Sonata

After Nicholls had been kicked out of the restaurant for very indecent conduct, the handful of pompous mall cops came jogging back to Corey to make sure that he was alright ,to which he was cringing in an obvious opposition.

His bottom lip was jutted out with, oddly and very brutally, slivers of glass dug halfway through. Kean, Lee, and Tom uttered their shocked disgusts to this cruel incident, trying to fathom the pain he would experience as he savaged through his lip to get them out.

The crystallized, microscopic particles that would scrape the sensitive nerves. The iron-laced blood gushing from his mouth; dribbling down his scrapped chin. His entire face aching in a tremendously excruciating intrusion of its insides.
The squeezing. The prodding.
The moaning and deep intakes of oxygen to calm himself down.

It was something straight out of the horror genre that escaped from a writer's mind and put into realistic play. The three remaining boys who thought on this seemingly impossible task partly wanted to watch Corey's attempts, and an even bigger part wanted to dash away to the nearest, porcelain restroom assigned to male genitalia and throw up.

Tom was the weakest, and once Corey's hands reached towards the impaled lip, he immediately glanced away towards Oli and Eve; holding hands and worriedly staring towards the restaurant entrance, not even enthralled. They no longer could see their escorted drummer, and there was nothing more to do anyway.

"Oli, will he be alright?"
Eve asked with thick concern in her voice.

His sights softened as he turned to his sensitive maiden, a small frown becoming bigger, and he let out a sigh.

"Dunno love. 'e'll find sumwhere else teh eat."

"I'm not worried about that. We should go after him."

Oli rolled his eyes and shook his head, signaling that that wasn't going to happen. He didn't want to leave the restaurant on his friend's dumbstruck behalf. They had already been sitting there for quite some time; ready to order, practically, and with drinks in front of them. Now that the disturbance had been eliminated, the could fully enjoy their meal.

It was Matt's fault to be stupid and irrational, and should have put more faith in his best mate. Oli knew that he didn't call for a babysitter, and the day he would would be for when he'd retrograde into a wrinkled, belligerent bastard in a diaper.

Nicholls should have known that his closest companion in Bring Me The Horizon could easily sniff out a fraud. It was a trait almost immediately gained from being even minor league famous: separating true lovers from slime. Oli could do it; he knew that Corey appreciated their work, truly, and just wanted to do anything for them.

He was genuine, and Matt should have had faith in Oli instead of trying to solve things himself. Trying to help out and protect his friend was having the opposite effect of making him look like a paranoid, vengeful fool.

"If anyfing, 'e's jealous."
Oli said casually.

That had to be the answer.
Matt was seeing Corey as the rush of water that broke through his seemingly strong levy. He was demented to thinking that his most stable relationship was in jeopardy. Why else would he go to great lengths to getting rid of the newest added character? Was it really because he cared about Oli? Or deep down, was it because he couldn't stand the thought of being number two? This was something the singer would have to look more deeply into, but he knew one thing for sure: Corey was staying.

Eve glanced at Oli in bafflement.
"Jealous?"

"Aye, 'cause 'e's threatened. Sayin' fings that make no sense."

"An wiff probable cause."
Lee added.

They were bringing up the subject of Corey freely now, and in a more dignified manner. Before, there was simply shouting spewing from Nicholls' throat, and seven other pairs of wide eyes staring straight back; some even horrifically. Now there was actually taking turns to speak (which was a first in general), and eating of the bread sticks periodically until they got what they ordered.
It was as though every time the bread bowl was passed, the person to whom it would receive had the unspoken permission to state his reasons, for or against Corey's existence.

As you could imagine, our unconfident and mildy unwanted guest felt more vulnerable than he ever had and naively hopeful. Even though Oli was fighting for him, unbudging at that, there was still a possibility that this tension could increase and the band would eventually disperse.

They would be no more.

He knew he was staying, but the furious arguments that would ensue because of it were troublesome to his targeted mind.
What if Nicholls really would attempt to kill him?
Was that hypothesized prophecy really out of question?
Absolutely not, considering that that specific criminal offense had occurred most recently.

What if one of the other band members would finish the job for their drummer? Perhaps Lee: The scowling, offensive alliance, Lee, would wait until Corey had his back turned and pull out an unexpected pistol and blow his membrane to the other wall. Maybe he would take on the persona of Jim Jones and load his drink with cyanide; killing him immediately in the club, the Jones town, filled with the rest of the committed, deceased souls.

He stared at his potential murderer, who looked him over in repulsion and shock as if to say "what the fuck are you looking at, you sod?", and he instantly tore his unlucky eyes away. He was automatically hesitant to give the guitarist an even larger reason to slash his throat, so he decided to tone down all forms of contact; only nodding softly when addressed, and never trying to debate any band mates who were nasty, or simply, denying. Corey was as verbally dead as Tom, who had the incautious luxury of being able to dart his gaze back and forth between disputing friends and stay out of the teams that had formed.

Evelyn, finally, decided that Corey was innocent enough that he should stay. Oli was very pleased by his girlfriend's parallel stance, and kissed the top of her head; uttering "thank yeh baby." beneath his breath. Only for her to hear. Lee wasn't too happy, to say the least.

"Oi, yer only sayin' tha' 'cuza Olleh."

"Am not. I think everyone should be given a chance until they prove otherwise."

He scoffed.
Lee knew off the bat that it was the right logic, but he couldn't shake the feeling of despise. He was one of those individuals that were born with a thick enough skull that deflected any incoming philosophy or reason. A brain based on the system of communism, where everything was controlled by him and everyone should submit to his theories, or better, what he considered the law.

All the information that had the possibility of being retained had to first go through a fine-tooth comb; scooping out anything that didn't have a specific point or couldn't fit through the tedious frame. As far as everything that was already in his mind, well, there was practically no way of swaying and/or deleting it unless you slapped him across the face with a potential epiphany.
Unfortunately, Evelyn's morals weren't enough to do so.

Kean was getting exhausted with the entire affair, and just wanted his damn penne. A bowl of cylinder noodles in a pool of steaming marinara, possibly coated with thin, uneven amounts of mozzarella.
The lips of Matt Kean rubbed against each other softly at the inkling of a thought, and slowly ceased when his now clear eyes scanned across the round table and to the skinny, boned hands of Corey.

They were fidgeting; a normality for anyone that was put under a social microscope, and causing his wine glass and others' contents to ripple in response to the movement. His fingers were useless stubs, because the nails were non-existent.

This was interesting to the bassist since everyone else possessed healthy, half-mooned nails and naturally nice cuticles, while Corey's were halfway down to the bone where it seemed impossible to chew. Nevertheless, he brought his paw towards his fangs and gnawed some more; guaranteeing to shed some blood by scrapping against a disregarded piece of glass still stuck in his lip.

And in regards to that matter, he had previously taken the napkin that was on his side of the table and blotted the fragile, damaged pink meat of his profile repeatedly; eventually turning the fabric to a deep red shade in various areas.
A morbid world map.

Like the unmannered boy that he was, he easily tossed it back on the tabletop without giving a second thought to whom's eyes he were tainting. Curtis didn't appreciate it, for he couldn't stop glancing over at the sewn cotton soaked in bodily fluids that were once blue until they turned scarlet at the sight of oxygen. As though it would disappear if he continued to recognize and cringe at it.
Soon, their waitress took it suspiciously and almost scared, but it didn't take the disgusted taste in the mouth of Curtis Ward.
He really didn't care about Corey's presence so long as he learned some courtesy pretty damn quick.

That's what the guitarist was really all about; although it couldn't be guessed by a look at his child-eyed perspective towards his surroundings, or his empty talk, he was actually pretty big on manners. A toddler doesn't pay attention to anything except the tone of your voice or if you're treating them wrongly, which went for the lanky, Adam appled guy still fascinated with the chandelier above his head.

He didn't notice the short, corroded nails of Corey, but instead, he noticed a gauze on the inner side of his right arm. It looked like he had gotten a new tattoo, which would be strange since he hadn't seen the last time he saw him wasn't that long ago and he never mentioned any plans to do so.
Curious, he asked.

"'ey, Coreh, yeh get a new ta'oo?"

He glanced over a Curtis oddly, as though he didn't know what he was talking about, then traced his glance back to his arm, and his eyes widened. He then beamed widely because the focus was taken off of deciding whether to get rid of him or not to something more enjoyable. Oli looked somewhat relieved from the tension put on him being taken off, and Lee irritated because he thought he was getting somewhere.

"Oh yeah! I got it a day ago!"

"Wha' is it?"
Kean asked, getting involved.

Corey eagerly began to peel off the gauze, a smile never leaving his face, as he revealed what was something no one expected. As the tape made the soft tearing sound against his skin, and the delicate material was being pulled back to showcase his newest addition to the largest organ of his body, he exposed a tiny sky blue ghost; a small talk bubble with a red heart in its center.

The same one that Oli had.
Same spot.

Everyone experienced a double take on this, and unintentionally performed a little something called social referencing, where you make instantaneous eye contact with a friend to see if they were thinking the same thing you were.

They all did.
No one was hungry anymore.
Lunch time was over.

...Maybe Nicholls wasn't so out of line.