A/N I'm trying to capture the characters as I kind of interpreted them through the movie/Cherie's book "Neon Angel"/real life...or, how I see it. Anything I write is not necessarily my personal opinion...just part of the story. Please review! Thanks!

CHAPTER ONE

Joan stood in front of the sleazy motel they had just pulled into for the night. Her worn, black duffel bag slumped over her shoulder, lifeless. She was tired, achy, and a little strung out. Her stomach lurched as she walked ahead of the other girls, waiting to see what pleasant accommodations they managed to swing this time.

As usual, the room was too small for all five of them but it was something they had grown accustomed to. Joan prayed that she didn't lose their ritual game of rock paper scissors for the beds. She had slept on the floor before and it was far from an enjoyable sleep. She threw her bag down in the corner, slumping in the ragged chair by the window. Cherie sat on the bed facing her, a similar look of dissatisfaction on her face. Joan shoved a piece of gum in her mouth and offered one to Cherie, but she declined. She chewed it slowly, hoping it would keep her awake for a little longer. Lita stormed in with Sandy and Jackie in tow and Joan's eyes dragged over to the familiar look of outrage on Lita's face.

"What the fuck?" she yelled. "Fucking Scott gets a fucking room to himself and we have to live like goddamn gophers in this place!" she threw her bag on one of the beds and stormed off down the hall.

"Well, I ain't sleepin in his room," Sandy said.

"Cherie will," Jackie said under her breath and Joan shot her a threatening look. Cherie slumped over and sighed. She was exhausted, but they all were. That was life on the road.

"Do you have anything, Joanie?" Cherie asked, loud enough for only Joan to here.

Joan swallowed, shaking her head slightly.

Cherie winced as if she was in pain. She rolled over slightly. "Sandy," she whined.

Sandy looked over at her, glanced quickly at Joan who shook her head, then looked back at Cherie. Cherie needed sleep, not drugs.

"Do you have anything?" Cherie asked again.

Sandy shrugged. "Sorry, blondie. I'm dry too."

Cherie pushed her head against the pillow and put her hands over her face. "Fucking fuck," she groaned.

"Scott probably has something," Jackie offered. Sandy and Joan both shot her a look that told her to shut up. "But, he might not," she added quickly.

"I can't even move," Cherie said, curling up on the bed. Joan put a hand on her head. "It will be okay," she whispered.

Joan looked up at Sandy and nodded towards the door. Sandy understood Joan and Cherie more than anyone else in the band and she motioned to Jackie who reluctantly walked out of the room with her, shooting Cherie a dirty look.

"It hurts, Joanie," Cherie moaned. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, pulling her legs closer to her chest. She looked so young, so fragile, like a little kid with the stomach flu. Joan crawled into the bed beside her, wrapping her arm over her carefully. She knew this feeling. It was like your muscles were fighting against you and your insides were aching for the only thing you knew you shouldn't have. It was awful, even crippling at times. Cherie seemed to get it the worst. All the girls pushed their limits with the pills and the booze, but Cherie seemed to be the one who took it too far sometimes. And now it was biting her in the ass.

"It's okay," Joan said softly. "It will go away," she stroked Cherie's soft, blonde hair, twisting her fingers in it gently.

"No it won't," she cried. "It won't go away. I just need one pill. That's it. Then I can sleep."

Joan sighed, knowing this feeling of desperation so well.

"Just try without it, Cherie. I'm here," Joan cooed, wanting so badly to comfort her. She felt responsible for Cherie, like she had to take care of her. The two of them were nearly inseparable, best friends. Maybe more.

Joan kissed Cherie's neck softly, hoping that maybe it would distract her, even if just for a moment. Cherie responded, moving her head slightly. Joan pressed tighter against her and kissed her again, her tongue tracing circles on her warm skin. Cherie moaned softly and Joan felt a wave of desire wash over her. She slid her hand over Cherie, tucking it underneath her arms, hinting at what she wanted. Cherie moved her arm to rest sideways on Joan's leg as her hips grinded back into Joan's.

"Does this feel good?" Joan asked, slipping her hand under Cherie's tight tshirt.

Cherie's breathing quickened and she nodded slightly, unable to speak. Her body hurt, it ached for the haziness of the drugs, but Joan's touch made it all feel better. She turned to face Joan, their lips crashing together. Cherie tasted the cinnamon flavour of Joan's gum and stole it out of her mouth with her tongue. Joan giggled. Cherie pulled the gum out of her mouth with her fingers and dropped it on the table beside them. Joan pressed her lips against Cherie's again, their tongues sliding across each other. They both moaned, grabbing at each other, the familiar sensation of each other's hands on their skin made Joan feel happy and Cherie feel safe. As long as she was with Joan, she would be okay.

Cherie let out a long, stuttering breath as Joan made her feel infinite for the second time in a row. Joan, being a meticulous guitarist, was good with her hands, making her, in Cherie's opinion, a fantastic lover. Joan's sticky skin pressed against Cherie's and she too gasped as Cherie touched her in all the right ways.

"Fucking fuck," Joan breathed, rolling over. Cherie tangled her fingers in between Joan's and smiled.

"I feel better, Joanie," she whispered against Joan's skin.

Joan moaned. "Me too."

They laid there for a minute before Joan leaned over the bed and grabbed their pile of clothes, suspecting the other girls would barge in here any minute. They dressed lazily and sat up on the bed, lighting cigarettes. Joan pushed her peppery hair off her face, feeling slightly buzzed from the nicotine. When she hadn't eaten in awhile, it always made her head feel fuzzy. Cherie blew smoke rings through her cherry red lips and Joan poked her finger through them. She picked up her gum from the table and shoved it back in her mouth.

"That's gross," Cherie said, blowing smoke in Joan's face.

"Fuck it," Joan growled.

Cherie rested her head on Joan's shoulder who wrapped her arm around her shallow shoulders. They sat there quietly smoking. In this very moment, they were both content and still, nothing on their minds except the feeling of each other's warmth and the cloud of smoke that surrounded them.

There was a knock on the door and then it quickly swung open, Lita yelling, "You better not be fucking!" as she marched into the room. They both looked up and a smile played on their lips, as they thought about the moments that had preceded this one.

"Smells like they were," Sandy said making a face.

"Fuck you," Joan said, laughing.

Lita ruffled through her bag and pulled out a nearly full bottle of vodka.

"Who's interested?" she asked, shaking it playfully. Jackie and Sandy both shot their hands in the air. Joan held her cigarette in her mouth, raising her free hand slightly.

Cherie groaned. "Is that all you got in there?" she asked.

"Take it or leave it, honey," Lita barked. "This ain't gonna happen often."

Cherie sighed and raised her hand as well. Joan cupped her hand around Cherie's arm and pulled her tightly against her, before moving to sit closer to the other girls. Cherie crawled next to her and they sat, their feet dangling over the side of the bed. They passed the bottle around, each making the same disgusted face after each sip. The booze hit their empty stomachs hard and Joan began to feel a little dizzy. She got up and put her mouth under the bathroom tap, drinking the water quickly. She stumbled back into the room and sat back down, trying to focus.

"Shit," she said, lying backwards on the bed. She folded her arms over her stomach, fighting the nauseous feeling that was washing over her.

"Are you okay?" Sandy asked, shaking Joan's knee.

"Mmmhmm," she replied, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Are you gonna puke?" she asked slowly.

The mere mention of the word made her stomach lurch and she shot up off the bed, dashing to the bathroom, making it just in time to throw up all the vodka she had just forced down her throat. She groaned and slid against the tub beside her. It felt instantly better but she knew that it wasn't going to be the last time. She sat there waiting for that awful wave to crash over her again.

Cherie stumbled into the doorway and peered down at her.

"You alright, Joanie?" she knelt down beside her.

"No," Joan croaked.

Cherie sat down next to her, much as Joan had done with her so many times before. Joan put her head in her hands, waiting for that feeling to come back. She felt Cherie's tiny hand on her shoulder and she leaned against it.

"I wish we had something to fucking eat," Joan growled.

"I can go find something," Cherie offered.

"Where?" Joan asked.

"Gas station next door."

"You don't have any money, Cherie."

"Doesn't matter," she whispered and stood up, stumbling against the door frame.

It wouldn't be the first time they'd stolen food. Far from it.

"Ask Scott if he has any money," Joan managed to get out before she leapt forward, arching over the toilet, another round of bile flooding from her mouth.

Cherie bent down and patted her on the back. "Don't worry, Joanie. I'll get you something."

And with that she waltzed out of the bathroom and Joan heard the room door close loudly. She groaned, kicking the bathroom door shut to muffle out the sound of the other girls' laughter. She slumped against the tub again, her head falling backwards and waited for Cherie to come back and make her feel better. At times like this, she was the only one who could.