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| Pretty Tied Up; A Guns 'n Roses story; Izzy/Axl (slash) | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: June 11, 2012, 7:40 pm (2,327 Views) | |
| Dave's Girl | June 11, 2012, 7:40 pm Post #1 |
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Sanity is entirely overrated...
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Hey guys! This is my first slash story and I'm a little nervous about posting it, so I guess we'll just see how this goes, lol. Guns 'n Roses is one of my favorite bands, so I decided to do a fic on them. The pairing in this will be Izzy/Axl. Um...I guess that's all for now. The prologue starts out in 1992 and is written is Izzy's POV. Please read and review!Prologue Drip, drop, drip, drop. It's a chilly April evening and here I am staring out the window. Rain pelts against the glass and pools onto the ground. My eyes follow the dribbles of water running down the window, but I'm not actually seeing them. Even though I'm staring directly at those clear drops, my eyes are blank and empty. Despite the fact that I am looking, I am not seeing. I jerk myself out of my momentary numbness and blink as I stare around myself. Here I am in a small, quiet house in Los Angeles. The house is very empty and plain. I suppose I could decorate, but the last thing I feel like doing is trudging through the rain and buying home decor. That can wait until another day. Still though, I have to do something. A year ago, my live had been consumed by chaos. As the rhythm guitarist for Guns 'n Roses, there was always something to do or something I should be doing. Either I should be at a practice, at a gig, or I should be traveling around with the band on a tour. But now? All that was over. Guns 'n Roses was history for me. I had quit. Why had I quit? Well, I could probably fill up a novel on reasons of why I decided to quit the band. It wasn't as if I didn't like Guns anymore though. On the contrary, I found that I missed it at times. Whenever you make a decision, there are always good parts to the decision and bad parts to the decision. The good parts that came from ditching the band were that I was finally clean and free at last. I was free to make my own decisions, free to do what I wanted when I wanted, and I was finally free of drugs. It felt good to no longer have heavy metal chains dragging me down towards the pits of oblivion, but... I'm still not happy. Sitting around and staring out of the window is not exactly something I want to spend the rest of my life doing. I know I want to keep playing guitar, but playing without Guns doesn't seem very exciting to me. Playing by myself only makes me feel sad. Something's missing. You know where you are? You're down in the jungle baby, you're gonna dieee! Axl's piercing voice enters my mind. I chew my lip and shift myself into a sitting position as I continue to absentmindedly watch the rain pour down from the heavens. I should be happy to be free of Axl's screeching, ordering, and ranting. He's a handful at times. Well, actually he's a handful all of the time. Yet, for some reason, it feels too quiet without him around. A melancholy smile plays at the edge of my lips as I think of Axl's words swimming around in my mind. Guns 'n Roses certainly had brought me to "the jungle" and Axl was right; I had been going to die. We had all been going to die. Slash actually had died. His heart had stopped beating, his lips had turned blue, and he had died. However, by some paranormal miracle, he had come back to life minutes later. We had all been relieved to see Slash alive again, but I think that was the turning point for me. Did I want to end up killing myself from drugs and other shit? No. That's when I knew I needed out. Still though, the sober life isn't as great as I expected it to be. I thought I would be content, but no, here I am watching the rain and thinking of Axl's voice. It sounds pathetic, doesn't it? I drum my fingers on my thigh and try to think of something else to pass the time. Feel my, my, my serpentine Ooh, I want to hear you scream! There's Axl's voice in my head again. I try to clear my thoughts, but Axl refuses to fade into the background. He's lodged himself in the front of my mind and will not allow me to kick him out of there. As I look down at my fingers tapping against my thigh, I blink and suddenly I remember a day when it was someone else's hand there on my leg. It was ten years ago and Axl was a temperamental, fiery-tempered young man. Axl hadn't had an easy life. He claims to have been sexually abused by his biological father and to have been physically abused by his stepfather. I believe the bit about his stepfather. I'm not so sure about the sexual abuse part though. Axl would have been two back then and sometimes things tend to get a little warped in Axl's mind. Either way, Axl hadn't had an easy childhood though. Religion was forced on him and he was taught that everything was evil. The TV was evil, women were evil, and the whole world was evil. What kind of way is that to raise a boy? Anyone who's raised like that is going to have demons chasing them for the rest of their life. This is exactly what ended up happening to Axl. It was a cool evening in a small rickety apartment in Los Angeles when it happened. "It" was what changed my life for...well...forever. I was sitting by the window not unlike how I am sitting at the moment. There was a cigarette in my hand and I was thumbing through a magazine. Axl was irritated about something or the other. He stomped around the room with a glare on his face. He usually calmed down after five minutes, but today was different. It had been ten minutes and Axl was still pacing. The magazine I was reading was less than interesting and I found myself listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering what was bothering Axl so much. Were his demons haunting him more than before? Were they coming to attack him even now that he was thousands of miles away from his mother and stepfather? Suddenly, Axl was in my face. I don't know how he had gotten there, but there he was. His deep brown eyes stared straight into mine and he murmured, "Izzy? Iz...?" "Yeah, Axl?" I asked, tossing the magazine aside and giving him my full attention. "What's up?" Axl didn't speak for another few minutes and when he finally did, all he said was my name again, "Izzy." "Yes, Axl, I'm listening. What is it?" I asked, unsure what Axl was playing at. However, after a second glance, I noticed something different in his eyes. There was a need deep in the dark pools of brown. It was a need for love, comfort, and care. Axl's hand found my thigh and he leaned towards me, eyes searching my face as he pressed, "Izzy, I need you. They're coming for me. They're gonna kill me..." With that said, Axl had practically thrown himself at me. His arms had wrapped around my neck and his smooth lips were pressed against mine. I had never thought of myself as bisexual before, but in the whirlwind of the moment, I had allowed Axl to lead me to the bed and push me down on the virginal white sheets. After what we did that night, I had promised myself that I would do anything to take care of Axl. He was mine and I was his. I had never felt this way about anyone before. It had been strange to see Axl so emotional. Normally when he got upset, he would kick, scream, and throw things. Only when he was with me could he find other ways to calm himself down. Our relationship lasted...for a while. Why did it end? Well, it was because of my promise to protect Axl. That was what really changed my life. There were things I ended up being forced to do to keep Axl safe. I would do anything and I mean anything to keep him from harm. I allowed myself to be torn open for him and I cried many bloody tears for him. I kept these things a secret from Axl though. He needn't know what was going on. As more years went on, more blood and tears were spilled. I needed something to keep me going and keep me in the band, so I turned to drugs. Alcohol and drugs seemed to be my best friends for a while until I realized that I was flying towards a pit of disaster. I needed to get clean. Now. So here I am, all alone and miserable and clean. I can't help but worry about Axl. What's he doing right now? Is he alright? He needs me and we both know it. I'm the only one with a calm, logical mind in Guns 'n Roses. Axl never thinks things through. He acts on impulse. Ka-boom! Thunder shakes the house and pushes Axl out of my mind for a few minutes. I need to do something, need to distract myself. Determined to forget about Axl for at least five minutes, I stand up and go to the kitchen. I'll make something to eat. I'm not hungry, but cooking will at least temporarily distract me. I open the fridge and find nothing there except some moldy cheese. Great. I'm even forgetting to buy food. I stare into the empty refrigerator and try to think of if there's anything I can make from moldy cheese. Nothing comes to mind. Thud, thud, thud! I kick the refrigerator shut and cross the room to lean on the counter. That's when I realize that someone is knocking on the door. It's not the sound of thunder like I had thought it was. Wondering who the hell could be knocking on my door during the middle of a storm, I brush long black bangs out of my eyes and start towards the door. I hesitate for only a minute before opening the door. Dark eyes glint into mine and a twisted smile grins as a voice says, "Hello, Izzy. Miss me?" Before I can answer or even think, a fist collides with the center of my face and a foot kicks one of my legs, sending me crashing to the floor. My skull hits the tile with a smack and dark circles come rushing forwards to blanket me in a world of black. Am I dead? I can't tell you that because this isn't really where my story begins. It begins in a little place called Lafayette, Indiana back in 1979... To be continued... |
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| Wishful | June 12, 2012, 9:30 am Post #2 |
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Cliff and Lars Lover
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Me likey so far hun, not a big GNR fan but I dont mind them-- I used to have a thing for Gilby back in 2006 Keep going
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| The Cosmic Gerbil | June 12, 2012, 3:13 pm Post #3 |
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Forbidden Forest Ranger
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I am interested too I am wondering what is going to happen next. Poor Izzy, that must have been really scary when he opened the door and got attacked :O
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| Lilith | June 12, 2012, 3:20 pm Post #4 |
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♥ Jaimelicious ♥
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Oh, poor Izzy! I'm worried about him! _OMG! Great work, Amy! I love the narrative! More! |
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| Dave's Girl | June 12, 2012, 8:46 pm Post #5 |
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Sanity is entirely overrated...
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@Wishful: Hehe, you liked Gilby? I love all the original GnR guys except for Slash for some reason. Thank you so much for reading though! It means a lot to me. @The Cosmic Gerbil: Thank you so much for taking the time to read and review! And that's very true; poor Izzy! Any ideas of who might have attacked him?@Lilith: I know, poor Iz! He needs a hug. D: Thanks so much; I'm glad you liked it! ![]() Chapter I The summer of 1975 found me as a young teenager getting ready to attend my first day at Jefferson High School. I live in Lafayette, Indiana. My parents are divorced and although I spend time with each of them, I find that I am mostly living with my mother. She is more laid back than my father and is easier to get along with. Mother works for a phone company and father is an engraver. Lafayette is an extremely small town. Although I don't dislike it here, sometimes I wish there were more things to do. Brushing my dark hair out of my eyes, I start towards the door with my school bag slung over my shoulder. I'm not particularly sure what to expect from Jefferson High School. I've been a fairly good student my whole life. Hopefully, Jefferson won't try my knowledge too much. "Jeffery! Wait a minute," my mother calls to me from the kitchen. I come to a halt in the doorway and wait to see what she wants. Mother comes flying around the corner and hands me a paper bag, saying, "Here's your lunch. Be good and have a nice first day of school. I should be here when you get home." I nod and trudge out of the door with my lunch and my school bag. My mother is a nice woman. She doesn't look much like me with her light brown hair and brown eyes though. I look much more like my father. Regardless, I prefer to spend time with my mother. She doesn't pry into my life like my father does. He likes to know how I'm doing in school and seems to enjoy quizzing me on all my subjects. Since Jefferson High School is only a few minutes from the small house I live in, mother has decided to let me walk there. Taking a deep breath, I start out across the street and glance in both directions for traffic. It seems like there's never any traffic in this deserted, so I don't even know why I bother checking for it anymore. Although it's still September, it's a very chilly day. The wind pushes my hair into my eyes and bites at my skin. I pull my jacket closer to me and try to walk a little faster. I have no idea what Jefferson High School is going to be like and that's really starting to bother me. I didn't have many close friends in middle school, so there's no one I'm looking forwards to seeing at Jefferson High. Although others might consider me a friend, I tend to keep to myself for the most part. I'm shy, I follow the rules, and I'm quiet unless you ask me a question. You're probably wondering why my mother calls me Jeffery. Well, I was born Jeffery Dean Isbell. It wasn't until later that I got the name Izzy. So for now, everyone calls me Jeffery. I don't particularly like the name, but I don't complain. As usual, I keep my quiet. As I approach Jefferson High School, the first thing I notice is that it's gigantic. Well, it's gigantic compared to all the other buildings in our little town anyways. Teenagers crowd around the entrance of the school. Some are laughing and cracking jokes amongst each other, some are chitchatting, and I even see couples making out. I keep my head down and approach the stairs that lead to the school. It's apparent that nobody enters the school until the bell rings. So for now, I just stand by the stairs and wait. Still a bit shy, I glance out from under my dark bangs and observe the people around me. A familiar looking boy catches my eye and waves. "Hey Jeff!" the boy says. I remember him as Brian from middle school. "How was your summer?" "Good. Yours?" I ask him, shaking my hair out of my eyes to devote my full attention to Brian. "Pretty good!" Brian replies. He looks like he might want to talk to me further, but a boy next to him taps him on the shoulder and starts engaging him in what appears to be a very enthusiastic conversation by the way the boy is waving his hands around in the air. Still waiting for the bell to ring, I return my eyes to the ground so it doesn't look like I'm staring at anyone. The concrete of the stairs leading up to the school appears boring at first glance, but if you look at it closer, it appears to be more interesting. There are flecks of color in the concrete. I stare at them more closely and suddenly notice a wad of chewed up gum by my foot. After shifting slightly to my left to avoid stepping in the gum, I feel someone staring at me. Do you ever get that feeling where you can just sense someone is looking at you even though you don't actually see them? Well, that's what it is like for me. I know without looking that someone's eyes are boring right into the side of my head. Feeling a little unnerved, I glance to my left and try to pick out who in the crowd would bother to stare at a gangly, dark-haired teenager. That's when I first see him. Fiery brown eyes are staring straight at me. The boy with these piercing eyes appears to be my same age. He has pale skin, a few freckles on his nose, and flaming red hair. I don't know what to make of this boy. I'm still feeling a little weird with the way he's staring at me. Ding, ding, ding! The bell finally rings and I quickly turn and try to slip through the doors of the school. I get squished and shoved around as everyone tries to be the first to enter the building. I give up on trying to find my way through crowded hallways and just stand to the side while the multitudes of people disperse throughout the school. My first class is art. That doesn't sound so bad, does it? I like art. It seems like it could be enjoyable. As I wait for the hallways to empty out a bit, I notice the red-haired boy again. He makes his way through the masses of people and passes by me in the hallway. His deep brown eyes fix upon me once more and he scrunches his nose up and twists his lips to the side. I can't tell if he's trying to smile at me or not. Feeling shy, I offer him a half-smile just so I don't look rude. A moment later, the boy is swallowed up in the crowd. Forgetting about the red-headed kid for the moment, I start through the hallways and try to find Mrs. Anderson's classroom. Apparently, she's the art teacher. Unfortunately, I'm not sure where in this enormous building her classroom is though. I could be wandering the halls for hours, but thankfully, I don't have to. Five minutes later, I approach a door with a big sign attached to it. The sign reads "Art" and is surrounded by a bright green border in an attempt to appear cheery I suppose. Apparently, the teachers haven't learned that bright colors don't make kids our age any more excited about learning. Figuring it's now or never, I push the door open and step quietly inside. The classroom already appears to be full. All eyes in the room turn to focus on me as I stand awkwardly just inside the classroom. Mrs. Anderson, the teacher, turns and stares at me with bespectacled eyes. I wish I can just disappear. Why does everyone want to stare at me? I'm not that interesting. "You're late," Mrs. Anderson snaps in a tight voice. Everything about her is prim and proper from her neatly ironed dress to the tight bun on top of her head. "Yes, I know," I say quietly, having already figured this out. "I'm sorry." "Well, go sit down in the back there. Let's not waste any more time," Mrs. Anderson says, looking a bit annoyed. Seeing that she is not at all a patient teacher, I quickly step to the back of the classroom and take a seat in the far back. I hope that nobody can see me back here. On my desk is a piece of paper and a pencil. I pick up the pencil and inspect it curiously until I see Mrs. Anderson glaring at me. Gulping, I quickly set the pencil back down and sit up straighter in my chair. "Now that everyone has found their way to class, I will call attendance. When I say your name, you will say 'here'. Do you all understand?" Mrs. Anderson asks us stiffly. Everyone nods and waits for her to start calling attendance. I don't pay any attention to any of the other students as Mrs. Anderson calls names. I'm busy thinking about what we're going to learn today. "Jeffery Isbell?" Mrs. Anderson calls out a minute later, regaining my attention once more. I quickly jerk my head up and say quietly, "Here." "Please speak up, Mr. Isbell. No one can hear you when you're whispering," Mrs. Anderson tells me with a frown before she goes back to calling names. I blush and nod, my head still raised as Mrs. Anderson calls out the next name, "William Bailey?" I turn my head slightly as I notice the red-haired kid from earlier glance up at Mrs. Anderson. He grumbles something that sounds like, "Here." Mrs. Anderson gives him the glare as well. Apparently, Mrs. Anderson doesn't like many of her students. After calling out attendance, she starts explaining what we will be doing in art today, saying, "I would like to teach you about shading. Shading is a very important thing in art. If you cannot shade properly, you will not be able to succeed in your art." I hear a snicker from under my breath and notice that William, the red-head, is folding the paper on his desk into a paper airplane. When Mrs. Anderson isn't looking, William takes aim and sends the paper airplane flying directly at her. My eyes grow as wide as saucers. Never before have I seen anyone act so disrespectful towards a teacher. In this small town, everyone is quite well behaved besides for the few exceptions. William, apparently, is one of the exceptions. The paper airplane goes soaring into the air and seems to fall in slow motion. Everyone holds their breath as the paper airplane smacks Mrs. Anderson right on the forehead. She jerks her head up and her cheeks immediately turn tomato red. Giving the class her famous glower, Mrs. Anderson asks, "Who is responsible for disturbing the classroom?" Not surprisingly, the whole class is silent. William blinks up innocently at Mrs. Anderson as does everyone else. Mrs. Anderson's glare suddenly turns into a smile and she says, "Well, I suppose I will figure out who is responsible at the end of class. After all, whoever wasted their paper on this wretched thing will not be able to complete their homework. That person will stay after class and have a talk with me. Now then, I want the rest of you to practice your shading. Shade the top third of your paper very lightly. Shade the middle portion of your paper a little darker and then shade the last part of your paper very darkly." Everyone nods and gets started on their shading. William no longer looks so happy about his joke. He has no paper in front of him to complete his work with. However, there is an empty desk to my left with a spare piece of paper on it. Usually, I mind my own business, but for some reason, I don't want William to get into trouble. Nobody should have to endure a lecture from Mrs. Anderson. As soon as the teacher turns her back to me, I snag the piece of paper from the spare desk and clear my throat to get William's attention. He seems to be very alert and almost immediately whips his head around in my direction. Nobody else turns to look at me. They all seem to be invested in their shading. Meeting the boy's gaze a bit shyly, I lean down and slide the piece of paper across the floor to him. Seeing what I am doing, William gets an almost confused look on his face as he reaches down and picks up the piece of paper. His expressions seems to say "Why would you want to help me?" Regardless, he picks up the paper and gives me one last glance before he starts shading. He doesn't smile at me, but I don't care. At least I did one good deed for the day. We all work hard on our shading. When class is up, Mrs. Anderson stands at the door and collects our papers as we file out of the doorway. She seems very surprised that everyone, including William, has a paper to turn in. Nobody will have to endure her lecture after all. As soon as William has exited the art classroom, he grins wickedly and slips through the mass of people to his next class. I can already tell that he's going to be a troublemaker. He's probably the exact opposite of me in every way. Still though, there is something we have in common. We're both new to this school and neither of us have a single friend. To be continued... |
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| Achernar | June 12, 2012, 9:57 pm Post #6 |
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I want my dragon back :c
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I just finished the prologue. You write pretty well, I thought it would feel longer. but it turned out to be even enjoyable. You did a nice job, I'm sure more people will "join" in this fic c: |
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| Wishful | June 13, 2012, 4:54 am Post #7 |
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Cliff and Lars Lover
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Oooo, bless I remember starting secondary school that 1st day is so fucking hard and I was slow to make friends as well to know how he feels! |
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| Lilith | June 13, 2012, 12:34 pm Post #8 |
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♥ Jaimelicious ♥
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Oh, poor Izzy! I hope this William doesn't get him into trouble, lol I love your style!
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| The Cosmic Gerbil | June 13, 2012, 6:57 pm Post #9 |
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Forbidden Forest Ranger
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William sounds like he is going to be naughty I hope that he and Izzy make friends
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| Dave's Girl | June 13, 2012, 9:23 pm Post #10 |
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Sanity is entirely overrated...
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@Scarlet: Yay, you read it!!! Thank you so much. Haha, I'm glad it didn't seem to be too long. Thank you again for reading it! ^^@Wishful: Oh, I know! Isn't the first day awful? I remember being so shy and awkward! @Lilith: Haha, it does seem like William is going to get him into trouble, right? Poor Iz! Thank you for the review! ![]() @The Cosmic Gerbil: You're very right about William. He is a naughty boy! Hopefully, they will become friends soon. Thanks so much for reading!Chapter II School continued on that day and nothing all that exciting happened. My next class was algebra. Math had never been one of my skills nor did I like it very much. It was boring and a pain to make a chaotic bunch of numbers make sense in my head. Currently, I'm sitting in the back of class and am staring at the clock. Tick, tock, tick, tock. The ticking seems to be slowing down as the minutes pass or maybe that's just my imagination playing tricks on me. Finally, algebra ends, but Mr. Collins, the teacher, stands at the door with a large stack of papers in his hands. I gulp as he says, "I believe that it is fundamental to practice in order to be good at algebra. Therefore, I will give you homework almost every day in an attempt for you to further understand this branch of knowledge. Please stand in a single file line. I will give you your homework as you go to lunch." My head pokes up at the sound of lunch. Lunch is always good. That means a break from learning and a chance to just relax before I have to search the enormous school for sculpture, my next class. Sculpture sounds like fun, but if my teacher is anything like Mrs. Anderson, then it won't be so much fun. Everyone gets up from their chairs and lines up in a single-file line. Mr. Collins is much better at keeping the class under control than Mrs. Anderson. I join the back of the line so I don't have to engage in any pushing or shoving. As I follow the line to the door, I realize that William hadn't been in this class with me. Hm. I wonder what class he was in. As I approach the door, I keep my head done and take my sheet of homework from Mr. Collins. At least it's just one sheet. It could be worse, I suppose. Mr. Collins is looking at me strange for some reason. I don't think he likes that my hair covers my eyes. I quickly shuffle out of the room and think about how to find the cafeteria. However, I soon learn that it's very unnecessary to worry about finding the cafeteria. Everyone is hurrying along in the same direction. I am easily swallowed up by the crowd and led to the cafeteria without even trying to get there. My eyes widen as I see just how large the cafeteria is. The room is all white and almost too clean. The ceilings are white, the walls are white, and even the tile floor is white. Numerous tables with chairs planted around them are sprinkled across the room. Most of the tables already have people sitting at them. Too shy to join one of the tables with people already sitting at them, I stand awkwardly to the side and look for an empty table. However, a familiar looking boy from not too far away from me starts waving in my direction and calls, "Hey Jeff! Come sit with us for lunch!" I look over and see that it's Brian. I like Brian. He seems nice enough. As a shy smile crosses my face, I go over and sit next to Brian. Brian is sitting with two other boys who appear to be our same age. He quickly introduces us and says, "Jeff, this is Sam and Paul. Sam and Paul, this is my friend, Jeff, from middle school." "Hey man," Sam waves to me. He has short, curly blonde hair and a face covered in acne. Puberty has not treated him well. "Whassup?" Paul asks me. He's a light-skinned boy with dark black hair. He would look a bit like me except that his face is kind of pinched-up looking. Now that we've all been introduced, Sam starts out, "So, guys, what do you think of algebra and art so far?" "Algebra is gonna be a pain in the ass," Sam replies as he opens his bag of chips and pops a few off them into his mouth before handing them to Paul. Paul takes a few chips and passes them around the table. I take a few chips just to be polite. It's best just to try and get along with these guys. Maybe I can make a friend or two. "I know, I hate algebra," Paul agrees with Sam as he opens a can of soda and starts slurping noisily from it. He shudders and adds, "What about Mrs. Anderson though? I don't think I've ever had a teacher who refuses to smile at her class even once during the whole day. Do you think she has a permanent frown on her face?" I open my paper bag and find that mother packed me a sandwich. It's ham and cheese. Although I prefer turkey, ham is better than some things. I take a bite of the sandwich and listen silently to the conversation. Unless I'm asked a question, I usually don't speak much. "Hey guys, did you see that red-headed freak who threw the paper airplane at Mrs. Anderson?" Brian suddenly asks, leaning forwards and speaking in a quiet voice as if he's sharing a secret with us. "Oh yeah!" Sam says, still crunching loudly as he throws another handful of chips into his mouth. "He looks like a girl!" Everyone at the table giggles. Well, everyone except for me. Paul slams his soda down on the table and points out almost angrily, "Did you see just how pissed off he made Mrs. Anderson? That idiot is going to get us all into trouble one of these days!" I continue eating my sandwich silently as everyone keeps gossiping about William. The comments get ruder and ruder until Brian says, "You know what I'd really like to do? I'd like to throw a punch in his pretty little face. Maybe that would teach him a lesson or two!" Sam and Paul burst out laughing as if Brian has just said the funniest thing yet. I don't understand why people feel the need to criticize other people, especially people that aren't bothering them. I just keep silent, but don't make any attempt to stand up for William. As I glance around the cafeteria to distract myself from the conversation, I find myself looking right at William. He's sitting by himself at a table not too far away from the table I'm sharing with Brian and his gang. From the expression on William's face, I can tell he's been listening to us. He doesn't look angry right now. Instead, a deep sadness has pooled in his dark eyes. His pouty lips have taken the form of a thin line and he has his arms wrapped around himself as if he's trying to hold himself together. There's no lunch on his table. Either he doesn't have one or he's not hungry. "The world could do with one less girly freak," Paul is saying, distracting me from William once more. He slams his fist down and grinds it against the table. Smack! Still grinning, Paul asks, "How many punches do you think it would take for me to knock the freak out?" William is still listening to the conversation. His pupils seem to expand and he gets a forlorn look on his face. He looks like maybe he's going to cry, but I have a feeling that he's too strong for that. Still though, I've had enough. Frowning, I point out, "Guys, knock it off. How would you like being the kid everyone picked on?" To my surprise, everyone lets the topic of William go after that. Nobody accuseds me of also being a freak for standing up for the redhead. Hm. Now I'm starting to wish I had stood up for him earlier. As the topic changes to our next class, William looks right at me. There's no gratefulness in his eyes. Actually, he looks suspicious of me if anything. Ding, ding, ding! The bell rings and lunch is officially over. I frown and force myself to my feet. My next class is sculpture like I said earlier. Glancing at the other three boys, I ask, "Do any of you have sculpture next? I'm not sure how to find the classroom." "I have sculpture!" Brian announces as he shrugs his backpack over his shoulder and waves me towards him. "C'mon, I know where sculpture class is. I'll bring you there." "You guys have sculpture? Lucky!" Sam says as he and Paul reluctantly stand up. "Guess what we have? Biology! Sculpture has to be five times easier than that." "Heh. Tough luck! C'mon, Jeff," Brian says as he waves me after him. Before I follow after Brian, I find myself looking around to see where William is. It appears as if he's dissolved into thin air. I can't find the pixie-faced boy anywhere. Brian suddenly punches my shoulder lightly and says, "Dude! Come on. Let's not be late for our first class." I nod and follow Brian through the busy hallways and to sculpture class. I'm definitely glad to have him with me. If it weren't for Brian, I would have spendt ages wandering the halls since the sculpture classroom is in the way back of the school. Once there, Brian and I enter the class and go to sit in the back. "Good afternoon, class. Are you all excited to learn about sculpting?" our teacher asks us. I give her a bit of a dubious look. She's treating the class as if we're third graders, not ninth graders. Brian, however, is looking at her with wide eyes and I know exactly why. This teacher is not at all like any of our other teachers. She's tall, slender, pretty, and quite young. Long blonde hair flows down her back and her eyes are an artificial blue. I can't help but wonder if she has colored contacts in our not. Either way, Brian appears to be infatuated with her. "I don't think you should have to call me by my last name, so you may all just call me by my first name. I'm Miss Tessa to all of you. Alright, so do you all have your sculpture books with you? If not, please share a book with your neighbor. Turn to page thirteen please," Miss Tessa says. The rest of sculpture passes by rather slowly for me. It's just a lot of reading and we don't get to do anything really exciting. I had been hoping to actually get my hands dirty and do some actual sculpting! Brian, however, seems to have had the best class of his life. As soon as we're outside of the classroom an hour later, Brian turns to me with lovestruck eyes and murmurs, "Did you see that?" "See what?" I ask blankly, trying to adjust my school bag on my shoulder. I still have one more class and already my bag is digging into my shoulder. "Tess, of course! She's hot as hell!" Brian exclaims, looking at me as if I'm crazy not to know what he's talking about. "Actually, I think her name is Miss Tessa," I tell Brian, unsure if he's trying to nickname her or if he just confused her name with Tess. Brian rolls his eyes at me and says, "Whatever. I hope we have another hot teacher for our next class. Do you think they're like against student/teacher relationships here?" Before I can answer, pounding noises sound from down the hallway. Everyone freezes and then steps aside as a slender boy comes tearing through the hallway. A sheet of long red hair flies out behind him as he streaks through the hallway. Four sets of heavy footsteps follow him as four very angry teachers chase after William. "Mr. Bailey! Stop this instant!" one of them calls. This, however, seems to do absolutely no good. William picks up his pace and literally goes flying around the corner. Brian and I stare at the chase until the teachers have rounded the corner and have disappeared from sight. Rolling his eyes, Brian mutters, "Freak. Alright, let's go to history." I nod, but don't make any move to follow Brian. My thoughts are still on William and the teachers. What the hell has he done to make them so angry with him? It is only the first day of school and yet he has somehow managed to cause a ruckus in the hallways already... "Earth to Jeffery!" Brian yells, waving his hand in my face. "Come on! What are you waiting for?" "Uh, nothing," I say, turning and following Brian to history. History turns out to be American History, a very boring subject if you ask me. Although sculpture and art have the potential to be fun, American History does not. It seems like I've been taught about the American Revolution and the Civil War in every year of my schooling. Do I really need to hear about it again? I try to make myself pay attention to what Mr. Johns, our history teacher, is saying, but his slow drawling is not helping my attention span. I find myself staring out of the window and thinking about what I'm going to do when I get home. Perhaps my grandma will come over to have dinner with my mom and me. She's in a swing jazz band and plays the drums. I've always thought that the drums are fascinating. Maybe someday I can play the drums! I spend the rest of American History fantasizing about playing the drums. It's a good thing that we don't have any homework or else I probably would have had no idea how to find the answers for the questions. I leave the classroom with Brian and step into the busy hallways. "Alright, I'm headin' home," Brian tells me with a wave. "Seeya tomorrow, Jeff!" I wave to Brian and start through the hallways, trying not to get squished by everyone trying to run towards the school entrance at once. Out of the corner of my eye, I find myself searching for William. He's a strange boy. There's something different about him that I don't detect from other boys. By the time I leave the school, I haven't seen William anywhere. I wonder if he'll be back at school tomorrow or not. He certainly left in a hurry earlier. Has he done something bad enough to get expelled? Thoughts of this odd boy continue to swim around in my head as I trudge along the streets back to my house. As I approach the house, I can look through the window and see my mother and grandmother sitting at the kitchen table together. My mood immediately goes up a few notches. Now might be the perfect time to ask my mom about playing drums. As a drum player herself, my grandma will almost certainly back me up! To be continued... |
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| Wishful | June 14, 2012, 4:49 am Post #11 |
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Cliff and Lars Lover
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Ooooo I wonder what William did??!! Nice that Izzy stood up for him that was really nice
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| The Cosmic Gerbil | June 14, 2012, 7:41 am Post #12 |
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Forbidden Forest Ranger
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Lol, it was funny when Brain had a crush on the teacher I am glad Izzy stuck for William too...I thought that the other lads were starting to take it too far and be mean.
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| Lilith | June 14, 2012, 11:58 am Post #13 |
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♥ Jaimelicious ♥
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Aww! I love Izzy in this! So noble to stand up for William. And Brian! xD So cute! Great job, Amy! |
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| Dave's Girl | June 14, 2012, 9:27 pm Post #14 |
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Sanity is entirely overrated...
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Before I forget, I want to mention that this chapter is in William's POV, so it will be quite a bit different than Izzy's POV. ![]() @Wishful: It sounds like William did something naughty! xD Izzy is a very nice guy for standing up for him. @The Cosmic Gerbil: Haha, yeah, it is funny that Brian likes his teacher! The other guys were being pretty mean to William, I agree. Thank you so much for reading! @Lilith: Aw, thank you! You're so nice to read this for me. And I know, Izzy is so adorable! ![]() Chapter IV Smack, smack, smack! My head slams into the wall over and over again until I'm downright dizzy and I think my father is trying to kill me. He holds me by my stringy red hair and slams my head against the wall until he's content. Glaring at me through dark eyes, he contemplates whether or not to smack me into oblivion. After a moment, he decides a few more slams won't hurt. Bang, bang, bang! My vision starts spinning and all I can think about is the throbbing coming from the back of my head. "So it's the first day of school and you already have to cause trouble? It's the first day of school for god's sake! This is not the way you should be living your life. Your mother will be heartbroken if she hears about your behavior," my father, Stephen Bailey, hisses in my ear. I say nothing since my head is still spinning and try to make sense of the blurring images before my eyes. Is that big fat blob my father's nose or is that his head? I blink again and this time notice that it's definitely his nose. God, who knew his nose was so big? "Boy, are you listening to me?" my father demands, yanking on my hair again as if he's going to smack me into the wall once more. "Yes, sir," I mumble since there's no point in denying my father complete dominance. He's going to get it one way or the other, even if it means throwing me against the wall until I'm unconscious. "Good. Now I want to hear no more of this misbehaving issue from your teachers at school. Do you understand?" my father asks. I blink and nod, my head still throbbing painfully. Father frowns and adds, "You should try harder to please your mother and the Lord. Don't you know that He says to respect your mother and father?" I hate it when my father throws religious shit at me. Growing up in a Pentecostal home is a hell of a lot harder than you might think. I'm forced to attend church three to eight times a week and also attend Sunday school. What am I? Five years old? I hate the church. It makes my life miserable. Father thinks that everything is satanic from the television, to women, to the entire world. "William, I just asked you a question. I expect an answer," father growls at me. At this point, I snap. I can't take this shit any longer. Scrunching my nose, I cross my arms across my chest and say, "I don't give a fucking goddamn what the Lord says. You know it's all bullshit, which is why you make up your own rules like no television, no music, no-" "Shut your ungrateful little mouth!" my father exclaims, a vein throbbing in his forehead as he yanks me to my feet. "You are coming with me." Small and skinny, I'm no match for my father and have no choice but to let him drag me through the doorway and to the kitchen. On the way there, we pass by my sister, Amy. When Amy sees father dragging me around by my hair, she sighs and gives me a sympathetic look. "Amy? What are you doing out here?" father asks my sister. I almost snort at the question. This is Amy's damn house too! Why shouldn't she be allowed to walk through her own hallway, huh? Of course Amy doesn't say that though. Instead, she smiles at father politely and says, "I'm just going to go to my room now to do my homework." "Homework?" father asks distractedly, still looking at Amy. "Right. Yes, go do your homework like a good girl." Amy nods and gives me one more sympathetic look before she turns and disappears through the hallway, her long red hair flowing behind her. I don't know how Amy stands it. Father beats her up the most out of all of us, and yet, she still acts like her life is perfectly normal. Father jerks on my hair again and continues dragging me to the kitchen. Once there, he pushes me down on a chair and orders, "Sit." I know better than to move. If I do, I'll just get into more trouble. I hope that mother will come through the door at any moment. Father doesn't act nearly so brutal when she's around. Mother does her best to turn a blind eye to the fact that he physically abuses his children. It's fucking pathetic, isn't it? If I were her, I would just get up and leave with my children. Father stomps to the counter and fills a glass with water. I watch him suspiciously, knowing that he's not getting me a drink. After getting the glass of water, father grabs the bottle of soap from underneath the counter. My lips purse and I know what's coming. Father likes punishing me this way. It makes him feel dominate. "We're going to wash your mouth out and see if it teaches you a lesson. Open your mouth," father commands. The last thing I want is soap poured down my throat. I impulsively turn away from father and pray that mother will walk through the doorway. She should be home any damn minute! If God is listening, he will make her get home right now. If God is even the least bit sympathetic, he won't make me go through this. Fingers close around my jaw and father yanks my mouth open by physical strength. His fingernails dig into my skin and he tilts my head back so I'm staring at the ceiling. First comes the water. I feel it rush down my throat. Almost immediately, I start choking. Father doesn't care though. Next comes the soap. He squeezes the bottle and allows the soap to run between my lips. This time, I do my best not to swallow. I don't want soap running down my throat. I hear a malicious chuckle from a short distance away and soon the rest of the glass of water is being dumped down my throat. I try not to swallow, but the rushing water forces the soap down my throat. My body repels the foamy substance and I start choking. "Maybe this time you'll learn your lesson, boy," my father says, his voice containing a diabolical undertone. He likes this. Watching me suffer makes him feel fucking high. I stare at him with hatred while I choke and gag at the table. Foam and spittle forms at the corners of my mouth as I try and get the repulsive stuff out. Father just stands against the counter and watches. I want to smack him and kick him until he's choking just like me. He needs a lesson or two. Suddenly, father's expression changes as he looks out the window. Mother must be home. Grabbing a towel, father hurries across the room and wipes my mouth quickly before he glares at me and adds, "Not one word about this to your mother, boy. I won't tell her about what you did at school today if you keep that big mouth of yours shut." I don't say anything since I'm still trying to get that horrible tang of soap out of my mouth. A moment later, the door opens and my brunette mother opens the door. She's pretty and that's why Stephen Bailey married her. Mother is young too. Hell, she was only sixteen when I was born. Mother's eyes scan the room and she smiles when she sees me sitting stonily at the kitchen table. Father is pretending to look in the refrigerator for something. Hmph. Mother smiles at me and says, "Hello, William. You smell nice today." "I smell like soap," I say in a monotone, thinking that she would not like smelling like soap either if she had just had it forced down her throat. At the mention of soap, father stiffens and gives me an evil glare from where he's still pretending to be looking for an unknown item in the refrigerator. Mother, however, does not suspect that anything is wrong. She just smiles at me and says, "Yes, well, it's a very nice smell, isn't it?" I stare at mother dubiously and know that I've gotta get out of here before I open my mouth and let her hear a piece of my mind. After shooting one last glower at my bastard of a father, I shuffle out of the room and then stomp down the hallway to my bedroom. As I stomp along, the door to Amy's bedroom opens. "Bill...? Are you alright?" Amy asks. I hate the name William and have asked everyone to call me Bill instead. I know, I know, it's a random name, but it sounds better than William. Of course, the only ones who call me Bill are Amy and my younger brother. My mother and father still insist on calling me William. "Just leave me the fuck alone and lock your fucking door before father decides to pay you a visit," I grumble, looking over my shoulder. Now that father's fun with me is over, he'll go to Amy next. Amy gives me a sad look, but does as I say. Both my siblings know that there's no use arguing with me. I'm stubborn and can be an ass sometimes. Still though, it isn't my fault I'm like this. If you wanna start pointing fingers, point them at my bastard father and my oblivious mother. I make my way through the hallway and kick my bedroom door open before kicking it shut again. My bedroom is extremely plain. The walls are white, the bed is white, and there's nothing colorful or exciting to look at on the walls. My stomach lurches as I step towards the bed. I guess soap on an empty stomach isn't good for anyone. Since I don't want to risk seeing father again on the way to the bathroom, I go to the window and hoist it open before throwing up. I get rid of all the soap that ended up in my stomach, but am still left with a disgusting taste in my mouth. I shut the window once more and sit on my bed glumly. I could do my homework, but I don't. Instead, I think of the hell I live through day in and day out. Father constantly abuses us. It's his sick pleasure. Mother will always turn her back on what he's doing to us. She wants to think we're the perfect family. I suppose you could argue that it's my own fault that father hits me. Sure, I'm not exactly the ideal kid. I cause trouble at home, at school, with the neighbors, and practically anywhere. Why do I cause trouble? Well, it's because I'm angry. I hate this life. I hate being trapped in the prison which the Pentecostal church has placed me in and I fucking hate my father when he slaps me shitless and doesn't give a damn about it. Even the kids at school know I'm weird. They pick on me and gossip about me. I guess they think that's fun. This morning, I thought things might be different since I was attending a new school for the first time. Was I ever wrong! The other children had already singled me out as the freak and the teachers were worse than ever. I think back to earlier and remember four boys sitting at a table adjacent to mine at lunch. They had called me girly, a freak, an idiot, and a lot of other choice things that I refuse to remember. What the hell had I ever done to them? As I think about this, I realize that one of the boys didn't make fun of me though. He actually stood up for me and told the other guys to shut up about me. Earlier, he had gotten me out of trouble with Mrs. Anderson too. His name is Jeffery. I heard one of the other kids say it earlier. I haven't really had any friends growing up. The only children I meet are from the church and from school. I'm not interested in being friends with God-loving kids and nobody at school wanted to be friends with a temperamental kid with built-up anger problems. Before, this was alright with me. I didn't have to have friends. I could make it through life all on my own. Now though, I'm starting to feel a bit lonely. It would be nice to have someone to talk to every once in a while. Maybe that Jeffery kid would like to talk to me. Maybe we can become friends... Ugh, what the hell am I thinking? Of course he wouldn't want to be friends with the freak of the school. Who would want to be friends with the freak? I'll tell ya who; nobody. It's just gonna be another long school year of constant abuse from my father and ridicule from my fellow students. There's no point in hoping that things are gonna get better because I know they won't. Sighing, I swing my legs up onto the bed and flop down onto my stomach before burying my head in the pillow. I try to fall asleep, but I can't. My bedroom is right next to Amy's and I can hear shushed cries and screams coming from her room. I chew my lip until it bleeds and squeeze my pillow. I would go in there and tell father to get the fuck away from my sister, but what good would that do? He'd just knock me unconscious. This is what I live through day in and day out. Welcome to my life. Welcome to hell. To be continued... |
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| Wishful | June 15, 2012, 4:45 am Post #15 |
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Cliff and Lars Lover
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My God that chapter was throughly fucking heartbreaking! Those poor kids! How any mother can turn a blind eye to that kind of thing is a freakin' moron. Had that been me I'd have kicked the bastard out and got a restraining order!
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![]](http://z1.ifrm.com/static/1/pip_r.png)
Guns 'n Roses is one of my favorite bands, so I decided to do a fic on them. The pairing in this will be Izzy/Axl. Um...I guess that's all for now. The prologue starts out in 1992 and is written is Izzy's POV. Please read and review!




Keep going
I am wondering what is going to happen next. Poor Izzy, that must have been really scary when he opened the door and got attacked :O

I'm worried about him! _
And that's very true; poor Izzy! Any ideas of who might have attacked him?

8:49 PM Jul 10