The more I thought about getting married, the more I wanted a wedding. I thought so many times about just planning it at the moment, but I didn't know where to even start. I thought about a wedding, but then I worried a lot about Slash
The next thing I know, I'm sitting on the couch, in the living room, with Ola, Duff, Steven and his producer and manager. I get a call from his mom and his manager that he is destructive, and tearing himself apart. He's supposed to be on the road soon, but his manager can let him do it if he's sick and messing around.
Ola didn't seem to cry, but she did look dissapointed. Not for doing the drugs, but for apparently lying to her, months before when she asked him if he was abusing drugs.
I was somewhere inbetween. I didn't talk much when I was there, I mean, it was pretty logical what was going on. It all seemed to make sense. It doesn't mean that I didn't care--about him--because I did. Especially if we wanted to get married soon. I didn't want him to die, I didn't want him to kill himself...but I couldn't be too much of a hypocrite because most of those things that he was doing that made him in such bad shape I did with him, not all of it, but a good amount. I encouraged it because we were somewhat in it together, and that is why it got weird when he was leaving more often. I partook in what was going on with the two of us, but I took no part in the heavy drugs.
Anyways, basically what happened is we waited in the living room while Duff woke him up, and he came into the room, and his manager went into a schpeel on how he isn't going to get anywhere if he is still going to be on dope. He says that he saw so much improvement in him in the last show, and that he has been performing with such good energy and power. And then he mentioned rehab.
Ah Rehab.
They should make a song about rehab, shouln't they?
Yet another loved on of mine going into rehab.
First my mom, then Steven and now Slash.
He knew what he had to do, he knew he had to get better, but I had false hope about the idea of sending him to a rehabilitation center for a few months to detox. I didn't know what was to come.
***
Then, I remember the day he left. And when that car pulled up in our driveway to take him to rehab, I sighed.
" Good luck out there. I'll see you on the other side I guess."
He chuckled, and shook his head, looked down at his shoes then back at me, " Shit, why aren't you crying? Why aren't you begging me to get better? Why aren't you telling me you love me..."
" Do you really want to get better?"
He hesitated, " I don't even know..."
" I do love you, but It's only gonna work of you want it. If you don't, you're gonna turn right back 'round to your old bad habits. Nobody said this was gonna be easy. Because it ain't. It's a process, and it won't come right away. It took my mom three years. And I hung in there even when things crashed and burned. You gotta get your head in the game, or quit it. I want you to get better, and I want us to start a new life. But it begins with you."
The car honked a few times, and we both stood there. He looked at the car, and then he looked at me, and pulled me in a forceful manner, and he pressed his lips onto mine. It wasn't necessarily passionate, but it was hopeful. And I felt his hands only grip me harder as the car horn got louder. and And it made a tear roll down my eye.
Then he let go, and we both exhaled hard, and he picked up his bags and walked to the car.
I didn't know what was next.
But I knew didn't want to loose him.
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