Categories > Celebrities > Guns n' Roses > Saving Me
L.A. November 1989
I opened my eyes, feeling sore. Staring at the ceiling fan, I debated getting up. I realized half-heartedly that I needed to wash my hair, and it was likely that the apartment was vacant. I swung my legs onto the floor and looked at the bed. Of course the other side was empty. I didn’t even feel hurt anymore. Stumbling to the bathroom, I undressed and stared at my face in the mirror. I had dark circles under my eyes, and my skin looked waxy. I looked old and exhausted. I leaned my head against the counter. I could feel tears starting to sting; it felt like just yesterday that I had been trying to cover the beginnings of this up for modeling shoots: there was no covering it up now. I turned around and turned on the shower. Catching my face in the mirror again, I felt another dull blow to my stomach. I was wasting away. Where had these past couple of years gone? I stepped into the shower, feeling the heat rush down over me.
Guns n Roses had blown up. It had always been my dream, to see Axl doing what he had always wanted to do. I had always been so sure that that would be what finally made him happy. But it didn’t quite work out that way. I closed my eyes, turning up the heat of the water all the way. It was funny. No matter what, I always felt cold these days. Axl just couldn’t cope. Brawling with fans, late to shows, and we hardly ever talked, unless it was to fight. I leaned my head into the water, feeling it rush through my hair. He was rarely home at night. I slammed off the water, feeling exhausted and wanting to cry. I didn’t, though; it was a habit to hold it in by now. It was a good thing, too, because the apartment door slammed the second I stepped out of the bathroom. I silently ran to our room, throwing on an oversized t-shirt with nothing underneath. No doubt he would be angry if he thought I wasn’t here. With my hair quickly dampening the shirt between my shoulder blades, I ran to the living room, but it wasn’t Axl in the apartment. It was Slash. He turned around at my footsteps, and I got a funny feeling in my stomach when he looked at me, suddenly very aware that I was wearing neither jeans or a bra, and remembering what I had looked like in that bathroom mirror.
*super short, sorry.
I opened my eyes, feeling sore. Staring at the ceiling fan, I debated getting up. I realized half-heartedly that I needed to wash my hair, and it was likely that the apartment was vacant. I swung my legs onto the floor and looked at the bed. Of course the other side was empty. I didn’t even feel hurt anymore. Stumbling to the bathroom, I undressed and stared at my face in the mirror. I had dark circles under my eyes, and my skin looked waxy. I looked old and exhausted. I leaned my head against the counter. I could feel tears starting to sting; it felt like just yesterday that I had been trying to cover the beginnings of this up for modeling shoots: there was no covering it up now. I turned around and turned on the shower. Catching my face in the mirror again, I felt another dull blow to my stomach. I was wasting away. Where had these past couple of years gone? I stepped into the shower, feeling the heat rush down over me.
Guns n Roses had blown up. It had always been my dream, to see Axl doing what he had always wanted to do. I had always been so sure that that would be what finally made him happy. But it didn’t quite work out that way. I closed my eyes, turning up the heat of the water all the way. It was funny. No matter what, I always felt cold these days. Axl just couldn’t cope. Brawling with fans, late to shows, and we hardly ever talked, unless it was to fight. I leaned my head into the water, feeling it rush through my hair. He was rarely home at night. I slammed off the water, feeling exhausted and wanting to cry. I didn’t, though; it was a habit to hold it in by now. It was a good thing, too, because the apartment door slammed the second I stepped out of the bathroom. I silently ran to our room, throwing on an oversized t-shirt with nothing underneath. No doubt he would be angry if he thought I wasn’t here. With my hair quickly dampening the shirt between my shoulder blades, I ran to the living room, but it wasn’t Axl in the apartment. It was Slash. He turned around at my footsteps, and I got a funny feeling in my stomach when he looked at me, suddenly very aware that I was wearing neither jeans or a bra, and remembering what I had looked like in that bathroom mirror.
*super short, sorry.
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