FicWad

Malice Runaway's P.O.V
"No Axl, just fuck off will you?!" I screech at my boyfriend, W. Axl Rose, yes it was true, I was in a relationship with the hotheaded, short tempered, red headed lead singer of Guns N' Roses. We were fighting yet again for what felt like the millionth time this month "Make me you little skanky whore!" he shot right back at me, we were in each other faces, as usual, I couldn't help but punch him right in the left eye for that comment "Fuck you, you abusive ass!" I hissed as I ran up stairs while he was still in shock, knowing he'd be hot on my damn trail. I ran into our bedroom like I was hiding from Michael Myers, except Axl was ten-times worse than Michael when he was mad. As I slammed the door shut behind me, my shaking left hand turned to lock the door shut, but even I knew Axl could knock a door off its hinges, he did the last time we fought, now neither of us could take a nice, private shower because of him. Both my mother and grandmother had to deal with abusive men themselves, my grandfather was an alcoholic and druggie and was the closes thing to the devil to make my grandmother feel like she was in hell already, he had multiple affairs with a dozen whores, then in 1983 all that shit he did bit him back hard, he died of lung cancer and failing livers in a hospital bed. My father was a different story, he was like Axl in a way, two faced, he was always treated me like his 'little princess', but when he got pissed at my mom, he'd throw her up against walls, slap her, kick her, punch her, give her black eyes, when I saw my parents and heard about my grandparents I promised to my mother and grandmother I wouldn't be in that kind of relationship, but fate had other plans. In April 1986 I ran away to L.A to pursue my dreams in becoming a singer, I was on 12 at the time, I know what you're going to say 'That's way too young!' well I needed to escape hell. About 3 months of being in L.A I was walking down the Sunset Strip, it was around 9ish,and I was headed to my favorite place to hang, the Troubadour, I knew the owner, Max, really well he was almost like a father to me. I walked in with my hips swaying side to side, a trait I picked up from my mom. The men eyed me like a piece meat, and the girls, mostly strippers and groupies, just gave me glares and snarls as I sashayed by, that's when I saw him, Axl, his fiery red hair was teased a mile high, with those shinny emerald eyes, and plump lips, he was a toothpick then because he lived in this ratty apartment with Izzy, I think they were already signed to Geffen then-"Where the hell are you stupid whore?" I heard Axl deranged voice come from the hall, I quickly and quietly slipped into our closet, about 5 decades later Axl burst through the door, cowboys boots smacking the hardwood, I was petrified, I couldn't move a muscle in my body it seemed "There you are you piece of shit." Axl hissed, what happens next is a blur, I'm thrown into a wall by Axl, he begins to repeatedly slap me, I'm too weak to fight back, his fist lands on my jaw, I scream in pure agony and pain, then I'm lifted from the ground, by the throat by Axl, my back to whatever laid ahead of me, I think I'm going to be backed against another wall, but no I'm throw like garbage down the hardwood stairs of our home, when I reached the bottom all I could see was the white celling, then there were tiny black spots in front of my eyes making the room fuzzy, 'I'm going to die, right in front of Axl, with no mercy.' was my last thought before blackness........