FicWad

My head spins and I lean over the bed to vomit into the nearby bucket. My stomach churns as I hear it swill and slosh with the rest of the stinking puke.

The bed creaks and a weary voice sighs, "Just take the fuckin' meds, Slash."

Wearily I sit up and eye the little plastic bottle beside the bed. Methadone. It kills the cravings but it hasn't stopped me using. Not fully. I still have the odd taste here and there because nothing can replace the rush of the drugs. Izzy doesn't know but I suspects he suspects. But I saw what he did to Axl and I don't want to invoke whatever's living in Izzy.

Weakly, I lift the bottle to my lips, barely able to wince as the liquid slides down my throat. Tossing the empty bottle to the floor, I cough and splutter.

On opening my eyes, I look down to see a piss off Izzy glaring up at me.

"Must you throw your shit on the floor?" he demands.

I drop my eyes, embarrassed, unable to look at Izzy's hollow and haunted face. He's permanently tired and even if I'd been up for having sex, he seems completely off it. His eyes are dead pools of darkness and he's become more snappy, more irritable.

I miss the old Izzy. I don't know where he's gone.

Tiredly I reach out a hand to stroke his face and he instantly flinches away, eyes flashing with anger.

"Izz..." I whisper.

"Don't," he hisses.

I look at him, concerned, but he just squints at me before rolling away.

"Talk to me," I quietly say to his hunched back.

"There's nothing to say, Slash."

Sighing, I lean back into the pillows and look down at him. The beautiful man who was once my boyfriend has disappeared into a bundle of snarling hate. Never in my life have I had so much abuse directed at me. Every day is a battle and every night is lonely as he slips from the house. He's told me he's dealing drugs to fund the medication, the only "job" he can get that has a quick cash turnover. He says he doesn't want to be away from me for long, doesn't want to leave me alone in the house with Axl. Or with the time to think about starting using again. Yet when he comes home, it's all guns blazing as he forces the liquid down my throat before dropping into bed.

He says the bruises and marks are from the people he comes into contact with, the ones who owe him money and fight back when he hits them. And from the suppliers he gets the drugs from when their cut isn't as high as they predicted.

Please don't let Izzy be going the same way as me. Please don't let him be going through this hell.

My stomach churns as I slide down the bed, bile rising in my throat. My muscles painfully ache as I stretch out behind Izzy. I press myself against him, my arms limply draping over his waist. Softly I press a kiss to the back of his neck, sighing as I do. I feel him tense beneath me before he shrugs me off.

"Don't," he whispers again, voice quieter, almost broken.

My heart is in my throat, dread filling it, as I ask, "Do you love me?"

His shoulders heave and his voice cracks as he replies, "You know I do. You know I'm doing this for your own good."

"Doing what?" I cautiously ask, wanting to touch him but not daring to.

Slowly, almost painfully, he rolls over to look at me, eyes haunted.

"Getting money," he says.

His eyes seem to swim with tears and the harsh Izzy seems to be crumbling. Ten days he's been disappearing into the blackness of the night. Ten nights I've slept alone while he's done something illegal to fund my clean up act. The clean up act that I keep fucking up.

Looking into his eyes, I can see that my disease, my "illness" is hurting him more than it's hurting me. I feel so sick that's it's doing this to him. Coughing back my own tears, I reach out and brush the dark hair from his eyes. He trembles beneath my touch, but doesn't move.

"Izz..." I whisper.

He doesn't respond, instead lying there, looking at me as if he's drinking in my image. As if he's willing himself to get up and do what he has to do. For me. I lean forward and press a kiss to the darkening bruise on his cheekbone.

"Why'd they hit you?" I quietly query.

"Because they don't pay," he responds in his dead voice. "Or because I won't give them what they want."

"Which is?" I'm pressing the issue even though I'm too too tired and too broken to. I want to know. I need to know.

He blinks, eyes sliding shut for a moment longer than is needed. "You know what, Slash."

"Drugs?" I quietly ask.

He nods. "Yeah, drugs Slash, just drugs."

Sighing, I curl myself into a ball and look at him, take him in. Despite his bitterness, despite his anger, he's still the beautiful man I fell head over heels for. The man who completely and utterly twisted and bent my perception of the world. Who would have thought that me, the young womaniser who liked to creep into the beds of girls, would have been through so much shit with a guy? The thing is, it just feels so... natural. Like this is how it's supposed to be. I suppose I found my kindred spirit, my best friend, my... /soul-mate/... in Izzy.

My fingers reach out to crawl over his face, dusting over the bruises. These don't seem to be right, all the marks. This must be a hell of a lot of drug deals gone wrong. He flinches as my thumb brushes over an especially dark one, eyes flashing with pain. Quickly I pull my hand away, sticking it back beneath the covers.

"Izzy," I plead. "Please. What are you really doing?"

His dark eyes snap up to mine, suddenly sparkling with terror. "W-what do y-you mean?"

I swallow and look at him, my voice trembling as I reply, "T-the marks. T-they aren't j-just d-deals gone w-wrong are t-they?"

I watch his throat works as he swallows, eyes changing from terror to anger.

"Okay," he hissed. "I'm not dealing drugs. But if you get mad, it's the last you'll ever see of me, understood?"

Nervously I nod, fingers gripping each other as I bite my lip.

"I'm selling /myself/," he hisses, eyes intently watching me. "I'm hooking to pay for your treatment. It ain't easy Slash, but I'm willing to do it if it means you get better."

My heart thumps in my chest and I watch Izzy. He's doing what?! Hooking?!

"Izz," I whisper nervously. "I-I'm sorry. I'm s-so sorry."

Bringing my hands to my face, I begin to shake, the tears flowing freely down my cheeks as I bawl my eyes out. Izzy, /him/, my precious, has resorted to selling himself for me. I feel awful, fucking awful and I can feel my heart shattering and melting and shattering again. I don't know what to do. I'm touched by his gesture, but equally so I'm terrified. Terrified that one night he'll go out and never come back.

Lifting my head, I wrap my arms around him and bury my head in his bitten and scarred neck.

"I l-love y-you," I stammered, red hot tears still staining my face. "I'll n-never let y-you go. E-ever."

As I sob, I feel Izzy's arms tighten around me, his head resting in the crook of my neck. He shudders beneath me and I can feel the warm droplets of his own tears staining my skin.

"P-please," I quietly plead. "Please give it up. I can get better on my own. I promise."

I promise. But can I?

I feel him tremble and relax in my arms. "I'll give it up," he whispers. "But you'll be getting better on my terms."

My heart carries on pounding, slightly scared for Izzy. A lot scared of Izzy.

"W-which are?" I ask, dread filling my heart.

He stiffens against me, lips moving against my neck as he whispers, "You'll do everything I say Slash. If I tell you you're staying in the house, you stay. If you even try to leave, I'll chain you in the basement with Axl. You'll eat what I prepare for you. If you even think of disobeying, you're on your own. With Axl."

I swallow and nod slowly, giving in and agreeing. The tables have turned.