God Bless the Children of the Beast

1987. We went into the club as inconspicuously as possible, wearing black glasses and hoodies that hung loosely off our iridescent skin. The first thing we did of course was hit up the bar. “Cash or tab?” the bartender asked. Nikki handed him a credit card. “Also I’ll need some ID.” We had forgotten that he couldn’t see who we were, and probably looked half our age anyway in such loose clothes. Nikki, with an aggravated sigh, lowered his glasses just long enough for the man to see who he was. Then he immediately looked at me. Before he could say my name and blow my cover I nodded. He kept his mouth shut and got our drinks.
We waited for a little bit, for some new band on the strip that was supposedly pretty good but caught the tail end of the movement. Nobody seemed to care about them except the nightly club-goers on the Strip. Their name was plastered in black ink on a banner across the stage; “Cyanide”. Ironic how we were going to stuff more poison into our lives. I could name a half-dozen band names that marked my death just off the top of my head. “Broken” “Cyanide” “Heroin” “Motley Crue” “Nikki Sixx”. Any of these would be fitting for a band destined to die. Broken had already replaced me, but album sales were cut in half. Motley was as big as ever, just ending a European tour with Nikki already writing another album. And me? Well, I was watching my life dwindle away while I lived in a mansion with a rockstar that would rather chase the dragon than me. We got suitably drunk, enough to be coherent and have a buzz at the same time.
We kicked back in a corner together, clutching our drinks. He had shot up just before coming, I had based, unable to force myself into the needle once more. I was getting hooked, I knew that much, but if I could help it I wouldn’t kill myself. I glanced over at him drowsily. Though I couldn’t see his eyes, I knew he was nervous. I felt it. Truth is, once I admitted my feelings for him to myself, he’s helped my sanity stay put. Now I felt like I could help him without being distracted by my own addiction. His arm twitched as he downed his drink. I handed him mine and returned my attention to the stage as the club lights dimmed.
The band played a couple songs, and I judged them carefully. I was almost jealous of them, but I kept my temper. They looked like a glam band, but sounded like Guns N’ Roses. They were interesting. Definitely label material, but unfortunately the big-name labels had moved on already after catching Guns.
My heart sank as I watched the guitarist head straight for us after the show. I stayed put and kept cool, wondering silently if he had recognized me. “So what did you think of us?” The guy asked. I noticed Nikki get tense beside me. “I liked it.” I replied nonchalantly. He nodded, a slight smile crossing his lips. “That’s a relief; you were one of my big inspirations for playing.” My throat closed itself shut as I realized he had recognized me. Nobody had seen me in a year besides people who worked for Motley. His smile widened. “It’s alright Sami, I won’t tell anybody I promise.” I sighed and took my glasses off, taking extra care to make sure clumps of hair obscured my face anyway. “Can I buy you a drink?” He asked nicely. I shook my head. “We got that covered.” He nodded wonderingly and glanced over at Nikki. The guy’s curly blonde hair glowed slightly in the awkward club lighting. He reminded me of Steven Adler.
“You must be Nikki.” He said suddenly. I made a face and closed my eyes in defeat before glancing over at him. He didn’t say a word, or even move, he just nodded his head slightly and hugged his drink tighter. He took the hint to back off and returned his attention to me. “Oh, excuse me! My name’s Peter.” I saw his blue eyes dance in the dim lighting, reminding me of innocence and childhood. Things I could never go back to. When I continued to stare at him without an answer, he rubbed his head nervously and tried to force a smile. “So are you guys like, an item now? Not to intrude or anything.” He put his hands up in a show of innocence. That caught me off guard. Nobody had ever asked that before, even though they were thinking it. I had often wondered myself and never bothered to ask. I had to hand it to the kid, he had balls.
I stuttered a couple of breaths and glanced over at Nikki, not sure what to say. He shrugged indifferently and took the last swig of his drink, his poofy hair flipping as he did so. I took the shrug as a good sign, because it wasn’t an outright no. A smile formed on my heart as I looked back at the young guitarist, who seemed thoroughly confused. “I guess that’s a ‘maybe’.” I said, tossing in a small chuckle. Peter beamed. A guy came up beside him who I recognized as their singer. He had short, black spiked hair. It was so punk and underground for this era that it still took me back every time I saw it. “Don’t tell me you’re hitting on the locals again Pete.” The new arrival joked, giving me a thorough look-over. His smile slowly vanished as he looked at me. “Noooo shit.” He breathed. Peter nodded affirmation to his dumbstruck frontman. The raven-haired boy continued to stare at me. Normally I would have fidgeted and felt awkward, but the drugs took care of that problem. He kept looking into my eyes, and I knew he had probably figured out the same explanation.
It wasn’t long before his attention was drawn to the silent figure beside me. “Fuck.” He said simply, realizing who my partner was. Peter nudged his friend. “Stop staring Aaron, you’re gonna draw attention.” The Aaron boy finally closed his mouth and dropped his gaze. “So, Sami.” Peter urged excitedly, “Don’t take this wrong, but I just have to ask since this will be my only chance to. Nobody’s seen you in a year, would you mind jamming with us one afternoon?” I stared at him as I had been, unsure how to act around people anymore. He nervously awaited my reply while his singer gaped at him. I shrugged. “Sure, whatever.” He almost yelled in excitement. “When is a good time for you?” He asked. I yawned and racked my brain. I wasn’t doing anything for…how long until Motley toured? “Ehhh…Tuesday..” I muttered. Hell, I had nowhere to be. Maybe a jam with a few immature musicians would do me some good. “Tuesday, no problem. Where at?” “Hmmm…” I thought drowsily. “Nikki, think we could steal the studio Tuesday night?” I asked, looking over at him casually as he studied the two bandmates before us. He still had his glasses on. He glanced over at me with a short nod. “Studio then.” I confirmed to the two. “Just up the street. Number 14.” “Awesome!” Peter coed. Aaron stared dumbly at his friend. “Thank you.” He stuttered to me. “Good show.” I said, forcing a smile. You’re supposed to smile in this situation, right? “See you Tuesday.” I said as I made my way out. Nikki followed suit.
We made our way back on his Harley. The wind blew his hair into my face, but I didn’t mind. It smelled like dirt and hairspray, but it smelled like home. No sooner had we arrived at his Van Nuys mansion than he had started cooking up another dose. “Gotta call Jason…” he fretted as he fumbled for a lighter. I grabbed one of our many bottles of Jack and settled on the floor beside him. He might try to kill himself on an hourly basis, but I would stay comfortably numb beside him, always watching, always protecting. He had just tied off his arm when he glanced up at me. “Why did you agree to hang out with those losers anyway?” He asked. I shrugged. “It felt right.” I mused, taking a swig and reminiscing of my past bandmates. He shot up and collapsed beside me, laying his head on my lap. I gently stroked his dirty hair as I listened to the sound of silence radiate throughout the house. My memories played like a broken record behind my eyes.