The very last thing that Christine Hill expected was the exponential success of Mötley Crüe-the band she loved to hate.
And she never would've surmised that she'd be dragged-kicking and fucking screaming, by the nape of her neck-along for the wilde...
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Warning(s): brief mentions of death, *suicide, drug abuse.
Nikki's Diary
May 20th, 1987. Not Van Nuys. Malibu, I believe. 6:43 pm.
To be honest, I don't have a clue where we are right now. It could be Malibu, Fresno, Long Beach, or I might just be tripping balls and we could be in another state entirely.
Maybe it's Malibu.
I'm pretty sure that it's Malibu.
Man. I don't know where the fuck I am...Ever.
But, regardless, wherever it is that Cindy has coaxed me into heading, it is fucking hell. And not in the sense that it's an awful place--because, quite frankly, it's pretty nice--but in the sense that she has not left my side at all, and I am struggling to keep myself together.
Struggling isn't cutting it, actually.
I'm fighting the most uphill battle and, honestly, I'm close to surrendering and succumbing to my affliction.
Like, dangerously fucking close.
It's been about a week since I got the call about Nona, and I can't even bring myself to tell Tom that I won't be able to make it to her funeral.
"I won't be able to make it." Bullshit. I don't want to make it.
How can I think about saying goodbye to the woman that was more of a mother to me than my actual mother?
I can't.
I'd rather live in denial and just pretend that she's still alive.
I feel like there's a part of Tom that already knows I won't be going, but I just need to bite the bullet and actually tell him. And I know that's going to maim him because, well, I'm his grandson and he wants me there.
But I can't do it.
That woman gave me all that she could and, despite never really saying it, I loved her so fucking much.
And I still do. But I can't go.
It's cowardly, I know. It's ridiculous that a grown man can't even pull himself together long enough to attend his grandmother's funeral. But, the state that I'm in, I don't even think she'd want me there.
Fuck. Who am I kidding? Of course she'd want me there.
She'd probably want Christine there, too.
I'm a fucking mess just thinking about her.
We didn't see one another from one year to the next, but she was always a phone call away, and I appreciated that. So much.
