God Save My King (Sid Vicious FanFic)

Ch. 43: The Necklace

For the longest time, I lay in bed all day, mentally beating myself up over everything that had gone wrong. I blamed myself for not being awake when Sid died. I blamed myself for not having called the hospital the first time he had overdosed. I blamed myself for not begging him to leave Nancy and to stay with me. I blamed myself for encouraging him to join the Pistols in the first place. Hell, I had even convinced myself that I could have saved his life had I only answered the phone when he had called that night all of those months ago. Maybe if my mother hadn't hung up on him, I could've convinced him to come home. To come and be with me.

I was an absolute wreck.

After about a week of coddling me, Noelle had finally had enough. She was convinced that I needed to get myself 'out there', wherever 'there' was.

She kept telling me that I had hit rock bottom-which was fine by me. The only direction to go now was up. That is, if I could even find the motivation to start standing.

Motivation soon came in the form of Johnny Rotten. He had fled to Jamaica not long after I had traveled to New York. He was desperate to escape the media, who were hell bent on pestering him about the Pistols' break up.

After Sid had died, he journeyed to America in an attempt to view the scattering of his ashes. When he was denied by Anne, he returned back to England, just in time to come and visit me.

Lucky me, right?

He burst through my door, a wicked grin on his mug. "All right, mate?"

"Johnny?" I stammered, shocked that he had even managed to make it passed my mum.

She wasn't known for letting punks into her household, save for Jones, and that was only when he had been on his best behavior. Yet, here Lydon stood, in his ragged clothes with his gnashing teeth and wild hair. The only thing out of character about him was a large, leather satchel that hung from his thin frame, but I didn't question it.

"Who else?" He chuckled.

I watched him saunter over to my record collection, flipping through the vinyls lazily. I hoped he wasn't planning on changing the record. I had been listening to the Doors on repeat the entire week and was showing no signs of stopping now.

"Oi! Where's your Sex Pistols record?" He demanded, his voice booming.

I wasn't used to many loud noises anymore, as I had been cooped up in my room all by myself. I cringed at the sheer loudness of everything about him, from his chain wallet all the way down to his combat boots.

"I haven't got one," I admitted.

"Haven't got one?" Lydon gasped, his eyes widening as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "And why not?"

I shrugged. "I saw you guys make it. I don't need it on my shelves."

"Oh, really?" Lydon's bugging eyes grew even wider as he stared at me.

"Really. My memories are good enough," I said with a nod.

"Not even this copy?"

He tugged a copy of Never Mind the Bollocks from the beaten up satchel he had been carrying around. He tossed it beside me onto the bed, where it landed with a cushioned thud.

Glancing down at it, it didn't seem so special. If anything, it looked like a dreadful copy. The covering was bent out of shape and the corners were scuffed. It looked so bad on the outside that I feared for what the record itself may look like.

Lydon must have seen the slight wrinkle of my nose because he was quick to point and say "Flip it over."

Following his instructions, I gingerly lifted the record from my bed, flipping it over in my hands before pulling it onto my lap for a better look.