~The Izzy Cam~

"A fucking gun range? This is where you two shimmy off to every Tuesday?" Duff stood staring in disbelief, constantly readjusting his ear protection, which was tight on his head and extremely uncomfortable. Izzy and Steven did the same, picking at their eye goggles and taking in the scene.

"Yup," Skipper gave a sinister smile as she removed her gun of choice from it's holster, a shiny Mac 10 semi-automatic machine pistol. Slash removed his as well, a 28 millimeter revolver with a shiny silver snout. "You two are officially mental." Izzy muttered to himself, rubbing his shaggy black locks. "Two peas in a fucking pod."

Skipper carefully loaded her gun, one bullet at a time. Duff stood beside her as she worked, marveling at the huge black piece of metal in her considerably small hands. "That's, uh... a big gun for... such a little girl," he whispered, cringing as she aimed and squeezed the trigger, releasing a stream of deadly bullets.

When the dust had cleared, there were several holes in Skipper's paper target man. A hole in his brain, his heart, his abdomen, and several other places.

"I'm twenty years old, Duff. I'm not a little girl."

****

Skipper's POV

"Okay, so next question. This one is about the band, so... what is your favorite song from Appetite?"

I consider the question for a little while, tapping on my chin pensively. I really like most of the songs, they're all so different, yet they keep shelling out hit after hit from the album. "Well, my absolute favorite? That's gotta be Mr. Brownstone."

Slash stiffens beneath me, and shoots me a sharp glance. "Really? After all that shit you gave me?" He scoffs, and Steven leans in to look down the table at me. "Yeah! After all that shit you-" "Oh no, Mr. Dead in my O.R at least three times a week. You don't get a say." I cross my arms stubbornly, and again, he grumbles to himself, leaning back against his chair.

"I don't like it for the lyrics, or the contents," I clearly state a few seconds later, "I like it for the instrumental. It's amazing."

MTV guy chuckles to himself, "You guys are... just hilarious. Okay, next. Which is your least favorite song on the album?"

"Sweet Child," I blurt immediately, and everyone sort of recoils, saying nothing, mouths wide open. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Rosie snaps, while Duff furrows his eyebrows with confusion. "That's... that's not physically possible! Every chick's favorite is Sweet Child."

"Well... I don't know, the instrumental part of it is great, I just... don't feel it."

"I spent... so fucking long... writing that song!" Rosie snaps at me, obviously angry. "Okay, sorry! He asked for my honest opinion."

"I wrote it for y-"

"Don't even lie to me by saying that," I cut him off, matching the intensity of his gaze. His jaw grinds beneath his stubbly skin, his eyebrows forming an angry red set of arches. "I wasn't lying."

"I don't have blue eyes, Rosie." "Okay, did I say you did?" "Yeah, you kinda did."

Rosie opens his mouth to respond, but Slash cuts him off. "Next question?" The intervention does little to quell the rising tension at the table, and I can tell the MTV guy has further questions, most likely regarding Rosie's fiance. Where the hell is she, and why is she suddenly out of the picture? She certainly couldn't condone Rosie's forward behavior toward me, could she?

"Um, okay," MTV guy says slowly, tucking a lock of his dirty brown hair behind his ear.

"Favorite album from a band that isn't GNR?"

I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth, pretending to think long and hard and rub the back of my neck indecisively. "Slippery When Wet, Bon Jovi." I slur as quickly as possible, and the outcry from the band is worse than before.

"Oh come on, Bon Jovi is a band of nobodies, the ass holes!" Steven yells, while Duff glowers at me. "I am so much better at bass than that Alec cunt, and he knows it." Izzy's eyes aren't the least bit gentle as he turns up his nose at the thought of them, "They're wannabes, they've just gotten here yet they act like they own the fucking place!"

"I can sing circles around that Bon Jovi kid," Rosie growls. Slash says calmly, "Jon Bon Jovi is a motherfucking bitch."

I draw back a little bit, "Well damn! Tell me how you really feel."

"How could you possibly like Bon Jovi? What the hell is wrong with you?" Rosie accuses, pointing a finger at me.

"They're good! I mean, come on! Who can resist 'Livin' on a Prayer'?"

"You said yourself that Jon Bon Jovi was an asshole, remember what he did to you?" I release my breath, and shrug my shoulders. "Well.. yeah, he may not be the nicest person in the world, but-" "He knocked you on your ass, and then told you to watch where you were going. Does that refresh your memory?" Slash's voice is a bit hostile now.

"He did that?" If Rosie were a dog, his hackles would be raised. "Yeah, but he-"

"Do you want me to beat him for you? You know what, he's right over there, I'll beat him for you."

"No, don't!" I reach over and grip his wrist, pulling him back down to sit in his chair. "Don't go over there, I'll solve my own problems. I admit, he's kinda... douchey, but his band isn't half bad. Is he really over there?" I strain to see over the heads of the bustling crowd, but sure enough, he and the rest of his band are off at another table, kicking back drinks with slutty women on their laps.

"I'll go over myself." I stand, and Izzy rises to his feet. "Don't. He'll either tell you off, or womanize you."

I scoff, "Don't be ridiculous. I can handle myself."

Rosie shakes his head. "Sit down, Skipper. That bitch is a slippery ass snake, he'll have you in bed before you can blink." "What, just like the rest of you and your 'roadies'? If I can resist Steven's constant sexual innuendo, I think I can handle Jon Bon Jovi." Everyone stares down at Steven, who blushes, and swallows hard.

"It's true," he burps, "I'm an extremely sexual being." Duff hisses with laughter.

I chuckle, "I'm done with you. Hey wait... is that Tommy Lee over there? I might go see him too."

"Don't go, unless you wanna add Hepatitis to the list of things you're going to contract." Rosie says.

"Woah!" Izzy cries out, while the rest of the band exchanges excited bouts of laughing. "Damn, you really threw shade there." Rosie only shrugs, grinning at the MTV camera. "What can I say? I'm really lacking a filter."

"Whatever," I yawn, and start toward the Bon Jovi table.

"Curly." Slash says gently from behind me, having not weighed in on my decision yet. I turn around again, slowly, and meet his eyes. They're kind and soft as always as he beckons me back over to him. "Don't go. Come back over here, nothing good can come of this." I open my mouth, considering protesting him, but instead I clamp it shut and trudge back to his side. "Fine," I mutter, plopping back onto his lap. "Good." He says, pulling me closer to him.

"Junior! What the fuck!" I ignore Rosie, and glance back toward Jon. Something about him makes me uneasy, and I really don't know why.

****

The next morning, I desperately search for Rosie, in the hopes that he has another outfit for me. I find the band members fast asleep in Duff's hotel room, half naked and wrapped in wrinkled white sheets. Everyone but the one person I want to find, it seems.

I yank open the curtains and expose them all to bright early morning light, while simultaneously flicking on the overhead light switch.

Their bodies all react at the same time as they desperately grope their surroundings for pillows to shove over their faces. "Ah, what the fuck, Skip! It's... barely past ten!" Steven wails, writhing around wildly beneath his blanket.

"Have any of you seen Rosie?" I sigh, and they all sit up, blinking at the brightness and exchanging uneasy glances. "Yeah, he stormed out of here about half an hour ago, pretty pissed about something. I think Erin called him, or some junk, about that MTV interview we did last night? He's probably at the tour bus, but I wouldn't follow him if I were you. He has... episodes, sometimes."

He never had a temper when I knew him before; at least during that time he was smart enough to take his Lithium.

"Thanks." I drift to the door, pretty set upon finding him. "You're playing a dangerous game," Izzy warns right before I shut the hotel room door.

I try to formulate some sort of comforting speech to give to Rosie upon my arrival, in case he actually is distraught, but nothing significant comes to mind. As I approach the bus, I can already head the sound of crashing things and glass shattering, so I rush to the door, throw it open, and slip inside.

He spins around immediately, shoulders heaving up and down, fists clenching and unclenching. His eyes resemble that of a wolf's, untamed, filled with an unquenachable thirst for destruction. A normal person might back away slowly and give a man in this state space to think, but those people don't know Rosie. I take a tentative step in his direction, examining the damage he's already done to the room.

The toaster's been ripped from the wall and tossed like a tin can onto the ground. All the food, beer cans and cigarettes that were once littering the counter now sit useless on the floor. The couch cushions have been removed from the couch, torn with fuzz sticking out of them like brain matter in someone's ears.

He inches backward a little as I approach wordlessly. "Get back Junior," he growls, but I only draw nearer. His skin is hotter than a desert when I place my hands against it, staring up into his wolf eyes until they're tamer than a house cat's. His shoulders sag, his head drops, and his arms crush me into his chest.

His smell is enticing, as is his warmth.

"Are you okay?" I whisper, following a long silence. He shakes his head slightly. "No, baby. Not without you." I let out a long and exaggerated sigh, placing my hand against his chest. It's hard and flat underneath, which doesn't make sense, since all he does is drink beer all day.

"What's the matter?"

A hint of anger flashes through the green of his eyes for a split second, "That stupid ass whore thinks she can control me, who I talk to. She thinks she has an ounce of dictation over my life. She doesn't." I stare up at him again, frowning, examining the deep creases in his face. Anger never looked good on him, and it definitely doesn't now.

"She's your fiance-" "Don't call her that!" He snaps at me, and sighs. "Sorry, I... I just wish you could see things my way." He says in a significantly softer tone.

"I do too," I whisper. He places one of his bruised and bloody hands against my face, caressing my cheek bone with his thumb. He always does it like this, and it always takes a lot of effort to refrain from leaning into his palm.

"Let me kiss you." He's begging right off the bat, searching my eyes with his desperate ones. "Let me do it, just this once. We're all alone, no one would have to know. I need you now, you're the only one who can talk to me when I'm like this. Please, baby. Let me."

I could do it. I could give in right now, press myself to him, melt into him. I could do it and be significanlty happier than I am right now. But I won't, not as long as he's with Erin. I believe him when he says he doesn't love her, but I don't when he claims that she feels nothing for him. I could see it in her eyes, she cares, and I can't bare to imagine her face when she finds out her partner is negligent.

"No, Rosie. You belong to her." His eyes harden and suddenly he's leaning against the wall, glaring at me, leaving me to stumble and catch myself before I fall to the ground.

"That's not the problem. You... you would rather kiss him, wouldn't you?"

His face tells me who he's talking about, it's too obvious to even question it. I shift my weight slightly, and ball my fists. "We're just... friends-"

"Don't feed me that bullshit, Junior. That shit you tell the rest of the world, the shit you told MTV last night. He's more than just your friend, and I know it. I'm not stupid. The two of you do every fucking thing together, you're a god damned package deal. Never see one without the other, I just..." he gives a cruel laugh, shaking his head a few times.

"Every where. Everything. You have 'movie nights,' you party together, you share the same fucking bed! You cannot tell me you're not fucking him, Junior! It hurts me, it fucking hurts!"

At a loss for words, I just stand there, glaring at him. This was the unidentifyable thought behind his eyes, all those times he was watching Slash and I without a word. I consider being offended, yelling at him, but immediately I know that'll only make things worse.

"I wouldn't do that, and deep down you know it. You know I don't feel that way about Slash." His eyes melt just slightly, like the premature beads of condensation running down a bag of frozen veggies, just after you've removed it from the freezer.

"You like him. You like him a lot, even though I've loved you for years."

I approach again, slower, and place a hand on his chest. I stare straight up at him again, drawing he technique doctors use on patients to instill confidence in them, and comfort. "I like Slash, and he means a lot to me." He seems to draw back at my words, but I don't release him.

"But I don't have romantic feelings for him. Not the way I used to feel for you."

"Used to?" He whispers weakly, frowning down at me. "The way I... the way I do," I correct myself, fighting my own urge to look away. A tiny smile replaces his look of resentment, just the slightest rise in the corners of his mouth. It's what he needs, to hear these things. "Do you promise me, Junior?"

"I promise." Another silence follows, before nods affirmatively. "Erin will be gone soon, I promise. And then you can be mine again." His words force shivers up my spine and goosebumps onto my skin, but I keep my expression rather neutral.

"Let's get your knuckles clean and bandaged."

I wet a rag with warm water and gently swab his wounds. He stares at me all the while, the only sound in the bus being his heavily ragged breathing.

If he would just get back on his Lithium, tho... smh.

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