THE BADLANDS [ON HOLD]
Gasoline
“Are you deranged like me? Are you strange like me?
Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?
Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?
Pointing fingers cause you'll never take the blame like me?” -Gasoline, Halsey
Tour Love and Little Jimmy, as I quickly found out, are well equipped for anything that comes their way. In their van, which is parked under the cover, next to one of the non-functional gaspumps, is small rations of food, as well as a plastic basket full of sand-filled fabric. "Everyone in the back," Love says, slapping the white-painted side of the van. "This is Lil' Shit. With her, we should be in Five by noon, at the most."
"What is today?" Gerard asks suddenly. "Like, the date. What is it?"
"Umm..." Jimmy starts and glances at the small clock on the dashboard of Lil' Shit. "It is April 10th, 8:05 in the A.M."
"Happy birthday," Frank says, slapping Gerard's shoulder.
"His birthday's today?" Love asks as Dr. Death clambers into the back of the van, shutting the door behind him.
"Yesterday," I correct her and Jet smile knowingly at us.
"So, that's why y'all were gonna jump each other's bones," Jet says, nodding a bit.
"For the last time, we were not going to have sex!" I huff, rolling my eyes.
"Sure, sure," Jet says dismissively, nodding a bit.
The whole ride is spent with Gerard and me defending ourselves, while everyone else stands their ground with their opinions. Even Little Jimmy has something to add to the conversation, even though he wasn't present for the conflict.
"Halsey, let me tell you something," Jimmy says, turning in his seat to look at me. "I'm a married man and I know when people are about to jump each other's bones. So, now, I'm telling you that y'all definitely were about to—"
"Sorry to interrupt, Jimmy," Love interjects and motions for us to move so that we can see out the window shield. "But are we expecting company, Dr. D?"
"What the fuck?" Dr. Death cries. Outside the window, there's an old diner, covered in graffiti, just like the gas station. Also, like the gas station, the windows are covered by butcher paper. The sign soaring into the bright blue sky is supposed to say DINER, expect a few of the letters are missing, making it say DIE. Very ominous. However, unlike the gas station, there's a red pickup truck parked in front, with someone poking their head in through the cracked passenger side window. "Who the hell is that?" Dr. Death exclaims as the person leans out of the truck. I can see that it's a man, but I can't see much else, other than a black fedora-type hat on his heat. What the actual fuck?
Love jerkily puts on the brakes and Dr. Death immediately escapes, despite Frank and Mikey's protests. "Oh, shit," Jimmy mutters as Dr. Death quickly pulls out his gun and grabs the man by the collar of his black jacket, shoving him up against the door of the truck.
"I'm gonna go help," I sigh, grabbing my own gun from next to me and clicking the safety off. At the hard snap of the gun, Gerard's eyes widened and he snatched up my wrist, keeping me from moving.
"You're not going out there," he says, sounding confident that this would be the end of the conversation.
"Why not? I have a gun and pretty decent aim," I argue, slight anger making my blood boil. "Let me go help."
"Halsey, I'm not letting you go out there," Gerard says sternly and, behind him, I can see Frank's eyebrows fly up his forehead in shock. Frank's eyes flick to me, examining the clearly pissed-off look on my face, then to Gerard, finally catching onto his mistake. "I didn't mean it like—"
"Like you own me?" I ask. "Like you have control over me?" I peek over my shoulder, out the window, to see Dr. Death still pinning the man to the truck. The stranger seems to be trying to fight back, and Dr. Death seems about ready to give him. "The person who helped break you out of jail is fucking defending his home right now, and he needs help. Now, let go of my fucking arm."
With that, Gerard's grip loosens and I jerk my arm away, gripping my gun with so much force, I feel like I might break it. "If you want to help," I start, talking to the whole van in general. "Be my guest."
I quickly throw the backdoor open, the hot, dry desert air smacking me in the face. I slam the door closed and run over to Dr. Death. "Halsey, thank God," Dr. Death mumbles once I get next to him.
"Who're you?" I growl at the stranger, pulling my gun up to his right temple. "And don't give me that 'I'm your worst nightmare' shit."
"I am..." the man starts, his gray eyes flashing. "Not telling you my name." He smirks and I give Dr. Death a look. He knows right off what I want to do, and releases the man. Quickly, I put my gun in the waistband of my jeans and watch the fedora-ed man relax for a second before I drive my forearm against his throat hard, shoving him back into the truck with more force than before. I press my body against his and, knowing that Gerard is watching— and because I'm an asshole— slowly trail my hand up the man's leg.
"Your name," I say quietly, watching his face contort into one of pleasure as my fingers ghost over the over-sensitive part of him. "Please."
"Truant," he chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut. "Truant Punk." As soon as the words come out of his mouth, I remove myself from him and step back, popping my hip. "Wait, what the fuck was that?" Truant asks, anger evident in his eyes.
"I know how to get what I want," I tell him, shrugging. I brush my hair out of my eyes and add "Why're you here?"
Truant doesn't answer for a few seconds, recovering from what just happened. "I... Umm..." He stutters, and swallows. "I checked the place and thought it was abandoned, so I've been camping out here for the past few months."
"Got anyone else with you?" I ask but, before he can answer, my arms are pulled around behind me and I'm shoved up against the truck, my cheekbone slicing open on the metal.
"Me," a voice says and I crane my head to see another man, with tanned skin and a bright red beanie over his hair. He seems normal, until you take into account his eyes: scarlet, the same exact color at his hat. "And my friend," he adds and I turn to see Dr. Death on the sand next to me, struggling against yet another man with a small mop of curly, bright red hair on his head. The second man's white shirt is covered in dried brown stains and sand, and he seems intent on keeping Dr. Death's wrists pinned to ground.
"What the fuck do you want?" Dr. Death snarls, trying to fight against the man. "Who are you?"
"We've got two names," my captor says, glancing at the man sitting on Dr. Death's stomach. "I'm Mad Gear, A.K.A Blurryface. That's the Missile Kid, or DJ Spooky Jim. Whichever is easiest for you to remember. And who might you be?"
"Halsey," I manage to say, my blood seeping into my mouth, making me cough. "He's Dr. Death Defying."
"Halsey, huh?" Mad Gear sneers. "The Halsey? Like, Hesitant Alien, Party Poison's friend, Halsey?"
"That's her," Dr. Death says, still struggling against the Missile Kid's grip. How is he named after Jet's daughter? Maybe Jet's daughter is named after this man. That a more likely. "Let her go, now. Poison's gonna be out here—"
Before he can even finish his sentence, a red laser beam flies by Mad Gear's head, sending up sparks from its landing place on the truck. "Now, apparently," Dr. Death says as the Missile Kid falls still.
"Get your fucking hands off of them," Gerard yells, his voice getting closer and closer each second. "Or I'll give you two shots to the back of your heads."
Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?
Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?
Pointing fingers cause you'll never take the blame like me?” -Gasoline, Halsey
Tour Love and Little Jimmy, as I quickly found out, are well equipped for anything that comes their way. In their van, which is parked under the cover, next to one of the non-functional gaspumps, is small rations of food, as well as a plastic basket full of sand-filled fabric. "Everyone in the back," Love says, slapping the white-painted side of the van. "This is Lil' Shit. With her, we should be in Five by noon, at the most."
"What is today?" Gerard asks suddenly. "Like, the date. What is it?"
"Umm..." Jimmy starts and glances at the small clock on the dashboard of Lil' Shit. "It is April 10th, 8:05 in the A.M."
"Happy birthday," Frank says, slapping Gerard's shoulder.
"His birthday's today?" Love asks as Dr. Death clambers into the back of the van, shutting the door behind him.
"Yesterday," I correct her and Jet smile knowingly at us.
"So, that's why y'all were gonna jump each other's bones," Jet says, nodding a bit.
"For the last time, we were not going to have sex!" I huff, rolling my eyes.
"Sure, sure," Jet says dismissively, nodding a bit.
The whole ride is spent with Gerard and me defending ourselves, while everyone else stands their ground with their opinions. Even Little Jimmy has something to add to the conversation, even though he wasn't present for the conflict.
"Halsey, let me tell you something," Jimmy says, turning in his seat to look at me. "I'm a married man and I know when people are about to jump each other's bones. So, now, I'm telling you that y'all definitely were about to—"
"Sorry to interrupt, Jimmy," Love interjects and motions for us to move so that we can see out the window shield. "But are we expecting company, Dr. D?"
"What the fuck?" Dr. Death cries. Outside the window, there's an old diner, covered in graffiti, just like the gas station. Also, like the gas station, the windows are covered by butcher paper. The sign soaring into the bright blue sky is supposed to say DINER, expect a few of the letters are missing, making it say DIE. Very ominous. However, unlike the gas station, there's a red pickup truck parked in front, with someone poking their head in through the cracked passenger side window. "Who the hell is that?" Dr. Death exclaims as the person leans out of the truck. I can see that it's a man, but I can't see much else, other than a black fedora-type hat on his heat. What the actual fuck?
Love jerkily puts on the brakes and Dr. Death immediately escapes, despite Frank and Mikey's protests. "Oh, shit," Jimmy mutters as Dr. Death quickly pulls out his gun and grabs the man by the collar of his black jacket, shoving him up against the door of the truck.
"I'm gonna go help," I sigh, grabbing my own gun from next to me and clicking the safety off. At the hard snap of the gun, Gerard's eyes widened and he snatched up my wrist, keeping me from moving.
"You're not going out there," he says, sounding confident that this would be the end of the conversation.
"Why not? I have a gun and pretty decent aim," I argue, slight anger making my blood boil. "Let me go help."
"Halsey, I'm not letting you go out there," Gerard says sternly and, behind him, I can see Frank's eyebrows fly up his forehead in shock. Frank's eyes flick to me, examining the clearly pissed-off look on my face, then to Gerard, finally catching onto his mistake. "I didn't mean it like—"
"Like you own me?" I ask. "Like you have control over me?" I peek over my shoulder, out the window, to see Dr. Death still pinning the man to the truck. The stranger seems to be trying to fight back, and Dr. Death seems about ready to give him. "The person who helped break you out of jail is fucking defending his home right now, and he needs help. Now, let go of my fucking arm."
With that, Gerard's grip loosens and I jerk my arm away, gripping my gun with so much force, I feel like I might break it. "If you want to help," I start, talking to the whole van in general. "Be my guest."
I quickly throw the backdoor open, the hot, dry desert air smacking me in the face. I slam the door closed and run over to Dr. Death. "Halsey, thank God," Dr. Death mumbles once I get next to him.
"Who're you?" I growl at the stranger, pulling my gun up to his right temple. "And don't give me that 'I'm your worst nightmare' shit."
"I am..." the man starts, his gray eyes flashing. "Not telling you my name." He smirks and I give Dr. Death a look. He knows right off what I want to do, and releases the man. Quickly, I put my gun in the waistband of my jeans and watch the fedora-ed man relax for a second before I drive my forearm against his throat hard, shoving him back into the truck with more force than before. I press my body against his and, knowing that Gerard is watching— and because I'm an asshole— slowly trail my hand up the man's leg.
"Your name," I say quietly, watching his face contort into one of pleasure as my fingers ghost over the over-sensitive part of him. "Please."
"Truant," he chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut. "Truant Punk." As soon as the words come out of his mouth, I remove myself from him and step back, popping my hip. "Wait, what the fuck was that?" Truant asks, anger evident in his eyes.
"I know how to get what I want," I tell him, shrugging. I brush my hair out of my eyes and add "Why're you here?"
Truant doesn't answer for a few seconds, recovering from what just happened. "I... Umm..." He stutters, and swallows. "I checked the place and thought it was abandoned, so I've been camping out here for the past few months."
"Got anyone else with you?" I ask but, before he can answer, my arms are pulled around behind me and I'm shoved up against the truck, my cheekbone slicing open on the metal.
"Me," a voice says and I crane my head to see another man, with tanned skin and a bright red beanie over his hair. He seems normal, until you take into account his eyes: scarlet, the same exact color at his hat. "And my friend," he adds and I turn to see Dr. Death on the sand next to me, struggling against yet another man with a small mop of curly, bright red hair on his head. The second man's white shirt is covered in dried brown stains and sand, and he seems intent on keeping Dr. Death's wrists pinned to ground.
"What the fuck do you want?" Dr. Death snarls, trying to fight against the man. "Who are you?"
"We've got two names," my captor says, glancing at the man sitting on Dr. Death's stomach. "I'm Mad Gear, A.K.A Blurryface. That's the Missile Kid, or DJ Spooky Jim. Whichever is easiest for you to remember. And who might you be?"
"Halsey," I manage to say, my blood seeping into my mouth, making me cough. "He's Dr. Death Defying."
"Halsey, huh?" Mad Gear sneers. "The Halsey? Like, Hesitant Alien, Party Poison's friend, Halsey?"
"That's her," Dr. Death says, still struggling against the Missile Kid's grip. How is he named after Jet's daughter? Maybe Jet's daughter is named after this man. That a more likely. "Let her go, now. Poison's gonna be out here—"
Before he can even finish his sentence, a red laser beam flies by Mad Gear's head, sending up sparks from its landing place on the truck. "Now, apparently," Dr. Death says as the Missile Kid falls still.
"Get your fucking hands off of them," Gerard yells, his voice getting closer and closer each second. "Or I'll give you two shots to the back of your heads."
Notes
Truant Punk= Patrick Stump (Fall Out Boy)
Blurryface (Mad Gear)= Tyler Joseph (twenty.one.pilots)
DJ Spooky Jim (the Missile Kid)= Josh Dun (twenty.one.pilots)
Just thought I'd mention that...
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stay lovely xoøli
The last line of every chapter is always great.
And happy birthday Hesitant Alien!
10/1/15