Work Text:
1994
Hollywood Hills, California
Bret’s P.O.V.
“Well,” Bobby murmurs as CC’s house comes into clear view from the passenger seat window of his car, “Looks like we made it…”
The overpowering sense of doom in the bassist’s voice doesn’t slip my mind, and I’m sure it’s safe to say the same feeling is shared amongst the three of us.
Between Rikki, Bobby, and I lies an overall sense of impending dread.
The truth is that I haven’t spoken to CC since the heated fiasco that took place on air, over the radio, not too long after the infamous VMA incident, which resulted in endless name calling and taunts coming from both sides.
Little did both of us know, the entire argument somehow got leaked to the public and various fans got a hold of the discussion. To this day, I still don’t know how that managed to happen, but I’ve felt a level of deep regret ever since the day Cec left Poison.
Despite the battles that have gone on between us – the tumultuous ups and downs – the love and hate, the true adoration that I’ve held for the guitarist hasn’t faltered in the slightest. Brothers have that kind of relationship. They beat the shit outta each other sometimes, and then the next day they make up like nothing happened. It’s just part of being a family.
Now, all this time later, I’m realizing some things that I couldn’t connect then.
The main issue between us was purely our egos taking over and trying to run the show. Without that power struggle and shield of authority, I think the outcome of some of our tiffs could have ended a lot differently than they did.
That, in combination with the various substances being abused on both sides, albeit CC’s a lot more extreme, morphed into a toxic brew of bitterness; a true disaster waiting to happen.
The explosion between us the night of the VMAs was practically inevitable.
There is no denying that now.
We had been on the road touring for far too long, without a break, completely burnt out. Tension building up to an extreme is nearly a given in circumstances like those, and there really wasn’t anything that could have prevented that from bubbling up, besides separating ourselves from one another.
Ending the Flesh & Blood tour early just wasn’t enough to salvage further catastrophe from unfolding.
The bloody, destructive, violent blowout was going to happen one way or another, and it did, but I didn’t come out of that unscathed.
The parting left me with remnants of bitterness and fury, but also a heavy veil of remorse and sadness.
Underneath the pure ire bubbling inside of me, underneath the rage I took out on him, underneath every punch and blow I granted the guy… Underneath all of that was an overwhelming, suffocating heartbreak; a level of pain that I’d never wish upon anyone.
An excruciating form of grief.
A horrid loss.
An empty hole in my life.
No matter how angry or frustrated I’ve gotten at him doesn’t change the fact that I was being forced to watch one of my closest friends slowly kill himself without giving a shit about it.
I had no choice but to spectate his horrible descent into becoming a full blown slave to his addiction. While CC was being broken apart piece by piece at a disheartening rapid speed by the blow, I was left in the unbearable position of utter helplessness.
Underneath all of the sour, all I wanted to do was help him.
Being powerless over a situation that you wish you could fix with all of your heart and soul is probably one of the worst feelings anyone could experience, and it’s one that I’ve never found an escape from.
Knowing that there is nothing you’re able to do to save one of the most important people in your life is inhumane.
Sometimes, being a human is cruel and unfair.
I didn’t realize it then, but trying to keep Poison alive without CC has been proven arduous, to put it lightly. Without him, the band lacks the original chemistry that brought us to the top in the first place, when we first started out, but I didn’t connect that when we initially separated. I couldn’t put two and two together because I was blanketed in my own inner turmoil regarding the entire debacle between us. I couldn’t shake the unnerving agitation and bitterness that was induced by the whole situation, and my priority at the time was to do anything I could to keep Poison together.
I was not willing to give up and let the band fall apart.
That was not an option.
The three of us carried on without CC, auditioned various guitarists to try to fill his place, and ended up hiring Richie Kotzen.
With him, we recorded an album, experimented with a new style of music for Poison, in an aim to showcase the transition we’ve made from pure party band to more seasoned musicians who’ve experienced some pretty dark moments in our lives. We wanted to showcase the raw side of things, while still keeping some of the original pizazz that shaped our first few records.
Despite getting decent reception on the new music, that original chemistry was lacking, and I found myself unable to keep from thinking about CC while on stage with Richie. In fact, during our first gig with the new guy, I vividly remember gazing at him and thinking to myself, “Man…I wish CC was here…”
My heart felt empty, and there was a hole there that only CC could fill.
But, we trudged on anyway, despite the mixed feelings that I know for certain were veiling not only me, but Bobby and Rikki as well.
However, it didn’t take long for things to turn sour with Richie, after discovering that he was having an affair with Rikki’s fiance. The second I was hit with the news, I immediately threw him out without a second thought in my mind. And I mean, literally threw his bags over the fence with no restraint.
No one, and I mean no one, disrespects my family, in any way, shape, or form.
That was the end of Richie, and there is not an ounce of remorse in my soul regarding that decision.
It hasn’t been long since we’ve booted him out of the band, and we’ve been left without a guitarist, but even throughout the time with Richie, CC has been a constant focal point in my mind.
Frankly, he’s been on all of our minds.
We haven’t heard from him at all, and that in itself is concerning, given the state he was in the prior time we spoke.
The last thing I heard from anyone was that he was experimenting with solo music, but that was it, until word began to spread real recently that things at the guitarist’s house have been less than ideal, to say the least.
Not many details were given, but the gist of it is that CC is going through a pretty rough time right now.
The horrible truth is that when I heard that, I wasn’t surprised, given that the last time we spoke, CC was unraveling at a terrifying speed into the depths of drug addiction, becoming a full blown prisoner of a particular synthetic white powder.
Cocaine.
The blow had already completely taken over his life, and I don’t have any doubts that the progression has taken a turn for the worse.
It makes me feel sick.
The truth is that… between the three of us… I think we've all been waiting for the call… the call that CC was found dead somewhere…
It’s not an unfamiliar fear, either, which makes the situation even more horrid. The possibility of CC being passed out in desolate areas was almost expected during the last tour we had with him. In fact, CC going missing at the most inconvenient of times only to be tracked down in the middle of decrepit drug dens had practically become daily ordeals.
But just because I’ve witnessed him disappearing on more than one occasion, it doesn’t make the current unknowns of his whereabouts feel any less agitating.
It actually heightens the fear, especially since the only specifics I’ve been granted regarding the situation were nothing short of grave.
Just the other day, someone informed us that CC’s neighbor, Burt Reynolds, heard gunshots from his house, and they were loud and frequent enough to trigger the actor to call the police.
It was at that very moment, the second that we were informed of this incident, when the three of us knew we had to venture out here to check up on him.
No ifs, ands, or butts.
“CC needs a friend,” is what we were told, and that’s all we needed to hear to know what our next move was.
It’s all I needed to solidify my decision.
Families don't abandon each other after things go downhill. They don’t ignore someone’s suffering, especially someone like CC. Someone who’s played a pivotal part in each of our lives. Someone who is the missing piece of this puzzle that’s left Poison at a genuine stand still.
Someone who we can’t truly thrive without.
Someone who deserves comfort and solace in what could only be described as an agonizing time.
I need him to be okay.
That’s truly the only thought that I’ve been leading with ever since Bobby began driving Rikki and I here.
To say the ride has been unnerving would be an understatement.
No words need to be spoken for the mutual perturbation and stomach gnawing nerves to present themselves loud and clear.
Maybe that’s why none of us have really said anything, up until now.
Just seeing CC’s mansion up in the hills is making the center of my gut churn in horrid anticipation. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this close to the house, or as far up these hills in themselves, for that matter.
As my mind continues to wander into somewhat somber nostalgic territory, Bobby pulls the car into park, right in front of a striking stainless steel, gothic styled, fence.
There is nothing but deafening silence between the three of us once the bassist shuts off the engine, and the lack of background noise only accentuates the relentless discomfort brought on by the situation we’re held captive in.
All I can do is stare blankly out the car window, and lock my gaze on the guarded architecture, which serves as an entranceway into a long, winding driveway leading to CC’s cage of insanity.
At least, unfortunately, that’s what the house has probably transformed into.
“I dunno what to expect when we walk in there.”
Rikki murmurs under his breath, breaking me from the dark, inner ruminations, and when I turn my head toward the backseat, I’m met with his perturbed grimace paired with furrowed brows.
“I’m almost scared to know what we’re gonna see…”
The drummer’s remark induces a horrid queasiness to invade the center of my core, and I’d be lying if I said I’m not sharing the exact sentiment, but I know we need to do this.
“Me too, Rik,” I dreadfully reply with a heavy sigh as my stomach gnaws, threatening to ignite the activation of my tear ducts, “But whatever the case, we just have to let him know we’re here, and that we’re not going anywhere.”
I nod my head adamantly, even though, truthfully, I’m feeling the farthest from confident, but I’ve done my best to hold this band together for all this time. I can’t be the one to break right now.
Of all times to crumble, now is not the time.
As I sit with the anticipatory trepidation and uncertainty, Bobby and Rikki both bask in the silence as well, and it’s clear as day that they’re trying to mentally prepare themselves for what’s to come just as much as I am.
“I’m not ready, either,” I finally admit, while fighting the crack that’s threatening to invade my voice, as my heart travels to my throat, “Fuck, I’m not, but I know we gotta do this.”
I shake my head, quickly, in an attempt to shoo the uneasiness away to the best of my ability, but it’s to no avail, and I know it.
“None of us are, Bret,” Bobby affirms with identical hesitation from the driver’s seat, “We’re just gonna go in there and try to talk to him…”
“If he lets us in,” I croak, dreadfully, suddenly remembering how when I have tried to contact CC, I never got an answer, “He never returns our calls.”
In the state that he’s in, are you surprised?
The bleak, but poignant, question from my inner voice sends an array of nerve-ridden tingles through every limb of my body that emulate an overbearing veil of ominous trepidation.
Nothing can possibly shake the pit of horror that’s contaminating the center of my core right now.
There is yet another long period of silence amongst us, before Bobby breaks it with a sigh and a gentle shake of his head.
“Given the circumstances, we might have to bang the door down ourselves,” he remarks, voice holding little to no emotion, as if he’s trying to keep himself from crumbling, “Who knows where he’s at or if he’ll want to acknowledge us at all.”
“Yeah,” Rikki replies in a strained tone of what I know is feigned lightheartedness, “but you know Cec. He’s stubborn!”
A pressured titter slips from his lips, and the grimace that’s clearly being forced is enough to send my stomach into a thousand somersaults.
There is literally nothing that can make what we’re living feel painless.
And the saddest part is that we haven’t even gotten out of the car yet.
~*~
It takes longer than a few moments for the three of us to build up the courage to get out of the car and head up toward the mansion’s front entrance.
Trudging up the long, winding driveway that leads to the door seems like an eternity, and every step that I take that brings me closer to the destination heightens the parasitical apprehension coating my entire being.
I haven’t felt dread this strong in a long fuckin’ time, and I’m really not sure how I’m gonna handle what I see when I walk through the door of the place. I’m genuinely scared to find out what’s behind there, and I almost want to turn back — retreat.
But there’s no way in Hell that’s happening.
I have to stay grounded.
Attempting to push past the gnawing discomfort radiating through my mind and body, I repeat a few mantras silently to myself. Things like, “Cec needs someone and this is why you’re doing this,” “you’ve been through some tough things in your life, so you’ll make it through this too,” and a simple, albeit powerful, “keep breathing.”
Part of me feels embarrassed at how unnerving the anticipation feels and how much I’m being affected by it, but I know if someone I cared about was going through the same thing, I’d do nothing but validate their anxiety.
It wouldn’t be normal if there wasn’t any trepidation; nervousness.
Uncertainty.
It’s not only the unknown stemming from what condition we’re gonna find Cec in, but also how he’s gonna react to all of us showing up here. Will he blow up? Will he be willing to open his heart and mind to hearing us out? Will he throw a fit of rage and give us the silent treatment while bringing up resentments of the past with utter bitterness? Or will he not react at all?
There are too many possibilities stewing within me, churning my already disarrayed stomach; too many different possibilities of various outcomes that could come out of this simple visit.
The hardest part is having no clue — no hints — around any of it.
Except the despondent information about the gunshots granted to us by the passerby.
The reminder of that information is enough to intensify the all-consuming doom.
The foreshadowing of what could end up being utter tragedy.
Tears threaten to form in my eyes as I let the horrifying claim absorb within, once again, but before I could sink any further into the dark spiral, a loud pounding abruptly throws me off guard.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
My eyes practically pop outta their sockets, while my heart skips a beat as the sudden ruckus breaks me from the morbid cognitions, and now…
Now, I know we’ve made it to the goddamn door.
The gnawing in my stomach has never felt stronger in my entire fucking life.
With wide eyes and overbearing tension chaining every inch of my body, I stoically stand frozen as Bobby forcefully bangs on the door.
“Cec!” he calls, voice clear and steady, but immensely powerful, as the pounding continues, “Open the door!”
Through my peripheral vision, Rikki shifts nervously from side to side with his lips twisted into the same anxious grimace as earlier while I bite my lip in unfaltering agitation.
My body is still paralyzed in place and all I want to do is knock the goddamn door down myself but I can’t manage to get any of my muscles to work. The impending dread is halting any movement — it’s freezing me up.
I’m torn between an urgent need to take action and bolt through those doors to solidify that Cec is alive and breathing, while simultaneously drowning in everlasting agonizing terror that’s keeping me from inching an ounce closer to dealing with reality, and ultimately succumbing to pure avoidance.
I feel trapped.
Chained up by my own turmoil.
I’m stuck in an unnerving game of tug of war; the kind of game that you’ll never manage to win.
“CEC! We’re here to talk! Open the door—“
“He’s not gonna answer, Bob!” Rikki rebuttals with another nervous titter, pulling me back to the present yet again, “Maybe… maybe… I don’t know—“
Stuttering on his words while wringing his hands around anxiously, the drummer shakes his head in urgency and lets out a strained moan, followed by another breathy cackle, but this time the agitation is more prominent than ever.
It’s striking enough to finally activate my rational mind to switch on.
“Fuck!” I blurt out incredulously with my heart racing erratically, and, on a whim, slam my entire body against the door with a vengeance, disregarding any possible somatic consequences of my impulsivity, “Open the door—“
I pay the sharp burst of near excruciating, self-induced pain, zapping through my body no mind and proceed to punch the hard surface with as much might and force as I possibly can.
Bang!
Pound!
Bang!
“CEC!” I shriek with mere agitation while my banging intensifies, “OPEN THE DOOR OR I’LL DO IT FOR YO—“
“Bret, you gotta take it down a notch!” Bobby urgently interjects from behind, grabbing ahold of my shoulders.
“NO!” I rebuttal, instantly releasing myself from his grip, only to resume the frantic knocking, despite the bassist’s clear dismay, “We’re gettin’ in this goddamn house and I don’t care how the fuck we’re doin’ it but we’re doing it! And if I have to break this damn thing off, so be it!”
Every second that passes without a response to my insistent knocking from inside the house brings me closer and closer to having a contraption fit, as if I’m not in the middle of one already. And every time my fist collides with the door, a new burst of unbearable pain shoots through me, but the agony only feeds my drive to get inside the damn place.
It enhances every fiber of motivation within me to, because with each moment flying by that lacks solid evidence of CC living and breathing inside that damn house, the closer I am to concluding the unimaginable.
That the guy is fucking dead.
By the time it’s all over, I feel half a second away from collapsing onto my knees and breaking down into an uncontrollable tsunami of tears. Exerting so much force at such a high intensity in an insanely short amount of time like I just did will leave you feeling like you just finished climbing Mount Everest.
I’m drained and exhausted, yet adrenalized to the max, and there’s nothing that’s about to stop me from entering the damned place now that I knocked the entire front door down and into the foyer.
I don’t waste a second to ponder over the fact that I actually did break the damned thing, and instead, use the adrenaline rushing through every vein in my body to push myself inside the, now, havoc-ridden entranceway, while Bobby and Rikki follow from behind.
My heart is beating outta my chest at such a disheartening speed that it’s making me feel sick, and I can’t keep my body from shaking in mere trepidation at what I know I’m about to come face to face with.
I’m blinking uncontrollably, my jaw is clenched, my palms are sweaty, and my vision is swirling with disorienting perturbation, but despite all of those horrible sensations I’m still able to register the pit of black I’m met with upon stepping into the building.
Darkness.
My chest tightens as I manage to find my voice to croak, “Where the hell are the lights in this place?!”
The tremble in my voice makes me want to scream, but I don’t have time to beat myself up for sounding like a pussy when there are more important things to tend to.
Finding Cec is the main priority here.
Nothing else.
“Hell if I know,” Bobby’s murmur swims through the darkness with a hint of dry sarcasm, “It’s been ages since I’ve stepped in this place.”
I let out an impatient groan and hold my head in my hands for a split second before attempting to feel the blackened wall out for some kind of outlet, switch, anything—
“Found it!” Rikki announces, voice seeping in feigned amusement, “Only Cec would get a place with the switch in such an inconvenient spot!”
I don’t have time to react to the unnecessarily strained cackle that escapes the drummer’s lips before the newly brightened surroundings come into focus.
It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the fresh lighting, but the very moment that I register what’s in front of me, I gasp.
We all do.
Collectively.
There is absolute dead silence amongst the three of us as we stand frozen, each of our eyes pasted on the horrifying sight to behold, which only sends an agonizing realization crashing down on me.
I was definitely not prepared for this.
Hell, I am not prepared.
Not even a little bit.
Despite knowing everything I’ve known about CC’s condition, I still can’t keep myself from releasing another strained gasp at the remnants of what I thought I remembered this space looking like.
What once existed.
Instead of walking into what most would picture as a posh mansion up in the hills of Hollywood, what lies before me is a deteriorating, whittled down, tornado of destruction.
Figuratively and literally.
The truth is that there is hardly any room to walk through the area because the entire floor is littered in all kinds of junk.
Scattered along the surface are half empty bottles of various booze, from wine to vodka to rum to beer. Some are shattered into pieces, while others are half open, allowing the contents to spill onto the already disgusting and stained carpet.
Along with the collection of alcohol blotches decorating the rug are a plethora of burn marks of all sizes, thrown in a bunch of random places, as well as globs of half-eaten food that have morphed into rancid piles of mold.
Not to mention, as if all of that hadn’t done enough damage to the carpet, the thing is ripped in various spots, emulating the visual of some primal animal digging its claws into the fabric and tearing the entire thing apart like one would do with its prized prey.
The only aspect missing that would replicate such a scenario are blood stains.
The wine spots do it pretty good justice, though.
A wave of queasiness immediately washes over me as that very thought runs through my head, and I do my best to pay the horrid sensation no mind as I force my gaze to continue trailing along the living space.
Part of me is scared to see anything else, and just the thought of discovering something worse than what I’ve already seen is eating away at me from the inside out.
“Jesus Christ,” I manage to mutter, feeling a crack threatening to surface in my voice, as my chest clenches immensely, “I…”
I immediately shake my head in disbelief while the words die in my throat, sending yet another horrid wave of nausea through the center of my core. I could almost feel the color draining from my entire body, and from the looks of it, I’m not the only one here who is suffocated by discomfort.
“Well, I didn’t expect it to be neat in here but, damn,” Rikki remarks, strained amusement and all, “I didn’t think we’d be entering an actual dump!”
Bobby sighs in response, but says nothing, and at this point I don’t think I have anything that I could possibly add to salvage any hope in this situation.
I feel like someone punched me straight in the gut and cut off my entire supply of oxygen.
The unnerving silence resumes and persists for a few more moments before I clear my throat awkwardly, attempting to create some kind of drive to move forward with this unmistakable, painful journey.
“Well, uh… Let’s get to it, I guess…”
I squeeze my eyes shut, take a breath, and push myself to carefully step over a clump of the trash without toppling over, as Bobby and Rikki do the same.
As the three of us maneuver our way from the ransacked foyer, down the hallway, and into what I think is the kitchen, my hands begin to tremble in immense perturbation.
And I’m only saying think because there’s practically no way of knowing which room is which, considering the never-ending, astronomical amount of garbage that’s flooding the place.
I almost feel stuck in a nightmarish daze , like I’m not fully present in the moment, and instead floating around on autopilot… As if my mind and body both know that sitting with the rawness of what we’re living right now could be unbearable, and are subconsciously trying to protect me from the harsh reality.
It’s only once my foot abruptly comes in contact with a sharp, hard surface, that sends a gust of pain through my foot when I snap myself back to the present and refocus my gaze on my surroundings.
It only takes a split second glance at what’s in front of me for an audible gasp to escape my lips.
If I thought the carpet littered with alcohol and moldy food remains was bad when I first entered this house… If I thought that seemed like primal behavior… I thought wrong.
What I’m seeing now is truly the epitome of animalistic destruction.
This… this is on an entirely different level.
The only reason I know we’re in the kitchen is because I recognize the furniture that used to be a finely furnished table, but instead of the decorative piece sitting in the center of the room, it’s halfway outside of it.
The damn table is blocking any further entrance into the room, and it’s not just the table sitting where it normally wouldn’t be that’s sending me for a loop.
The very positioning has me rendered speechless.
Absolutely fucking speechless.
It’s upside down, as if it was thrown out of some kind of uncontrollable rage, and whatever was lying on top of it before it was flung is now scattered along the blotched tiled floor, leaving no room to get inside.
It’s not only the kitchen table that’s contorted into an unnerving position, but every single one of the chairs as well.
There is not one piece of furniture here that is still standing upright.
There is, once again, silence between Bobby, Rikki, and I as the eerie revelation haunts me, but this time the quietude deems itself more disheartening than ever.
“Wow, I… uh… That’s uh… that’s somethin’ else…”
Rikki breaks the deafening beat of silence with what I can only register as pure bewilderment. It’s clear he doesn’t know what to think, or say for that matter, and goddamn I can’t blame him.
The persistent stuttering and agitated, breathy titters speak volumes here.
“Looks like a zoo— “
“I don’t even know what to say,” I murmur under my breath with dread, while fighting the urge to look away, as my chest tightens in mere trepidation.
As much as I want to back off and escape this terrible atmosphere, I don’t. I can’t.
Despite the uneasiness wracking every inch of my body, I force myself to continue spectating the destroyed area.
Each of the kitchen cabinets are open, with their contents practically spilling onto the counter, which is trashed in itself with disorganized piles of paper, more bottles of booze, moldy food ridden with ants, and lumps of white powder…
The inevitable.
An unnerving chill shoots down the length of my spine at the blatant, but not unexpected, presentation which just serves as a reminder of how bleak this situation is.
It’s a concrete symbol of CC’s deterioration.
The ultimate sign of how far down the rabbit hole his addiction has dragged him.
A strengthened reality check.
Every glance I take around the four walls heightens the relentless pit in my stomach, and with every passing moment I feel closer to wanting to cry.
To think that there was once a beautiful, glammed up mansion underneath the decrepit, horrifying pile of shit that now raids the entire house is nothing but poignant.
Horrifying.
But what’s more disheartening than that realization is how quiet the building is.
Lord knows that every person who’s ever met CC is well aware that the guy is the farthest from quiet. It’s common knowledge that he’s one of the loudest dudes that anyone existing on the face of this Earth will ever come in contact with.
And yet, I’m standing here — we’re all standing here — smack in the middle of this trashed dump of a home, in deafening silence.
That reality is what truly sends my stomach into a relentless cycle of gnawing.
The unnerving, trepid kind that eats away at you like a goddamn parasite — the kind that you can’t just shake off.
“Lord only knows what that blow’s made him see,” Bob remarks, his tone overpowered with heavy doom, “that paranoia… hallucinations… they’ll get ya good. Real good.”
He shakes his head and releases a sharp exhale before retreating to the opposite corner of the wrecked area, which ultimately leads to the living room.
As reluctant as I am, I follow the bassist’s footsteps, while shooting Rikki a signal to join.
The three of us cautiously tiptoe over to the next destination, continuing to be mindful of the ever accumulating detritus painting the ground, while I fight the urge to empty the toxic contents brewing in my stomach.
Unfortunately, I’m not surprised in the slightest when I’m met with yet another formerly beautiful living area that’s been completely dismantled and contorted into what would be top material for a thriller picture.
What greets me is nothing out of the ordinary now, but instead just about everything that’s been present throughout the rest of the place — the same kind of knocked over furniture, broken wine glasses and liquor bottles, remnants of blow, crumpled up balls of paper, ripped carpeting, and a thousand other decrepit treasures are what come into focus.
The only difference between this room and the rest of what I’ve seen are the accents scattered along the living room walls; the embroidered decorations.
The bullet holes.
It only takes a millisecond for my entire body to freeze up at the utterly terrorizing sight, and almost instantly, I’m hit with a wave of dizziness that’s strong enough to practically knock me off balance, but I quickly grab onto the closest object for support.
The way my heart is pulsating throughout my entire body, so erratically and disarrayed, is only heightening the disorientation I’m overcome by. Every sensation invading me has escalated immensely, from the unnerving lump in my throat to the unfaltering muscle tension. I can hardly keep my vision from undulating in discombobulated whirls, and the black spots creeping through are only accentuating my inability to think coherently or make any further moves.
I can’t move.
I can’t think.
I’m paralyzed.
The pit that’s been growing in my stomach hasn’t felt so intense until this moment, and the longer my eyes stay glued to the self-inflicted abysses on the wall, the sicker I feel.
I know for a goddamn fact that there is no color left in my face now, and if I’m being completely honest, if it wasn’t for my latch on whatever I’m grabbing onto for dear life, I would have easily collapsed by now.
I’d be one with the stash of insidious trash blanketing the floor.
“Oh my god, they weren’t kidding…”
“Where the fuck did he get a gun?!”
“Bret… Bret… BRET!”
I’m only able to snap myself out of the horrid trance I’m trapped in once Bobby’s sharp voice abruptly drags me right back to reality. And fuck , there is no part of me that wants to face this any-more. None.
But we have no choice.
Now, I fucking have to.
“We gotta find him,” I suddenly blurt out, with a newly overwhelming burst of agitation flooding my tissues, as I frantically release my grip and run my hands through my hair, “We gotta fuckin’ find him now!”
The crack in my voice doesn’t faze me at this point, and I can care less about how dramatic I sound because I can’t wait another second staring at these god forsaken bullet holes without knowing where the fuck Cec is.
“He’s not here, he’s not in the kitchen, he’s not in the hall, so he better be somewhere, and he better be alive with a pulse—“
“Bret,” Bobby interjects, placing a hand on my shoulder as I nonsensically begin pacing around the messy dump of a room, “Take a breath—“
I cut the bassist off, frantically, without skipping a beat, as both arms shoot to the ceiling in uncontrollable agony.
“I can’t take a damn breath, Bob!” I shriek, “How can you expect me to breathe when we’re standing here looking at fucking bullet holes?! That we fucking know Cec shot and created himself! I can’t fucking breathe, Bob! We don’t even know if he’s alive!”
The last word shoots off my tongue with extra emphasis, and the second that my voice reverberates off the four walls, I lose it.
The tears are falling now.
They’re pouring out of my eyes and down my cheeks but I’m not letting them stop me from standing my ground.
If we find CC and he sees me like this, so be it!
I just need to know he’s still existing on this Earth.
All the commotion the three of us have already caused in his house hasn’t created any sign of life, and that only serves to diminish the rapidly whittling flame of hope, but we can’t give up.
We have to hold on.
~*~
After a few minutes of releasing some of the overflowing agitation and fear from my system, while getting support from my bandmates, I feel comfortable enough to move on.
Now grounded back to reality, I manage to collect myself and gather my bearings, while keeping my initial goal intact like my life depends on it.
It’s not long before CC’s long, winded staircase comes into clear view, greeting the three of us like an ominous entrance to forbidden territory.
Metaphorically, the only sign that should be written on the contraption is “do not enter.” It might as well be locked up with a thousand heavy chains and wrapped in an absurd amount of caution tape ‘cause that’s the only vibe the sight is giving off right now.
I stand frozen, yet again, while gazing at the stairwell but this time I don’t waste any time in moving forward, even though I’ve already mentally prepared myself for the worst.
“It’s now or never guys,” I affirm, trying my hardest to don a somewhat authoritative demeanor, despite the blood curdling fear that hasn’t diminished in the slightest, while eyeing my bandmates with persuasion, “Time to trudge up this thing…”
The words die in the back of my throat, inducing an intense choking sensation that sends my heart racing, but I can’t focus on that right now. I gotta fight through whatever signals my body wants to send me, even if it feels fucking unbearable.
With that, the three of us slowly, and very cautiously, begin braving the journey up the spiral stairwell. The floor creaks ominously every time each of our feet graze the steps, which only heightens the immersive sense of doom I’m blanketed in — the all-consuming perturbation that’s trapping all of us.
It feels like ten years have passed by the time we get to the top, when in reality it’s probably only been about thirty seconds, but that’s what gut wrenching dread does to you, I guess.
I let out a heavy sigh as my gaze meets the unsurprising, wrecked walls of the upstairs hallway, raided with the same accents as the ones down below, but this time I keep myself as contained as humanly possible.
Even though it’s unbearable.
The corridor is just as dark as the rest of the house, and the holes in the wall are the only source of light.
Despite not having walked foot into this house in years, I still remember where CC’s room is and don’t waste any time in journeying there. Half of me wants to call his name and let him know that we’re all here, but the other part of me can’t activate my vocal chords… again.
So, I succumb to staying silent, as my perturbation eats away at me, while Bobby and Rikki quietly follow in my footsteps, only releasing a somber sigh here and there.
Once I’m greeted with CC’s bedroom door, I freeze up.
“Alright, we gotta do this,” I murmur to myself dreadfully, despite the throat closing sensation that’s consuming me, “We gotta go in, we gotta go in…”
And I know it’s what we have to do, but now being so close to revealing something that could easily make or break this situation is paralyzing me again.
“Bret,” Bob cuts through my, now increasingly frantic, attempt at a pep talk, while squeezing one of my hands in a grounding fashion, “Remember what you told all of us… why we’re doing this…”
Gritting my teeth to keep myself from tearing up again, I release a sharp exhale and nod my head in solidification, before swiftly pulling away from the bassist with a forced veil of determination.
“You’re right,” I affirm, “Let’s do this, we’re going in.”
With that, I reach for the doorknob and force myself to turn it, as the tremble in my hands intensifies beyond belief, making the simple action arduous.
The second that I manage to open the door a crack and peek through the entrance, my stomach drops.
A millisecond glance at the interior of that room is all it takes for the harsh reality to really sink its teeth into me, harder and more powerful than before.
Refusing to let the trepid spiral of possibilities invade my head and halt any further progress, I bite my lip, squeeze my eyes shut and reopen them, before braving the unbearable.
I push myself to go in.
The, now clear, view that greets me as I walk into the bedroom practically knocks me off my feet.
Just like the previous parts of the house, this one is trashed beyond recognition. The identical piles of garbage are covering every inch of the floor — the accumulation of shattered booze bottles, drug paraphernalia, burn marks in the carpet, heaping mountains of unwashed clothes, armies of insects, the bullet holes in the wall — but, that’s not what threatens to send me into a dark, mental abyss.
It’s coming face to face with CC’s unconscious form plopped on the grungy floor, interwoven between the piles of decrepit junk, with a half opened bottle of booze eerily close to him, that does.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was looking at a complete stranger; someone who I don’t know.
Because this isn’t the CC that I know.
It’s not the CC that I remember.
Not like this.
Despite all the awareness, and all the knowledge I’ve held onto regarding his demons, I can’t stop the abrupt wave of nausea invading the center of my core from blanketing me as I stare, frozen, at the shadow of my best friend.
He looks like a fucking corpse, just lying there motionless, like he should be in a goddamn coffin instead of this piece of shit house. His skin holds no color to it, and instead emulates a horrid translucence so strong that I’m almost convinced if I get closer, I could see through it. His dark circles are striking, and only accentuated by the smeared, days old eyeliner rimming his sunken eyes. There’s a deep hollowness to both cheeks, his platinum nest of hair is matted and tangled, and a blue tint is prominent on his lips and fingertips.
But what breaks my heart the most is how scarily emaciated he looks, even while completely covered in clothing.
Some things are just impossible to hide, no matter how hard you try, and there is no doubting the obvious now; that the drugs have, quite literally, eaten him alive.
I’m not staring at CC… I’m staring at the personification of mortality.
A sharp chill shoots up my spine at the bleak visual, but intertwined within the immense trepidation is a subtle sense of alleviation because just seeing the tiniest hint of life in the form of his chest rising and falling is enough to settle my deepest fear.
I stand paralyzed for the next few moments, unable to move my gaze from the guitarist’s enervated form, as I allow the fact that CC is alive to fully sink in.
Before I know it, I find myself down on my knees in front of him, with an unsteady arm reaching toward his back, soon making contact with his sickening, protruding vertebrae.
“Cec,” I whisper under my breath, an unfaltering tremble wracking my voice, as I gently attempt to arouse him, while fighting back tears yet again, “Hey… Cec… C’mon buddy, get your ass up…”
To my surprise, almost instantly, a disoriented sounding moan slips from CC’s befuddled lips. The truth is that I wasn’t expecting such a fast reaction… I thought he was out cold.
“Mhmm…whaddaya friggin’ want…fuccccck…”
With every babble of incoherent gibberish that rings through my eardrums, my heart shatters a little bit more, but there is also a miniscule part of me that almost wants to roll my eyes at the very familiar language.
Typical Cec response… throwing the f-bomb.
“Well, some things haven’t changed I guess…”
It’s only once I register Rikki’s half-amused sentiment when I realize he and Bobby have joined me in the bedroom.
I let out a heavy, drawn out sigh, shake my head, and lean in closer to CC’s prone form.
“Yeah, yeah, c’mon, get your ass up,” I direct with a mixture of sadness and a hint of playful sarcasm, “We’re here to talk—“
The words are abruptly cut off by another jumbled up load of discombobulated swears, and before I can even think of trying to say anything else, CC begins squirming unsteadily, causing my heart to skip about three beats.
“Woah there… careful!”
My eyes immediately widen and on a whim, I urgently latch onto his faltering body to keep him from passing back out and cracking his fucking head open. Because in the state that he’s in right now, that could be a real possibility and I’d rather not have to deal with a bloody mess on top of everything else.
“C’mon, sit up, I gotcha,” I murmur with both hands gripping CC’s shoulders, looking him right in his dazed, unfocused, and disoriented orbs with immense concern, “You’re alright, hold onto me—“
“I don’t needa’ friggin’ babysitta’…” the blonde slurs in annoyance, with his eyes only half open, while bobbing his head nonsensically, “Whaddaya fuckin’ doin’ here anyway?!”
Through my peripheral vision, Rikki and Bobby trail closer to Cec and I, proceeding to kneel down beside both of us, and the drummer answers before I can.
“Well, it’s nice to see you too, Cec!” he quips with a lighthearted titter and a crooked grimace spread across his face, “Good to know some things haven’t changed after all this time!”
Unfortunately, the drummer's attempt to break the awkward tension is unsuccessful, and only seems to provoke CC more.
“Ya guys think you’re funny, don’t ya?” the New Yorker snarls, still clearly discombobulated as anything, as his unsteady gaze sways to each of us, “Showin’ up here to look at me like this. I’m a friggin’ mess! Why would ya even come here—“
I immediately stop him in his tracks, and squeeze his shoulders tighter, as a boatload of heartbreak washes over me.
“Because you’re family, Cec… and we care about you, despite the shit that’s gone on between us.”
“Funny you’d say that afta’ how we left off,” CC shoots back with cold-blooded bitterness, and crosses his arms, naturally releasing my grip from his shoulders, “Don’t ya have betta’ things to tend to? You’re not foolin’ anyone. I know ya don’t wanna be here! Ya got a new guy. Why aren’t ya with him?! ”
There is silence between the four of us after that question, and unspoken discomfort blankets the entire bedroom as I exchange awkward glances with Bobby and Rikki.
“Uhhhh…. well….” the drummer begins with clear uneasiness, tone as tense and strained as ever, “That’s uh… That’s part of the problem…”
“Bet ya let him go too, eh? Figures!”
I sigh at CC’s predictably hostile response, but say nothing else regarding the subject. The guy is a brick wall, and that’s a fact.
However, that doesn’t stop Bob from speaking up.
“Things have been a little rocky,” the bassist admits with a nod of his head, “that’s an understatement.”
“Hm, let me guess, ya started some friggin’ shit with him an’ ya lost ya patience—“
It takes all of my power and inner strength to not lash back at the guitarist’s pettiness. Rikki, on the contrary, raises his brows with a friendly smile, although it’s obvious that behind that mask is a shitload of inner turmoil.
“Actually, it was the other way around…”
His voice dies in his throat and the tension radiating off his entire body is more than palpable.
Hell, if I found out one of my bandmates was screwing my fiancé, I’d be in shambles over it too.
Even though there’s so much I could tell Cec about the new band situation, I hold back from contributing any further to the topic. What’s most important to me right now is letting him know that we’re here for him, regardless of what he believes or feels.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and release a sharp exhale before locking my gaze with Cec, and clasping my hands on his.
“Cec,” I gently murmur and shake my head as my chest clenches, “The truth is that we wanted to come here to talk and check up on you ‘cause we care about you. We’ve always cared, and right now it’s clear that you need a friend. We’ve all been worried as heck, alright? We’ve been thinkin’ about you, thinkin’ about how Poison isn’t the same without you, thinkin’ about asking if you’d wanna come back…”
“I got everything I need here, Bret,” CC slurs back with another snarl as his eyes practically roll to the back of his head, “So if ya came here to try an’ tell me to stop this shit, you’re wastin’ ya time…”
“Time spent with friends isn’t time wasted, dude,” Rikki chimes in without skipping a beat, “Hell, we’d rather be here hanging with you than tending to some other boring shit.”
CC nonsensically shakes his head in defense, before rebuttalling again, brushing off every ounce of warm-hearted genuinity away.
“Tendin’ to your own band is betta’ than bein’ here… trust me…”
Intertwined within the bitterness and sarcasm in his voice is a heavy sense of apathy and hopelessness; the tone someone uses when they’re giving up.
He doesn’t care.
“Who are ya tryin’ to fool?! C’mon, look at me! I’m a goddamn mess … Why would ya come here and try an’ talk to someone like this? It’s pointless…”
There is once again, silence, amongst the four of us, but it only lasts a few seconds before CC’s befuzzled, hopeless, self-depreciation cuts through again.
“I mean, do ya really think I’m in a state to be in a band?!”
An icy, sadistic, laugh slips from his lips and he shakes his head with dismay, as his discombobulated gaze widens.
“I’m barely functioning doin’ what I’m doin’ here,” he mumbles with increased incoherence, “An’ I neva’ even leave this place…”
Heavy doom blankets the crammed area as CC’s lips curl into a sickening smirk, as if he’s finding his own suffering entertaining.
As if he’s become so damn comfortable in all of it.
“This is all I got,” he garbles, “it’s all I’ve got goin’ for me…”
The bleak remark sends my stomach into a series of somersaults and now there’s a trepid lump forming in my throat again, but I keep my mouth shut for the time being.
Sometimes, sitting and listening is all someone actually needs.
From my side, Bobby shakes his head, and the heartbreak whirling around him is nothing but poignant. I already know what he’s thinking… I can sense it…
“I know it feels like that,” the bassist says with a sigh and a whole lotta empathy, as he leans in closer to the enervated guitarist, “but it’s a load of bullshit.”
My stomach drops as Bobby speaks but the gnawing only strengthens at the way CC seems half a second away from conjuring up some kind of argument — something to use to defend his self-destruction and push the truth aside.
Deflection.
“I got help, Cec… If I was able to fight my demons and clean up, then so can you… It’s possible.”
The emotionally charged testimony from Bobby sends shudders through my body, and I watch in trepidation as CC narrows his already barely open eyes in mere skepticism.
It only takes a second before the guitarist sinks right back into his dark abyss of hopeless turmoil.
“I can’t stop,” he croaks as his body begins losing balance in his half upright, seated position, only strengthening the veil of despondency, “Can’t stop… ‘m not ready…”
He bobs his disoriented head back and forth, nearly collapsing back to a lying position, making no effort to push himself back up.
The striking evaporation of all motivation and drive from someone who was once known for his bombastic, never-ending explosive vitality is unbearable to witness.
My heart feels torn to fucking shambles because I’m fucking losing him.
The worst part of all of this is knowing that I can’t do anything to help.
He has to want to get better.
It’s gotta come from inside.
A melancholy sigh from Bobby pulls me from my somber spiral, and before I can do or say anything, he speaks up again.
“Getting better is scary, yes… but it’s worth it.”
The bassist’s statement is solidified by a hearty squeeze to CC’s hands, and truthfully I’m shocked he hasn’t ripped himself out of the grip yet. But then again, I’m not.
He doesn’t seem to care about anything.
He doesn’t have the energy to.
I can’t help but wonder if maybe there’s a tiny part of him that recognizes the reality; the need for support and comfort and camaraderie.
Is he just refusing to accept that he needs the validation, and the reminder of his own worth ‘cause he doesn’t believe he deserves it after the chaos and havoc he’s wreaked upon us? Is he externalizing his pain by taking it out on us… and himself? Or is he just being spiteful and using resistance to guard himself up?
Is punishing himself his own sick form of comfort? His safety net? His cocoon?
As the ruminations spiral round and round in my head, intense waves of mere helplessness flood every inch of my being. The sensation feels equivalent to being stabbed right in the center of my chest, guts exploding and creating a bloodied, volatile, agonizing mess.
I’m raw, exposed, and vulnerable.
I have no answers.
After a few moments of drowning in my inner devastation and perturbation, while dreadfully gazing at CC’s limp, deteriorated, body curled on the floor, a muffled groan from the guitarist rings through my eardrums.
“Get the fuck outta here,” he slurs apathetically with his head still pressed into the grungy ground before lifting it up a tad to peek at the three of us, “C’mon, stop lookin’ at me like that…”
A horrid stomach dropping sensation invades me as I furrow my brows in all consuming sadness. Rikki, Bobby, and I exchange swift, trepid, glances before I muster up the courage to open my mouth, despite the prominent tremble that I know is about to wrack my voice.
“It’s a real shame, Cec,” I shake my head as tears well in my eyes again, sending my heart racing at a disheartening pace, “Seeing you like this breaks my heart ‘cause I know the real you. The real cool dude who’s underneath all this crap you’re doing, but he’s hidden by this shit. I know him, I’ve seen him, and I miss him…”
I have no idea if the guy is listening to a word I’m saying, but that doesn’t stop me from pouring my heart out to him now. The tears dripping down my cheeks don’t stop me, and neither do the uncontrollable cracks in my voice. Even the abrupt, painful hitch in my breathing doesn’t.
I keep going.
“You don’t need to deal with this alone,” I reiterate with as much compassion, strength, and empathy as possible, “You don’t. We’re here for you. I’m here for you, and if I was able to tell you only one thing, it would be this…”
I close my eyes, deeply inhale, and release the sharpest exhale I’m able to before leaning in close to CC and enveloping him in a tight, brotherly, embrace.
“You don’t deserve the Hell you’re putting yourself through.”
You deserve so much better, Cec, and I wish you’d believe it… I wish you’d let us in… or let somebody in… Let someone help you outta this ‘cause I can’t stand thinking about losing you to this… We need you…
I need you.
“You don’t,” I lower my voice to a barely audible whisper, while strengthening my hold on my friend, who has yet to react in the slightest, “You deserve a helluva lot better than this.”
Through my anguish and silent tears, I could swear I feel two other pairs of arms joining the cocoon.
Bobby and Rikki.
The four of us stay intertwined into the unbreakable, tight, secure embrace for the next few moments, and either I’m imagining things or my shirt is beginning to feel wet.
It’s only now that it hits me… that Cec is crying.
I don’t have time to think before the befuddled guitarist manages to squirm into a half-steady seated position without loosening himself out of our embrace.
For just a split second, he locks his glassy eyes on me.
And for that miniscule moment, there is a sliver of hope; a gleam of light in this seemingly hopeless situation.
The tiniest glimmer of a, previously unforeseen, future between us.
Maybe… just maybe… things will be okay.
I latch onto that sentiment as tightly as I possibly can, as CC, inevitably, returns to his prone position on the ground with a depleted, incoherent sigh.
A chilling beat of quietude follows before each of us slowly begin to release ourselves from the much-cherished, closeness, while an unspoken sense of mutual dispirited uncertainty veils the room.
“We’ll be here when you’re ready, Cec,” Bobby breaks the silence with a curt nod of his head, giving the blonde one last shoulder squeeze, while Rikki follows in his footsteps with an amicable, “Don’t leave us hanging for too long, though!”
The drummer and bassist trail off to the hallway, leaving me alone in the bedroom with CC.
I don’t know what to do or say besides gaze at him on the floor. I wish there was some way to transfer all the adoration I hold for the guy into his heart and soul, but that’s impossible.
My eyes close and I shake my head before succumbing to running my hand through his tangled up mane one last time. A crestfallen sigh escapes my lips.
“Take care of yourself, brother,” I murmur into his ear and squeeze his shoulder, “I’ll be here.”
With that, I drag myself into a standing position, take one final glance at him, and make my way out of the room.
The looming uncertainty never falters.