guns n' roses preferences & imagines

trust issues

axl: He was leaving, again. He had just gotten back. You had seen him for a solid seven hours, yet he was leaving. There was a party on the other side of the city tonight that he had been invited to, one you weren't going to be attending. You knew how the parties always went. They were full of his friends, his girl friends, and you just didn't get along with any of them. You didn't get along with them mainly because they got to spend more time with him than you did, or at least that's the story you were going with. You sit in the office as you hear him pacing in the bedroom across the hall. You were annoyed with him now. He always acted like it was alright that he continuously went out while you sat here at home. Yes, he always asked if you wanted to come along and yes, you always turned down his offer, but couldn't he see this was bigger than that? There was obviously a reason you always turned him down. When was he going to catch on? On the bigger scale, bigger than just not getting along with them, you didn't trust them. You didn't trust them with him. Every single time he went out with this particular group he always ended up on the front of the papers the next morning with a story to explain to you. They weren't very good influences. Your annoyance of them more than likely attributed to them trying their best to get rid of you on several occasions. Axl, of course, never listened to them when they started that talk, always defending you every chance he had. But, you weren't sure why he still hung around people who didn't get along with you. They could say the same thing though. "Have you seen my black scarf?" He asks, leaning into the room. You turn around from the computer to see him fully decked out and ready to leave, minus the scarf he was hunting. "It's in the laundry room, I washed it," you answer simply and turn back to what you were doing. "You washed it? Why?" He sounded confused and annoyed but you didn't care. "It smelled like vodka and weed. Didn't really want that in the closet." He says nothing more as he heads back through the hall to the laundry room to retrieve his now clean scarf. "I'm heading out," he calls out as he walks past your door. It was your turn not to respond. You had gotten over trying to get him to stay home a long time ago. Even though you hated that he left so often, spending such little time with you, there was no point. You were only wasting your energy, and it would only turn into a fight. The only thing you could do was hope and pray he didn't let them influence him too much. You weren't sure what story you were going to wake up to in the morning, but you were certain it would be one initiated by them.

duff: It was his idea. All of this was what he wanted. You were just here to help him out and make sure everything was going to look good. "Just give me your card," you suggest, trying to make this easier on the both of you. You could tell he was already tired of the shopping this renovation was requiring. "No, I'm fine," he counters and you try your best to let his blatant mistrust slide. If he wanted to suffer, let him suffer. You had grown used to him not giving up his money to you. You weren't exactly sure what you had done to cause it, nevertheless you dealt with it. He had never actually said he didn't trust you with his money, but it was pretty obvious. He never gave up his credit card, even though it usually always brought on some sort of hassle for him. You had never been one to spend his money or take advantage of him in any way, yet his actions would say otherwise. "Duff, you're obviously bored out of your mind. I can do this, and you can go do something else." You weren't trying to start a fight in the middle of the store, but your suggestions were frustrating him. "I'm fine," he repeats himself, annoyed. You roll your eyes and continue to look at the selection of subway tiles in front of you. The kitchen, that's what you were focusing on, or at least you were supposed to be. You hear him sigh deeply from behind you. The kitchen, you remind yourself again, this was about the kitchen, not the money. There was no need to confront him about it, especially not here. The last thing you needed to do was cause a scene in a home improvement store. That would be one hell of a story to explain. "Do you think the white, or the blue?" You question, ignoring his obvious irritation with the situation. You kept reminding yourself he was causing this on his own. It had nothing to do with you. You had done nothing to make him question your loyalty to his money. You were here picking out things to renovate his kitchen after all. "Are you going for the underground look?" You couldn't tell if he was being serious and just hateful or realizing his attitude and trying to joke. You turn around to face him. "Are you?" Serious and hateful, that's what he was being. You shake your head, not wanting to deal with him. You had already discussed your plans for the kitchen with him weeks ago and he had agreed on everything, even saying he loved everything you had put together. You weren't going to fight with him, even though the urge to was filling your body quickly. You take the sample of the white subway tile in front of you and head to the counter to request enough for the backsplash. The kitchen, this was still about the kitchen. You would deal with him later when fewer ears were listening.