Axl looked like sex.
There was sweat glistening on his biceps and his cheekbones and his hair was still perfectly messy.
If I said my eyes weren't moving back and forth with every thrust of his hips out on that stage, I'd be lying.
And his voice.
Jesus Christ.
He sounded like an animal during Welcome To The Jungle, raw and primal and angry. By the time they were performing It's So Easy, it was smooth and bold and intimidating. Sexy.
Sitting here in the green room now, the concert over, I realize that there is no fucking way William Axl Rose doesn't have a girlfriend.
No one that's that charismatic and mesmerizing is single.
I decide that there has to be a girl somewhere, who's sweet and funny and smart that's Axl's girl. She looks just like all the other girlfriends, I already know it. She's perfect in mind and body and soul. I bet she and him hit it off immediately. She's probably experienced, older. Maybe even older than him. I bet they're happy.
Kissing me surely can't be cheating, not when I'm as big of a loser as I am.
I try to not think about it anymore, especially here, surrounded by the band and their friends. Their girlfriends.
Michelle sits next to me, actually participating in the celebration.
I should be happy for the band. I should be remembering that they just wrapped on their very first music video, one of many, hopefully. That this could land on MTV, be their big break.
And yet, all I can do is complain.
My eyes wander over to where Sally is perched in Saul's lap, her arms wrapped around his torso and her head resting on his shoulder, slightly consumed by his hair.
You can just tell that they love each other.
I see the same thing in Duff and Mandy, when he brushes his hand over the small of her back or gets her another cigarette.
All Adriana and Steve have done so far is make out.
Izzy and Angela don't even need to speak to one another to coexist as perfectly as they do, their touches and expressions saying more than enough.
All of it makes me want that so badly. Not with any of them, and not to be madly in love, even. Just to be cared about.
There's no way that Axl could even consider me outside the idea of being just a body when we're alone together.
That should bother me, but it works out in the end. I get to say that I've been kissed (it only took me seventeen years), and Dylan leaves me alone. For Axl, I'm a girl, one who's not exactly ugly.
Okay. Now it hurts.
Right as I'm trying to look away from the lovebirds in the room, I immediately come across another sight that I really, really shouldn't be seeing either.
I can't help it when my knuckles go white, wrapped around the hard metal of the folding chair I sit in. My heart beats faster in my chest as my eyes flicker to the corner of the room where Axl is peeling off the white t-shirt he wore onstage.
I wish this was just for me. I wish that I could go over and kiss him and sit in his lap and touch him. Run my fingers over his chest, feel his biceps beneath my palms, the heat of his body, his breath against my cheek. . .
