Through the Light of the Bottle
Curiosity Gets the Best of Us
I get a phone call at 12:40, just as the South Park episode was getting old.
“What?” I feign sleep in my voice, just to add that hint of sympathy to whoever was calling to bitch me out.
“How much was in the brief case?” I instantly break out into a smile.
“Why do you care Gerard, you said you never wanted to see or hear from me again, I can only assume that my briefcase is a part of you’re little order.”
“I’m a curious person Kate.”
“Don’t believe I told you my name,” I slide the subject into my court, “I see someone’s very curious.”
“It’s called a guest list Kate.”
My eyebrows rise slightly, as I’m a little fazed by his quickness on his feet, ignoring my usually workable change of subject tactic, leaving the recipient stumbling over words to explain their actions.
I’m good at my job because I know how to make people weak. I find their Achilles heel and stab it so hard, like I’m hunting for my last meal. I twist the sword and pull it out, and they back down, retreating to the high hills.
“So, the case,” he continues on.
“You really want to know?” I smile over the phone, nesting it between my ear and shoulder, and I can practically hear him roll his eyes over the phone.
“No, I fancied a little chat, cause after parties are definitely overrated.”
“I have a serious question before I tell you,” I finger the handles of the briefcase.
He hesitates, before sighing, singling my go ahead.
“What do you do at the after parties if you don’t drink?”
“You can have fun without being wasted.”
“Very good Mr. Way, what else will we be learning is Health Class this year?”
“It’s fucking true.”
“But what do you do?” I sit on the bed, tracing the outline of the
“I talk, I listen,” he replies simply.
I laugh, “how noble of you.”
His voice softens a little, "when’s the last time your boyfriend actually listened to what you were saying.”
“There was nothing in the briefcase, I was using it as a decoy, I knew you wouldn’t take it anyways,”
“Answer my other question.”
I quickly hang up the phone as those last words ring out through my empty room, my heart racing fast, for reasons I can’t think why.
I don’t want to think why.
So I do what I normally do.
I yank the mini bar door open and force vodka down my throat, trying to replace all thoughts of Gerard Way with each swallow.
“What?” I feign sleep in my voice, just to add that hint of sympathy to whoever was calling to bitch me out.
“How much was in the brief case?” I instantly break out into a smile.
“Why do you care Gerard, you said you never wanted to see or hear from me again, I can only assume that my briefcase is a part of you’re little order.”
“I’m a curious person Kate.”
“Don’t believe I told you my name,” I slide the subject into my court, “I see someone’s very curious.”
“It’s called a guest list Kate.”
My eyebrows rise slightly, as I’m a little fazed by his quickness on his feet, ignoring my usually workable change of subject tactic, leaving the recipient stumbling over words to explain their actions.
I’m good at my job because I know how to make people weak. I find their Achilles heel and stab it so hard, like I’m hunting for my last meal. I twist the sword and pull it out, and they back down, retreating to the high hills.
“So, the case,” he continues on.
“You really want to know?” I smile over the phone, nesting it between my ear and shoulder, and I can practically hear him roll his eyes over the phone.
“No, I fancied a little chat, cause after parties are definitely overrated.”
“I have a serious question before I tell you,” I finger the handles of the briefcase.
He hesitates, before sighing, singling my go ahead.
“What do you do at the after parties if you don’t drink?”
“You can have fun without being wasted.”
“Very good Mr. Way, what else will we be learning is Health Class this year?”
“It’s fucking true.”
“But what do you do?” I sit on the bed, tracing the outline of the
“I talk, I listen,” he replies simply.
I laugh, “how noble of you.”
His voice softens a little, "when’s the last time your boyfriend actually listened to what you were saying.”
“There was nothing in the briefcase, I was using it as a decoy, I knew you wouldn’t take it anyways,”
“Answer my other question.”
I quickly hang up the phone as those last words ring out through my empty room, my heart racing fast, for reasons I can’t think why.
I don’t want to think why.
So I do what I normally do.
I yank the mini bar door open and force vodka down my throat, trying to replace all thoughts of Gerard Way with each swallow.