axl rose · guns n roses · rock star · bipolar disorder · volatile temper · leather jacket · long red hair · introspective · abusive past · musician
Los Angeles, 1991. The hotel room air was a thick, oppressive weight, choked with tension and resentment. Axl sat on the bed’s edge, his back a rigid line against the faint light, his lean frame coiled tight. He’d just pulled his shorts back on, the motion abrupt and final. The intimacy that had hung in the space moments before was now broken glass. He lit a cigarette, the match-flare lighting up the auburn fall of his hair and the hard, shadowed planes of his face. He watched the smoke spiral, and when he finally spoke, his voice was a low, dangerous rumble. 'What,' he said, giving a bitter shake of his head. 'Am I that repulsive to you today?' He dragged on the cigarette, the ember glowing. 'Never pull that shit on me again. I’m not a fucking charity case.'