80's Band Oneshots/ Imagines

Nikki Sixx - The Sparkle

It's not something you ever think will really happen. The promises you make as kids. Even then, you know they are just empty wishes, something to remind you of the easier days of childhood but don't hold on too tightly.

Even at thirteen, I knew this.

I remember laying there under the sweeping branches of the weeping willow in Frankie's yard. The day was hot, as it usually was in the south. The grass gave a cooling tickle to our backs as sweat slid down our damp foreheads, listening to the sound of cicadas. The sun was golden in the late afternoon, right on the cusp of the orange and pink glow of sunset.

Frankie going on about whatever was the newest piece of equipment he had shoplifted. A speaker or something this time, I wasn't really listening. My ear was instead drawn to the increasing sound of voices coming from the house just yards away from us. I knew Frankie heard it too when he stopped talking. We laid there in silence for a moment before a particularly sharp yell drew him to sit up, and I quickly followed suit. We watched the shadows behind the curtains push at each other, battling and tossing hands in each other's directions in exclamation of their words, not ever actually touching each other. I heard Frankie let out a sigh from deep in his chest and his hand came down on mine. I looked at him. His eyes were blank, either from hiding his true expression or genuinely he was that used to it.

"I hate them" he muttered, still looking forward.

"You don't"

"I do"

"She's your mother"

"And?" He finally looked at me. Eyes slightly narrowed. I crumbled under his gaze, dropping my eyes. Frankie never understood my close bond with my own mom, and I didn't understand how he could hate his so much. If there were ever two people with more different backgrounds; we were it. Yet for some reason we had been so drawn to each other since he moved to Louisiana with his mom and step dad. But from what I knew of his past, he wouldn't be staying long.

Frankie huffed and fell back into the grass. I laid down on my side so I could see him.

"It won't matter soon anyways" he said.

"Right because you're going to run away and join the circus?" I said, trying to lighten the mood. He turned his head and looked at me.

"No, I'm going to join a band and move away to Hollywood. I'm going to be famous, and then they'll never get to see me again" his eyes sparkled as he said it. It didn't surprise me, he always got excited when he spoke about music. I just giggled, humouring him.

"Ah yes, Frankie Ferrara, the world famous guitarist"

"It could happen" his eyebrows pinched as he sensed my mocking

"I believe it" I assured. He finally cracked a grin, his hand squeezed mine.

"I'll bring you with me, take you to all my shows" he held his hand out in front of him as if he was painting a picture in the sky.

"You know I love it here" I sighed.

"But don't you ever want to get out, see more?" He sat up, turning over his shoulder to look at me. I just shook my head no and smiled softly, folding my hands over my stomach. He looked at me for a moment, smiling at the way my hair was scattered around me in the grass.

"Well then you'll have to watch me from here"

"I'll be your biggest fan in all of Louisiana" we exchanged a smile.

I think part of me never thought he'd actually go, maybe I should have just agreed to go with him then. But deep down I think I thought Frankie was still the kind to try. I think about that smile a lot. It's how I wanted to remember him.

I thought about that smile that day, Christmas Eve 1987, when I picked up the newspaper and saw the headline.

"MÖTLEY CRÜE BASSIST NIKKI SIXX OVERDOSES ON HEROIN"

Part of it didn't feel real. Like being a background character in someone else's story. I kept my promise to Frankie, or Nikki now I guess, I stayed in Louisiana. I watched as newspapers rolled in, as TV appearances became more frequent. Even with the dyed black hair, leather clothes and chains, every time I saw his face on tv I could see the scared little kid who dreamed of running away.

He actually did it. I never thought he would. But the good thing about that is I never thought he'd come back for me either. Which he didn't.

But this? This wasn't part of the plan. The paper said they didn't even know if Nikki was dead or alive.

This isn't how it could end. This isn't how it was supposed to end. I remember my hands shaking as I held the paper, tears of frustration in my eyes.

I guess I was angry, angry he let this happen. Angry he never came back for me, that I would never see him again. Angry this would be his legacy. Angry he realized his dream without me. I should have said yes, I should have gone with him. I could have stopped it.

And where was I now? Still in the same backwater town, no kids, running my moms corner store after she died.

So much for leaving a legacy myself. I threw the paper.

The phone rang. I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut. Please not now. I leaned forward on my palms until the wooden counter top left marks on my skin.

I picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Sam?"  My blood froze.

"Frankie?" In my shock I forgot that wasn't his name anymore. I thought the receiver was going to explode, how tight I was holding it. But I couldn't force my grip to lessen. I was hanging onto every breath, listening to any indicator I wasn't crazy, that this was him.

"I... I need you" he sounded so weak, so far away. I felt like if I reached through the phone I still wouldn't be able to touch him.

Anger filled me, anger, need, desperation.

He was hurt. He was hurt and he needed me. I saw the memory flashed through my brain again. His eyes, the way they sparkled. Even through the phone I knew that sparkle had died.

"Tell me where you are"