The Garden

I would never hurt you

            Axl's head whirled, his legs, already weak, were threatening to buckle under him. The floor dipped and swayed beneath his feet like the crashing waves of an ocean, the ringing in his ears drowning out all sounds as the waves swept him away in the wind. He was dizzy, he could hardly even keep his eyes open, and his stomach was suddenly sick. His body overheated, he couldn't stand up. Everything around him sounded muffled and distant, and as the world spun, making him nauseous, he almost toppled over. 

He could hardly even see the scene before him, his eyes and mind racing with horror, dread, and pain. He had walked through the door, and when the world froze, he found Slash, the man he had previously spent the night with, told things he would never tell to anybody, who he trusted, now stood over a man, the man who had attempted to abuse him, his unconscious, maybe even lifeless body, with dagger in hand. 

Axl clung to the doorframe to keep from falling, and he closed his eyes in terror. He was frozen in place, he couldn't think, he couldn't run, he couldn't talk, he could hardly breathe. He felt all the air in his lungs leave from his body, and wheezed and panted, his shoulders heaving desperately trying to breathe, but he couldn't. 

He wanted to scream, he thought he should run, run for his life, because he just had sex with a murderer, but his legs couldn't move, and his mind was swarming with so many thoughts, questions, and screams of terror he couldn't even tell his own body to move. 

Axl could hardly even hear Slash's distorted, hazy voice in the distance, his voice sounded scared and nervous, but Axl couldn't even tell what he said, everything was so far away, the ringing in his skull overwhelming all of his senses. He couldn't open his eyes to look at him, the room spinning so fast, and he was afraid of what he would see if it were still. He thought he should run out the door, run and run and never come back, but he couldn't move. 

Axl felt a tentative hand on his shoulder and he jumped away. His voice couldn't cry out for help or anything, all that escaped his throat was a small squeak, trying to take in air. He heard Slash's faint, hazy voice in the background behind a wall of muffled noise and the screech-like ringing in his ears, "...aAxl, Axl breathe you're having a panic attack," his voice betrayed the obvious fear in his tone. 

Axl panted, his voice wanted to scream but he could only reply with a voice-crack, barely audible, "Don't- Touch- Me!" 

Axl felt his feet twitch and his legs shook as he turned with the urge to sprint out the door, but he could only subtly move. He felt two strong hands on his shoulders holding him still, and he felt his body shaking madly, but as his nerves regained feeling, he writhed viciously and wildly, trying to escape Slash's grasp. Vision slowly returned, the air in his lungs still dangerously low. But he managed to let out a sharp scream of help. 

He knew Slash was talking in a repeatedly low tone, as if trying to quiet him but Axl couldn't even understand him through his own cries and the ringing in his ears. He was cut off when he felt a hand cover his mouth, silencing his screams, and he was lifted off his feet. Axl thrashed desperately, flailing and kicking his legs and throwing his arms, trying to breathe. 

His mind screamed short sentences at him, and he was terrified of the fact that these short sentences were going to be his last thoughts before he died. He always imagined that his death would likely be predictable, Axl would be able to tell it, and he could accept his fate. But he never thought this was how it would be. 

He wanted to have final thoughts on his life, to reflect, to give himself some closure before he was killed and Satan finally took his soul to where it belonged. 

But he couldn't even think about anything like that. His body was cold and numb with dread. He had a feeling some day he would die from being murdered, he was a bitch, he worked in a pretty shady place, he did some pretty shady stuff with some pretty shady people, there was bound to be somebody in that line who was willing to do it.