rock n roll imagines 🎸

john taylor - cocaine

warnings: cocaine use, unhealthy relationship issues. if any of these subjects trigger you/make you uncomfortable, please don't read! i love you all so much and i don't want to potentially trigger any of you <3

"john. john, where the hell are you going, you just got home!" i yelled at my boyfriend, john. after a tour with duran duran that had lasted all summer long, he was finally back home and i was ecstatic. until he arrived. he was jittery, his pupils were dilated and he was significantly paler then when i had seen him last.

"john! what the hell? talk to me." he simply walked to the bathroom and shut the door, walking out two minutes later. i dashed into the bathroom, frantically looking around. that's when my eye caught the white power stain on the granite sink. "what the fuck!" i exclaimed, running out to the living room of our shared house. "are you fucking high right now? seriously? is that what you were doing these past months; cocaine?!" 

he rolled his eyes from where he was, slouched on the couch. there were bags under his eyes, looking even more apparent because of his now pasty complexion. he wasn't okay. 

"shut the fuck up and just leave me alone, woman. you're making a big deal out of nothing."

i opened my mouth in shock. he'd never spoken to me like that before. it was like a slap in the face. "don't speak to me like that john! and this is a big deal. this stuff will kill you." i said, lowering my voice as it slightly cracked at the end. i walked toward him, crouching in front of him. i placed an arm on his shoulder. "john you--" my arm was yanked away from him as he pushed me to the side. by now my eyes began watering. but i couldn't cry, i wouldn't let him have that kind of power over me. this wasn't him. he was making his way to the door.

"john, please. don't leave. it's late-- don't go... please." i walked over to him, reaching my hand out to him as he had his back to me. he paused, turning his head slightly, as stoic, blank expression on his face. this wasn't my john. he turned back opening the door and slamming it in my face. "JOHN!" 

i slumped down to the floor, head in my hands. what the hell happened in america over the summer to turn the man i love into a cold, uncaring person? i was sobbing, crouched on the floor. minutes later, i gathered myself. i made myself box mac and cheese that night, having no energy for making a half decent meal. then, i poured myself a glass of wine and watched tv in bed. yep, i had hit that low of a rock bottom. some time past midnight, the door was unlocked, and a tired john walked into the house. 

"y/n?!" he shouted.

"what?!" i shouted back, not in the mood. he made his way into our dimly lit bedroom. 

"y/n, baby, i'm so sorry. i'm so, so sorry. i fucked up. i fucked up really bad." i rolled my eyes.

"you can sleep on the fucking couch tonight." i replied, turning off the tv and turning over, covering myself with my blanket.