All of My Love
By: Jodie
Word count: 2154
Warnings: Slight bad language, angst.
I can honestly say that the night of February 19th, 1980, and the succeeding day, were the worst of my life.
We were all at a bar, Malcolm, Cliff and Phil having a drinking contest with Alistair as a judge while Bon and I were laughing at his dark remarks about other patrons. He was slightly tipsy already but it wasn't worrying. He had a problem with drinking but he never let it get in the way of his job or relationships. Generally, he'd get drunk to the point of passing out and he'd sleep for a few hours before waking up, happy and hangover free. It was looking like this time would be the same, because despite the fact that he was drinking his fifth glass of scotch, he was fully coherent and responsive. I traced my finger along the rim of my almost empty glass of water, putting out my cigarette in the ash tray. Bon laughed.
"Are you sure I can't convince you to have a drink?" I smirked.
"Sure."
"Isn't there anything I could do?" He asked, swirling the liquid around in his glass.
"Well, now that you mention it... No." My friend rolled his eyes, pointedly draining the rest of the alcohol. I shook my head, laughing silently.
"Your loss." Bon grinned, before blinking rapidly. His smile faltered and I glanced over at him worriedly.
"You okay?" He nodded, pursing his lips.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Angie." I knew he was lying but I didn't press it. Alistair yelled that Malcolm was the winner and my brother grinned, leaning back in his seat. I laughed curtly, not understanding what the appeal of alcohol was.
"I'll be right back, I need some air." Bon snapped me out of my thoughts. I looked him over, hoping it didn't look like I was checking him out (which I was, sort of).
"Are you sure you're alright?" I asked suspiciously. He nodded, motioning for Alistair to come with him. I shrugged, ordering a virgin margarita.
"Seriously, Angus?" Phil asked, sliding into the stool beside me. I flipped him off.
"Shut the hell up, Phil. You lost that contest." Our drummer glared at me. I smirked, lighting another cigarette. Alistair returned after a while, pocketing his car keys.
"Where's Bon?"
"You mean your boyfriend?" That remark was met with a burst of drunken laughter from the guys. I rolled my eyes. "He passed out. I called Silver, she said it was normal for him, so I got him into my car. He's probably gonna be fine." I felt my blood boiling. Probably wasn't enough for me. However, I couldn't say anything or even ask to check on him, because they were already suspicious. I sighed, figuring that there was nothing I could do, and joined in to their antics, my mind drifting to Bon more often than I'd like to admit.
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At 3:00pm the next day, a frantic Alistair banged on my hotel room door.
"Angus, open your damn door!" I frowned, unlocking the door to my hotel room. There, I saw Alistair biting his lip hard.
"What's wrong?"
"It's Bon. He isn't breathing." My eyes widened.
"What the hell did you do?!"
"Nothing!" He yelled, "He's in my car and I don't know what to do!" I grabbed my coat and locked the door, running to his car. He followed me, looking panicked.
"We have to get him to a hospital, come on! Are your keys in the ignition?" He nodded. I threw the door open and immediately, my senses were overwhelmed with the stench of vomit. I looked into the back seat and saw Bon, eyes closed, shirt stained with puke. There were trails of it around his mouth, too.
"Why the hell did you think it'd be a good idea to lay him flat?!" I exclaimed angrily, pushing the gas pedal as soon as Alistair was in the passenger seat.
"Stop yelling at me, Angus! It's not like I did it on purpose!"
"Whatever. Have you tried CPR?" Alistair shook his head.
"You moron!" I drove faster, desperately trying to get Bon to a hospital as fast as possible.
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His funeral wasn't extravagant. Only the closest relatives and friends were invited. I couldn't speak throughout the whole service, any attempt to ending in tears. After it was over, I didn't move from my spot in front of his grave. My brother and Cliff both tried to get me to go back to the hotel with them but I refused. Eventually, I was the only one left. That was when I really let myself cry. I sobbed loudly at first but then I just let the tears stream silently down my cheeks. I heard footsteps approaching, the gravel path crunching. A figure stood beside me, silent. I figured it was just a relative or friend that wanted to come back but I was wrong.
"How'd he die?" A gravelly voice asked. I looked over at him.
"Who are you?" I asked defensively.
"Brian Johnson." He flashed me a small smile. I nodded.
"Bon never mentioned you."
"I'm not surprised. I wouldn't think Bon would make it public."
"Were you friends?" I asked, arching an eyebrow. Brian laughed curtly.
"I guess you could say that."
"Oh." I realised what he was talking about. He nodded.
"Yeah."
"Well, he choked on his own puke. Someone laid him down flat." Brian nodded.
"Shame." I chuckled humorlessly.
"Damn right. At least you got to kiss him."
"He was a great kisser, I'll tell you that." Brian smiled, then sighed. I rubbed my eyes to stop the tears.
"Rock in peace, you bastard." I whispered. Brian put a comforting hand on my shoulder and we stood together, silent, for hours.
