The very last thing that Christine Hill expected was the exponential success of Mötley Crüe-the band she loved to hate.
And she never would've surmised that she'd be dragged-kicking and fucking screaming, by the nape of her neck-along for the wilde...
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Warning(s): drug abuse, light smut
Nikki's Diary
April 28th, 1986. Van Nuys: 4:33 am.
A journal. Huh. I never thought that I'd ever decide to take up writing in a journal...or diary...or whatever the fuck this thing is. I just know that the words I scribble down in here cannot be shared with anyone. EVER. Especially Christine.
So, I guess this is where I'll be venting all of my deep-rooted, heroin fueled, high-as-hell frustrations when my wife is sick to her back teeth of hearing my incoherent, complete and utter bullshit ramblings. But that is fine by me. As long as I have somewhere to voice my most heinous thoughts, I don't have to burden her with anything of the sort--and I would like to keep it that way.
If Christine was aware of even half of the thoughts that constantly inundated my brain, she would have admitted me to the psychiatric ward years ago. I mean, that would have preserved her own sanity and mental health for sure, so maybe she should've considered it...or maybe she actually did. Who knows. It's not like she'd ever tell me that she thought about shipping me off--we don't talk to one another much anymore.
The headache brought on by yet another heroin binge is insufferable, borderline excruciating. My brain is tormenting me to such a degree that the only thing numbing the hurt is another line of basuco.
I am stuck between a rock and a hard place.
The angel on my shoulder is driving me to the light and forcing me to see a way out of this quandary that only I am to blame for. Every single time I close my eyes I am immersed into this ideal reality, some alternate universe, where Christine and I are happy together, clean, living the lives that we always wanted to with our friends, the children that we would have, both taking satisfaction in our flourishing careers. And I know that she expressed her dislike for kids and that she would probably terminate the pregnancy if I ever knocked her up, but a man can only dream. I'd like to think that in a perfect world, we would be brilliant parents. Christine has a heart of gold underneath that breezy, carefree veil. I know that she would be a wonderful mother. Even if she doesn't think so.
It pains me to think about our future sometimes because I don't even know if we have a future or not.
Which then brings me to my next plight. Alongside the sensibility on one shoulder, a devil sits on the other. A beautiful creature with the most stunning smile, wide eyes, a personality that continues to coax me into committing the most egregious sins. I cannot escape. No matter how hard I try, Vanity is always there.
