Prom Fever

I'm not a person who dreams a lot. Actually, let me rephrase that. In the existential sense, I suppose I am one who spends a lot of time in my figurative upstairs. That's a different kind of dreaming, though. The type of dreaming I don't usually engage in is the kind that hits you when you're asleep, more vulnerable than ever.
While I don't dream often, the dreams that I do have tend to be extremely vivid and entirely accurate to whatever's going on in my life. Those dreams come in such an intensity that they make up for what they lack in quantity.
That night at Gerard's, I have one of those dreams.
I sleep on his floor. I haven't slept on his floor, like, ever, but I feel the need to tonight. It's bad enough knowing that I won't be the one to rent the limo or buy the corsage or whatever it is that kids do for prom; I don't need to have him breathing all nice and soft just beside me on top of that.
So I lay right face down on that crummy carpet of his. Coated with stray paints drops and pastel tracings and god knows what else, that's the one. Scout undoubtedly did his business here once or twice.
I don't fall asleep for what feels like a long time. An awful lot of time is spent on that grimy floor just thinking, and a lot of those thoughts are of remorse for myself. I mourn my own personal tragedy like it's a fucking Nicholas Sparks movie.
With thoughts like that, it’s no wonder I have such a wild dream.
All I really remember about the dream is Gerard being totally unreachable. Something about how I was in trouble and he couldn’t- or wouldn’t, help. I kept grasping for him, kept grabbing at him, but always fell short. I wake up around six drenched in a cold sweat.
Knowing that I can’t go back to sleep after that dream, I rise, stretching my arms towards the ceiling. I peer over at Gerard to see him sleeping soundly, mouth slightly open and all. The room is still dim; I blindly stumble over to his desk, careful not to make noise.
Checking his phone, I see that his alarm isn’t due for another hour. I groan softly, glancing over at my sorry excuse for a bed. Briefly considering spending the next hour in shriveled blankets over a shag carpet, I dismiss the thought, opting for a shower instead.
Luckily for me, Gerard and I had picked up clothes at my house the night before. I grab these in one arm, a bundle of jeans, socks, a shirt, underwear, and of course a mandatory hoodie, and start up the steps.
I take my time; Gerard’s steep wooden stairs are prone to creaking noises. Each painstaking howl seems like enough to wake up the entire neighborhood. Thankful for Gerard’s heavy sleeping habits, I reach the top, then turning into the living room where I see a figure in the middle of the den area.
I stifle a surprised gasp, clasping a hand over my mouth. Squinting in the darkness, my hand gropes the nearby wall for a light switch. Finding the thing, I switch it on, scrunching my eyes further at the offending light.
Standing there dressed skimpily in grey cotton trunk styled undies, I see no one other than Pete Wentz. He has his own bundle of clothing tucked under one arm and his shoes in his free hand. He turns to face me and turns the color of the Ways’ overstuffed leather loveseat, bringing his small collection of clothing over his crotch. He tries to speak, but all that really comes out is, “I… I… err… uh…”
“Don’t break yourself, jeez,” I scoff. “What are you doing here?”
His eyes go wide, and he stammers, “I… uh… nothing. What are you doing here?”
“Gerard invited me,” I retort.
“Well, Mikey invited me,” Pete counters.
“He better have,” I growl. I stride towards him, and he actually cowers from me a bit, being a freshman and everything. I always forget that these kids look up to me, not in the literal sense because of my height, but in a figurative sort of way. “If you hurt anyone in this family, I will fucking end you, Wentz. You got it?”
Pete nods dumbly, the color drained from his face.
Peeking over the clump of clothing he has, I smirk and comment, “Cute boy shorts.”
After that, the redness returns to his face, and he sort of mumbles, “Thanks.”
I proceed to the Ways’ bathroom and Pete makes for the door. I stop, calling to him softly so as not to wake anyone, “Pete!”
Pete looks at me once more with those big stupid brown eyes of his.
“Be good to Mikey,” I order. “He’s a nice guy.”
Pete again nods, mustering up the courage to assure, “I will.” With that, he opens the Way’s sliding glass door, slinking off into the early morning light.
I reach the shower, slipping out of my pajamas. In just my underwear, I start to think about Gerard and Lyn-Z again. Taking them off and stepping into the shower, my head gets heavier with the idea of those two on prom night. Gerard will buy her a beautiful corsage that matches his rented cummerbund that matches his borrowed tie that matches her perfect fucking dress.
Goddamn it.
Lathering shampoo into my hair and not even noticing it’s Gerard’s mother’s scented jasmine concoction, these concepts just continue. He’ll take her in his shitty little car that she’ll make him clean just for her and they’ll both laugh about how they should’ve gotten a limo. They’ll get to the dance and won’t actually do much dancing so much as grinding and groping. The dance will wind down so he’ll take her to this shady motel where he’ll check four times that his car is locked before leading her inside their shitty room.
Down they’ll go on that nasty mattress with mysterious stains and a vague, but foul odor. He’ll take off her dress and shimmy it down her body and he’ll have a lot of trouble undoing the clasp to her bra but they’ll just giggle about it and… and…
I give my head a good pound with the side of my fist. I’m used to feeling like I’m drowning, but for the first time, the metaphorical waters are neck deep.

Notes

overdue update, yes I know. someone told me to pick this one back up and I had a lot of fun writing the new chapter! this one will be continued after all.

please comment, and leave a kudos behind if you enjoyed it!