A/N: Stephenie Meyer owns copyrights to the characters and the Twilight. No infringement intended. No monetary profits made. The idea of this story is mine

The Heroin Lullabies


FUCK! That is what I'm thinking at this exact moment in my glorified shit hole of a life. Sleep was evading me, couldn't recall the last time I slept. I was living off the pretzels and chips the past forty-eight hours. We stayed drunk and fucked up. In my right hand was a huge fucking bottle of Jack right now while my left was busy trying not to tear out this poor girl's hair at the root as she was deep throating my dick. There was a zero gag reflex.

My eyes rolled around in my skull as I tried to notice my surroundings. What little I did see told me I was in a rat hole of a club rest room. The once white toilet was covered in scrapes, shit, piss and puke. Piss and vomit covered the fake brick looking tile on the floor and the whore of a groupie was knee deep in it. And I'm guessing the paint was either black or green, I was entirely sure as my pupils couldn't focus. I was starting to shake. Was it from me about to jizz in the whore's throat or was it from the need of another hit or snort? It could be both.

I'm Cullen Masen, lead singer of Loxley Screws. My band mates consist of Emmett Masen- my brother, Jasper Whitlock-our cousin and Jacob Black-a child hood friend from back home in Forks, Washington. Emmett plays bass while Jasper plays guitar and Jacob plays the drums. I stand up front and sing to the masses while being the rock god that I am.

After most shows, before shows and sometimes during shows we drank Jack and snorted, inhaled or injected anything that wasn't nailed down, not exactly but there was plenty of coke, marijuana and heroin at our disposal. I preferred heroin and coke mixed with Jack and pussy. We were all fucked up, even our tour manager Carlisle, who was also my father. I was his first born but my mother, Elizabeth, died before I was a year old from a cocaine overdose and then two years later Carlisle married Esme and eight months later out came Emmett. While I had my mother's bronze hair and father's emerald green eyes; Emmett had Esme's eyes and somehow had gotten dark brown hair. Being the arrogant fucker that I am, I will honestly say that I got all the looks and the talent as I also write all of our songs. Emmett's not bad on bass, he's just not me. To quote Wednesday 13 from the Murder Dolls," I'm perfect, pissed off, beautiful, I'm GOD!"

This whore was taking her sweet fuckin' time sucking my dick. Or was it taking me forever to cum? Either way, I wanted out of the fuckin' stall. I needed either coke or heroin. Or was it because this bitch didn't know how to suck dick? I didn't fuckin' know or care anymore. I'll just lead her out of here and trade her in for another faceless whore.

I had another ninety minutes before our show and if I wanted to be able to perform, I needed a hit of something. After I escorted the whore out of the rest room, I dumped her off on some road crew guy and made my way for the bus. Once on there, I knew somebody had some shit on them or stashed away somewhere. Carlisle was sitting on one of the couches in the front typing away on his laptop while listening to Guns n fuckin' Roses. He looked up at me and saw how close I was coming to losing it. His left hand reached into a pocket on his laptop bag and pulled out a baggy of coke and a rolled up, rubber banded Ben Frank and gave them to me. It was up to me to find something to cut up lines with. My American Express worked just fuckin' fine.

Five lines later and half of bottle of Jaeger later, I was able to carry on a conversation without looking like I was about to blow a gasket. It was during that time that Carlisle informed me that in a few days we would be acquiring a massage therapist, a gift for us he said, since we had been working so hard lately. Jane was not going to be happy about that, but I didn't fuckin' care. She thought she was my girl but she was just the daughter of our supplier, Aro. I'd rather he send out more drugs than his too thin cracked out daughter, but she gave the best head and easily gave up her pussy anytime I wanted sex and didn't want to exert time and energy in finding a groupie to fuck. But in honesty, that's all Jane was, a groupie whore who was expendable.

Carlisle gave me little detail on this massage therapist with the exception that she was new and was from Forks. She was going to be new meat for me and I was going to try to corrupt her as little as possible. But I laughed and Carlisle looked at me with a raised crooked eyebrow. I shook my head and waved my hand to signal to forget about it. My coked out haze of a mind was getting lost in thoughts about how all the fans or groupies were starting to look the same and causing boredom to set in- bleached hair or bleached with streaks intermittently through brown hair, tight low-rise jeans with thongs showing below their tramp stamps of generic butterflies or hearts and plastered on make up. They all looked as though they had been ridden hard and tossed under a fuckin' semi. There were no angels in my life, only demons appearing in various forms. But this was my life and I fuckin' loved it.

Innocence died many life times ago and died immediately once it stepped inside in my life. Carlisle kept Esme from the shit and was oblivious to the drugs, alcohol and sex. I pulled at my trademark wayward messy bronze hair and pulled a sip on the bottle of Jack. I could really use a massage right now, a massage on my cock and balls. It could be either by hand, mouth or pussy. But nothing in that club or outside the bus enticed me. Not right now, at least. "Sweet Child O' Mine" sweetly played from the speakers and made me smile slightly. At that moment, I wish I had someone sweet and that was mine, but scowled at the thought. Sweetness was nothing that belonged in my life, unless it was a sweet piece of ass or a sweet snort or injection.

"Do you have the set list ready for tonight?" Carlisle asked, bringing me out of my coke induced mind conversation. My eyes blinked and stared up at the top of the bus and let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding. I nodded my head and took another swig of Jack. Some beeping noise was grating through my ears when I realized it was Carlisle's email notification.

"The massage therapist just emailed me asking if she could come out tomorrow, I told her yes."

Good God, I had a new toy to play with.