The airport buzzed with chatter and the sounds of rushing footsteps and squeaks of luggage being wheeled along the hard, smooth floor. Joe tried to remain inconspicuous as he made his way through bustling crowds of people, a floppy sun hat jammed tightly on his curls and a pair of black sunglasses shielding his eyes from strangers' gazes.

Picking him out in the midst was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. He looked just like another tourist, and that was exactly the way he planned to keep it. He didn't want to be mobbed by diehard fans or the press.

Joe awkwardly guided himself through to security, wheeling his luggage bag behind him, his guitar strapped firmly to his back. No matter how many times he caught a flight, going through security always gave him anxiety. He had nothing to hide, but it still caused a sense of uneasiness from within him. It just was a situation that he never liked or wanted to be in, but it was inevitable.

And by now, Joe had accepted that with or without pretending to be another ordinary American citizen, there was always the chance that he'd get recognised.

Ever since Aerosmith had taken off, it was getting increasingly more difficult not to get recognised as one of the main faces of the band, especially with the upcoming release of the new album, which he had a feeling was going to be a smash hit. He'd had his name screamed many times and been hassled by fans for autographs whilst in public, so he just needed to lay low for a while.

Shreds of fear encased him as he stood in the long queue of people, gripping the handle of his suitcase tightly till his knuckle turned white. Phalanges were pressed firmly against his skin, the bones visible. They looked like they would burst out of his flesh at any moment.

Joe had no idea why he was scared. He was usually just a little nervous, but scared? He wildly looked around, looking for something or someone that was gonna cause him harm. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck. His heart was racing like crazy.

Finally, he reached the front. At last. Surprisingly, going through all the usual procedures and whatnot was less hassle than what he was accustomed to. Probably because he didn't have Steven clowning around and overall being a nuisance to him. He kind of missed it, to be honest.

Joe quickly rescued his bag when he got through security and quickly found a seat that separated him far away from the masses. He felt under a lot of pressure and wanted to be alone for a while. Human interaction was the last thing on his mind right now. After going on a sporadic cocaine spree in the men's bathroom, he wasn't in a good state to be able to have a conversation. All he could do was string together a short sentence and form a lazy smile.

Yes, Joe was more than aware that he had to quit; he'd had countless interventions with his family and friends, raising their concerns for his well-being. After spending three weeks in the psych ward after his overdose, he'd only had one meaningful conversation with his psychiatrist, and it really kept him thinking long and hard for hours.

~

A ballpoint pen drummed against a clipboard, tapping in unison with the silent ticks of the clock that hung on the wall. It was the only source of joy that was offered, but yet it was a hurtful reminder of how many hours fell away. All the time that could be spent running riot and living life to the extreme was now being spent inside a soul-sucking white box, completely isolated from the real world.

The pale, dour face of the psychiatrist observed the thin shell that was slumped down in bed saying nothing. "Joe, you do realise that your long-term drug use is seriously impacting your health and could lead to irreversible consequences if you don't quit soon, don't you?" Her pen hovered above the paper, waiting patiently for the man to respond.

"Yeah..." Joe's head stayed hung as he stared down at the depressing bed sheets he was on. "I know.."

This was the first time he'd spoken in a while. He'd had no energy to talk. Being stuck in this facility had drained all the life and colour from him. All he saw was winding corridors that led on forever and locked doors that he could never escape from.

He felt like a prisoner instead of a patient; the food was crummy, he had no one to socialise with, he had endless medication pumped into him and worst of all, he was chained to his own bed. Saying 'his' felt wrong. It wasn't his at all. Some other poor soul had been there before him, suffering like him.

If that wasn't bad enough, Joe had quickly built a reputation for himself in the ward, becoming an infamous face to the staff and other patients due to his many escape attempts - hence the chains, a new addition to his room, confiding him to the same spot all day. The only time he was ever freed was when he had to use the bathroom.

It was completely inhuman. He hated it so much. He just wanted to get back to civilization before he went completely insane.

"You've already suffered an overdose that killed you - we can't risk that happening again," she continued, scratching down some notes. "Next time, you might not come back from it. You understand that, don't you?"

"I know! I know, 'aight?!" Joe shouted, the chains rattling as he threw his arms up in frustration. "I died from shooting up fucking heroine because I love it! Because my girlfriend is a piece of shit bitch. Because my career is on the line and the band is stressing me the hell out. Because I was trying to kill myself. But I didn't actually think I'd die!!" He sighed, rubbing his face. "I'm a fucking idiot, I know that, but where else can I turn to, who else can I turn to when I don't have anyone? It's me and the drugs."

The guitarist looked over at the woman who was quietly listening to his ranting. Her head was bent as she kept scribbling, the pen in her hand never lifting from the page. It looked as though everything had gone through one ear and out the other, which was further adding to his suppressed frustration.

She was supposed to be helping him and trying to get him to open up, but in the past ten minutes, there had been little to no exchange of words, and the questions had been as plain as a white wall.

"You have your band mates. Your family. Your other friends. Steven. You don't need to rely on drugs to soothe your pain and stress."

Joe groaned and leaned back against the headboard. He got told this all the time, every time by non-addicts.

"You don't get it, Em. It's not as easy as you think it is to turn to someone with an addiction you're balls deep in. Everyone in the band has the same problem with drugs and booze. We can't go to each other for help, only advice.

And my family and friends? I don't want them to get involved. It's not their problem. It's mine. And Steven? We influence each other. We always have. He's just as bad as me, really. I mean, he's the one that introduced me to..."

He stopped when he realised what he had said.

"He introduced you to drugs?" Em questioned, suddenly becoming curious at this new piece of information.

Fuck.

Joe sighed. "I mean, yeah. First time was backstage after a show with my band in 1969. Twenty-first of August at this place called The Barn."

Em smiled a toothy smile. "Well, it's good to see that you have some happy memories that. you've held onto." Her face became serious once again when the sweet moment passed. "But back to the discussion. So, Steven was the one that got you into drugs, right?"

"Yeah. Well," Joe hesitated. "yes and no. He gave me one joint, but I'm the one who decided to keep going and explore every drug that I could get."

"Hmm. That doesn't sound like a very good friend."

"What?" His head shot up with shock at these words. "Steven is a great friend!" He exclaimed, hurt that Steven was being painted as a bad man.
Yeah, on the surface, Steven seemed like an obnoxious, cocky bastard, but inside, he was a good man. His heart was in the right place, just maybe not his head recently.

"He's been by my side for the past six years. We've had our fair share of arguments, yeah, but we always figure it out and make up again. Everything we do, we do it together."

"But even so, a real friend wouldn't get you to dabble in drugs," Em pressed, her chair squeaking as she brought herself closer to the bed.

Joe massaged his temples. It was as though she was trying to assert her authority and convince him that she was right and that he was wrong.

The sheer ignorance and lack of understanding that was being presented was really starting to turn his gears. If he could talk to someone who would understand him and not spout bullshit, that would be fantastic. Frustration was building inside him, and it was getting ready to boil over.

Joe took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Steven has addiction problems. It's not just me," he stated rather bluntly. "Once you start, it's hard to stop."

"Well, I'd definitely be careful with who you call your friends. You're playing a dangerous game."

He clenched his fists. He'd had enough. His true feelings were now boiling over, and the calm in his voice was quickly fizzing out.

"Are you even listening to what I'm saying? All you've been telling me for the past two weeks is to get off the drugs and abandon my friends. You're not trying to offer me any actual help. I know I need to quit," Joe snapped, anger sparking in his eyes. "You've made that abundantly clear, but I can't stop just like that. I wish I could, but it's impossible. You just don't have a fuckin' clue."

"Right," Em said, casually glazing over this outburst as though she hadn't heard. "And how is your adhd?"

"Uhm, I don't know." Joe shrugged, his anger dying down almost immediately. "Fine, I guess. I customize parts of my life to make it easier to manage, but yeah, I just get on with my life. I don't know, I don't really think about it that much."

"And have you been taking your prescribed medication daily?"

"No."

Em frowned. "Why's that?"

"They won't fuckin' give it to me is why! It's fuckin' ridiculous. I need that."

Joe was trying to resist the urge to bang his head against a wall. Everyone here was so incompetent.

She nodded. "I'll go talk to the doctor about that and see if they'll give it to you."

"Yeah, thanks," he muttered.

He really was grateful, but this whole interaction had taken everything out of him. Listening, yet alone talking, was exhausting, especially when he couldn't have an intelligent conversation with someone who was thrown into talking to him without a decent understanding of what he was going through.

"What?" he asked when he saw Em looking at him, chewing her lip.

She hesitated, not wanting to deliver the bad news she'd been holding back for the last hour.

"Joe... you should know that this is our last session."

"What? Who the hell decided that!?"

"The hospital, I'm afraid. So we won't be continuing these sessions anymore. I'm sorry."

~

Joe felt a pang of resentment towards Steven as he played the conversation over and over in his head. If he had never gotten him into dabbling with these substances, then he wouldn't be a crippling drug addict. A crippling drug addict now juggling a music career. But he couldn't blame him completely, could he? No. Actually, he fucking could.

The frontman was the source of all his fucking problems. His anger was all Steven. His addictions were all Steven. His... his stupid love sickness was all because of Steven.

This man that he worked with every day had such a hold on him. Steven was his sweet temptation, and he hated it, but yet he still came back for more, even if it was only to take out all his frustration on him. But it was more fun that way.

Watching Steven's face go red with fury and being told to go shove his guitar solos up his ass when he started dictating a new song Steven had written always brought him some sort of pleasure.

And he'd just made out with him an hour ago. Fuck. The feeling of Steven's mouth moving against his still felt fresh on his lips, and it still felt so good.

Joe smirked. He couldn't wait to take out all the frustration he'd been holding onto for the past two months out on Steven once he was back jamming with the others. Maybe he'd even get another kiss. Or something more if he was lucky.

Joe leaned back in his seat and folded his arms. He did love Steven. He truly did, but sometimes he completely hated him and wanted to punch him in the mouth like he did right now. The combination of drugs, stress, love, and anger was causing a storm of dysfunction in his mind.

He rested his cheek on his shoulder and observed his surroundings, watching all the hustle and bustle. God, it was much busier than he remembered, but what with the Christmas festivities wrapping up it was to be expected.

Talking of which, he himself had had quite an unforgettable christmas. He’d had several big fights with Elyssa, Steven had kept trying to kiss him under the mistletoe that Tom and Joey had hung up as a joke, the Christmas tree fell over and the power went out halfway through Christmas dinner. But Joe could happily sweep all the mishaps under the rug, considering he got invited to a massive New Year party at Paul Stanley’s mansion. It was quite honourable, and he was a big fan of Kiss, so turning down such an opportunity would've been absurd. It was a night to remember, that was for sure.

When it was finally time to board the plane, he grabbed his suitcase and started towards the gate.

Well, this was it. He was officially going back to Boston to marry Elyssa. There was no turning back now.