(no subject)
Title: Addiction
Pairing: Matt/Brian, Jimmy/Zacky, slight Jimmy/Brian
Rating: R
Warning: heavy drug use, swearing, angst, death, bloodshed
Summary: It is like a small taste of heaven, only to fall down into hell's furnace a few minutes later. That's pretty much how this shit works...it's terrible and it makes you feel like a pile of year old dog shit, but I just can't seem to stop...
Author's Notes: This idea is generally derived from the book The Heroin Diaries: A Year in the Life of a Shattered Rock Star written by Nikki Sixx from the band Motley Crue. To say in so few words, this book is heartbreaking, however just like the deadly addictions mentioned, you just don't seem to want to stop reading it...sad? yes, sick? more or less, fucked up? probably, but I just had to write something...God Bless Nikki Sixx..
Disclaimer: This story never happened, and hopefully will never happen. I do not own anyone from the band Avenged Sevenfold, nor am I affiliated with them in any way, shape, or form. The idea for a diary format was inspired by Nikki Sixx's book, of which I only own a copy.
Previous Entries:
December 2005
January 2006
Brian stared longingly out of the sliding glass balcony doors that overlooked the poorly lit urban dwelling of Oklahoma City, the first morning rays of sunshine just barely clearing the horizon line. He sighed heavily as he slid the glass door open, a chilling, morning breeze encircling his body. Inhaling deeply, the guitarist reverently closed his eyes before sighing in satisfaction, the streaks of the sun's light and warmth now stretching across his chiseled features. Stepping out onto the balcony, Brian absorbed a moment as he glanced over the edge of the protective railing.
His room was stationed a good five or so stories from the ground, the cars below appearing as if they were mere toys. A sinister smile soon crept across his lips as he swung one of his legs over the railing, rechecking his balance and grip before swinging his other leg over as well. Since the hour was still rather early, the only people who were out wandering the sidewalk below were either early morning joggers, businessmen and women rushing to their vehicles to start the day, or the occasional person on a leisurely walk.
"I wonder if anyone will really miss me," he whispered to himself as he stared down at the people below.
Meanwhile, five stories down on the sidewalk, a young girl around the age of ten glances up at the majestic design of the hotel. Currently consuming a grape lollipop, the little girl then focuses on a figure located on the highest room balcony. Curiously, her eyes widen in amazement before she eagerly began to tug on her mom's sleeve.
"Hey mommy look!" she cries as she proceeds to bounce on her toes before pointing up at the building.
"What is it honey?" her mother questions as she follows her daughter's gaze up to the highest floor before shrieking.
Within seconds Brian's body collides sharply with the cement sidewalk, the mixture of simple elements cracking from the sheer force of the impact. Stricken by fear, curiosity, shock, and horror, a small crowd begins to gather around the scene. By now blood proceeds to branch out from the impact zone, slithering into the cracks in the cement sidewalk before coming to a halt once gravity no longer held precedence over the thick, crimson substance.
Slowly, but surely, murmurs begin to arise from the crowd as well as sobbing and conversations of disbelief. However, a shrill cry soon echoes from atop the massive building, five stories into the atmosphere.
"Noooo!" the voice cries. "Brian!"
\~*~/
Brian gasps before bolting upright in his bed, a cold sweat trickling down his face. Panicking, he quickly places the palms of his hands on his face before checking to see if he was in one piece and actually alive. Once confirming the fact that he was alive and solid, he glanced at the small digital clock on the nightstand by his bed. The vibrant digital numbers displayed 3:30 a.m. in a radiant red hue.
Sighing heavily, he soon focused on regulating his still racing heartbeat and breathing. However before he was able to accomplish this task, soft rustling noises sounded from the other side of the room. The guitarist's body went rigid as he remained in an upright position, his dilated pupils searching the inky black room for any stray traces of light that might be generated.
"Bri?" a rather deep voice questioned as the owner of the voice rubbed his eyes slightly. "You awake?"
"Yeah," he answered, his voice a rather hollow whisper as he proceeded to gently rub his arms, soft hisses of pain soon resulting.
"What's wrong?" another question sounded before a blinding and resilient light flooded the room.
Quickly shielding his eyes, Brian momentarily turned his head away until his eyes became adjusted to the sudden change in light before finally turning back around to answer his friend's question. Matt's appearance however was rather quite humbling despite his current status on the food chain of rock and roll music. The rather intimidating vocalist's short dark brown hair was defying gravity in a few places, and he had the beginnings of a five o' clock shadow curving around his sharply angling jaw line.
Still adjusting to the rather bright light, Matt's green-tint hazel eyes were hidden behind his semi-blackened eyelids, the eyeliner from the previous night still somewhat lingering. He was currently leaning back on his elbows, the coversheet now resting upon his midsection, revealing the rippling muscles beneath the stretched, tanned and inked skin of the vocalist's naked chest. After a few moments of staring, Brian quickly averted his gaze to fall upon the ruffled sheets of his own bed, a slight blush forming across his cheeks.
"Brian?" Matt called as he advanced into a seated position on his bed, regaining the guitarist's attention moments later.
"I-I'm sorry," he whispered. "I just had a bad dream is all."
"What did you dream about?" the vocalist questioned, the space between them growing rather awkward.
"It's nothing important," Brian quickly replied, a quick shiver coursing through his body.
"You cold?" Matt questioned as he tilted his head to his right slightly.
"A little," the guitarist confessed as he wrapped his arms around his torso.
"You can come over here if you want," the band's leader offered.
Brian glanced over at his friend for a few moments before dropping his gaze to stare at the massive expanse of space the bed offered which was undoubtedly radiating warmth, unlike his bed, which was nothing but a cold reminder of how alone he really did feel while on it. Sighing softly, the shivering guitarist alighted from his bed before traversing the small stretch of space that separated the two beds.
Circling around to the foot of the bed, he crawled onto the object before settling into a comfortable position at the opposite side of where Matt was currently residing. Without sparing a passing glance at his generous friend, Brian curled his practically rail-thin body into a tight ball before slowly closing his eyes; the ever urgent need to rake his nails over the swelling marks on his arms causing his skin to crawl.
"Goodnight Brian," the vocalist whispered as he covered the guitarist's body up to his shoulders with the warm sheets.
A small smile of content slowly spread onto Brian's features as Matt turned off the bedside lamp before settling back into a comfortable spot to re-enter his own dream world. As the remaining darkness and shadows of the previous night slowly began to melt away to make room for the upcoming sunrise, the vibrant warmth that had welcomed the weakening guitarist had greatly depleted, leaving him to resume shivering, even though he was under two layers of sheets and curled into a tight ball. Finally finding no resolve in shivering all night long, Brian slowly uncurled his body, keeping his movements to a minimum as to not wake Matt.
Glancing to his left, he was barely able to register the faint outline the glowing red numbers revealed of the vocalist's slumbering form. Despite his size, Matt was a very quiet sleeper, the only indication that he was still there being the random opportunities in his breathing pattern that he would fluctuate into a deep breath before regulating once more. Pausing momentarily from his thoughts, Brian seized the opportunity to viciously tear away at his inked arms with his fingernails sending sensations of relief and pain to his mind all at once.
He groaned softly after a few moments, his will power finally kicking in to cease the frantic action that was no doubt only causing him harm for later. Getting back to the topic at hand, he glanced back down at the spot of inky blackness where he calculated Matt's slumbering form to be currently residing. Settling back down underneath the sheets, Brian carefully extended his right hand, mapping out the bed before him that his eyes could not detect. Before his right arm could extend fully, his fingertips brushed against a warm and firm smoothness that he could only guess was Matt's rather muscular back.
"Sorry if this would be rather awkward to you when you wake up Matt," Brian whispered as he curled up next to the slumbering vocalist only to sigh afterward in content from the warmth his body radiated.
\~*~/
February 1st, 2006 ~Best Western Hotel~ 8:20 a.m.
Just woke up, and I feel incredibly cold and lonely. I had a rather disturbing nightmare last night, and I'll be damned if that fucker comes true...it was actually very cold last night, I wonder if the heater was working properly? I don't know, and another thing I currently don't know is the whereabouts of my roommate...where did he go? I hope he doesn't hate me for what happened last night...or should I say this morning?
Ugh, I'm so tired...I just don't want to move today, perhaps a few lines will cheer me up, then I can dote upon my golden-eyed lover. Matt's sudden absence kind of worries me though, I mean really, where did he go? Ah, fuck it, I need my fix, then I'll go and look for him.
12:30 p.m.
Well, it's lunchtime, and I've still nothing good to do except write in this journal. I still haven't found Matt, and Zacky and Jimmy are now missing too..hmm, what's going on? The only other person left to talk to is Johnny, and he's still sleeping...the little fucker..
I'm not that hungry at the moment, but this thing I bought, which is some kind of cappuccino with a really hard to pronounce name courtesy of Starbucks, is actually pretty good, and it's giving me a buzz so I'll have a few more hours of awake time, not that the coke isn't helping but you get the idea. Why are people staring at me? Did I grow an extra head or are they that unnerved to have a rock star drink a stupid caffeinated beverage in the open? Ah to be normal, you would actually be ignored most of the time, and be hated for all the right reasons.
Ah, goddamnit, I'm rambling again...fucking cappuccino, but I must say, the foamy shit on the top is pretty tasty, yum..oh and tonight's the last concert before a few weeks of well-deserved vacay time! :D
\~*~/
"No more breath inside, essence left my heart tonight," Matt vocalized, his eyes closing poetically as his eyebrows furrowed together, his jewel-encrusted vampire caps glistening in the vibrant blue and white strobe lights.
The softening sounds of a repetitious cadence of cymbals vibrating aided in ending the song on a somber note, the deep undertones of Johnny's bass rumbling through the speakers, while the shrill whine of the dueling guitars faded out long before. Soon after, the opera house erupted with screams, cheers and howls, the crowd of vibrantly aged groups voicing their obedience to the regime that was Avenged Sevenfold.
Taking a few moments to scan the vivacious masses of the assembled audience, the precarious vocalist absorbed a few moments to reclaim his lost breath and allow for his fellow band mates to allow for the previous song to elegantly slide off of their shoulders while preparing for the next. Finally collecting his scattered thoughts, Matt moistened his lips before speaking to the crowd.
"What a song, and you guys fucking rocked it to the core man!" he vocalized, extending the microphone out toward the crowd to pick up the ravenous scream of praise and adoration that resulted.
Nodding his head, he lifted his arms out toward the crowd before lifting them upward in quick, decisive movements, kinetically ordering the crowd to shout louder, setting the mood for the next song. Brian on the other hand sighed softly as he placed his palm firmly on his forehead, wrapping his long fingers around afterward. His vision had begun to violently swim and skew, giving him the impression that he was either drunk or sick. He shook his head briskly to clear his vision, however that only made it worse.
"Come on Oklahoma City!" Matt screeched into the microphone. "I know you have more than that! Let me here you scream!"
Following the command, the audience screamed loudly, the visual technicians adding to the overall affect by blaring the intensity of the red, purple and white strobe lights high above the stage. Pausing momentarily from sweeping over the crowd, Zacky glanced to his left, only to furrow his brow as he watched Brian stagger slightly to his own left.
"Louder!" the front man screeched as he dramatically extended out toward the audience.
Zacky meanwhile slung his guitar behind his back before walking across the stage to where his friend and fellow guitarist was standing.
"Hey, you all right?" he questioned as he placed his left hand onto his friend's quivering right shoulder.
"Yeah, I, I'm good," Brian lied, a forced smile plastered onto his equally quivering lips.
"Bri, you're shaking," Zacky noted as he curled the fingers of his right hand around his fellow guitarist's right wrist.
"Adrenaline," the other replied. "Besides we only have two more songs to do."
"Alright," the slightly shorter guitarist commented. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine," Brian reassured. "Go and get ready, we're starting soon."
"You guys are fired up tonight!" Matt replied smiling. "We're glad to hear that, this next song is one for all you motherfuckers out there who have been viciously cheated on. This is The Beast and the Harlot."
Slowly the lights began to fade as the charismatic front man nodded to his strings crew before hopping up onto the pedestal Jimmy's massive drums set was perched upon. Absorbing a few precious moments, Brian inhaled and exhaled for a few calming cadences to help clear his mind. Moments later, the crisp clacking noise of Jimmy's drumsticks vibrated across the stage and poured through the speakers, starting slow before working into a quickened pace.
1...2..1,2,3,4
Following the cadence of clacks, the stage roared to life, generating an equal response from the crowd, which instantly proceeded to jump up and down to the pounding vibrations from the drums and the fast-paced shrieking notes from the guitars. Matt meanwhile remained perched on the drum pedestal until the intro proceeded to build in tempo. Spurred by a staged pyrotechnic blast, the vocalist leapt from the pedestal, his voice howling into the microphone.
\~*~/
"Fallen now is Babylon the Great!" Matt barked as he thrust his right hand into the air, his fingers curled tightly around his microphone.
The audience proceeded to scream and cheer loudly as the members of Avenged Sevenfold unwound from another uptight and upbeat song. By this time, Brian's small condition had worsened tenfold, his vision now barely focused. Swinging his guitar around behind his back, he retrieved his signature fedora off of his head to rake his fingers through his long hair, dislodging his bandana in the process.
At the moment, Matt was conversing with the crowd, as he always liked to do before the closing song. His short speech was filled with many thanks to the crowd for their undying support of the band and all the people involved in the concert and such. Even though he thought the speeches were cute at times, some of them more or less sounded like he won and award and was listing off a number of names of people to thank for making the award possible. The guitarist glanced to his right back at the pedestal where a row of water and beer bottles lined the object. It wasn't until he turned to retrieve one of those objects did his body shut down on him.
Jimmy was one of the first to notice something was wrong when he glanced over at his fellow junkie only to observe the slight uneasy quiver to his step as well as his extremities. He was on the verge of questioning the guitarist of his well being when Brian's knees buckled and he collapsed onto the stage. Moderate chatter from the crowd quickly turned into screams and panicked discussion once Brian's body collided limply with the stage.
"Brian!" Jimmy shouted as he jumped from his stool, leaping off of the back of the pedestal afterward.
Zacky, Johnny and Matt were the next to systematically abandon their positions and their instruments in order to assess Brian's condition. Soft commotion arose between the quintet as they kneeled down by their fallen commrad, Matt shouldering the duty of checking his vital signs.
"He's breathing alright," the vocalist noted. "Perhaps he just passed out from the lights?"
"I hope that's all it was," Zacky commented as Matt lifted Brian's torso to rest against his, commanding Johnny to fetch some fresh bottles of water from the roadies backstage.
"Come on Bri," the worried vocalist whispered as he proceeded to dry the guitarist's face and neck of the perspiration that had accumulated there.
"Here's some water," Johnny informed as he jogged back onstage, the crowd now deathly silent save for a soft hum of murmuring.
"Thanks John," Matt replied as he retrieved a frigid bottle, unscrewing the cap before tilting Brian's head up, pouring a small amount into his mouth before gently rubbing his taut throat, aiding the life-giving liquid in traversing the correct tube. "Jimmy, can you get me Bri's bandana?"
"Yeah, here," the drummer commented as he handed Matt the requested object.
Nodding his gratitude, Matt unfurled the object before folding it into a more rectangular shape, soaking the already damp cloth in fresh, frigid water. Pouring some more water down Brian's throat, the vocalist then placed the bandana over the guitarist's forehead and eyes while barking orders to his fellow band mates.
"Zacky, notify the roadies to start packing up, we're done for the night," he commanded, the left-handed guitarist nodding before carrying out his duty. "Johnny, I want you to inform the crowd of what happened, apologize for the mishap and thank them for coming to the show."
"What do you want me to do?" Jimmy questioned as Johnny set about his duty, his voice echoing over the speakers moments later.
"Jimmy, I want you to call for an ambulance," Matt ordered as he re-soaked the bandana, wrapping the object around the back of Brian's neck.
The anxiety-ridden drummer set about his duty, dialing 9-1-1 in the process. In the moments that followed, soft murmurs began to flood the house as the audience proceeded to leave, the young bassist returning afterward to help Jason, Matt and a few other roadies pack up the equipment. Minutes seemed to pass by like hours as the emotionally drained vocalist continued to care for Brian, the note of the ambulance only aiding in relieving a fraction of his anxiety. Just as the last of Jimmy's drum kit was being packed away, a soft groan vibrated in the back of the guitarist's throat.
"..Ugh, where..?" Brian groaned softly as he re-opened his eyes.
"Hey, Jimmy," Matt called as he waved the drummer over. "I think he's waking up."
"What the...fuck happened?" the weakened guitarist questioned hoarsely.
"You passed out on stage," Jimmy informed monotonously.
"I did?" Brian questioned as he glanced around at his still blurry environment. "Wait, why? Why are the roadies packing up?"
"The concert's over Bri," Matt answered. "We're going home."
"But, we still had one last song," the confused guitarist responded as he struggled to sit up.
"Bri, just take it easy," the concerned drummer interjected as the paramedics rushed on-stage.
"You called the fucking paramedics?" Brian questioned as he staggered onto his feet.
"Brian!" Matt called, only to earn a shout of distain as a response.
"I'm Synyster fucking Gates goddamnit!" the guitarist shouted as he staggered off-stage.
"I'm terribly sorry," the vocalist apologized to the paramedics as he chased after his friend. "Brian! Wait up!"
"I'm not fucking Brian!" he shouted back as Matt's footfalls drew closer. "I'm fucking Synyster Gates!"
"Brian, Brian!" the vocalist reemphasized as he latched his left hand tightly around the guitarist's right arm. "Brian get back here!"
"Aaah!" Brian cried as Matt's fingernails proceeded to dig into his elbow, the injection spots throbbing. "Matt let go of me!"
"No," the perturbed vocalist replied roughly. "Not until you get a check up by the paramedics."
"Matt, you're hurting me!" the ragged guitarist cried as he proceeded to pull away from his friend. "Alright, alright! I'll cooperate..."
"Brian.." Matt began, only to sigh heavily as the aforementioned guitarist wrapped his slender arms around his waist. "Is there something you wish to tell me?"
"No! I mean, no, everything's fine," Brian lied as he quickly pulled away from his friend, wrapping his arms around his torso as he traversed back out to where Zacky had begun explaining to the paramedics an overview of Brian's behavior over the past few months. "Excuse me gentlemen, sorry for how I acted."
"That's alright son," the visibly older paramedic replied. "Now why don't you come with us out to the ambulance so we can check to make sure you're alright."
Nodding his head solemnly, Brian followed the paramedics outside to the back parking lot where the ambulance was parked; the Avenged Sevenfold tour bus parked just a few rows down. The brown-eyed guitarist glanced toward the home on wheels before being directed to sit down on the edge of the ambulance, the younger paramedic opening the second door to provide him room. Matt and Zacky had wandered outside, choosing to watch the check-up while Johnny and Jimmy helped pack away the remaining instruments.
The check-up started as a routine analysis of Brian's well-being and physical condition, some of the results already starting to worry the paramedics. The guitarist had a slight temperature of 100.3 degrees, which they deduced to be caused by the concert. He had a slight glassy film covering his eyes, and his features were very sunken in and sickly. With the aid of a small flashlight, the paramedics detected a slight yellowish tint to his skin tone, which had begun to degenerate from a healthy sun-kissed tan to a pale white.
"Cody, can I have a word with you?" the elder paramedic questioned, addressing his younger protégé as he began walking around to the front of the ambulance.
"Sure," the younger paramedic replied as he wrapped a small blanket around Brian's slightly quivering shoulders before joining his partner.
"I don't like the looks of this Zee," Matt whispered as he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Neither do I," Zacky responded as he glanced from the conversing paramedics to Brian.
"Hey guys," Johnny called as he stepped outside. "Have you guys seen Jimmy around here?"
"No, why?" the vocalist questioned as he furrowed his brow.
"We can't find him anywhere backstage," the bassist informed.
"I'll go and look for him," Zacky volunteered as he walked back into the theater.
"So how's Bri?" Johnny questioned as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, more so for the fact that it was cold rather than for looking tough.
"I don't know yet," Matt answered rather curtly, leaning his left elbow on Johnny's head. "They've been talking for quite a while."
The smaller bassist wrinkled the bridge of his nose at the fact that he had been reduced to being Matt's personalized leaning post, however the frustration was shortly lived when the paramedics had finished their discussion and journeyed back to where Brian was still obediently situated.
"Young man, would you please roll up the sleeves of your sweatshirt?" the elder paramedic questioned.
"Why?" the guitarist questioned as he hugged the fabric around his shoulders closer to his body.
"We have a suspicion to what is causing your health issues," the elder paramedic answered.
Furrowing his brow considerably, Brian began to retreat back into the ambulance, crossing his arms tightly against his chest.
"What seems to be the problem?" Matt questioned as he walked closer to the paramedics.
"We need to look at his arms to either identify or dismiss a possible conclusion as to why he's been behaving the way he has been."
"Bri, you said you would cooperate," the vocalist reprimanded.
Slowly, but surly, the guitarist released his death grip on the blanket he was given earlier. Sighing heavily, he began rolling up the fabric of his zip-up hoodie. Flicking on the flashlight, the elder paramedic shown the beam over Brian's arm, which soon yielded multitudes of red scratch marks and massive bruises. Even though his skin was marked to capacity with ink, there was no mistaking the affects reusing needles can do to one's skin, especially since the narcotics made his veins pop against his skin.
At first the paramedics and Matt stood silent, shocked by the conclusions that were drawn and solidified by the simple act of the guitarist pulling back his sleeves. The stunned silence began to slowly seep into Brian's mind as minutes crawled by like hours. Even though the paramedics were expecting the worst, they had no idea of the sheer brutality the musician had placed upon his body with the abuse of underground drugs. Fearing the worst from Matt, Brian quickly slid his sleeve back over his arm, hopping down from the ambulance afterward.
"Bri, where are you going?" Matt questioned, his voice laced with anger. "Get back here now!"
"No! No I won't!" the guitarist shouted as he proceeded to retreat toward the tour bus. "You can't make me!"
"Brian!" the vocalist shouted, only succeeding in causing the aforementioned to turn and flee. "Jesus Christ! Brian!"
Hearing his name shouted a second time; Brian glanced over his shoulder only to pick up his pace, turning his jog into a full-out sprint. Passing a lamppost, which marked a halfway point on his journey, he discarded the blanket, the object fluttering to the ground. Finally, he had reached the tour bus, only to discover that the door leading into the vehicle was locked.
"Oh fuck!" he cried as he pounded his right fist against the door, abandoning the thought of barricading himself in the vehicle as he glanced over his shoulder.
"Brian!" Matt shouted as he continued to chase his fleeing friend.
"Stay away from me!" Brian shouted in response as he bolted around the tour bus, eying the theater as he did so.
"Brian, I just want to talk to you," the vocalist replied as he jogged around the bus.
"I don't want to hear what you have to say!" the guitarist answered. "Besides, you're just going to hurt me again!"
"Bri, I would never do that!" Matt continued, desperation seeping into his panting words. "Just please, stop running...and let me help you."
In the seconds that followed, silence enveloped the two as the massive bus soon became the proverbial barrier that separated them. Brian closed his eyes as he leaned heavily against the bus's side skirts as he struggled to regain his breath. His trust in Matt had been shattered into a million pieces, and he feared the worst, however the sheer sincerity that poured over his next few words aided in rekindling that strained relationship.
"Please Bri, give me a chance," the vocalist commented as he proceeded to walk around the perimeter of the vehicle. "Don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you."
"...Matt," Brian sighed as he collapsed onto the ground, exhaustion creeping into his senses.
"It's going to alright Bri," Matt whispered as he carefully approached the guitarist, his actions and body movements withdrawn and portraying a sense of ease.
Brian sighed lightly before turning his head to glance at his fellow band mate, the expression practically breaking the vocalist's heart. Once he was finally able to approach him, Matt lifted Brian into his arms, the simple movement causing the slightly shorter man to cry out in pain. Wrapping his quivering arms around the strong body before him, Brian rested his head against Matt's broad chest, rejoicing in the fact that he finally had someone to support him in this most dire time.
"Brian, we need to talk," the vocalist whispered as he placed his chin lightly down on the guitarist's head.
"Not right now," Brian whispered as he closed his eyes, a small smile curling the corners of his lips.
\~*~/
"Jimmy!" Zacky called as he entered the theater's men's bathroom.
The left-handed guitarist had deduced that the restrooms were the only other place left to search for the wayward drummer. Sure there was the women's restroom, but that was somewhere that even someone like Jimmy wouldn't go even if he was intoxicated. Pursing his lips together, Zacky continued to search the expansive restroom until the sounds of muffled sobbing reached his ears.
"Jimmy?" he called again. "Are you alright?"
With the muffled noise his only lead, the guitarist followed the sound to the very last stall in the large room. He didn't even have to glance under the marble-white door to know that the drummer was behind it. The room was quiet save for the small noises he was creating, however Zacky wasn't prepared for the shout of agony followed by a stream of curses and obscenities.
"Jimmy?" the guitarist questioned as he softly rapped his knuckles against the door. "What's wrong?"
"Go away Zack," Jimmy ordered, his voice a broken sob.
"Not until you open this door," Zacky ordered as he proceeded to fiddle with the door.
"I said go away!" the drummer cried as he stabbed at the ground mere centimeters from the guitarist's feet.
"Jesus!" Zacky shouted as he jumped back, the knife slowly being dragged back into the stall. "Jim, please, don't be like this. Please tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing's fucking wrong!" came the response. "I'm just fucking peachy-keen! Life's perfect, and I haven't a care in the world!"
"Jimmy..," Zacky began, only to sigh heavily afterward. "Don't be like this. Please open the door, I only want to help you."
"Yeah, just like Tom want to," Jimmy replied curtly as he stabbed the inside of the stall door with his knife. "All he ever said was that I'd be the happiest man on the planet. But you know what? I'm not, I'm not the fucking happiest guy on the planet."
It wasn't until the point when the armed drummer stood and proceeded to open the door did Zacky begin to fear for his life. Jimmy had a problem; a blind man could see that, however he didn't really want to be on the receiving end of that blade when hurricane Jimmy hit.
"How can I be the happiest guy on the fucking planet when I look like this?" he shouted as he opened the door, his already thin face now a sickly, skeletal thin, his eye sockets now prominent against his milky white complexion.
Zacky cowered slightly as Jimmy stepped out of the stall, a fresh needle and syringe dangling from his left arm. Sighing heavily, the drummer pulled the object from his arm before trudging over to the long mirror stationed above the row of sinks. Allowing for his gaze to slowly lower, the left-handed guitarist then noticed the deep gashes in Jimmy's arms, blood still pouring from the fresh wounds.
"Jimmy, you're bleeding," Zacky noted as he proceeded to slowly advance upon his disturbed friend.
"Yeah, I am aren't I?" the drummer questioned in partial insanity as he glanced at his pocketknife. "Fucking bitch."
Zacky flinched slightly at the venom-doused words before witnessing the object fly across the room only to land in a corner directly behind the trashcan. His deed completed, the ragged drummer returned to his staring contest with his reflection. Cautiously, the guitarist advanced upon his friend.
"Here, let me help you clean those," he offered as he carefully placed his hands on Jimmy's right bicep only to have the drummer recoil sharply. "Oh, sorry, do you need some help?"
"Why would you want to help a fuck up like me Zack?" Jimmy questioned, his icy, blue gaze boring holes through Zacky's jade green eyes.
"Well, because I'm your friend," the guitarist replied, a soft smile claiming his pierced lips. "And that's what friends do. Now come over here so we can get those cuts cleaned up and bandaged.
After a few moments of holding Zacky's gaze, Jimmy sighed heavily before traversing over to the sink the guitarist was standing next to and held out his arms, the deep gashes causing the smaller musician to wince. Setting to work, Zacky turned on both faucets, allowing for the cold and hot water to mix into a luke-warm stream. Retrieving a few paper towels, he soaked the objects underneath the stream before carefully placing the object over Jimmy's wounds, causing the drummer to hiss in pain.
"Sorry," the guitarist whispered as he carefully placed another over it before setting to work on the others. "Well, I'm no doctor, but that should suffice until we can get back on the bus and I can find that damn first-aid kit."
Glancing down at his covered arms, a small smile crept onto the drummer's features as he reverted his gaze to fall upon Zacky who was preoccupied with shutting off the faucets. A thought soon crossed his mind, and he wasn't sure of what the outcome would be, but he thought it would be fun to experiment. Besides, Zacky's an understanding guy, right?
"Uh, Zacky?" he questioned, his voice a mere quivering whisper.
"Hmm?" the guitarist hummed as he turned to face the emotionally unstable drummer. "What is it?"
Without really thinking about any of the consequences, Jimmy leaned down and pressed his lips against Zacky's, the shorter of the two instantly tensing his muscles. The kiss was awkward and short, a strong silence surrounding the two afterward. Zacky to say the least was speechless, he didn't know whether he should slap Jimmy, stare at him awkwardly or kiss him again. The gesture was short and innocent, however the buzz that remained was enough to cause a soft hue of pink to claim the guitarist's blush line.
"Jimmy, I-I don't...know what, to say," Zacky replied.
"Think of something then," the drummer answered, a sly smirk claiming his lips.
"Heh, kiss me again," the guitarist ordered, causing Jimmy to chuckle softly.
"You dirty boy," he whispered as he wrapped his arms around Zacky's waist, passionately kissing him afterward.
\~*~/
February 4th, 2006 ~Huntington Beach, Orange County, California 2:30p.m.
Aaaaah, home at last. The tour was fun and all, but it just feels so good to be home. Now I don't have to wake up every morning at five just to go to a fucking interview. We have a few weeks off, which means that I can now sleep all hours of the day and wake up at night only to do a few lines, shoot up then pass out. Speaking of shooting up, I need to do that, I missed a day and withdrawal is starting to creep up on me, I feel like complete shit right now.
Ugh, just shot up, I feel better...and by better I mean waiting to puke my intestines out because I up-chucked my stomach this morning. Zack and Jim are apparently a couple now, wow, who saw that coming? I sure as hell didn't, and man masturbation sure has its limits...I need to get laid so badly, but I really don't feel like taking a chance at the local strip clubs, they all probably have STDs anyway. I know I probably have a short life, but I don't want it to be that short. I'll call Matt and see if he wants to come over tonight and watch some pornos with me...
February 6th, 20072006 ~home 4:30 a.m.
My heart just skipped a few beats a few minutes ago, fucking cocaine...I'd go to a bar, but I don't feel like causing drama, or having some dude slap my ass just because he thinks I look like a chick...eeeewwww, I just thought of that happening too...man, I reeeeeeeaaaally need some pussy...hell I'll even suck some cock just to get off, I don't care at this point, I just want to have sex! Man, I just sounded incredibly desperate...
Matt called; I guess I should call him back shouldn't I?
February 7th, 2006 ~home 10:30 a.m.
Aaah, I feel loads better...I finally got laid! Apparently you can look up cheap ass whores that will come and service you up real good in the phone book...I didn't know that! Anyway, the midget called today asking about his slashed tires. How the fuck am I supposed to know what happened? I can't remember what I had for breakfast let alone what happened yesterday! I guess that's why I have you journal, so I can read back and remember what I did the day before...
I think I'm starting to worry my parents too; they called me about a bazillion times wanting to know if I'm all right. Well, I'm functioning so I guess that counts? I don't know, I need another fix.
February 8th, 2006 ~home 2:30 a.m.
Man, I'm sick as a fucking dog today, and the worst part of it all...I don't even remember how I got home from the bar, or was it a strip club? I don't know, the only thing I remember is waking up next to a dumpster with my clothes jacked and a fucking needle in my arm.
Come to think of it, when I got home I had a shit load of messages on my phone, all of them were from Matt wondering if the reports were true...what fucking reports?
February 10th, 2006 ~home 2:40 p.m.
Just woke up from passing out again, god damn Persian, I can't stand being without this shit, but then again, I can't stand it either. But here's the funny part, I absolutely love coke! I swear if it were a candy, I'd eat it every day, oh wait I am doing that...
Jimmy called yesterday and said that he checked into rehab, good for him, the fucking quitter, I can't believe he'd quit, shows how much of a wuss he is, oh and speaking of wusses, Michelle has officially dumped my fucked up ass, hah, so what, who needs her? I've got heroin and coke to keep me company, and not enough needles to go around, I guess I'm just going to have to buy some more...
February 11th, 2006 ~home 12:20 p.m.
Matt just called, he said he's coming over in a few minutes, I should probably clean up, but why bother, he says he doesn't care anyway...I ran out of needles today, so I should probably go and get some more at the pharmacy, I wonder if they'd actually sell them to me, they might just question my reasons...heh, but then again, if they deny me needles, they deny their store money...ha ha,
Oh, Matt just arrived...
"Brian?" Matt called as he opened the door, only to cough and retreat back outside.
Brian's apartment was a disaster zone, papers and garbage strewn about the whole area, with a thick odor of rotting flesh, feces and urine perpetrating the room. Clamping his hands over his nose and mouth, Matt unwillingly journeyed into the room, sidestepping past piles of dirty laundry and other articles of garbage as he searched for his friend.
"Brian?" he called again as he entered the bedroom only to come face to face with his fellow band mate.
It had only been about a week since the band had momentarily parted ways for their momentarily vacation from touring. In that short amount of time, the once proud and charismatic guitarist he'd come to know and love was now a mere ghost of himself. If he had to compare him to something, Matt would find the closest comparison being a walking skeleton. Brian had become so skinny that not even Michelle's forgotten clothes from her high school days would fit him. The dark circles that marked his once beautiful face were now so black that it looked as if he had taken a black sharpie and colored along the worry lines under his eyes.
"Brian," he whispered, tears stinging the backs of his eyes as he gently rested his right hand against his friend's prominent cheekbone. "What happened to you?"
"Nothing, I'm fine," the sickly guitarist replied smiling weakly. "So shall we get going?"
"Oh we're going alright," the vocalist informed. "Straight to the hospital."
\~*~/
February 13th, 2006 ~Orange County Mercy Hospital 2:30 p.m.
Well, here I am, lying in a fucking hospital bed awaiting my fucking test results. I already know what they're going to say, not only that but I'm pissin' blood now..heh, lovely. Ah well, I don't care, I can't eat, I don't feel like drinking anything, even if it is beer...the only thing I need right now is my fuckin' fix! I need my fix....
February 16th, 2006 ~home 2:39 p.m.
Finally got home from that fucking hospital...they say I already died once while in there and I wasn't responsive to the constant jolts they gave me...I believe Matt said that he begged the doctors to keep trying, and low and behold, the next shock is what did it...my left hand is still twitching, so I guess I haven't fully recovered yet, aw, who am I fuckin' kiddin? I'm as good as dead anyway...
February 17th, 2006 ~home 6:30 p.m.
Matt and Val stopped by today, Matt pretty much helped me with organizing my life financially while Val cleaned up the apartment. I must say it sure does look wonderful. She said I need to take a shower or a bath though cause I stink...yeah I guess I do, but I don't really feel like it at the moment.
Matt went grocery shopping for me as well, aww, he's such a good friend, I wish I could pay him back, but I just don't know how to...when I asked him, he said to not worry about it, perhaps he'd like to do some lines with me later? I doubt it. Just heard that Jimmy's out of rehab, he's taking methadone pills again to curb his cravings and help wean him off of heroin and cocaine...well, at least he was great back then...now I don't even know him anymore...
February 19th, 2006, ~home 11:13 a.m.
It's raining outside, and I'm inside my closet chasing the dragon, I missed freebasing, but it doesn't really provide that strong high I love when I inject, God I love that shit, almost as much as I love Matt, speaking of Matt I wonder what he's doing at the moment? Probably at the gym...
I should be at the gym, however with how much weight I've lost at the moment, the only thing I can stand to lift anymore is my guitar, and I haven't held her in weeks...maybe I should rekindle old relationships...
February 21st, 2006, ~hell 12:20 p.m.
The story of my life...one can only hope that this journal falls into the right hands after this post. I can feel my heart failing, it's slowing now as we speak, as I'm writing to you here in this lonesome closet of nightmares and sinful pleasures. all that remains of me is my bones, because that's all I am anymore, I'm nothing but skin and bones, heroin and cocaine are my only nourishment.
My hands are shaking as I write this, am I really going to die today? And if I am, what difference is it really going to make? I've already died twice, and everyone says that the third time is the charm. I wonder if anyone will miss me? I know my mom and my dad definitely...my friends no doubt, and the fans...oh the fans, I'm sorry my dear children
February 23rd, 2006 ~home 2:30 a.m.
I've had it, I just can't take this any more, heroine and cocaine just don't provide me the escape I so desperately wanted. Sure it's good for a few minutes, but dying for it is no longer a pleasure for me. I'll admit it now, I have a problem, and I need help. I'm too weak to fight this on my own...please won't somebody help me?
February 24th, 2006 ~home 10:30 p.m.
Matt called today to check up on me, and I actually called him back, I told him I wanted to talk to him, and he's coming over soon. I know it seems late, but I really need to talk to him, I figure he's my closest confidante at the moment, and I really need his help...oh, the door is banging...I guess I should go and open it now...
"Matt," Brian welcomes as he slings his stick thin arms around his friend.
"You said you wanted to talk to me Bri?" Matt questioned as he entered the apartment.
"Yes, and it's very important that we put this plan into action as soon as possible," the guitarist informed as he practically fell onto the small couch.
"What do you need?" the vocalist questioned as he sat down next to his friend.
"Matt, I have a problem, a major problem," Brian started, wringing his long, bony fingers as he spoke. "I'm sure you already know that I viciously abuse heroin and cocaine. And I'm guessing that over the past few weeks the only things you've ever heard about me is the fact that nothing is going well and that my body is failing on me."
"What are you trying to say Brian?" Matt questioned impatiently.
"Matt, I want to quit heroine and coke," he informed. "I want my life back, and I need help. Will you be willing to help me?"
"Of course Bri, we'll all help you," the front man replied, a wide smile claiming his lips. "I'm very proud of you for making this decision on your own."
For the first time in months, the drug-weakened guitarist smiled geminately, his smile reclaiming some of the radiance he had lost so long ago.
\~*~/
February 25th, 2006 ~home 4:30 p.m.
Day One: Dope and smack free
Just got back from the rehab clinic that Jimmy is still going to with a pack of methadone pills. As far as I know, my little black case and all of my rigs are now on their way to the landfill 'cause Matt dumped them this morning. I must be fucking insane to allow him to do that, but this is for my own good, so if I die for good this time in rehab, at least I can say that I died trying to regain my life, and so far so good, I can tell you one thing though, by the time withdrawal smacks me in the face, I know I'm going to be a cranky, moody bitch, and I hope that my friends don't take it too personally...
February 26th, 2006 ~home 8:20 a.m.
Day two: Dope and smack free
These methadone pills really do the trick sometimes, but withdrawal is starting to set in, and already I want to puke my guts out, ugh, I don't feel like moving today. Jimmy said he was going to come over to watch me until Matt gets done with his errands he had to run today. Eh, that's fine with me..I hope he brings Zacky, I could use someone to talk guitar with...
February 27th, 2006 ~home 11:30 p.m.
Day three: Dope and smack free
Just woke up from sleeping all day, I don't know why I'm so tired, perhaps it's the fact that my body is starting to repair itself? I don't know, all I know is that I upchucked a few times today...and let me tell you, it sure wasn't stomach acid that was in the toilet...here I'll give you a blunt hint....it was fucking blood! Goddamnit....
February 28th, 2006 ~home 2:39 p.m.
Day four: Dope and smack free
I just had one of the worst craving for heroin since I started this shit...man I feel so weak, I thought those bastards at the clinic said that this shit was supposed to help me not make me feel worse than when I was shootin' and snortin' cocaine and heroin! What gives? Ah well, I don't really care...this month's over, and another hellish one is just around the corner...see you in March bitch!
Pairing: Matt/Brian, Jimmy/Zacky, slight Jimmy/Brian
Rating: R
Warning: heavy drug use, swearing, angst, death, bloodshed
Summary: It is like a small taste of heaven, only to fall down into hell's furnace a few minutes later. That's pretty much how this shit works...it's terrible and it makes you feel like a pile of year old dog shit, but I just can't seem to stop...
Author's Notes: This idea is generally derived from the book The Heroin Diaries: A Year in the Life of a Shattered Rock Star written by Nikki Sixx from the band Motley Crue. To say in so few words, this book is heartbreaking, however just like the deadly addictions mentioned, you just don't seem to want to stop reading it...sad? yes, sick? more or less, fucked up? probably, but I just had to write something...God Bless Nikki Sixx..
Disclaimer: This story never happened, and hopefully will never happen. I do not own anyone from the band Avenged Sevenfold, nor am I affiliated with them in any way, shape, or form. The idea for a diary format was inspired by Nikki Sixx's book, of which I only own a copy.
Previous Entries:
December 2005
January 2006
Brian stared longingly out of the sliding glass balcony doors that overlooked the poorly lit urban dwelling of Oklahoma City, the first morning rays of sunshine just barely clearing the horizon line. He sighed heavily as he slid the glass door open, a chilling, morning breeze encircling his body. Inhaling deeply, the guitarist reverently closed his eyes before sighing in satisfaction, the streaks of the sun's light and warmth now stretching across his chiseled features. Stepping out onto the balcony, Brian absorbed a moment as he glanced over the edge of the protective railing.
His room was stationed a good five or so stories from the ground, the cars below appearing as if they were mere toys. A sinister smile soon crept across his lips as he swung one of his legs over the railing, rechecking his balance and grip before swinging his other leg over as well. Since the hour was still rather early, the only people who were out wandering the sidewalk below were either early morning joggers, businessmen and women rushing to their vehicles to start the day, or the occasional person on a leisurely walk.
"I wonder if anyone will really miss me," he whispered to himself as he stared down at the people below.
Meanwhile, five stories down on the sidewalk, a young girl around the age of ten glances up at the majestic design of the hotel. Currently consuming a grape lollipop, the little girl then focuses on a figure located on the highest room balcony. Curiously, her eyes widen in amazement before she eagerly began to tug on her mom's sleeve.
"Hey mommy look!" she cries as she proceeds to bounce on her toes before pointing up at the building.
"What is it honey?" her mother questions as she follows her daughter's gaze up to the highest floor before shrieking.
Within seconds Brian's body collides sharply with the cement sidewalk, the mixture of simple elements cracking from the sheer force of the impact. Stricken by fear, curiosity, shock, and horror, a small crowd begins to gather around the scene. By now blood proceeds to branch out from the impact zone, slithering into the cracks in the cement sidewalk before coming to a halt once gravity no longer held precedence over the thick, crimson substance.
Slowly, but surely, murmurs begin to arise from the crowd as well as sobbing and conversations of disbelief. However, a shrill cry soon echoes from atop the massive building, five stories into the atmosphere.
"Noooo!" the voice cries. "Brian!"
\~*~/
Brian gasps before bolting upright in his bed, a cold sweat trickling down his face. Panicking, he quickly places the palms of his hands on his face before checking to see if he was in one piece and actually alive. Once confirming the fact that he was alive and solid, he glanced at the small digital clock on the nightstand by his bed. The vibrant digital numbers displayed 3:30 a.m. in a radiant red hue.
Sighing heavily, he soon focused on regulating his still racing heartbeat and breathing. However before he was able to accomplish this task, soft rustling noises sounded from the other side of the room. The guitarist's body went rigid as he remained in an upright position, his dilated pupils searching the inky black room for any stray traces of light that might be generated.
"Bri?" a rather deep voice questioned as the owner of the voice rubbed his eyes slightly. "You awake?"
"Yeah," he answered, his voice a rather hollow whisper as he proceeded to gently rub his arms, soft hisses of pain soon resulting.
"What's wrong?" another question sounded before a blinding and resilient light flooded the room.
Quickly shielding his eyes, Brian momentarily turned his head away until his eyes became adjusted to the sudden change in light before finally turning back around to answer his friend's question. Matt's appearance however was rather quite humbling despite his current status on the food chain of rock and roll music. The rather intimidating vocalist's short dark brown hair was defying gravity in a few places, and he had the beginnings of a five o' clock shadow curving around his sharply angling jaw line.
Still adjusting to the rather bright light, Matt's green-tint hazel eyes were hidden behind his semi-blackened eyelids, the eyeliner from the previous night still somewhat lingering. He was currently leaning back on his elbows, the coversheet now resting upon his midsection, revealing the rippling muscles beneath the stretched, tanned and inked skin of the vocalist's naked chest. After a few moments of staring, Brian quickly averted his gaze to fall upon the ruffled sheets of his own bed, a slight blush forming across his cheeks.
"Brian?" Matt called as he advanced into a seated position on his bed, regaining the guitarist's attention moments later.
"I-I'm sorry," he whispered. "I just had a bad dream is all."
"What did you dream about?" the vocalist questioned, the space between them growing rather awkward.
"It's nothing important," Brian quickly replied, a quick shiver coursing through his body.
"You cold?" Matt questioned as he tilted his head to his right slightly.
"A little," the guitarist confessed as he wrapped his arms around his torso.
"You can come over here if you want," the band's leader offered.
Brian glanced over at his friend for a few moments before dropping his gaze to stare at the massive expanse of space the bed offered which was undoubtedly radiating warmth, unlike his bed, which was nothing but a cold reminder of how alone he really did feel while on it. Sighing softly, the shivering guitarist alighted from his bed before traversing the small stretch of space that separated the two beds.
Circling around to the foot of the bed, he crawled onto the object before settling into a comfortable position at the opposite side of where Matt was currently residing. Without sparing a passing glance at his generous friend, Brian curled his practically rail-thin body into a tight ball before slowly closing his eyes; the ever urgent need to rake his nails over the swelling marks on his arms causing his skin to crawl.
"Goodnight Brian," the vocalist whispered as he covered the guitarist's body up to his shoulders with the warm sheets.
A small smile of content slowly spread onto Brian's features as Matt turned off the bedside lamp before settling back into a comfortable spot to re-enter his own dream world. As the remaining darkness and shadows of the previous night slowly began to melt away to make room for the upcoming sunrise, the vibrant warmth that had welcomed the weakening guitarist had greatly depleted, leaving him to resume shivering, even though he was under two layers of sheets and curled into a tight ball. Finally finding no resolve in shivering all night long, Brian slowly uncurled his body, keeping his movements to a minimum as to not wake Matt.
Glancing to his left, he was barely able to register the faint outline the glowing red numbers revealed of the vocalist's slumbering form. Despite his size, Matt was a very quiet sleeper, the only indication that he was still there being the random opportunities in his breathing pattern that he would fluctuate into a deep breath before regulating once more. Pausing momentarily from his thoughts, Brian seized the opportunity to viciously tear away at his inked arms with his fingernails sending sensations of relief and pain to his mind all at once.
He groaned softly after a few moments, his will power finally kicking in to cease the frantic action that was no doubt only causing him harm for later. Getting back to the topic at hand, he glanced back down at the spot of inky blackness where he calculated Matt's slumbering form to be currently residing. Settling back down underneath the sheets, Brian carefully extended his right hand, mapping out the bed before him that his eyes could not detect. Before his right arm could extend fully, his fingertips brushed against a warm and firm smoothness that he could only guess was Matt's rather muscular back.
"Sorry if this would be rather awkward to you when you wake up Matt," Brian whispered as he curled up next to the slumbering vocalist only to sigh afterward in content from the warmth his body radiated.
\~*~/
February 1st, 2006 ~Best Western Hotel~ 8:20 a.m.
Just woke up, and I feel incredibly cold and lonely. I had a rather disturbing nightmare last night, and I'll be damned if that fucker comes true...it was actually very cold last night, I wonder if the heater was working properly? I don't know, and another thing I currently don't know is the whereabouts of my roommate...where did he go? I hope he doesn't hate me for what happened last night...or should I say this morning?
Ugh, I'm so tired...I just don't want to move today, perhaps a few lines will cheer me up, then I can dote upon my golden-eyed lover. Matt's sudden absence kind of worries me though, I mean really, where did he go? Ah, fuck it, I need my fix, then I'll go and look for him.
12:30 p.m.
Well, it's lunchtime, and I've still nothing good to do except write in this journal. I still haven't found Matt, and Zacky and Jimmy are now missing too..hmm, what's going on? The only other person left to talk to is Johnny, and he's still sleeping...the little fucker..
I'm not that hungry at the moment, but this thing I bought, which is some kind of cappuccino with a really hard to pronounce name courtesy of Starbucks, is actually pretty good, and it's giving me a buzz so I'll have a few more hours of awake time, not that the coke isn't helping but you get the idea. Why are people staring at me? Did I grow an extra head or are they that unnerved to have a rock star drink a stupid caffeinated beverage in the open? Ah to be normal, you would actually be ignored most of the time, and be hated for all the right reasons.
Ah, goddamnit, I'm rambling again...fucking cappuccino, but I must say, the foamy shit on the top is pretty tasty, yum..oh and tonight's the last concert before a few weeks of well-deserved vacay time! :D
\~*~/
"No more breath inside, essence left my heart tonight," Matt vocalized, his eyes closing poetically as his eyebrows furrowed together, his jewel-encrusted vampire caps glistening in the vibrant blue and white strobe lights.
The softening sounds of a repetitious cadence of cymbals vibrating aided in ending the song on a somber note, the deep undertones of Johnny's bass rumbling through the speakers, while the shrill whine of the dueling guitars faded out long before. Soon after, the opera house erupted with screams, cheers and howls, the crowd of vibrantly aged groups voicing their obedience to the regime that was Avenged Sevenfold.
Taking a few moments to scan the vivacious masses of the assembled audience, the precarious vocalist absorbed a few moments to reclaim his lost breath and allow for his fellow band mates to allow for the previous song to elegantly slide off of their shoulders while preparing for the next. Finally collecting his scattered thoughts, Matt moistened his lips before speaking to the crowd.
"What a song, and you guys fucking rocked it to the core man!" he vocalized, extending the microphone out toward the crowd to pick up the ravenous scream of praise and adoration that resulted.
Nodding his head, he lifted his arms out toward the crowd before lifting them upward in quick, decisive movements, kinetically ordering the crowd to shout louder, setting the mood for the next song. Brian on the other hand sighed softly as he placed his palm firmly on his forehead, wrapping his long fingers around afterward. His vision had begun to violently swim and skew, giving him the impression that he was either drunk or sick. He shook his head briskly to clear his vision, however that only made it worse.
"Come on Oklahoma City!" Matt screeched into the microphone. "I know you have more than that! Let me here you scream!"
Following the command, the audience screamed loudly, the visual technicians adding to the overall affect by blaring the intensity of the red, purple and white strobe lights high above the stage. Pausing momentarily from sweeping over the crowd, Zacky glanced to his left, only to furrow his brow as he watched Brian stagger slightly to his own left.
"Louder!" the front man screeched as he dramatically extended out toward the audience.
Zacky meanwhile slung his guitar behind his back before walking across the stage to where his friend and fellow guitarist was standing.
"Hey, you all right?" he questioned as he placed his left hand onto his friend's quivering right shoulder.
"Yeah, I, I'm good," Brian lied, a forced smile plastered onto his equally quivering lips.
"Bri, you're shaking," Zacky noted as he curled the fingers of his right hand around his fellow guitarist's right wrist.
"Adrenaline," the other replied. "Besides we only have two more songs to do."
"Alright," the slightly shorter guitarist commented. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine," Brian reassured. "Go and get ready, we're starting soon."
"You guys are fired up tonight!" Matt replied smiling. "We're glad to hear that, this next song is one for all you motherfuckers out there who have been viciously cheated on. This is The Beast and the Harlot."
Slowly the lights began to fade as the charismatic front man nodded to his strings crew before hopping up onto the pedestal Jimmy's massive drums set was perched upon. Absorbing a few precious moments, Brian inhaled and exhaled for a few calming cadences to help clear his mind. Moments later, the crisp clacking noise of Jimmy's drumsticks vibrated across the stage and poured through the speakers, starting slow before working into a quickened pace.
1...2..1,2,3,4
Following the cadence of clacks, the stage roared to life, generating an equal response from the crowd, which instantly proceeded to jump up and down to the pounding vibrations from the drums and the fast-paced shrieking notes from the guitars. Matt meanwhile remained perched on the drum pedestal until the intro proceeded to build in tempo. Spurred by a staged pyrotechnic blast, the vocalist leapt from the pedestal, his voice howling into the microphone.
\~*~/
"Fallen now is Babylon the Great!" Matt barked as he thrust his right hand into the air, his fingers curled tightly around his microphone.
The audience proceeded to scream and cheer loudly as the members of Avenged Sevenfold unwound from another uptight and upbeat song. By this time, Brian's small condition had worsened tenfold, his vision now barely focused. Swinging his guitar around behind his back, he retrieved his signature fedora off of his head to rake his fingers through his long hair, dislodging his bandana in the process.
At the moment, Matt was conversing with the crowd, as he always liked to do before the closing song. His short speech was filled with many thanks to the crowd for their undying support of the band and all the people involved in the concert and such. Even though he thought the speeches were cute at times, some of them more or less sounded like he won and award and was listing off a number of names of people to thank for making the award possible. The guitarist glanced to his right back at the pedestal where a row of water and beer bottles lined the object. It wasn't until he turned to retrieve one of those objects did his body shut down on him.
Jimmy was one of the first to notice something was wrong when he glanced over at his fellow junkie only to observe the slight uneasy quiver to his step as well as his extremities. He was on the verge of questioning the guitarist of his well being when Brian's knees buckled and he collapsed onto the stage. Moderate chatter from the crowd quickly turned into screams and panicked discussion once Brian's body collided limply with the stage.
"Brian!" Jimmy shouted as he jumped from his stool, leaping off of the back of the pedestal afterward.
Zacky, Johnny and Matt were the next to systematically abandon their positions and their instruments in order to assess Brian's condition. Soft commotion arose between the quintet as they kneeled down by their fallen commrad, Matt shouldering the duty of checking his vital signs.
"He's breathing alright," the vocalist noted. "Perhaps he just passed out from the lights?"
"I hope that's all it was," Zacky commented as Matt lifted Brian's torso to rest against his, commanding Johnny to fetch some fresh bottles of water from the roadies backstage.
"Come on Bri," the worried vocalist whispered as he proceeded to dry the guitarist's face and neck of the perspiration that had accumulated there.
"Here's some water," Johnny informed as he jogged back onstage, the crowd now deathly silent save for a soft hum of murmuring.
"Thanks John," Matt replied as he retrieved a frigid bottle, unscrewing the cap before tilting Brian's head up, pouring a small amount into his mouth before gently rubbing his taut throat, aiding the life-giving liquid in traversing the correct tube. "Jimmy, can you get me Bri's bandana?"
"Yeah, here," the drummer commented as he handed Matt the requested object.
Nodding his gratitude, Matt unfurled the object before folding it into a more rectangular shape, soaking the already damp cloth in fresh, frigid water. Pouring some more water down Brian's throat, the vocalist then placed the bandana over the guitarist's forehead and eyes while barking orders to his fellow band mates.
"Zacky, notify the roadies to start packing up, we're done for the night," he commanded, the left-handed guitarist nodding before carrying out his duty. "Johnny, I want you to inform the crowd of what happened, apologize for the mishap and thank them for coming to the show."
"What do you want me to do?" Jimmy questioned as Johnny set about his duty, his voice echoing over the speakers moments later.
"Jimmy, I want you to call for an ambulance," Matt ordered as he re-soaked the bandana, wrapping the object around the back of Brian's neck.
The anxiety-ridden drummer set about his duty, dialing 9-1-1 in the process. In the moments that followed, soft murmurs began to flood the house as the audience proceeded to leave, the young bassist returning afterward to help Jason, Matt and a few other roadies pack up the equipment. Minutes seemed to pass by like hours as the emotionally drained vocalist continued to care for Brian, the note of the ambulance only aiding in relieving a fraction of his anxiety. Just as the last of Jimmy's drum kit was being packed away, a soft groan vibrated in the back of the guitarist's throat.
"..Ugh, where..?" Brian groaned softly as he re-opened his eyes.
"Hey, Jimmy," Matt called as he waved the drummer over. "I think he's waking up."
"What the...fuck happened?" the weakened guitarist questioned hoarsely.
"You passed out on stage," Jimmy informed monotonously.
"I did?" Brian questioned as he glanced around at his still blurry environment. "Wait, why? Why are the roadies packing up?"
"The concert's over Bri," Matt answered. "We're going home."
"But, we still had one last song," the confused guitarist responded as he struggled to sit up.
"Bri, just take it easy," the concerned drummer interjected as the paramedics rushed on-stage.
"You called the fucking paramedics?" Brian questioned as he staggered onto his feet.
"Brian!" Matt called, only to earn a shout of distain as a response.
"I'm Synyster fucking Gates goddamnit!" the guitarist shouted as he staggered off-stage.
"I'm terribly sorry," the vocalist apologized to the paramedics as he chased after his friend. "Brian! Wait up!"
"I'm not fucking Brian!" he shouted back as Matt's footfalls drew closer. "I'm fucking Synyster Gates!"
"Brian, Brian!" the vocalist reemphasized as he latched his left hand tightly around the guitarist's right arm. "Brian get back here!"
"Aaah!" Brian cried as Matt's fingernails proceeded to dig into his elbow, the injection spots throbbing. "Matt let go of me!"
"No," the perturbed vocalist replied roughly. "Not until you get a check up by the paramedics."
"Matt, you're hurting me!" the ragged guitarist cried as he proceeded to pull away from his friend. "Alright, alright! I'll cooperate..."
"Brian.." Matt began, only to sigh heavily as the aforementioned guitarist wrapped his slender arms around his waist. "Is there something you wish to tell me?"
"No! I mean, no, everything's fine," Brian lied as he quickly pulled away from his friend, wrapping his arms around his torso as he traversed back out to where Zacky had begun explaining to the paramedics an overview of Brian's behavior over the past few months. "Excuse me gentlemen, sorry for how I acted."
"That's alright son," the visibly older paramedic replied. "Now why don't you come with us out to the ambulance so we can check to make sure you're alright."
Nodding his head solemnly, Brian followed the paramedics outside to the back parking lot where the ambulance was parked; the Avenged Sevenfold tour bus parked just a few rows down. The brown-eyed guitarist glanced toward the home on wheels before being directed to sit down on the edge of the ambulance, the younger paramedic opening the second door to provide him room. Matt and Zacky had wandered outside, choosing to watch the check-up while Johnny and Jimmy helped pack away the remaining instruments.
The check-up started as a routine analysis of Brian's well-being and physical condition, some of the results already starting to worry the paramedics. The guitarist had a slight temperature of 100.3 degrees, which they deduced to be caused by the concert. He had a slight glassy film covering his eyes, and his features were very sunken in and sickly. With the aid of a small flashlight, the paramedics detected a slight yellowish tint to his skin tone, which had begun to degenerate from a healthy sun-kissed tan to a pale white.
"Cody, can I have a word with you?" the elder paramedic questioned, addressing his younger protégé as he began walking around to the front of the ambulance.
"Sure," the younger paramedic replied as he wrapped a small blanket around Brian's slightly quivering shoulders before joining his partner.
"I don't like the looks of this Zee," Matt whispered as he crossed his arms over his chest.
"Neither do I," Zacky responded as he glanced from the conversing paramedics to Brian.
"Hey guys," Johnny called as he stepped outside. "Have you guys seen Jimmy around here?"
"No, why?" the vocalist questioned as he furrowed his brow.
"We can't find him anywhere backstage," the bassist informed.
"I'll go and look for him," Zacky volunteered as he walked back into the theater.
"So how's Bri?" Johnny questioned as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, more so for the fact that it was cold rather than for looking tough.
"I don't know yet," Matt answered rather curtly, leaning his left elbow on Johnny's head. "They've been talking for quite a while."
The smaller bassist wrinkled the bridge of his nose at the fact that he had been reduced to being Matt's personalized leaning post, however the frustration was shortly lived when the paramedics had finished their discussion and journeyed back to where Brian was still obediently situated.
"Young man, would you please roll up the sleeves of your sweatshirt?" the elder paramedic questioned.
"Why?" the guitarist questioned as he hugged the fabric around his shoulders closer to his body.
"We have a suspicion to what is causing your health issues," the elder paramedic answered.
Furrowing his brow considerably, Brian began to retreat back into the ambulance, crossing his arms tightly against his chest.
"What seems to be the problem?" Matt questioned as he walked closer to the paramedics.
"We need to look at his arms to either identify or dismiss a possible conclusion as to why he's been behaving the way he has been."
"Bri, you said you would cooperate," the vocalist reprimanded.
Slowly, but surly, the guitarist released his death grip on the blanket he was given earlier. Sighing heavily, he began rolling up the fabric of his zip-up hoodie. Flicking on the flashlight, the elder paramedic shown the beam over Brian's arm, which soon yielded multitudes of red scratch marks and massive bruises. Even though his skin was marked to capacity with ink, there was no mistaking the affects reusing needles can do to one's skin, especially since the narcotics made his veins pop against his skin.
At first the paramedics and Matt stood silent, shocked by the conclusions that were drawn and solidified by the simple act of the guitarist pulling back his sleeves. The stunned silence began to slowly seep into Brian's mind as minutes crawled by like hours. Even though the paramedics were expecting the worst, they had no idea of the sheer brutality the musician had placed upon his body with the abuse of underground drugs. Fearing the worst from Matt, Brian quickly slid his sleeve back over his arm, hopping down from the ambulance afterward.
"Bri, where are you going?" Matt questioned, his voice laced with anger. "Get back here now!"
"No! No I won't!" the guitarist shouted as he proceeded to retreat toward the tour bus. "You can't make me!"
"Brian!" the vocalist shouted, only succeeding in causing the aforementioned to turn and flee. "Jesus Christ! Brian!"
Hearing his name shouted a second time; Brian glanced over his shoulder only to pick up his pace, turning his jog into a full-out sprint. Passing a lamppost, which marked a halfway point on his journey, he discarded the blanket, the object fluttering to the ground. Finally, he had reached the tour bus, only to discover that the door leading into the vehicle was locked.
"Oh fuck!" he cried as he pounded his right fist against the door, abandoning the thought of barricading himself in the vehicle as he glanced over his shoulder.
"Brian!" Matt shouted as he continued to chase his fleeing friend.
"Stay away from me!" Brian shouted in response as he bolted around the tour bus, eying the theater as he did so.
"Brian, I just want to talk to you," the vocalist replied as he jogged around the bus.
"I don't want to hear what you have to say!" the guitarist answered. "Besides, you're just going to hurt me again!"
"Bri, I would never do that!" Matt continued, desperation seeping into his panting words. "Just please, stop running...and let me help you."
In the seconds that followed, silence enveloped the two as the massive bus soon became the proverbial barrier that separated them. Brian closed his eyes as he leaned heavily against the bus's side skirts as he struggled to regain his breath. His trust in Matt had been shattered into a million pieces, and he feared the worst, however the sheer sincerity that poured over his next few words aided in rekindling that strained relationship.
"Please Bri, give me a chance," the vocalist commented as he proceeded to walk around the perimeter of the vehicle. "Don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you."
"...Matt," Brian sighed as he collapsed onto the ground, exhaustion creeping into his senses.
"It's going to alright Bri," Matt whispered as he carefully approached the guitarist, his actions and body movements withdrawn and portraying a sense of ease.
Brian sighed lightly before turning his head to glance at his fellow band mate, the expression practically breaking the vocalist's heart. Once he was finally able to approach him, Matt lifted Brian into his arms, the simple movement causing the slightly shorter man to cry out in pain. Wrapping his quivering arms around the strong body before him, Brian rested his head against Matt's broad chest, rejoicing in the fact that he finally had someone to support him in this most dire time.
"Brian, we need to talk," the vocalist whispered as he placed his chin lightly down on the guitarist's head.
"Not right now," Brian whispered as he closed his eyes, a small smile curling the corners of his lips.
\~*~/
"Jimmy!" Zacky called as he entered the theater's men's bathroom.
The left-handed guitarist had deduced that the restrooms were the only other place left to search for the wayward drummer. Sure there was the women's restroom, but that was somewhere that even someone like Jimmy wouldn't go even if he was intoxicated. Pursing his lips together, Zacky continued to search the expansive restroom until the sounds of muffled sobbing reached his ears.
"Jimmy?" he called again. "Are you alright?"
With the muffled noise his only lead, the guitarist followed the sound to the very last stall in the large room. He didn't even have to glance under the marble-white door to know that the drummer was behind it. The room was quiet save for the small noises he was creating, however Zacky wasn't prepared for the shout of agony followed by a stream of curses and obscenities.
"Jimmy?" the guitarist questioned as he softly rapped his knuckles against the door. "What's wrong?"
"Go away Zack," Jimmy ordered, his voice a broken sob.
"Not until you open this door," Zacky ordered as he proceeded to fiddle with the door.
"I said go away!" the drummer cried as he stabbed at the ground mere centimeters from the guitarist's feet.
"Jesus!" Zacky shouted as he jumped back, the knife slowly being dragged back into the stall. "Jim, please, don't be like this. Please tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing's fucking wrong!" came the response. "I'm just fucking peachy-keen! Life's perfect, and I haven't a care in the world!"
"Jimmy..," Zacky began, only to sigh heavily afterward. "Don't be like this. Please open the door, I only want to help you."
"Yeah, just like Tom want to," Jimmy replied curtly as he stabbed the inside of the stall door with his knife. "All he ever said was that I'd be the happiest man on the planet. But you know what? I'm not, I'm not the fucking happiest guy on the planet."
It wasn't until the point when the armed drummer stood and proceeded to open the door did Zacky begin to fear for his life. Jimmy had a problem; a blind man could see that, however he didn't really want to be on the receiving end of that blade when hurricane Jimmy hit.
"How can I be the happiest guy on the fucking planet when I look like this?" he shouted as he opened the door, his already thin face now a sickly, skeletal thin, his eye sockets now prominent against his milky white complexion.
Zacky cowered slightly as Jimmy stepped out of the stall, a fresh needle and syringe dangling from his left arm. Sighing heavily, the drummer pulled the object from his arm before trudging over to the long mirror stationed above the row of sinks. Allowing for his gaze to slowly lower, the left-handed guitarist then noticed the deep gashes in Jimmy's arms, blood still pouring from the fresh wounds.
"Jimmy, you're bleeding," Zacky noted as he proceeded to slowly advance upon his disturbed friend.
"Yeah, I am aren't I?" the drummer questioned in partial insanity as he glanced at his pocketknife. "Fucking bitch."
Zacky flinched slightly at the venom-doused words before witnessing the object fly across the room only to land in a corner directly behind the trashcan. His deed completed, the ragged drummer returned to his staring contest with his reflection. Cautiously, the guitarist advanced upon his friend.
"Here, let me help you clean those," he offered as he carefully placed his hands on Jimmy's right bicep only to have the drummer recoil sharply. "Oh, sorry, do you need some help?"
"Why would you want to help a fuck up like me Zack?" Jimmy questioned, his icy, blue gaze boring holes through Zacky's jade green eyes.
"Well, because I'm your friend," the guitarist replied, a soft smile claiming his pierced lips. "And that's what friends do. Now come over here so we can get those cuts cleaned up and bandaged.
After a few moments of holding Zacky's gaze, Jimmy sighed heavily before traversing over to the sink the guitarist was standing next to and held out his arms, the deep gashes causing the smaller musician to wince. Setting to work, Zacky turned on both faucets, allowing for the cold and hot water to mix into a luke-warm stream. Retrieving a few paper towels, he soaked the objects underneath the stream before carefully placing the object over Jimmy's wounds, causing the drummer to hiss in pain.
"Sorry," the guitarist whispered as he carefully placed another over it before setting to work on the others. "Well, I'm no doctor, but that should suffice until we can get back on the bus and I can find that damn first-aid kit."
Glancing down at his covered arms, a small smile crept onto the drummer's features as he reverted his gaze to fall upon Zacky who was preoccupied with shutting off the faucets. A thought soon crossed his mind, and he wasn't sure of what the outcome would be, but he thought it would be fun to experiment. Besides, Zacky's an understanding guy, right?
"Uh, Zacky?" he questioned, his voice a mere quivering whisper.
"Hmm?" the guitarist hummed as he turned to face the emotionally unstable drummer. "What is it?"
Without really thinking about any of the consequences, Jimmy leaned down and pressed his lips against Zacky's, the shorter of the two instantly tensing his muscles. The kiss was awkward and short, a strong silence surrounding the two afterward. Zacky to say the least was speechless, he didn't know whether he should slap Jimmy, stare at him awkwardly or kiss him again. The gesture was short and innocent, however the buzz that remained was enough to cause a soft hue of pink to claim the guitarist's blush line.
"Jimmy, I-I don't...know what, to say," Zacky replied.
"Think of something then," the drummer answered, a sly smirk claiming his lips.
"Heh, kiss me again," the guitarist ordered, causing Jimmy to chuckle softly.
"You dirty boy," he whispered as he wrapped his arms around Zacky's waist, passionately kissing him afterward.
\~*~/
February 4th, 2006 ~Huntington Beach, Orange County, California 2:30p.m.
Aaaaah, home at last. The tour was fun and all, but it just feels so good to be home. Now I don't have to wake up every morning at five just to go to a fucking interview. We have a few weeks off, which means that I can now sleep all hours of the day and wake up at night only to do a few lines, shoot up then pass out. Speaking of shooting up, I need to do that, I missed a day and withdrawal is starting to creep up on me, I feel like complete shit right now.
Ugh, just shot up, I feel better...and by better I mean waiting to puke my intestines out because I up-chucked my stomach this morning. Zack and Jim are apparently a couple now, wow, who saw that coming? I sure as hell didn't, and man masturbation sure has its limits...I need to get laid so badly, but I really don't feel like taking a chance at the local strip clubs, they all probably have STDs anyway. I know I probably have a short life, but I don't want it to be that short. I'll call Matt and see if he wants to come over tonight and watch some pornos with me...
February 6th, 20072006 ~home 4:30 a.m.
My heart just skipped a few beats a few minutes ago, fucking cocaine...I'd go to a bar, but I don't feel like causing drama, or having some dude slap my ass just because he thinks I look like a chick...eeeewwww, I just thought of that happening too...man, I reeeeeeeaaaally need some pussy...hell I'll even suck some cock just to get off, I don't care at this point, I just want to have sex! Man, I just sounded incredibly desperate...
Matt called; I guess I should call him back shouldn't I?
February 7th, 2006 ~home 10:30 a.m.
Aaah, I feel loads better...I finally got laid! Apparently you can look up cheap ass whores that will come and service you up real good in the phone book...I didn't know that! Anyway, the midget called today asking about his slashed tires. How the fuck am I supposed to know what happened? I can't remember what I had for breakfast let alone what happened yesterday! I guess that's why I have you journal, so I can read back and remember what I did the day before...
I think I'm starting to worry my parents too; they called me about a bazillion times wanting to know if I'm all right. Well, I'm functioning so I guess that counts? I don't know, I need another fix.
February 8th, 2006 ~home 2:30 a.m.
Man, I'm sick as a fucking dog today, and the worst part of it all...I don't even remember how I got home from the bar, or was it a strip club? I don't know, the only thing I remember is waking up next to a dumpster with my clothes jacked and a fucking needle in my arm.
Come to think of it, when I got home I had a shit load of messages on my phone, all of them were from Matt wondering if the reports were true...what fucking reports?
February 10th, 2006 ~home 2:40 p.m.
Just woke up from passing out again, god damn Persian, I can't stand being without this shit, but then again, I can't stand it either. But here's the funny part, I absolutely love coke! I swear if it were a candy, I'd eat it every day, oh wait I am doing that...
Jimmy called yesterday and said that he checked into rehab, good for him, the fucking quitter, I can't believe he'd quit, shows how much of a wuss he is, oh and speaking of wusses, Michelle has officially dumped my fucked up ass, hah, so what, who needs her? I've got heroin and coke to keep me company, and not enough needles to go around, I guess I'm just going to have to buy some more...
February 11th, 2006 ~home 12:20 p.m.
Matt just called, he said he's coming over in a few minutes, I should probably clean up, but why bother, he says he doesn't care anyway...I ran out of needles today, so I should probably go and get some more at the pharmacy, I wonder if they'd actually sell them to me, they might just question my reasons...heh, but then again, if they deny me needles, they deny their store money...ha ha,
Oh, Matt just arrived...
"Brian?" Matt called as he opened the door, only to cough and retreat back outside.
Brian's apartment was a disaster zone, papers and garbage strewn about the whole area, with a thick odor of rotting flesh, feces and urine perpetrating the room. Clamping his hands over his nose and mouth, Matt unwillingly journeyed into the room, sidestepping past piles of dirty laundry and other articles of garbage as he searched for his friend.
"Brian?" he called again as he entered the bedroom only to come face to face with his fellow band mate.
It had only been about a week since the band had momentarily parted ways for their momentarily vacation from touring. In that short amount of time, the once proud and charismatic guitarist he'd come to know and love was now a mere ghost of himself. If he had to compare him to something, Matt would find the closest comparison being a walking skeleton. Brian had become so skinny that not even Michelle's forgotten clothes from her high school days would fit him. The dark circles that marked his once beautiful face were now so black that it looked as if he had taken a black sharpie and colored along the worry lines under his eyes.
"Brian," he whispered, tears stinging the backs of his eyes as he gently rested his right hand against his friend's prominent cheekbone. "What happened to you?"
"Nothing, I'm fine," the sickly guitarist replied smiling weakly. "So shall we get going?"
"Oh we're going alright," the vocalist informed. "Straight to the hospital."
\~*~/
February 13th, 2006 ~Orange County Mercy Hospital 2:30 p.m.
Well, here I am, lying in a fucking hospital bed awaiting my fucking test results. I already know what they're going to say, not only that but I'm pissin' blood now..heh, lovely. Ah well, I don't care, I can't eat, I don't feel like drinking anything, even if it is beer...the only thing I need right now is my fuckin' fix! I need my fix....
February 16th, 2006 ~home 2:39 p.m.
Finally got home from that fucking hospital...they say I already died once while in there and I wasn't responsive to the constant jolts they gave me...I believe Matt said that he begged the doctors to keep trying, and low and behold, the next shock is what did it...my left hand is still twitching, so I guess I haven't fully recovered yet, aw, who am I fuckin' kiddin? I'm as good as dead anyway...
February 17th, 2006 ~home 6:30 p.m.
Matt and Val stopped by today, Matt pretty much helped me with organizing my life financially while Val cleaned up the apartment. I must say it sure does look wonderful. She said I need to take a shower or a bath though cause I stink...yeah I guess I do, but I don't really feel like it at the moment.
Matt went grocery shopping for me as well, aww, he's such a good friend, I wish I could pay him back, but I just don't know how to...when I asked him, he said to not worry about it, perhaps he'd like to do some lines with me later? I doubt it. Just heard that Jimmy's out of rehab, he's taking methadone pills again to curb his cravings and help wean him off of heroin and cocaine...well, at least he was great back then...now I don't even know him anymore...
February 19th, 2006, ~home 11:13 a.m.
It's raining outside, and I'm inside my closet chasing the dragon, I missed freebasing, but it doesn't really provide that strong high I love when I inject, God I love that shit, almost as much as I love Matt, speaking of Matt I wonder what he's doing at the moment? Probably at the gym...
I should be at the gym, however with how much weight I've lost at the moment, the only thing I can stand to lift anymore is my guitar, and I haven't held her in weeks...maybe I should rekindle old relationships...
February 21st, 2006, ~hell 12:20 p.m.
The story of my life...one can only hope that this journal falls into the right hands after this post. I can feel my heart failing, it's slowing now as we speak, as I'm writing to you here in this lonesome closet of nightmares and sinful pleasures. all that remains of me is my bones, because that's all I am anymore, I'm nothing but skin and bones, heroin and cocaine are my only nourishment.
My hands are shaking as I write this, am I really going to die today? And if I am, what difference is it really going to make? I've already died twice, and everyone says that the third time is the charm. I wonder if anyone will miss me? I know my mom and my dad definitely...my friends no doubt, and the fans...oh the fans, I'm sorry my dear children
February 23rd, 2006 ~home 2:30 a.m.
I've had it, I just can't take this any more, heroine and cocaine just don't provide me the escape I so desperately wanted. Sure it's good for a few minutes, but dying for it is no longer a pleasure for me. I'll admit it now, I have a problem, and I need help. I'm too weak to fight this on my own...please won't somebody help me?
February 24th, 2006 ~home 10:30 p.m.
Matt called today to check up on me, and I actually called him back, I told him I wanted to talk to him, and he's coming over soon. I know it seems late, but I really need to talk to him, I figure he's my closest confidante at the moment, and I really need his help...oh, the door is banging...I guess I should go and open it now...
"Matt," Brian welcomes as he slings his stick thin arms around his friend.
"You said you wanted to talk to me Bri?" Matt questioned as he entered the apartment.
"Yes, and it's very important that we put this plan into action as soon as possible," the guitarist informed as he practically fell onto the small couch.
"What do you need?" the vocalist questioned as he sat down next to his friend.
"Matt, I have a problem, a major problem," Brian started, wringing his long, bony fingers as he spoke. "I'm sure you already know that I viciously abuse heroin and cocaine. And I'm guessing that over the past few weeks the only things you've ever heard about me is the fact that nothing is going well and that my body is failing on me."
"What are you trying to say Brian?" Matt questioned impatiently.
"Matt, I want to quit heroine and coke," he informed. "I want my life back, and I need help. Will you be willing to help me?"
"Of course Bri, we'll all help you," the front man replied, a wide smile claiming his lips. "I'm very proud of you for making this decision on your own."
For the first time in months, the drug-weakened guitarist smiled geminately, his smile reclaiming some of the radiance he had lost so long ago.
\~*~/
February 25th, 2006 ~home 4:30 p.m.
Day One: Dope and smack free
Just got back from the rehab clinic that Jimmy is still going to with a pack of methadone pills. As far as I know, my little black case and all of my rigs are now on their way to the landfill 'cause Matt dumped them this morning. I must be fucking insane to allow him to do that, but this is for my own good, so if I die for good this time in rehab, at least I can say that I died trying to regain my life, and so far so good, I can tell you one thing though, by the time withdrawal smacks me in the face, I know I'm going to be a cranky, moody bitch, and I hope that my friends don't take it too personally...
February 26th, 2006 ~home 8:20 a.m.
Day two: Dope and smack free
These methadone pills really do the trick sometimes, but withdrawal is starting to set in, and already I want to puke my guts out, ugh, I don't feel like moving today. Jimmy said he was going to come over to watch me until Matt gets done with his errands he had to run today. Eh, that's fine with me..I hope he brings Zacky, I could use someone to talk guitar with...
February 27th, 2006 ~home 11:30 p.m.
Day three: Dope and smack free
Just woke up from sleeping all day, I don't know why I'm so tired, perhaps it's the fact that my body is starting to repair itself? I don't know, all I know is that I upchucked a few times today...and let me tell you, it sure wasn't stomach acid that was in the toilet...here I'll give you a blunt hint....it was fucking blood! Goddamnit....
February 28th, 2006 ~home 2:39 p.m.
Day four: Dope and smack free
I just had one of the worst craving for heroin since I started this shit...man I feel so weak, I thought those bastards at the clinic said that this shit was supposed to help me not make me feel worse than when I was shootin' and snortin' cocaine and heroin! What gives? Ah well, I don't really care...this month's over, and another hellish one is just around the corner...see you in March bitch!