#2 punks

[bayblonde]

Two Punks in Love Masterlist - Young Love/Small Town Bam Margera/CKY/Jackass Fan Fiction

You are nearly 25, and haven't seen your ex-boyfriend Bam since the first summer after graduating high school. That same summer, you'd finally be free of your abusive father, but at great cost. You grew up and still live in your small coastal town, the lovingly stupid boys from Bam's crew all just a walk away. Bam had left town after the incident, unsure of how to help you other than let you go. You have some demons that could scare even the CKY crew, who tried to kill one another as a daily routine. 

But it's Fall in California, and he's back in town...bringing with him all the memories you'd fought so hard to avoid every day since your father finally died. Some memories were as warm and beautiful as the coastal sunset. Some threatened to swallow you whole, so deep you'd lose yourself in their darkness. Maybe seeing Bam again could coax you to creep out of the cave you'd put yourself in. Maybe...

Basically a young love/high school into young adulthood/small town/angsty Bam and OFC fic. Heavy on the angst, the fluffy lovey-dovey shit, smut, and debauchery. Warnings: 18+, drinking, drugs, and mentions of abuse.

rating: 18+ explicit MDNI

Chapter 1 - Cigarette Run

Chapter 2 - Sixteen Going on Seventeen

Chapter 3 - What Are You?

Chapter 4 - Homecoming

Chapter 5 - Unspoken

Chapter 6 - Daydreaming

Chapter 7 - Kiss, Drink, Fight

Chapter 8 - Still Breathing

Link to my ao3 - All chapters and other fics also posted there.

Playlist for the fic

[boofwellington]

I bet they hung out

[bayblonde]

Two Punks in Love

Chapter 3 - What Are you?

You looked up at him as if thirsty for water after going years without it, and the scabs on his knuckles prickled along your face. His other thumb pressed into the center of your bottom lip, his fingerprint a cherry wine red. 

“I’m a dead man walking,” he answered your question, leaning down so his lips were inches from yours. His breath smelled like rum and coke, his hair like the shampoo April used to keep in the guest bathroom.

Warnings: 18+, drinking, drugs, and mentions of abuse.

Masterlist

     The shot glasses barely had a second to clatter back onto the kitchen counter before your roommate was filling them back up. Vodka burned at your throat. The room temperature liquor trickled down inside of you like the rain in the gutter by your bedroom window. You squeezed your eyes shut and bit into the old lemon slice that Cassie had hastily cut when you said you’d take a couple shots but only if there was a chaser. You lose your stomach much easier these days. You could almost laugh to yourself now…thinking about how you used to be able to shoot Jack Daniels straight with Ryan in the parking lot of the bowling alley he worked at for a summer. He was so angry when they fired him on his second week, even though he reeked of alcohol and pot. Bam would always act impressed at your poker face after a shot. 

But Bam wasn’t here, and you did not laugh.

You simply grabbed your forehead and held up your palm to Cassie. She was already bouncing up and down dramatically and pouting.

“Nooo y/n! You can NOT be lame tonight. We are GOING to this party. I already told you-”

“I know, I know Cass…” You interrupted, reaching for the third shot in five minutes and recited the line that Cassie would not let you forget all night:

“Dico will be there! Dico will be there!” You did not have to pitch your voice up but in order to tease your best friend, you felt it was appropriate for the imitation.

Cassie was just happy you were accepting your fate and the next day’s hangover in order to please her.

The third shot turned into the fifth in a matter of minutes, and you both were shoving your feet into chunky black boots. The knee high knit socks made up for the mini skirt, or at least you hoped. It was an unseasonably cold night for Halloween in California. You couldn’t be too worried about the weather, really, when you knew you’d be crammed into Ryan’s tiny house with at least 60 sweaty, drunk, skater-degenerates soon. You suppose you had to add yourself to that guest list as well. 

     The satisfying crunch of your heels on the gravel behind Ryan’s pseudo-frat house rang like a rusted bell through the dark of night. A speaker playing music in the distance already sounded on the verge of blowing out. You rolled your eyes. Ryan always had a knack for pissing off his neighbors, no matter the street name. 

“What are you supposed to be, anyways?” Cassie asked, the liquor sliding its way down her voice. The nylon of her skin-tight nurse costume squealed with every step forward. 

You looked down at your half-baked and mismatched costume. An old black t-shirt that you cut with dull scissors and a red plaid skirt you stole from Hot Topic in high school. The socks and boots were to avoid freezing during the inevitable cigarette breaks out on the back porch. Bam always made fun of you for being such a “Cali priss” since he would spend holiday breaks with his family back in Westchester. 

“Now that's what real cold feels like, sweetheart,” he’d say, his lilted voice pushing every button inside of you, even now. 

“I’m…a sexy school girl…duh…” 

Cassie just laughed and pushed your shoulder.

“Shut up…you had no other costume,” she pulled out two shooters from her cleavage and shoved one into your hand. Your heels got caught in the crack in the sidewalk filled with wet green grass, sending you in an awkward, twisting fall to your knees. The plastic of the vodka bottle cried out as if to mock you, and you both laughed out loud, hard. 

“God dammit, Cass! I am here busting my ass for you! Literally!” The nerves of seeing old friends and the vodka and your best friend all made you laugh harder than you ever would have alone. You always needed a hand to hold. Some hands were more hollow than others.

Face to face, illuminated by the orange and purple lights flashing out of Ryan’s windows, you take your sixth shot with Cassie in unison…and go in.

Ryan was leaning against the kitchen island, nursing a Bud Light and laughing about something with Brandon Dicamillo. The backwards hat and stained flannel reminded you of countless nights in Bam’s parent’s garage, the group of you dying of laughter to one of Dico’s many stories, fried out of your brains. The air smells like those nights, thick with tobacco and weed. Someone is screaming in the living room, followed by the sound of cups crashing onto the ground and raucous, boyish laughter. Cassie drags you into the kitchen and raises her arm as she announces your arrival.

“Hiiii boys!” Cassie sings out with confident glee. Brandon and Ryan look over towards the door frame in which you both stand with stupid, tipsy smiles and tattered purses. 

Dico’s eyes lit up like Christmas lights when he saw Cassie, and his story no longer seemed so important as he pushed himself away from the counter. 

“Cassie, baby. Come, come! We just must catch up.” His voice was as wickedly tilted as his smile, palm out to take hers.

Cassie giggled and took his hand. And just like that, they were lost to the dimly lit hallway scattered with fake spider webs and splatters of “blood.” A hanging skeleton smiled at you from the door frame they left behind, swinging from being knocked into by body after body. When you turned back, Ryan was staring at you.

Maybe it was the shots, but catching him by surprise gave you a cocky smile and a feeling of pride. Not prideful enough to fight your shyness. It had been years since you were in front of Ryan Dunn. The softness in his big eyes did get your apprehensive feet to step over towards him, however. The eye-patch and poorly taped parrot on his shoulder also helped lighten the awkward situation. 

“Dude.” It was all he said, and his voice did not sound as soft as his eyes appeared. It was blunt and a little bit anxious. You squinted and pulled out the bottle that Cassie had stuffed into her purse that you now held as she hooked up with Dico in his trashed bedroom. 

“Well it sure is nice to see you after all this time too, Ryan.” You appreciated how brave the plastic bottle of vodka made you, as well as the way it helped you drip with sarcasm.

This really should have prompted a witty but loving comeback from Ryan, but he just seemed too distracted by something behind you. Your heart could dig itself a deep grave in your belly, right then and there. 

“You…have got…to be kidding me.” You were frozen still there on that sticky linoleum floor. The bottle hung by your exposed thigh. 

His eyes focussed from behind you back in on your own, and he shook his head and couldn’t hold the laugh of disbelief any longer.

“Fuck no, y/n. How was I supposed to know you’d show up to this one party after ignoring the last 700 invitations?”

     You damn near whimpered as you realized what you were going to have to do. You had to turn around at some point, even just to leave, and see him.

So you did what you knew could help numb this wound you were about to pick open. Ryan laughed and finished his beer while you took a swig of vodka from the bottle, palm hot and wrapped around the neck. As you wiped your stained-red lips, he yanked the bottle from your fist and smiled at you.

“It’s funny…this is the first time he’s shown up to one of my parties in years too…”

He took a shot from the bottle and turned to leave and flirt with the girl out in the backyard. 

     And because you told yourself you would, you swung one leg over the other and spun around. The metal of Cassie’s purse clipped the metal of your belly button piercing, and you pressed your lips together. Because you told yourself you would…you looked towards the back of the red-lit living room. Witches, aliens, cowboys and sexy police officers all danced and pushed against one another. The music vibrated the shitty drywall and the carpet had a crunchy texture beneath each foot step closer and closer to him.

Bam wasn’t much for costumes, either. 

It was the first time in five years that you’d seen your ex-boyfriend and here he was. Twenty-three, taller, broader, hair shorter…and fake blood dripping from one corner of his mouth. Or at least you’d guessed it was fake on account of the holiday. You never really knew with Bam.

     There he stood, head hung low and eyes watching you as if you were slowly being fed into his veins. You felt the same way, and kept stumbling closer and closer…

Like when the little pills would start to kick in, your proximity to Bam made you feel like being bathed in a saccharine sunshine. As euphoric as it was intoxicating.  

The drums of the song blasting crashed together just as you reached him. It was as if you were both inside a wet, hot bubble of laughter, sweat, and alcohol, all sounds beginning to sound muffled. They were pushed through the bubble’s thick, saliva-coated membrane. Both of your focuses were locked on the other’s body. His chest rose and fell slowly and he looked down at you with a silly, sad, drunk look. 

You were finally close enough for him to touch, and he knew your body so well. At least he had before it all went to shit. 

Bam licked his lips and spoke,

“Hey…”

You did not know what you wanted, needed, or expected him to say, but it was not hey. He really could have said anything though, you’d be just as likely to stick to him like velcro. You looked up at him, your chest slowly closing the gap and pressing into his.

“What are you?” you asked. You wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

Bam smiled, his canines pressing into his bottom lip, those adorable smile lines framing his mouth just as before. Your chest unfurled and you could have sprouted wings then and there. He lifted his hand to gently grab the pieces of hair that had fallen around your face. You felt his skin burn deliciously against your cheek bone, your own complexion on fire. 

     You were watching him with stars in your heavy lidded eyes, and felt his other hand rest on your hip. The rough pad of his thumb pressed just above the buckle of your studded belt hanging along the top of your mini skirt. Just like riding a bike, his hands could recall how they touched and handled your body the more he allowed them to.

You looked up at him as if thirsty for water after going years without it, and the scabs along his knuckles prickled along your face. His other thumb pressed into the center of your bottom lip, his fingerprint a cherry wine red. 

“I’m a dead man walking,” he answered your question, leaning down so his lips were inches from yours. His breath smelled like rum and coke, his hair like the shampoo April used to keep in the guest bathroom. 

“Oh really?” as you spoke, Bam’s fingertip edged a bit deeper into your mouth, just ever so subtly. He nodded slowly down at you, your bodies starting to sway to the music that raged on around you. Maybe you noticed how he was leading you into the hallway, his pace so gradual.

“You look pretty damn alive to me,” you teased, biting down on his fingertip. He winced slightly and smiled wider, dark eyes lighting up with excitement. 

“Consider me brought back to life, then, baby.” 

And before you could remember why you said goodbye or how you’d feel about this tomorrow…your lips were on top of his. He’d led you both into the hallway towards the back of the house, where nobody was passed out drunk yet. Just your shoes were cast in a muddy golden glow of Ryan’s back door light, creeping in through dirty glass on the door.   

     His hands grabbed your hips hungrily and yanked your bottom half flush into his, leaning back against the wall to support your bodies. You bit his lip and ran your palms flat along his chest, coaxing a moan from his throat and straight down into yours. You drank each other in selfishly, his hands became greedy.

     “Fuck,” you whimpered into Bam’s mouth as one hand snaked under your shirt and cupped your breast. He pushed your bra up and over your tits. His left hand rubbed up your thigh and underneath the pleats of your skirt. He squeezed your ass hard and you lost your hands in his hair, pressing his back into the wall firmly. 

     “I miss you,” Bam whispered between heavy, breathless kisses. The sugar on both your tongues mixes in your mouths. 

     “I need you,” you replied, hands unbuckling his belt. You turned and dragged him through the door behind you, hand wrapped around the waistband of his jeans. He laughed and bit his lipstick-stained lip. 

     “Always yours.”

     And as his foot slammed the door shut behind you both, bodies crashing into the wood and getting lost in the shadowed darkness, you fell onto your knees and pulled his pants down with you.

     “Holy shit,” Bam threw his head back and lost his breath over his excitement as you took him into your mouth. The numbness in your throat helped you accommodate his length, spit stringing down your chin and absolutely drenching him. Bam could never leave you down there long, however, not without his turn for fun.

He lifted you up and sat you hastily on the desk next to the door. Your back nearly knocked over an old lamp, head knocking into the shade. 

“Sorry, pretty girl,” Bam apologized, voice thick with lust. He made it up to you down on his knees now, curls tickling your inner thighs. Pulling your panties to the side and glancing up at you one more time, his eyes asked for permission to taste you after all this time. You nodded quickly and grabbed his curls, legs spreading obediently and eagerly for him. 

     “What a good girl,” Bam smiled coyly up at you, then lowered his head. His tongue pressed torturously down onto your bundle of nerves, hands gripping the back of your legs. You moaned his name like a prayer and this only made him work harder. 

“Love to hear you say my name, pretty girl.” He lifted two digits to his mouth to suck and plunged them slowly inside of you. He cursed at how wet and warm you felt around his fingers, knuckles deep, then got back to lapping you up. You threw your head back, hair swinging down onto the dusty lamp shade, hard wires pressing into the back of your skull. Bam took you and guided your body back and forth, rocking to the rhythm of your building orgasm. 

“Can I feel you tonight, baby girl?” Bam asked politely, paired with the squelching sounds of his tongue running circles in and out of you. 

“Please,” you begged, voice cracking, hands clasping the edge of the desk. A white hot heat was rising up your stomach, as white as your knuckles. Bam stood and lined himself up, leaning in to whisper in your ear.

“I wanna hear you say my name, baby.”

“Please, Bam. Please fuck me Bam.” 

“Thank you, good girl.” And he pushed inside of you at an achingly patient pace. Both of your jaws dropped, noses touching. Bam’s hands grabbed your hips as he worked his way in and out, deeper and harder with every thrust. You felt your legs start to quiver and reached up to hold onto his broad shoulders for support as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna-”

“I know, baby. I’ve got you.” His words sent you careening to your climax, golden stars lining your vision as you shouted his name alongside God’s. 

Bam pulled out shortly after and came all over his hand and your thighs. Your forehead rested on his shoulder, he kissed your sweaty hair. 

You both took a moment to exhale, listening to each other’s breathing. Just as he buckled his pants and you set yourself back onto unsteady, sexed out legs, the door opened just a crack. Red light and music slithered just past the door frame, and Ryan’s face squeezed into the crack. His eye patch was askew and his parrot was nowhere to be seen. A couple fresh lipstick kisses lined the collar of his shirt and center of his neck. He had a dumb, proud smile. You cursed, taken by surprise, and Bam looked at him over his shoulder and shook his head.

“Fuck off, Dunn. I don’t wanna hear it.”

“I didn’t say anything!” Ryan said. 

You fixed your hair in the spotty mirror on the wall and opened the door fully, sending Ryan’s shoulder to knock into the frame. He looked at you with half-assed anger. He was simply too excited to tease you both about this to feel mad. 

“I’m gonna kick your ass Ryan.”

Bam laughed and stepped up behind you, body framing yours just as it always did. Protecting, waiting, and patient. 

“You guys are both right. I’m an asshole. Sorry for inviting you to my Halloween party. What a dick.” Ryan shook his head and faked a solemn look down at the floorboards. 

You and Bam rolled your eyes and pushed past Ryan. He took his jacket off and placed it on your shoulders as you both walked out the front door and onto the cold wet front lawn. 

You took out a cigarette and Bam was pulling out a light before it could settle in between your lips. 

“Thanks,” you said and took a long drag.

“You come here alone?” Bam asked, hands shoved inside his pockets. 

“Cass,” you answered, handing him the cig.

He took it and smiled before smoking it.

“I’m sure Dico is happy about that.”

“He’s sucking her toes in his bedroom as we speak, I’m sure of it.”

Bam held his stomach and let out a loud, sweet laugh. He sounded like he did in high school, voice cracking and awkward. He always sounded more boyish when he was drunk.

You looked over at him as he laughed and couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. 

It started to drizzle as you two shared the cigarette in silence, the party escalating behind you. 

“You uh…can I walk you home?” Bam asked after the rain had a chance to pool around your boots, grass and mud encasing your feet. 

You turned around towards the house and tried to recall where you left Cassie’s purse. You knew she’d stay the night with Dico and that she’d prefer to walk back in the morning after a couple Red Bulls and Advils.

     “You dropped her purse back in the living room when we…” Bam started and got shy. 

“I’ll go tell Ryan to take care of it, and be right back.”

Bam walked back inside and came out holding your jacket, purse, and two soda cans. You laughed and took a can. Bam placed the hood of your jacket on your head and draped it over his own jacket that encased your body, and turned you down the empty street. 

You let him take your hand and let your brain doze off, let yourself feel this waking dream. He told you about his breakfast with Phil and April that morning after he flew in from Philly. You told him about the bitch you had to deal with at the restaurant and he listened. 

Neither of you mentioned what happened or what all of this could mean. You just let one another be what they were, right here…right now. Even if you didn’t know what that was. 

It wasn’t until you got to your front door and pushed your cold, brass key into the lock that Bam scrunched his eyebrows at you and tilted his head.

“What are you supposed to be, by the way?” He asked.

“I’m a sexy school girl…I guess…” You said, pushing the door open and walking in, leaving it open. An invitation. 

You turned to see Bam standing right outside the frame; a gentle, happy…and almost grateful smile crept onto his face. He looked at you…really taking you in.

“What?” You asked, standing awkwardly on your welcome mat, hands clasped around the handles of your purse.

Bam just shook his head and stepped inside and past you, kicking the door closed behind him. 

“Nothing, pretty girl.” He called out as he walked into your living room, a dull lantern light casting along the room from the corner.

You took a deep breath and followed him. It was never just nothing with you and Bam.

And that was okay.

[bayblonde]

Two Punks in Love

Chapter 2 - Sixteen Going on Seventeen

Your eyes twitched along with the silent, melancholy laugh stuck in your chest. Cold and sticky like honey spilt on the counter. It was funny how an old hand-me-down car could feel like the safest, most warm place in the world when you were on your way home. But it wasn’t home. Not really.

Chapter 2 is here! Thanks for the kick in the pants. I got hella inspired and hope ya'll like it.

Summary: Chapter 2 of the Young Love Bam Fic. This is a flashback chapter and full of that angsty, rowdy young teen love bullshit that I love. xoxo

Warnings: 18+, drinking, drugs, and mentions of abuse.

Masterlist

     You loved the way his eyes looked heavy and deep when he was concentrating. His dark curls bounced along his ears and the nape of his neck as he dropped into the empty swimming pool, the scrape of his board cutting through the buttery sunset of the day. His Element shirt hung off your body loosely, allowing a much appreciated breeze to sneak its way across your stomach. Sweat still prickled along the waistband of your shorts, the effort from the short run you had in the bowl before Bam. He always preferred you try your skate tricks first, so he had all his strength to help you should you fall or get hurt. Maybe it was the shitty weed that Rake had stolen from his dad’s bedside table, or maybe it really was teenage love…but you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.  Another long drag of the joint and you took a break from staring at your boyfriend. You looked down and stubbed it out on the rim of the pool. The cracked cement looked like veins climbing up into nothingness…just more gray. A car’s front bumper smacked into the parking lot as it drove carelessly into a spot, screeching to a stop. The loud metal music raged on as two boys got out, laughing and holding onto their stomachs, as if nothing could be funnier. Ryan and Raab. 

     You scoffed and shook your head, turning your attention back onto Bam. He was walking over to you now, his head turned to watch his friends stumble over. He lifted his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his forehead, exposing his entire torso. You blushed at the sight of the two bright hickeys you put on him the night before. One above his belly button, one right below his collarbone. It made you feel for the purple mark on your neck, now covered by your hair. Some bruises could be good. 

     Bam shook his head just as you did but did not stay quiet. 

“Hey shit birds! If you’re gonna hot box my uncle’s car…at least play some good fucking music!” He yelled at them, each heavy step bringing him closer to you. With each inch of distance closed between you two the anxiety was replaced with indulgent giddiness. If only you knew then that you really couldn’t be sixteen forever. 

     Ryan and Raab got to you just as Bam did, all three boys sitting on either side, Bam’s board nudging your butt and his knee knocking into yours. Your eyes met and he instantly grabbed you by the back of the head, pulling you in for a sloppy wet kiss on the forehead. You feigned disgust, pushing his chest with the flat of your palms. 

“Yuck.”

You both laughed. Breathy, full of smoke, and young. 

“Oh come on,” Ryan dramatically lilted, his voice muddied by the chewing of his gum. He tossed an empty water bottle behind the four of you, and the smell of watered down weed wafted to your nostrils. It was covered quickly by the scent of Bam’s hair, thankfully. Bam rested his head on your shoulder and took more heavy breaths in, his body coming down from the workout. 

“What now, you moron?” He asked out to Ryan.

“I just think I’m the one who should be grossed out, is all.” Ryan’s sunglasses sat lazily on the bridge of his nose, his dirty blonde hair looking unkempt and unwashed. 

“Pray tell, Ryan Dunn…” You started, a coy smile tugging at the corners of your lips. You felt Bam’s head lift and knew he was smiling up at you, mischievously giddy at the anticipation of watching you argue with his best friend...again. 

“What is causing you such discomfort now, Mr. Dunn?” You turned to face Ryan and reached out to take the cigarette he was lighting out of his hand. Raab laughed his body into a hunch, something he did whether high or sober. His voice cracked and his skinny arms flexed as he held his legs. 

Ryan did not flinch or seem offended or phased by your teasing. He simply sniffed and pursed his lips, reaching out to light his cigarette that was now leaning out of your lips. 

“Well, y/n..” The metallic click of his lighter punctuated his words. You inhaled the smoke he lit for you so kindly, and handed it back to him. 

“Having to watch my two best friends suck on each other’s faces and look at one another as if they are the second coming of Christ…just..irks the soul a bit.” 

Bam cackled at that, fully sitting up and pushing his board into Ryan’s lower back. 

“I bet it does, especially when you haven’t gotten laid since homecoming!” Bam almost couldn’t get out his next words through the laughter.

“Sorry we have to remind you of how lonely you are, but Raab’s right there. Go on…french him.”

And that got Ryan to stand up quicker than he moved in a minute, Bam already running away. The cigarette fell between you and Raab, the smoke wafting above the cracked cement veins. You picked it up delicately and took a long drag as you watched the two boys tackle one another on the overgrown grass. Telephone wires framed the fight, no longer lit up by a sunset as it dipped below the brown rolling hills than enclosed your small town. It was only then that you realized the music in Ryan’s car had never turned off. It instead rolled into another track that felt much softer and moodier, all guitars and static. It played in the distance as you and Raab shared Ryan’s cigarette and talked about your plans for the summer before senior year. Bam and Ryan kicked each other’s asses and cussed one another out but were hugging before the overhead lights on the street flickered on. Bam drove you home that night and played the new Avril Lavigne song you liked to make you happy. He always played your favorite songs when it was a night you couldn’t spend at his place. 

     He held your thigh the whole fifteen minutes, his scabbed fingers getting noticeably tighter the closer he got to your street. It was as if he could glue you to his passenger seat with his hand, keeping you safe and sound under the hood of his beat up Honda Accord. You looked out the foggy window at the red and green traffic lights. Your eyes twitched along with the silent, melancholy laugh stuck in your chest. Cold and sticky like honey spilt on the counter. It was funny how an old hand-me-down car could feel like the safest, most warm place in the world when you were on your way home. But it wasn’t home. Not really.

     Bam parked on the corner right before your father could start to listen for the hum of his car, five houses guarding you from his eyes. The car went silent and the heater buzzed on your legs and feet. Bam had a habit of turning it on for you at night since the first time he ever gave you a ride in his car and you mentioned how it felt oddly comforting even when it burned a little. He turned to look at you, his hand still planted on your bare skin, fingers taking root and spreading more heat into you.

You turned towards him and took a deep breath. The cold, blue dread rose from your chest, filling up your eyes until it felt so heavy they could spill over and flood the center console. Bam saw this…anticipated this…and once again took the back of your head into his hands. Both of them now.

He pressed his lips onto your forehead and down into your lips. Not wet or sloppy, but hard and desperate to hold you in one place forever. After all…if you were here, you couldn’t get hurt, right?

His lips traveled up the plain of your cheeks and this almost made you giggle. They found their way back to your hairline and there they stayed. 

“I love you,” he said, his lips parting and causing your head to row back and forth ever so slightly. You closed your eyes and felt like crying.

“I love-” You began, but he interrupted you.

“I know, you dumbass.” That got you to laugh. A splatter of red hot joy shot across and inside of your entire body, your knees knocking against his gear shift. Such a small and shitty car. You did not want to leave. Almost couldn’t bring yourself to…

“Just promise me you’ll call me if it gets bad.” Bam’s voice started to shake. From fear or anger, you hadn’t yet learned which one he felt more of sometimes. 

“I prom-”

“And I mean even just a little bit bad. Don’t let it get as far as last time. Not that you let it happen-”

“You’ve gotta let me finish a sentence here,” you laughed softly, biting your bottom lip, looking down at Bam’s shirt. His mouth slowly opened and you felt his canines on your skin. You smelled the mintiness and smoke on his breath.  

“I’m sorry, I just….fuck. I just need you to call me, okay? Or Ape…Phil will be sleeping but mom…she’ll always answer.”

You nodded, head bumping into his mouth. His fingers loosened their grip on your head. One of his headlights blinked and went dark just as your bodies parted, leaving him illuminated and you in a deep sapphire blanket. His hands slowly slid off of you as you got out of his car, your dirty backpack slumping behind.

     You got three steps onto the sidewalk towards your house and Bam;s window rolled down.

“Say it again,” he called out, his voice playful but not enough to mask his anxiety.

You turned and walked backwards at a snail’s pace, and smiled at him. 

“I tried, you interrupted me!”

Bam shook his head and lunged half of his body out of his window, his car wailing as he stood up. “And now I wanna hear you say it, y/n!”

“Shhh!” You giggled and pressed your finger to your kiss-swollen lips. Bam’s smile just got more entitled and naughty, just like the boy you met and fell in love with only a year ago. 

“Say it, pretty girl.”

Your stomach nearly lifted you up off the ground with butterflies, and the murky blue in your chest was painted over with a fiery merigold. 

“Okay, okay. I love you.” 

Bam’s face softened and you knew you had him then. You had him as the trees in the forest have nests full of birds. Had him as the books in your old library had bad words scribbled in their margins. As the meadows behind the abandoned car dealership had broken beer bottles and wildflowers resilient enough to grow in a place so forgotten. 

He didn’t have to say it again for you to know how much he loved you, but he always did.

He drove away and got his headlights fixed the next week. You came back to the old empty pool and tried to pretend like you didn’t have new bruises to cover. 

And despite your best efforts, you turned seventeen that summer.

[bayblonde]

Two Punks in Love

Chapter 5 - Unspoken

Summary: You and Bam wake up in your bed the morning after Ryan's Halloween party. The morning after your...reunion.

It's a slow, short and sweet one, building up that tension and unmistakable bond that you and Bam share. You were high school sweethearts, after all. Lots of history there...a lot to say...but some things can be spoken without even opening your mouth.

Warnings: 18+, drinking, drugs, and mentions of abuse.

Masterlist

    Bam’s shoulders and upper back were bathed in the buttery haze of sunlight that managed to shine through your dusty blinds. Your hair felt sweaty and sticky against your bare pillow, the sheets twisted beneath both of your bodies. The comforter had been kicked and pushed down throughout the night, offering cold kisses of relief to your sore feet - you always overheated in your sleep, and resorted to angrily prodding at your blankets. The fitful minutes of sleep your brain allowed were too muddled with anxious dreams for any true rest. It may have also been the vodka, and the five cigarettes you smoked with Bam while he walked you home. 

And god, the memories of the night before trickled in like ice cold water down your spine. The rapid beating of your heart and the sight of your ex boyfriend in your bed warmed your blood in a sickly sweet kind of way. You could reach out and touch him, so you did. Your fingertips lightly brushed against the middle of Bam’s back, tracing lower in-between his shoulder blades, and then down, down…down. Your hand stopped right where the blankets began to cover him, the dimples in his lower back visible. You held your breath at the sight of them.

Bam didn’t budge one bit. The boy could sleep through Ryan blasting Slayer the morning after one of the many parties he’d thrown when his parents were out of town. Ryan had always said the perfect cure to a hangover was blasting metal music and pounding a cold Coors Light. 

    A bit annoyed and tired of being stuck here in your own head with your thoughts…you pressed your fingernails into his skin a bit more firmly, and that got a sound out of him.

“Mmm?” His voice was deeper, scratchier, and made your stomach somersault with butterflies and vodka-induced nausea. You kind of loved how it felt.

You didn’t answer him, but ran your nails down his back, relishing in the goosebumps that prickled to life along his skin. He was slightly tan, sun-kissed by the Philadelphia late-summer sun while skating shirtless. 

All he did was sigh sleepily then, his lips smacking as he fell back into his dreams. You’d had enough. Rolling your eyes, you slid your leg up his legs and softly dug your knee into his butt. He’d slept in just his boxers, Bam was just as much of a furnace as you were. 

And that got him to wake, finally. He lifted himself to flip and face you on the other side, his messy, sleepy curls framed his heavy-lidded eyes. The same sleep-drunk eyes laid on your face lovingly. Your heart thudded against your chest, dehydration and anxiety making way for another feeling. You always used to say that you could feel Bam’s heart by the way he looked at you. 

“Mmhey…” Bam’s voice lilted and cut through the dusty white noise in the bedroom. Your fan ran pitifully in the corner and pushed stale air along your feet. You smiled at Bam, and held the covers against your chest as he reached out to touch your face. 

“There she is,” he muttered with a coy smile, his canines pressing into his bottom lip, lips still slightly red from your lipstick. His fingers cradled your jaw then fell lazily against the mattress, inches from your collarbone. 

“Hi.”

Bam laughed and rubbed his palm against his face, rubbing the unforgiving sleep away. 

“God…who drugged us last night?” Bam asked sarcastically, rolling onto his back and sitting up, his arms resting on his knees.

You rolled your eyes yet again and followed his lead, sitting up. You instantly regretted it, the blood rushing up from your chest and filling the crack in your weary head. You held your temples as the regret throbbed in your skull, and Bam laughed harder now. 

“What are you laughing at?” You squeezed your eyes together hard and rubbed with more pressure, as if to push the hangover up and out of your body. 

“You’re funny is all.” Bam’s lilted voice went higher when he was amused, or adoring…

You tried not to let your heart feel lighter, fuller…easier to break.

“Well, I don’t feel very funny.” 

“Aww…I’m sorry baby,” Bam’s hand fell onto your forearm and held it before either of you could really think about it. It seemed to catch him off guard as well, if his body tensing up ever so slightly was any clue. Just as quickly as his fingertips pressed small petals of pink on your wrist they were gone. You felt lit up from a deep warm within and dampened by the cold absence of his skin all in one second. 

“I need a coffee,” you rose onto your feet and reached for a pair of jeans that laid on top of your stereo. 

“I need hot tea and a cigarette.” With your back turned to Bam, you watched his movements in the mirrored closet doors. He hopped the last few steps into his black jeans, the metal of his belt buckle a familiar sound in these four walls. 

     The early afternoon sunshine burnt the back of your neck and mocked you with your slumped shadow on the cracked sidewalk. Bam’s fingers would graze your knuckles with every stride towards the gas station. Even hungover, this boy had the nerve to have some pep in his step. It wasn’t until the first few sips of 7/11 coffee burnt its way down your throat that you started to feel like an actual human being. You let Bam light your first cigarette of the day and tried to hand him a couple folded dollar bills. 

He just smacked your hand softly and playfully down, the chipped black nail polish on his nails sending countless memories through your mind. You remembered the first time Bam let you paint his nails. He’d been editing skate footage for hours, and was so tired on the couch he’d have let you cut his hair. April would come in every now and then with more sodas, absolutely tickled pink at the sight of her unruly son sitting so docile. “I swear, y/n, that boy thinks you hung the moon,” She had said with love in her eyes and voice. 

“You don’t owe me nothin’,” Bam’s cigarette bounced in his mouth as he spoke. You shrugged but stuffed the cash back into the back pocket of your pants. You were able to get away with just a thin, cropped tank top in this stubborn heat. It was funny in a cruel way, really…how it had been so cold just the night before. The clouds had waited to part until you felt like hiding from such bright weather. 

“You did buy my coffee and pack though…” you chose to argue about technicalities rather than really talk to him about anything real. That just did not seem like an option at the moment. You were too focused on surviving last night’s mistakes to actually reflect on what they could really mean. 

Bam’s sharp and loud laugh cut you out of your churning thoughts. 

“I’ll tell you what, y/n…the day I can’t afford to treat you to such luxuries as 7/11 breakfast, I’ll let you pay for yourself. Until then…” He did not finish his teasing, just lit his cigarette and turned his head to the brown hills framing the rooftops  of the houses that surrounded you. Palm trees swayed with the hot breeze that swirled past you. The clouds were wispy and thin, smeared across the pale blue sky like dusty rose petals. 

     Cars honked at one another, drivers all angrily on their own missions. The cars on the freeway buzzed in sizzling white noise down exit ramps and insulated the two of you even more. Two veils of smoke encapsulated in a hazy bubble. Bam always had a way of making you feel like the only other person on Earth. 

You were watching birds land on the cell tower lines when you felt his fingers pull your hand into his own.  You turned to look up at his face, your heart in your throat, folded in with the coffee and tobacco. Bam just watched your eyes, as if waiting to see which emotion you’d land on after overthinking this gesture. He smiled, and you knew him well enough still to know that he understood your fear. Your apprehension, anger, regret, and your headstrong optimism, however foolish. He understood and felt the same. 

     You two did not need to speak, to say the thing that was dancing on your tongue like the bitter bile that lurked deep in your stomach. He didn’t have to say what was already gleaming in his blue-grey eyes. In this light, they looked like the water that reached the shore. Cold and mixed with the warmth of land, searching for you to pull you in.  

     No, you two didn’t say anything. Not really. Maybe you mentioned how you felt like utter shit, maybe he nodded and chuckled in agreement. The afternoon just got warmer, and maybe you two turned to slowly walk over to the same skate park you’d had your first kiss. Maybe you sat and shared a pack of wine coolers just to tend to your wounds from the night before, and maybe that crept into the warm glow of the evening. You and him both sat on the grass beneath a trio of trees, their leaves turned yellow and falling next to your Converse. 

Maybe you talked for hours about nothing and everything at the same time. Mostly stories about Ryan and Phil and the way it felt to graduate. Maybe you felt the numbing kindness of a buzz and let your anxiety go to bed along with the setting sun. Perhaps Bam walked you back home and you two just got right back into that same unmade bed and he held you as easily as the waves wrap up the sand.      

A lot of things happened in between that coffee and cigarette, but all you could really feel was Bam’s hand holding yours since the moment he looked at you on that crumbling sidewalk. He held your hand that entire fucking day, as if he was afraid you’d float away in the wind if he’d let go. You wondered stupidly if that was really how he felt, but the way his palm pressed against your chest as he held you from behind in bed answered everything you were questioning. The moon cast an almost lavender cloak across the bedroom. Maybe you two slipped off to a sleep so dark no dreams slithered their way in. You’d figure out what this all meant another day. Tomorrow, for sure. But at least that day and into that night, Bam just held you, and that was enough.

[bayblonde]

Two Punks in Love

Chapter 4 - Homecoming

Bam watched you, all of you. The tears he tried so hard to hold back now kept his lips company, staining his cheeks. You stared back with black trails of water mapping across your own face, chest rising and falling heavily beneath your corset. Bam’s face softened and calmed; he knew who he needed to be for you tonight. 

Another flashback chapter. It’s homecoming in senior year.

Warnings: 18+, drinking, drugs, and more direct mentions of parental abuse.

Masterlist

     The blue of the gymnasium was deep and overflowing, making you feel like you had jumped head first into the ocean. Hot sunset pink and orange lights churned across the walls, torn ribbons draped along the chipped paint. It smelled like sweat, perfume, and faintly of weed. The further you stepped into the center of the room, the thicker the air felt and tasted. Bodies pressed tightly together or avoiding one another purposefully, you could see it all. You couldn’t help but feel wrong, and as if all eyes were on you. You hated yourself for the illogical tendency of your ego, but wished you could disappear all the same. The tightly laced corset of your sparkly pewter dress hid the shallow breaths that only quickened as you got more and more anxious. You hadn’t noticed how hard you were squeezing his hand until he spoke, his voice plucking you out of your head.

“Easy, killer…I won’t have any circulation to my hand if you keep that up.” Bam’s smile was teasing, but so, so kind. He knew what this meant to you.

You let go of his hand, embarrassed at how clammy you had made both of your palms.

His smile faltered and his hand, now empty, reached back for yours.

“Hey, no. No I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I’m just teasing you, y/n.” Bam’s eyes searched your face, trying to gauge what you were feeling, exactly. He laced your fingers in between his own, using his free hand to hold the small of your back, a silent guide through the many intoxicated young bodies. 

“You look fucking gorgeous, baby.”

Bam’s voice was heavy and thick, lilted with gooey teenage love. You looked down, feeling the wavy tendrils of hair tickle your collarbones. They covered your cheekbones like vines of humility and modesty. 

“Hey…” Bam ducked his head to get at eye level with you, reaching to tuck your hair behind your ear to get a better look. You hated feeling so melodramatic, but you were really just trying to steady your breathing and seem calm, cool, and collected. All the things you had never felt before you met Bam.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Bam continued to coax your chin up and eyes to meet his. When they did, his eyes lit up steadily. A slow and smooth confidence resided in Bam that left you in awe sometimes. His presence left a buzzing in your body, like a guitar still plugged into its amp, waiting and willing. It left you smiling with a happy, dumb heat in your chest. 

     “There she is.” Bam drank in your face indulgently as you looked up at him. He ran his thumb along your jaw and grasped your chin. He held you delicately. A flower plucked from the earthy ground. Suddenly the bodies swaying and laughing around you felt farther away. You didn’t even have the urge to hate yourself for letting such peace wash over you. 

     “Thank you,” you said softly, your voice unable to carry over the music and din of talking surrounding you. Bam just nodded, curls bouncing, and reached for your waist.

“What are you doing?” You asked nervously, but your hands still went to rest atop his shoulders. He looked so handsome in his black suit, a light blue tie ran down his torso. A whispering sky blue to match your dress. You knew April had picked it out and laid it on Bam's messy, unmade bed. He gave you the satisfaction of tying it for him, however. 

     “I think you know what I’m doing. It is a dance, after all. People dance at these things, right?” Bam hardly tried to hide the disdain in his voice when referring to your high school’s dances. You knew he hated them ever since he and Ryan had been kicked out of freshman year formal for spray painting “profanity” on the outside of the gym. April was furious with him, and forced him and Ryan to wash off the words the following Saturday morning. You came to sit and watch, laughing yourself into stomach pains at the sight of the two boys begrudgingly sponging off the words “Chris Raab shit in his locker.”

“Yeah, they do dance at these things, but…” 

“But what, pretty girl?” Bam interjected as you trailed off, eyes darting down to your unsure feet, stepping on the glossy wooden floor. The dark blue straps of your heels dug into your ankles, arches already aching. You had spent most of your summer before senior year barefoot in Bam’s driveway, or on the dirty carpet of his bedroom.

“I told you, sweetheart. This is your night, and I am here for you.” Bam gripped your waist tighter and swayed you softly from side to side, melodic swelling guitars replacing the hammering bass of the previous song. 

“So…if that means you want to dance, well then…we dance,” Bam said matter of factly, and lifted his arm to spin you around. For someone who hated dances, the boy could move and lead you impressively. As you spun around to fall back into his chest clumsily, you let out a giggle and leaned into him harder now. Bam welcomed it with warmth, hugging you from behind and leaning his chin on your shoulder. 

He pressed a kiss onto the almost healed yellowing bruise near the thin strap of your dress. To those who didn’t care to look your way, it was imperceptible. But to Bam, the bruises and tears in your skin were as clear as the sun rising each morning. Even if cast in shadows or hiding behind fluffy white clouds, he knew the sunshine was burning just beneath it all. Even sunny days could get old.

“Okay.” It was all you could say. You let him hold you, twirl you, sway you, and bend you along the dance floor. The few swigs from the cold flask Ryan kept in the waistband of his wrinkled white suit pants had kicked in. Your body felt lighter and heavier at the same time, two left feet pacified by your boyfriend’s more skilled steps. You’d glance around at the people you knew from the halls, whispering jokes about what your science teacher was wearing and laughing into each other’s necks, knuckles going white from holding him so tightly. It wasn’t until the lights had turned on and the unmistakably loud and crass voices of your friends rang from the back door brought you and Bam back to the world. 

You were hugging chest to chest, your chin on his shoulder, eyes closed. 

“No, dude! It was Novak’s ass, not mine!” Raab was yelling drunkenly at Ryan about one of the many times they had bribed Brandon Novak with his mom’s pain pills to stick a sparkler up his ass last July. You knew because you were there, unfortunately. You and Bam had laughed about it in his room later until you cried, nearly waking up Jess in the next room over. 

     “And that calls it,” you said with a content smile, leaning back to look at Bam. His hands slid down to hold yours, as easy and automatic as breathing. 

     “Did you have fun, pretty girl?” He asked, squeezing your palms. You nodded and once again let him lead you, this time towards the back door. 

     You, Bam, Chris, Ryan, and Brandon snuck some cigarettes in Bam’s backyard under the orange glow of the streetlights later that night. The boys gave you shit for how poufy your dress was, the trim of it tattered from sitting on the hood of Bam’s car. Your shoes laid on the ground in much worse shape. A few drunken ollies in heels were well worth it to shut them up.  April’s voice trilled from the upstairs window of their bedroom at half past midnight to send the boys home. The cigarette smoked feebly on the concrete before Bam’s shoe stomped it out, and he walked you up to his house. 

     His bedroom was dark, the bed illuminated by the full moon peeking in on you two. The mixtape he made for your birthday played quietly from the stereo in the corner, the static click at the beginning of each song a small companion. You both sat on the covers of his bed, a few socks and shirts wrapped around your knees and ankles. A pair amongst mismatched possessions. 

“Did you have a good homecoming?” Bam asked, finally popping the bubble of silence. 

“I really did. Thank you, again…I love you.”

“I love you to pieces, y/n.” Bam’s eyes darted down from your face to your hands. He played with your fingers, biting his bottom lip. You felt the smile tugging at your lips give up, the corners of your mouth giving way to your anxiety. 

“What?” You asked, your turn to search for eye contact.

Bam didn’t answer, a storm of thoughts gathering like a flood. 

“Bam.” You spoke flatly but more firmly, unable to sit and deal with the uncertainty of his feelings. A flash of your father’s silence before he would reach out to hit you splattered across your mind, the all too familiar memory like a blade in your stomach. 

Bam looked back up into your eyes. You were shocked to see that his own were brimming with tears. Your fear was folded into the love you felt for him, nearly vanishing into the mixture. 

“Hey…I’m sorry. Did I do something, or-” But Bam didn’t let you finish. He shook his head and wiped a tear away before it could get past his lashes, a hollow laugh scraping along the tension between you two.

“No, y/n. For fuck’s sake. You didn’t do anything wrong. You never do,” Bam’s voice trembled, but he did not stutter or lose conviction. You blinked.

“You’re perfect, and I love you. And…and we’re graduating this year. And I think it’s time to start thinking about what we’re going to do about-”

“Bam I really don’t want to talk about this tonight-” you interrupted, but Bam did as well.

“I know you don’t, y/n. You never do. But that’s not working for you anymore. It’s not working for me, okay?” He was closer to choking on a sob now. But again, he led on.

You let go of his hands and pushed your hair out of your face, hands rough and angry.

“How do you expect me not to talk about it, y/n?” Bam spoke with his hands now, arms up and stretching the fabric of his dress shirt with each movement. His tie was hanging loosely around his collar, jacket tossed onto the floor alongside his shoes. You sat across from him in your pretty dress, mascara running down your cheeks now. Your mouth suddenly tasted like the blood that would fill the gaps in your bottom teeth after your father’s knuckles met with them. Your nostrils filled with the scent of the whiskey he would sweat, the air felt cold and stale.

“Stop! Just stop okay? Fucking shut up!” You squeezed your eyes shut and gathered your hair into a messy bun atop your head, overstimulated and suffocating. Bam did as you demanded and stopped talking.

“I…I just…want…to have this homecoming. Please.” Your voice was begging and reticent, afraid to wake the wicked figure in the closet. 

Bam watched you, all of you. The tears he tried so hard to hold back now kept his lips company, staining his cheeks. You stared back with black trails of water mapping across your own face, chest rising and falling heavily beneath your corset. Bam’s face softened and calmed; he knew who he needed to be for you tonight. 

He nodded and slowly took you into his arms. The mere moments he took you in told him all he needed to know. He saw the horrors that lived inside of you and accepted them as his own, from before until forever. His palm cradled your cheek and pulled you in tenderly.

“Okay, baby,” he whispered, lips just a breath from yours. And then he kissed you so deeply it covered and washed away all the darkness that threatened to envelop you. His taste filled the spaces that once tasted bitter and metallic. His scent sent goosebumps along your collarbone as he laid you down onto his pillows, head supported by his palm. 

“I’m sorry, pretty girl.” He spoke his apology into your neck. You held the back of his head lightly, fingers lost in his curls. As you played with his hair, he kissed more “I love you’s” into every inch of exposed skin. 

And you two laid in the moonlit darkness of his bedroom as the songs murmured by the window sill, hearts beating against one another. Your last homecoming came and went with the sunrise, even though it was a cloudy morning. Bam held you all night and all morning. You traded your blue dress for one of his t-shirts, and woke up to the sound of Jess practicing drums in the garage. Bam was a heavy sleeper, and breathed slowly against your back, his nose buried in your hair. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, not ready to get up. Not even close. 

     That year you would have two more dances with Bam and the boys. That year you would run away for two weeks and your father would disappear for three. That year…you would graduate and turn 18. That year, you would call your mom’s phone just to hear her voicemail at least 50 times. 

     No matter what happened that year…good or bad…you had this homecoming.

     And it was the best one ever.

[bayblonde]

Two Punks in Love

Chapter 6 - Daydreaming

Summary: You're working a long shift at the diner and memories of the night before with Bam help you get through it.

Warnings: 18+ , smut, mentions of scars, trauma, angsty and LOTS of imagery as per usual with my writing style)

Masterlist

You could still feel his fingertips on your waist as you tightened your apron on Monday morning. The cold November air smelled like wet concrete and fried dough. Cassie was grumpily wiping the front door of the restaurant with glass cleaner, the bright blue liquid sloshing around in its plastic bottle was a stark contrast to the grey backdrop of the street and sky. A seascape bottled up within a world of ghostly stone. You just finished tying your hair back when the high-pitched ding of the oven shouted at you from the kitchen. Your palms flattened the fabric of your apron across your front, from chest to belly button, and you felt him again. Trying not to blush and failing, you turned on your heel towards the oven. The old (and slightly falling apart) linoleum floor felt sticky under your Converse, the scent of chocolate and burning butter filling your nostrils. 

     “Shit. Not again,” you whispered tiredly to yourself as you opened the oven door, oil popping along the center of the baking rack. It sizzled sharply against the haze of fatigue surrounding you, breaking you out of your daydreams. The donuts were just past “too burnt to get away with selling”, but the chocolate frosting would be good enough to pick at throughout your and Cassie’s eight hour shift. You weren’t the best baker, but that wasn’t exactly why the owner, Bill, had hired you and Cassie. Evidently enough, you both had a knack for serving drinks and dealing with angry old men. Maybe it was the way you’d make each other laugh hard enough to pee back at home after shifts with your war stories or flirty encounters, but being 20 somethings at a Downtown diner that still smelled like the 70’s had its perks. You and Cassie still snorted quietly to yourselves whenever Bill called it a diner, because truly, it was a glorified dive bar that fed bikers and local groups of old guys that read the newspaper and drank their coffee black as if no time ever passed. That was the suffocating charm of this town, it would always feel like the center of your spinning universe. 

     “That’s it, you are on cleaning duty. I get to cook. You suck in a scary way.” Cassie stomped in with the rag and bottle hooked into her jean’s belt loops. Her fading pink-blonde hair was pulled up into a messy bun, and her neck shamelessly sporting a faded purple hickey. If her pants were any more lowrise, you could have seen another one on her left hip, which you had known about since she had hastily jumped into her underwear and jeans in your shared kitchen when you called out that it was time to leave for work. When you teased her for it in the car ride, your fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter, and Cassie had just giggled and rolled her big blue eyes. 

     “Girl, Dico and Bam seem to be more alike than we thought.” Cassie had teased right back, her fingers playfully tickling at your collarbone, causing you to scrunch up and laugh like a teenager caught. A glance in the rearview mirror met you with the bright cherry hickey of your own. Memories of the middle of the night before, just hours ago, washed over your chest like a rush of warm, frothy water. Pleasurable and dangerous. Bam’s soft pink lips and his sharp teeth were everywhere, his fingers trailing closely behind, hungry to taste what his mouth just had. And his voice, oh god…his words. Whispered praises that cut through the almost opaque darkness of your room, like down feathers falling in slow motion. 

“That’s my good girl.”

“My perfect girl.”

“You’re better than I ever could have remembered.”

“So beautiful…”

     It wasn’t until he’d pulled a third aching, hot, desperate and tired orgasm from your body that you two had collapsed side by side and fell asleep to the din of rain splattering along the window sill. The window had stayed open all night, an empty pack of cigarettes sopping wet and staring at you in the morning. Evidence that you were too preoccupied to shut the window, your moans instead floating out onto your front lawn. 

     Cassie stared at you now, her arms out expectantly. You shrugged and handed her the tray. She traded you her rag and blue bottle. Your nervous hands welcomed the cleaning supplies happily. There was something about cleaning that helped to push your thoughts just a bit farther away. And that was always preferred. Except that today, the thoughts that swam along your head and heart had an afterglow rather than an ominous shadow. Bam’s scent, warm and novelly familiar, prickled off the collar of his shirt that you wore today, the faded Element logo nearly scratched off from him falling while trying to land a trick. 

“I want you to wear it, babe.” Babe. What did that even mean, really? You had lied to yourself when you said you’d figure out what you and Bam were doing the day after Ryan’s party. You were a dirty liar, because you two just stayed in that house all damn day to soak and burn in your unspoken feelings, exploring one another again. Shaking with lustful curiosity and need, pulsing and swollen from the inside out. 

     You sprayed the pungent blue cleaner on the windows and got lost in your memories of the early morning, Bam’s head between your legs as the sun edged along the rolling hills. His tongue pressed firmly on your bundle of nerves, two fingers, knuckles deep, dragging across that spot inside of you. 

     You rubbed the damp rag along the glass in tight circles, squeaking sounds punctuating the swing of your hips as you worked. Your eyes blinked and your head followed the selfish urge to fall back into your daydreams. 

     Your throat was bared to the sky as your back arched on the twisted bed sheets, Bam’s large hands working you up and holding you down in tandem. The cuts on his knuckles healing beneath your soaking wet panties, the other hand pressing its palm into your chest, catching each fervent beat in your racing heart. 

     You let the “Help Wanted” sign fall into place with a satisfying crunch against the cracked sidewalk. Al’s Dry Cleaners propped their doors open now, his wife’s shouting spilling across the street. Eight o’ clock tethered the meager sun and pulled it just past the thick, dark fluff of the rain clouds. Its hazy rays put a buttery spotlight along the city’s rooftops. Dewy, crisp wind blew into you, making you hug yourself. The same old man who never said more than a smile and walked his dog every morning approached you slowly. You offered your usual nod and smile as he passed, then turned quickly to return to the dawn drenched warmth of the diner. 

     The self-soothing embrace you gave yourself pressed your breasts tighter together, and you felt his pleasurably scratchy jawline. His kiss-bruised lips and impishly grinning canines. The same hands that slid out of you and up, up…slowly…slowly along your thighs and now gripping your waist hard. 

“I love you, baby.” A kiss pressed so tenderly, as if committed in secrecy.

“Always have. Always will.” His hands releasing your waist to slide up into your own, fingers lacing between your digits and pressing them above your head. The coolness of your pillow enveloped your skin, Bam’s body craving every inch of you from above. And his fucking eyes…searching your own so explicitally deep. Wanting, needing…to see you. 

     These memories of your early morning sent a blushing heat to your chest and cheeks. Cassie slid beside you just as the first customer of the day walked in. You fiddled with your hair and didn’t have to look at her to see the sly, knowing smile stretch along her profile. 

“Shut up, Cass,” you said, lips betraying your efforts to seem serious. Steaming coffee poured like rain into a chipped ceramic mug. Cassie let the pot clang back onto its heating pad on the counter. You watched as she bounced over to one of your regular’s tables with the coffee.

The phone rang on the wall from the kitchen, its shrill cry nearly sending you out of your skin. Goosebumps prickled along your neck and thighs, something you tried to ignore as you sped over to the phone. Loud noises. Unexpected calls. Speaking to people you didn’t yet know. All high on the list of things you’d learn to tolerate better…someday. You just barely acknowledge the two long, faded pink scars on your right hand and wrist before bringing the old phone to your ear.

“Charlie’s Cafe, how can I he-”

“When are you off, and can I just come and pick you up an hour earlier so I can see those pretty eyes again already?”

His voice sent the chills and worries away just as the sunlight did with the gloomy veil of clouds. You actually giggled as your other hand gripped the coiled up cord. 

“Bam…I can’t leave an hour early from work. And I’m working right now, actually. I can’t really ta-”

“Oh shush, pretty girl,” you felt the pressure of his lips from his voice alone. You felt weightless enough to float above this sticky kitchen floor. 

“I will not shush, you idiot.” Not a lick of authority in your lovesick voice. The hoard of butterflies in your stomach seemed to fly out from your throat, flirtatious joy bubbling inside and out of you. 

Ryan’s sunny laughter rang in the background, maybe you even heard Raab’s stupid laugh as well. 

“Come on, babe. You know I don’t mean it.” Bam had to have been jutting out his bottom lip, he always did when trying to get his way with you. Time could drag on like the slow pull of smoke on a cigarette, but some things would never change. Not really. Embers would burn and glow all the same. 

“Bam…” you chided. 

“Look, alls I’m trying to say is I…I miss you.” You squeezed your eyes shut and let the butterflies flip back into your belly, heart slamming into your ribcage like a teenager in love. 

“Hey, I’d like, ya know…just a little help out here!” Cassie called back at you and stuffed her pen back into her bun, turning to knock on the doorframe to the kitchen. You glanced her way and nodded apologetically, but turned back to face the old yellow phone receiver, imaging Bam’s curly hair and blue eyes instead. 

“Nine o’ clock.” You stood on your tippy toes and flexed the muscles in your legs as you waited to hear his voice again. They felt sore already.

“I can’t wait to drive you home…again. Bye-bye pretty girl.”

     Feeling indulgently numb, you put the phone back with a metallic click.

Walking back to Cassie and the now half-full diner, you tightened your apron again. 

Customers ambled in and lingered, their own little worlds and buzzing around you. You turned to look up at the cat clock swinging his curvy tail back and forth. Only 11 AM.

Restless and eager for night to fall, you let your daydreams flood back in. 

You were rubbing fingerprints off the front windows as the last few customers trickled out. The grey sky had long since painted itself sapphire and sable. His headlights flickered like rubies in the fog. 

A look back at the clock, and a smile to yourself. 8:55. Cassie laughed behind you, throwing her own rag down and holding her hips.

“He’s never late, is he?” She said, shaking her head.

“No…I guess not.” You laughed and untied your apron, folding your towel and putting it away. Your bag slung around your shoulders and your keys jangling in your damp palm, you said goodbye to Cassie and walked out to his car.

Bam was almost never late when it came to you. Almost…

     But you pushed that thought and the memories that came along with it down as deep as your body allowed as you saw him leaning against the car. His hands were tucked away in his sweatshirt, but his eyes lit up as bright as his headlights when you came closer. 

Rain pelted your heads with increasing strength as he took you into his arms and kissed the top of your head firmly. His scent wrapped around you as you buried your face into his chest. Wearing his clothes and breathing him in all at once. 

“Come on, let’s get you home.” He spoke into your hair and turned to open your door.

And that night was just like a dream too. 

[bayblonde]

Two Punks in Love

Chapter 7 - Kiss, Drink, Fight

Summary: A night out with old friends can bring back all the laughter and fuzzy feelings you thought you'd lost, but it can also wake up sleeping ghosts...

But in the meantime, kiss, drink, and if you're so inclined, fight!

Thank Zeus I finally finished this. It's hella long and has a lot of weight and plot so just hang in there teehee!

Warnings: 18+ , lots of drinking, mentions of blood, fighting, abuse

Masterlist

     

There was a pathetically hypnotizing sway to the way you watched Bam stand there, across the rain washed street. Blue and red lights washed over his profile, his jaw set and struggling to withstand all of the anger that swam behind his eyes. His long arms hung loosely at his back, wrists caught in silver handcuffs, dark crimson on his collar. You felt the cold, wet pillar of Peanuts Bar press into your spine, bare arms marred by your anxious fingernails. The sickly thick scent of a street vendor’s hot dogs curved along your nostrils, two dried lines of blood trailing from each one. 

     Three cops framed Bam on the sidewalk, one scribbling something down on a notepad, another talking directly to him. Reading him his rights and telling him just how long he’d be spending in jail, no doubt. You hadn’t felt how oxygen starved you were until your body forced in a jagged breath. It tasted like blood. You managed a brief glance at the ground as you struggled to keep yourself from shaking, and your eyes landed back on Bam. He was nodding slightly as the cop spoke to him, his dark curls bobbing along his gaze. You searched his eyes as best you could from your drunken haze across the street, looking for an answer to questions your brain couldn’t even form. 

     “Well shit,” Cassie coughed from a few feet away, smoke in her lungs. She tossed her cigarette onto the pavement and stamped it out with her boot. Toffee and ember colored  leaves laid in a slimy heap along the rain-drenched cement. The drain above your head babbled as it overflowed with water, drowning. 

     “Hey you,” Ryan’s voice trailed over your shoulder, a welcome warmth to break through your icy walls. A sob snuck its way past your chest and all the way up your throat as he laid his palm on your arm, and he pulled you into his body at that. 

“Hey now…shh..” Ryan soothed with no intention to stop your much needed tears. You sniffled and choked back your sobs as hard as you could, stomach nearly heaving at the pressure. He rubbed your back and just whispered the only words that you actually wanted to hear right then. 

“You’re not back there.”

“He’s gone, y/n.”

“We’ve got you.”

     And somewhere along the time when Bam’s head was pushed down as he got into the police car, Ryan and Cass led you in the direction of home. Somewhere along as the red and blue lights haunted the streetlights until they disappeared down the pitch black road, you stopped crying. Somewhere along the taunting tick of your living room clock, you fell asleep on the couch feeling all together numb and flayed to the bone. 

Somewhere along your first hour of sleep and the sun seeping over the mountain tops, Bam got taken out of the jail cell and given his phone call. 

7 Hours Prior:

     The morning after the night Bam drove you home from work bled deliciously into the early evening, his hands like magnets to your waist. He’d chased you throughout the messy apartment, Cassie rolling her eyes at you two, doing her makeup at the kitchen table. 

     “I just want to test one more thing!” He’d called after you, long arms outstretched, eyes wickedly playful. You practically pranced along the squeaky wooden floors, his oversized t-shirt lifting and showing your light pink underwear. 

     “No!” You shouted breathlessly, stopping in front of the fridge and bracing your legs steadily on the ground, ready to run again. Your neighbor’s dog barked excitedly, the sound carried on the cold breeze through your open windows. Bam was bent at the knees, chest bare and anticipating. Cassie shook her head, a knowing smile stretching along her dark crimson lips. 

     And just like that, Bam’s quick hands yanked you into his chest by the elbows, your hair fanning out along your red cheeks. His biceps flexed as he lifted you up and down, down, down onto the dining chair and into his lap. It was messy and rough and soft and filled you up with unbridled happiness. A whirlwind of skin and curly hair and the scent of his aftershave. This older version of Bam was stronger, broader, and hungrier. No matter how much of you he got his lips around in the past week, he was never satiated. Selfish and wanting in the best way. 

     Bam’s big hands ran up and down your ribcage, causing you to spasm into a fit of deep laughter, the kind you felt insecure about around anyone other than present company. 

“Yep! Still ticklish right here-” More greedy handfuls of your waist, your hips. 

“And here-” His relentless palms slid down to the dimples on your lower back, where his initials were permanently etched in his own shitty handwriting. It had been from the first year of high school when Raab had gotten his own tattoo machine and hid it in his parent’s garage. 

     You squealed, unashamed and arched your back, causing the chair to scream out in its own high-pitched protest. 

     “If you break my furniture Margera…” Cassie’s sweet voice warned, her fingers lining her eyes with coal-colored eyeliner. 

     Bam just lifted you up with his knee gently beneath your butt, settling you right below his belt buckle. The dusty rose lace of your panties kissed the black ink of his heartagram tattoo, the hair of his happy trail tickling your blushing skin. His eyes never left yours, bitten pink lips parting only slightly as he spoke. 

     “Cass, I can give you a replay of every single one of Ape’s knick-knacks you broke in high school.” His calloused fingers gripped your hips, punctuating his slanted voice.  

Cass just snorted out a laugh. Bam leaned over to look at her now, his eyes challenging. 

     “What’s so funny?” His left hand patted your butt as his knee shook up and down, his energy too big to contain. You had to bite your bottom lip to keep from giggling again. 

     “That you think you weren’t too drunk to even remember any of those nights in high school,” Cassie answered. She put down her eyeliner pencil and pointed to Bam, her knees pressed to her chest as she perched in the chair across the table.

“Because I recall you and Ryan nearly making out and falling into that damn china cabinet the last night before Christmas break ended. 

     “Oh yeah!” You gasped as the memory flooded your reluctant brain. It wasn’t often you let off enough pressure to allow a snapshot of those years to seep out. You ignored the little voice in the back of your head and went on. 

     “I remember that! You and Ryan shared that whole bottle of, what was it?” You twisted your torso to look at your best friend. One arm wrapped around Bam’s shoulders, the other reaching for her answer. Maybe it was the bottom shelf champagne in the red cups on the counter top, maybe it was the boy beneath you, but you felt that all too fleeting electric bliss running through your veins. 

     “It was that plastic bottle of Sailor Jerry’s Ryan had stolen from…from…” Cassie looked up at the ceiling and tapped her bare feet against her seat. Bam groaned boyishly and hung his head. When he spoke again, it was with rare humility.

“He stole it from Raab’s mom’s night stand. Found it right next to her-”

“Her VIBRATOR!” You and Cassie shouted gleefully in unison, cutting Bam off, arms and hands up to the sky. 

     Bam laughed and tucked both of his hands into the waistband of your underwear, thumbs pressing contently into your hipbones. Just like they were made to rest there. Cassie handed you your red cup, and the bubbles ran down your throat easily. Confidence was bubbling and fizzing in your chest. The mixtape Cassie made rolled over to a Sublime song from the radio on the window sill. The same song that played in Bam’s car the night  you let him feel under your bra for the first time in freshman year. Bam tried to change the subject but Cassie wouldn’t have it.

     “No, no. You and Ryan were necking that bottle like it was the end of the world and by nine o’clock you were professing your love for one another and doing that bro hug, ya know the one, the I’m not gay but I totally love you bro hug” Cassie put on her best “man” voice and flexed her thin arms for good measure, pulling the fiftieth giggle from your chest that night. Bam just shook his head at you both, eyes shining the way they always did once the alcohol dusted off the doubt. 

     “And then bam, straight down and crashing into April’s cabinet.” Cassie finished matter of factly. Her eyeliner pencil clattered to the ground as she chugged her drink. A celebration of being right, you guessed. She stood up and went for the vodka bottle rotting on top of the fridge, and poured both you and her a shot. 

     “You tried to super glue the little porcelain poodle’s head back on and accidentally glued your fingers to the table cloth,” she elaborated as the foreboding and tempting sound of the vodka pouring into the glass filled the small kitchen. 

“Your memory should be studied, Crenshaw.” Bam receded and patted your butt once more as you stood to claim your drink. 

     Cassie pulled a third shot glass down and filled it, clear liquid spilling onto the cracked grout tile. The smell of it drifted up to your nostrils and made your mouth water. You felt Bam’s fingers snake along your hips, an invisible rope knotting the two of you together. It felt foolishly like fate. You fell back into his body and allowed yourself a deep breath. Cassie held up her shot and you and Bam mirrored her.

“To me being right. As usual.”

     Bam shook his head but clinked his glass with you girls. A cricket chirped ambitiously early just below the cracked window, and that damn dog wailed on. A car blasting warm, fuzzy base rolled down your street, the sprinklers came to life, splattering the dirty mesh of your window screen. And the three of you downed the poison from your glasses. The November sun sunk behind the sable blanket of winter night’s sky. 

     Your tortured head sighed as the gasoline showered your stomach and each of you chased it with sugar. Bam stuck his tongue out in disgust and bent down to kiss your cheek. Cassie cursed and unscrewed the cap of the vodka because one shot was never worth it and two was just enough to start the night. You took the shot as Bam filled the doorway to your bedroom. 

“Ryan said he’ll meet us there at eight. I drive us there in 30 minutes?” He called back to you as he disappeared into the darkness of the hallway. 

You and Cassie gave bubbly “uh-huh’s” as a Michelle Branch song came on, causing you both to jump up and down excitedly and decide that a third shot just made sense.

     Peanuts Bar was just as seedy and suffocating as you remembered it in high school. The bouncer at the door was a new addition, however, possibly due to new management. The old owner must not have had a strong stance on underage drinking back when you were sneaking out with your horribly fake I.D.s. Five years later and drinking under the same roof with the same people, just legally now. 

     Dico, Ryan, Raab and Novak all met up with you, Cassie and Bam at the bar, a large crowd of belligerently happy 20 somethings filling up the room shortly after. Raab and Novak hadn’t seen you since you were nineteen, and their wide eyes held all of the unspoken words since that time. Still, they gave you back breaking hugs and said something stupid and inappropriate, of course. 

One, two, then three rounds of suspiciously smooth whiskey shots later, and everyone was cackling and nearly falling out of your booth. Bam held your thigh when you sat next to him. He held your hand while waiting for your drinks when you stood at the bar. He softly held the small of your back to help lead you to the bathroom. The moon flew languidly higher into the sable sky, and the liquor started to cover your senses like a hot blanket. The room was at capacity or above as last call threatened its arrival, and what once felt like euphoria started to turn. Your bubbly high grew teeth and claws, hungry to eat you alive. Sweaty bodies bumped into you and your friends.

     “Jesus fucking christ, it’s a total sausage fest.” Novak yelled over the blaring music and din of talking, spilling his red wine onto Raab’s white shirt. Raab just rolled his eyes and helped keep him from toppling onto the petite redhead that sat at the bar nearby.

Bam rolled his eyes as well but nodded in agreement to Brandon’s underlying point: it was time to bail. He had long since noticed your mood shift and just how hard the alcohol was starting to hit. He had stopped drinking after that first round so he could drive you and Cassie home later.

     The group was filing out of the bar like a chain, hand in hand when a man’s voice caught you by the neck.

“Bro, that’s the girl that killed her dad!” 

It felt like being dunked into a frozen lake, like being punched in the gut, and like all of the blood in your body got syrupy sticky and clogged all of your veins. 

Bam turned his head quickly, his grip on your hand tightening protectively. His eyes flashed with anger as he took a step in front of you, never taking his gaze off of the man.

The guy had an equally drunk friend next to him; they both couldn’t be much older than you and your friends. It dawned on you that with Thanksgiving only a couple days away, much of your small town alumni were back for the holiday. People that either went to high school with you or to the rival school across from the sewage plant. Ryan used to call them Shit High, or the Shit Eaters, respectively. 

     The friend cast his stupidly vacant eyes on you and his mouth hung open as the realization hit him. You wanted to crawl under one of the tables and cover your now heated face. Bam kissed your temple and turned you towards the open front door, the cold night air offering your burning body relief. So close, yet somehow felt so far. 

“Come on baby, don’t listen to them. Let’s get you-”

“Dude! It is! Didn’t she like, stab him a fuck load of times or something?” The friend said, his words piercing your chest and out through your back. 

The walls were closing in and the music was taunting you. Some girls turned their heads to stare at you now.

“No bro, she shot him. Crazy…” 

Bam let go of your hand at that and tapped Ryan’s shoulder, a signal to take over. He walked over to you through the crowd and tried to pull you through the door. You resisted and wrenched your wrist out of his hold, wanting Bam to leave with you. Just leave. We have to leave.

     “Hey fuck face! Ever thought about shutting your dumb fucking mouth?” Bam shouted, his voice rough and poisoned. 

Both men looked excited for the possibility of a fight, laughing right in Bam’s face. Raab and Novak got closer instinctively. 

“Come on y/n, please. He’ll just tell them to-” Ryan had started to pull on you again, trying his best to carry you through that threshold. But you yanked yourself away again, tears already filling your eyes. The sparkly eyeshadow Cassie had applied to your lids was smearing down your cheekbones now, your shaking hands making a mess as you wiped at your face. 

“Fuck off Ryan, I’m not just leaving him here!” you’d have to feel bad about shouting at him later, because you were struggling to breath at the moment. It didn’t seem to faze him, though. Ryan had seen and heard worse from you before. Much worse. 

You stepped forward to grab Bam’s arm but couldn’t get there in time. You couldn’t cover your eyes from hearing what came next, either.

“Who the fuck are you?” Idiot #1 replied, spit flying off his lips.

Idiot #2 clapped his meaty hands and his eyes lit up with sick glee.

“Bro, this is daddy killer’s little boyfriend!”

And that made your body falter and your mind shift like a grainy video tape. Your father’s wide eyes and the ringing in your ears. The way the gun felt in your trembling hands. The blood. So…so much blood. 

It all snapped back into cruel focus as Bam’s fist landed on the first guy’s face with a sickening crack. Ryan had given up on taking you out and jumped into the fight without hesitation. Novak smashed his wine glass over the second guy’s head. Raab laughed and went to get a short few jabs in before getting punched himself. You lost sight of Bam in all the chaos, as girls screamed and the bouncers shoved their way to the center of the brawl. You had no choice but to follow the sounds of bone and flesh breaking as the music stopped and the lights came on. Bam’s back came back into view as he took the man down to the ground and started punching him with merciless rage. 

     Ryan pushed the friend into the bouncers, who took him by the collar and out the door. Bam did not let up on the first guy as he struggled to fight him off. Cassie covered her mouth and Dico took her farther away from the swarm of bodies. It was all happening so fast. Too fast. The room started to spin and bile rose in your throat, carrying a scream along with it as you opened your mouth, reaching out to grab him.

To take him away from here. He was going to kill him. 

The only bouncer that was left to help ran back to grab Bam from behind and off of the guy. Bam’s face was sprayed by a bright smattering of blood. His nose was bleeding, his right eye swelling and dark red. A mixture of his own blood and the man’s strewn along his shirt. 

“Fuck!” You screamed as he was dragged out of the bar. In the blink of an eye, three police officers strode into view. One was already cuffing Novak, who was slurring obscenities as another pulled Raab off his knees and out to the front of the bar. You felt a soft hand take your own and usher you out. The smell of Cassie’s sweet perfume was the only solid sense you held onto for survival. 

Cassie took you outside, Dico on the phone but still holding her. 

“Yeah dude. It’s bad. I don’t think he’s gonna get away with this one.” 

You didn’t know or care who he was talking to. You couldn’t feel your feet as they carried you to the edge of the sidewalk. 

     There he was, using the hem of his shirt to stop the blood from gushing out of his nose. That was, until the cop took his hands and arrested him. Ryan had somehow gotten far enough from the fight by the time the cops came to keep his freedom tonight. He stood next to you and shook his head. You went to take one final step off the pavement and cross the street, but he stopped you. And you did not fight him off this time. Just watched as Bam took on what came. You waited for him to look at you.

He never did. 

That morning, around 6 o’clock: 

You woke up to your cell ringing from the dirty carpet beneath the chipped wooden coffee table. Your head screamed at you but your heart was louder, scraping its woes along your chest with greedy strength. Without any thought or presence, you shoved your bare feet into the boots you left by the door and grabbed the keys off the window sill. It wasn’t until you started your car that you answered the phone, its trilling tickling along your nerves like ice water. 

“M’coming,” you droned, a reanimated zombie behind the wheel.

“Pretty girl.” Bam’s voice was raw and exposed like a paper cut. Distantly peaceful and tortured all at once.

“Shut up, I just want to come get you and go back to sleep and never, ever talk about that night ever again.”

Bam laughed.

“Pretty girl…I’m not getting out today.”

You actually slammed on the break, mostly unintentionally. 

“What?” Your poor, meek heart raced. 

Another laugh at the end of the line. 

“I’m not getting out right now. They uh…” Bam’s voice trailed off and got quieter as he must’ve turned to look at his surroundings. 

“They’re holding me until I can make bail.”

Your dry mouth was a quivering channel for all your fears as you asked,

“How fucking much, Bam?” 

“Somewhere in the ballpark of 5,000 dollars.”

“Alright then.” You breathed. He just laughed yet again.

“Don’t worry about me, pretty girl. I’ll figure it out.”

“Bam…”

“Hey, I’m serious. Go home, rest. I’ll be fine.” Was he trying to convince you or himself?

And then silence. A chasm being filled one by one with each unspoken worry and nightmare that was festering wildly beneath your skin. And deep down, you knew that you couldn’t help him, couldn’t help yourself. 

And he knew it too.

     So you drove back home and wrestled the bed sheets with swollen eyelids and restless lungs. Bam would call Ape and Phil if he had any sense. Cassie came into your room once she got home from work and offered to make you her signature Spaghetti-o’s and chicken noodle medley soup. You told her you had already eaten. You hadn’t. You told her you were tired and tried to go to sleep. You didn’t.

The same ghostly memories broke out of the chains you had fastened tightly years ago. The same haunting silhouette of your father flashed across your closed eyes every 10 seconds. The look of pure hatred just before his look of absolute fear. The way the door creaked horribly when you shoved it open. The crunch of the dead grass under your feet as you stumbled to your car in the driveway. How the blood felt so hot and wet on your arms as you turned over the ignition. 

All these perversely clear memories crawled along your brain as the same few words bled you dry and numb.

Daddy killer, daddy killer, daddy killer.

It was all you could do just to curl up under the covers of your bed and listen to the tv play reruns. Forever and no time at all seemed to pass, and you managed to fall asleep somewhere in between. The clock on your bedside table read 5:00am the next morning when you got another call, your cellphone held tightly in your palm.

“That fuck ass isn’t pressing charges, and I owe Ryan $3,000.”

And with that, he was out, heading to pick up his car and going over to Ryan’s to shower. And then back to you. It wasn’t the first night Bam had spent in that jail, but you cautiously hoped it’d be the last. Cassie must have let him in, and you must have given in to more sleep, because all you remembered was the shift in the mattress and his hands wrapping along your stomach, pulling you into him at half past seven. The birds were chirping their good mornings, neighbors out to walk their dogs. You two did what you do best, and ignored the world, willing it away long enough to catch your breath and lick your wounds.