Categories > Celebrities > Guns n' Roses > Dance of Pales
Laying in bed, staring at Izzy’s sleeping face, he wondered if things would ever be okay ever again. Tracing his fingers over his friend’s delicately boned face, he felt the burning guilt that had been chewing him return. He should have said something sooner, had Warren do something after the first letters arrived. Instead he’d let it get… get out of hand. He’d fucked up. Fucked all of this up. Ruined all of their lives.
A warm arm draped over his body as Izzy snuggled closer to him, holding on tight. He remembered how scared he’d been when Izzy had gotten up on that balcony rail in Texas, despite being more than slightly drunk himself. He remembered being startled when Warren came in and found they’d emptied the mini bar of the hotel room, and him yelling at Izzy to get the fuck down before he killed himself. A cross breeze suddenly caught the young guitarist and he faltered, arms wind milling twelve stories above a busy street. Warren had moved so fucking fast, yanking Izzy back into the room by the waistband of his jeans just as his foot slipped. Izzy, drunk and indignant, complained of the resulting wedgie. Axl just remembered running over and hugging him tight, much to Izzy’s confusion. He also remembered the time when they were still living on the streets that—
Axl felt the tears well up in his eyes again, and he cuddled in close to his friend, their chests touching. He felt Izzy’s heart beat, slow but strong, against his chest. Soon their hearts beat in synch. What if that lunatic had killed Izzy? Killed any of the others? Warren would be in soon to try and drag him up and out of bed. Drag him to the therapist who would let him “talk about it” and “express his feelings” about what had happened. He didn’t want to do that again today, as he had every day since the incident. He wanted to stay with Izzy, who’d always been there for him. Izzy, whose constant presence in his life he had a new, special appreciation for. A presence that he swore he would never, ever lose. He promised himself that much.
In his sleep, Izzy suddenly smiled, the first Axl had seen on his face since it all happened, and he knew that, not right away, but eventually, everything would be all right.
A warm arm draped over his body as Izzy snuggled closer to him, holding on tight. He remembered how scared he’d been when Izzy had gotten up on that balcony rail in Texas, despite being more than slightly drunk himself. He remembered being startled when Warren came in and found they’d emptied the mini bar of the hotel room, and him yelling at Izzy to get the fuck down before he killed himself. A cross breeze suddenly caught the young guitarist and he faltered, arms wind milling twelve stories above a busy street. Warren had moved so fucking fast, yanking Izzy back into the room by the waistband of his jeans just as his foot slipped. Izzy, drunk and indignant, complained of the resulting wedgie. Axl just remembered running over and hugging him tight, much to Izzy’s confusion. He also remembered the time when they were still living on the streets that—
Axl felt the tears well up in his eyes again, and he cuddled in close to his friend, their chests touching. He felt Izzy’s heart beat, slow but strong, against his chest. Soon their hearts beat in synch. What if that lunatic had killed Izzy? Killed any of the others? Warren would be in soon to try and drag him up and out of bed. Drag him to the therapist who would let him “talk about it” and “express his feelings” about what had happened. He didn’t want to do that again today, as he had every day since the incident. He wanted to stay with Izzy, who’d always been there for him. Izzy, whose constant presence in his life he had a new, special appreciation for. A presence that he swore he would never, ever lose. He promised himself that much.
In his sleep, Izzy suddenly smiled, the first Axl had seen on his face since it all happened, and he knew that, not right away, but eventually, everything would be all right.
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