Chapter One: How to fail yourself. [open]

[Mikey Sixx]

Mikey's Life

Chapter One
How to fail yourself.[/center]

<sup>He'd broke the mirror, then opened it up, slipped falling to his knees, took some time, cut his wrist. This was just like him, this was Mikey. He'd made a failure of himself from the start now, he was just trying to correct his mistakes. Micheal's wrists pulsed, throbbing and beating with pain.

Micheal lay, eyes closed behind thick masses of hair. His pale sickly thin body lay motionless, morphine and oxygen pumping into his body. The boy looked quite dead laying there. His body seemed very porcelain, very fragile.

He'd laugh about it later, he really would. He'd laugh so hard he'd do it again and he would just keep trying, keep failing, and keep repeating. It would become an endless vicious cycle unless he could permanently get away from his home. He would need psychological help, and probably a personal psychward.

The psychward never really worked though, it just made his head spin and make him even more insane then usual. He would look in the mirror later on and laugh. He would say 'you're having so much fun right now!' there was no way he was getting a way with this.

Mikey would get pummled by John for this stunt. Even though John was no where on the ship, he would still cower and hide in fear, in horrible, horrible fear. He would run, and find a room, yes that's what he'd do. Mikey's eyes opened slowly and pulled his morphine IV from his arm, taking his oxygen mask off, and slipping out of his bed and unsteadily walked out of the room.

Micheals vision was blurred, and he was very dizzy. He wandered the hospital wing, looking for a way out. He of course, ran into someone causing him to be thrown to the floor. Morphine was still in effect, so the dizzy, delusional boy didn't feel his stitches rip and start to bleed.</sup>

[Vaida Jo Prince]

Vaida wandered into the hospital wing, her walk unusually slow and relaxed. It had been a long damn night – Fridays always were, no matter where you worked or what the situation is. Still, even though she’d been on her feet for a little over nine hours straight – she’d even eaten standing up, one hand slapping together snacks she knew people would order while the other helped her bolt down a sandwich – she was too keyed up to sleep. The boat was great, it really was, but the combination of so much and so little to do was about to drive her crazy. She had some books with her to study for some tests that would help her get credit for most of the classes she’d need for her two-year degree once she went back some, and as soon as she realised she was thinking seriously about studying at ridiculous o’clock in the morning, she took action. She’d be silly and girly, and run an actual bath with bubbles, and paint her toenails again because there was nothing but flecks of the last coat of fire-engine red left. When she’d gone to remove it, though, she’d forgotten her cotton balls…and her Q-tips. So, hair damp, dressed in full black pyjamas (a tiny pair of shorts and a tank top), she decided to stop by the hospital wing. They would have those things, and they would probably have them for free, especially for a crew member. She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten them.

She was still a bit irritated by her forgetfulness as she rounded the corner. It still managed to feel, amazingly, like a doctor’s office in spite of its location on a boat in the middle of an ocean, and she felt a bit naughty and uneasy walking down the corridor alone. She half-heard a noise somewhat far away, footsteps, and her stomach had just enough time to clench and warn her that something was amiss before the man came barrelling out from the door at the end of the opposite corridor. For a moment, she simply stared – he was so pale, he didn’t look at all well.
“Sir? Are you all right?”
Only when he came quite close could she see the lack of clarity in his eyes, and managed to ready herself for the fall an instant before he hit her. She fell well, rolling, then moving back up enough to grab his arm with both hands, holding on for dear life. She didn’t have enough weight to hold him back entirely, but she scrambled to her feet as best she could.
“Sir! SIR!” she yelled, trying not to fall. She felt warmth on her hands, and glanced to see red glistening on them. She let go of his arm, instead grabbing for a handful of clothing.
“Stop!” she repeated, firmly. She wasn’t a stranger to that glazed look, it was the look you learned quickly to avoid in interested parties, but it wasn’t usually for medical reasons.
“Help!” she called, hoping a doctor was nearby. “Are you getting any of this?” she demanded of the fleeing man.

[Mikey Sixx]

She had a clutch on his clothing, and he had a instant reflex involving flinching and covering his face, as if she were going to beat him. Oh man, he so wasn't laughing now. When would that part come? Micheal's delusional self looked up at her through his arms, maybe, just maybe, she wasn't going to beat him sensless. The slender, scene looking boy crawled to cower against a wall, hiding from the potential danger this woman might cause him.

He looked up at her again, now only seeing him in her face. His step father was out to get him in general, could he have sent her to do his biding while he was away? No, no that wasn't likely, John wouldn't associate with pretty girls like this one. Would he? Micheal squirmed uncomfortably, hoping she'd just let go of him. Slowly, the morphine was starting to wear off. He flinched in utter pain as he felt a tearing open on his arm. A stabbing violent pain, his mind going hay-wire, like a short circuiting radio.

His breathing quickened violently as he near spirialed into a panic attack. His arm twitched rapidly and he started to tug at his hair, looking in all general directions, even at the ceiling and floor as if waiting for something or someone, rather to come crawling from them to eat him alive in a malicious manslaughter fashion. There was no way Mikey would ever survive this trip, not like this.

ooc; sorry for the crapness D:

[Vaida Jo Prince]

The man stopped abruptly, flinching to cover his face with his hands and arms. Vaida jerked to a stop, almost slipping and falling again, but she kept her feet. She stared at him for a moment, not really seeing him - her brain was going too quickly to spare the neurons to process who or what she was looking at. She glanced at the blood on her hands.
"Shit," she said quietly, but with feeling. She flipped through her memory - did she have any open cuts on her hands, any messed up cuticles? A picture of her hands in the tub flashed in her mind, and she sighed - she was probably okay. She'd make sure when a doctor came. She would've liked to go get one, but the man would start running again without a doubt, and he was clearly in the hospital for a reason.

Though the whole though process hadn't taken any more than a second or so, she found the man crouching against a wall, staring up at her through his hands in mild horror. She'd seen that expression before...an image flipped into her head, one of the girls in the alley behind the club, after her boyfriend had found out she was working there and drug her out of the dressing room. Terror, fear of violence, her brain informed her clinically. She reacted to the analysis, though, not as an intellectual being or a doctor, but as a woman.

"Hey, it's okay, don't be afraid," she said gently, walking over to him slowly, wiping her hands on her shorts before kneeling in front of his crouched form. She knew she was small enough that she probably wouldn't produce a threat that way, or at least that was the plan.
"Shh, you're okay," she murmured, moving instinctively, taking each of his hands in hers.
"My name's Vaida. We're gonna get you help, okay? What's wrong, love?" she asked. He wasn't right, there was no doubting that, but she didn't feel like he was dangerous - just out of it. She glanced at the wound in his arm, a gash that had once upon a time been stitched shut, then glanced firmly back at his face.

[Mikey Sixx]

Micheal cocked his head to the side, jaw quivering lightly. He was like an abused puppy. Mikey eyed her with his large tearing brown eyes. "The zombies are coming." He whispered. The poor boy was a mess and still a little high on morphine. "They want my blood." He said whimpering fearfully as his grip tightened on her hands.

"Y-you have to get m-me out of here." Mikey stammered violently. "Th-they m-might get you t-t-t-t-too." He cried in panic as he nearly crawled up the girl getting a grip on her shoulders. He would have shaken her but the dizzy boy was becoming weaker by the second as the pain intensified in his arms.

Mikey gazed wide eyed at her, breathing heavily. His breath was cold, and icy and those glazed eyes seemed to now only sparkle with pain. The veins in his arms pulsated, and he looked at them, as though it felt like he carried his heart in his arm. He looked into the wide open wounds gazing at the muscles,tissue and veins. Suddenly everything was real again it wasn't just all in Mikey's head now. Mikey could feel all the pain, he could feel the blood dripping down his arms spilling onto the floor. With that pain and that bloodloss Mikey fell to the floor, struggling to inhale and exhale. Gee, Shock was a bitch.

[Vaida Jo Prince]

Vaida looked obligingly into his face as he explained his version of events, nodding. Safety rule #27: the person with the most strength was always right when one or more parties were under some sort of mind-altering image.
"Perhaps, but I'm a trained zombie fighter. I went to school for it in London. If you stay with me until the doctors come, I'll keep them away," she promised, tone and face sincere, trusting that her accent would be enough to make him believe. "The doctors have zombie-proof rooms they'll keep us in. We just have to wait for them to come, okay?" she said with a gentle, friendly smile.
She mostly concentrated on keeping her balance as the man practically climbed into her lap. She didn't think anything of it - it wasn't sexual, just seeking touch. She looked clinically at him, and mentally cursed with a glance at his arm - he was losing blood. That needed to be seen to. He fell over on the floor, and the cursing turned to out loud.
"You back with me, babe?" she asked, noticing that the clouds in his eyes had drifted away some. She pulled her shirt off and wrapped it quickly and tightly around his arm, holding it to the floor to help her keep pressure on.
She hadn't planned on sitting on a cold floor in her shorts and bra, especially not with the other person fully clothed and bleeding everywhere, but such was life, she supposed.
"So, what's your name?" She asked, mostly just wanting to make sure he stayed conscious.