Sonata

These boys were fucking ruthless.
It's as though they had no boundaries, and eagerly, would do anything to go/have a show. They were more desperate than I was, and all the while they had no shame.
Or at least Curtis.
No one was expecting it. Not a single person.
The crowd wasn't. The rest of the band wasn't.
Oli wasn't.

It all just happened far too fast for him to even dodge such a gesture, with his attention on me and the obvious, average composure that every person has throughout daily life.

Not only was it a little peck on his friend's pierced lips, but more Curtis bombarding Oli with a full-on make out attack. It was so kinetic and forceful that it made the microphone fall out of his hand and crash to the floor; a resonant boom rupturing all other sound waves.

Me and Tom watched with baffled sight as he put his heart into such a performance, and Oli's eyes squeezed shut; trying to push him off.
One would think that the two were lovers with the way Curtis had his tenacious arms wrapped around Oli.

That's only if your seeing the view from the right angle.

The crowd loved it, I could tell, for there was a riot between the cat calls and cheers in the atmosphere. The heads of all the club's participants, standing like a pack, bobbed frantically and without rhythm; similar to the way white noise would be seen on some ghost radar.

Lee and Matt K. had their mouths open to the furthest, vertical angle achievable as they heaved in laughter.
Nicholl's jaw had dropped.
It seems as though their fellow band member was gay.

For at least 10 seconds tops, Curtis was a vacuum to Oli's carpet.
Teeth, tongues, and all.

Finally, he managed to shove his feisty friend away; a bewildered scowl degrading his face.

I wasn't in decent range to hear exactly what he yelled, but he was yelling alright. He bellowed fiercely at the guitarist as he shoved him back; unintentionally kicking the Mic across to the other end of the stage by Lee, who jumped.
He wasn't laughing anymore.

Slowly, neither was anyone else.
The humor had vanished.

Oli's face was beet red, and he ended storming over towards Lee.
His camaraderie played pinball with their glances; going back and forth between their pupils as a silent questioning, waiting for someone to give them a quiet answer.

No doubt that Oli frightened him, but it went unnoticed by himself as he only approached Lee to grab the microphone by his feet, then go back to his position at center stage.

With a harsh voice, he shouted,
"Let's get this fuckin' show started."

Everything was still.

.....

The show was great.

It was greater than great.
It was magnificent.

This was what I had been pining for over the past month. It was the reason why I had stayed locked up in my own comforter and bedsheets, and why I ate less and less as the days stretched for longer and longer.

Imagine it as losing your oxygen, only not all the way.
The world one day, suddenly, is sucked into an infinite black hole, except the land is anything but touched.
But the atmosphere is fucked.

The clouds are instantly blown away by the incredible force of this nature, and all of your air; your life support; your literal reason for living, dissipates into the dominion of the universe.
But, like said, not all the way.

This is where the imagination comes into play.

If only a rare supply is left, that means you're only option is to choke. You're left in shock the moment it happens, and after that, all you can do is think about how you'll get by.
As you're contemplating this, the quantity is getting smaller and smaller.

By now, you're wheezing on space.
You're panting with no relief.
You're gasping in a world of nothing.

Your lungs are collapsing.

Can you feel it?

Now fathom yourself searching desperately for a new stock of the very thing that will save you. Days pass, weeks, and still; your body is shutting down.
How can it be saved?
Will it be saved?

And your friends are swiftly dropping like flies.
Sacrificed because they couldn't find an alternative survival.
And the calls that you used to get from these people get cut back, and then your phone gains dust.
Dust in this nothing-ness.

And you're left lonely in this hellish world where living becomes a chore, and dying is paradise.
Will you go that way?

Maybe that was the same way your peers went, so will you follow their lead? Will you drag the dining room chair across your cherry wood floor to the noose hanging from the light fixture?

Will you sit in your car, in your vacant garage, watching as the gas fills the already suffocating room; waiting to fall asleep?

Do you take it slower and lay your body out on the bed, and anticipate death, since the oxygen is already being consumed breath by breath?

Music is the exact equivalent to inhaling.
That was my point.
Without it, life has felt like what was just described to you, even though the human race has not experienced such a scenario.
But it's been close in other forms, precisely in common with what was being lived through at the present.

To me, it was just as gruesome and terrifying as the atmosphere being shredded by a happening of our solar system.

I couldn't live without a melody treating my ears, and neither could the majority of others my age, which makes a nice transition to my current sequence of events.
These boys, known as Bring Me the Horizon to all their fans; all the music lovers who had found that alternative survival, had lead me to it also.

I was on the verge of giving up, or better and more my style, grabbing a knife and slitting my throat.
Being a recluse in your own bedroom for an incomprehensible amount of time fucks up your conscience.

It makes you think about the most ludicrous things, or doesn't allow you to think at all. It enables you to ponder on darkness.

Thank you would not refund the boys for what they did for me.

Too bad this couldn't be shed on them for the time being.
A sincerity that had no possibility of being appreciated.
No, what was more important was the fact that Oli got snogged by a man.
Or you could say Curtis, but that just made it more fucked up.

"What the fuck was that Curtis?!"

Once ensured that everyone had departed from the building, Oli's eyes turned to slits and his tone turned to poison towards his comrades. There was an element of disgust, and also, complete confusion to his words. A trauma was still apparent in his stature, and I also took note of it during his performance.

Which made it pretty obvious since I had no prior experience in seeing him on stage.

He didn't wait for his flamboyant friend to answer his question, and instead, ended up cussing on his way to the van; exponentially faster than anyone else's pace, and fortunately, just the right amount of distance for his friends to laugh and crack jokes about him like a hungry fire.
They walked in little packs of themselves; Curtis and Tom off a ways to the right, as he revealed to the more timid one the nature of his act, to which Matt K. would attach a chuckle or witty one-liner that added to the humor.
Then there was Lee and the other Matt, who were off stalking behind Oli on the opposite side of Curtis' sector or whatever label you'd want to put on it.

I was in between them; in the middle of a immature, British sandwich. No idea how this happened, but I think it was when the two had to accomplish a high-five from above my head, and it just stuck.

The boys had been sneering over their cursed friend ever since the event first came into existence; hence Oli being provoked into the realms of a irascible temperament.

Even Curtis was cutting himself his own slice of drollery, for apparently everyone forgot the small detail that he was the one to inaugurate the situation at hand.
It wasn't until Lee made another snide comment that their friend finally snapped more officially.

"Listen 'ere; I think Olleh fancies Curt. Why els-"

"Shut up." Oli hissed up ahead; his stomp coming to a small slow to interact with them.

"Jus' Shut up."

The dangerously low volume of his voice had temporarily stunned the others.
To think that he wouldn't retaliate was pure ignorance on their part. Oli was dynamic, and I called that from only a few hours in on being around him.
He was the different one.
The one with the most tattoos and piercings.
The one that looked most intimidating to me.

Not a fucking pansy.
I was just surprised that he wasn't quicker.

This was no doubt just gasoline to the fire.
It is a well known truth that ignoring someone's torment against you will eventually lead to its own death.
Harassment can only live off of anger, and he was crazed.
This irritation gave the guys more enthusiasm to continue, so Matt N. began.

"Don' be a sod. Curtis 'ad teh do wha' he 'ad teh do, which meant snoggin' yeh-"

"I said can it!" Oli yelled pathetically.

He stopped, sighed, and turned around to look at every face. Out for blood or support was the question, and when his eyes scanned across my demeanor, it remained a mystery. There wasn't a valid reason for him to be upset with me, but that also didn't grant permission to add myself on the list of annoyance.

I stared down at the dirt in embarrassment.
The eye contact flustered me and I knew why:
Tom said his brother liked me.

Don't reprimand me for even thinking of such a subject at the wrong moment, but it was just a teenage girl (or any female for that matter) thought to have.
I wanted to gush about it to all the girlfriends I ever had in my lifetime.
I wanted to get into detail and exaggerations about every single second of the chance over and over again.

If it has anything in relevance to do with the male gender, ladies have no objections in reliving it in their minds, then letting it fall from their mouths like the articulate masterpiece that they conceived in their minds.

Ironically, I had never expressed my reaction for this.

Oli, in truth, was an attractive guy.
He had everything about him that I had categorized in my list of what I liked about men in general.

I liked the dark kind of personalities, that even if it wasn't in the way they thought of things, at least if they looked the part.

Tattoos.
Piercings.
His hair.
Tight denim.

My check list kept getting written on the more I stared at him, and acknowledged what he had to offer, and what I wanted.

Check, check, check, check...
So excuse me for being a little fucking ecstatic.

"Ima 'ave teh 'igh five Tony on tha' one." Lee snickered.

Nicholls grinned at him while still keeping a masculine strut.
If there was such a thing. They just would not keep quiet about this new excitement.
Oli stopped dead in his pursuit the instant it was said.
His shoulders tensed, and when he exhaled, they moved in a jagged current.

He'd had enough.

His body turned around and he walked in our direction.
The chuckles hastily calmed down in the wake of this unexpected action, and when I glanced over at Tom, I watched as his gullet swooped up, then down.

Nervous as fuck.

When Oli reached the group, he was standing only a couple feet away in the middle, as though he were the leader, and the rest had taken a step back or upgraded their guard.

Speech impediment could be a symptom and an understatement as his gaze stopped on me. The reasoning that I had run through my mind only mere moments ago was rehashing itself back at full speed; opening up doors or kicking them open.

I thought, at the time that he was looking at me, that he was pissed at me.

I thought that his features would contort into one of resentment, and he'd get extremely close to my scared face; roaring about something that I hadn't committed, since for the whole walk so far, I hadn't said/done/laughed at anything concerning him.

I didn't add to the amateur entertainment of the guys or even conform to giggling about it.

Lee and Nicholls stepped away from my sides, actually all of them since there was a bigger shuffle, and there was Oli; standing in front of me. Looking up, I saw the smirk on his face, and on any face, that symbolizes dominance or trouble.

He seemed surely capable of both.

It was only instinct for me to lean back as he furthered himself into my personal space. A chuckle arose through his lips, but he didn't budge. We all watched him; anticipated his next move.
Maybe the boys had a better grasp than I, and were just merely waiting.
I don't know how they could have foreseen what happened next, though.

"Listen, I don' like teh play games. I don't tip-toe aroun'; hopin' fer somethin' teh spark. I jus' wanna be honest,"

I swallowed.

"Will you go out with me?"

Time to call up my girlfriends.