Sonata

It was always something to see a bottle shatter into a million pieces. To see it fly through the hazy night air, only to make a piercing, ringing screech against the asphalt as the two collided. It was a brown figure, only to transform into copper sand.

The show had ended, and everyone was gone. Even Kantarli.
Which meant instead of the boys standing around to see that action, they'd rather keep sitting at the bar; drinking the remainder of their time away and making fun of the two from afar.

I wondered if the same always went for Oli and I.

Then, after all of them had had their fill, and their stomachs were thickly coated in an influential poison, they decided that they were finally ready to leave while watching the last headbanger/slutty teen/concert-goer dance their way out the door to the overhead music playing from the speakers.

We all sighed in relief, and Lee barked at Curtis to come join in our departure before we left his sorry, lovestruck ass in the dark after closing time.

He snapped out of it, and we headed out the back door.
Keep in mind, this wasn't the same door that we entered from; not the long, never ending staircase, and I never thought to ask why we didn't just come in through the back way instead of wasting our time with the long way.

"Because, the back way is the front way before the show starts."

And even with all of us seeing doubles...
Our communication wasn't flawed more than usual.

The doors were opened once again, and we came in contact with the other alley I had gotten familiar with. At this new atmosphere, the boys (or mostly just Matt N. and Curtis), livened up and acclaimed their excitement by cheering.

This was where the breaking of the bottle came in.

Whenever destruction was in progress, it seemed to come in slow motion. I was standing like an awe-struck kid who had seen their first baseball stadium when Nicholls suddenly howled, threw his beer over my head from behind me, and howled again as it hit the ground.
I squealed in surprise at the close range, then Oli held me protectively and glared back at him.

"'ey, watch it. Yeh almost 'it her."

"'s alrigh'...I'm drunk."

They all laughed at this muddled logic, except for Oli who just rolled his eyes and moved us along faster; knowing well that catching up to us would make it even more difficult for them in their current state of mind.

Truth be told; even he was pretty pissed.
We all were.

It was being outside, in a different air then the one from the club, that made the drinks hit you even harder. It was the clear, sober air, as opposed to the alcohol/smoked one, that made everything as blurry as the lights on the dance floor.

In the facility, everyone was one in the same.
We were all there for a good time.
We were all there to let loose.
we were all there to get fucked.

There was something that all the individuals were looking for, and that's what bonded us together. We drank until we thought our friends were in one place, but were actually in the other. We smoked 'til our eyes were clouded by nicotine, and our lungs charred by the toxic relaxation.

Then you went outside, and everything was put into a harsh perspective. A polar opposite from the comfort of a sugar coated interior that you had spent a couple hours simmering in, only to be blind sighted by nature.

It happened like that almost on a nightly basis, or just every time I was invited to one of their shows. We'd get drunk, then make a ruckus outside.

We heard loud, out of tune singing, and I turned around to see Nicholls and Curtis with their arms around the other's shoulders; crooning on about those infamous beers on the wall, as they swayed on. They were always the two that could never hold down their drinks in the worst way. They were the most eccentric and chaotic ones, while everyone else was slightly buzzed.

Then someone would always bark at them to shut up, and believe it or not, it was most-likely Tom. He was the next best thing to the motherly figure of the gang, by which could be concluded by his almost constant resistance to alcohol and always trying to keep everything in line. And, obviously, he was the most reserved out of us all.

He marched up behind the two of them and grabbed them by the collars of their shirts; bringing them back towards them. Tom had had one drink tonight, after everyone convinced him to, and it made him heavily agitated.
It was painfully obvious that he couldn't handle his alcohol.

He was a little more out of his shell than he would usually be, but I had a feeling that before I was introduced to the picture, he was like that even without the drinks; a healthy, active contribution to the band.

It wasn't until I arrived that he had recoiled dramatically ever since. I knew this to be true because Oli would tell me about it every so often during one of our long talks.
He said that Tom was really funny and outrageous at times, but acts completely different when someone new comes around.
He turns bashful.

But not tonight.
Tonight, he was Tom Sykes; the angry parent.
And he wasn't backing down.

Holding them both, Tom muttered,
"Shut up, yeh crazy gi-"

"OLI! Grea' idea mate, I felt like goin' fer a trot!"

Forgetting that we were far ahead of the others, I looked back to see Matt struggling in Tom's grasp; groaning and trying to pull himself forward like a struggling horse that was hooked up to a monster truck. Normally, I would have been shocked that Tom was stronger than his more muscular friend, especially since he was only holding on with one hand while the other was keeping back Curtis, but then I remembered that we were talking about a drunken Matt, and basically, that was no challenge whatsoever.

Oli turned around, and sighed heavily while loosening his grip on me.
"Go 'way."

Matt ignored his request, and instead, came stumbling between us with his arms on our shoulders. He turned his head from one side to the other, and finally settled to stay staring at me with a smirk plastered on his drunken face. Us supporting most of his weight, our walk had become a more staggered stroll that had proven severe difficulty, and he just giggled. It sounded more like a gargle.

Oli glared at him.
"Nicholls-"

"Yeh...yeh know wha's wrong wi-ff Florida?"

The words bubbled from his salivating lips, and I waited for the answer while still walking forward with his limb stuck on my back; turning into that horse that he was only moments ago.

"'s no New York. No New Y..ork. I wan' the mafia, an' th-they give meh go'damn... YUPPIES!!"

We stared at him oddly, for he was beyond a stranger by then, and now only a nut. His eyes were glazed over, and I couldn't help but think that the beer he had consumed was the replacement liquid in his tear ducts.
Since he was so fucked up.

Oli pushed him off in repulsion, and watched as he pressed on; pathetically humming to himself and ignoring more of the laughs that the guys had pelleted at him. He walked like he was controlled by a spazzing magnet, and stood like a flag on a windy day. He wasn't fumbling on grass, so if he fell, that would be the end of Matt Nicholls.
Goodbye gravity.
Goodbye sobriety.

"Matt, if there was a white line that you had to walk on, how well do you think you'd go across it?"

It was, no doubt, my own alcohol intake that had prompted me to tease him so. I was close to the boys, but ever since Oli asked me out the first night, he had kept me all to himself. Which was why I never got any closer to any of them from then on.
If he hadn't, my relationships with the others would be quite healthy. Quite normal, and it wouldn't of felt weird if I made more comments at them as the current one.

I couldn't put all the blame on him though, because it took two people for this relationship, and Oli wasn't dating himself. I had said yes, after all, when he asked me to be his girlfriend. That automatically means we have to be as close as we were, right?

I guess I was plagued with an emotion of isolation, ironically, and little by little, I was trying to break free and reach a comfort zone that suit both sides. I'll tell you what though, the beer certainly helped out. Matt looked at me wide-eyed, then at Oli, then back to me.

"'oly shit...there's a white line? Where?! Are the feds out teh get meh-"

"Would yeh shu'up, yeh twat! I'll do the knife trick from Aliens if yeh don'!" Lee yelled.

Matt's retreating frame had staggered to the wall of a neighboring building, which he held onto in order to keep his vulnerable balance. His jaw was slack, and from where I was and how the moonlight was positioned, there was a trail of drool leaving the right corner of his lips as he stared idly ahead.

He was wasted.

Curtis got up behind him and shoved his shoulder forward with a chuckle, just for his own pure amusement, to which Matt instantly responded by shoving him back. Two drunks engaging in a fight due to simple physical contact was not entertainment to me, but to the other boys, it was like the rolls were reversed: they were in the crowd, cheering on the show.

The two grumbled and soon, Curtis had Matt in a headlock on the ground; squeezing tightly as Matt continued to moan in discontent.

"This bull-fightin' now bitch?"

"Oi, yer jus' pissed cuz I beat yer ass at the supermarket!"

The mention of an event that had happened so long ago brought me back to that faithful day when they had met me by coincidence and first invited me to join them, and as everyone took their current argument for granted, I was the one to gain the most from it, and
I couldn't help but laugh at the reference.

It had occurred more than 30 days before, and this re-hashing of it signaled that the two could be classified as either having extraordinary memory, or holding a ridiculous grudge.

Oli stared down at me in light confusion, for he could tell that my humor wasn't so random, and I just smiled back.
It was nothing he would understand.

He responded by smiling gently back, and placing a small kiss on the side of my mouth while holding my waist tighter. The alcohol remained at the crease of my lips, and after he had made his intimate gesture, he stayed close; just staring at the side of my face from only a few centimeters away.

I thought he was just planning on planting another one on me, maybe a little deeper and intense now that he had my attention, but after just staying there for longer than usual, I shrugged it off and stood watching the two boys fight.

There was a semi-circle around them, but only if you would consider it so with the only audience involved being Tom, Lee, and Keane. The two wily ones were grinning like they had just gotten a bike for Christmas, while Tom stood on the other side, alone, and shaking his head in defeat.

Curtis still had dominance over Matt, but since this spat seemed to be sobering him up with it's force, I knew that soon, the roles would be reversed. Curtis was, after all, the bony one compared to Nicholls, who spent all his time only drumming and lifting weights; both of which worked his arm muscles.

I suddenly felt a velvet tip trail up, from the corners of my mouth to my cheekbone that was right under my eye, and I gasped in shock and darted my sight to the side where it came from. Oli had moved back to a reasonable distance, and out in the atmosphere, I could feel the skin of my face that had been touched sting in the cold.

It was wet.
He had licked me.

I had no idea what I was supposed to say to that; what my reaction should be, so I just looked at him with embarrassment and beamed in over-exaggeration. I thought he was either drunk, or just weird.
I went with the second one, because after all, that's the first thing I had observed about him.

Oliver Sykes was not to be underestimated in anything he did.