Prologue
He was in deep shit…the deepest. Now if only that damn beast would shut up…then he could figure some kind of way out of this.
My eyes feel like they're gonna bleed
Dried up and bulging out my skull...
In the far corner of the room, a man sat huddled on a filthy mattress. His skin was like rice-paper and his body was gaunt. His hair was like a field with smashed-down brown patches and sticking up clumps of platinum, a disaster left over from when he tried to bleach it. Lacking the resources for a good dye job (and functioning brain cells), he had stuck his head in a bowl of Clorox. It wasn't called bleaching for nothing, right?
My mouth is dry
My face is numb...
The man looked over to the middle of the room and shuddered. In the middle of the room lay the source of his misery – a six foot creature with the head of a goat, the body of a man, and the legs of a horse. The beast's arms had sore, black spots and it would occasionally groan and thrash about.
Fucked up and spun out in my room
On my own... here we go...
"From beneath you it devours…beneath you… beneath me…"
"Fair is foul and foul is fair… you loved that cunt didn't you… loved to watch her scream…ripe wicked plum… fuck that sweet cunt… watch all that blood working its will…"
My mind is set on overdrive
The clock is laughing in my face...
"They're coming to take you away…those men in the white vans… ha ha ho ho hee hee…bad rude man… kill the bitch….cut her throat…spill her blood…you think they won't find out? They know…they're watching you…"
He squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears, trying to shut out the taunts of the ugly, three foot men in neon green bikinis that kept following him everywhere.
A crooked spine
My senses dulled...
"Shut up. Shut up! SHUT YOUR BLOODY FUCKING GOB!" the man screamed at his tormentors.
Passed the point of delirium
On my own... here we go...
The little men in green ignored him and kept taunting him with their cackling and singing and dancing. The world became warbled and his ears rang. Suddenly, the beast stopped moving. The man timidly left his corner and went to check on the beast.
Shit. The beast was not moving or breathing. Shit shit shit! Bloody fucking shit! The little men's taunts deafened him. He had to shut them up. He'd use magic. Yeah, a little sprinkle here would make them disappear. He'd silence them…
The man awoke to the sound of beeping and echoing voices. He opened his eyes and found that he was no longer in the room with the beast. He was in a hospital…with nurses…and doctors…and forms…and questions…and speculation. He had to get out.
The man groaned as he tried to move his limp limbs. His body felt heavy and his movements were sluggish, but he managed to remove the tubes that were attached to various parts of his body. After a slight struggle, he managed to sit up. As he was about to get off the bed, a voice halted him, "You're not going anywhere, Spike."
Spike looked up to see his best friend, and mayhap only supporter left, standing in the doorway. He and Alexander Harris had been friends since the third grade until then. They had been there for the highs and lows of each other's lives. When all others had given up on him, Xander never did. Now Xander looked to be ready to join the rest of the world as he looked at Spike with a mixture of anger, sorrow, relief, and massive disappointment.
"Look, Xan, I can't stay here. I have to---"
"No. You're not going anywhere. I let my guard down once but not again. I know you're using ," said Xander with a fierce, determined expression.
I can't escape this hell,
So many times I've tried...
Spike glared at him.
"What are you talking about? I'm not."
"Do you think I'm fucking stupid, Spike? You've got tracks on your arms! You're shaking like a virgin on prom night and your eyes are all shifty! I found you holed up with Doyle at death's door in that slime ball Rack's apartment!" Xander growled.
But I'm still caged inside...
Spike hissed and hobbled off the bed. He went towards the closet, intent on getting dressed and leaving. Xander walked over to him and pulled him away form the closet.
"I said…you're not going anywhere, Spike. I meant it."
"Leave me the fuck alone you soddin' wanker!"
"No! You're my best friend and I'm not giving up on you!"
"You should. Leave me alone. Don' waste yer time on me. 'm a worthless, soulless thing that doesn' deserve t' 'ave anybody care about 'im! No one ever did."
Somebody get me through this nightmare,
I can't control myself.
"No, Spike. You had your ups and downs but you were doing great. What made you slip, man?"
"Yer bloody nagging drove me nutters! I just wanted t' shut you up an' all those other damn wankers! I didn' slip. I just 'ad a lil breather is all! Why do you fuckers 'ave t' be so soddin' dramatic 'bout it?"
"Dramatic? Spike you almost fucking died along with Doyle! Doyle's dead, Spike… and you could've been too!"
So what if you can see,
The darkest side of me...
Spike shut his eyes and turned away from Xander. Suddenly he hurled a nearby vase at the wall and roared.
No one will ever change this animal I have become...
"Why didn' you take me? Why didn' you fuckin' take me you sadistic bastard?! I was going to go soon anyway! Why didn' you bloody let me die too?!" Spike demanded out loud.
Help me believe it's not the real me,
Somebody help me tame this animal...
Today was a horrible day. The sun was shining bright, almost glowing eerily. The sky was a bright, clear blue and the rotten birds were twittering incessantly as they flitted about. The grass was unnaturally green and the squirrels seemed to be taking their mating mission too seriously. All in all, the worst day to have a funeral; though he supposed Doyle would have been delighted.
Doyle had liked that deliriously happy, sunshine n' cotton candy vibe – his major reason for his drug addiction, particularly his affinity for crystal meth. Doyle used to say that the meth made him feel bright and shiny. Spike supposed Doyle would want no less than a bright and shiny day for his funeral.
"Man that is born of a woman is of few days and full of trouble..." the minister droned on.
Spike blocked out the sound of the minister and reflected on his times with Doyle. Doyle was a great bloke. They had been roommates in college but lost touch. They had regained contact a year before at one of Dru's famed wild parties. Doyle had been going through a nasty divorce and had lost his company to bankruptcy. Spike had found out about Dru's philandering. Needless to say, both men were at low points. They found solace in drinking, smoking, marijuana and a few Percocets. Then they were introduced to crystal meth. Crystal meth was the best friend they never had.
Meth made them feel bright and shiny, supremely confident. It was fantastic, utter euphoria. It was like a fireworks display of happiness and bright colours went off in their brains. He guessed Doyle enjoyed the show a little bit too much.
He was shaken out of his musings by the sound of a heart-wrenching wail. He looked up to see Doyle's mother being pried away from the enclosed casket with her sons emaciated, decaying remains. She howled like a wounded beast, her eyes drowning in grief and tears. Then she cast her eyes upon him.
"You. You bloody sonofabitch! You killed my Doyle! Murderer! I'll kill you!" she spat, her eyes blazing with insane grief and fury.
She lunged at Spike was held back by Doyle's brother, Liam. Spike stood frozen to the spot as he watched Doyle's mother lash out at him. Xander quickly made his way over to Spike and gently took him by the arm.
"Let's go, Spike. You've paid your respects."
Spike allowed Xander to lead him away while Doyle's mother screamed, "Murderer! Filthy murderer! You killed my Doyle! You should rot in hell, you soulless bastard!" like a banshee.
He was in hell. He was paying for killing Doyle.
It had been a week since Xander had checked him into rehab. It had been a week of misery. The rehab people had said no phone calls during the first week but he had managed to persuade a nurse, Andrew, to let him call Xander. He had pleaded with Xander to pick him up. Xander had refused and Spike had called him a plethora of insulting names and threatened to disappear.
Rehab was hell. They gave him two drugs (Methadone and Clonidine), saying that the drugs were to wean him off his regular stuff. He couldn't get how flooding your system with drugs that were very similar in nature to your regular drugs was supposed to get you clean. The highs produced were less intense and left him with dry mouth and dizziness…like Ecstasy Lite.
They gradually reduced the dosage of the drugs and he got to the point where he wasn't shaking like a nervous virgin. He'd even managed to join in on the morning walks meditation, acupuncture and lectures, though he avoided the individual and group counselling sessions.
In his third week, family and friends were added to the mix. Xander was the only one that showed, the only one who still believed in him, the only one not disenchanted by his previous rehab stints. Xander strong-armed into the group counselling session, determined that Spike would participate in the key component of rehab.
So there they were – exchanging stories about addiction and talking feelings and shit. Spike was content listening to everybody else share. He even believed that he would get away with not saying anything… until the bloody counsellor had to open her foul, nosy mouth. Could a mouth be nosy?
"So…Mr. Pratt…"
"Spike."
"Spike…do you have anything to share?"
"Sharing is what got Doyle hooked and now he's dead. No. I don't have anything to bloody share!"
"Spike…" said Xander in a somewhat warning tone.
"No, Xander…I don't have anything to bloody fucking share! I don't want to talk about my feelings and about how it was my darkest, loneliest hour… that's why I took the damn bloody drugs in the first place… so I didn't have to think about all that darkness and despair and all the shit Behind the Music is made of!"
Spike sprang from his chair and paced about the room.
I can't escape myself...
"This is not about what you want, Spike. Dammit! It's about breaking this unhealthy, life-threatening habit that you have. You've gotta face your demons. You were doing so good before and you can do even better this time," Xander insisted.
So many times I've lied,
But there's still rage inside...
"Better? I can't do better this time? I was doing so great then because I didn't have this thing within me…I was all fine and dandy because I didn't know that I had bloody breast cancer! Me… Spike Pratt… Rock God… Sexiest Man Alive… Breast Cancer Victim? That's the most unmanly illness to have ever! Other rockers end up looking like bloody Ozzie Osbourne or dead or living with AIDS or HIV. Me…I got fucking breast cancer!" Spike ranted.
All of a sudden he broke into frightening, hysterical laughter. "Breast cancer…bloody breast cancer… with the blood cutesy pink ribbons and the charity walks and Special K…breast cancer…" he muttered between laughs.
Somebody get me through this nightmare,
I can't control myself...
Xander slowly approached him and put his and on Spike's shoulder to still his movement. Spike whirled around and decked Xander in the nose and growled, "I don't want your fucking pity! Pity's no good to me. Pity can't fix my soddin' breast cancer! You wanna help me? Get me some fuckin' meth… make all this go away."
Help me believe it's not the real me,
Somebody help me tame this animal...
This animal I have become.
