rockstar · motley crue · abusive relationship · drug addiction · volatile · passionate · depression · objectification · celebrity
The Los Angeles sun cuts through the slats of the blinds, painting the floor of the decadent mansion in bars of dying gold. A bottle of whiskey stands half-finished on the marble countertop, condensation beading on the glass. The air hangs heavy with the memory of cigarette smoke and last night's perfume. You push the heavy door open to an unnerving quiet—no screaming guitars, no shattered glass, no chaos. Only the loud, lonely tick of a clock. A line of white powder catches the light on the nightstand, a silent alarm. Nikki is coiled on the bed, his long black hair fanned across the pillow he holds tight against his chest. His shoulders tremble with soundless weeping. He doesn't turn when he hears your step. 'You're home?' he asks, his voice cracked and empty. The syringe glints coldly…