"I want you to scrape me from the walls
And go crazy like you've made me"

--Alice In Chains: 'Dirt'

Nicky never came back.

It had been three months. 

And Nicky still hasn't come back.

The band reunited, though.  Jerry and Layne had already written and recorded four complete songs.  Alice in Chains finally seemed to have re-discovered the old sound they had originated in the late 80's.  Mike Starr definitely was a help in re-capturing this glory, his bass tracks appearing so simple yet extremely difficult for amateur bassists to play.  Sean, of course, made these songs complete and sound even more heavy rock, yet bluesy, with his unique use of snares and kicks during his percussion solos.

Tonight, they had scheduled a gig at a bar nearby Layne and Jerry's place, which was in the heart of Seattle.  All four of them had decided to just play a selection of their old and popular songs, considering they hadn't toured together in six years.  They wanted to warm back up to the idea of playing live on stage again...and making sure Layne could handle it, unlike back in the 90's.

When they had arrived at the bar, Jerry kept his weary eyes on Layne as though it were his duty to baby-sit him.  The week following Nicky's departure was not taken well at all by Layne.  He had stopped eating and only woke up so he could drown his rejection with copious amounts of liquor.  Jerry didn't allow this to go on for very long though, taking all the alcohol out of Layne's reach and pouring all of the bottles down the drain.  He threatened Layne that if he continued to drink like he had, he would get kicked out of the house AND out of the band.  So Layne quickly caught on that Jerry wasn't bullshitting and quit drinking.  He had some withdrawals from it, considering he had drank every day for a month and a week, but they weren't life threatening.  Layne now just resorted to smoking herb with Jerry...and at times sneaking off with Mike and his girlfriend, Erica, to do pop some valium or xanax.

Everyone seemed so proud of Layne.  Even his mother came by to speak with him, and it went WELL.  The only issue was that, even though he was surrounded by friends and family now, he still felt alone.  He felt like he had gotten abandoned.  Every single night, he couldn't help himself but to wonder where Nicky had gone with their car. 

Did she take off across country?

Did she end up back in that rehab / psychiatric unit in the hospital?

.....
Is she dead...?

Layne shuddered at the idea.  He leaned back on the couch & puffed on the joint he had rolled before heading out with his bandmates.  He was backstage...alone, not even caring if Sean or Mike or Jerry needed help setting up the equipment and doing sound checks.  He could give a shit less at this point.  He honestly didn't even know why the fuck he decided to do this gig considering his singing voice still needed work.

Sighing, he took a long hit from his joint & lightly closed his eyes.  He ran a shaky hand through his curly bleach-blond hair.

He was nervous.  Fuck, more than nervous.  He was petrified.  He didn't want to fuck up on his first gig in over six years...  He knew that the media would be there and they would eat him ALIVE if they caught him messing up.

Exhaling the smoke, he grunted, setting the joint down and flicking his lighter on his cigarette.  His glassy eyes fixated on the smoke that twirled from the cherry of his cig, his mind wandering aimlessly around. Images flashed in his head of turquoise eyes and black and red hair.

"Layne!" Sean shouted, making Layne jolt from the couch, his red eyes bulging out from his face.

"Holy FUCK, you scared the shit out of me!"

Sean smirked.  "Eh, you needed it, you've been full of shit for waaaaay too long."

Layne rolled his eyes.  He followed Sean out onto the stage to do sound checks with the rest of the guys.

*******

The drunken crowd applauded the band after their last song, "Over Now".  The concert actually went way better than the guys expected it to go.  All of them seemed happy and filled with enthusiasm when they retired to the back stage room...aside from Layne.  The three of them tried their best to cheer him up, begging him to go back into the bar and have a few beers, but Layne wasn't in the mood for useless chatter.  Instead, he waltzed out the back door.  He lit yet another cigarette and gazed up at the stars that domed over him.

"You sure you don't want to have a few beers with us, L?" Jerry asked, half hanging out the back door.  He sighed when he saw Layne just shrug, not even bothering to look back at him.  "You know, you can't just live like this forever...  Cheer up, man.  You're sober.  Your band is back together.  You have your friends and family back--"

"Just...go away," Layne growled, hot boxing his cigarette.  "I'm not in the mood to pretend tonight."

Jerry shrugged as he went back inside the building.  Layne could hear Sean's voice echoing through the cement walls of the building.  He was already freaking drunk and they'd just finished their gig half an hour ago.  Teary eyed, mind still on the girl who abandoned him, he ventured through the allies between the grungy old buildings.

"Spare a dollar?" a weak, small voice muttered from below him.

Layne looked down at the meek person.  At first he thought it was a 12 year old girl...until he noticed the facial piercings.  He jumped back, realizing who was splayed out pathetically on the dirty cemented alley way ground, wrapped up in a raggedy sleeping bag.

"Nicky?!" Layne shrieked, tears escaping his blue haze.

"Oh God," she squeaked.  She jumped up from her spot, but before she could run away from him, he grabbed her around her wrist and tugged her close to him.

He couldn't help but to cry when he got a better look at her.  She was emaciated again.  Even smaller than she was when she was at 74 pounds.  Her hair was now all black and chopped short into a messy bob.  A stained, dirty, holey brown t-shirt hung from her skeletal frame, paired with extremely baggy plaid pj bottoms and muddy and grass-stained off-brand tennis shoes.  Her eyes were glassy and watery, eyelids puffy and purple.  She looked like she had aged 10 years due to the huge bags under her eyes.  Looking back down at her arm that he still had a tight grip on, it was covered with dim little track marks.  He immediately pulled her into a hug.

"I thought I would never see you again," Layne muttered, looking back into that skull-like face.  Her expression was blank, as if she was a corpse.  "What...what have you been doing, Nicky?  Why didn't you come back..."

"Because I don't deserve SHIT," she grumbled weakly.  She tried to push him away from her, but instead she collapsed back onto her sleeping bag.  She whimpered, scratching at the oozing wound on her cheek.

"...are you homeless?" Layne asked, crouching down to get a better look at her.  He fought his tears as he eyed the pimples and wounds that were scattered all over her face and neck.

She just shrugged, keeping her gaze away from him.  She was utterly ashamed.

"What did you do with the car?"

She sighed & rummaged through the cardboard box next to her.  A shaky hand yanked out a half-smoked cigarette and lit it with a grimy yellow bic lighter.  "I sold it," she growled, scratching her scalp, further messing up her hair.

"Why?"

Nicky rolled her eyes at him, quickly analyzing his face.  He looked amazing and healthy...almost like a new person.  She teared up, hugging her bony knees up against her chest and turning back away from him.  She couldn't stand seeing the pity reflected in those blue eyes.

Layne dropped onto the ground next to her & wrapped an arm around her.  He scrunched his nose as he took in the odor that resembled a mixture of BO, urine, and toxic chemicals.  Placing his hand lightly under her angular jaw, he made her glance back at him.  "You should come back home with me.  My motorcycle is parked on the other side--"

"No," she spat, edging away from him.  She scratched at her scalp again, clumps of hair falling on her shoulders.  "No.  You deserve a REAL woman..."

Layne cried again as he brushed the loose hairs off her shoulder.  He wrapped his arms around her, sniffling back more tears.  She was so frail...  "You ARE a real woman.  I want to help you...please, Nicky.  I can't...I can't go on knowing that you're suffering like this.  I love you so much--"

"You shouldn't.  You should listen to your friends.  I really am just another Demri."

"No you're not," he muttered as he held her tighter.  His tears dropped onto her nasty dirty t-shirt.  "Please, Nicky...please come back home with me..."

She turned back to him, desperation taking over her acne-infested skeleton face.  She didn't know what to say, what to do.  Her head collapsed against his strong, muscular chest.  Sobs escaped from her as he just sat there with her, embracing her in his arms.