He glared at the television wearily. He had the channel on MTV, and low & behold, one of his bands' top songs came on. "Get Born Again". He immediately turned the tv off, grumbling as he stumbled out of his bed to stretch his long skinny limbs.

He was going insane, lying around in his hospital bed, being fed pills for withdrawal & shitty hospital food all day long. Smacking his lips, he grimaced, still tasting that nasty metallic after taste of the vanilla weight gain brand ensure Dog-Face (Angie) forced him to drink a half an hour ago.

Glaring down at his arm, he shrugged. "Been a month in this torture chamber... At least they finally got that damn cathedar & IV out of me," he muttered. Fingers pinched the skin on his forearm as he glared out the window to analyze the cars parked in the huge hospital parking lot a few stories below. "I've gained another 15 pounds since waking up from the damn coma....they should let me out already," he continued to moan, pacing around his tiny hospital room.

He was shocked his mother and step father hadn't visited him yet. His sister has. She tried to explain to him that their parents were 'tired of seeing him put himself through this'. He didn't think it was a good enough excuse. He remembered the angry look on her face when he called the nurses to escort her out.

His family never understood why he wanted to be a musician in the first place. Ever since his obsession with music & fine arts grew, his parents continuously nagged at him about how artists 'die young with an arm full of heroin and their face drowning in their own puke'. Layne always shrugged and told them he didn't care. He wanted to do what he wanted to do, no one could stop him. Yeah, he did over-do it with the drugs... If he had some goddamn emotional support from his family (instead of them yelling at him and constantly pointing out all of his flaws), maybe he wouldn't be locked up in this hospital right now.

Layne groaned & shook his head, trying his best not to think about it anymore. "Some dope sure would shut these thoughts up," he muttered bitterly. He itched his arms & pressed the 'nurse call' button on the side of his bed.

"What now," Dog-Face muttered through the speaker.

Layne bit back a smirk, shaking it out of him and forcing his voice to sound strained. "Oh...oh Angie... I'm in so much paaaaiiin," he squealed. An obvious drug-seeking move.

"Sure you are," she growled back, making Layne turn red from trying to contain his bitter amusement. "Briana will be in in a second. She'll treat your supposed pain."

The speaker on his bed beeped off, alerting him to get ready to fake his ass off. He ran to the sink & turned on the faucet to wet his face. He then began smacking himself repeatedly on his cheeks.

"So, is this how you deal with pain...?" He heard her cute little voice ask.

His heart stopped. Shaky hands turned off the faucet, twirling around to look at the little blonde woman. His eyes rested on her chest, immediately distracted.

"Layne," she sighed, sounding slightly annoyed.

He shook his head, running his hand through his long dirty blonde hair. Quickly, he forced his brows to wrinkle. "I don't know why, but I'm still in soooo much pain," he whimpered, limping dramatically to his bed. He heard Briana giggle as he theatrically collapsed into his bed.

"You really suck at drug seeking, you know that?" She asked, mid-laughter.

He rolled his eyes & smirked, crossing his arms over his torso. "I'm bored as fuck, can you blame me...?"

She sighed, rubbing her chin, studying him. She tried to appear annoyed but his sloppy grin made her fail. "You're getting transferred today."

Those blue eyes slunk over to look out the window at the clear sky. "Can't I just go home? I don't have any withdrawals anymore... I've gained a total of 35 pounds... I could beat this on my own, you know." He glanced back at her, his chest tightening when he noticed the irritation wrinkled across that pretty face.

"If you could get sober on your own, you would've 9 years ago," she spat, tapping her foot impatiently at him. "...plus, you already proved to me that you're still jonzing with that RIDICULOUS drug seeking stunt you pulled a minute ago."

"I wouldn't be bored at home...shit, Jerry wants me to move in with him at his new house he bought near the recording studio. We're planning on making another album once I get out. I'll be too busy to score 8 balls and prescription bottles."

Her brow raised in pessimistic amusement. "Yeah, like creating albums with your buds helped you to get sober in the past..."

Layne groaned loudly. He jolted up from his bed and started punching his hospital bed pillow. His face was tinged red from boiling rage. "I fucking can't stand rehab! The other patients in there are crazy!"

She crossed her arms over her chest, blinking. When Layne finally stopped beating the shit out of his mattress, she smiled weerily at him. "And you're NOT crazy, I take it..."

"Fucking hell," Layne moaned, collapsing onto the recliner across from his bed. He kept his back to the nurse as he continued to glare out the window. "Is there at least a smoke break room? These nicotine patches suck ass," he grumbled, pointing to his shoulder.

"Yes, there is," she said. Briana grinned when Layne spun around, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Jerry's going to drop off a carton for you. Actually, I think he's doing it for you right now as we speak..."

"What brand is he bringing?!" Layne shouted at the nurse's back, whom was slowly tapping out the door. She didn't turn around to respond. "Hello?! LADY?! What brand?!"

She laughed, tugging Jerry infront of the doorway so Layne could see him. Jerry smiled over at Layne as he walked into his room. The skinny blonde plopped down on the edge of Layne's bed. "Seems like you're done with detox dude, that's great!"

Layne picked at the loose fabric on the arm of the hospital recliner, a morbid expression on his face. "I'll still be fucking in here though," he growled. He glanced up at the guitarist. "What kinda smokes did you get? Cigs are my fucking savior in these hellholes...."

Jerry rolled his eyes. "Marlboro Special Blend's."

His brow creased. "Are they 100's?"

"Yes yes, they're fucking 100's."

"They're not cowboy killers, are they? I like the lights."

Jerry's face fell into his hand. "We've been best friends for 15 fucking years, do you seriously think I wouldn't know what your favorite brand of smokes are?! Come the fuck on, man."

Layne yanked a pen from the food tray near the window. He stabbed the arm of his chair with it, his face burning red. "I'm on edge..."

"I'm pretty sure even a baby TURKEY could tell, L. Jesus fucking Christ, mellow the heck out."

Layne jumped up from the recliner and began kicking it, his face twisting in rage. "I!" kick, "CANT!" kick, "STAND BEING SOBER!!!" He kicked and punched the recliner until it thumped loudly to the ground. He continued to kick it, making Jerry have to get up from the bed and grab ahold of Layne. He pushed him onto the bed & used all of his weight to keep him pressed down against it. The singer squirmed in anger, beat red bone-thin arms wailing around in the air as Jerry simply stood there, holding him down.

"Looks like someone has some pent up energy," Angie growled from the doorway.

Layne immediately went still, turning to look at Dog-Face & Dr. Ryan who slowly made their way into the room. "What up, good lookin'," Layne muttered sarcastically to Dog-Face Angie. "Did they switch your brand to Puppy Chow this morning?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Fiending for more opiates, I take it? I just gave one of my patients 4 units of Dilaudid today."

Layne pounced from the bed. Before he could cause any harm, Jerry quickly clenched his long arms around his waist & held him back. "YOU BITCH! You fat ugly bitch!!!" He screamed.

Dr. Ryan turned to Angie. Distress creased his brow. "Yeah...ummmm...go back to doing your rounds, Angie? You're obviously not helping the situation..."

She shrugged, letting out a wicked cackle. "Fine with me." She glanced back at Layne. "Have fun in rehab, kid."

"Fuck you," Layne slurred, his chest rising and falling quickly.

Jerry pushed him back into his bed, scratching his scalp uncomfortably. He looked back at Dr. Ryan, "yeah...today is not his day..."

"It's normal for addicts to behave this way when they're finally sober," Dr. Ryan explained to Jerry as he watched Layne shake with wrath. "You must feel weird, huh?" He asked Layne.

"I want to get the fuck out of here," he barked. He hocked a lougie and spat it right on the doctor's shoe. To his surprise, Dr. Ryan just shrugged & walked over to the sink. He wiped it off his shoe with a towel.

"You'll be out of here soon enough, Layne," the doctor said as he washed and sanitized his hands.

Layne pushed Jerry off of him and stood back up, eyeing the doctor up and down. "Well, why can't I just go home TODAY? It's not like rehab had done me any good in the past."

The doctor turned around, his face blank as he handed Layne a discharge paper. Layne laughed at it as he read it. He had been diagnosed, yet again, with 'chemical dependency'. He always thought it was ridiculous that doctors could easily label his disease like it was just that easy to understand it.

"It would be irresponsible as a doctor to just discharge a drug addict without them getting proper therapy," Dr. Ryan explained, his eyes on Jerry. Jerry nodded slowly in agreement with him. He turned back to Layne, who had tossed the discharge paper onto the floor angrily. "As you probably already know, considering this is your fourteenth time being inpatient, chemical dependency is a CHRONIC disease. It doesn't just simply go away after the addict stops doing drugs. That's why they have relapses," he eyed Layne's crimson face. "And by the way you've been acting these past few days, if we discharge you now, you'll just go right back to where you started..." His eyes narrowed at him, crossing his arms. "You know I'm right."

Layne huffed & puffed, pouting as he fell back on his bed, shaky hands clenching his thin face. "How long will I have to be in there...?"

*******

Layne grudgingly followed the nurse around the psychiatric / rehab unit of the hospital. He pretended to listen to her as she explained the rehab program in an overly enthusiastic voice.

"Have any questions, Mr. Staley?" The nurse asked, a giant white smile spread across her face.

He blinked at her dumbly. "Huh?"

Her face fell grimly. She rolled her eyes and pointed over to the door on the right. "That's where the smoking room is. The other patients are in there with the PCA's right now. They have your smokes."

Layne grinned & reached over to the door knob. "Why thank you," he muttered, mocking her peppy voice.

She sneered, watching him open the door. "No problem," she grumbled.

The cement room was packed, so smokey that Layne could barely make out anyone's faces. When he spotted a name tag on a blue shirt, he squeezed through the smokers.

"Aye. Gimme a smoke?" He shouted over the low hum of conversation. He waved his hand in the air, clearing it of the smoke so he could make out the PCA's face. It was a man, stocky & overly tanned. He had to be in his mid-40's, at the least. He was chuckling, talking to this emaciated woman next to him, her hot boxing her long thin cigarette.

"HEY!" Layne screamed.

The room went quiet, all eyes on him. He turned red from embarrassment, smiling sheepishly at the PCA. "Sorry about that...need a smoke..."

"I can tell!" The man said, grinning. He turned to the plastic container that sat on the bench behind him. He opened it up, fingers rubbing against all the packs of smokes. "What's your name?" He asked, glancing back up at him.

Layne's eyes slid back and forth at everyone, leaning in close to the PCA. "It's Layne Staley," he whispered.

"What?!" The PCA asked, confused.

He rolled his eyes. The man must be fucking deaf, Jesus. "It's Layne Staley!" He shouted, knowing his cover was now completely blown. He flinched when he heard people gasp, grabbing the cigarette from the PCA's chubby hand and allowing him to light the smoke.

"Oh my god, you're the lead singer from Alice in Chains!" A male voice popped up. Layne scanned through the crowd of people, eyes wide when a frail man in a blue hospital gown slumped over to him, a huge ecstatic smile plastered on his face. "I knew you had to be here when I saw what went down on the news!"

Layne rolled his eyes. "This is going to be a fucking blast," he muttered sarcastically to himself.

"Oh my gosh, I've been a huge fan of you for years, dude!" That scrawny woman squealed, running up to him. "Are you gonna record a new album soon?! I miss you guys! Especially your voice oh my god your voice is beautiful!"

Layne sucked in a huge drag, glaring at his feet that were clothed in bright yellow hospital socks. He definitely wasn't in the mood to talk about how he fucked up his music career. He used to be all about giving his fans autographs & holding conversations with them...but now? He was ashamed of himself.

"If it makes you feel any better, I think you suck ass," a deep voice groaned. The crowd began shouting curse words, pushing the tall dark man away from them. He ended up standing right next to Layne. He grinned deviously at Layne & winked. Layne couldn't help but to laugh.

"So, how do I suck, huh?" Layne blubbered. He took another drag, his eyes beaming into those dark ones.

"You sound like a goat getting raped in the ASS," the man bellowed, laughing when the crowd began screaming again. He turned to see Layne laughing with him, surprise overwhelming his face.

"Shit, if you thought I sucked then, you should hear me now," Layne said, mid laughter. "Smoking meth sure does fuck up your lungs...damn..."

"I knew a low-life shit ass excuse for a musician would turn to white trash shit like that," the dark man continued, still giggling.

Layne shrugged. "I would rather be back in my slummy condo smoking meth & mainlining smack than being here...smashed in a shitty cement BOX... Talking to you."

"HA! Now you really are the man in the box," the dark man went on as he sucked on his Newport.

Layne grinned, shamelessly showing him his rotting teeth. He laughed when he watched the dark man suddenly frown & study his mouth. "Buried in my SHIT, yep, sounds about right," Layne said as he blew smoke into his face. The dark man's eyes were wide, shocked to see he couldn't offend the man. "What's your name, dude?"

"Alex," he said, flicking his cig to the ground.

"What are you here for?"

"Everything..."

Layne smirked, biting the butt of his cig as he inhaled more smoke. "Seems like we have a few things in common."