FicWad

So, this is a two-part (or maybe three, I dunno yet) story that I have been working on...it's really AU, so obviously, don't take anything seriously. I changed around a lot of facts just so the plot would work better. Hope it's okay...

Chapter 1

Broken bottles of various types of alcohol decorated the carpet of the Hilton Master Suite. Shards of near-invisible glass hid on the floor, waiting patiently to attack the next human foot that would inevitably step down on their sharp edges. The bed had been stripped of its clean sheets, for they were now dirtied with blood stains. They lay in a crumpled heap in the corner. The television, which had been complete with Adult porn channels (so many that there were /categories)/, was now tipped over on its shattered screen, unplugged. A used needle lay beside it. The temperature had been set at an uncomfortably warm 85 degrees. The lamps in the room had all been sent crashing onto the floor the previous night, and were now useless. Curtains drawn to block out the beautiful view, the room seemed a dark and miserable place for any unfortunate soul who happened to peek inside. However, nobody would, since a few chairs were backed up against the front door. In the safe in the corner of the room, a sixteen gauge pistol was locked up.

The very man who had turned the grand suite into the most squalid dwelling in Los Angeles lay on the bare mattress, holding a bottle of wine. Frail and pathetic, he was curled up into a ball, dressed in only his boxer shorts. His body was slick with sweat and his long ginger hair fell messily on the pillow case. A cast made of toilet paper and tied up with a towel supported his arm, which he had wounded, though he would never admit that he had done it on purpose. Despite what his position would suggest, he was not asleep. No, his eyes were wide open and bloodshot from the same flood of tears which had dampened the pillow he lay on. Anyone who didn't recognize him would question why he of all people was in the most expensive suite in the hotel. He did not seem a proud, rich man; he appeared to be the exact opposite, actually. But a mere two months ago, he owned the world...the musical world, at least. The now feeble man had been the frontman of Guns N' Roses, what could have been the greatest band in the world. But this was what it had come to. This was what had become of Axl Rose.

It had never been this bad. Throughout his life, he had been abused, hated, and ridiculed, but never before had it gotten to this point. Never before had he locked himself in a room with a gun, ready to use it, barricading the doors with any chair he could move. Never before had he been this close to...letting go, letting everything go and embracing the end. He didn't actually get that far, of course, because when it all came down, he was a coward. Something as easy as pulling a trigger was a bit too difficult.

Before, when he had been planning the whole thing out, he had thought about the simplistic beauty of shooting himself. That gun was the best friend he could ask for; there would be no betrayals or fuck ups. The gun wouldn't spread rumors about him, or talk shit, or make “mistakes.” It was straightforward—it would send a bullet through his head and it would be over.

Nothing like his human “best friend”. Fuck no, he couldn't call that man a friend anymore because what he had done was ruin his life. Slash, what a stupid name. Axl hated it, he hated the way it sounded and he hated even thinking it. But he couldn't stop. Once, back when the band had been together, they were all best friends. Him, Slash, Izzy, Duff, and Steve. It was supposed to last forever. But what Slash did was essentially slash. He slashed up Axl's life into little pieces, step by step. First, his heart, then his career, and now his arm. Not literally of course. But he put complete blame on Slash. Everything was his fault.

He couldn't believe that once, he had somehow loved the man. Maybe because he didn't. Yeah, because first of all, he wasn't a fucking faggot! Second of all, Slash was—now go with him on this—the very definition of evil. The way the curly haired bastard went about it was devilish, he was master of his art. He had wiggled up real close to Axl—metaphorically speaking—and won his trust. He had listened to the tragic stories of Axl's childhood, empathized and comforted. They had smoked pot together, shared beers. The guitar playing, top hat wearing asshole had been a friend. Behind those vibrant chocolate brown eyes (not that Axl noticed how they looked or anything), a scheme was in the works. Little did anyone know that he was about to pull everything out from under the redhead's unsuspecting feet.

Shit, he should've seen it coming. Nobody would truly want to befriend him. He should have realized that a long time ago. What Slash had done was turn everyone against him, ultimately bringing him to the pathetic state he was in today—a worthless hunk of flesh.

And all it had taken was a kiss.

Axl winced, unable to forget that he liked it. Disgusting. Of course, he was way too confused to come to terms with his true feelings. And that was his downfall. Slash obviously planned out the whole thing, knowing how Axl would react...how he had to react. He made a huge uproar about it, refusing to talk to the offender of his sexuality. In some lame attempt to guard his pride, he felt the need to lash out at anybody who did so much as look at him funny. He wasn't trying to be a jerk, he simply didn't know how to deal with his unruly emotions. And thus, falling straight into the trap, he ignorantly fought with Slash, about things completely unrelated to the source of the problem. The other band members, who were unaware of the problem, obviously didn't take his side on the matter. They thought their friend was turning into an arrogant, pompous asshole whose fame got to his head. The sad thing was that he couldn't even tell them anything when he himself had not grasped the reason to his rage, at the time. He was merely trying to protect himself from a world, he felt like, was out to get him. Eventually he had fell out with everybody he ever gave a fuck about.

As all his companions left, Slash coolly went off too, like nothing ever happened. Just for kicks, he had talked to a few people making sure all the blame was put to Axl's head. The singer was left with absolutely nothing and no one. Almost two months since the official Guns N; Roses break-up and everybody hated him. He had hoped the whole thing would blow over with time, but he had no such luck. Well, fuck it! He hated the whole world! Especially Slash. Why did he have to go ruin everything?

Thinking about the whole situation made tears spring up into his emerald green eyes. He clutched his pillow and screamed into it. It was over, everything he had worked for. If he couldn't get over this thing even after sixty long days, he would never get over it. So why couldn't he just end it? He glanced over to where he had locked up his gun. It was, in theory, easy enough; he just had to walk over there, crawl if necessary...

The ring of a phone made him lose his train of thought. Through blurry eyes, he could see that on the night stand, his cell phone had lit up. Over the past week-and-half that he had been in the hotel, it had rung several times but he ignored all the calls. He didn't want anyone finding out where he was. Still, he leaned over, just to see who it was. He almost fell off the bed, reading the name Slash. His cheeks turned hotter than the rest of his sweltering body. With clammy hands, he took snatched the phone into his hands. He wanted to answer it.

It had been too long since Axl had heard the voice of another human being. He had demanded that the room service cart be left outside the door and he never allowed the maids in. It was complete isolation; the perfect opportunity for him to revel in the misery he lived in. Of course, it wasn't supposed to last this long. He should have been dead by now. Ah well, his stay at the suite had been extended; he had plenty of money to waste. It was just a matter of regaining his motivation. Yet...he ached for some sort of interaction. Even if it was with his arch nemesis. He felt so fucking alone.

His finger impulsively pressed down on the green talk button, “Uh...” he was unable to form any words.

“Fuck you!” was the first thing he heard. Now he should have started with something like that! “Okay, you are such a douche. I know you're just doing this for the attention. And you're getting it, happy? Tell me where the hell you are!”

Axl, at a loss of words, trembled and whispered, “H-hi Slash.” He knew he was supposed to be angry, but his mad fury had somehow frozen over at the sound of his former friend's voice.

“Hello, Axl! Where the fuck are you?”

“Why're you calling me?” Axl coughed, “I'm not near you, that's all that matters, right?”

Slash sneered, “Fuck, yes! But Izzy wanted me to call you and see if you went crazy yet.”

At the mention of another one of his old band mates, he sighed, “Then why are you calling?”

“He said he called you but you didn't pick up so he told me to try. You're such an ass. I have no idea why he, or anyone else, gives a fuck about you after you acted like such a dick, but he does. He's a nice guy. So how the fuck are you doing?”

Axl winced at all the insults, “I'm ok.”

“Of course you are! I know you are! So come out of hiding because you don't need any more attention. If you get any more, your big head is gonna pop like a balloon.”

“I'm not...” his voice faltered, “I'm not trying to get attention. Tell everyone to stop looking for me and they'll find me soon enough.”

“God! You're so fucking enigmatic, aren't you? Stop it. Stop trying to sound like you're dying. I know you're okay.”

Deep down, Axl felt immense hurt at the fact that his ex-friend thought he was faking this. Didn't he know better? Sensitive and emotional, Axl was known to overreact to everything. But fake was something he was not. In any case, he decided to respond a little angry He wasn't going to meekly accept all this shit. He didn't deserve it. He tried to make his voice firm and tough, like it usually was.

However, he didn't have much energy left and wound up sounding rather whiny, “You really think I'd fake this? You're such a terrible friend! I hate you!”

“What?!” Slash sounded genuinely shocked, “You acted like a jerk first, I'm just returning the favor. I'm not the one who started picking fights and broke up the band!”

“I worked my ass off to get this band together, it wasn't my fault. None of us got along by the end of that last tour, and you know that's true; it wasn't just me. And anyway...” he wiped his brow and hesitantly chose his next words, “You kissed me.”

There was a pause, “What? I...you...what does that have to do with anything?”

“You knew I couldn't handle it. You knew I'd freak out. You did it on purpose. Why'd you fucking kiss me?”

“Okay, listen, it wasn't that big of a deal. I had a few beers and it just sort of happened. I mean, you look like a chick sometimes. You probably looked hot. Wait, no. That didn't come out right. But I was drunk, okay? You're the one who turned it into an excuse to act all pissy. It didn't mean anything, all right?”

Axl gripped his phone tightly, heart sinking as he came to terms with what Slash had just said. The kiss meant nothing. It had been some sort of drunken accident. He had overreacted about nothing. The kiss meant nothing, he repeated to himself. Oh, but it wasn't that simple.

“Slash,” he chose his words carefully, “I freaked because it did mean something to me.”

He heard the other man groan, “Look, I know you're a homophobe. And I promise, I'm not like that. It was a fucking accident. Stop being an ass about it! I just—”

“I'm telling you I liked it!” he blurted out.

There was a long silence from the other end, during which Axl Rose experienced the feeling of heartbreak. He couldn't stand the awkwardness of the wait,“Please say something. Curse me out or whatever.”

When Slash finally spoke, his voice was shaky, “Um...you broke up the band because you liked it when I kissed you?”

“I didn't mean to,” Axl shouted frantically, “I was confused and I got mad at little things.”

“Dude, you wouldn't let the rest of us write anything, you were being a complete control freak! Every time we made the slightest mistake, you'd yell at us. And it's not like you even sing perfectly. How unfair is that?”

“I was stressed out. What would you have done in my position?”

“I'd never be in your position, I'm not a...” the guitarist sighed, “I'm not gonna go there, because I'm feeling nice right now. Just because you dumped that crap on me doesn't mean I forgive you for being such a jerk.”

“Do you hate me?” Axl asked quietly.

He bit down on his lip and grabbed ahold of his pillow. Why did he care so much anyway? Just because he liked Slash before didn't mean he liked him now. In fact, he had spent the past two months agonizing over how much he abhorred the guy. But now that he had the opportunity express all that resentment, he just couldn't hate him anymore.

“Well you said you hate me,” Slash avoided the question.

“No I don't,” Axl stated simply, sitting up straight, “I wish I did. But I don't. So be fucking honest, do you hate me?”

“Oh. Well...you know what? I will be fucking honest. You're conceited, melodramatic, and controlling. You always have been. Yes, I do hate you...sometimes.”

That was it, the truth was out. “Oh.”

“Where are you?”

“You don't care where I am.”

“Yeah, but Izzy does. Can you stop being a prick already?”

“What about you? You're being so hostile to me! The first thing you to me, after two months was fuck you. No hi, no how are you. Can't you at least try to be decent to me?”

“Why should I? I don't owe you anything. I never should have joined your stupid band. It was the worst decision of my life.”

“The band is the best thing that ever happened to you or any of us and you know it. If we didn't let you play with us that one time, you still would've been a pot smoking loser who lived with his grandma. And you say you don't owe me? You owe me for ruining my life!”

“I kissed you. Once, while I was drunk out of my mind. It's not my fault that you liked it. You're always like this, you always blame everyone else for everything that goes wrong. It's never your fault. You know what you are? You're an immature, whiny little faggot who complains too much. You need to grow a pair.”

Axl took a deep breath, trying to control himself. His fingers curled and uncurled,“I can't do this anymore. I'm having the worst time of my life and I was ready to kill myself. But I'm not expecting you to give a fuck what happens to me. Just know that I won't take all the blame for the band not working out because it wasn't my fault. Me getting angry just brought out how different we all really were; we never would've gotten along much longer anyway. Tell Izzy that I appreciate the gesture but I don't want to see anyone right now.

“And listen Slash, there was a time when I was proud to call you my best friend, but frankly, I'm ashamed of my terrible judgment. I'm not talking to you about this anymore, you obviously don't understand how hard it was for me to even admit that I...that I liked you. Do you have any idea how terrible I feel? All you do is blame me. Which is no different than me blaming you. So you're not only an insensitive egomaniac, you're also a hypocrite. If you ever see me again, you better run 'cause I'm gonna kick the shit out of your stupid fat head. I'm hanging up. Bye.”

With that he furiously threw his phone at the wall and watched as it broke into two separate pieces, falling to the ground. Flimsy piece of shit.