FicWad

I woke up to the kitchen landline phone ringing, loud and piercing through my head. I didn’t move, didn’t open my eyes. Just laid there, hoping someone else would get the fucking thing.
“Hello?”
I traced my fingers along the side of the bed.
“Hey Stevie. . .yeah, he’s here. . .”
Damn.
“No, he’s asleep. Want me to send him over when he wakes up?”
I heard her shifting around, tapping her fingernails on the counter.
“Yeah. . . alright. Sure. Will do, see you later, darlin’.”
The click of the phone sounded and I rolled over, staring out the window. Why did everything seem so much harsher, more real, in daylight? It almost seemed wrong to me that the sun should ever shine in Los Angeles. Because any magic of the night you’d had before was gone. It always was.
“Izzy?”
She was standing in the doorway, but I didn’t look, just stared at my hand, letting my vision slide in and out of focus. Watching how the sun reflected off of my fingernails, my guitar callouses.
“Izzy. You awake?”
I didn’t feel like replying. “Mm.”
I heard her cross the room, climb onto the bed.
“Iz.” Her hand rested on my bare shoulder, squeezing slightly. I clamped my eyes shut. I wouldn’t let myself think about what we’d said last night. I wouldn’t.
I rolled over, shielding my eyes with my hand. “Hey, Jen.”
She sat back on her heels, giving me an appraising look. “Well, hey to you too.” When I didn’t respond, she crossed her arms.
“That was Steven.”
“So I heard,” I yawned, stretching out from underneath the covers. “What’d he want?”
“Him and Slash are headed over to the studio. Wanted you to come around one.”
I squinted at the clock. It was already twelve thirty. I threw off the sheets, stepping by accident on the charred butt of a joint. My stomach twitched as I tossed it into the trashcan, shoving my feet into my boots.
I laced them up and stood up, stretching again, before wordlessly striding to the bathroom. Jen followed, and her face stared back at me out of the mirror as I yanked my razor out of the drawer.
“Hey, is everything okay?” She bit her lip. I had to look away before I grabbed her to me and took my own taste of her mouth, that smoke and whiskey and sex. I put my head down, grabbing the soap.
“Yeah.”
“You’re acting kind of. . .weird.”
“Oh?” I refused to look at her eyes in the mirror, running my razor quickly over my two day stubble.
“Izzy, were you drunk last night?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
I hadn’t been.
“Oh.”
I made the mistake of looking up. Her brown eyes were burning into me, asking all the questions that her mouth wasn’t. Those eyes were going to be the death of me. Goddamnit, I couldn’t do this to her.
I turned around and leaned on the sink, putting my hands around her waist. “No, listen, Jen. I remember what I said.”
She put her hands around my neck. “Did you mean it?”
I swallowed. “Yeah, I meant it.” I wanted out of the apartment.
She smiled and I pulled her in for a quick hug before stepping back into the bedroom and gulping air. I just wanted quiet, just wanted to be alone. Socializing wasn’t exactly my strong suit, and today I was just feeling down.
“Are you headed over to the studio, then? Should I come?” She was leaning in the doorway, wearing only one of my button downs. It barely covered her ass.
“Yeah, I’m going. You can come if you want.” Please don’t, I begged in my mind. I didn’t think I could handle six people. My tongue felt thick as I packed up my guitar, snapping the case shut.
“Well, okay then. I’m just going to hang around here for the day. I’ve got a show tonight, at Pandora’s Box. You interested in coming?”
The thought of being around crowds made me want to groan. “Maybe.”
“Alright.” She was looking at me strangely. Confusion? Hurt? Frustration? All three? I couldn’t tell, and didn’t feel like interpreting. I need a cigarette badly.
“See you later.” I grabbed my keys and stepped out the door, breathing deep. Reaching the car, I slumped against the tailgate and fumbled for my Marlboros. What the hell was wrong with me? I closed my eyes, taking a deep, calming drag. I had dealt drugs, I had been in jail, I’d been in fights. I’d done everything there was to do and never felt trapped or suffocated or anything like that. But I got like this sometimes, and I just couldn’t help it. I let my hand fall back to my side, clutching the smoking butt of the cigarette. And now I had to go to the studio, and god knows what kind of insanity would be going on there. I flung open the trunk, setting my guitar inside before walking around and slamming the driver side door. I pressed the cigarette out on the floorboard, adding one more burn mark to what must have been at least fifty. My Mercury wasn’t exactly new, and carting around a rock band tended to cause some wear and tear. I sighed, pressing my forehead to the cool leather of the steering wheel.
“Put your foot down, Izzy,” I told myself, and peeled out of the driveway.

“Finally!” Steven came skidding out of the doorway, grinning like a maniac, with his beer hat firmly on his head. I slung my guitar off of my shoulder, dropping it on the bench in the hallway.
“You look wasted,” I commented, snapping open the case.
“So wasted,” he grinned, sucking on a straw. “Me and Slash went out last night, and I had t’buzz up again this morning. Killer hangover.”
“Mm.” I slung the strap around my neck, sticking a pick between my teeth. “Where’d you go?”
“The Roxy again.” Steven grinned, drumming on his knee. “Slash’s LADY was dancing last night.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that she’s not my lady, dude?” Slash swung around the doorway as well, smoking a cigarette and chuckling. “Renée,” he told me.
“Oh, go figure,” I said, trying to look like I cared.
“Yeah.” Slash rubbed his hands together. “She’s a great dancer, sexy as hell.” Steven giggled, earning an elbow from Slash.
Not as sexy as my girl, I couldn’t help thinking to myself. No way is she as sexy as my Jen. I felt like punching myself. First I’m holding her, then this morning I was a dick, and now I’m thinking about her legs. I’m an asshole.
Axl’s voice sounded from the next room. “C’mon you shits, time to get to work!” I grumbled internally and followed my two stoned bandmates into the soundbooth.
I was zoned out the entire afternoon, smoking cigarette after cigarette and jumping when Axl asked me questions. I usually took my music very seriously but today I just didn’t want to make the effort of cooperation. I didn’t want to be here, I didn’t want to be around other people. I would have preferred being alone with my thoughts.
“Izzy!”
I started and scowled at Slash, who raked his hair out of his face and scowled right back. “Man, what’s wrong with you today?”
I shrugged. “I’ve had a lot going on lately.”
“Yeah, well, me too, and I’d like to get something done on this track before the year’s out, so get your head in the game.”
I picked moodily at my guitar. “Fine, fuckface. Go on and play.”
He did, but once again, we just couldn’t lock together with the swing beat. After about thirty seconds of out-of-sync guitar, Axl cut us off.
“Listen, let’s. . . let’s just take a break. Be back in fifteen.” He ran his hand through his hair, and I could tell he was frustrated. We all were. I set down my guitar on the stand and bolted, out the back door of the studio and down the steps. I let my head loll against the cool brick alley wall, pulling my pack of smokes out of my pocket. Only one left. I shoved the empty cardboard box back into my jacket. I sank down on concrete sidewalk, pulling my knees up to my chest and dangling the cigarette from my fingertips. Alone at last. I tried to blow a smoke ring, watching the bluish fog curl into a wisp. Closing my eyes, I wished for the darkness of my eyelids, but instead my mind met me with a thunderous clamor. There were glaring lights, the roar of a crowd, the ruby sparkle of a dancing costume, and the chestnut gloss of hair under greenish beams. I snapped my eyes open again, grinding my leather-clad heel against the cement. There should be other things to think about, I smoldered silently.
My thoughts were interrupted by the slamming of the backdoor, and a curly dark head appeared. “Izzy?”
“Over here,” I called reluctantly. At least he’d have Camels.
Slash’s boots clacked against the pavement as he walked around the stairs to my little alleyway. He was running his hand through his hair nervously.
“Look, man, I’m sorry about in there-”
“Don’t.” I cut him off, waving my hand. “Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault. I know I’m being a fuckwad. It’s just been one of those days, man.”
He nodded and sat down next to me. “I know what you mean, man. It’s been a rope for me too. Steven’s really startin’ to get on my nerves, he won’t stop pokin’ at me about this girl.” He ran his hand through his hair again. “What’s more, the chick ain’t givin’ me the time of day.”
I had to laugh outright, he looked so genuinely puzzled. I couldn’t remember the last time a woman had said no to Slash.
“Hey, don’t laugh!” He punched me in the arm, but he was chuckling too. “It’s bad though, ‘cause I actually kinda like her.”
“Yeah, well,” I told him, taking another puff of my cigarette, “I’m startin’ to think I really like mine too.”
He shrugged. “So what? At least you got her.”
I shrugged back. “I don’t know sometimes, man. I don’t even know what I’m doing with her half the time. Last night was . . . crazy.”
He hooted gleefully, no doubt wanting to hear all the raunchy details. “Do tell!”
“It wasn’t like that,” I frowned. “Physical isn’t what I’m talking about.”
Again, I had to laugh, he looked so puzzled. “What the hell is “crazy,” then?”
I stubbed out my cigarette on the back of my boot. “I don’t even know. Just the stuff I find myself sayin’ to her. It always goes that way. I’ll say somethin’ late at night or when I’m drunk, and end up scaring myself. Then I’m an ass for the next couple days. It used to be that I got in a funk because of other people, but I’m startin’ to think it’s just me.”
Slash shrugged a second time. “Sorry man, I ain’t good with feelings. Want some dope?” He pulled a baggie out of his back pocket.
I rolled my eyes. “Is that seriously your solution to everything?”
“Hey, what are friends for?” He asked cheerfully, getting to his feet. “Somebody showed me once how to make a bong out of a beer can. I bet I could find one.”
And he started off for the nearby dumpster.
I closed my eyes again, half laughing, half groaning. If my mind would just shut up for five seconds, I wouldn’t be so strung out.
But a little more dope probably wouldn’t hurt, either.