Sweet Agony (Slaxl)

IX

A/n: I've never been into a suicide prevention facility before. I'm treating it like a really bad regular hospital for the sake of the story, so please keep your 'that's not contextually accurate' comments to yourselves. 

Axl's POV:

Questions continued to be asked of me, and I continued to not answer. This was day five of interrogation. Doctor after doctor asked me questions about how I was doing, and every time I would stare blankly at the collar of their shirts, keeping my lips closed.  "Are you gay?" One of them asked. Immediately I thought of Slash, and I suddenly missed him desperately. I wished he could be here to talk to me, to get these people away from me. I hated it here. Instead of answering, my body betrayed me, and I started crying.

My lower lip quivered while I thought of the guitarist and how badly I wanted to feel his guitar playing again. "No," I whispered.

The doctor stood up. The questions were going to be flying now. They knew my weakness, they knew how to get to me. "Let's talk about your friend. Has he been saving you for a long time?"

I didn't answer. The doctor thought for a moment before moving on to the next question. "He's a real loser, isn't he?"

"Don't talk about him like that!" I snapped. "He's a good man who loved and cared about me more than you ever will!" That's when the interrogation ended.

I was locked in a room under heavy monitoring. Apparently, I was one of the institution's top dangers. I was a hazard to myself and the other people that I was staying with, so they kept me in isolation. "Can I have a pencil and paper?" I asked one of the guards. He looked at me. "I'd like to write to my friend," I explained.

"Fine," the guard agreed, producing a notepad and pen from his jacket. "But if you take that point anywhere but that paper, no more writing ever." I nodded slowly, these people were hardcore. The black ink spilled over the paper as I wrote the note in jagged, pointy letters. 

Dear Slash,
I miss you. The people here are no fun. How's therapy going for you? Y'know, they've found my weakness. Today I got all defensive over you. Ha, maybe I'm the one who's got the hots for his best friend. Can you imagine something like that? I hope to god I don't rot here forever, I can't wait to get back on the road again. I miss people grabbing at me and mindlessly drinking everything in sight.
Until we meet again,
Axl

I folded the note over carefully so that none of the contents could be read by any outside eyes. Since the tour was on break until I could get my act together, so I knew that Slash would be at home. I wrote out his address on the back of the folded square. Then I approached the guard again. "Can you send this to that address?" I pointed to what I'd written.

"I suppose so. You have a visitor by the way." He pointed towards the door where Izzy was standing. He came by when he saw me peaking around. "How are you doing?" The guard asked the guitarist. 

"I'm great, thanks for asking." He looked at me. "How are you doing?"

I shrugged, unable to answer the question properly. "Can you deliver something to Slash?" I took the paper out of the guard's hands. "This is for his eyes only, understand?" I made sure it was clear before I gave the paper up, waiting until I got a definite nod from Izzy. 

"Aside from writing love notes to the other guitarist, what else do you do here?" He looked around, seeming impressed by the appalling lack of interesting scenery. I eyed the guard anxiously, worried that if I said the wrong thing he would send Izzy away. 

"They ask me a lot of questions," I answered carefully. 

"And you don't answer them?" He raised a knowing eyebrow. I looked away from him. 

"How's Slash? Is therapy treating him well?" I asked, eyeing the tiles of the floor as the question flowed out of my lips. 

"He's a wreck," Izzy answered, my head snapped up. "He's shooting up more than usual and drinking like crazy. He doesn't sleep, he doesn't eat, he's driving everyone fucking crazy. Axl, he's so worried. Duff wouldn't let him come here to see you because he was afraid Slash might bust you outta here. The only reason I'm here is to tell everyone that you're still alive." 

I chewed my lip while I thought. "Go back and tell him to come here. Give him the letter and then tell him to come here."

"You want to see him?" He was taken aback.

"If it'll calm him down. Just as long as he's not too high out of his mind."

"That I can't guarantee, but I guess I can hope. I'll tell him to come here then." He turned around and left the building just like that. The lack of hesitation in his actions made me worry for my curly-haired friend. 

"Oh, Slash," I sighed, "I'm so sorry."

It was not but two hours later that an extremely intoxicated man stumbled onto the floor with my room. I watched him bump into tables and clipboards, knocking over stacks of paper yet somehow managing to keep his hat on his head, and it almost made me laugh. "Aaaaaaaxl!" He yelled as soon as he saw me, arms outstretched as he pulled me into a hug without warning. "You're okay?" He let me go, looking me up and down and over, his lips moving involuntarily as his eyes went over every part of me.

"Of course I'm okay, are you?" Again I chuckled. He was sort of cute if I really thought about it. He nodded slowly, lying to me so that I didn't worry about him. "I'm sorry I've done this to you." I touched his hair, pulling on its springy strands. 

Slash smiled lightly. "Don't worry about it, I'll be fine." His dismissiveness made me wonder if I was the only one in a bad position here. "When do you think you're getting out?"

"I don't know," I shook my head. "Soon, I'm sure. Try not to stress anybody out too much, will you?" He hugged me again, this one long and warm. I could melt into his touch if I'd let myself, but I refused to do that. He kissed the top of my head before letting me go. 

"I miss you, too," He sighed.