An Urgent Need for Ruin (Short Story)

Though the sun was out in force, shoving any clouds in its way, the bitter wind reminded me of the season we were all slowly being pulled into. There was something about the bite of this wind, and the chill that worked its way down into your bones, that made me love fall. Not to mention every so often a small multicoloured tornado of leaves would kick up and swirl past, leaving the ghost of a smirk painting my lips. It was just the whole aura of the season with its brisk reminders of winter's approach and the few remnants of summer stopping to say goodbye. Hating this season was just too difficult for me, so I had grown to love it.

A loud thump came from inside, like someone falling, followed by a chorus of laughter.

Right, I forgot to tell you. I was at a party. A party that was going on inside, and I was outside enjoying nature rather than laughing at low-budget horror films. It was a film-fest party, I guess. A group of the hostess' friends had just finished their collection of "original" home-made horror flicks and decided to treat us to a horror movie marathon (low-budget, of course, because they were always the best) before showcasing their talent on the "big screen." I didn't even really know the hostess. Much less her name on account of the fact that she was simply called Luna by a majority of the student body because of her striking resemblance in both looks and personality to the whimsical Luna Lovegood. This made me wonder why I'd even been invited. Not that I was an outcast or jerk or anything, I just didn't talk to people so I was kind of a downer at parties. Nature was different, though. I felt more like myself out here than in a cramped, stuffy room with a dozen bodies taking up air space and poisoning it with an overdose of carbon dioxide.

Just thinking about it gave me the chills. Nope, Toni the Anti-Social was definitely ten times better out here. I flopped back into the small porch swing, wincing when it hit the wall with a resounding BANG! Maybe they'd think it was a gunshot in the movie? I pulled my cotton hoodie over my head and tried to block out the jubilant cries at yet another unlucky side character being eaten or mauled or mutilated beyond recognition by yet another monster.

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Apparently I'd fallen asleep out here. I woke up to chattering teeth, a darkening golden sky, and lots of movement inside the house. Craning my neck back, I gazed into the window behind me, taking in the scene with my upside-down view. There were now very few people actually watching the movie marathon. About a dozen others were handing out snacks or racing into the kitchen. Drinks (non-alcoholic, that was a rule at Luna's) were being passed around and I could already see tons of soda cans littering the couch, table, and floor. Yikes! I'd have to stay and help Luna clean up, even if the socializing killed me. A small group of dancing giggling jocks and richies and valleys had crowded near the radio, listening to some pop song I didn't know but had probably heard a million times. A few of the watchers were yelling to "turn that frickin' noise off" because they were "totally ruining the mood, man." But the more hardcore watchers kept their eyes glued to the screen, only moving when they jumped in fright or cheered at a death.

And then there was Frank. In the midst of the chaos, he was desperately trying to concentrate on the movie, an unopened soda in his hand and at least five crumpled ones in his lap, and gnawing hungrily at his lip like he always did when itching for a smoke.

Thankfully, none saw me watching them through the window, even Frank. At least, it seemed like he didn't. He was always hard to read.

Practically slamming my head back on the window pane, I decided the best thing to do was go inside. My chattering teeth frantically agreed with me and finally gave me the last boost to rise from the swing and boldly approach the door. Well, this was going to be awkward. As if to make it even more so, Luna almost broke my nose with the door when she came flying out right as I grabbed the knob. Luckily, I jumped back in time to avoid the nasty injury.

"Sorry!" she blurted out, digging for something in her pocket with one hand while she held the door for me with the other. "Gotta go grab s'more food 'n soda. They're animals!" I shared a chuckle with her and started to go in before she called back from the steps "Don'tcha let the house burn down, 'kay?" To which I replied with a nod she never saw, even though I knew she really wasn't putting me in charge.

After waving goodbye just out of courtesy, I finally headed inside, immediately avoiding eye contact with Frank because I knew what was coming next. Instead, I walked into the kitchen to find one of the last few sodas before flopping into an empty chair at the small table and popping my can open. At this angle in the kitchen, Frank couldn't see me and that's exactly how I wanted it. Served him right for not coming outside with me and letting me freeze.

Luna was right about the other party members being animals, though. The mess of soda cans I mentioned earlier spanned into the kitchen, leaking onto every surface. And what's more, now there were candy bar wrappers, popcorn bags and bowls with kernels, and dozens of broken chips and squashed M & M's littering the floor. I would definitely have to stay and help clean up: Luna was just too nice to some of these jerks.
It's just as I was thinking this that the culprits of the mess came racing in, running around the table and throwing all sorts of food at each other in the process. A third came skidding around the corner, growling like he was some ferocious monster. At this, the girl of the food fight duo screeched (right in my ear, of course) and ran around the table again to her knight in shining tin foil. I just sat there as the noise level rose and more food was flung, slurping extremely loudly to help them get the picture that they weren't welcome here.

It was right around this point that Frank decided he was going to demand my attention. As soon as I heard those familiar scuffs across tiled floor, I knew I needed to duck my head if I was going to avoid an awkward eye-lock moment. Out of the corner of my eye, I barely watched him scuffle in, one hand shoved deep into his pocket and the other curled around the soda he promptly downed and crushed the container of. After halfheartedly tossing the can in the direction of an over-filled trash bag, Frank tucked his long wayward inky strands behind his ear in a way that was somehow still masculine and oozing "Screw this" attitude. He'd always reminded me of Bill from Kill Bill, but when told this comparison he had only laughed it off and ruffled my hair with a muttered "Silly little Toni."

Another cheer erupted from the den and broke the awkward silence that had fallen over the kitchen. The awkward silence that only I was hearing, of course. Monster-boy and the food fight duo were all still engaging in their war if the little screeches every now and then were any proof. They continued to run around the table, yelling and throwing things. But it was all just an annoying buzz in the background when compared to the dead silence hanging between a certain dark-haired individual and me. I kept my eyes down, suddenly very interested in the tab of my soda, even when I felt him glance at me. The "clink clink" of my picking at this tab set the slow and steady heartbeat of the silence fallen between Frank and me. He still stood there by the doorway, gnawing at his lip like usual (apparently he still hadn't gotten that smoke) and watching me for any reaction.

It was a game we played -- a mean one at that -- and we always had. We would try to see how long we could both go socializing with other people besides each other. This also meant acting like the other didn't exist, but Frank almost always broke that rule in favour of trying to get me to crack first. We'd known each other for as far back as I could remember, and played this game for almost just as long. It was like some kind of inside joke that bonded us in some ironic way. However, I'd recently become a master of it and was determined to let Frank know just that.

Nonchalantly, I sipped at my coke, stretching the amount of liquid out for as long as I could. My eyes never left the rim of the can, but Frank's eyes did finally leave me. I let out a sigh of relief I didn't know I'd been holding in when he finally pushed off the doorway with a sarcastic huff and wandered back into the den. Happily, I gulped down the rest of my soda, the carbonation stinging as it raced down my throat. I could care less, though: I'd won this round.

Things went just about the same for the next hour, in which I purposely paced between the den and kitchen, sometimes painfully striking up a conversation with others. Luna returned soon with more drinks and snacks, which made the majority of the party-goers stampede into the kitchen. Before she could get trampled, Luna tossed me a YooHoo with a wink. This I promptly shook, popped open, and guzzled down (YooHoo's are addictive, okay?) then flashing a triumphant chocolate milk grin at the back of Frank's head. By the time I decided I was going to show my skill by sitting right beside him, you could feel the strain not to talk to each other. It was like a coiled wire between us, ready to snap, which Frank only tightened when he decided to prop his legs up on my lap. Two can play at that game, mister. And with that thought, I took to poking at his kneecap at the most annoying of paces.

People probably thought we were crazy or there was some kind of sexual tension between us, but we could have cared less. We were having so much fun teasing each other it was criminal. (Especially me, because I was winning.) It felt good to not be so dependent for once and to watch Frank squirm as he tried not to be. But at the same time it was painful because he was the only one I wanted to talk to. Just as desperately as him, I tried to pay attention to the movie, finally ceasing my poking after about 15 minutes. He'd turned and given me a mocking face when I did so, but I ignored it. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing I was even watching him.

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For the hundredth time, a sub-character's head was bashed in, blood spattered the camera, and she fell to the ground to act out her 3-minute death scene. The only difference this time was that this was a character we'd all hoped would be the main one to live to the end, so boos and popcorn bags were flung at the screen as her soliloquy played out. Honestly, I wasn't usually this cynical about B-rated horror movies. I'll even admit to making a habit of watching SyFy all day on Saturdays to get my low-budget-horror fix. But this marathon just didn't have the same spark. It was like trying to watch all the Alien movies in a row: they're all awesome by themselves, but get redundant in marathon form. People get killed, Sigourney Weaver kicks some serious butt, wash, rinse, repeat. This horror movie marathon had become so predictable that I really did wonder how some people were still jumping at a death.

However, the next one put in actually had some twists and sharp plot turns that made it hard to tear my eyes away from the screen. I was actually sad when Luna stepped in front of the screen and declared that this would be a collective sleepover and to call our parents to make sure that was okay. Murmurs kicked up behind me that were a mix between "Like that's gonna happen!" "My parents are going to kill me!" and "Quick, dude! Go grab the beer! Keep it quiet, 'kay?" Honestly, I don't know how Luna expected to keep the drinking away: we were in the South after all. It was a custom we just couldn't shake. But those murmurs made me think. What were my parents going to think of this? I fingered the cell phone in the pocket of my hoodie for a few still minutes before finally hopping up off the couch, throwing Frank's legs off in the process, and pushing through the door.

Once outside again, I pulled my bulky cell from my pocket and flipped it open. (I had one of those older flip-open phones. The kind with the antenna and the opening and closing sounds. Mine were orchestra sounds: violin crescendo for opening, tiny flute for closing. I'd never even considered "upgrading" to a "newer model." After all, it was only the richies who flaunted the newest phones.) But right before I dialed the number for my house, I happened to glance down at my background: Frank's super-grin beamed up at me.

That day I'd been trying to snap a picture, that I knew wouldn't come out nearly as good as I wanted, of a strange set of clouds when Frank had knocked the phone out of my hand, caught it, and proceeded to check his teeth in the reflection. The picture had supposedly been an accident, but I knew Frank well enough to see through that lie. I'd gone home and figured out how to make it my new background, sporting it in secret for a few days. But, of course, Frank had eventually found out and only chuckled, ruffling my hair with the same old "Silly little Toni."

Just seeing that picture finally made me decide not to call my parents. 1) They'd disapprove slightly less of this than my being the only girl or staying over at Frank's, and 2) this was my time to spend with Frank, whether we talked or not.

With a sigh, I flopped right back into my same seat on the porch swing. Though it creaked loudly enough at the sudden weight, I was able to stop it this time before it banged against the house. This finally gave me time to mull over the other question in my mind: how in the world was Luna going to house 20+ people? Unless they'd all miraculously brought sleeping bags, lodging would be tight.

I finally just snapped my phone shut (Frank’s pixels had been grinning up at me this whole time) and laid my head back against the window, except this time I closed my eyes instead of looking inside. I don't know whether I napped or not, but a loud slam sent me about 3 feet in the air a few minutes later. My head went KONK on the window. The swing went BAM on the wall. And a glare was definitely thrown the way of the offender. "What the heck!" I screeched before realizing who the person was.

They nonchalantly glanced over and calmly stated, "Ya lost the game."

I didn't even give him the satisfaction of looking at him, much less getting angry. In all honesty, he had lost first, both by interacting with me earlier and saying that just now; but not talking to him after my recent decision felt silly, no matter how much I loved my taste of independence. I would always be dependent when it came to Frank. This thought made me smile and with it on my face, I finally turned to Frank with a "You win" accompanied by a shrug.

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His slender fingers wrestled a cigarette out of the box he'd produced from his pocket as he trudged over and leaned back against the wall. His green puppy eyes were hardened in concentration as the bony fingers placed the smoke between his teeth and they struggled to pry the lighter from his back pocket. I'd often joked with Frank that he was going to burn his butt off one day with that placement, but he'd always told me it was easier to find there. The battle going on right now proved otherwise and I had to stifle a giggle when he grumbled "Damn tiny pockets..." After finally pulling it out, he impatiently flicked at the lighter until it lit his cigarette. Slowly, he took the drag he had been so pining for, all the built up impatience melting off his face and into an expression of peace. He was addicted to them. It was a truth I'd known for years now; but that look on his face and the anger and impatience building up to it just made the statement that much more unnerving.

After, Frank turned to face me, hands dug deep in his hoodie I just noticed he had on and cigarette rolling between his teeth. "No' much point in trynna socialize wit' dos ingrates 'nyways." I called this his "Smokes accent," not because the cigarette caused it, but that the accent was always stronger with one between his teeth. Gracefully plopping down beside me, he brought one leg to his chest and hugged it, using the other to tap on the porch with his tortured sneaker. Thankfully, I was able to stop the swing before it slammed yet again before getting distracted by just how close to me he was. It wasn't like it was anything new, but whenever we sat close like this, it affected me pretty deeply. Whenever we did, it was never meant as more than a friendly thing, even when we cuddled, but it had always meant more to me.

Quickly shaking my head of these thoughts, I focused on something far more important: that death stick clutched between two bruised, chapped lips. This addiction was ruining those lips -- those cracked and multicoloured lips -- and even more so his lungs. It hurt to know he was slowly killing himself with every drag he took, and willingly. I'd told him this many times, but this time I made sure the gravity of the statement reached both my eyes and my tone: "Ya know, those things'r gonna kill ya one day." I wasn't playing around this time, and he could see that clearly in my expression.

He scrutinized my face for any sign of joking, that smoking death stick now held out between his skeleton fingers. But his face formed back into its regular flippant expression as he turned to stare at the front yard again. All I got in response was a wry chuckle.

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I stayed silent until he finished his cigarette. Neither of us minded. It was enough just to be in the presence of your best friend. The sky was now dark and so were our surroundings. Faint moonlight painted everything a faded grey. The stars had just started peeking out, clearer than ever, and I could just make out a cluster that formed some constellation I couldn't place.

The night was freezing, but somehow it didn't affect Frank. His shoulder, even through the hoodie, was practically burning up while I was on the verge of shivering. I'd often wondered just how he stayed so warm. Seeing me so close to freezing, he offered his shoulder and slung an arm around mine. It would never mean anything more than a friendly gesture to Frank -- it never had -- but it would always mean more to me. And it was something I couldn't stop if I tried. So I just sat there, my head on his shoulder, and relished the moment, breathing him in.

He never wore any cologne (he never believed in it, I guess) so he always seemed to soak up whatever scent was around him the most, which happened to be sugary soda and buttery popcorn tonight. But above the lingering smell of butter and sugar was his usual mix of nicotine and sweat, accompanied by a musk I had never been able to put my finger on. Though I hated his smoking, the odour of nicotine that forever clung to him was just so...him. I didn't mind it so much when it reminded me of the one person in the world that meant the world to me.

"Yer stayin' here?" he asked suddenly, startling me again, which in turn earned my shoulder a comforting squeeze. I didn't have to nod for him to know, he could read the answer in my eyes. "So 'm I." His eyes, however, turned back to the front yard he was so interested in. What was so heavy on his mind?

Even though we were used to this quiet and didn't mind it, the silence felt thicker this time and more like a fence than something peaceful. It was a reality that settled on me heavily without my even realizing it. I suddenly, for the first time in my life, felt uncomfortable around Frank. And not because of this reality or Frank himself or even me. This silence was twisted and sick. There was something very not-right about it. But I pushed these thoughts aside, slowly becoming more comfortable again and snuggling deeper into Frank’s shoulder as he gently rocked the swing.

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Bodies littered the floor like some slasher movie. I had to gingerly step between them as I made my way to the back of the room. Some were lifeless, others were already snoring, and some were fidgeting or talking. This was definitely like a collective sleepover. I even heard a bunch of gossip and schoolgirl giggles coming from one corner. I searched in the kitchen for Luna and she wasn't in the slasher-movie-body-pit either. She had probably gone to bed. God knows how late it was already. I made my way across the bodies to Frank again. "She's not here." Despite my best efforts, my fierce whisper kind of echoed across the room. A few heads swung our way, but soon turned back to their gossip or drunken stupors. (Thankfully, there were no loud, crazy drunks with us. They'd all probably left already.) Frank nodded curtly and shifted from one foot to the other. "'M gon' sleep on the window seat. Not the best place, but also no' crowded by bodies." Frank didn't look too pleased with my decision, but he didn't try to debunk it either.

"Ain't gotta clue where 'm gon' sleep." The strong nicotine odour had clung to his tongue and so wafted over just as quickly as his whisper. He licked his bruised, chapped lips and looked around, trying to target any spare space. "I'll find suntin', though."

And suddenly it clicked. Eagerly, I piped up. "You kin' have the window seat then."

This one he did debunk, though. Almost even before I finished. "Naw," he drawled out, that lilt somehow unique to small-town Louisiana filtering in. "I'll find suntin'. I guarantee you." Concluded with a toothy grin that dared me to argue with him.

It was hard to refuse Frank, but it was also really hard not to pity him. His big green puppy eyes always made him look so sad. Those eyes usually won him arguments, and they would again this time. I finally relented and a small smile lit up his face.

And this was where it ended. I had stayed just to spend the night with Frank and this was it. I had only those few short hours spent outside not even talking, and now we weren't even going to be sleeping in the same room. It seemed like such a big loss for some reason. Frank stayed until I had my "sleeping arrangements" together, then turned to leave before throwing a smile over his shoulder with a "Night, Toni." Something in those eyes and smile reflected the disappointment and defeat I felt, but I told myself it was just that darn puppy face again.

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An hour later, most people were out either from exhaustion or drunkenness. I couldn't hear anyone still awake, but I highly doubted everyone was asleep already. Maybe there were some lying awake, staring at the ceiling like me. I shifted to get a view of the clock. 3:17 read the large digital numbers, glowing red in the pitch black surrounding me. Part of me kind of wished Luna had a regular clock that would be unreadable so that I could maybe convince myself it was close to morning and my brain would be forced into sleep. Maybe I should have gotten drunk, too, so that I'd be passed out by now. That was, of course, a joke: I'd never wanted to touch the stuff. I flipped toward the window and willed myself to finally fall asleep.

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"GRAAAAAAGH!"

Really? Who in their right mind would turn on the movies again in the middle of the night?

"GraaaaaAAAAAAaaaGH!" went the zombie. Ugh! I was just getting up to tell this late-night watcher just what I thought of them when I realized the TV wasn't even on.

"What the--?"

"GraaaAAAaaaAAAaaaAAAaaaAGH!" It was then that I noticed the angry zombie was, in fact, my stomach. I guess I hadn't eaten a very good supper between all the snacking and sleeping.

I was just about to lay back down and try to ignore the angry organ, when it transitioned from growling to practically roaring. With a grunt, I finally got up and tripped my way through the bodies, thankfully waking none up. The kitchen was utterly pitch black, more so than the den, so that opening the fridge almost blinded me. I grabbed a water and with the light from the fridge searched for the least-noisy snack. All I could find was a few unopened bags of Sun Chips, so I figured I'd just take one outside and eat it there.

Tiptoeing, and sometimes tripping, through the mass of snoring bodies again, I made my way to the screen door; a door that would probably creak and loudly as possible when I opened it. But before I got there, I made sure to check out the window for anyone else outside: I'd be embarrassed if I interrupted their privacy. Just before I was going to turn back to the door, I caught a familiar shock of raven hair dashing past. So he was walking around outside? Maybe now we could talk about what seemed to be weighing so heavily on his mind.

"Frank!" I whisper-yelled, bursting through the screen door, but taking great care to make sure it didn't slam. The loud creak echoed through the eerily silent front yard. Southern nights were usually chaotic with sound, between the cicadas and owls and coyotes. Louisiana was never silent, even at night. It was one of the things I loved about Moss Bluff. This silence now reminded me of that earlier silence, the twisted feeling returning. What was going on?

Anxious now, I raced down the porch steps and out onto the grass, searching for any sign of Frank. Here, I left the water and Sun Chips I was still clutching: I wasn't so hungry anymore.

"Frank!" I yelled, now free to in the open air. There were footprints through the grass, but other than that no sign of Frank. I followed these footprints around the back of the house and was just about to yell for Frank again when a hand clamped over my mouth.

"Shh!" they breathed into my ear before I could scream. Slowly, the stranger turned me around to face them and I learned they weren't a stranger at all. It was Pete, a father of one of my classmates that lived around here. He was in regular blue flannel pajamas, his blonde hair mussed under the Saints cap he'd obviously shoved on quickly. My eyes were drawn down to the rifle held firmly in his right hand, but he gave me an explanation before I could ask. "Wolf." I had no time to process this before he gripped the rifle with both hands and continued, "He done gone in da shed, or 'least headed dat way. Scared the dang crud outta me. He's a big feller, that one."

The question "So you're gonna shoot ‘im?" caught halfway up my throat when I realized what direction Luna's shed was. "Frank! We have to save him!" I grabbed Pete's arm and dragged him along behind me. I barely heard his "Now, chére--" before I let go and took off myself. Frank was over here. The wolf was over here. That couldn't add up to anything good. Oh God, please let him be safe!

My sheer speed caused me to slam into the shed doors. "Li'l gal!" rang out behind me, but I didn't care. I scrabbled for the handle and yanked the double doors open, squinting in the dim moonlight. "Frank?" My desperate call came out more like a faint croak as I struggled to catch my breath. I leaned against the door frame, one hand fumbling for a light switch or string. Pete had obviously caught up with me: I could hear his frantic steps a few hundred feet behind me. "Frank?" I croaked out again. There was a shuffling within the shed and a groan. Frank! Where was the darn light?! I stumbled through the dark, looking for the source of the groan. I knew, I just knew, it was Frank. He was hurt and I had to find him. "I'm coming!" Finally, my voice broke through and actually called out loudly. I guess he heard me because the loud groaning absurdly stopped.

I was about to call out again, fearing the worst, when something big and black shot right past me. Rather than knocking me over, the sheer speed spun me comically in the direction of the now-rifle-cocking Pete. Almost without knowing it, I put two and two together in my head; but before I could scream "No!" three shots rang out.

I had never before believed that moments like this actually went in slow motion. In fact, a lot of my beliefs were rattled in these painstakingly slow moments. Perhaps your mind slows processing down in traumatic times even though everything around you moves at normal speed. Or perhaps you're the one moving faster or thinking faster, so the world around you is slow by comparison. Whichever one, the world moved so slowly I could catalog every detail of what happened next.

Three shots rang out: one hit the creature's shoulder, but didn't slow him one bit; the next hit his head, sending a shockwave through his furry body as he slowed, and the third hit him in the same shoulder, bringing him to a halt. But before he fell, I swore I saw the creature rip out his own throat. It didn't make any sense, so as time returned to normal I vanquished what my mind had "figured out" before the shots and the odd scene I'd just witnessed.

I ran to catch up to the now wolf-corpse and a panting Pete. It was just an oversized wolf and Frank was still out there somewhere, maybe hurt. I frantically searched the muzzle of this massive creature for any sign of blood, but that's when my wall of disbelief came crashing down. The muzzle was covered in blood and the neck was, too, although no shots had grazed its throat. But Fate didn't stop ripping up my disbeliefs there. The cloud of black in these canine eyes dissipated to reveal big green puppy eyes. They were staring up at me with the same vulnerable look Frank always used to win arguments.

I didn't fall to my knees or scream or even cry. I simply left, not wanting to watch as the rest of the creature painfully morphed back into my best friend, like I knew it would. I turned away, shoving hands that had now registered the cold into warm pockets. Without my permission, my mind strayed from focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and began to question just what exactly had happened and why.

Pete definitely hadn't hit the neck, and even if he had grazed it, it wouldn't have been that mutilated. The bullets definitely weren't silver either (if I was even believing that my best friend actually was…). Everyone else would think Pete had killed the wolf-boy. Pete himself probably would, too. But I knew the truth. Why? As if a godsend, the memory of a wry chuckle over a death stick earlier that evening answered my question. He didn't want to live at all.

I didn't have to wonder whether those eyes had won this argument.

Notes

This is a nightmare I had, just about word for word. It skipped around a lot and had a few gaps, so I tried to explain things and fill it in as best as I could. (guest-starring My Chemical Romance's Frank Iero! [as Frank Gautier])
I will be doing a novel-length version of this, too. But it will be much different, so don't think you know how it ends or what it's about. XD
Yes, Frank Iero does not have green eyes, but nightmare!Frank did so I went with it.

~xoxo Ash