14 years - Axl Rose x OC

48

A/N: Guys I was watching A Star Is Born while writing this so I feel like it's too emotion 'cause I was crying.

---April 1st, 1992

Lita Monroe's Pilot pink pen clicked in its consistent motion, the short, sharp sound was small, but enough to keep her focus on the ripped-up notebook before her, jotting down the loose sentences and rhyming words to popped into her head, hoping that she would be able to connect these clusters into coherent verses. Her pen stopped clicking, dropping onto the notebook with a minuscule thud, when Lita couldn't handle the manmade distraction. "Hmm..." she hummed, "what even rhymes with blame?"

Many things rhyme with blame: fame, claim, came (she laughed at this), ashame, explain, inhumane, video game...even polyurethane. Everything she wrote down, everything Lita thought–none of it sounded correct, none sounded like her!. She clicked the light pink pen again, scribbling out a sentence next to the rhyming words. Writing a song has never been this difficult for her.

Back then, years ago, she had the inspiration; but currently there were no sparks, no conflicts in Lita's life that warranted a seven minute song, with its lengthy bridge and excessively sorrowful verses. Whatever creativity she did have, it had already been used on the two other songs, scribbled on the paper that sat neatly on the left side of her desk. Lita ripped and crumpled up the paper in her hand, aimlessly throwing it behind her into the abyss that was her overflowing trash can.

One of the things Lita enjoyed most having been a former compatriot of Geffen Records, and married to one of their current associates, was when they'd come to her under the table. Since the 'Silent Cherries' abrupt ending, a few managers at the company had requested her assistance with their own bands. From then on, Lita helped some up-in-coming bands polish their lyrics or give her honest opinion on their production.

Lita, having sold a few million records herself, would never be able to leave the industry behind; so she spent her days working in the background, helping these newbies to become as successful as they dreamed when they signed on. She took a small break from that just before she had her daughter, did not plan on returning until the end of the year, unless thoroughly convinced, so Lita dedicated some time into writing her own material.

Melissa, who had been trying her best to stay in contact with Lita, despite everything, had suggested she sell off songs to other artists, since she had such a large capability to write compelling lyrics, but Lita had yet to think of that option. It was her last resort if she didn't have the merit to put anything out solo.

Lita stared down at the wooden desk in front of her, over to the two fully written songs, and then behind her to the papers scattered from her poor aim. She was about to get up and throw them away, an excuse to stop writing, for she really had no more motivation for the day, when the monitor on the desk startled her.

A shrill cry came through the white machine and Lita could hear it, much softer, down the hall. She got up from the floor, threw out the remaining crumpled papers in her arms, and went to check on Sharon, who had been sleeping the last few hours Lita was writing.

She opened the door, the darkness consuming the room, and listened as she tried to make soft steps toward the crib. Sharon was only two months old, yet she had a loud voice, threatening that of her father. Lita was right when she said she'd be his carbon copy. The only thing remarkable that Lita could give credit to her own genes were the small, S-shaped curls in Sharon's hair. It was red like Axl's, but it had the same texture as her mother and grandmother, something Lita had never actually inherited.