*************

Briana forced a nervous smile over at her co-worker when mike jolted out of his seat to barge into the restroom. The short, chubby old woman didn't smile back. Instead, she grimaced due to the sounds of Mike retching up vomit into the toilet.

"An opioid addict, I take it?" The older nurse finally budged when they heard the flush of the toilet.

Briana nodded her head. Those green eyes latched onto the bassist when he slid back into the assessment room. His thin, shaky body plopped back down on the seat, a tiny groan grunting from his chest.

"...sorry about that," his weak voice mustered out. Deep brown eyes peeped through those long curly locks of hair. His pale gray-ish skin was shiny from all of the sweat. Briana was impressed that he still seemed to stay polite despite how intense his withdrawals already were. He had gone close to 14 hours now without a fix...

The older nurse took his temperature and checked his pulse. She informed him that they were a little off, which was to be expected considering what his body was going through. Afterwards, she got him to change into a blue hospital gown.

Briana helped him get up on the scale to take his weight. He was underweight. Which wasn't surprising.

"Lift up your gown," the fat nurse ordered.

Mike raised a brow at her. "Uh...why?"

She gave him a stern look. "Body checks."

Mike glanced back over at Briana. She nodded her head at him, gesturing him to do it. He has to. It was part of protocol—they had to make sure that they knew everything they could about their patients' physical state.

He let out a puff of uneasiness. He hesitantly lifted up the thin light blue material from his waist. He slowly spun around for her, wincing when he felt her gloved hand gently pry at the wound on his thigh.

"Are you an intravenous drug user?" She asked.

"Yeah," mike muttered. His face flushed red with embarrassment, his eyes planted on the floor to try to avoid the looks he was getting from Briana.

The bitter old nurse raised a gray brow as she continued to analyze him. She held out his arm one at a time, letting go when she got a full assessment. Turning to Briana, she nodded to the door.

"We need to get one of the physicians in here... Looks like he has an abscess on his thigh," her hoarse voice croaked.

Mike's eyes widened.  "You're not going to drain it NOW, are you?!"

She shot him a look once Briana shut the door behind her. "We're going to have to. It's an infection—it will only get worse if we leave it unattended."

"Can't I be medicated?" Mike pleaded. His eyes bled with fear. "I'm already going through withdrawal... I don't know how compliant I'll be if you're gonna cut into me. I'm already in pain."

"It depends on what the doctor says," the nurse said, the tone of her voice low and aloof. She could care less about his pain. She was desensitized from patients' anymore—she was burnt out.  She had been a psychiatric nurse for far too long...

Mike took a seat on the patient bed, perking up when the door swung back open. Briana and a male physician entered the room. He was very tall and thin. His hair was a light curly mess on his head—resembling a mop. Beneath thick large framed glasses, kind gray eyes gleamed back at him.

The doctor reached out his hand so Mike could shake it.  "Hi, I'm Doctor Lawrence," he introduced himself.  An inviting and kind grew on his tan face.

"I'm Mike...nice to meet you," the musician grumbled.  He immediately pulled his arm around his abdomen and clenched his teeth.  He tried his best not to vomit, but instead had to turn the other direction and let it spew out of him.

The older nurse jumped back in an attempt to not get splashed on. She was unlucky and had mike's vomit spill onto her shoes.  Briana quickly grabbed a mop from the corner of the room and started cleaning up the mess on the floor, leaving Doctor Lawrence and the other nurse to tend to themselves.

"Dear God, I'm sorry," Mike grunted.  He sniffled, having to hold his hand up against his face to keep the snot from oozing down.  "...this is gross, fuck..."

The doctor shook his head at him and handed him a towel.  "I've seen far worse."

Mike smirked and took the towel from him. He wiped himself off, keeping his eyes on Briana and the mean nurse. Even though he felt resentment towards Layne's girl, he couldn't help but to feel guilty. She was at least trying to get him somewhere—she could've easily took the easy way out and kicked him out the door.

He just wished she didn't force him to go back to one of these hell holes...

"Let me see that wound," Doctor Lawrence said, snapping Mike out of his thoughts.

Mike slid the blue gown up over his thigh. He gulped back nausea when he peered down at the swollen mass. It was red, and it already had a white head on it. It looked to be the size of a golf ball.

The doctor's brow curled in concern.  "This is a decent sized abscess...how long has this been going on?"

Mike chewed on his lower lip when he caught a curious look from Briana.  He didn't want her to know.  But he had to tell the doctor...  "From what I noticed, it's been going on for a month or so..."

He had been using the entire time he was living with Layne and her.  Even when they were still in Washington state.  Yeah, Layne DID find one of his stashes and made him throw it out.  But he had more.

He tried to control it for a while, but it was impossible once Layne started catching on.

"We're going to have to lance it," Doctor Lawrence informed him.  His voice was filled with sympathy.  "I have local anesthesia I could administer.  The ward pharmacy is in the process of filling in your medications for detox, so once as you're medicated, it won't be as painful.  But we gotta do this NOW."

Mike sighed.  "Fuck it, I deserve it anyways..."

Briana wrinkled her brow with sadness.  She wanted to tell him he didn't deserve this pain and that he IS a good person.  But she couldn't.  She had to assist Lawrence.  She quickly turned to the cabinet and shelving area, getting the local anesthetic ready in the needle.

A grimace stretched along her face when she heard mike shriek out in pain from the needle being injecting in multiple spots around the wound.  Once his pain seemed to have somewhat dissipated, they were able to lance and drain it.

He had tears running down his cheeks when Briana wrapped the gauze around his thigh.  He was in so much pain, she didn't even bother to give him a tour of the ward.  Instead, she helped him hobble into his own room.

To his luck, he didn't have a roommate.

"When am I getting my fucking meds?" mike snapped from the bed.  His words were harsh, but his tone was weak and soft from the pain of withdrawal and his healing abscess.

Briana sighed.  "The pharmacy won't be able to transfer it here until half an hour from now...  But I could see if there's anything I could give you on hand..."

"Some fucking Vicodin would be nice."

She couldn't help but to laugh.  "We don't have Vicodin here, unless you're a chronic pain patient."

"This is a crock of shit," mike spat, anger taking over.  "I thought you said this clinic was good."

"It IS good," she argued.  "You just have to give it some time.  It takes a while for everything to configure in the records—like I said, the pharmacy is close to transferring your scripts to here."

"Well, tell the pharmacy to hurry the fuck up.  Or I'm going to puke and shit on every motherfucker in this hell hole."

Briana had to bite back a laugh.  She couldn't help herself.  It was sad, yes.  But the way he expressed himself was amusing—it oddly reminded her of her old self, before she finally got her crap together...

It was a long day and night for Mike.  He didn't even leave his room.  And the only time he got up was to go to the restroom, where he'd have explosive diarrhea.

When the medication finally arrived, he didn't even care what it was.  He gulped them all down eagerly.

And whatever it was, it made him fall into a deep slumber.

...a nice small break from the hell he'll wake up to the next morning.