Wilted and Faded

I flopped down onto the bottom step leading from Johnny’s kitchen to the back yard and threw my head into my hands. Why didn’t he believe me? I didn’t know where those beer bottles had come from but they had nothing to do with me.

Did Johnny really not trust me enough to believe me when I said that I hadn’t been drinking?

I heard the French doors behind me open and close but didn’t bother to look up, I don’t care if it’s Johnny or Brian or Gerard or whoever wants to see the walking disaster.

“Sorry I got you into trouble with your brother,” came Frank’s quiet voice from behind me.

“Don’t worry about it,” I mumbled into my wrists.

“Can I sit?”

I shrugged.

“He’s really scary when he’s angry. Like the Hulk or something,” Frank mused as he placed himself next to me.

I looked at him from the corner of my eye, it was obvious he had recently woken up because his hair was ruffled and sticking up at the back, his expression was a little bemused.

“You’re pretty scary too,” he added thoughtfully.

Lifting my head from my hands I turned to face him, “They were your beer bottles?”

He looked down sheepishly, picking at the hem of his black shirt, “Uh, yeah. Sorry.”

“Stop apologising,” it came out a lot harsher than I meant but I didn’t tell Frank that.

“Sorr-,” he caught himself before he did it again, “I like your tattoos,” he said instead.

I felt myself blushing as I turned my wrists around to look at the underside of them. On the right was a red heart with a blue banner across it reading ‘betrayed’, an arrow went through the heart, pinning a dead blue swallow to it. On the left was a matching heart and swallow except the banner read ‘beloved’ and the arrow wasn’t through the swallow, two small roses rested at the edge of the heart.

“Thanks,” I felt the blush deepen, “I was mad at my dad and missing my mum,” I brushed my thumb over the ‘beloved’ banner.

He smiled as he studied them.

“Your tattoos are pretty awesome,” I commented, skimming my eyes up his lean arms, “How many do you have?”

We chatted about tattoos for a while then it lead to Black Flag and The Misfits, growing up listening to punk music and everything in between until the late afternoon.

When Frank told me about music being an escape from bullying when he was a kid I remembered what Gerard had said the previous night about everyone being a little messed up.

I guess the people that seem to be perfect are really the most screwed up of everyone, they don’t let their flaws or potential weaknesses show so they just get pushed down deeper and deeper.

What goes up must come down but what goes down has to come up too.