Junkhead

De Ja Vu

Layne tugged Briana down the bright white halls. Tears stung his cheeks as he frantically glanced quickly at the room numbers.

"106, 106, 106," he grumbled through clenched teeth. He groaned when he glared at the other room number. 181. "God fucking DAMNIT, where the fuck is room 106?!"

Briana took control, tugging him down the opposite way he was going.

"Aye! Where are we going?!" Layne shrieked.

"I work in a hospital! I know where to go, try to CALM DOWN!" Briana barked, her face just as distraught as his.

More tears streamed down his face when they both stopped in the middle of the hallway.

There was a doctor & a few nurses pushing out a bagged body on one of the bed strollers. Glaring at the door near it, his heart stopped.

Room 106

"Oh god," Layne whimpered. He stumbled up to the doctor, tugging on his sleeve.

He gave Layne the stink eye. "What?" He spat, not even showing any sympathy at all when he took in his disheveled appearance.

Layne pointed a shaky finger to the body that was zipped up in the bag. "Is..." he paused, squeezing his eyes shut. "I mean was that patient...named Mike Starr...by any chance?"

The doctor rolled his eyes at him. He pointed his pale finger into room 106. "He's right in there," he growled. Before Layne could thank him, he and the nurses hurriedly rolled the dead body further down the hall of the hospital.

Layne didn't even bother to check up on Briana. He ran into the room. His lanky body curled up to his knees. He broke down into hysterical crying once he saw him.

"My god, man, you look like shit what the fuck," Layne cried. He quickly yanked the pathetic excuse for a chair from beside the window & dragged it right next to Mike's bed. He sat down & clenched Mike's hand. "I can't believe you continued to fucking do this. You're smart, Mike, what the fuck?" he whispered, covering his mouth with the sleeve of his sweater.

Mike was hooked up all over. He had the white EKG tags still on his arms & legs & chest & stomach. His index finger was clamped by the wire that connected to the heart monitor. He had 2 IVs in his other arm. Layne grimaced when he noticed a tube peaking out the covers from in between Mike's legs. The dreaded catheter.

He was extremely pale. His eyelids & lips had a blue tint to them. He was very thin. Deathly skinny, mostly just bone. Layne sobbed again when he eyed the track marks running up & down his arms, fresh puncture wounds in both hands.

Layne looked up when he felt the warmth of Briana's hand on his shoulder. He furrowed his brows in despair. "I fucking hate heroin," he growled, suddenly angry when he turned back to Mike.

Briana sighed. "I was hoping when the time came when you would state that, it would be in a more optimistic setting."

"Nothing optimistic about fucking boy," Layne spat. "All it does is kill people. And everyone around them." He checked Briana over only to tear up again. She was crying, too.

They both quieted down when Mike's sunken eyes slowly started to open. He jolted back a little when he saw Layne. "Why are you here?" He grumbled, voice cracked. He grimaced, reaching over for the styrofoam cup of water on the table next to his hospital bed. He took a sip, eyeing Layne & then Briana. "I didn't call you guys, how did you know I've been here?"

"You had Layne in your emergency contacts," Briana answered. Her brow creased with concern when she continued to analyze how sickly he looked. "...are you okay?"