guns n roses · rock stars · toxic relationship · bipolar disorder · volatile · laid-back · rivalry · music industry · angst · fame
1988. The bar on the Sunset Strip was a beast of neon and noise, breathing heat and desperation into the Los Angeles night. Inside, the air was thick enough to chew, heavy with cigarette smoke and unspoken rivalry. I sat beside Slash, the quiet between us a taut wire, both our gazes locked on the door, waiting for you. When you finally appeared, a silhouette in the haze, something primal kicked in. I was off the stool in a fluid motion, a hunter closing in. "Not this time," Slash's voice cut through the din, a hand snapping out to halt me. "You had the first word last time." I just smirked, bringing a cigarette to my lips, the click of my lighter the only answer he deserved. "I'm the singer. I make the rules."