'Died' ~Layne Staley and John Frusciante story

Chapter 2

John's POV

- Ok guys, I'm gonna leave you alone. Bye Layne. -said Bob and quickly made his way to the exit.

There was only me and him standing on the doorway. I slowly studied Layne's features. He had beautiful blue eyes, pouty lips and golden curly hair. Beside these things there was nothing to admire about him. His skin was greenish colour and his arms were covered with track marks.
This view reminded me of myself. I felt sick.
I sat on a dirty, leather coach surrounded with needles, drugs and alcohol. I felt just like a few years ago.

- So... -I heard Layne starting unsurely.- You've come here to make me go to the rehab, right? Then we have nothing to talk about. You can leave now.

- Hey, listen. I don't know if you recognize me, but I am a guitarist...

- Yeah, yeah, I know, you are in the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I'm not dumb, I've got MTV. -Layne interrupted me.

- Right. I just want to tell you that I'm not a random guy. Look. -I said pointing to my arms.

- How are your scars connected with me?

- I was a junkie myself. I took heroin, speedball, cocaine. They are there to remind me how stupid I was. Bob helped me to get clean in 1998. It was the best decision in my life. I was in a point where I had no will to live anymore, my house looked like a trash bin. I've lost everyone. I looked like a fucking zombie. Just like you, huh? And now I have only these scars left. Layne, I want to show you that life without drugs is so much more beautiful and worth living. There are so many things to see and...

- Ok, I have to admit that it was the best speach I've heard in a few weeks. Now what do you expect me to do? Just look at me. I'm almost dead. My liver isn't functioning, I'm in constant pain. It's too late.

- Don't say... -I started.

- I really appreciate that you made it, John. I'm really proud. But after I lost my girlfriend, I gave in. I have no one to live for, now. I haven't made music in years, my band doesn't exist. No one cares about me.

- If it was true, then why I'm here?

- Because you're fucked up, John. I told you, you can leave if you want. This conversation actually hasn't got a point.

- Layne, stop talking shit. Bob cares about you and now I do care too. I can take you to this clinic in Pasadena, where I attended rehab. They will help you. You will get painkillers. You will survive. Just don't be afraid. Trust me, it is worth it. Now I'm thankful for every day, every minute. There is no more suffering in my life.

- John, I don't want to be alone in the clinic. I'm scared of myself. I'm a monster. I will get crazy. I hate rehabs. I have already attended them 20 times and they just made me go insane.

- I will visit you, I promise. I know that deep down you want to do it. I can see that you are ready. You just need someone to guide you through it.

- I have been suffering for all these years. The media made fun of me and threatened me like shit. I read on the internet that I've got gangrene, I've lost my arms or that I'm dead. You know what hurts me the most? My songs were warnings, they told people not to take drugs, but instead my fans started to get high. All my life was a piece of shit. I am not worth saving.

- I can rely to that feeling. All of my friends were sure I was going to die. They gave up on me. But now, Layne, look at me. I made it and now I can do what I love the most- create music. I can play for thousands of people each night. I can make records. Isn't that what you love?