(Axl's POV)
I don't just like her, I love her.
I love her. I love her. I love-
"Axl!"
My room is a blur as my eyes snap from the stark white ceiling to my closed door, where Duff's voice travels through the rest of our apartment.
I hate yelling. He knows I hate yelling. That motherfucker.
My limbs feel tired already as I pick myself up off my bed, away from the made white sheets that I've been laying on top of in my clothes for I don't know how long.
Thinking about her. Like a schoolgirl with a crush.
The door rattles after I throw it back, revealing the messy hallway. Slash and Steve invited people over last night. It was a shitshow.
I hate messes. They know I hate messes. Motherfuckers.
"What's happening?" I feel my own voice rattle in my chest, still hoarse from the two hour show we played yesterday.
The Roxy was so crowded that they ran out of water in the summer heat, so I had to go without in between songs. That, no air conditioning, and stage diving into the crowd with my bad knees set the means for my day of recovery. Sitting on my ass, doing nothing, even though there's plenty of responsibilities I should be tending to.
An excuse to drool over Chas. All. Day.
Duff stands alone in the disheveled living room, and from far away, he looks lankier than usual.
"I called the girls. Michelle nearly made me go deaf on the phone when I told her they can go to the show-"
"Was Chas there?"
Hold your fucking horses. It's a wonder he hasn't put all the pieces together already.
"Yeah. And my mom got Michelle a car! Chas was yelling in the background about how junky it is, and they were arguin' like they always do," Duff smiles at the beer can littered floor as he talks, shaking his head. "Said they're gonna go drive it. They don't even have licenses, but I need to ease back a bit, I know it, so I'm gonna try not to worry about 'em."
"Chas is just jealous," I tell Duff, grinning myself.
I know how much that girl wants a car. She's complained just about a million times to anyone who'll listen.
One day, maybe I'll be able to get her a car. A really nice one. If this record works out and the band survives. In the mean time, I'll just have to let her drive the Camaro. Sweet girl won't even be able to see over the steering wheel. . .
"Jesus, I hope they don't kill themselves while on the road. It's not a good idea, I don't know how Alice let them go-"
"Stop it, before you make me worry for them too," I say genuinely.
Chas is smart. She's gonna be alright. I'm sure they're only going down the street and back.
Duff groans, falling back onto the black leather couch behind him. "See! I'm fuckin' telling you, I don't know how we're gonna wrangle them in the night of the show. We're gonna have them in the club, around God knows who, with alcohol, and drugs, and-and other bands! Fuckin' Vince and all them are bad news, how are we gonna make sure the girls aren't bothered by any of them, you know how they are."
I ruminate on that for a second, the same way I have been since we even conceived the idea of the girls tagging along.
In a week, I'm taking my young, sweet girlfriend to a bar. One where there will be vices galore, plus other bands. Guys in those bands who are notorious for sleeping around, crawling with disease and prey on girls like her, like Chas.
