(TW: mentions of drugs and drug use.)

It's my turn to console Frances now.

Every few seconds, our cab driver turns slightly to look back at her face. She's been dry heaving the entire ride. I'm convinced he's afraid she'll throw up all over his backseat.

"We're going to be in the same room as them," She moans. Her hands clutch at her head like it hurts. Like she's in agony over the entire situation.

Meanwhile, I can hardly wait.

"Oh, c'mon! Don't say it like that! It's gonna be fun," I tell her. "I don't know why you're so worried."

I mean, I could probably throw up right now if I really tried. But the knots in my stomach are good. All week, they've been bad, each runway show bringing a new wave of anxiety. But today? It's just pure excitement.

Axl. Duff. All the guys, really. Home. Finally, home.

"Chasity," Frances starts, peering up at me through her fingers. "I don't know them like you do."

"Yeah," I agree. "But they're not these scary rockstars you think they are. They're dorks! You've met Duff. He's totally cool. I don't think we're going to get to see them before the show. We're already so late," I lean forward to see the tiny clock on the dashboard. According to what it reads, the show started thirty minutes ago.

How sad. . . Axl's probably shirtless by now. Hot stage lights, the crowd. . . Definitely all sweaty. Goregous. Godly. Hopefully we make it just in time to see one song. Please, God. It's So Easy would be good. . . He always gets so into that one. . .

I almost want to tell the driver to speed up. But I pull the reigns in on my self control as I listen to Frances' concerns.

"God, I can't do this!" Her voice raises as she pulls her hair at the root. "I can't! I'm too nervous. He is totally hot, Chas."

I nearly gag. Oh. My. God. "Frances Hall! He's in love with Mandy! They're going to get married. Fran, you can't like him!" The driver stares at me now. I pretend to ignore him as my eyes feel like they're going to pop out of their sockets. I stare at Fran, wide-eyed. So that's what this is about. A crush.

Usually I'm the one losing their mind over a boy. . .

"Well sorry about it! I can't just not like him, Mandy or no Mandy! He's too attractive! I've listened to his music for too long to just not feel feelings about him, Chas! Meeting him just made it worse! You're right, he was really cool. So nice. And cute!" A red blush takes over her whole face as she looks at her heels.

She's dressed for a party. Like the ones we've been dragged to all week. Fashion parties. Backstage, at clubs all over the city. People stand around listening to instrumentals, eating tiny sandwiches, drinking tiny drinks, and talk about whatever it is they do. We mostly kept to Paul's side and didn't speak unless spoken to. I think we were just too exhausted by that point every night to make any effort at putting ourselves out there. We blended in there alongside other models, looked the part in casual dresses and pretty makeup. But tonight? Fran will look out of place. She'll stand out. I bet it was her plan all along. . . Trying to get Duff's attention! Ha!

I shake my head as I squeeze the leather jacket slung across my lap tighter. I'm wearing what I always do (much to Paul's dismay,), my jeans and a Guns N' Roses t-shirt and high tops, the same dirty ones. My makeup is still done from this morning's Perry Ellis show, and my hair, which nobody knows about. That's bound to get their attention. Well, maybe. If they're sober enough to notice.

Instead of Paul carting me out of the taxi, I have to practically carry Frances out of it. The New York City streets are still flooded with people as we hurry to the club door. There's no line waiting outside by the bouncer, as I'm sure there was before the show started. All it takes is a flash of my laminated Appetite for Destruction All-Access Pass for the man to let us inside. Frances has trouble with the long, sprawling flight of steps up to the actual concert hall, but I refuse to slow down for her. The wooden steps shake with every note the band plays and the rumble of crowd's footsteps above us. We're too close to slow down now, over a month in the making. I can hardly breathe, let alone listen to Frances telling me to wait for her.

Daydreaming about this moment didn't compare to what it's actually like. The bar is packed, and the crowd that leads up to the stage is wild, one huge sea of chaos. I consider trying to cross it, to wedge myself in between all the bodies and the metal barricade. To get front and center, where Axl will see me. But when I do a double take back at Fran and her strappy heels, I know it's a lost cause.

And I was right. Axl is shirtless. Even from all the way over here, at the very back of the crowd, I can tell that he hasn't changed one bit from the image of him in my head that I summon into focus often. Every bit of him is just as goregous under the stage lights as he sings. He moves so quickly, but so gracefully, too. He never collides with Izzy, or Duff, or Slash. They all coexist perfectly, and so does their music. They're tight, and the crowd knows it. The current song they play, Paradise City, ends and I worry that all the cheering and stomping and screams will damage my hearing. But it's a relief. They survived, and so did I. A month out at tour, and a week of modeling. And even if they don't know I'm here, they're expecting me, and it's just a matter of time before we're all laughing again. Even if Frances will be trying to make a move on Duff all night long, I don't care.

Axl, Axl, Axl. I've missed him so much.

He's so charismatic, and everyone knows it. I don't feel jealous as I watch girls near the front row reach up and try to touch him when he gets close. I see and feel their longing for him all the way over here. It's obvious, their desire for him. For Axl Rose, the rockstar, the enigma, the lead singer of Guns N' Roses. I get it, wholeheartedly, I understand. But they don't know him like I do. I'm the one who's going to be stealing glances from him the rest of the night, until we're alone. If, we get to be alone.

I hope so, Axl. Please, please, please.

I don't realize the show has ended until Frances is yelling over the crowd at me. "Where do we go now?!"

"Backstage!" I holler with a grin.

It's not hard to find the stage door, and it doesn't take much convincing to the roadies to let Frances through with me. The grimy hall is narrow as we walk down it, past the band's gear. Frances whines as she has to press the back of her pink dress against the dirty walls to let some crew members pass by us. I laugh, but it's cut short once I just know that the door a few yards away is the one we're looking for. It's propped open slightly, and I can hear their voices.

When I hesitate, so does Frances.

"Oh my God," She pants. "I hate you for bringing me here."

"You'll get over it," I mumble. My hand gets closer and closer to the doorhandle every second, but for some reason, I feel like I'm moving through sand. Slow, sluggish. My brain can't keep up, can't comprehend all the joy I'm about to experience. I crave it now more than anything, to see the boys. To be home.

Then, it happens all at once.

I pull the door back, and walk through it. This dressing room is built like all the others, a leather sofa and mirrors and alcohol everywhere. Plus, five long, lanky men take up nearly all available space. Their voices come out all in the same roar.

"CHASITY!"

It takes everything in me to not charge at Axl first. To slam his sweaty body to the floor, and give him the biggest kiss. But really, I don't have to do a lot to hold myself back. Duff's arms do the work for me.

"Hi, honey! Oh, Chasity," Duff's voice is ecstatic in my ears. I blame it on the vodka that he smells of. He squeezes my ribs so tight that the tips of my converse drag on the ground as he lifts me up. "I missed you. I missed you so much!"

"I missed you too, Michael," I beam. I really did. I missed him with every ounce in me. I hug him twice as tight as he hugs me, for Michelle. I know she's upset that I'm here without her. "I missed you so much!"

Duff spins me around, laughing. It makes me shriek.

"God, I didn't know what I was gonna do if I didn't see my Chasity Grace soon!" He finally puts me down, grinning.

"You've survived just fine without me. You're still standing. No broken bones. No black eyes. You're not in jail," I shrug.

That makes everyone laugh, until Steve gasps.

"Kid, what'd you do to your hair?! I swear, it's different-"

Duff pulls me into his side, arm around my shoulder. He presses his cheek to mine as he crouches down, like he's making us pose for an imaginary photo. "We look even more alike now! Call her Michelle and I's twin! We're triplets!"

I roll my eyes. My hair is still very much dark, and the lightest parts don't even come close to his and Michelle's platinum, almost white blonde.

"Yeah, yeah," Slash shakes his head, curls bouncing. "Quit hogging her-lemme give the girl a hug."

With a sigh, Duff fully releases me. I'm pretty much passed person to person, from Duff, to Slash, to Steve (who pets my hair), to Izzy. To Axl.

Pain bubbles up in my chest as I hug him, but not for long enough. It's hard to hide the tears as they well in my eyes. My throat physically itches with all the things I wish I could say to him. My skin burns where he touches it lightly-he doesn't hug me tight-how I want him to. How I need him to. Our embrace lasts for less than five seconds, and his smile is tight. It doesn't stretch wide, his eyes don't crinkle how they always do.

"Hi, Chas."

"Hi, Axl."

We act practically like strangers. This is the part I must've neglected to include in my fantasies of our reunion. I should've known it wouldn't be so sweet. Of course it has to be like this in front of everyone; cordial, cold. Not genuine. A show, an act. Like we're both onstage, giving the performance of our lives right now. And we're good at it, too. No one bats an eye as I quickly throw myself into introducing now neglected Frances. The guilt of just abandoning her by the doorway as I got swept up in hugs fills my chest, and sucks up any tears that threatened to fall. It's the perfect distraction, and I let myself get caught up in introducing Fran.

Of course, the guys welcome Frances as if they've known her as long as they've known me. Duff hugs her too long for my liking (and Mandy's, I'm sure.) Axl is kind and funny, mentioning that he's heard a lot about her (from me.) I watch Frances grow more comfortable as I lead her towards the cooler, where there's beer and Coke-A-Cola. Sodas in hand, we sit next to each other on one of the cool leather sofas.

Then the interrogation starts. It's totally one sided. It feels like an interview, all the guys asking questions about what we've seen and done all week while here in New York. How long our days are, if we've been eating, what it's like to wear the clothes, be backstage. How you can't see anything but camera flashes and shadows of the crowd from the tall runways and bright lights. They tell us that that's what it's like to be onstage, which I find interesting.

Axl has his stage, and now I have mine. We've found some common ground that never in a million years did I ever think we would. Crazy. . .

When Izzy asks if there's a lot of naked girls, Duff slaps him upside the head. "That's my sister, you fucker."

I pull my lips together to keep from laughing at Izzy's face as he rubs the spot where Duff slapped him. Frances laughs into her Coke can.

"Are you still single?"

That question comes from Steven. He peers at me through his bangs with curious, wide eyes. There's no joke behind his words, like Izzy. He really wants to know.

Oh, God.

As I look to Duff, he speaks the second we lock eyes. "Jesus, you guys!" His gaze leaves me as he moves to Izzy, then Steve. "Did you suddenly forget who you're talking to?! Chasity is just a kid-"

"She's eighteen!" Steve defends himself, and also me, I guess. He raises his hands up, voice on-edge.

Izzy snorts, and I watch Axl jab him with an elbow as Duff goes on.

"So?!" Duff wrinkles up his nose. "Chasity does not have a boyfriend. She never has, and it's going to stay that way for a long time if I can help it."

I struggle with what approach to take with that last part. It's a relief to know that this tour hasn't led to Axl and I's downfall (at least not yet.) I feel proud of him. He's kept it under wraps, which I know can't be easy. I try not to smile as I think about it, how happy I am with Axl right now. I slip him a glance, a small smirk as Duff continues to bicker with Steve.

But Axl isn't paying any mind to me. His forehead is creased as he watches Duff and Steven. Izzy continues to laugh beside Axl, which makes me wonder just what it is that he finds so hilarious. Weird. . .

But on the other hand, I feel annoyed with Duff. Hurt. He thinks I'm that immature? So childish, that no one can, or should take me out on a date. He thinks he has that much say over my life? That just because he thinks I shouldn't date, that I won't?

Oh, Michael. If only you knew. . .

"You failed to mention that he's so overprotective," Frances whispers into my ear.

"I did tell you, you just forgot because of your ridiculous crush on him," I murmur back.

Duff and Steve are still going at it, and I finally decide what stance to take in order to keep the peace.

"I don't even have time for a boyfriend," I shrug, mostly looking at Duff. "I'm so busy, all the time." Hanging out with Axl. . . Thinking about Axl. . . "I don't know how I would make time for-for that," I gesture aimlessly, unsure about what I'm searching for next. "It sounds tiring-"

"Good answer, kid." Duff looks pleased with me just before he throws back the rest of his drink, and glares at everyone but Fran and I. "Next subject."

The night continues on like this, questions and answers and bickering. We learn that the guys don't have much to comment on when Frances and I ask the questions. They keep it vague. Crowds are huge, their merch is selling well, and they've been trying to make it onstage on time. Record sales are still lower than what they'd like, but they're keeping the faith, as am I.

Nobody mentions the fact that there's an entire trash can full of what appears to be condoms, a sad attempt at trying to shield me. They also don't mention all the empty alcohol bottles everywhere, or their appearances. The longer I look at them, the more I see the effects of touring. Tired eyes and blue circles. Greasy hair. Bitten fingernails. The lazy energy circling in the air above their heads, the general feeling of being too relaxed. Numbness.

Out of all of them, Duff looks the worst. The more time I spend with him, the more apparent it becomes.

I know that seeing him like this will make it hard for me to sleep tonight. It'll make it hard for me to tell Michelle when I get back to Los Angeles. I debate on whether or not I even will tell her everything I'm seeing, and not seeing.

But Axl. . . Oh, Axl.

His spirit calls out to me, bright and focused. There are no clouds in his orbit, no storms raging. Those green eyes aren't hazy when they steal mine for the quickest seconds. There are no dark shadows, nothing more than what's to be expected while on a sixteen-month bus tour. Him, I can speak confidently about.

The others? Not so much.

I'm the one who calls for an end to the night. And not for my sake, but for theirs. If I could personally see them all to a meal (a real one, not McDonald's), and then to their beds, I would. But they're grown men, and although I wish I could intervene, ask just what it is they're getting into, I don't. I simply ask to go to the hotel. I say it's late. They listen.

It's a hassle to try and gather them all up. Alcohol isn't allowed outside the dressing room or the designated bar area. Steven and Izzy have a stand-off with the venue's security about the beer they're trying to take out with them, and eventually, Duff and Slash come to their defense as well. Doug manages to talk down the bouncers, to just let us leave through the back door, and we'll be no more trouble. Finally, they agree, and the dark alley we walk down would terrify me if I wasn't with the guys. Frances doesn't seem too convinced, though.

"It's fine," I murmur to her. The night is hot, and the city is still loud with traffic. At the end of the alley, the street is still packed with cars.

"Is it, though? They're so drunk," Frances laughs as she points at Steve and Slash, who lean on each other as they stumble ahead of us.

"They'll sleep it off," I say. I can't tell if I'm trying to console her, or me anymore.

When we come up to three taxis, the hugs ensue.

Duff squeezes me tight. Even with Lord knows what coursing through his system, his grip is still as tight as it was earlier. Like he's afraid to let me go. "Bye, Chassy. You know where you're going, right?"

"Of course," I reassure him. I wrote the hotel address on a piece of paper, which I stuck in my purse. "I'll see you tomorrow, Michael. I love you."

"I love you, too."

I peck his cheek lightly, my hand still firm on his arm. "Get some sleep, please. For me, and Michelle."

I leave him with that, and one last meaningful look that I hope conveys what I know.

"Bye, Chassy!" Steven whisks me up in his strong drummer arms, laughing. "You'll be at the show tomorrow, right?"

"Of course!" I don't have any shows of my own tomorrow, except for one in the morning. I'm sure none of them will even be awake until after that, though.

Frances is busy chatting Duff up, and Slash is unavailable for a hug as he dry heaves over the curb. Izzy holds him up, and above them, Doug loudly threatens to take alcohol out of their rider completely

Wide-eyed, I turn away from that scene, only for my gaze to land right on Axl.

Just looking at him soothes my soul. He's like a shining beacon against the rest of the guy's mayhem. He's safe and beautiful, just as he would be on any other day. He stands with his thumbs hooked through his belt loops, like he's just been waiting for his chance to have my attention.

I give him all of it. I practically forget where we are as I move in to hug him so fast that I get my arms around his waist first. I let everything melt away, and my head empties as I listen to his heart. Strong, steady. When I sigh, so does he.

The seconds pass, and I know that he's going to say something. Put an end to it, the sweet relief of being in his arms again. I wait for it, bracing myself for how much it'll hurt when he pulls away. Except he doesn't.

His chin comes to rest on my crown, and I hug him tighter.

"What room are you in?"

"What?"

"What room are you in," Axl repeats lowly.

I already forgot that we're staying in the same hotel. When Doug revealed that we're all at the same downtown address, I almost couldn't believe it. Axl had looked at me when he said it, but I didn't think that anything would come from it. Nothing but a heightened sense of anxiety that would keep Axl far, far away from my room. But now, he's asking for it.

I don't deny him. "1307."

Behind us, I hear Doug's loud "You're okay, Slash! Let's go," and France's promises of trying to make it to the show tomorrow to Duff.

It's time to go.

Axl releases me, and his voice becomes casual again, upbeat. Any traces of the intimacy in his words, or our hug are long gone.

"Bye, Chas. See you tomorrow!"

"Bye, Axl!"

He takes the liberty of opening the cab door for Frances and I. We slide in, and all we can manage are final waves before the cab pulls out of the parking spot, and I have to rummage through my purse for that piece of paper with the address.

After reading it off to the driver, Frances and I don't speak much. She's like me in the sense that she has a lot going on all the time. So, we just hold space for each other to retreat into our heads. And I do. I fully dive in, unpacking the night.

They're doing drugs. I know they are. They didn't look god-awful, but they looked like they've seen better days. Better days in California. Where they somewhat have schedules, and laws apply to them. Where Michelle and I are in their lives, and we keep them grounded to Earth.

I'm not completely clueless. I took health class. I've seen the pictures of meth-mouth and heard all about what drugs do to your brain. Back when Duff came home from his extended trip to Seattle, Alice had cried and screamed. She found weed in his backpack, and something else. He was around my age at that time. Michelle and I were too young to really process it, but it made everyone concerned. Since that incident, nothing else happened ever again.

To this day, I still have never seen any drugs other than that small bag of weed on the McKagan's kitchen table. I can still hear Alice's yelling, and Duff's retorts back at her. That was the first day I really heard him yell with his deeper, adult voice. He didn't have it before he left for Seattle. It was new, hell, he was practically new. A different version of my brother. One I had never seen before. And it scared me, even as a kid.

It would be naive of me to assume that Duff has stayed away from things ever since then. I know what their songs are about. Tonight is something that cannot be denied, and he definitely seemed to be doing the worst out of them all.

Maybe it's other bands. I've heard things about The Cult. Alice Cooper. It makes me angry at people I don't even know. It makes me want to hop on the tour with them, just to make sure they're not slowly killing themselves.

Slowly killing themselves. . .

Fear makes my hands shake as I hold my leather jacket to my lap. I suck in a deep breath. It hurts, adds fuel to the pain in my chest. Those same feelings from when Duff fled to Seattle and nobody knew if he was even alive pool up inside me. After tomorrow, they're going back out on their own. I fly home the following day. I won't see them for a while. And now, the entire time, I'm going to truly worry. This last month was just a small preview for how I'm going to be now on.

My hands continue to shake as I pay the driver, taking singles out of France's hand for his tip. The cab drives off after dropping us at the front of the hotel. It's late, so there's not much people out, even though there is still traffic. The band hasn't made it here yet, but I'm sure they're only a few minutes behind us.

I decide that I cannot stomach seeing them again tonight. I need to regain my bearings. I could break down. Lose it, when I'm not even fully sure just what it is they're up to. And that's something I definitely want to avoid. Frances looks beat, her yawns coming in every minute or so.

Once we're in the elevator, she looks at me, smiling.

"You're so lucky you got to grow up with them. They're so much fun, so cool," She yawns wide, eyes shutting. "Ugh. So tired. They're truly something, though."

"I am really lucky," I agree. "I feel like I don't deserve them sometimes."

Frances meets my eyes just as the elevator goes ding! and the doors slide open to our floor.

"Chas, you do deserve them. They need you, you know? You're all so perfect together. It's such a treat to see, really."

I can't help it as my eyes water. "Thank you, Fran. I had a lot of fun with you today."

We stop in front of her door now, at the opposite end of the hall from mine. The entire floor is quiet, except for us.

After we say goodnight, she heads inside, and I go off to my room.

Finally being alone makes my thoughts worse. At first, I just lay back on the huge white bed, and stare up at the tall white ceiling. I don't turn any lights on. I nearly trip over last night's pajamas on the floor on my way to the bed. The heavy curtains over the big window drown out any noises of the city below, which makes my head loud and clear.

It's like swimming through crowded waters. The wave pool in the heart of summer. I want to help, but I can hardly stay above the huge motions myself.

This week has been hard. For the first time, I'm on my own. My parents haven't been here. I've called every day to check in, but it's not the same. It's hard to sleep in an empty hotel room, even if it is beautiful. I haven't fallen on my face on any runways yet. I've tripped a couple times backstage, but I've caught myself every time. The days are just so long, riddled with anxiety about what will happen next. I'm constantly meeting new people, introducing myself. It's weird, because for my entire life, I knew everyone I was around for years. But here, I don't know a single soul. I'm alone.

Now Axl is here, I'm not alone, and I've already been in my room for an hour now. The red numbers read that it's after midnight.

I sigh loudly, making a show of it, even though I have no audience. "He's not coming. I'm not going to see him."

The room stays still and quiet.

"I'm sure he's exhausted. He did look very goregous up there tonight as he worked. That is his job, after all. Looking like a rock n' roll god," I laugh to myself, cracking a smile. "But he's not coming. It's late. . ."

It takes a lot of effort to make myself stand up and walk into the bathroom. On the way, I ditch my tight jeans next to yesterday's pajamas. One nice thing about being alone is that my mom can't yell at me for having a messy room.

I go through all the motions. Brushing my teeth, washing my face. Paul gave me all these creams for my skin, and made me swear to use them religiously. I have been, but I can't tell the difference. Frances still has to cover up my red spots every day with foundation.

I leave the bathroom light on as I walk back out to the bedroom. I have to squint through the darkness to find the navy colored t-shirt I'm looking for, but it doesn't take any more than a few seconds. Axl's scent is long gone from the oversized thing, but I put it on anyway.

The sheets are cool against my bare legs, making me shiver after I climb into bed. Paul has been pounding on my door every single morning at seven on the dot, and I'm sure tomorrow will be no exception.

It takes a few minutes to get comfortable, but eventually, I feel lighter and lighter, closer to sleep.

●●●

The grass I lay on itches, but in the best way possible. Blue skies stretch above, interrupted by ancient oak trees. They sway with the wind, but don't provide relief from the hot sun.

The California sun. I'd recognize it's humid heat anywhere.

"What's wrong, Chas?"

It feels like it takes minutes for me to sit up. My limbs feel heavy, like stone.

Axl stands above me, and I have to squint to make out his figure against the sky. At the same instant, I get confirmation that we are in California. We're at the park just a few blocks from my house.

Just as slowly as I sat up, I turn to look behind me. The big primary-color playground is the same as it has always been. Michelle and I used to climb the monkey bars. She sprained her arm once on them. Duff wasn't watching us closely, and she just fell, her grip giving out. Of course, she cried. So did I, because at that age, anything she did, I did. I almost fell on purpose a few days later, just so that we could've had matching arm slings. But Duff caught me in the act. He carried me all the way home over his shoulder that day. . .

"Chas."

My head turns too fast now. Axl still stands in the way of the sun. I feel my face pull into a frown as I look at him. He's dressed for a concert. Snakeskin jacket, leather pants. He wears a bandana around his head, all his jewelry. All he's missing is his shades. I certainly wish I could wear them. The sun is so bright.

"Something is wrong, what is it?"

I continue to frown now. "Nothing is ever wrong when I'm with you," I counter.

Axl points behind me, without a word. My head turns again.

The playground has changed. Well, something's been added to it. Near it, really. Duff sits on one of the wooden benches. His hair is short, a golden blonde with hints of red and blue fading from the tips. He sits, legs spread, but they're not quite as long as they are now. Not to mention, I haven't seen him wear the Converse on his feet in years. His face is more round than I can recall, like baby weight from childhood.

It's Duff, a couple months after coming home from Seattle.

I look to Axl again. "Why is he here?"

Axl shrugs. "Ask him."

It's a struggle to raise my voice. I feel as though I just can't seem to yell loud enough. "Duff! Duff!"

He just continues to sit, his gaze everywhere but in our direction. He even begins to tap his foot, almost impatiently.

"Why does he look so young?" I say to Axl. I don't wait for an answer. "Hey, Michael!"

I even wave my arms, until it becomes too tiring. They too, feel so, so heavy. Like I'm treading through currents. The sun is still so hot on my face, my legs. I'm wearing shorts.

"I don't know why he can't hear me. I don't understand."

I stare at this younger Duff, helpless. Axl does nothing. He eventually comes to sit next to me in the grass, criss-cross.

"I'm worried about him, Axl. I don't know why he can't hear me."

Axl doesn't say anything. His ringed fingers pick at the grass, strawberry-blonde hair blowing in the wind.

"I don't think he's okay, and I don't know why he won't listen," I say.

I grow more and more restless as my eyes flicker from Duff's motionless figure, to Axl, who still plays with the grass.

Finally, Axl looks up at me, calmly.

"Wait for-"

●●●

The ringing of the phone on the nightstand is loud. So loud, it makes me jump awake.

My hand shoots out towards the reciever, grabbing the phone. "Hello?"

"I knew you were asleep. I knew it. . ."

His voice makes me sit up immediately.

"Axl!"

"I'm sorry I woke you up, baby." He sighs deeply, his voice sounding crystal clear on his end of the line. It's quiet. Like he's alone. "God, what was I thinking?"

Getting cold, I set the phone down for a second to slide back under the thick comforter. My head hits the pillow softly, and I hurry to bring the phone back to my ear. "Don't be sorry, Ax." I shut my eyes as I speak quietly. They're so heavy with sleep they hurt. "It's okay."

"You have to be up early, don't you? Chas, I should just hang up. It doesn't matter, anyway-"

"Wh-at doesn't m-matter?" My voice cracks in ugly places, but I don't care.

"You should sleep, babe. I can hear how tired you are-"

"Coffee exists."

That makes Axl laugh. It sounds beautiful, even more so with my eyes still closed. All my focus is on his voice.

"Since when do you drink coffee? I've never seen you drink coffee in your entire life, honey."

"Since my boyfriend calls my hotel room from his hotel room at," I crack one eye open just enough to see the clock. I was only asleep for half an hour, maybe a little longer. "Two A.M."

He laughs again, but this time, it ends quicker. Silence settles for a moment, and I don't mind it.

"Why aren't you asleep."

Axl doesn't say anything at first. He just sighs again, long and heavy.

"I miss you too much, Chas."

I knit my brows together and frown, squeezing my eyes shut even tighter. "So come here, then."

He chuckles softly. "Really?"

"Yes," I hiss. "Now. It's hard to hold a phone as you're laying down, you know. I'd rather you be here. . . With me," I add.

He sounds as if he's contemplating it for a second.

I whine. "Please, Axl."

I hear him groan. "But, Chassy-"

"Come to my room. Please."

I don't budge.

Finally, he does.

"Oh, okay," He says, almost like he's attempting to sound annoyed. I hear right through it, though.

"I'll be there as quick as I can."

"Bye Axl!" I perk up enough to form my words in sing-song, happiness shining in them.

"Bye, baby!"

I put the phone back on the hook before reaching further, and turning on the lamp on the nightstand. Even that little bit of light makes me immediately cringe, my eyelids crushing together. I rub at them as I groan, wondering if I made the wrong decision.

I'm exhausted. So tired. Today was so long. . .

Then I remember why it's worth it.

This is Axl we're talking about. Axl. Axl, Axl, Axl. My Axl. I haven't seen him in a whole month. Thirty-three nights. Maybe more. So long, that I can't even recall when.

His knock sounds on the door softly, as if not to wake me if I had somehow managed to fall back asleep in just a few minutes. I almost miss it, because my heart is threatening to bust out of my chest from how hard it works. My legs shake as I throw back the covers, attempting to sit up to go open the door. Nerves.

It's just Axl.

Axl, Axl, Axl. My Axl. The God. So beautiful. Everyone loves him, including me. And I haven't been alone with him in so long. I've only seen him in my thoughts, my dreams. Earlier was practically a tease. Not even close to what it's about to be like. Alone, with Axl. For the first time in what feels like forever. Oh my God. . .

Then I remember I better hurry, before he really does think I fell back asleep, and leaves.

I nearly trip over that same heap of clothes I did earlier as I sprint to the door. I let out a yelp on the way, trying to get them into a distant corner, out of the way. Maybe I should've cleaned.

The hotel room door is heavy as I open it with my shaking hands, my legs like the rainbow Jell-O my aunt makes at Christmas.

Somehow, Axl manages to startle me, even though I'm expecting him to be on the opposite side of the door.

I stand stiff, wide-eyed as I take him in. I think my jaw drops a little.

"Hi, baby."

He smiles his dazzling one, and I forget how to speak.

Soundless, I awkwardly shuffle out of the way, so he can come in.

He does, and the door swings shut behind him, locking.

I feel the red seep into my cheeks slow and steady. My ears, too. It burns in the most wonderful way.

"Well, somebody's really happy to finally see me for real." Axl's face starts to go red as he looks at me, and I look at him.

"I-"

Axl laughs, shaking his head. "You make me laugh, Chas. C'mere," He holds open his arms.

That's when I lose it. Everything.

I cry hard. My shoulders shudder against Axl's firm chest, taking each rack of my release with ease as he cradles me to him. Finally, I use my voice. It's incoherent, though. Sobs leave my body, loud and high-pitched. Ugly noises, sounds of pain. Knowing that he can hear me and see me and feel me makes them worse.

"Oh, Chas." Axl's voice is like honey, and hearing it for real, in person, makes me worse.

"I m-missed y-y-you s-so much." My hands hurt as I clench at the t-shirt that covers his back.

"I know, baby. I know, honey. Here, put your legs up. Let me hold you-There you go. . ."

Axl's arms don't falter as he carries me like a little kid, my legs wrapped iron-tight around his waist. The wails don't stop coming, even though my throat and jaw both ache with pain.

"And I know you were b-busy and you w-were w-w-working, but I felt so-so sad when you didn't call, A-Axl. And I'm not mad at you, I just missed you so much. And I didn't know if y-you were okay, or if Duff was okay, or if Steve was okay, or S-Slash, or Izzy-"

Axl's footsteps are noticeable as he talks. "I'm so sorry, baby. I'm an asshole-"

"N-No, you're not!" I cry harder.

I feel him sit down on the bed, and my legs relax their grip on him as I sit back onto his lap. Still attached to his shirt, my fists throb. Through my tears, I look at Axl's face. His beautiful, magnificent eyes. They're pulled into a gut-wrenching expression. It makes me worse. I can hardly choke out my words. "You're the best man I've ever met. I-I l-love you so much! I love you so much, Axl. You're not an asshole. You're so perfect, and I can't believe you even put up with me-"

Axl silences me in the best way possible. He presses his lips to my tear-soaked cheeks with a certain tenderness. "C'mere, come closer. Put your arms around me. Just let me hold you, Chasity."

So I do. I rest my head on his shoulder, my face pressed into his neck that now has light stubble coming in. He smells how he always has, and it makes the tears flow steady. We say nothing as I cry. Axl lays a large hand flat on my back, warm and secure. He rubs slowly as he rocks us in an invisible wind, to the time of a song in his head, which he hums.

When he realizes that my fists are still balled up so tight that I can't feel my fingers, he speaks.

"Let go, Chas. It's okay, baby. I'm not going anywhere." The way he speaks is so gentle, so soft. The way he speaks when it's just us, alone.

I relax my hands without a fight.

I missed him. I missed him so much.

It's so different from how everyone else has been, for so long. My parents, my silbings who fight all day. Not Michelle, though. She's so busy I've hardly seen her. Paul, yes. He's hard on me. Firm, even though I know he has to be. The staff at shows, complete strangers. Screaming my name, hastily zipping me into clothes, poking and prodding at my body.

Nobody has held me like this since I was a child, I think. Nobody has really listened to me since I was last with Axl.

It makes me cry, harder.

Eventually, Axl has to pull me off him so he can take his shirt off. His entire right shoulder is soaked with tears.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry."

He frowns lightly at me. "Don't be sorry, baby." Then his face turns up, into a smile. "You'll be closer to me now."

I don't even realize that I've laughed until I'm back compact against him, his bare chest and tattoed arms now. He continues to rub my back, swaying.

"Whenever you want to talk about this, you let me know, baby. I'll hold you all night."

I didn't think it was possible, but the tears stop eventually. My face is able to relax from it's ugly-sobbing expression. I manage to take in some deep breaths of Axl's cologne, and the conditioner he used in the shower.

"It was hard to be away from you. I felt alone. All I had was your car," I muse, thinking about the Camaro. I miss it. The car.

Without thinking, I speak again.

"Nobody loves me the way you do, Axl. You take such good care of me. I love you so much. And I need your love. I need it so much. I finally realized how cold the world is. How lonely it can be-" My voice cracks. Axl kisses my head, and I find my way again. "This week was so hard. I've felt like I'm going to throw up every single day. People aren't nice here like California. The people who run the shows treat me like I'm just a body, a mannequin. And I can't tell if Paul really thinks I can do this or not. I can't tell if he still believes in me. I hope so. Otherwise, I don't know what I'll do. This was my shot, and the entire time, I was barely keeping it together."

Axl looks down at me, locking his eyes with mine as he pulls one of my hands around his back. He presses kisses my knuckles. "I love you, sweetheart. You're so strong. You have everything you need already, honey. It's in here," He uses his hand to take mine, and lays both of ours over my heart. "You carry enough in here to get through anything, all on your own. I already know you did amazing, Chasity. Don't doubt yourself. Don't be hard on yourself, babe. You're so young that it seems like any mistake you make is the worst thing, but really, it's not. You're still learning. It was just the first week, the first month. You treat yourself how I treat you, okay ? You love yourself how I love you."

He presses his hand into my heart more. "You carry enough of me in here for you, okay?"

Our kiss remains deep as Axl holds my hand over my chest. He feels how fast my heart beats, and it makes me feel even more honest with him.

We both breathe when we pull apart, and I remember what happened before he called.

"I had a dream about you."

"You did?" Axl's tone is like sugar.

"Duff was in it, too. I was worried about him. We were at that park near my house. I used to play there when I was little, with Duff. But he couldn't hear me. He didn't look too good. He looked how he did tonight, but younger. It scared me. It was like a nightmare. Like how tonight was.

"And in my dream, he seemed like he was doing drugs. Like how he seemed tonight. He was too pale and his eyes were too hollow and he just seemed off. Steven was jumpy. Slash was too worn out. Please tell me they aren't doing drugs. Please tell me it isn't bad. Please. I can't tell Michelle that our brother is hurting himself. We've been through so much with him. I already worried so much while you've been gone. It tore me apart every day, and no one even knew. Only you looked sober, Axl. Please stay that way. Please, stay this way-"

I cut myself off as my tears start again. I'm almost annoyed, but the distress is too consuming.

Axl's breath catches in his throat. I hear it, the lump that must be forming there. I've never seen him cry before. The thought of it seems like the Heavens would come crashing down. A God, crying? Weeping? Impossible.

"Oh, Chas. I wish I had the strength to lie to you. I wish I could tell you it's not every day. . . It started a couple weeks ago. There's a lot of stuff backstage, with these older bands, more famous than us. More money, more connections. And they-the guys-they can't stay away. And I can't stop them. I can't stop Duff. He knows I don't like it. I don't like how it makes me-"

My breath catches now, my eyes welling with more tears as Axl admits he's done drugs to me for the first time explicitly. I knew it already. But it still hurts.

"-And I don't do it. I haven't. I like my Jack and Coca-A-Cola and Marlboro Reds. And you. You're all I need, baby. I stay far away from it. And it makes them mad. Duff gets pissy with me. He's so close to catching on to us, Chas. He's convinced I'm with someone. He knows me too well. That love, loving you, has changed me, my entire life. You make me want to be in the moment, always. I don't need that shit. And I don't know how to make them feel the same way. But they know I don't like it. They know you wouldn't, too. I've tried to bring you up to Duff. How it would make you feel if you knew. . .

"And here you are. You know, and you've been crying in my arms, in so much pain. I know about Seattle. And I'm sorry, on his behalf. You shouldn't know. He should've gotten his damn act together, at least to see you today," Axl's voice hardens with fury. "I'm so sorry, baby."

"Please just promise me that you'll try to keep an eye on him. On all of them," I plead. "Or else I don't know what I'll do, Axl. I wish I could be there to stop them-"

"That's not your job, Chas." Axl shakes his head. "You just leave it to me, okay? I've got it. I'll watch out for them. You just focus on you while we're away, okay? Even though it's hard for you. Don't worry about them, I've got it."

His words put me at ease. I know I'll still wander, still picture Duff on that playground bench, empty. But hopefully, not as much. Not as severe.

Axl and I don't speak any more. We kiss, all of them gentle and full of love. They serve as reassurance, connection. Something we lost that we have tonight, and tomorrow only. Then, it'll be gone again. So we kiss like we did that very first afternoon in his car. Butterflies soar in my stomach and the force behind them is slightly hesitant. Innocent. When we pull away, I'm still out of breath, taken away by how Axl makes me feel.

Axl, Axl, Axl.

The last thing I remember before falling asleep is his body against mine, and the nightstand lamp clicking off.