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IT WAS FUCKED UP.
That had been Steven's initial thought as he stared between his 'friends' in disbelief.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" He threw his arms out, exasperated. "Why am I the only one getting this shit?"
They were threatening to kick him out.
They'd told him that unless he laid off of the junk for a while, they'd boot him.
It was fucking with his sense of rhythm whenever they were onstage, they'd said— and by they, he meant Axl—and it would have made them sound almost terrible if Izzy, Duff, and Slash hadn't kicked into overdrive.
"'Cause you're the messiest, Adler!" Axl shouted. "You'd lose your head when you're high if we weren't around for you!"
Steven drew back, pointing an accusatory finger at Axl. "You were never around for me! None of you. So don't get it twisted. Now you're in here making demands for me that you can't even meet yourselves?!" He yelled.
"Fucking tell Slash and Izzy to get sober too, if the state of your fucking band means so much to you! Tell Duff to chill on the drinks!" Steven crossed his arms in an attempt to hide the bruises and scars from heroin needles.
Duff looked down. He utterly hated the way they'd had to approach this subject because although Steven was down bad on that junk, he wasn't the only one and it wasn't fair.
He knew that they were making Steven feel cornered and Steven hated feeling cornered.
But it seemed like Axl just had it out for the kid lately and anybody that tried to come in between that situation was pulled into a screaming match they didn't have the energy for.
"Don't you worry about them." Axl narrowed his eyes, staring at the man like he was some stray dog begging him for food. "Just get your shit together first." Axl snapped back.
"Axl—" Duff finally spoke, only to be shut down with a hard glare from the redhead.
Slash had stared at the floor the entire time, too afraid to look his best friend in the eyes, knowing their activities had been exactly the same, only playing guitar was like drinking water, so it didn't take much brain power for him.
Steven finally looked at the others, but they all were looking elsewhere, too ashamed to look Steven in the eyes.
He chuckled humorlessly, dropping down onto the sofa and snatching his cigarettes and lighter from atop the coffee table.
"You guys are assholes." Steven scoffed, lighting a cigarette with slightly shaking hands. "And fucking hypocrites."
"Whatever." Axl shot back.
Duff did think it was utter bullshit and they were a bunch of fucking hypocrites because they all were just as fucked up as he was.
Axl hadn't wanted to hear Steven's questions, explanations, or anything. He'd just stated their demands for them and they left him alone in his apartment.
That night he'd sat, all alone, crying in the corner with his knees to his chest, shaking from just going a few hours without his drugs, but he was trying.
He went through his last few packs of cigarettes in less than six hours before he realized he'd had to face this forced sobering without any of his coping mechanisms.
Steven also quickly realized the worst thing about doing hardcore drugs for prolonged periods of time was not only the effects it had on you, but the way it tricked you into thinking that everything around you was Heaven when everyone else knew it had taken you to Hell.
