Through the Light of the Bottle
"...And One Turns Into Four"
“You know, when did you ask yourself if you’d had to much, the third bottle or the fourth?” his voice pounded into my ears like a fucking hammer as I blinked my eyes open slowly, only to have them blinded by the sunlight that had managed it’s way into my room.
I groaned, squinting my eyes, and staring at his blonde head and lopsided smile, as he stared at me from the chair in the corner of the room.
“What the fuck are you doing in my hotel room?” I groan, clutching my head slightly, closing my eyes.
“Dunno, bored I guess,” he laughed, “Me and Iero had a bet to whether I’d find you like this.”
“Cute, glad I could be of entertainment” I grumble, sitting up slightly.
“I guessed four, Iero guessed three bottles,” he continued on, with no prompt, “Toro was acting like you were a fucking saint, thought you would know better than to pass out drunk cause of a phone call.”
“How stupid of him,” I sarcastically reply, leaning over, placing my head on my hands.
“I mean, someone who conducts studies on the misusage of alcohol technically shouldn’t be getting drunk off her ass.”
“I’m also paid by the alcohol industry, so life’s probably not perfect sweetheart,” I reply.
“I mean, what will your company say, having to pay for all those bottles to have their top girl passed out in a hotel room.”
“I’ll probably get a fucking raise, do you mind shutting up? your a little loud-" but suddenly, I feel my stomach turn, and I’m stand up quickly, taking fast paces to the bathroom.
Gerard walks in smoothly, leaning against the doorframe for a quick moment, taking in the site of my body heaving up and down, slumped against the dirty toilet.
“You going to fucking charge admission Way?” my voice wavers slightly as the acidic taste fills my mouth and I feel my stomach rise again.
He’s suddenly right next to me, pulling my long blown locks back with one hand and flushing the toilet with the other, washing away the foul contents and preparing the water for new ones. His hand then moves to make back, rubbing up and down and I shake with dry heaves, his fingers playing against the bumps in my backbone.
“If you ate as much as you drank, you’d maybe not be so freakishly skinny.”
“Thanks, I really wanted to be called a freak at this time, thanks for fulfilling that wish.”
“I’m just saying…” he smiles calmly, and I know what he was fucking saying but I don’t want this guy to be so goddamn nice to me. Our company is on the verge of tearing him to shreds without a second glance and he’s fucking comforting me in the hotel bathroom of a Hilton.
Finally, my stomach stops turning over, and I sit up, and scoot my body over to the wall, leaning against the cool tiles. He stands up, grabs mouthwash from the complimentary set and hands me a paper cup, half filled with water and mouthwash.
“It won’t upset your stomach if you dilute it,” he answers my unasked question.
“Thanks,” I reply quietly to the cup, taking a swig and swishing it around before spitting it back in the toilet, flushing the discolored water down quickly.
“No problem,” he stares at me, lost in trance, before I meet his eyes and he snaps out of it, shooting his glance to the cheap painting on the wall. He sighs, nods his head, and retreats out of the bathroom, leaving me propped up against a filthy tile wall.
I push myself off the ground, clutching the now empty cup in my hands protectively.
“Well, rest up,” he gathers his coat and scarf.
“Why the fuck did you come here?” I’m suddenly angry.
“I dunno,” he replies honestly, “I wanted to make sure your okay.”
“Well, fuck off, you don’t know shit about me! so you see me drunk and hung over once, don’t you dare think you can judge me on that!” I yell half heartedly, my head pounding too much to put effort into it.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he smiles sadly, turning the handle on my door, “But you shouldn’t leave your hotel room door open next time you decide to do that.”
I groan in frustration, following him to the door so I can shut it so fucking tight that no one will ever get in.
“I expect to be seeing you again Kate,” he grabs the cup out of my hand, crushing it in the fingers and tossing it in the trash can outside my room door.
“Yep,” I reply stupidly, staring at the cup lying lifeless and crushed among the cigarette butts and candy wrappers.
“Oh, and a little tidbit Kate,” he stops walking for a second, turning around to me leaning against the doorframe.
“What Gerard,” I ask, partly annoyed, mostly curious to what he had to say.
“Don’t drink alone next time, it makes you seem fucking pathetic,” and with that he briskly walked down the halls, ignoring my profanities and the slamming of the door that shook all of fucking Jersey.
I groaned, squinting my eyes, and staring at his blonde head and lopsided smile, as he stared at me from the chair in the corner of the room.
“What the fuck are you doing in my hotel room?” I groan, clutching my head slightly, closing my eyes.
“Dunno, bored I guess,” he laughed, “Me and Iero had a bet to whether I’d find you like this.”
“Cute, glad I could be of entertainment” I grumble, sitting up slightly.
“I guessed four, Iero guessed three bottles,” he continued on, with no prompt, “Toro was acting like you were a fucking saint, thought you would know better than to pass out drunk cause of a phone call.”
“How stupid of him,” I sarcastically reply, leaning over, placing my head on my hands.
“I mean, someone who conducts studies on the misusage of alcohol technically shouldn’t be getting drunk off her ass.”
“I’m also paid by the alcohol industry, so life’s probably not perfect sweetheart,” I reply.
“I mean, what will your company say, having to pay for all those bottles to have their top girl passed out in a hotel room.”
“I’ll probably get a fucking raise, do you mind shutting up? your a little loud-" but suddenly, I feel my stomach turn, and I’m stand up quickly, taking fast paces to the bathroom.
Gerard walks in smoothly, leaning against the doorframe for a quick moment, taking in the site of my body heaving up and down, slumped against the dirty toilet.
“You going to fucking charge admission Way?” my voice wavers slightly as the acidic taste fills my mouth and I feel my stomach rise again.
He’s suddenly right next to me, pulling my long blown locks back with one hand and flushing the toilet with the other, washing away the foul contents and preparing the water for new ones. His hand then moves to make back, rubbing up and down and I shake with dry heaves, his fingers playing against the bumps in my backbone.
“If you ate as much as you drank, you’d maybe not be so freakishly skinny.”
“Thanks, I really wanted to be called a freak at this time, thanks for fulfilling that wish.”
“I’m just saying…” he smiles calmly, and I know what he was fucking saying but I don’t want this guy to be so goddamn nice to me. Our company is on the verge of tearing him to shreds without a second glance and he’s fucking comforting me in the hotel bathroom of a Hilton.
Finally, my stomach stops turning over, and I sit up, and scoot my body over to the wall, leaning against the cool tiles. He stands up, grabs mouthwash from the complimentary set and hands me a paper cup, half filled with water and mouthwash.
“It won’t upset your stomach if you dilute it,” he answers my unasked question.
“Thanks,” I reply quietly to the cup, taking a swig and swishing it around before spitting it back in the toilet, flushing the discolored water down quickly.
“No problem,” he stares at me, lost in trance, before I meet his eyes and he snaps out of it, shooting his glance to the cheap painting on the wall. He sighs, nods his head, and retreats out of the bathroom, leaving me propped up against a filthy tile wall.
I push myself off the ground, clutching the now empty cup in my hands protectively.
“Well, rest up,” he gathers his coat and scarf.
“Why the fuck did you come here?” I’m suddenly angry.
“I dunno,” he replies honestly, “I wanted to make sure your okay.”
“Well, fuck off, you don’t know shit about me! so you see me drunk and hung over once, don’t you dare think you can judge me on that!” I yell half heartedly, my head pounding too much to put effort into it.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he smiles sadly, turning the handle on my door, “But you shouldn’t leave your hotel room door open next time you decide to do that.”
I groan in frustration, following him to the door so I can shut it so fucking tight that no one will ever get in.
“I expect to be seeing you again Kate,” he grabs the cup out of my hand, crushing it in the fingers and tossing it in the trash can outside my room door.
“Yep,” I reply stupidly, staring at the cup lying lifeless and crushed among the cigarette butts and candy wrappers.
“Oh, and a little tidbit Kate,” he stops walking for a second, turning around to me leaning against the doorframe.
“What Gerard,” I ask, partly annoyed, mostly curious to what he had to say.
“Don’t drink alone next time, it makes you seem fucking pathetic,” and with that he briskly walked down the halls, ignoring my profanities and the slamming of the door that shook all of fucking Jersey.