#slaxl

He slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes. “What the fuck..?” He groaned. She tapped his foot, her face tightening but her eyes still glittering. Slash wished he could flip her off through the camera. He puffed his cigarette, loosely crossing his arms. Smoke huffed from his lips and nose. ‘What time is it?’ He thought, his eyelids starting to sag again.

He blinked, longer and longer. That warm blanket of sleep enveloped him. He slouched more and more until—there it was again. He stared back at himself from the tv, grinning woozily. His head bumped Axl. He sat up. The woman went back to normal, fanning herself while sitting on a marble counter top. This time she talked on the phone.

Slash slowly turned to Axl, who snoozed, hugging a pillow to his chest. His red hair strewn about his soft face. His thick eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks which shifted as the TV lighting changed. Slash paused, wondering how long he’d been gawking. Red in the face, he slowly leaned back. The sofa creaked. He went rigid. ‘Oh shit.’ He thought, wringing his fingers.

He plucked the remote off the nightstand, his eyes ricocheting from it, the TV then to Axl over and over. With heavy, shaky hands, he fumbled with the remove. Trumpets and violins boomed as a soldier crouched behind some rocks. Gunfire exploded. He bit his lip, hitting the button. Voices like mosquitoes churned as women line danced and broadway lights erupted. He smashed the button.

Slash. Wanted. To. Die. Axl flipped on his back. Slash’s heart hitched. He raced to hit the button again as an opera singer screeched. With a sharp sigh of relief, he laid back as a guy in a detective suit bumbled down the London street with his hands slipped behind his back. His footsteps duetted with distant traffic. Slash jumped—a pigeon squeaked. He slammed the button.

“What the hell are you doing?” Axl moaned.

“Sorry..” Slash peeped, changing the channel back to the soap opera.

Axl grunted, readjusting. The pillow fell. Slash picked it up. He wondered if he should readjust it. His heart plummeted, leaving a hole in his chest. He sighed, held his breath then with heavy hands wedged it back beside Axl. ‘Why are you staring??’ He thought to himself before he realized he was looking over how well Axl’s shirt settled on his curves.

He drew back, fidgeting before setting back in front of the TV. A couple glances back at Axl, who was fine. A brunette smacked the blond in the face with a white leather studded purse. She toppled, screaming, hold out her hand in front of her. The other woman spat venom—then a man jogged in. He knelt after pushing the brunette bitch back. Her actress held her mouth like she was trying not to laugh.

She sauntered off in her leopard dress. Her heels clicked before the camera clicked back to the two. The sparkly eyed blond gazed up at her lover. Slash found himself wringing his fingers again as his throat tightened.

He felt like an idiot. Here he sat imagining himself as a fucking soap opera protagonist at probably 4 in the morning. ‘Why?’ He asked himself, his face scattering as he grew more dumbfounded. He scratched the nape of his neck lightly, gulping. Axl tossed his legs on Slash’s lap. Slash blushed harder. He glimpsed at the tv.

The girl and guy kissed in their wedding clothes on a dull sandy beach in front of shimmering navy waters.

‘Could it ever be us?’ Slash asked himself before wondering now why he did.

He pressed his face in his hands. He felt like a total waste. ‘It just can’t be like that’ He thought, ‘I’d never be his type, I’m not good enough for him.’ The thoughts weighed on him like bricks. He wilted in posture, staring at his feet as a slow, lovey-dovey pop song hummed. The credits rolled. He crushed his cigarette between his fingers. His heart wrenched.

‘Whoever she is, she’ll be lucky.’ He thought to himself, ‘At least I have the pleasure of knowing you.’