Categories > Celebrities > Motley Crue > Clandestine
Time Served
Nikki's POV
Not sure how long I lay here dormant on a floor staring up at a ceiling. A blink comes to my eyes as I hear the gentle strumming of a guitar. The sweetest, softest, saddest, most depressing shit you've ever heard. But still, in it's own right, fucking beautiful. I had to hand it to Izzy, he was way better at putting his heart into his playing than I was. But come on I play a fucking bass, I'm working with two less strings. Sometimes there's a little heart in my lyrics, but not nearly enough. There's more fuck the world, let's drink and get laid in mine. But Izzy, it was like every word had a hidden double meaning. The meaning the masses would get, and yet a more subtle one that only someone close would read into. Damn, I'm starting to think Stradlin here may be the brains behind the band.
“Hey Izz,” the words trickle from my languid mind and numb lips as I will my head to turn and look at him.
He perches there in his window with rays of sun coming in through it. But somehow it's as if every last ray missed him or simply bounced off. He repelled it. An odd and strange occurrence or my fucked up mind playing games with me? I don't know, any thoughts on this? I'm fucking blank. I can't fucking explain this shit that defies the laws of basic science.
“Humm?” Izzy asks, eyes never once leaving his guitar. His fingers never stopping with their gentle ministrations.
“What's today?” I slur.
“Sunday,” Izzy replies with no thought involved.
“When does Tommy get back?” I ask as I will my arm to scratch my stomach. There's just no way I can sit up.
“Friday,” Izzy says exhaling smoke from the corner of his mouth as his cigarette continued to dangle.
That gentle rhythm he has set in motion is still softly humming from the acoustic in his lap.
“I need a hit,” I groan.
“Ok,” I hear Izzy reply but his playing still doesn't stop.
In fact it lulls me right to sleep. And I don't mean lulls me to sleep, like oh I fell asleep with the radio on. And I don't mean lulls me, as if its something boring. I guess its comforting. It sort of makes me feel like a baby in a crib. Flat on my back staring up at a ceiling as some wind up toy plays the same little catchy lullaby over and over. Yeah, that's what Stradlin's playing is doing to me. Rock-a-bye Sikki.
When I awake the room is dark except for moonlight. There is no sound of music, no TV, nothing. I run my hand down my side. I appear to be in a bed. Whose bed? I lift my head. I see the outline of Izzy standing in the moonlight at the window. Smoking a cigarette as usual. He's kinda hot all bathed in moonlight with smoke swirling all around him catching the moons gentle glow even more.
I watch as he stands there and stares with that dead look in his eyes and blank expression on his face. When he blinks its slow and almost seems to bring him pain. With a sniffle he wipes his nose with the back of his hand. Does he need a fix? Did we run out of shit? He looks down exhaling smoke. What the fuck I would not give to be able to read his mind. This seems like one of those rare moments when there's actually something on it.
“Izzy?” I mumble.
His head lifts and faces me. “Yeah?”
“What day is it?” I manage to lift myself to my elbows.
“Monday,” he replies and drags from his cigarette there in the dark.
“I need a fucking fix,” I sigh.
“We need a chick,” Is Izzy's reply in that single tone of his that shows no emotion at all.
“A chick?” Fuck that, I don't want to go anywhere.
“Mmmm,” he nods dragging from his cigarette, “I know this chick down on Melrose.” I hear him smirk, “She likes it rough.”
I can't help but smirk too. Why the hell not fuck some rage out? So Izzy called her up and half an hour later this bitch is tied up on Izzy's bed with a cock in her mouth and a cock in her ass. I think at one point one in her ass and one in her pussy. And Izzy was putting it delicately when he said she liked it rough. This bitch belonged in a goddamn circus freak show. A Mexican Donkey Show didn't have shit on this crazy bitch. I'm not even going to admit to or own up to half the shit I found myself doing. And I fucking tell everything like I don't give a fuck. As You well know, I don't give a fuck what people think. But this shit...not even Nikki Sixx will admit to.
We fucked her till I either went blind or passed the fuck out. Maybe we ran out of coke? I don't know. But anyhow, I was fucking out.
I awoke with my face on a cool surface. Formica? I slightly raise my head see Izzy sitting across from me eating a bowl of cereal. Fruity Pebbles? He looks at me blankly.
“You gonna eat the shit or what?” He shrugs.
“What's today?” I ask peering into the bowl before me.
“Tuesday.”
I groan and drop my head back to the counter. “I need a fucking hit.”
“Sure,” Izzy replies, “just as soon as you can walk your ass to the bedroom and fix it.”
Fuck that. Too fucking far.
I awake with a dream of kissing Tommy on a white sandy beach. I lift my head to see Izzy sitting next to me nodding with a needle in his arm still.
“Wake up!” I shout and fucking regret the pain it puts in my own head.
Izzy slowly lifts his head but doesn't open his eyes. “Wednesday,” he mumbles and it slowly starts to droop again. Wednesday? What the fuck is he talking about?
“Hey man you might wanna pull the needle out,” I nudge him.
He somehow wills himself to do so and melds into the couch. Wow. I'm kind of surprised to see Stradlin like this. He usually keeps his shit so together. I rub my eyes. I want to feel just like he does right now. I don't want to be haunted with dreams of Tommy. So I prep me one of the biggest loads I've ever done. And soon, I'm nodding into oblivion too.
“Sixx,” I hear and feel a nudge.
I part open one eye and see Izzy standing in front of me. He lightly kicks my leg.
“What?” I groan.
“Vince just came by here looking for you.”
“Vince?” I ask and rub my eyes, “What day is it?”
“Thursday,” Izzy says. “I told him I ain't seen you. He looked a bit pissed...worried...you might maybe need to call or some shit.” He shrugs.
“Fuck Vince,” I say and re-close my eyes.
My eyes open to the sound of running water. I lift my head to find myself slumped against the wall of Izzy's bathroom. I feel an explosion of energy in my veins. My eyes dart up to meet Izzy's as he is pulling a needle out of my foot.
“Wake up man,” He says to me, “gotta get cleaned up, Tommy's on his way here to get you.”
“Tommy? What fucking day is it?” I ask shoving myself to my feet, reeling from what I assume was a hell of a dose of fucking coke. I hear the rumblings of a distant train in my ears.
“It's Friday,” Izzy answers drone like, “get your shit together, he'll be here in like 40 minutes.” And he exits the bathroom leaving me there.
Nikki's POV
Not sure how long I lay here dormant on a floor staring up at a ceiling. A blink comes to my eyes as I hear the gentle strumming of a guitar. The sweetest, softest, saddest, most depressing shit you've ever heard. But still, in it's own right, fucking beautiful. I had to hand it to Izzy, he was way better at putting his heart into his playing than I was. But come on I play a fucking bass, I'm working with two less strings. Sometimes there's a little heart in my lyrics, but not nearly enough. There's more fuck the world, let's drink and get laid in mine. But Izzy, it was like every word had a hidden double meaning. The meaning the masses would get, and yet a more subtle one that only someone close would read into. Damn, I'm starting to think Stradlin here may be the brains behind the band.
“Hey Izz,” the words trickle from my languid mind and numb lips as I will my head to turn and look at him.
He perches there in his window with rays of sun coming in through it. But somehow it's as if every last ray missed him or simply bounced off. He repelled it. An odd and strange occurrence or my fucked up mind playing games with me? I don't know, any thoughts on this? I'm fucking blank. I can't fucking explain this shit that defies the laws of basic science.
“Humm?” Izzy asks, eyes never once leaving his guitar. His fingers never stopping with their gentle ministrations.
“What's today?” I slur.
“Sunday,” Izzy replies with no thought involved.
“When does Tommy get back?” I ask as I will my arm to scratch my stomach. There's just no way I can sit up.
“Friday,” Izzy says exhaling smoke from the corner of his mouth as his cigarette continued to dangle.
That gentle rhythm he has set in motion is still softly humming from the acoustic in his lap.
“I need a hit,” I groan.
“Ok,” I hear Izzy reply but his playing still doesn't stop.
In fact it lulls me right to sleep. And I don't mean lulls me to sleep, like oh I fell asleep with the radio on. And I don't mean lulls me, as if its something boring. I guess its comforting. It sort of makes me feel like a baby in a crib. Flat on my back staring up at a ceiling as some wind up toy plays the same little catchy lullaby over and over. Yeah, that's what Stradlin's playing is doing to me. Rock-a-bye Sikki.
When I awake the room is dark except for moonlight. There is no sound of music, no TV, nothing. I run my hand down my side. I appear to be in a bed. Whose bed? I lift my head. I see the outline of Izzy standing in the moonlight at the window. Smoking a cigarette as usual. He's kinda hot all bathed in moonlight with smoke swirling all around him catching the moons gentle glow even more.
I watch as he stands there and stares with that dead look in his eyes and blank expression on his face. When he blinks its slow and almost seems to bring him pain. With a sniffle he wipes his nose with the back of his hand. Does he need a fix? Did we run out of shit? He looks down exhaling smoke. What the fuck I would not give to be able to read his mind. This seems like one of those rare moments when there's actually something on it.
“Izzy?” I mumble.
His head lifts and faces me. “Yeah?”
“What day is it?” I manage to lift myself to my elbows.
“Monday,” he replies and drags from his cigarette there in the dark.
“I need a fucking fix,” I sigh.
“We need a chick,” Is Izzy's reply in that single tone of his that shows no emotion at all.
“A chick?” Fuck that, I don't want to go anywhere.
“Mmmm,” he nods dragging from his cigarette, “I know this chick down on Melrose.” I hear him smirk, “She likes it rough.”
I can't help but smirk too. Why the hell not fuck some rage out? So Izzy called her up and half an hour later this bitch is tied up on Izzy's bed with a cock in her mouth and a cock in her ass. I think at one point one in her ass and one in her pussy. And Izzy was putting it delicately when he said she liked it rough. This bitch belonged in a goddamn circus freak show. A Mexican Donkey Show didn't have shit on this crazy bitch. I'm not even going to admit to or own up to half the shit I found myself doing. And I fucking tell everything like I don't give a fuck. As You well know, I don't give a fuck what people think. But this shit...not even Nikki Sixx will admit to.
We fucked her till I either went blind or passed the fuck out. Maybe we ran out of coke? I don't know. But anyhow, I was fucking out.
I awoke with my face on a cool surface. Formica? I slightly raise my head see Izzy sitting across from me eating a bowl of cereal. Fruity Pebbles? He looks at me blankly.
“You gonna eat the shit or what?” He shrugs.
“What's today?” I ask peering into the bowl before me.
“Tuesday.”
I groan and drop my head back to the counter. “I need a fucking hit.”
“Sure,” Izzy replies, “just as soon as you can walk your ass to the bedroom and fix it.”
Fuck that. Too fucking far.
I awake with a dream of kissing Tommy on a white sandy beach. I lift my head to see Izzy sitting next to me nodding with a needle in his arm still.
“Wake up!” I shout and fucking regret the pain it puts in my own head.
Izzy slowly lifts his head but doesn't open his eyes. “Wednesday,” he mumbles and it slowly starts to droop again. Wednesday? What the fuck is he talking about?
“Hey man you might wanna pull the needle out,” I nudge him.
He somehow wills himself to do so and melds into the couch. Wow. I'm kind of surprised to see Stradlin like this. He usually keeps his shit so together. I rub my eyes. I want to feel just like he does right now. I don't want to be haunted with dreams of Tommy. So I prep me one of the biggest loads I've ever done. And soon, I'm nodding into oblivion too.
“Sixx,” I hear and feel a nudge.
I part open one eye and see Izzy standing in front of me. He lightly kicks my leg.
“What?” I groan.
“Vince just came by here looking for you.”
“Vince?” I ask and rub my eyes, “What day is it?”
“Thursday,” Izzy says. “I told him I ain't seen you. He looked a bit pissed...worried...you might maybe need to call or some shit.” He shrugs.
“Fuck Vince,” I say and re-close my eyes.
My eyes open to the sound of running water. I lift my head to find myself slumped against the wall of Izzy's bathroom. I feel an explosion of energy in my veins. My eyes dart up to meet Izzy's as he is pulling a needle out of my foot.
“Wake up man,” He says to me, “gotta get cleaned up, Tommy's on his way here to get you.”
“Tommy? What fucking day is it?” I ask shoving myself to my feet, reeling from what I assume was a hell of a dose of fucking coke. I hear the rumblings of a distant train in my ears.
“It's Friday,” Izzy answers drone like, “get your shit together, he'll be here in like 40 minutes.” And he exits the bathroom leaving me there.
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