Junkhead

Pin-Prick

Nicky stirred out of the covers on the bed. She ran to the bathroom, purging, crying. Yet another nightmare about her father...

Shock over-came her when she went to rinse out her mouth.

Where's Layne?

She glared over at the bed, confusion wrestling in her chest to see that he wasn't there. It was odd. He was usually always there. Plus he promised he would speak to her about their drug use.

Nicky tugged on a pair of new jeans Layne had bought her not too long ago, pulling her hair into a pony tail. She didn't even bother to fix her make-up as she jotted down the stairs and slipped on a pair of nike's.

"JER?!" She called out, lighting up a Marlboro. She peaked into the living room, sighing with relief when she spotted him reclining in the couch, packing a bowl.

He glanced up at her, his brow creased. "Where's Layne?" He asked her, suddenly sitting up.

"...I was about to ask you the same," she groaned, leaning against the wall. "Do you think he might be at Mike's...?"

He shrugged. "Either that or him and Mike and Erica are at Sean's apartment."

She nodded to the door of the house. "Do you mind giving me a ride over to Mike & Erica's?" She asked. Desperation bled in her eyes when she noticed Jerry's hesitation. "...I'm worried about him... He's been...well..."

Jerry grunted, getting up from his couch. He lit up one of his red's. "Don't tell me they're using again," he growled.

She watched him as he stomped into the kitchen, jamming his wallet into his denim jacket & jingling his car keys.

"What do you mean by that...?" she asked, following him out the door to his red pick-up truck.

He opened the passenger seat door for her, jumping into his driver's seat & starting up his truck. His teeth dug into his cigarette anxiously as he turned out of the driveway, screeching down the street. "Mike and Layne have...history..."

"What in God's name do you mean by history?!" Nicky shrieked. "Don't tell me they used boy together..."

"What the fuck is boy?" Jerry glowered. He parallel-parked his car across the street from Mike's tiny little 2-bedroom home, groaning when he noticed Layne's motorcycle parked by Erica's 2001 silver Volkswagen bug. "Fuck..." he muttered, jumping out of the vehicle.

"What?!" Nicky yelled. She ran up to him, stopping him. "What do you know that I don't?" she demanded, arms planted at his sides so he couldn't move away.

Jerry sighed, his head dropping into his palm. "They've...done drugs...together."

She laughed & shrugged. "I already knew that."

His brow creased, face ringing red. "Are they still fucking doing it?!"

She rolled her eyes. "I met him in rehab. What makes you think I'm the picture of fucking sobriety?"

He shook his head at her, stomping to the front door. He sneakily opened it, placing a hand against Nicky's mouth to let her know not to speak. The both of them snuck into the living room. No one to be seen...

They heard Layne's laughter muffled in the room down the hall. Quietly, they crept near the door frame of the room. Nicky had to place her hand over her mouth, shock overcoming her as she watched the scene play out.

It was just Layne & Mike. Layne was sat near the computer desk across the way, holding a bottle cap over a candle. He had a devious grin smeared across his face, every once in a while glancing over at Mike, who had a tourniquet tied tight on his bicep. His arm was beat red, tapping out bubbles out of a syringe.