Buttered Popcorn

Chapter 21: June 7, 1987

Jimmie almost wished it was her that didn't wake up instead of her dear Steven. She was almost mad at him for not waking up. She couldn't be mad at him. She just needed him. She needed sleep. Fuck, she needed sleep.

It was 2:42 A.M., according to the black and white clock hanging beside the door.

Tonight was worse. Worse than all the other nights in the hospital. She couldn't bear to shut her eyes without seeing haunting flashes of her previous nightmares about Steven in the hospital. She watched the scenes of despair behind her eyelids as his body laid lifeless before her, blue eyes glossed over like porcelain.

It was all too real, and much too overwhelming to wake up and see him still in the same hospital bed, laying motionlessly as he did for the endless days prior.

She gritted her teeth with frustration. The ache in her jaw grew bigger, as did the ringing in her head in the silence of the room.

She couldn't get rid of the infectious thoughts.

The door opened slowly and her head shot up, gripping Steve's hand even tighter with brief fear. It was immediately replaced with a sweltering rage as her gaze fell upon Slash and Izzy, both of which were piss-drunk as they stumbled in.

"I should fucking kill you."

Both guitarists were taken back by her almost-predatory stance as she stood and glared like they'd never seen before. Slash furrowed his eyebrows and couldn't even begin to stutter out his nonsense before she stomped over.

"He has been in a coma for four fucking days! Four days! And you fucking morons-" she paused to push at their chests- "Couldn't spare a fucking hour to come see him?!? What's wrong with you?! What the fuck is the matter with you?!?"

She was yelling, and became hyperaware of her volume as they all settled into a very, very tense silence following her words. If this escalated, hospital security would probably show. She couldn't risk them taking her away from Steven.

She took a deep breath and looked at them, leveling out her tone. Her voice then became dangerously calm.

"He is your band mate. Your fucking brother. You left him here.. while you and your stupid fucking friends got drunk. I... I can't even believe it. I really can't believe you. The fact that you even think this is okay?!-"

Slash's frown deepened much more while Izzy stood and said nothing for a moment. The latter tried to reason, as he always did, "We-"

"You what?! You tried to visit? You tried to come see him? Fuck off, Izzy. I expected more. From at least you, of all people."

Slash quickly interjected, slurring his words as he argued back. "Would you at least listen? You haven't let us get a single fuckin' word in-"

"I'm going to punch you in your goddamn stomach if you keep talking. You are fucking drunk. And you also need to leave. The both of you. Now, please. I'm sure Steven wouldn't want to see you, even if he was awake. Go back to the fuckin' bar you came from or something."

They stood there, side by side, dumbfounded. The boys were quite literally left speechless. No one had ever talked to them like that, or even cared enough to put them in their place. Though it proved how much Jimmie loved them, Slash didn't like her attitude one bit.

Once they hadn't left, she finished her rant with:

"Get the fuck out."

Slash scoffed and walked back out without any other back talk. Izzy stayed behind and looked down at Jimmie, who was glaring straight back.

"You won't even give me a chance?" he asked.

She'd always had a soft spot for Mediator Izzy, but she wouldn't let this behavior fly with anyone. "I'd really hate to get hostile with you, Izzy. But I really did expect better. You guys care about him, I know you do-"

"Of course we do."

"So why the fuck didn't you show up?!"

He looked to the floor and searched his brain for a reasonable excuse. He knew that there wasn't one. They both knew.

Without looking back at her, he gently shook his head.

She scoffed with tears welling in her eyes. Jimmie had hoped for some sort of answer from him that could ease the tensions dwelling in her mind. Izzy was the only one that would be able to provide her that. But he didn't. He couldn't. She knew the truth just as much as he did, and it pained the both of them to come to terms with it.

"Please just leave."

He bit at the inside of his lip. He really needed a fucking cigarette.

"I'm sorry, Jim."

"I'm not the one you need to be apologizing to. He needs you guys and for you to just- leave him? Strapped to fucking plastic tubes and having a fucking machine breathe for him?"

Her voice broke and her hand quickly shot to wipe at the hot tears falling fast from her cheeks. She couldn't even form the words to yell at him how she truly wanted to.

His hazy grey eyes looked at her through his shagged hair, clouded with dark circles. "I know."

"No, you fucking don't. I've been with him here for four days, and you come here with a single other band mate, wasted. Do you know how much that fucking hurts to see? You guys look like idiots showing up now, and I can't even believe you had the audacity to. Fuck you. Get out. Please, Izzy-"

"You think I haven't been here? Right where you are, up all night to make sure his chest doesn't stop fucking moving? Steven's on a first name basis with this place, and if he OD's again, we're going to have to go on another tour just to pay for the bills. It's not that we don't care, Jimmie. You know that. But this shit isn't new to us. He's got a problem, and I think you can help him. If anyone can."

"That's not what this is about.."

"You're right, but you have to admit that I am too. You know that this isn't normal, or okay. You haven't even scraped the surface of what kind of shit that kid gets into with drugs. We just wanted to give you your space with him, and I can see why you're mad, but we should be together on this. With helping him."

She stared at him while he did the same, the other's words sinking in to both of their minds while they contemplated what to do next.

"I know." She managed to make out one last sentence before Izzy's features softened and he nodded. Without another word, he turned around and began walking down the hallway. She stared at his retreating figure, his shoulder blades swiftly moving under his dark button-up shirt.

She hated when Izzy was right.