Book 3: You Don't Want My Love (Slash FanFic)

Ch. 21: Wish You Were Here

"Oh, let me help you sir!" Grant had been eavesdropping outside of the bedroom, made obvious by the fact that he staggered forward when I swung open the door. He reached out to steady me but I abruptly recoiled from him, bumping into the door frame as I went.

"I don't need your help." God, I was like a broken record.

"Sir, please-!"

"Seriously Grant, if you value your job at all, fuck off."

I stomped down the hallway, much like a child who had just been sent to his room. I was aware of Grant and Al both following me, but they (wisely) kept their distance. I slammed the door shut as soon as I reached the bedroom, locking the door for good measure before flopping facedown onto my bed.

Geez, why did everything have to be so damn complicated lately? What happened to the good ol'days when I could be as selfish as I wanted to be and nothing ever came of it?

I knew what happened to them. That stupid girl Al barged into my life and turned everything upside down. She was always pestering me to take responsibility for my actions and to be a better person both for myself and for others. She saw the broken man that I was and now-just like with Pandora and with Steven-she was determined to fix me, and I was fighting her every step of the way.

It's not that I didn't want to improve in some ways. Of course I wished I was happier, of course I missed all of my bandmates, and of course I was still all shaken up about how everything had fallen apart the way it had, but why did I have to talk about it? That kind of thing just wasn't for me. I never was the type to sit down and chat about feelings and I wasn't about to start now, that was for damn sure.

Heaving a sigh, I turned my head away from the mattress, gazing around at my empty bedroom. I still hadn't lived here long enough for it to feel much like a home, so there wasn't much to look at except for a few guitars and some suitcases that I had yet to unpack from the last tour. I probably should've asked a maid to do it for me ages ago, but I'd been too busy with Steven and everything else to worry about that kind of petty shit.

My anger was beginning to subside, though my frustrations with myself continued to linger. I let out a low growl, combing my hair from my face as I sat up to fish the pack of cigarettes from my pocket.

"I'm not a bad guy, huh?" I snorted, remembering what Al had said to me only moments ago. She'd seemed really sure about it, though I couldn't understand why.

I lit the end of the cigarette, watching the smoke as it floated in coils in front of my face. My mind was drifting back to the moment when I'd pushed her down onto the bed and kissed her. I had originally done it just to make a point and to scare her, to prove to her that I really was an asshole, but now I couldn't be too sure that that was my only intention. Then, as if to confirm my growing suspicions, my lips began to involuntarily tingle at the memory.

I shook my head furiously, trying to fight the feeling. I wasn't supposed to like it. She wasn't supposed to like it. She was supposed to fight back, she was supposed to hate me. Why didn't she hate me yet?

"Are you satisfied now?"

No. I wasn't satisfied, and I didn't think I ever would be-and that was part of the fucking problem. Whether it was having my dreams finally realized by being in a world famous band, or my insatiable appetite for drink and drugs, it was obvious that there was a void to be filled and even more obvious that it probably never could be.

I eventually stood from the bed and sauntered over to where my acoustic guitar sat cradled in its stand. The motion was pure instinct, I had grown accustomed to picking up a guitar whenever the silence became deafening or whenever my thoughts became more than I could handle. I needed to fill the emptiness that surrounded me. What should I fill it with today?

I plopped down on the mattress with my guitar in hand and began to pluck the strings, taking my time tuning each one that sounded out of place. As the notes became clearer, the random plucking became an all too familiar tune, and that familiar tune soon evolved into a definite song. It was like my fingers were moving on their own, conveying a message directly from my heart, a message that my brain had yet to understand.

"So...so you think you can tell..." I whispered to myself. I was no Axl Rose, but I still liked to hum or whisper along to the songs anyway. This one especially was hard not to sing along to. "Heaven from Hell...blue skies from pain...."

My cigarette desperately needed to have its ashes tapped off, but I didn't bother with it. Instead, ashes began to fall like snow onto my torn jeans and decorated my Chuck's as I tapped my toes to the beat.

"Can you tell a green field, from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil...so you think you can tell?"

My lips were moving, my voice was singing, but my mind was back at the hospital. I imagined Steven, surrounded by all of his buzzing machines and Al's yellow roses. I pictured Deanna reading him fan letters and get well cards, holding his hand like her life depended on it-like his life depended on it. I wondered if Izzy was still sticking around there, or if instead he had left to avoid making Deanna uncomfortable. Would Axl come back to check on him, or was that really the last time any of us would see him again? And Duff...

"Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
Did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?"

What had we become? Where were we going? Would we even make it? Izzy was probably the only one who had a fighting chance, but the rest of us...

"How I wish...how I wish you were here..." my voice had gotten quieter, if that was even possible. I could hardly hear myself over the guitar. "We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl...year after year. Running over the same old ground...what have we found? The same old fears...wish you were here...."

Even as the song reached its end, I continued to play, my fingers pressing down on the familiar chords, somehow unable to just let it end. I just couldn't let go. I didn't want to. My hands began to tremble as the tears pricked at my eyes, but I fought the shaking so I could push through and continue playing. Suddenly, I found myself missing everybody, even people I hadn't thought about in years, and the loneliness that flooded over me like a wave was suffocating.

Compared to the cramped living space that we'd once shared with random party goers back when we were just some random broke ass band, this house was an empty shell. Compared to the dream chaser I had once been, I was now an empty shell. I thought of how we used to scrape together change just so we could afford some Night Train, or how we worked dead end jobs just to barely get by. I thought of times even as far back as before the band, back when Steven and I used to play together in the neighborhood. Back when I was obsessed with dinosaurs, which eventually turned into a love for all things scaly and cold-blooded. And then-for whatever reason-I thought once more of Al, leaning over Steven in his hospital room. Then there was Al leaning over me when I'd woken up, and then laying underneath me when I'd pulled her down onto the bed. I could still close my eyes and picture it perfectly: her ponytail all sprawled out around her shoulders, and her eye brows furrowed like they usually were whenever she was looking at me, always furrowed with anger or concern. She was always worrying about me.

The image caused my fingers to abruptly stop moving, finally ending the song for good. I no longer wanted to hold a guitar. No, instead I wanted to relive that moment again, grabbing ahold of Al's arms and pulling her against me. The guitar slid to the ground, letting out a pained twanging sound as it hit the floorboards. The silence had returned tenfold, and with it, the crushing feeling of loneliness. The song was over, everyone was gone, but still it was like the lyrics were stuck ringing in my ears.

"Wish you were here..."

A/N: kind of short, sorry about that you guys!
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