Welcome to the Jungle, Sweetheart

That sound

           Axl sat upright in his bed. The night, city lights shining through his window and into his room. Not Indiana moonlight. He could hear distant traffic in the city and other street noise, not crickets. He had been dreaming again. The same one, the same memory he kept reliving. But that's as much as he could remember, he couldn't recall anything from that night after that. 

He glanced around his bedroom. Erin had left, probably sick of his kicking in his sleep. He still felt a little bitter about Erin, even though she didn't do anything to him, she probably was a little worried about him, talking and squirming in his sleep, but obviously if she did anything about it, it didn't help being that he didn't wake up until she was gone. 

He peered over the bed and examined the floor to look for any signs if Erin was still there. But all her clothes were gone, and her side of the bed she had been sleeping at was folded neatly. She wasn't just in the bathroom or something, she must've gone home.

But he wasn't upset, now that meant Slash could come back and he could finally get some sleep. Slash was probably asleep though. Axl didn't want to wake him when he was sleeping so peacefully, and he wasn't panicky anymore. The dream had shaken off, he wasn't sweating anymore, and his heart beat calmly. He figured he may as well try to go to sleep again on his own and let Slash rest before waking him up. If he got up and saw Erin left, he'll probably make his way in here on his own anyway. He may as well let him sleep for now.

Axl lied back down and rolled over to face the wall. He felt himself beginning to nod off when he heard his bedroom door creak open. "...Axl...?" he heard Slash whisper. Axl drowsily waved him in with a flick of his wrist, too close to sleep to lift his head. Slash, seeing his tiredness, quietly crept in and closed the door behind him. 

Axl felt the foot of the bed dip as Slash sat down. He could hear Slash undoing his belt and unzipping his jeans so he could be more comfortable. Slash's metal belt jingled against his pant buttons as he did so. 

Axl's eyes flew open and his entire body froze, all the blood in his body turning to ice. 

Oh god. 

That sound. 

Slash noticed Axl's sudden tension, and he lay rigid, seemingly paralyzed. Slash felt his stomach tightening with worry, "Axl? You okay?" he asked nervously as Axl's breathing seemed to be getting faster, his eyes wide with horror, staring at something Slash couldn't see. Slash saw Axl trembling slightly. 

"Axl?" Slash repeated his name, tentatively resting his hand on Axl's ankle. 

Axl flinched so much he practically jumped and he suddenly kicked Slash in the arm, "DON'T TOUCH ME!" He yelled, his voice sounded furious and desperately terrified, shaking more hysterically. 

"Ow!" Slash yelped from his kick, rubbing his arm. Axl wildly leapt off the bed and onto his feet, he grabbed his t- shirt off the end of the bend and faster than a heartbeat climbed into his shorts, and before Slash even had time to stop him, let alone ask what the hell was the matter, Axl scurried out his tiny bedroom window, and booked it out of sight down the street.

Slash scrambled up and stuck his head out the window, Axl could just barely squeeze out it, there was no way he was getting through it. Slash frantically scanned down the street Axl jumped onto for any signs of him but he had already disappeared. "Fuck!" He shouted out loud, before quickly turning around and heading out the door to try and catch him.

Axl's bare feet raced wildly on the cold cement sidewalk. He didn't know where he was going. 

He just ran. 

He ran and he ran and he ran. 

It's what he did best. 

When he panicked, he ran. 

Just like he did back in Indiana. 

Like he did when he was a kid. 

He ran. 

He was utterly petrified, his heart raced out of his chest, his breathing fast and short, he knew it was a panic attack but he didn't think about anything. 

He couldn't think. He couldn't. 

All his brain needed, was that little metal sound, and all the memories came flooding back to him at once. All those horrible things he had been so better off for all these years forgetting.

Axl couldn't feel anything except terror as his father shoved him into his room and slammed the door. "GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" He screeched, kicking and throwing punches at him.

"STOP FIGHTING YOU FUCKING LITTLE SLUT!" He yelled, slamming him to the floor on his back. Axl tossed as Stephen removed his belt, the clinking of metal creating the cruel sound that imbedded into Axl's brain. Stephen then lashed at him mercilessly, splitting his torso. Axl yelled and cried out in hopeless pain as his father kicked him with the full force of his steel toe boot into his ribs. He yowled in desperate agony as he continued to drive his boot into his ribcage. 

Stephen stepped on his chest, using his weight to crush the air out of his lungs, "IF YOU'D STOP FIGHTING YOU LITTLE BITCH THIS WOULD BE SO MUCH EASIER FOR YOU," he spat, kicking him again. 

"Get up faggot!" he snarled, stepping off him and barking at him to get up. Axl hissed, trying to push himself up, but his ribs felt like they were going to split his body apart when he moved, and he couldn't get up. The pain shooting through his body was dizzying. It overwhelmed all his senses, he couldn't think. 

"Fucking helpless little slut," Stephen spat in disgust, dragging Axl up harshly by his bleeding, bruised shoulders. He aggressively thrusted him onto the bed and pinned him down with cruel force. Axl thrashed as viciously as he could, while hissing in pain with each movement stabbing his body from his ribs, his mind going blank with cold, intense fear. 

"DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME!" He screamed, fighting and hitting him however he could. Axl felt all warmth in his body drain from every limb and his heart raced as fast as a car on the freeway, his breathing just afraid pants.

His mind swirled in a confused terror enough that he could hardly even comprehend what was going on. His eyes were horribly wide with dread and shock, his panic attack sinking into him sharply like cold fangs. It cut off all the blood in his body, he couldn't breathe. All his brain could understand was his extreme horror, his overwhelming anxiety, his helplessness, his pain. 

As Stephen ferociously tore off Axl's shirt and snarled at him, all Axl could do was writhe violently for his life, his body shaking so wildly he couldn't hold still, tearing itself apart in excruciating pain, and he knew he was completely helpless, and cold, dreadful, choking horror took over all that he was.

His scrambled, petrified senses dizzied his mind and the world spun around him, the ringing in his ears growing louder and louder, and everything seemingly went into cold, terror-stricken blackness.

"Faggot," he heard from behind the dizziness and the pain him spitting in contempt, turning and walking out the door, slamming it behind him, leaving him. But he hardly even heard it.

Axl lay paralyzed and helplessly weak, his body cold and shaking violently. He stared at the wall in blank shock, eyes wide and empty. His entire body hurt murderously, stinging like fuck and aching more than he had ever felt before when his only movement was his mad trembling. He felt a thin trail of blood along the inside of his leg, and red trickled from the gashes and wounds on his body into large splotches, staining on the bed until he was soaked in shallow pools of his own blood.

A single, hot tear rolled down his cheek, falling off his face.

And that was the last tear Axl would shed in six years.