Junkhead

Oh the Joys of Rehab

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.