Gerard's night out brings some unexpected surprises in the morning...
Notes:
Hope you'll like the chapter! I'm currently listening to The Used s/t album on repeat, I guess it partially influenced this chapter, too.
Let me know your thoughts on this or any previous chapter in the comments. Feedback is very much appreciated and keeps me motivated in writing. Thank youu <3.
Light was shining directly on my face. It was warm and nice. I kept my eyes closed, realizing I am not alone. No, I felt someone’s arms wrapped around my chest. They were warm, as well. Who is it? My head was throbbing with pain, blood pulsating in my temples. But warmth of the other body felt so nice I kept still, enjoying the moment. Maybe it is Frank...My mind was completelly blank, thoughts colliding slowly and randomly like billiard balls.
Skin. Tattoed skin. Heart beat. Black hair… He held me by my wrists as we fucked. He did the thing that I hate. He intertwined his fingers with mine, as if it was more than random hookup, as if it meant something. As if I meant something. I remembered his soft moaning and trembled, almost made myself horny again. Fuck. Definitelly stranger.
Did he put the light on? Did he saw...I opened my eyes in panic. I had my t-shirt and underwear on. Maybe I managed to keep it on. Or I dressed myself after, before we fell into drug induced coma. On the other hand, does it really matter if he saw? It’s not like we’ll get married. I reckoned we won’t see each other again.
Vodka. Club. I was in some club yesterday. We did coke together. We talked. I gave him head in the hallway. Then...basement. We kissed for a long time. I remembered how his hands felt on my skin as he slid down towards my belt and unzipped my jeans. I remembered receding towards his bed. Flexing and moving of his lean abdominal muscles under my palms as he towered above me, as pace of his movements became faster, as I lost myself inside the orgasm he gave me. I loved him with my whole soul in that moment.
I lifted my arms carefully to my face. There were dark finger-prints on my wrists, marring the straight lines of faded scars. Some lines were very thin, some lines were wide and bulging slightly. He felt them. At one point I used to wear long sleeves and refused to undress in front of my one-night-stands unless it was complete darkness in the room. Then I once had sex after taking Oxy and didn’t care. I didn’t really remember anything other than I let go of all control. I didn’t care if I’ll live or die, if I’ll wake up the next day…
„Why did you do it?“ I heard muffled raspy voice and jumped.
„Fuck, you startled me,“ I said.
„Sorry.“
„It’s ok.“
His body moved closer to mine, he hugged me tighter. His bare chest pressed against my back, his morning wood poking me into my thigh.
„You know, I usually don’t stay until morning. I don’t mean to be rude, just...tell me if I should get the fuck out.“
„Alright,“ he laughed and embraced me even closer. „I’ll let you know. You always this detached after hookup?”
I gulped loudly. “Yes.”
“And I bet you always try to switch the conversation to different topic if you feel uncomfortable.”
“Everybody does that. I think,” I said, uncertain.
“Some weirdos just straight-up answer. Disgusting, isn’t it...”
I took a deep breath and started to free myself from his embrace, as gently as possible. I slowly sat up, carefully in case I’d suddenly need to vomit. Once i knew I’m fine, I grabbed my pants from the ground and hastily put them on in an attempt to hide another area marred by scars on my thighs. I moved too fast and felt nauseating feeling, so I rested my head on my hands and rubbed my eyes.
“Fuck.”
After a while I turned around to look at him. He watched me curiously, as if he watched some morbid or violent display of animal behavior in ZOO. He looked gorgeous in the morning light, even with the dark circles under his eyes, arms clasped behind his head. I made mental note of bruises and patch on his left elbow socket. As I watched him, now, in the day light, I realized...He’s young. He’s too young.
“How old are you?” I asked, more sharply than I wanted. It sounded like command more than anything. He started to laugh.
“Old enough, ok? I’m long past the age of consent in state of New York, if that’s what concerns you.”
“Are you old enough to drink?”
“Well, we did coke yesterday, so what’t that compared to little bit of booze...”
“Are you?” I insisted.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Sure. Almost...I’m 20, ok?”
Great. 5 years age gap. I felt like some kind of creep immediately. Still, I couldn’t stop acting like asshole. I knew this day is already wasted and I’ll spend it either throwing up or sleeping and I was pissed at myself.
“I should go.”
“You know, you told me yesterday you don’t feel like main character of your own story. I know what you mean. I’m never anybody’s first choice, either. But acting like prick won’t make it better,” he said, staring absently into the ceiling, his hands still crossed.
“You’re right. Sorry,” I said. Silence between us stretched.
“Would you like some coffee?” he asked after a while.
...
We climbed stairs from the basement on to the hall. Our clothes still laid there, scattered on the ground. I thought about what we did there, excitement run through me like an electric shock. And shortly after that guilty feeling that poked me right into stomach.
“Bert, I need you to piss in the cup.” Out of room I assumed is kitchen rushed forward resolutely guy with light, almost white hair and eyebrow piercing, tall and thin. His expression was tense, almost angry. He stared at Bert, didn’t in any way show that he registered my presence.
“Morning, Quinn,” said Bert. Only now I realized I didn’t know his name.
“Quit it. Mum and dad are freaking out, they saw the clothes earlier, I told them you have some girl over...”
Bert laughed bitterly. “Yeah, I bet you did.”
Quinn crossed his arms in defensive pose and snapped at him: “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just that you already have practice in that, from your own experience, don’t you,” mumbled Bert. Fuck. Is anyone in this god-damned city even straight, I thought. Quinn decided to let the comment be.
“Piss in the cup, Bert. You know the rules, mum and dad have this Nancy Reagan approach, they'll kick you out if they find out and I won't be able to do anything about it and...” he sighed heavily.
“I want you to be clean. Please.” He looked so desperate. The look in his eyes, the exhaustion. It reminded me of my mother when she took care of her ill brother. He had cancer. Her eyes through that time were like two long, deep tunnels filled with pain, fear and hopelessness.
“Uhm...I can vouch for him. We just had some drinks and then went in here,” I began quietly.
“Who the fuck are you?” Quinn snapped at me, for a change. I wasn’t sure how to answer that question, either. He burned through me with his eyes full of pain.
“I’m Gerard. Bert was sober when we met, he wasn’t high. I can recognize that. My father was an addict.” None of that was lie.
“Oh, really. Why should I believe you?”
“Well, why would I lie to you?”
Quinn scanned me thoroughly and then turned to Bert. I couldn't say whether he believed me or not.
“What were you drinking?”
“Just a couple of beers.”
“You know damn well you’re not supposed to drink any alcohol as a hard drugs use...”
“Hey, how am I supposed to survive that, Quinn? It was just couple of beers, I wasn’t shitfaced,” interrupted Bert quickly his words.
“I don’t know, maybe you shouldn’t have started taking in the first place! Fuck!” exclaimed Quinn in visible frustration. Then he checked his watch and sighed: “I need to go to work. We'll talk later, Bert. See ya.” He stormed around us, took dark jacket from hanger, car keys and slammed the door behind him.
