A Brick Wall And An Angry Redhead

What a Weird Night

Slash

"What the fuck was that about?" I ask Izzy after Axl leaves hoping he'll provide some enlightenment as to why the fucker was at our door.

"Who knows," he sighs. "I probably shouldn't have taken a shot at him that way either, asking if he wanted to play with you. Now he's gonna be really fucking pissed." Izzy closes his eyes and shakes his head and then grabs it with both hands. "Oh my head," he groans. He sits down on the bed and holds his head in his hands; it was like all of his energy disappeared when the door shut on Axl, leaving him pale and tired and bringing back the pain in his head that I thought I had made go away. Axl was in our doorway for 30 seconds and Izzy's already a wreck; I wish I knew what was going on in his head. But I don't want to ask; I don't want to fuck up what we had before Axl came to the door. So I just take a deep breath and concentrate on making Izzy's head stop hurting and not letting my heart start hurting. But really, the fact that he reacts so strongly to someone that's not me makes me angry and it hurts; moreso because I don't know what to make of it. Is he angry or upset that Axl was here? Is he upset that he left? I don't understand, part of me wants to understand; but the self protective part of my heart keeps me from asking questions. I push it all aside and turn to my sweet lover who is balled up on the bed with his arms around his head.

"Come and stand under the hot water with me baby, it'll make your head feel better. Besides, you're a mess, let me clean you up," I gently plead with him. The thought of hot water on my skin sounds like heaven to me right now and it'll help get rid of Izzy's headache. It must be one hell of a migraine because he's starting to turn grey. He gets like this every now and then after binging on booze and dope; made worse tonight by one red-headed asshole. I know it's his own fault and I know he was being a jerk earlier and I know his taunting Axl is going to cause big trouble but I don't care, I hate seeing Izzy like this. Before we were together he'd lay in bed in a dark room for a couple of days whenever a migraine held him in it's painful grasp but I rubbed his head once when he had one of those headaches and he's forever ruined; now I have to do it every single time. It's ok though; it gives me a chance to pamper him a little bit. "Do you have anything for your headache? I know you have a prescription for something, did you bring it?" I ask him quietly.

"Yeah, it's in my bag in the bathroom" he whispers, squinting up at me. When the light hits his eyes he winces and drops his head back down into his hands. I feel so guilty looking at him sitting there hunched over on the bed and for being angry that his headache was brought back by his instant reaction to Axl. Could things be any more confusing or crazy tonight? What the fuck is going on? It's been a long night: We played a great show until Axl tried to slide his hand down my pants at which point I got hard and Izzy got pissed and I got freaked. Then because he was pissed Izzy said he didn't care if I was dead or alive which hurt my feelings causing me to walk out of our hotel room after which he chased me down the hall in his underwear tackling me and apologizing in front of a bunch of asshole phtographers! I brought him back to the room, fell asleep, got woken up by Izzy who had a headache, fucked him until the headache was gone and then Axl came to our door, asked to talk to Izzy, told Izzy to go fuck himself which caused Izzy's headache to come back only about 10 times as bad as it was before. Just like earlier-seriously fucked up. I can't even think about how I should feel; I'm too fucking exhausted by the whirlwind changes of the night.

I really don't even care though because there's no way I can watch Izzy sit on the bed looking so miserable and be upset with him. I just can't; I love him too much and maybe that makes me an idiot but I can't be angry and I can't leave him sitting there to deal with everything on his own. He looks so small and so defeated and tired and I can tell he's in a good bit of pain from his head by the way he's absoslutely quiet.

He's never going to make it to the bathroom for his medicine or a shower without help so I pick him up like a chick and carry him in there. He looks up at me in surprise when he feels my arms around him. It hurts when he does things like that; it's like no matter how many times I reassure him about loving him he still reacts like a dog I'm going to kick when something goes wrong. It makes me feel even worse for being pissed a minute ago.

"It's ok baby, I've got you," I murmur to him and kiss the top of his head. He nuzzles his face into my neck; again trying to hide his eyes from the light and I feel his lips touch my skin which makes me smile. I sit him on the bathroom counter and start to look through the different medications in his bag. I look up and he's leaning against the cold glass of the mirror; pressing his forehead to it as if it's coolness might somehow alleviate some of the pain behind his eyes. Izzy's doctor says that the headaches are stress induced and made worse by substances like alcohol. Gee if he only knew about all the heroin we shot too; I'm sure he does know, doctors aren't stupid.

I find the bottle of pills and pour four into my hand and hand them to Izzy along with a cup of water and he downs them. I get the shower nice and hot and then let him use the toilet and finally gently pull him into the warm water. He follows me without complaint and tips his head back into the scalding stream. He soaks his hair and brushes the dripping strands back out of his face and I grab the little bottle of shampoo sitting on the shelf in the shower and squeeze some out into my hand. The shower stalls are huge with knee high square shelves on either end. I pull him over to the one behind me and get him to sit down and start to massage the soap into his hair. He groans as I massage the sore muscles in his neck and head.

"Slash?" he says quietly.

"What baby?" I ask, rubbing the knots out of his neck and shoulders.

"If Axl comes to the door and I'm not here promise me you won't answer ok?" he whispers.

"Why? You think I can't handle Axl?" I ask.

"Baby doll just promise me you won't, he's planning something; I don't know what but something. Just don't answer the door ok?" he pleads and looks up at me; gripping my hip bones hard in his hands and then leaning into my stomach.

"Ok Izz, I won't. I won't answer the door if he comes back. Are you ok?" He's leaning on me heavily now and his grip on my hips has gone slack.

"Yeah, it just hurts," he mumbles. I'm not sure if he's referring to his head or something to do with Axl and what happened earlier and I don't ask. I can't handle any more shit having to do with Axl tonight. I rinse Izzy's hair out and help him get cleaned up and sit him down on the shelf again so that I can wash myself. By the time I'm done he's shivering and complaining that he's cold so I push him into the steaming water again and get him out and quickly hand him a towel. I can tell he's still cold so I grab one of the fuzzy white bathrobes fancy hotels leave hanging in your bathrooms (which we get to stay in every now and then thanks to Aerosmith) and get him to put it on. He looks so tired; huge black circles under his eyes and he's as white as a sheet but the shivering stops. He runs a comb through his hair and then leans against the wall and just watches me as I do the same thing. "Are you sure you're ok?" I ask him.

"Yeah, I just need to go to sleep," he answers, rubbing his temples with his hands and trying to hide his eyes from the bathroom lights.

"Then come on sweetness, lay down," I tell him and lead him over to the huge bed in the middle of the room. "You know you look ridiculous in that robe right?" I tease him.

"Shut up," he replies and smirks. "You love me anyway," he mumbles into the pillow.

"I do love you anyway, I love you no matter what, I keep telling you that, when are you going to believe me? I ask him and brush the hair back out of his face. He smiles that one-sided smile of his and relaxes. I turn around and cut off the light on his side of the bed so it's not shining in his face and when I turn back to him his eyes are already closed and he's breathing deeply and evenly; quiet and maybe finally feeling secure for the first time since we hit the stage last night. I turn off all of the other lights and climb into bed beside him; pulling the blankets up over both of us and sprawling out on my back and staring at the ceiling. Izzy's eyes open a tiny bit and I hold my arms out to him. A smile ghosts over his lips and he slowly moves over and snuggles into me. I let him get comfortable and then wrap my arms around him and stroke his hair. "Good night gypsy boy," I whisper.
"Good night baby doll, he mumbles quietly and then in seconds he's drifting away, sleep finally claiming him. Finally he looks peaceful; pale and sick which worries me, but peaceful.