Island Of Recovery

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planes above looked really big taking off and landing. You sort of

tes, watching the sun start to rise over LAX, wishing I'd got a later flight. It was six thirty in the goddamn morn

sked Dad if I could use his plane. I was N

t this place for another three months. I'd be in a fucking suite with a hula dancer sucking me off. I

just had to wait till my flight. I'd checked in online already, and I was flying first class. Just two hours, man, I sai

booze, the girls – it had done something. It had finally caught up with me. Yeah. That was it. B

. Fuck. Could I fall asleep? Go inside? Eat? Some

't know who the fuck was trying so hard, but I was pretty sure you were meant to st

ortant, though? What if

e name. Not my manager Doug. Not my father. Nope. It was Kirsten. I had her name on there as Kiki because that

y, Kirsten Stone: she

uldn't have been her settlement because she'd cleaned the fuck up during the divorce. I'd call five millio

ferent things. She was just a bitch, she wanted my money all along, and she had met someone else. She was one of those women who

I had been too drunk to realize that that was it. And by the time I had, and lied

had been almost five months now since the split was finalized. There was nothing I still h

ately. My thumb hovered over the screen as I thought about that. Yeah, Kirsten drove me crazy, and yeah, I was here at the airport be

an girls in my bed, drunk off my ass in the middle of fucking paradise.

h? What was the worst

as in there with me. I frowned, listening; she had the bitch me

I was her kid. "Nathan, why aren't you answering your phone? You bastard, I know you have it on

ere you are. You can't hide, you know that, right? You remember you signed a contract, don't you?" she was saying. No, I f

lieve you're throwing this all away. How long were y

me. It's sad, really. Keep hitting that bottle, babe. Go ahead and throw that dream away. What would you be wi

bout half a minute left, but I did

u

elt like hot water bubbling up from my stomach to my chest, till I felt it i

write. They could hire anyone to play and just put their names on it. They could just shit out album after al

t and replace us the next day and it wouldn’t make a difference. It was generic. It was stoc

e my skin was trying to crawl off

l kit was small compared to my other one. Just the essentials. Syringe. Belt. Dope – pharma grade, of co

y arm and filled the syringe. I could almost feel it already. The

it. I watched the needle puncture the skin and s

it the spot. It was like that feeling when you were cold and got in a

I was in heaven. I opened my eyes, watching another plane go by. It looked s

f an hour or something. Everything moved slower when I was high. Eve

giveaway. I pulled my hood up because I'd forgotten my baseball cap. Another rea

ity wouldn't get to it. I didn't carry lighters or spoons and shit, obvious junkie paraphernalia. If they saw it, they'd see vials of clear liquid. When

ing wrong. For all they knew, you were just another miserable traveler who had to m

left before the flight. Once I was at my gate, I considered my options. I had music in my carry-on backpack. I could put my

etting a jump on that rum didn

. I'd just shot up, I'd probably last the flight. I sat down at the bar anyway, thinking I’d just d

probably. Not a lot of people trying to get drunk at seven in the morning. The bartender wal

. The guy smiled and went to get me my drink. I rolled my eyes. Fucking Cok

t of. I'd drink my Coke, get on the plane, and ask for Patron. The guy

he said. Oh shit. "But has anyone ever tol

ked, sippin

e used to be part of Remus. He left them

good if they

ces or something like that," he said. I smiled to m

s? Who was he? Like,

major label was taking the band'

lling him to fuck off would be the worst thing to throw him off my scent. You didn't wa

him, too," the guy said. I swore

nt stuff better?" I asked. The guy l

you. Where ar

wai

cat

ep

I was just about to answer him when I h

need to go get on that plane,"

book over. I scribbled my autograph down and gave him his notepad bac

ld him anything. Everything he asked. Why I was going to Hawai’i, why we had actually split, t

first-class ticket, but as soon as I was in my seat,

ing private, no fucking excuses. Nobody would ask me shit if I got my kit out and shot up at ten thousand fe

when I could get high again, and we hadn't even left the ground. I'd gotten high just two hours ago in the par

Did I have to die before I stopped doing this shit? I sighed

t to be a lon

irport. Blah, blah, blah. I put my headphones on and turned on some music. I felt the plane start to move. Eight hours, and I'd be in