It's not a Fashion Statement, It's a Deathwish
One;
Waking up after a strenuous night of quarreling, groggy with stiff muscles, the view from my bed could be mistaken for a war zone. My clothes were strewn across the carpet, spilling out of a half open suitcase that had been thrown on to its side; a product of my attempt to leave. Shards of glass were scattered around my wardrobe, all tiny little pieces that would make up liquor bottles. Alcohol stained the carpet in little dots.
I could lift a hand to my face and feel the swelling underneath my eyes, puffy from dozing off after an exhausting sob session. My cheeks were still damp from tears that never even dried. My throat burned from an intense yelling match I had had just hours ago.
The space in the bed next to me was empty, the covers thrown back, the pillow still indented with the shape of his head. I wondered how long I had been sleeping alone, where he was, and if he was ever coming back. I prayed that he wouldn't, but I realized I had jinxed myself when I heard the front door to the apartment creak open. I heard his heavy footsteps, followed by the calling of my name. His voice never wavered, as if nothing had ever happened.
I leapt from the bed to meet him halfway in the kitchen, my stomach doing summersaults all the while. I went weak at the sight of him, dead in his tracks, his caramel brown hair shining in the sunlight that beamed through the window above the sink. We immediately locked eyes, but even so I couldn't read his emotion.
He had a bouquet of roses in his arms, at least a dozen of them, wrapped in cellophane. Again I met his eyes, that managed to be both piercing and dull, if at all possible. He swallowed, before opening his mouth to speak.
"I got you these."
He spoke in monotone, never letting my gaze leave his. I watched for sincerity.
I looked him up and down before taking them from his grasp and muttering a stubborn, "Thanks."
We stood in something that was somewhat of an awkward silence, as if we were both waiting on the other to apologize. In all honesty, I can't remember what started the chaos in the first place. With the endless amount of feuds we had had over the years, they never failed to blur together.
To break the uncomfortable anticipation, he simply shuffled forward, wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into a stiff hug. His grip was strong, reminding me that I couldn't escape even if I tried.
"Let's just drop it okay?" he said, staring across the room, ignoring interaction all of a sudden. In the heat of the battle, he was aggressive, fiery, unafraid to tell you how he felt. When we made up, he was made of stone, and he refused to discuss it anymore. His philosophy was to bury it under the rug.
We had met four years ago, the summer before my junior year of high school. Maybe if I wasn't so naïve and stupid back then, I wouldn't have gotten so deep in this shit hole. Maybe if I wasn't so angsty and defiant, I wouldn't have purposely jeopardized my future and my dignity.
I met him through my brother, Bob, who was in the same class as him, both of them being three grades above me. All at some shitty party in a shitty house full of shitty people, Bob approached me with an unknown face trailing behind him, introducing him by asking, "Do you know Tyler Long?"
If Bob had known the chain of events down the road that would follow that introduction, he would have never dared to be the one responsible. Bob was my world, and he always has been. He served as the only stability I had anymore.
I lived locked away in a one bedroom apartment with Tyler, mostly cut off from the outside world. My only occasional interaction with other human beings was through Bob.
That night Tyler passed out on the torn sofa, his hand still loosely wrapped around a bottle of vodka that was three-fourths empty. My phone started to ring, making my heart stop. I clawed for it quickly so that I wouldn't wake the sleeping giant. I saw Bob's name on the caller ID screen, and something similar to a wave of relief washed over me.
I spoke to him for a moment, lying about what I had done that day to ease his feeling of concern for me. I didn't tell him about all of the fresh contusions I had received that day; as far as he knows, my day was noting but pleasant.
He had called me to invite me to see some bands play. His roommate Frank was in a punk band called Pency Prep, so Bob and their third friend Ray were going to support him. I was brimming with excitement at the thought of that: escaping, even if for a short while, just to remember what it's like to be independent. However, if I were to go, I would have to tiptoe and hold my breath, risking the consequences I could face if I was caught by my superior.
It was a risk I was willing to make. So I swallowed my fear and told Bob to come and pick me up.
I could lift a hand to my face and feel the swelling underneath my eyes, puffy from dozing off after an exhausting sob session. My cheeks were still damp from tears that never even dried. My throat burned from an intense yelling match I had had just hours ago.
The space in the bed next to me was empty, the covers thrown back, the pillow still indented with the shape of his head. I wondered how long I had been sleeping alone, where he was, and if he was ever coming back. I prayed that he wouldn't, but I realized I had jinxed myself when I heard the front door to the apartment creak open. I heard his heavy footsteps, followed by the calling of my name. His voice never wavered, as if nothing had ever happened.
I leapt from the bed to meet him halfway in the kitchen, my stomach doing summersaults all the while. I went weak at the sight of him, dead in his tracks, his caramel brown hair shining in the sunlight that beamed through the window above the sink. We immediately locked eyes, but even so I couldn't read his emotion.
He had a bouquet of roses in his arms, at least a dozen of them, wrapped in cellophane. Again I met his eyes, that managed to be both piercing and dull, if at all possible. He swallowed, before opening his mouth to speak.
"I got you these."
He spoke in monotone, never letting my gaze leave his. I watched for sincerity.
I looked him up and down before taking them from his grasp and muttering a stubborn, "Thanks."
We stood in something that was somewhat of an awkward silence, as if we were both waiting on the other to apologize. In all honesty, I can't remember what started the chaos in the first place. With the endless amount of feuds we had had over the years, they never failed to blur together.
To break the uncomfortable anticipation, he simply shuffled forward, wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into a stiff hug. His grip was strong, reminding me that I couldn't escape even if I tried.
"Let's just drop it okay?" he said, staring across the room, ignoring interaction all of a sudden. In the heat of the battle, he was aggressive, fiery, unafraid to tell you how he felt. When we made up, he was made of stone, and he refused to discuss it anymore. His philosophy was to bury it under the rug.
We had met four years ago, the summer before my junior year of high school. Maybe if I wasn't so naïve and stupid back then, I wouldn't have gotten so deep in this shit hole. Maybe if I wasn't so angsty and defiant, I wouldn't have purposely jeopardized my future and my dignity.
I met him through my brother, Bob, who was in the same class as him, both of them being three grades above me. All at some shitty party in a shitty house full of shitty people, Bob approached me with an unknown face trailing behind him, introducing him by asking, "Do you know Tyler Long?"
If Bob had known the chain of events down the road that would follow that introduction, he would have never dared to be the one responsible. Bob was my world, and he always has been. He served as the only stability I had anymore.
I lived locked away in a one bedroom apartment with Tyler, mostly cut off from the outside world. My only occasional interaction with other human beings was through Bob.
That night Tyler passed out on the torn sofa, his hand still loosely wrapped around a bottle of vodka that was three-fourths empty. My phone started to ring, making my heart stop. I clawed for it quickly so that I wouldn't wake the sleeping giant. I saw Bob's name on the caller ID screen, and something similar to a wave of relief washed over me.
I spoke to him for a moment, lying about what I had done that day to ease his feeling of concern for me. I didn't tell him about all of the fresh contusions I had received that day; as far as he knows, my day was noting but pleasant.
He had called me to invite me to see some bands play. His roommate Frank was in a punk band called Pency Prep, so Bob and their third friend Ray were going to support him. I was brimming with excitement at the thought of that: escaping, even if for a short while, just to remember what it's like to be independent. However, if I were to go, I would have to tiptoe and hold my breath, risking the consequences I could face if I was caught by my superior.
It was a risk I was willing to make. So I swallowed my fear and told Bob to come and pick me up.
Notes
Hey everyone! I sincerely apologize that Gerard isn't in the first chapter, as well as the very little mention of the others. They will all be present in the next. This is basically an introduction. I'm typically quick to update my stories, so I'll most likely add at least a few chapters a week.This is my first story on this particular website, so I'm super stoked about it! It'd be way rad to get comments or even just to chat with other awesome MCR fans!
<3
12/1/13