Artiste extraordinaire Eric Peterson bonds on the Portland streets with fellow runaway Wink and their relationship grows as she tries to help him cope with his burgeoning musical talent during the early 1990’s. Unable to discard the pain from his short, angry life, Eric climbs brutally through the world of drugs losing his grip on Wink’s unconditional love and extinguishes his artistic brilliance in a world that hates junkies. The DAZED Novel Series by Nikki Palomino captures how nothing can stop a junkie from securing his next blast of smack. Eric’s journey to self-discovery might be too high a price tag to pay. Inspired by the ramblings of three junkies, most notably Kurt Cobain, having met him while covering another artist at a club in Hollywood. He kept smiling at me, and I made the mistake of smiling back. He walked over and whispered in my ear, "Can I borrow your mini dress for a concert?" No one can say with certainty which road awaits around the corner.
From the pages of DAZED: The Story of a Grunge Rocker By Nikki Palomino
And the lie where all would work out in the end was believable until someone knocked on the door. It was Hank.
“Son?”
I leaned forward, my arms hugging the shit out of my aching middle. I groaned. I tasted vomit, but nothing shot out.
Brian started to open the door. I grabbed his arm and selfishly pulled him to my lips. I connected with his moist tongue and drew it deeper into the back of my dry mouth. I absorbed his saliva as I pressed firmly to his luscious warmth. I would have gotten off so easily, losing the fluid that could be called love if there'd been no vein map waiting for a spike.
“Son?”
Shit. I growled but allowed Brian to pull away. He wiped my pain from his lips. I searched my pockets for a cigarette. This, too, Brian had for me. He lit it and stuck it between my trembling lips. I took a deep drag. The smoke circulated the distance of my life support.
“Hank,” I said through tightening lips.
“I'm not leaving without you. No matter what happened between your mom and me, I never stopped loving you.” I closed my eyes for a brief moment, pitched down the cigarette,and stomped.
I stood with Brian's help. I glanced around for the rig, but Brian, like my guardian angel, had tucked it someplace out of sight. I watched his tearing eyes and clenched my jaw. Then I said to Brian, "We've laid down all the tracks. Only thing left is for Kenny to do some background vocals."
“Hank won't make you leave before the mix is done,” Brian said. “He's promised.”
I nodded as the door opened, and I stared into my father's face, which suddenly stopped him from speaking. He stood still for several seconds as though he was trying to remember me.
“I don't hate you, Hank.”
Hank turned rather quickly, knocking his back against the paneled wall. His thick fingers found his eyes, and he rubbed.
“I was an ass.” He spoke softly.
“We've all been our share of ass wipes.”
Then Hank did what I'd been wanting through my youth. He pulled my anemic, skinny-assed body into his arms and squeezed me breathless. Absolute pain came over his face as he started to cry.
I did nothing as he sliced himself open with the same knife he'd used on Kristelle.
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