Motley Crue - You're All I Need (Vince Neil/Nikki Sixx/Tommy Lee/Heather)

72: Over The Edge

* WARNING: topics of suicide are briefly mentioned, but not described in detail. Please don't read if this is a trigger for you! *

~ Vince's POV ~

- a month later -

I got out of my Trans Am, slamming the door behind me. I clenched my fists as I walked inside of the building that I once spent an entire month in, unable to contact the outside world and not able to even make a phone call. It sounds like I'm talking about jail, and it might as well be, but I'm talking about rehab.

I walked inside, nervous that the workers here would recognize me, and they undoubtedly did.

"Hey I'm here to see, Nikki...Nikki Sixx," I said to the woman who worked behind the front desk.

"Okay," she said, reaching over to grab a clipboard. "Sign here and then you can wear this visitor tag. His room number is 14."

I did as I was told and clipped the visitor tag onto my shirt, walking off to Nikki's room, which happened to be right next to my old room. It was so weird being back here, it gave me chills down to my spine. It was such a terrible month, but I'd be lying if I said that it didn't help me at all.

I tapped my knuckles on the door to Nikki's room and soon he answered, sighing when he saw my face on the other side of the door. Reluctantly, he let me in, but it seemed like he was more exhausted than anything, the reason why he let me in so easily.

"What do you want?" He grumbled, laying back down on his bed as he faced me. I sat down on a chair in the room, looking worriedly at him. Even though he appeared distraught, he looked so much better. There were bags under his eyes, but his color looked better. And he looked like he put on some much needed weight.

"I wanted to talk," I said, inching closer to him in my chair.

"I'm pissed at you, you know," he commented back with a snarky attitude.

"I know, I know," I said. "I know you had to come in here against your will, but you can't deny that this was necessary."

"I don't know," he mumbled. "I feel pretty shitty."

"It gets better," I said. "The longer I've been clean, the better I've felt."

"You still drink," Nikki retracted.

"Haven't touched the dust though," I pointed out. "And that's saying a lot for me."

"Just what's the point?" Nikki suddenly said, sitting up and finally looking at me directly in the eyes so that we could have a real conversation.

"What do you mean?" I insisted, hoping that he would explain himself further.

"Doing all that shit makes me feel something," Nikki said, squinting his eyes shut as he spoke. "I don't feel anything without it."

"What are you saying?" I asked, completely unaware of what was about to come out of his mouth.

"I wanna fucking die, Vince," Nikki said, his eyes boring into mine with pure pain. "I don't want to live anymore. My life is a fucking mess, nothing is right anymore. I just want it all to end."

"Oh my god," I said, pausing my words for a minute, not sure of what else I could even say at this point. "I'm sorry, Nik. I had no idea you...felt that way."

"Yeah, well nobody does," Nikki said. "I just wanted to enjoy my last few days doing what I loved the most."

"Overdosing at a strip club?" I asked, my voice growing stronger and more determined now. "That doesn't sound like something the Nikki I used to know would go down doing."