Man In The Box
Izzy's POV
So Axl and I are on speaking terms at least. I'm actually rather surprised at how easily he took all this. Maybe it's some side effect of being in my sedated body. Heroin certainly has its ways of taking savage beasts. I honestly expected a fucking fight. But he barely yelled. And it wasn't angry yells, they were pure shock. But now it's cool as a fan, almost as if nothing ever happened. I should be satisfied with this. But I'm not. I didn't want it to be like this. I wanna talk about it, work through it.
I'm not allowed to show the person I love that I love them. I have to stifle the feelings. I have to hold the emotions in me locked away in some dungeon. I can't be myself because Axl's not comfortable enough to deal with it. He knows he needs me for the band so he just wants to shove me in some box and take me out as needed. His perfect performing trained monkey. I got news for him, I'm not his fucking monkey!
I mean, how the fuck is this fair to me? I have to live day in and day out with a love I dare not ever show or mention again. But his majesty gets things to be exactly how he wants them to be. Don't my feelings fucking matter at all to him?! If we're still friends they should, right? What do I get out of any of this besides heartbreak? He makes me feel worthless and unwanted, rejected on so many levels. This is just far too much for me to deal with. I can't do this, I can't fucking do it.
And I know how to fix it all. I have the power to numb it away. I can shoot up. My body's getting sober. This is Axl's body. Axl doesn't seem to have the predisposition of an addictive personality. He won't get hooked. And it won't be like in my body. It won't take much to get me off. Then when I come down I won't go into withdrawal symptoms like I would in my own body. Fuck it, I'm doing it.
So I go up to my room and bring down a hidden stash on the inside ledge of my closet door. I've got my spoon, dope, cigarette lighter and a cigarette filter to use as cotton. I sit it downon my night stand and bow down to the one I serve. A little voice in my head tells me not to do it. But the voice that tells me I should is far louder. I'm sure it's no surprise to you which one I listen to.
I tap the fold of heroin until some drops into the spoon. I draw some water into a syringe from glass of water on my night stand. It's a mystery as to how long it's been there. It's not green so how bad can it be? I drop the droplets in a circle around the powder and stir it all together with a match. I carefully raise it to eye level and strike my lighter under it. It slowly boils and starts turning black on the outer edges. I carefully sit it back down and reach for a cigarette from my pack. I pull a chunk out of the filter with my teeth and drop it into the center of the spoon. Again I reach for the syringe. I start drawing in the dull amber liquid until the spoon is empty. I lay the syringe down again and quickly rip my belt off. I slide my arm in and lean back into my night stand. I reach above my head and feel for the syringe until I find it. I pull my belt tight and hold it in my teeth. I flex my muscle until I see a vein rise for the occasion. I glide the needle in better than any nurse or doctor could ever hope to do. I find my flashback of blood and slowly push down on the plunger my eyes flutter and my teeth let go of the belt.
I weakly smile because this makes me feel impervious to pain. I don't care about Axl. I don't care that I'm humiliated. I don't care if I feel rejection. Fuck, I wouldn't care if we weren't even friends anymore. Im not locked in Axl's box anymore. Now I'm locked in one of my own making. But in my box everything is just ambivalent. There are no emotions weighing me down. There's no pain. In fact, not a whole hell of a lot holds any fucking relevance at all. I have become comfortably numb locked away in my own impenetrable box.
I just want to sit here and enjoy this euphoria until someone drags me away from it. It won't be hard to do locked in my room. Its not like Axl's gonna come looking for me. Slash and Stevie can give Axl my body's daily taper down shot. That way Axl won't have a fit that I put heroin in his precious veins. I really just want to get the fuck out of hell house today. I'm better when I'm alone. I'm not what you would call codependant.
As I slump here reality just fades away into a black void my brain no longer recognizes. For a guy like me this is close to heaven as it gets for me. There's a strange melancholy feeling to feeling nothing at all. I'm in that place now and I never want to fucking leave here. If only every hour of every day could feel this carefree and blissful.
