Axl lied.

He didn't start writing the day after he left.

I find multiple envelopes addressed to me as soon as I get into the Camaro. They're where he knew I would clearly see them, on the driver's side seat.

It makes me feel out of place sitting behind the steering wheel, with Axl and the bus already carrying the guys far away, off towards Canada. Being in his car makes it feel like he's somehow still here though, with me. The leather holds onto his scent, his essence, just as perfectly as my mind does. It makes it easy to focus on the stack of paper in my lap-the car does all the hard work setting the scene for me.

"Chas,

I can't make you wait a week to hear from me, so I've written you a letter for every single day of the week already. Don't skip ahead, 'kay? It starts on the next page."

I can hardly read his closely knit, permanently-capitalized handwriting because of the tears that come flooding back to my eyes. But nonetheless, I set that piece of paper down, and continue on to the next page.

"My dearest Chasity Grace,

Just imagine me singin' Don't Cry really badly right now.

Don't you cry, baby. You'll feel better tomorrow.

As I sit here to write this, I can't find my glasses or my contacts. I'm squinting at the paper, and I can tell that my words are slanting and I'm sorry. What can I say. I'm a mess without you. Hopefully I find 'em before the show in a couple hours!!!! Then I get to see you!!!

I'll be thinking about you and the car a lot. I'm kidding about the car-but not really!!

I didn't tell you that I wanted you to look after her for me, because I knew you'd refuse. Well, now it's too late, you're stuck with her! Ha! I got you.

Expect a call from me tomorrow or the next day from somewhere in Canada. I have to be careful with writing and calling. We don't want the wrong person to be nearby. Or people...?

I'm going to try my best though, honey. Thanks in advance for being patient with me. Hopefully I make it out of this tour alive, and well enough to see you on the flip side.

P.S. wear those cute little pink panties in memory of me!!!!!!

Love,

-Axl- "

I read every word in his voice. My ears catch onto his phantom laughter and the highs and lows to his speech, the rumble of the baritone deep in his throat, every syllable smooth.

I laugh through the tears at the part where he says he got me, and gasp and go red at his P.S. request. He remembers those?

Then, I drive home. I don't bother to turn on the radio. I don't want it to stifle Axl. I still hear him in my head. He's nonsensical, muffled, but still there. I cling to him as I drive on autopilot, somehow feeling used to his car, even though this is the second time I've actually driven it. All the red lights and streets are a blur. I have to fight against the pull towards home as I actually head home.

Wherever Axl is where home is, I assert to myself. I even nod once, in full agreement with myself.

I try not to think about how this is reality now. Sixteen months. Sure, Duff and Axl both went over the tour itinerary with Michelle and I in-depth. I even have my own copy at home. There's six legs in total, some of them the guys are support, others they're actually headlining. They're going all over the world, with hardly any of the dates anywhere near California. Even less are near L.A. specifically. They'll have times where they get to come home for a few days, or a few weeks, but not anytime soon.

It's another month before my trip to New York to make a fool of self at Fashion Week, and finally see Axl. The tour collides with my week-long gig for fourty-eight hours, two days.

Don't think about the long term. Just survive a month, Chas. One month. I'm going to be so busy, it'll fly by.

Believe it or not, Michelle's Rolling Stone checks have been coming in steadily, and growing. Her boss isn't fully convinced by her yet, but her photos of the band at the farewell show did make it in on a small feature. Now, she wants to finally spend the money. On an apartment.

She's already compiled a list of places for us to go look at. I don't even get paid for Fashion Week until afterwards, and that's if I even manage to walk out there. The fear is already paralyzing. Paul says he's working to get me on another job, a photoshoot or something else before New York, but there's no guarantee. Michelle's forcing me to go tour apartments that I can't even pay for. At least it's a distraction, I reason. An expensive one.

The best part? My parent's don't know about Michelle's plot to get me out of their household, and neither does her own mother. I can't even begin to imagine how that conversation is going to go over if we even find a place we could both afford at some point.

I can't imagine how a lot of conversations with my parents would go now at days.

"By the way, Axl is my boyfriend. . ."

"By the way, Michelle and I are moving into an apartment together, even though we both have not one clue on how to actually be on our own. . ."

"By the way, Axl just gave me his expensive, fast car to drive for a whole year and a half until he gets back from his tour with the band. . ."

I'm already parked in front of my house when I realize that the last one is a conversation I actually will probably need to have right now. Oh God. . .

Across the street, Michelle's station wagon is in her driveway. I knew she'd beat me home, especially with me sticking around to read what Axl wrote in the parking lot. In my own driveway, my father's car is here, too. It's still so early in the morning that he hasn't even left for work yet.

Wonderful.

I decide to keep Axl's letters that I haven't read yet in the car. Better safe than sorry. I can't fathom the thought of one of my siblings finding one of Axl's letters in my room. Layla would be so obnoxious about it, hollering and screaming, and Shawn would bully me in an attempt to get me to tell him what the deal is. In both scenarios, my parents find out too. Of course, there's also the risk of either of them stumbling into my room on their own terms. Terrifying.

As I walk up to the house, Axl's keys and opened letter in my pocket, I also remember how carefully crafted last night's plot was, right from the beginning. I was already supposed to stay at Michelle's. I completely forgot about her blurting that out to my mother seconds before we left my house last night, with absolutely no input from me. I was so excited to go already and see Axl, that I hardly cared what was happening if it had nothing to do with him.

I wish I could go back. Relive it, over and over and over again until he comes back.

The house smells like breakfast once I walk inside, and my mother yells my name from the kitchen.

Layla smiles innocently at me from the couch, where she watches cartoons in her pajamas. "Hi, Chas! Have fun?"

"Hi! Loads of fun," I say, putting some pep in my voice. To me, it sounds dull, but to her child ears, she can't tell the difference. She goes back to the television when I walk further into the house.

Shawn is next, and nearly spills his giant bowl of cereal all over Axl's t-shirt. The one I forgot I was wearing. The one I was supposed to quickly take off in the car, and change back into the t-shirt I had on yesterday.

"Gosh, Chas! You just came back and you're already in my way," Shawn remarks bitterly, eyeing me as he continues on towards the dining room table.

My attention to my utter carelessness makes it hard to focus on what he says, and respond back like a normal human being. "I-"

"Be nice to your sister."

Dad's deep voice is accompanied by the sound of him turning today's paper. Both startle me. I already forgot he was here.

"She just got home, and you're acting like this, Shawn?"

"It's her fault," He replies, bold.

"Hey!" Mom yells from the kitchen, overhearing everything that's happening. I roll my eyes.

Dad's aged face is always hard-set, probably from his years of fighting in the courtroom. But right now, it's formed into an intense scowl, directed towards my little brother. Dad's already set the paper down, and his large gold watch glitters in the dining room light from where his hand still clutches the paper against the table.

Everybody's silent for a second, until Dad finally looks at me, and decides to ignore Shawn's attitude. His blue eyes stare into my soul. They're almost grey, just like mine. Underneath them, I try to keep my mind neutral, like I'm trying to prevent him from reading my true thoughts. The panicked ones about him questioning whose shirt I'm wearing, what I did last night, why I probably look like I was crying.

"Hi, sweetheart. How are you? How was the concert?"

Lying to a criminal lawyer who's also my dad is probably the most difficult thing I've ever tried to pull off. Especially when every lie has to exclude all details relating to my twenty-five year old boyfriend.

"It was good. I'm good, Dad."

He continues to stare at me intently, not satisfied with my answer. He completely folds back up the paper, for sure done with it. I realize that there's no escape.

"Just good? Aren't they," He gestures, searching for a word to use. "Leaving? Isn't that what you said? They're going on a tour?"

"Yeah," I nod.

"For a whole year," Mom adds over the noise of her in the kitchen.

"It was the last show. They were great, it was a full house."

Dad just nods. Then, he finally looks appeased.

"Well, I better get going." He stands up from the table, sliding into his suit jacket after pushing in his chair.

"Bye, Dad."

His grip is firm on the back of my head as he kisses my crown. He doesn't even attempt to do the same to Shawn, but Layla does get the same treatment as me, before Dad says goodbye to the whole house.

I'm already in the middle of trying to make my own bowl of cereal when I hear the front door open again.

"Who's car is that outside our house?!"

God, I'm so forgetful this morning. What's my problem?

When no one replies, and all that can be heard through the house is Layla's T.V. show, Dad yells again. His accent gets stronger now.

"Chasity Grace, who's car is that?!"

"Uh. . ." I step away from the kitchen counter. On my way out to the living room, Mom's face is confused. She's right behind me, following closely as we both go to face Dad.

He moves out of the doorway, and Mom gasps when she sees Axl's car against the curb, down past the sidewalk.

"Uhm, well you see, Axl didn't want to leave his car sitting in a parking lot for a whole year. It's not good for the engine or something-uh, I don't know. So uh, he's kind of. . . Letting me drive it?"

Dad looks dumbfounded. Mom stares back and forth from Dad to me, just like Layla.

"Ha!" Shawn snorts from the dining room. "He gave you his car to drive? You'll crash it!"

"A car? Axl gave you his car?" Mom asks. I'm surprised as he face goes warm. "What a sweetie!"

"Axl gave you his car?" Dad repeats himself. Unlike Mom, he doesn't look too happy.

All of the sudden, the weight of Axl's letter feels so heavy in my pocket, like a boulder.

"Who just gives a child a car?! It looks expensive. You have to give it back. You can hardly even drive, Chasity! That's why we didn't get you one. You don't need it-"

"I'm eighteen," I correct. "I can't give it back. He's already gone, they all are. And I do need it, I actually might be working with Paul soon, my modeling agent, remember? I told you about that-"

"You've been eighteen for a month!" Dad says, still not having it. "You can't just take somebody's car, Chasity-"

"It's Axl's car." That statement has a lot more meaning to me than it does to anyone else in this room, but it doesn't matter. He's not a stranger to any of them. They've met him more than a handful of times. "He wants me to look after it, so I am. It's the least I can do-"

My father sighs loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose for a second. "I have to go to work, I don't have time for this. A car. . ." He shakes his head. "I have to go."

"Bye," Layla offers sweetly before turning to me. "I think the car's pretty cool. Do you think we can go driving in it, Chasity?"

Before I can speak, our parents beat me to it.

"No, she can hardly drive!"

I feel offended by both of them saying that. What do they know?

"Michael and Axl have taught me a lot! You just don't know because you're both so busy you've never taken me yourselves!"

Actually, Dad and I got as far as the curb once, and then he got mad because I didn't back out "the right way" and shut the whole situation down right there.

"The answer is still no," Dad says firmly, speaking for himself and Mom. "You do not take anybody anywhere with you in that car, Chasity." He points a finger at me, stern.

Mom starts to move towards the door. "Okay, bye, honey! Have a good day!"

I let out a sigh of relief once Dad is outside, and the front door shuts behind him.

It's going to be a long sixteen months, Axl.

( Author's note:

Hopefully you caught the picture attatched to this chapter.

Axl's handwriting is something else. His writing is by far the most interesting script I have ever seen. Did I write those notes??? Did Axl???? I don't know. . .

I hope you guys like the picture and this chapter! Stay safe and stay healthy!

Happy reading ❤ )