Categories > Celebrities > Guns n' Roses > Saving Me
I stepped into the apartment, feeling good about the day. It was late in the afternoon, and Guns had a show tonight. The modeling gig I had just shot had gone well and paid well, and that was something that I knew would please Axl. Setting my bags in the hallway, I walked into the living room, wondering if he was home. I hung back when I saw him pacing feverishly around the room. Not a good sign.
“They fucked it up, Erin!” he scowled at me abruptly, making me jump. I lowered my eyes.
“What happened?” I asked, slowly easing into the room. He started pacing again.
“The fucking amps for tonight, there’s only four, there’s supposed to be five! Goddamnit, it’s not fucking rocket science!” he spat. I pressed my lips together, deciding it was safest to say nothing.
“It’s always Steven, he’s always fucking something up, now he can’t count.” He once again turned abruptly. “Make me a drink, don’t just stand there.”
I hurried into the kitchen, feeling my nerves stretch. It was dangerous territory when he got like this. I mixed up a glass, going easier than I normally would have on the vodka: alcohol was the last thing he needed when he got like this. He took it from my hand, shooting it down quickly, and then slamming it down on the table so hard that the liquor sloshed everywhere and the glass banged. I jumped back.
“What kind of drink is that?” he demanded, kicking the glass off the table. It rolled under the couch.
“It was vodka-”
“What about that full bottle of rum in the kitchen? It seems to me like you should know what I like by now.” He snapped. I said nothing. He stood up: it seemed to me like he was filling the room.
“Didn’t you just get back from a shoot?” He glared.
“Yes, that’s where I’ve been all after-”
“Well then, where’s the goddamn money?” He practically yelled, holding out his hand. I could feel my insides curling in fear. I knew where this was going. Digging a roll of cash out of my purse, I dropped it in his hand. I watched him count it, as if in slow motion.
“Erin, where’s there rest of it?” he asked dangerously. My brain seemed to freeze, and still I said nothing.
“There’s a quarter missing of what you said that fucking gig would pay! Where’s the rest of it?” He was yelling now.
“I just bought a couple things-”
His face flushed, and I winced.
“A couple things??” he snarled, throwing the money on the ground, in the puddle of vodka. “A quarter missing is not a couple of things, Erin!”
“I’m sorry-”
“I don’t work my ass off trying to make money for you for you to spend what little you make on yourself!” He roared. I wanted to close my eyes, will myself out of the room, and will myself to be anywhere but with him.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” My eyes flew up to his enraged face, jutting suddenly into mine, but quickly closed again when I saw him raise his hand.
---
I sat up dazedly as the door slammed, feeling the side of my face. It was stinging and I knew it was going to become one helluva bruise. Stumbling to the kitchen, I scooped some ice and held it to my skin. Leaning against the counter, I closed my eyes. It was so quiet, now that he’d gone. I wanted to lie down and cry, but couldn't for fear he’d be coming back. Still, I felt the hot tears stinging. Instead, I sat down, trying to force down the cold feeling that was slowly growing in my stomach.
“They fucked it up, Erin!” he scowled at me abruptly, making me jump. I lowered my eyes.
“What happened?” I asked, slowly easing into the room. He started pacing again.
“The fucking amps for tonight, there’s only four, there’s supposed to be five! Goddamnit, it’s not fucking rocket science!” he spat. I pressed my lips together, deciding it was safest to say nothing.
“It’s always Steven, he’s always fucking something up, now he can’t count.” He once again turned abruptly. “Make me a drink, don’t just stand there.”
I hurried into the kitchen, feeling my nerves stretch. It was dangerous territory when he got like this. I mixed up a glass, going easier than I normally would have on the vodka: alcohol was the last thing he needed when he got like this. He took it from my hand, shooting it down quickly, and then slamming it down on the table so hard that the liquor sloshed everywhere and the glass banged. I jumped back.
“What kind of drink is that?” he demanded, kicking the glass off the table. It rolled under the couch.
“It was vodka-”
“What about that full bottle of rum in the kitchen? It seems to me like you should know what I like by now.” He snapped. I said nothing. He stood up: it seemed to me like he was filling the room.
“Didn’t you just get back from a shoot?” He glared.
“Yes, that’s where I’ve been all after-”
“Well then, where’s the goddamn money?” He practically yelled, holding out his hand. I could feel my insides curling in fear. I knew where this was going. Digging a roll of cash out of my purse, I dropped it in his hand. I watched him count it, as if in slow motion.
“Erin, where’s there rest of it?” he asked dangerously. My brain seemed to freeze, and still I said nothing.
“There’s a quarter missing of what you said that fucking gig would pay! Where’s the rest of it?” He was yelling now.
“I just bought a couple things-”
His face flushed, and I winced.
“A couple things??” he snarled, throwing the money on the ground, in the puddle of vodka. “A quarter missing is not a couple of things, Erin!”
“I’m sorry-”
“I don’t work my ass off trying to make money for you for you to spend what little you make on yourself!” He roared. I wanted to close my eyes, will myself out of the room, and will myself to be anywhere but with him.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” My eyes flew up to his enraged face, jutting suddenly into mine, but quickly closed again when I saw him raise his hand.
---
I sat up dazedly as the door slammed, feeling the side of my face. It was stinging and I knew it was going to become one helluva bruise. Stumbling to the kitchen, I scooped some ice and held it to my skin. Leaning against the counter, I closed my eyes. It was so quiet, now that he’d gone. I wanted to lie down and cry, but couldn't for fear he’d be coming back. Still, I felt the hot tears stinging. Instead, I sat down, trying to force down the cold feeling that was slowly growing in my stomach.
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