Right Next Door To Hell V.1.2
(in collaboration with SheLikesRockNRoll)
Rating: T for swearing
Disclaimer: I don't own GnR... if I did they would still have all the original members. I do,however, own Sophia, likewise, SheLikesRockNRoll owns Jasmine.
A/U: This is an alternate version of SheLikesRockNRoll's fic in Sophia's perspective.
Chapter 1:
Life would be much easier if some people just spontaneously burst into flames and died. I'm looking at you Steven, with your perfect blond hair and perfect grades and perfect life. Why does everything about you have to be so fucking perfect?
"Aunt Olivia! I'm driving to school, 'kay? See you at four!"
"Bye sweetie!"
I watched my perfect twin brother (Steven, the prick I was talking about earlier) leave the perfect mansion, get into his perfect car and drive through the perfect neighbourhood to get to our (well, not-so perfect) school.
Even after he left, indication of his perfectness were still evident. In the perfectly white kitchen, a shitload of his straight A report cards were stuck to the fridge. In the lounge, sports trophies were perfectly positioned over the fireplace while dozens of plaques and certificates along with pictures of him receiving said plaques and certificates perfectly hung on every wall of the room.
Aunt Olivia noticed me staring blankly at Steven's awards. She shook her head. "Pia, Pia, Pia," She made that irritating "tsk tsk" noise she has the habit of doing, "Why can't you be more like Steven?"
"'Cause I don't wanna." I'm tired of having this goddamn conversation with her. (Although dislike having any kind of conversation with anybody at all)
"At least stop being like this!"
"Like what?"
"Depressed. That's what. Stop sulking around the house.—"
"Procrastinating. Not sulking."
"Stop wearing emo clothing all the goddamn time—"
"Black dresses are not necessarily emo, Auntie, they're classy. You rather I'd wear nearly nothing like everybody else?"
"I'm just telling you to live a little. Get out of the house sometimes, get some fresh air—"
"Air is overrated."
"And stop with this negative attitude about everything! I don't get why you get all depressed sometimes."
"Maybe because my parents died."
"That was two years ago!"
"Maybe I'm not over it."
She looked at me blankly, absentmindedly running a hand through her perfectly combed hair. Awkward silence time.
"Well", she started, "that explains the clothing." Since the incident, as we like to refer it as, everyday was a funeral for me. Everyday, it felt like the sun gradually wasted away. Everyday, it felt like somebody had just died, like theyjust died. Like I just died.
"I'm not asking you to 'get over it', Sophia, I know it's next to impossible for you" She spoke with a fake sympathetic tone. "I just want you to be happy" Bullshit "to act normal for once."
She looked at me anticipating a nice, sweet, apology. Like hell she was gonna get one. "Why try to be normal when you can be different?"
"Oh," she tapped her heel, thinking of what to say I assume "you better get to school now."
"Sure..." I tried to remember where I left my keys.
"Want me to drive you?" Oh, that's right. I didn't have a car. "You're running late."
"I already am." I sighed as I grabbed my book bag and dragged myself out the door.
The first thing I remember after running like fuck to school is lying face down in the parking lot with a bloody nose and a black eye.
"The rich kid's down!" One of the 'rebels' (who are more commonly known as 'punks who smoke crack and vandalise cars for no apparent reason except for the fact that they think it makes them look badass') yelled out. This whole 'beat the rich girl to a pulp and take her cash' thingy is getting very repetitive.
Why don't they pick on Steven, you ask? Because he's a jock. You know, the top-of-the-food-chain, the king of the school kind of person (and being one of them helps too) whereas I'm a wimpy emo nobody who keeps to herself and draws in her notebook all the time. I'm an outcast, a weakling. A weakling with money.
"Get her lunch money!" Lunch money? Really? I've got a check book right here, dipshits.
"Hey, cut it out guys!" A familiar voice called out. My knight in shining armour. Oh thank god, he's here. This was getting old.
It was dead silent except for some whispering among the punks; "Stradlin's here."
"Game over, bros."
"Let's scram" The junkies began to leave me alone. Sometimes I wonder how Izzy Stradlin has so much power over them.
I tapped Izzy 's leg. He gave me a small smile and held out his hand. We stood there watching the crowd dissolve. I looked up at him. "Can I go now?"
"WOAH! Wait up!" Apparently not, as was confirmed by a booming, obnoxious voice that echoed around the lot. Axl Rose. Arrogant. Self-centred. Misogynist. Cuntbag. Asshole. "Party's not over until I say it is." He said holding up an unnervingly large knife above his ginger head, a mischievous look crossed his face.
"Stop it Axl." Izzy glared
"And why should I listen to you? You're nothing compared to me." Axl was now standing an inch from him, "You know what? You should know your place; behind me and not fighting for little kids." He poked my shoulder. Really hard, at that.
"She's had enough." He said in a voice that was louder than usual. He and Axl tried to stare each other down.
"So had my girls but I still gave 'em more." Ha, ha. He thinks he's so fucking clever.
I soon became aware that the nearly empty lot was swiftly filling up with nearly half the sophomores gathering in a circle around Izzy and Axl. I knew why they came here. They were expecting a fight. And I was pretty sure they were about to get one.
"It's alright Izzy" I whispered, I noticed I was still holding his hand. "I'm okay, let's just go."
A couple of the punks grabbed him and pinned him to the ground.
"Aw, are you gonna cry?" Axl teased, walking closer to me and spinning the knife in his hand. He grabbed my wrist and twisted it until I screamed from the pain. "Are you hurt?" He kicked me in the stomach and I cried out again. "Beg. Beg me to stop." He taunted as he punched my jaw repeatedly.
"S-s-stop." I managed to choke out.
"What's the magic word?"
"P-p-please"
"Good." When I thought he was leaving and it was over, he spun around. The wicked smile still fixed onto his pretty face "On second thought..." He grabbed my arm again but instead of giving me another dose of excruciating pain, he decided to cut my wrist. "That's better."
He dragged an unconscious Izzy to the dumpster (the punks' hideout, I believe) laughing the whole time. I was in the empty parking lot, hurt and alone, waiting for a car to run over me, waiting for this to just end. I kept picturing Axl's face when he was beating me up, like he did every day. But even after all this, I still loved him.
A/N: Too short? Bad writing? R/R please. Flames are welcome as long as they help. And SheLikesRockNRoll, upload your version too.