14 years - Axl Rose x OC

26

--August 14th, 1990

Lita Monroe grabbed the Jack Daniel from the bartender thankfully, gripping her own strawberry daiquiri in her other hand, before she walked back to the booth harboring her friends. The Cathouse was packed, and its claw had sunk into the flesh of all the twenty-somethings that danced around tonight.

The semi-circle booth was snuggled into the back corner of the club, away from any prying eyes and cameras that were likely to zoom in on the copious bottles that littered the large table. Lita scooted into the cushioned seats next to Axl, he took the whiskey from her. On the other side of him was Duff and his girlfriend Linda, and next to them were Slash and Della, who, with the drunken groping occurring under the table, seemed to be having a grand time.

"Where's Izzy?" Lita asked Axl, whispering in his ear over the band playing off in the distance. "He left after you did for a smoke," Axl replied, sipping on his drink. This was the fourth time Izzy had left the group this afternoon for a 'smoke,' obviously on edge.

He and Axl had showed up to her apartment early that morning, Axl holding a small bag in his hand while Izzy carried a box of cookies. Lita let them in, rubbing her eyes of their dryness from just waking up. A few of Jack's things still sat outside the door, but she didn't pay attention to that as Axl and Izzy set down what they carried on her counter.

"The big 2-7," Izzy said, opening the cookie box to eat one. It was nine-thirty, but they'd both been up since yesterday. "How does it feel?"

"Like I want to crawl up in a hole and die," Lita remarked, the sleep still evident on her face. Their loud knocking and shouts from outside the door had had her hastily pulling on a bathrobe to get to them before they bothered her neighbours.

"Don't say that–it might actually happen," Axl joked, taking a cookie for himself. "He's right, you can't go around saying that stuff at your age, Lita, it's like superstitious and shit," Izzy said. Axl pushed the striped bag he had been carrying over the counter and into her direction. "I think you mean conspiracy, Izzy."

"Well, it doesn't matter. Either way, I would wait until you're 28 before you say that again," he said seriously. "Ha-Ha, so funny, the both of you," Lita answered sarcastically.

"Open the gift, Leeds," Axl pushed. She grabbed at the striped bag, a messy amount of blue tissue paper was stuffed into its opening, evidence that Axl had tried his best to block whatever gift was inside. The gift was a new record–a compilation of Eric Clapton's greatest hits, and it was the best gift she could get on this random day.

The three of them listened to about half of it together before Izzy left, telling them that he was heading to the balcony for a cigarette. With his words, his physiognomy changed into a more saddened and desolate look. The cheerfulness Lita had seen on Izzy's face during parts of their touring was gone in an instant, and he was back to his lonesome self.

He came back after twenty minutes, sat with them and helped finish off the cookies while Lita put on another record. There they made plans for later that night: Axl called Slash and Duff in her kitchen, telling them to meet the three of them at the Cathouse at eight. Lita called Della and asked her to join, and at that time Izzy slipped out again.

When Axl and Lita journeyed down to the parking lot at ten, making their way to her car to venture down to Santa Monica before they had to go to Beverly Hills that night, they both spotted Izzy: he was leaning against the concrete building, his second cigarette in hand. Axl told him they were leaving, and Izzy waved goodbye, saying he'd take Axl's car to the club later.

When they got to the Cathouse at ten past eight, Izzy was standing outside with his third cigarette. He followed behind Axl and Lita into the club over to a private booth in the corner. Duff and Linda were there already, sipping on individual tequilas, and Della and Slash arrived together around nine.