The Second Coming || Guns N Roses, Bon Jovi, David Bowie

The Second Coming: Thirteen

I laid on the sagging couch, huddled beneath a ragged blanket, and I stared at the wall.

I felt nothing. My stomach never reminded me that I hadn't eaten, my throat never ached for moisture. Drowsiness never came to me, the bruise on my cheek felt like a chasm of numbness.

Sunlight slanted through the windows and disappeared, only to shine in my eyes what felt like seconds later. If I did sleep I never recalled drifting off or waking up. I suppose I was just... existing, but without a purpose.

Thoughts crossed my mind. Jon, Axl. Were they looking for me? Of course Axl wasn't, but Jon?

Calliope.

I groaned inwardly, hugging myself even tighter beneath the blanket. My mind didn't register the puffs of steam billowing from my mouth with every breath I took. I didn't even know what cold was anymore.

Calliope.

I was having another spell, wasn't I? I gave in rather quickly. It was much easier to ride out the agony of seeing Axl again in my dreams than it was to fight him off. It would be more entertaining than just bare existence, I supposed.

But no, it wasn't a spell.

The next thing I registered was Axl's face about a foot from mine. Worry was clinging to his features- in his eyes, the creases in his forehead. He kneeled on the floor in front of the couch, shaking my shoulder gently. He was saying my name repeatedly, but I had just heard him.

"Calliope? God, it's freezing in here! What the hell are you doing?"

I opened my mouth and sucked in a huge breath- it was actually kinda refreshing.

"T-tell... tell Stevie that drugs... are never okay," I croaked, and decided it was time to sit up.

"What?"

I tried to haul my upperbody from the couch cushions, but I couldn't on my own. My muscles were as worn as the fabric composing my blanket. Axl helped me to an upright position, but even then I had to lean back for support.

"Oh, fuck. Calliope," he whispered. I didn't move an inch as he reached up carefully and brushed the surface of my bruise with his fingertips.

He was biting back the anger, I could tell. There was something stirring within him, something that hadn't seen the light in along time.

"It's... it's not bad," I slurred.

"It's fucking cold in here. Why didn't you turn on the god damned heater?"

I shrugged, running a hand through my knotted hair. "I... I don't know, the... the thermostat is so far away, I... I didn't wanna."

The thermostat was on the wall opposite the couch, maybe ten feet away.

He pressed his lips together. "That... that doesn't sound like the you I know."

"Maybe, maybe not."

"How long you been here, Calliope?"

I shrugged again. "A while, I guess. I've just been here... on this couch, since the night of that perfume shoot. I don't think anyone knows I'm here. How did you find me anyway? I didn't tell anyone where I was going."

"Fuck, Calliope! That was three days ago, have you eaten?"

"Nah, but I'm not hungry though."

It all came rushing back to me, every memory and every thought- it all came with a vengeance. I realized I'd spent much of that time sobbing, wallowing in my own helplessness. I felt so alone those days I spent on that couch, so neglected. Axl was there and I wanted nothing more than to curl up in his lap, but even in that state I knew I couldn't.