FicWad

Chapter 2

Heart pounding heavily, Axl took a swig of his wine. That conversation had done it, he hated his life; it was all the motivation he needed to go through with his original plan. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, everything always ended up going wrong. It was as if the odds were completely against him. He couldn't remember the last time he had so much as smiled. He brushed away the tears that had started to roll down his cheeks with the back of his hand. There was no use in crying. The only thing that would help was to get this whole thing over with. For good.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stepped down onto the carpet. He squinted, aware of the shards of glass that glinted into view every once in a while. He winced, imagining the pain of walking on broken glass. It couldn't hurt worse than his heart did. Nevertheless, he was subconsciously cautious as he walked to the safe, managing to reach the destination unharmed. Biting his lip and bending down, his fingers turned the combination they knew by instinct. Pulling the aluminum door open, he reached inside. His hand felt the cool metal of the weapon and brought it out.

“Hello, beautiful,” he murmured and grazed his lips along the edge of the gun.

His head then snapped up and he scanned the surroundings; his last view of the world. It was dark, depressing, and overall, seemed more like Hell than Earth. Although Axl agreed with this depiction of his planet, he felt that this was a terrible place to die. He was Axl fucking Rose, he had to go out in grandeur. Simply shooting himself, locked up in a room, was ineffective. That was how cowards like Cobain went. No, if he was going down like this, he was going to drag Slash down with him at least halfway. Sitting down, he leaned his back against the safe. He wanted to completely traumatize his former friend to the extent where he wouldn't be able to function. For a long while, he sat there, deep in thought. It took far too long for him to devise even a vague plan; hurting Slash was a difficult thing to do. However, if his ex-friend had a mere ounce of compassion left in him, it would be successful. Axl had come to the decision that in order to get his vengeance, he'd have to see the man face-to-face.

But how? He had just threatened to beat the shit out of him if they ever saw each other again. He'd have to be pretty damn persuasive. Nevertheless, he was up for the challenge if it gave him even a fraction of a chance to get his sweet revenge.

Getting to his feet, he took giant leaps back to the bed, gun in hand. He picked up the telephone thanking god for whoever had the brilliant idea to put phones in each hotel room. What a fucking genius. He punched in Slash's number which—to his horror—he had no trouble remembering. There were three rings and still, nobody picked up. He had pretty much given up all hope when he heard the irritated hello.

“Hi, it's me again.”

There was a pause and some shuffling until he heard Slash's voice once more, “Why the fuck are you calling me?”

“I missed you, Slashie,” Axl's voice dripped sarcasm.

“What the hell? I thought you didn't wanna talk anymore.”

“I want you to meet me by the bridge in half an hour.”

“Why? You threatened me.”

“Because...I didn't mean it. I was just mad. Do you really think I'd beat you up?”

“I wouldn't put it past you to try, but not that you could actually do it.”

“Well if you think so, then what's the problem? Please? Consider it the last time we'll ever see each other except maybe at one of our funerals.”

“What's that supposed to mean? Look, I don't see why I should see you after all that shit you just threw at me, you’re not stable.”

“Come on, man, please. I'm saying please. When do I ever do that? I just need to tell you some things face to face.”

“No, just tell me right now. If I see you, I might have to punch your face in.”

“Go ahead, I don't give a fuck. Whatever you do to me, I've taken worse beatings and you know it.”

“Stop with the self-pity.”

“Ever been sodomized, Slash? You'd feel pretty sorry for yourself too."

“Well, I still don’t want to see you.”

“Please, just once and I swear to god you'll never hear from me again. Just do this one thing.”

There was a long silence, followed by a heavy sigh, “I don't know why the fuck I'm doing this, you don't deserve it. But fine. What bridge?”

Axl froze and a frown fell on his face, “Our bridge.”

“Dude, we don't have a bridge. We're not that famous.”

“No, the bridge where we smoked pot.” his voice came out desperate.

“Uh...I still don't know the one you're talking about. We smoked pot like everywhere.”

A lump formed in his throat, “That was the first time we got high together and I told you about my step dad. Do you remember anything that happened when we were friends?”

“Sure, but I have the right to forget some of it since we're not friends anymore.”

“But that was...special,” a terrible thought crossed his mind, “If I die, would you just forget I ever existed?”

“What do you think? Of course not. Stop being a sentimental moron.”

The redhead let out a breath, a bit disheartened at the continuing insults, “It's the stone bridge in Grand Hope park, off US-1.”

“Okay. I'll figure it out. Are you sure about this? One of us could get seriously hurt if this goes the wrong way.”

One of us could get seriously hurt if this goes the right way, Axl thought.“Well it's not gonna be you, if that's what you're worried about. It's probably me. It's always me.”

Slash sounded uneasy, “Um...okay, Ax. Look, this is gonna be weird coming from me, but I really hope you're... Never mind. I'll see you soon. Bye.”

The line disconnected with a beep. For a moment, Axl unhappily sat on his bed. He'd been a hard worker his whole thirty-three year old life and he hoped he had left some sort of impact on the world. He didn't want to be just another rock n’ roll tragedy. Grabbing the bottle of wine he had set on the nightstand, he finished off the rest of it. The alcohol didn’t seem to affect him anymore; drinking had become more of a routine. Carefully, he walked to the corner of the room where he had dumped his bag upon entering the room two weeks ago. He rummaged through until he found jeans and a shirt. Then, he changed his mind. Why not make a real impression? He tossed the common clothes aside and instead, foraged through the bag until he found his black leather pants.

Minutes later, he had donned his favorite photo shoot wardrobe and laced up his boots. He was sticky with sweat and felt like he would melt, but he was an expert at ignoring discomfort. Catching a glimpse in the mirror, he finger-combed his hair. He sized himself up and decided he looked pretty damn good for a suicidal person. Sauntering over the closet, he pulled out his leather jacket and put the gun, which rested on the ground, into the pocket. Then, he stopped.

Was this really what it felt like to be suicidal? To be honest, he usually had such melancholy emotions running through his system. Happiness was something that seemed to slip right through his fingers despite how tightly he tried to hold on to it. He couldn’t understand why it had taken him this long to go through with killing himself. His condition was bad, yes, but it wasn’t worse than the living hell his life had been in his teenage days. Why didn’t he do it back then?

Hope was what was missing. At this point, he was sure he had fucked up every area of his life. He made an attempt to think of something, anything that would make the situation better. Only a few things popped into his mind. Heroin. Crack. Death. That settled it. He had already done two of the three; one left to try. Swearing to stop second guessing himself, he slung his coat over his shoulder.

Taking a deep breath and shoving back the chairs that blocked his path, he walked out the door. As the sudden coolness hit him, he felt his body relax. Fuck, that felt so good. He slammed the door shut behind him and headed to the elevator. Once down stairs, he strolled to the front desk and tapped down on the bell several times. A weary looking woman, whom Axl knew to be called Lisa, rushed to his assistance.

“Need somethin', Mister Hudson?” she drawled.

The redhead frowned momentarily and then remembered that he had used a fake identity. Of course, he had stolen Slash's last name. He couldn't recall whether it had been intentional, or just a subconscious accident. Either way, he felt embarrassed at the way his mind worked. He had taken on the role of a rich, young entrepreneur, who needed some time alone to deal with business. It was not a very believable lie; no one in their right mind would say that he looked the part. Nonetheless, the hotel people were either really gullible, or just didn't care as long as they got their money

“Uh, could you get me a taxi real quick and put it on my tab?” he asked.

“I can get you your taxi cab, sir, but the hotel isn't associated with the car company. You'll have to pay them sep'rate.”

“I don't have my wallet with me. Can't you like, give me some money, and then you can add it to my hotel balance?”

“Sorry, sir, but I don't think I'm s'pposed to do that. I'd get fired.”

“C'mon, doll, it's just once, don’t make me go all the way upstairs. I gotta meet someone.” he leaned against the counter, “If you get in trouble for it, I'll give you a job you're really gonna enjoy,” he winked at her suggestively, although he felt a bit guilty for leading her on. Who would want to fuck a dead man?

He watched as her face contorted, trying to make a decision, “Oh, all right.”

He flashed her a flawless, but fake smile, “Thanks, baby.”

She kept her eyes away from his face, “Y'all just wait out there in the lobby. It shouldn't take more than ten minutes.” He nodded appreciatively and turned at his heel, but she stopped him, “Hope you don't mind me askin', but you look awful grim today. Business not going too well for ya?”

“Something like that,” Axl scoffed and once again started towards the lobby.

“Oh and sir?”

He spun back around, “Yeah?”

“What happened to your arm?”

Axl glanced at it, realizing he had forgotten to take off his homemade cast, “Oh...that was when I…uh, I fell. On glass.”

Lisa frowned, “Y’all better get it bandaged correct. And what's a proper man like you doin' in them leather pants? Sure is a sight.”

He ran a hand through his hair, “Um…thought I'd try 'em out, y'know? How does it look?”

“Great, sir. You look like one o' them rock n' roll stars.”

“Huh,” he said thoughtfully, “You don't think it hugs my ass too tight?” he pretended to examine his butt, just to hear her reaction.

“It's not my place to say, Mister Hudson...but no...hugs it just right. Let me go get you that taxi cab now,” she scuttled away, blushing furiously.

Smirking, Axl pivoted and headed towards the lobby. He reminisced on all the times he had seen that same hot blush on a woman's cheeks as he took a seat. He remembered all the gorgeous girls who flocked around him and the distinct pleasure of feeling their big, beautiful breasts. Licking his lips, he quietly moaned, but it was just to put on a show for anyone who might have had the ability to read his mind. In all honestly, he didn't feel turned on in the slightest and that annoyed him to an unbearable extent.

Then, his mind wandered over to Slash and their kiss. He replayed the scene in his mind. It had been a late, dark night and the two were outside, Axl taking drags from a cigarette and Slash sipping a bottle of Jack Daniels. In his drunken state, the man had stumbled forward, attempting to reach the tour bus. Instead, he had fallen straight into Axl.

Axl remembered steadying him, saying something like, “Be careful, man.”

Slash had hiccuped and laughed, “You're my best fucking friend, dude. Always takin' care of me.”

And it was at that moment that the moon shone brightly through the dark clouds. His friend's dark features had a peculiar glow about them that made his stomach tighten up into knots. Slash, with his dazed eyes twinkling and strong arms around Axl's waist, leaned closer. And closer. And closer, until it was too close and the two were sharing a long, deep kiss. The things that confused Axl the most were how fiercely passionate Slash had been and how long it had lasted. It could have easily been the longest period of time he had made out with anyone without losing interest halfway through. He was kissing another man and he didn't feel like stopping. On the contrary, he hoped it would last forever.

When they had finally broken the embrace, it was out of sheer willpower that he refrained from going at it again. For a few seconds, he stared pensively at his friend, lips tingling. It was only after he took several deep breaths that he completely understood what had just happened. Repulsion hit him hard, though it was directed more at himself than the other man. He had stormed off somewhere, promising to rip Slash's dick off if he ever did so much as touch him again. What an empty threat, because to this day, he wished he could go back and relive those few minutes. He leaned back in his chair and ran through the scene again. Slash's lips, how gentle and perfect they had felt against his mouth. He chewed on a fingernail, feeling slightly aroused...goddamn it.

“Sir?” a voice said and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Fuck!” he swore before frantically gathering his composure.

“Um...your taxi cab's here,” Lisa informed him. “Here's the money. I hope you wasn’t teasin’ me earlier,” she smiled bashfully, “Y'all are doin' okay, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” he answered distractedly, “Tell me something, how wrong is it to be gay?”

“I beg your pardon?” the woman was taken aback.

“Uh, how wrong is it for a man to love another man?”

“Well...I myself find it sort of vile, sir, but—”

He cut her off, “Yeah, me too. Thanks Lisa, bye.”

Slipping on his jacket and snatching the money from her hand, he rushed out the revolving doors. As he made his way outside, he patted his pocket, just to assure himself that the gun was still there. Convinced, he slid into the seat of the taxi and yanked the door shut.

“Take me to Grand Hope Park downtown,” he ordered the driver.

The vehicle's engine whirred and it sped towards the busy Los Angeles streets. Axl pressed his face against the window and groaned. A clawing feeling in his chest was telling him that his idea to see Slash wasn't a very good one. Sure, he wanted some justice, but was this the right way to go about it? He feared that if he saw the man again, he might do something utterly humiliating. Like what, kiss him? Fuck. The sole fact that the thought even crossed his mind drove him nuts. He was forced to remind himself of the reason why he was taking this trip—for revenge. It wasn’t going to be some sort of happy get-together with kissing and hugging. His only goal was to completely traumatize his old friend. Shoving your tongue in his mouth might do the trick.

“Shit, shit, shit!” he swore, pulling at his long hair, “I can’t take this.”

“Vat’s wrong?” his driver asked him in a thick Slavic accent.

“Sorry, nothing.”

“Vell, ve arre nearly at ze park, traffic is good this day.”

Oh great. Was someone “up there” out to get him or something? Los Angeles was supposed to have terrible traffic jams. Why did the roads clear up today of all days? Axl was absolutely dreading the approaching encounter. To relieve his nerves, he sat back with eyes closed, starting to count. It was something childish and completely mindless, thus, the perfect way to distract himself. Upon reaching two-hundred, his eyelids flicked open, sensing that the car had come to a halt.

“Ve is here,” the driver announced proudly, “Pay me twenty-ten USA dollar.”

“Uh…here,” he gave the man the fifty-dollar bill he held in his hand, “Keep the extra.”

“Tanks! God be vit you, good sir!” the driver cried happily.

“Fuck God, what’s he ever done for me?" Axl muttered to himself while stepping out of the vehicle.

As it drove away, he stuck his hands into the pocket of his jeans. The trees in Grand Hope Park stood bare and naked before him and a paved trail meandered through the frosty lawn. He could see the distant stone bridge; it appeared minuscule from where he stood. If he wished to turn around, now was his final chance. He had the image of Slash, cold and alone in the November chill, waiting for him by the bridge. The man never had to sense wear jackets. What if he froze to death or caught a deadly disease? Axl shuddered; he wouldn’t allow that to happen. Walking down the trail, he had to once again remind himself of his plan. It was pretty ironic how his intention was to hurt his old friend, but he couldn't bear it if something or someone else did the same thing.

Closer to the bridge now, he realized that there was nobody in sight—no Slash. One more terrible thought popped into his mind; what if he didn't show up? Not only would that ruin the whole scheme, Axl sort of wanted to see his old friend, see him one final time. He had a peeving wish to stare into the other man's puppy-dog eyes and maybe give him a good-bye hug. Taking a seat atop a large, gray boulder, he brought his knees to his chest. He bit down on his lip, bringing teardrops to his green eyes. A few slipped down over his cheekbones. Before he knew it, he was uncontrollably sobbing into his hands. It was fucked up; revenge wasn't supposed to feel this miserable. Rocking back and forth in his curled-up position, he felt like he was reliving his childhood. Many a time had he been in the same position back home, up in his dark attic-bedroom. The sinking feeling of hopelessness in the pit of his stomach was familiar as well. Where the fuck was Slash? He needed to get here soon or he was going to find Axl on the ground, dead, with no explanation. Come to think of it, that might work out well... Just as he reached into his pocket, stroking the revolver, he felt a drop of water on his head. Squinting up to the sky, he saw the looming dark clouds. A crack of thunder echoed through the silent air.

“Fuck!” he swore, “No, fuck, why me?”

In a few seconds time, he was drenched in the frigid rain water. His hair stuck to the back of his neck as he shivered, bringing his arms around himself. It was impossible for an outsider to tell whether the water rolling down his cheeks were drops of tear or rain. He hated storms, to the point where he flinched whenever he saw so much as a far away flash of lightning. From the corner of his eye, he could see a gazebo in the distance. Running for shelter would involve getting up, though, something which he couldn't do, being paralyzed with fear and all. He let out an anguished scream into his jeans, knowing that Slash wouldn't be coming at this point. It was all the more motivation to pull the gun out, but he wanted to revel in his depression for a little while longer. Luckily for him, it was at this moment that a certain irritated guitarist stumbled into the scene.

“Axl, what the hell do you think you're doing? It's fucking freezing. You're gonna kill yourself!”

The wet redhead tilted his head, jaw agape. “Slash...” he murmured under his breath.

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