bed while the dog-faced phlebotomist changed Layne's blue hospital gown & further cleaned up his face and arms with fresh towelettes.  They then transferred him back to his hospital bed.

"We need a doctor in here," the dog-faced phlebotomist spat.  Her scratchy voice was soaked with worry.

"What's the problem, Angie?" Erica asked.  She glared down at Layne, fear in her eyes.

"I think he might be slipping into a coma..."

Jerry and Mike broke down in fearful tears.  Sean just stood there, shock written all over his face.  For some odd reason that familiar song Layne had written about Demri and his own drug addiction rung through their heads...

There's no time to give at all
I cause you grief and blow my hatred
Further in your mind
You reach, I run, you fall
On skinned knees you crawl

I want to set you free, recognize my disease
Love, sex, pain, confusion, suffering
You're there crying, I feel not a thing
Drilling my way deeper in your head
Sinking, draining, drowning, bleeding, dead

So you sit and think of love
I wait, hate all the more, I fall
On skinned knees I crawl

I want to set you free, recognize my disease
Love, sex, pain, confusion, suffering
You're there crying, I feel not a thing
Drilling my way deeper in your head
Sinking, draining, drowning, bleeding, dead

Now there's time to give it all
I put my fears behind again
On skinned knees we'll crawl

I want to set you free, recognize my disease
Love, sex, pain, confusion, suffering
You're there crying, I feel not a thing
Drilling my way deeper in your head
Sinking, draining, drowning, bleeding, dead
Love, sex, pain, confusion, suffering

**********

A/N:::

Sorry for the cliche 'coma drama' lmao.  This was my very first fanfic I'd ever written, let alone one of the very first books I've written as well.

I promise, though, that this book is actually pretty good!  Aside from a few cliche's, most of my readers that have given me feedback had told me that this story is actually reasonably unique.

So, give it a chance!

Oh, and don't be afraid to vote & comment 😜

It helps in the motivation department.

Peace ✌🏻️✌🏻✌🏻✌🏻✌🏻