14 years - Axl Rose x OC

15

Turning up the dial on the radio of her white '64 Pontiac, one of the favourites in Lita's collection of old cars, including the hand-me-down '60 Oldsmobile Chrstopher stole from their parents back in 1980 before giving it to her the next year.

"Like A Virgin" blared out the back speakers, invading her ears and blocking out the drunken moans of Jack next to her. The retractable soft-top was down and the wind blazed by Lita Monroe as she sped the two of them down I-405 into Santa Monica. Her sunglasses, aviators similar in size to Axl's but distinct in colour, topped her head and held her blonde curled locks away from her still-teary eyes as she pulled the car off the interstate.

Jack held the side of the car in one arm, his head laying out to catch a gust of air to quench the nausea that had come on from his afternoon out with Duff McKagan. Head still lolling as the sun set, Lita turned off of California Avenue and down the street to her and her boyfriend's apartment overlooking the Pacific. Jack muttered now and then an explanation for why he was out with the fellow bassist at such an early hour drinking carelessly.

To Lita, it sounded like the sardonic wording of her father, endlessly repeating the 'ol 'It's 5 'o'clock somewhere' gimmick in hopes of deterring them from the drinking problem that would lead to his death in 1987.

Jack's drunken stupor bothered Lita so much that, upon unlocking the door apartment #208, she slammed the swelled, wooden door back in his face. Jack leaned his head against the door knocker, a dent ready to form in his forehead. "Lita, c'mon...just open it."

Lita came over to the handle and gripped it tightly, "You promise you'll be good?" She could hear mumbling coming from the other end and the slam of a door down the hall; Jack spoke the best he could to the elderly man exiting his home, not wanting to show off his intoxication.

"Yes, Lita. You just gotta understand-"

"I let you inside and you explain, got it?"

"Yes, yes, yes," Jack rushed, still with his head against the door.

Lita opened it quickly and Jack fell forward hastily, his hands luckily catching half his side. The other half hit the tile floor with a thud. A much deserved collateral hit. She always used to win Battleship as a kid, and now those calculations worked as well with an incapacitated 26yr old. "Fuck. Lita, that hurt."

"I don't care. Now tell me why you left this morning, before I even woke up, and got shit-faced. I don't like seeing you at only 4pm looking like my father on the average Monday, you know that." Lita shut the oak door and locked it. Jack smiled sickly as he placed himself in a barstool facing her. "Can you at least get me an aspirin first?" Jack said groggily, Lita now noticing his wet t-shirt, the smell of Vodka penetrating her senses.

Lita Monroe handed Jack the bottle as he explained: "I told you last week we were goin' an' h-hangin'" (Here he swayed slightly) "We were gonna' talk about basses n' shit. We talked about you, too, Leeds. You know that fucker, her likes ta' drink, and he offered it. It would be rude for me ta' not accept." (Jack chugged the aspirin and water Lita handed him) "One thing led ta' anotha'and I had a few too many. So what?"

"At lunch time, Jack. You're unbelievable-and I do not remember you telling me beforehand-and you know I don't like when you drink that much, I never have-you remind me of my father-"

"Don't compare me to that douchebag, you hated him."

"Well, what else am I supposed to do when you act just like him?" Lita breathed heavily as he considered this, head swaying back and forth in contemplation for an angry look took over.

Jack took his glass then, suddenly, and threw it at the cabinet behind her. Lita ducked, not nearly fast enough, before it shattered next to her. Standing up, he kicked the barstool over and put his arms behind his head. "What the fuck, Jack!"