Sweet Agony (Slaxl)

XVIII

Axl's POV:

I'd apparently given Slash a message yesterday when I was trying to get him to lose. I woke up with a start because he was kissing my lips. I figured out how to play my cards quickly, tugging on his hair and letting his tongue slip into my mouth. Wow! What a wake-up call.

When the make-out session ended, much to Slash's dismay since I needed some air, he smiled weakly at me. "Morning."

"Indeed. Plagued with dreams of me?" I was only teasing him since the obverse was true for me. I'd been plagued with various naughty dreams and visions about him. Maybe he'd heard me talking in my sleep...

"Yeah. You've got me hooked bad." He sat up, putting a hand to his mouth for a minute.

"Are you okay?" I didn't restrain my concern. I was ready for these withdrawals to hit him like a freight train.

He didn't answer for a while, instead getting up. He started walking slowly, but eventually fell over his own feet to get to the room's trash can. It wasn't graceful, projectile vomit spewing out of his mouth. It was getting in his hair. "Oh, babe." I wandered into the closet to get him a wash cloth. I moved his hair out of his face. Despite having been fine just moments ago, his whole body was now slick with sweat, and he was trembling all over. The wash cloth ran over his mouth and chin. 

"Go and wet it first," He groaned. "It'll work better that way." I stood up, going into the bathroom to wet the cloth. When I returned, Slash was bent over the trash can, throwing up just as intensely as before. "I think I'm gonna get the shits too."

Disgust filled me towards this, but I swallowed it back down. I had to be there for him like he'd been there for me. When he was disgusted with my actions, did he ever complain? Of course not. I'll return the favor. "Then you should probably move into the bathroom." I grabbed his arm, and when he was standing up, he vomited again. God, I wished he never touched that fucking drug. "Damn all the poppies in the world. Fuck the poppies. To hell with the motherfucking poppies!"

"Will you quit damning middle eastern flowers and get me to the fucking toilet!" I hadn't realized I'd been saying that out loud. "Sorry," He put his face back into the trash can. "I'm so gross."

"At least you're getting clean. I'm proud of you." He turned his head, giving me a weird look. "What?"

"I just can't believe you just said that. It's uncharacteristic." Slash turned away from me again, dry heaving. Getting to the toilet was a process. It took a lot of effort to get there only because we would have to stop for the guitarist to dry heave or actually puke again. "Leave me," He instructed once we finally got there.

"But I thought-"

"I don't want this to be how you see it. Please leave." The sincerity in his words shut me up. I closed the bathroom door to give him his privacy. We probably won't be doing anything today after all. 

&&&&&&

Slash came downstairs into the kitchen a few hours later. His face was all yellow, and he was stumbling around. A trickle of blood ran down his arm, telling me exactly what he'd done. "I thought you were getting clean," I scolded him.

"Yeah? Well it's fucking impossible, and I felt like I was dying without it." He opened a bottle of whiskey on the counter. "I know I'm sick, but I just want more."

"Why are you allowed to quit when I'm not?" 

He took a sip of the drink, avoiding the answer. Instead, he thought that affection could make everything instantly better--which isn't entirely untrue, I didn't really mind it when he was all lovey on me--and opened his arms. "C'mere."

"You've gotta try harder than that." I crossed my arms, standing my ground. Slash began to walk over to me, spilling out the whiskey with the way his arms waved around. He'd shot up more than usual. "You used china white, didn't you?"

His eyes flickered. "How could you tell?"

"It's a lot stronger. I really thought that you were better than that." Instead of apologizing, he pulled me into an awkward hug. It was by no means romantic or affectionate. He was sort of hanging onto me like a leech. "Stop."

Hands ran down my arms. "Why are you making me stop? I wanna hold you."

"You're not holding me. You're making me uncomfortable. Stop it." I backed away from him. "Lay off the fucking drugs, Slash. It's an asshole move."

"I'm sorry. I can't help myself." He pointed one of his feet towards the ground, digging the toes into the kitchen floor. "Will you forgive me?"

"That doesn't justify what you've done." I moved further away from him. 

"Stop being such a whiny bitch. I only shot up a little. Besides, how many times did I save you from your own problems?"

"Is that what you want me to do? Take away all your needles?"

"NO!" He covered his mouth as soon as he'd shouted it. I couldn't help but chuckle. All this time he'd been saving me from myself, and when I go to do it for him too, he chose drugs over me. It's only fair, I chose death over him. What a fucked up couple of toxic people we are. "Axl I-"

"No, you made your choice. And I don't care." He looked taken aback. "If you wanna go shoot up, I don't care anymore. You're not my responsibility."

"But I thought that-"

"I'm only hanging out with you for the fun. If I wanted bad things in a relationship, I'd go live with Duff."

"He drinks all the time."

"I guess then we're all bad for each other." I sat down at the kitchen table, putting my feet up on the table. "Let's go out for dinner."

"Where do you wanna go?"

"I thought that you'd rather take me, lover boy." If he'd been wearing his hat, it would've fallen off for effect in that very moment. Just to be coy, I added, "on a date."

"You've gone soft. I should start calling you lover boy right back." He lit a cigarette. "But I'll take you out. A night to remember."