Drained Diamonds and drugged Dogs

David Bowie POV.

The Diamond Dogs tour had began, half the time I never wore the wig that Angie liked so much. It was itchy and old fashioned now, for a model, my wife never kept up with fashion. Even I was more in fashion than she was these days...!

The more time I spent in America the more me and Angie argued, the more stressed I got. She loved trying to frighten me, she shouted too often at me... Thankfully never in front of Zowie.

I understood everything and every feeling Ros had been having for the past couple of months. It's been horrid. The only problem was, I'm married to my problem, whereas Ros could walk away without a single headline about her and Kevin.

I spent many nights wandering the streets of New York. I had cigarette after cigarette...

Just- one- more.

I kept telling myself, I wanted to relax, but not even the fags were helping...

"Nice show tonight David, truly wonderful." Margo smiles to me walking me back to the apartment.

"Yeah. I guess it was alright." I sigh sadly... I just wasn't myself at the moment. Angie was once again, really putting me down.

After the concert, my own lyrics of Diamond Dogs were buzzing around in my head, Margo for once, didn't have her head glued to the phone. She was actually just walking, just silent. It amazed me how quiet she had gone, it was just us walking together, no words said.

The silence was daunting and suddenly a guy pushed into me. I instantly say sorry, but the strange man kept walking...

What was that about?

"You ok David?" Margo asks checking on me, I just nod and I puzzle at the guy but think nothing of it.

I sigh again: "Margo," I cough to grab her attention. "How about you go home? You must be exhausted. See you tomorrow, goodnight." I smile to her and she smiles back tiredly.

"If you need me I'm-"

"- A phone call away. Yes, I know Margo, and thank you." I mutter and she smiles again and starts to walk home.

I stand there, under a bright headlamp in the middle of the street, for New York, it was suspiciously quiet... Unusually quiet. Every minute that passed it got colder, lonelier, to warm my hands up slightly and to distract myself, I put my hands in my pockets, in one pocket, I felt a plastic bag, I pulled it out and my eyes adjust to whatever the plastic bag contained... Then it became clearer...

Drugs.

I gulp telling myself... I open it and tip a little into my hands. For sure, the man that bumped into me had smuggled drugs onto me.

No David, no... But-

This was my last resort to relax, without Ros, what could I use to calm myself down?!

I raised my hand up to my nose and sniffed it, the smell was rich and was definitely heroin... Small particles of it had already drained into my system and I started to feel better. I inhaled more now, starting to feel light headed and giddy. This felt like a completely new kind of drunk...! This stuff was good!

I finished the packet and saw the world sway side to side, I laughed hard at this image. I couldn't walk straight. I was alone, taking drugs alone on a street in New York.

The swaying started to make me feel sick... My head felt dizzy and I suddenly felt extremely unwell... Before I knew it I vomited all over the pavement.

"Jesus Christ!" I shout aggressively after I was finished gagging.

There better not be any paparazzi around...

I manage to think to myself.

Even after being sick, the swaying continued, the laughing continued, the drunk feeling was still there... God only knew how long I'd stay in this bizarre world.

***

The following night I tried cocaine... The sensation was even better than heroin... It was wonderful... I escaped from it all, the bad wife, the millions of fans, the fame... I live on the stuff... A repeated pattern began to form...

Cocaine, cigarette, perform, cigarette, cocaine, eat, cigarette, heroin, cigarette, cocaine, cigarette, sleep...

My two best friends weren't even human beings, they were both killers... And no one noticed my bad habits... Including my wife. I knew deep down if I lived like this forever, my forever would soon die. I would die... The Blackstar that Ros loved so much would die and burn out... But somehow, these facts didn't stop me.

I had many interviews, and I struggled to keep myself still for more than two seconds... It was becoming clear that these addictions I had weren't helping me at all... I didn't want professional help... I wanted Ros.

Ros. I need her.

****

Late one night, I sat alone in my apartment, New York lights made the city look like it was alive even when the rest of the world slept peacefully, like Ros probably was right now... New York was always awake. Always busy. Just like how my brain felt.

I was New York, Ros was the world... She was my world...

These drugs made me weep, made me go off the rails... I had lost count of how many days I had done this for, lost count of how many cigarettes I had in a day, hundreds probably... The more I tried to forget Ros, and appreciate Angie, the more I wanted Ros near me.

Why?

I wrote to her everyday, she'd get them days later... I barely had chance to call her. It was hard keeping in touch secretly... I hadn't told her about my little addiction, but I didn't want to worry her. Even though I knew she could help me, I knew she'd worry too much, she was just 18 still...

"Are you purposely trying to make bad stories in the paper?" I hear Angie spit from behind me.

"No darling, that's your job to always be the cover of a magazine." I say spitefully back to her.

She storms up to me and slaps my cheek, a loud clap noise sounds throughout the apartment and the force makes my head twist painfully. "Don't- mess with me Bowie."

"You bitch." I manage to breathe out aggressively at her, barely believing the woman standing in front of me. My wife. A nasty piece of work... How could I possibly say this about my own wife?

Why the hell did I marry her?!

"Says the man taking drugs! How thick do you think I am?! The papers are already talking!!" She shouts.

"Firstly: Do you want to wake Zowie?!" I say pointing towards his room.

"He shouldn't be left in a home with you whilst you're under the influence of drugs!" She laughs evilly.

"As if you care Angie! You're always getting someone to look after our son, and you call yourself the world's best mother!"

"Maybe because I have a life, a job, you're his father you should-" I stop her.

"I'll think you'll find, dearest, that I'm the one that's bringing the money in, you just sit on your arse all day pretending you're making money and you're the one spending it all the time." I say with a large, smug look plastered onto my face.

"Every woman falls in love with you, but they don't know the true you." She mutters close to my face.

Ros knows the real me.

"They don't know you like I do. Shame, any girl would die to be your wife, and here I stand." She bows sarcastically at me. "You would suffer without me David Bowie."

"Really? Because it feels like I'm suffering with you, not without you. I actually have a better life when we're not together!" There's this horrible pause, we're both thinking the same thing...

Just divorce me.

I think to myself getting impatient about this.

"We have to stay together for Zowie." She mutters quietly. "We've already agreed on this."

"What are you on about? He's shipped to different countries all the time trying to spend time with at least one of us...!"

"Good luck trying to divorce me David, but I'm Angie Bowie, the angel model that has the perfect husband and most wonderful family. And you will never take my innocent fame from me." She smirks at me.

If she wasn't going to divorce me for good reason, I'd find a good enough one for her to. She just wanted to have a clear name so the public would love her. Every argument we had drained me, I hadn't felt happy since I last saw Ros in Brixton...

That's what Angie didn't understand, fame changes us for the good and the bad. She changed for the bad, obsessing over fans and publicity.

But the fans sadly never see the real wife of me... David Bowie...