14 years - Axl Rose x OC

34

---February 6th, 1991

Lita Monroe sauntered from the kitchen back into the dark bedroom, the shades pulled tight at three in the afternoon, ready to crawl back into her hiding place.

Brazil had been more than she'd asked for: following Guns N' Roses' second show, she and the band explored the cities, tasted delicious food, and had more enjoyment than Lita had ever experienced before in her life.

Nerves and anxiety had been building up inside her stomach, filling it to the brim with creeping spiders, as the airplane brought them home to Los Angeles; Lita could not quench that feeling anymore like she had when they were having fun traveling.

It had just hit the one week mark of them being home to the United States when Lita hit her breaking point.

The pressure from the band-and the pressure brought on by her own self-loathing-made it inevitable. Right when they got home, Lita left Axl, heading straight for their room. She shut the shades, turned out the lights, and slithered into bed, sleeping into the night and next morning.

She didn't eat, drink anything, or speak to anyone but herself. Lita didn't know what was wrong- how come this existential feeling of dread had shown at this moment, when everything should've been good, okay? It was the afternoon of Axl's birthday, of all days, and Lita had only managed to leave the bedroom for snacks.

Axl had checked on her last night, having slept on the couch the last few days, not wanting to disturb or possibly anger Lita.

He knew she wasn't in the right headspace, and she needed someone to bring her out, but he didn't know how to do that with his words. Neither knew what was going on with Lita, but Axl hoped that, while he was out, he could 'cure' her as he hoped.

Lita pulled the blanket up over her head again in an attempt to block the sun shimmering through the shades opposite to her. Besides that, the only light came from the hall, but she couldn't hear anyone on the other side, so Lita assumed Axl had just left the yellow mosaic light on.

It burdened her even more, knowing that she was missing Axl's 29th birthday while she laid in bed; but she was too tired to rise. She had just been doing everything wrong recently. There were a few gifts from Rock in Rio that Lita had yet to have given him, wanting them to be a surprise, but that wouldn't amount to anything now.

She could get up and make him something-maybe even go out to the stores-but that was too much effort. Laying there in bed was far much better, Lita supposed.

In her head, however, everyone was screaming at her.

Chris stood behind her ear, whispering her childhood failures inward; she could see her mother's eyes-something Chris inherited-staring back at her, haunting from beyond in Purgatory, weakening her. In Lita's mind, everyone was there; in some way or another, judging her life like it was Final.

Now she was conscious, and it stirred her to rise from the fetal position in which she lay.

"Fuck," Lita mumbled, for the headache (a sign of her low blood sugar and tired spirit) hit her like a freight train. She shivered getting out of bed, leaving the warm comforters and fuzzy blankets that she had stacked up on the bed, her little cave.

Again Lita Monroe sauntered back into the kitchen, but this time not with the intent of grabbing the mint cookies stashed on the pantry's top shelf.

The apartment was a mess, Lita observed. Axl was always self-sufficient, but during times like these, he was always in a rush, and therefore leaving his mess for Lita to pick up. And, with her chained to the bedroom, too depressed to leave, she couldn't do so.