Sweet Agony (Slaxl)

XII

Slash's place was crawling with snakes. Or should I say slithering? I had to be careful where I stepped, sometimes the floor moved because it was really a snake. I finally found a couch and fell down on it.

The curly-haired man appeared with a glass bottle of tequila. "This calls for the heavy stuff." In his other hand he held two cups stacked on top of each other. He handed one of the plastic blue cups to me, filling it to the top with tequila. He filled his own cup just as full.

"You'll give me alcohol- whoa." Slash began to drain his glass, sipping heavily on it. Kill me? He was going to fucking kill himself if he kept at it like that. He stopped drinking when it was halfway gone. "Slow down there, buddy." My tone was light, but I wasn't joking. He was drinking way too fast. I took a light sip of my own tequila, the drink burning a little as it went down.

"I'm so happy you're back," he slurred, putting his arm over my shoulder. The jacket he'd thrown on earlier had disappeared, giving me sight of all the needle holes on his inner elbows.

"You're falling apart." I touched his face. "Oh, Slash. You're falling apart."

"I'm fine." A smile painted his face, unconvincing but not forced either. "You're here, so I'm fine."

I'd never seen crippling anxiety in person, but now that I'd witnessed it first hand, I was disgusted by it. I knew full well that it was my fault he was like this, but that didn't change much of anything for me. The guitarist was sick, and he needed help more than I did. "You need to see someone about this."

"You're a traitor," he whispered in my ear. "They didn't care about you, why would they care about me."

"Slash, you're gonna kill yourself!"

"Then we'll do a double suicide. How hopelessly fucking romantic would that shit be?"

"You're scaring me. You're not okay." I put my hand to his forehead. "You've gone up around the bend."

"I'm not crazy, I just need you to be safe." Me to be safe? I drank more of my tequila. Me to be safe? This man was making me unsafe by trying to save me! "And you're safe now."

"Any one of these snakes could easily kill me, and you've got more tequila in my cup than what a fucking alcoholic would drink."

He put his head down on my shoulder, closing his eyes. "You're safe now." I think he either fell asleep or passed out immediately after that.

On the table next to me was a telephone, and I carefully picked it up, dialing the number of another friend. Duff answered immediately. "Who is this?"

"It's Axl."

"Axl?! What the hell are you doing on a phone?! Why aren't you in that-"

"Slash broke me out. But we've gotta talk. Duff, he's going crazy. He's drinking himself to death and dancing with Mr. Fuckin' Brownstone!"

There was a long pause before more was said. "What's he doing now?"

I looked over at the still, snoring man on my shoulder. "He's asleep."

"I'll go and talk to him about it tomorrow. And as for you," I cringed, bracing myself for what was to come, for him to yell at me, "you'd better give him one hell of a kiss."

I choked on my spit. "A what?!"

"We told him to leave you be, that you were in good care, but he didn't listen. He went and did what you asked him to because you're the only thing in the world that matters to him. He's done more than enough for you, the least you could do is show him a little of that affection he wants so badly." I hung up on him. How dare he try to meddle in my romantic life?

My slamming down the phone woke Slash up. "What's wrong?" He asked.

"Just making a phone call," I explained through gritted teeth. Duff's words were swimming around in my brain. Was he right? Should I return the favors I'd been given a little bit?

The guitarist sat up, rubbing his eyes. "How long was I out for?" 

"Not long." I didn't apologize for waking him. Not that I wasn't sorry, I just really didn't care enough to do it. "Maybe a few minutes or so."

"Who'd you call?"

"Duff."

"DUFF?!" He screamed at me, spit flying out of his mouth. "Why?! Why would you call Duff?!"

"Cool your jets, Slash. All I told him was that I was worried about you."

"Great, great! Now he's gonna make me do more therapy or get me pills or some shit and I'll overdose again and-"

"Wait, wait, wait," I stopped him. "What do you mean you'll overdose," I stopped, choking on the word, "again?" Had he overdosed while I was gone? 

"I, uh," He rubbed his arm nervously. "I have a little news for you."

"You overdosed. Because of me?" Maybe it was egotistical, but why should I care about that?

"I wouldn't say it was because of you, but it's just-" He closed his eyes, laying back. "It's complicated, alright?"

The word echoed in my head. Complicated. Complicated? Complicated! "Complicated? Complicated?!" I stood up, pacing aggressively. "You don't get to tell me 'it's complicated!'" 

"What do you want me to say? I don't got any other reason." He played with the end of his shoe. 

"I'll give you another reason." I moved forward, throwing myself at him. At first I was tackling him, hitting him over and over in anger and frustration, and then I was straddling him, sitting on his lap, staring at him before I put my arms around his neck and kissed him. 

I was crazy pissed at him, it was true. I was pissed he might've died before me. I was pissed because, for fuck's sake, I was madly in love with him. All of the soft, delicateness of our first kiss on the mouth had dissolved, leaving for a rough second one. Much more tasteful, if you ask me. I guess I had my one reason to live.