"This is stupid," mike grumbled.  He took a quick drag from his cigarette, his dark eyes glancing out the window.  They kept closing a little, his head tilting back just to jolt him back awake again.

Before Layne forced him to head out, Mike had shot up.  He didn't care anymore if Layne knew.  It's not like he didn't know before the bassist fessed up—Layne himself admitted that he had his suspicions.  So now, he feels the need to get high like he wants to...

...like he needs to.

"Yeah, well, I think it'll be good for you," Layne grumbled as he flicked the turning signal on.  Once the light switched from red to green, he spun the wheel to turn onto the road.

Mike smirked.  "I've been to twelve step meetings so many times, I can't even count."  His eyes slid over to glance at Layne.  "What makes you think it's suddenly going to cure me?"

The blonde's eyebrows furrowed in what looked like determination.  "Do you have any other suggestions?"

Mike thought of something to say, but was paralyzed when they pulled up into the church parking lot.  His heart thumped quickly, his eyes diverting back to his smoke.  He started hot boxing it.

"Come on, Mike..." Layne muttered, tugging at his sleeve.  "We're already five minutes late..."

The brunette put out his cigarette, only to light another one.  Irritation clenched in his temples when Layne yanked the smoke out of his tan hand and put it out.

"Let's go," Layne spat.

The both of them trudged across the pavement.  Nothing was said.  And even if Layne attempted to talk, mike was too anxious to say anything back.

When they entered the room down the hall from the lobby, they were greeted by a middle aged man.  Layne had introduced the both of them before quietly taking a seat at one of the chairs in the room.  All of them were placed in a circle.  A lot like most narcotics anonymous groups.

It was a small group.  There were only ten other people there.  Mostly men, aside from a shady looking emaciated red head.  She was curled up in her chair, her bare legs crossed.  Layne figured she was a prostitute—or USED to be one and was in the process of getting out of it.  It was obvious due to the short tiny blue dress and knee-length high heeled boots.

When they both sat down, the group leader did the pledge.  The rest of the room quietly muttered it with him.  Mike and Layne were silent, though.  They couldn't help but to check out everyone in the room.

Mike could smell dope.  It seemed to be coming from the man sat next to him, whom looked even higher than he was.  His dark eyes darted to the other man across from him, noticing that same familiar look of self pity reflected in his glazed eyes.

"Almost everyone here looks jacked," mike muttered into Layne's ear.

Layne shot him a look, though said nothing in return.  Mike was right.  He had forgotten how messed up NA meetings tend to be a lot of the time...  Only a select few groups he had went to, were mostly filled with sober people in the room.  Who actually took their disease seriously.

He figured maybe this was a start of a new group.  Either that or the majority of the people here were court ordered...

Layne snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the man beside him talking.

"My name is Tom..." he mumbled through his hoarse throat.  His voice was deep and melancholy.  "And I'm an addict..."

"Hi Tom," the rest of the room echoed.

The man leaned back in his chair.  He scratched at his temple for a moment, those dark green eyes jotting across the room.  A tiny, sad smirk creased his face when he caught a look from Layne.

"I'd like to share," Tom went on.

The group leader nodded his head at him eagerly.  It was almost pitiful.

"My wife left me last night," he grunted out.  His chubby body leaned over so he could rest his elbows on his knees.  "She told me she was tired of my lies and excuses."  He chuckled a little, a pale hand scratching an itch on his neck.  "What's funny is that I was actually being honest with her all month.  I was really trying.  I didn't want her to take the kids.  I didn't want her to leave me..." his eyes suddenly teared up.  He cupped his face with a hand, seeming too ashamed to show true emotion.  "I was trying so hard for them.  I want to get off this shit for them.  But..." he sighed.  He shook his head, trying his best to bite back a sob.  "The cravings were too much this past week.  I couldn't hold back, my buds kept calling.  I tried to ignore them, but on Wednesday I decided to see them anyways.  And we got high.  And then I continued to get high..." his voice was cracking, beginning to lose all composure.  "She found my fucking crack pipe.  My dumb ass left it on the dresser.  I was nodding off on dilaudid and I forgot to hide it." His body shook. "So she fucking took the kids and left."

It was quiet for a moment, aside from the mournful sobs that came sputtering out from Tom. Until another addict right across from him fidgeted in his chair.

"I can relate," the other man moaned. He fumbled with the sleeves of his enormous black hoody. You could barely see his face due to the huge hood pulled over his head. "My parents kicked me out a while ago for the same thing. They've given up on me I guess. So why the fuck should I continue to care about myself? If everyone else has given up on me, I might as well give up on myself..." he yanked at his hood, revealing a bit of his pale gray face.

Layne bit his lip. He glanced over at Mike, who appeared to be affected by all of this. There were tears standing in his eyes.

"At least you guys have someone still to fall back on if you get help," the red headed woman in the tiny blue dress spat. "I lost my man due to a meth OD. Not that he was that great, but he was the only motherfucker left that still wanted to at least hang out with me." She cringed, revealing yellow teeth. Well, the ones that were left. "My fucking parents are dead. I don't got no friends now. Unless you consider my pimp to be my fucking friend. I don't got nobody, even if I finally get off the shit. I don't even know why the fuck I'm here."

"There's coffee," Mike muttered sarcastically. He was shocked to hear a few addicts laugh.

Layne shot him a look. Though, he couldn't help but to smile. This group was getting more and more depressing by the minute.

The somewhat uplifting remark mike had said was quickly forgotten. More addicts complained. One of them couldn't stop talking about how it felt when he'd nod on opiates. He was craving.

It was making Layne crave.

After a little while longer, Layne jolted up from his seat and quickly tapped out of the room. Mike caught a few worried looks from the group members, but he didn't care to say anything. He got up and followed Layne out of the building.

The blonde was curled up in the drivers' side of the Jeep. He had his hands clenched on the wheel. He didn't even glance over at mike when he jumped into the passenger seat.

Mike was about to say something snide, but he stopped himself when he noticed the tears trailing down Layne's cheek. "Hey man..." he started, reaching over to grip Layne's shoulder. "Hey...it's okay..."

"No it's not," Layne growled. That blue haze met Mike's brown one for a moment. "It's not okay."

Mike bit his lip. "Why do you say that...?"

Layne pulled a cigarette out from the pack on his dashboard and lit it. "You know, I've thought about it for a while. I keep it to myself. But after hearing all that shit..." he trailed off, taking a drag from his cigarette.

"You thought about what?" Mike asked dumbly. His eyebrows furrowed with concern when Layne turned to give him another look.

"I thought about getting high again," Layne moaned. "To be honest, the only reason why I'm sober is for Briana. I keep telling myself it's for me, but that's far from the truth. And after Nicky died... Dear God..."

Mike shook his head at him. "Nicky was fucking INSANE. There was nothing you could do."

Layne scowled. "I could've sent her to the hospital when I saw her outside of that art store."

"When she would get discharged, she'd most likely just relapse again," mike said honestly. "Her death was inevitable..."

"But what if it WASNT?!" Layne spat. More tears streamed down his face. "I fucking GAVE UP on her! Just like those people's families gave up on them. I was the last person left for her."

Mike shook his head. "She had her grandmother."

Layne rolled his eyes. "Her grandmother was a fucking enabler."

"You kinda were too..."

Layne violently slammed his fist down on the dashboard. It made them both jump. "Thanks, Mike! That makes me feel so much fucking better!"

"The both of you guys were HORRIBLE for each other," Mike reminded him. "You both enabled each other."

Layne shook his head. He turned the key into the ignition, quickly speeding down the road. And when they got back home, Layne just sat there in the living room. Hearing the low hum of music sounding from Mike's bedroom.

He knew what mike was doing. And, he couldn't blame him. Especially after that stupid meeting.  Mike was right—it was a REALLY dumb idea...

The vocalist fought himself for a while. Telling himself over and over again that it isn't worth it. Briana would leave him.

...but if she finds out about Mike, she'll definitely kick him out...

"How could I live with myself if mike gets kicked out?" Layne grumbled to himself. "I'd end up getting high anyways... it wouldn't be too hard to find someone." He laughed bitterly to himself. "I could just go to another NA meeting."

He shook his head. Continuing to fight. But the need started gnawing at him. So hard that it made his entire body ache. He got that familiar emptiness burning through his core.

He had to fill it.

Layne sped walked down the hall. He didn't bother knocking. He simply swung the door open to Mike's bedroom, just to see him nodding off, splayed out on his bed.

"I need a hit," Layne hissed.

Mike slowly turned to look up at him. He chewed on his lip for a moment. "...no you don't..."

"Yes I fucking do."

"Layne, I'm not getting you high," mike slurred. He sat himself up on the mattress, his body slumped over from the high. "You deserve to stay sober."

Layne slid into his room and slammed his door shut. He plopped down next to his best friend on the bed. "Sobriety is bullshit."

"No it isn't..." mike mumbled. His eyes teared up when he took in Layne's helpless expression. He looked about as much in pain as he was. "Layne, you have someone. You have a LIFE. Don't do this."

"I don't fucking care," Layne wheezed out. "Give me a hit."

Mike shook his head at him.

"Give me a fucking HIT, you asshole!" Layne shouted.

"No!" Mike retaliated. He started crying. "Please, don't make me do this. Layne...just try to calm down—"

"Give me a fucking hit or I'm kicking you out," Layne threatened.

Mike shook his head at him.  Sobs lurched from his throat.  He wanted so badly to take this all back.  To tell both him and Briana to not even bother with him back in Washington state.  This wouldn't be happening if it wasn't for him...

...this is all of his fault...

Maybe Layne deserved one hit...

...for putting up with his bull crap all of this time...