Perfect Imperfections

Gerard's P.O.V.

As I walked into the liquor store, I realized something. Tonight, I wanna get as shitfaced as I possibly can. I want to forget everything. I don't wanna even know my own name. I walked around the store and picked up as much liquor as my arms could carry. The cash register worker-guy gave me an odd look but scanned my booze anyway. He didn't even card me. Which is unusual, because I nearly always get carded. I paid him and went back to the car with the goods. Frank was sitting in there, just rocking out. I laughed and put the bags of liquor in the back seat and got in the driver's seat. Frank took his iPod headphones out and looked at all the brown paper bags before him.

"Fuck, that's a lotta booze!" He mused.

"I wanna get really shitfaced tonight," I explained.

"Why?" Frank asked. Nosy fucking kid.

"Becase I don't wanna remember my own name," I stated.

"Oh...Goin' through shit?" He wondered.

"You could say that, I guess. Or you could say I just got rid of some shit," I said with a shrug. I started the car and headed for Mikey's house.

"Oh. Bad boyfriend?" Frank pushed.

"You're nosy. And yes, infact. Motherfucker." I mumbled.

"I see," he said, nodding.

"Yep. I need a smoke..." I said, mostly to myself.

Frank pulled a box out of his pocket, "Need a light, too?"

I took one and nodded. He got out his lighter and lit it up for me. "Thanks," I said.

"No problem!" He lilted.

We were silent for the rest of the ride. But it wasn't awkward. It was comfortable.

When Mikey opened the door, he squealed, "GEE!!! You got us drinks! I loooooooooove youuuuu!!!"

I laughed and set the bags down, "You're welcome. I'm ready to get drunk. Let's do it."

Mikey nodded, "OKAY!!"

I took a bottle of beer out of one of the bags and gulped it down. 6 beers later, I was feeling good. Like, singing karaoke good.

So I did. I sang so much fucking karaoke that my throat hurt. I didn't care, though. I was having fun.

I lost count of beers after my 4th game of beer pong. I hadn't thrown up yet, so I couldn't have had too many.

I spoke too soon, because my stomach gave a huge jolt. I put my hand over my mouth and ran to the bathroom to puke. My liver is going to be so messed up. I threw up in the toilet and felt so much better.

When I threw up the second time, I felt someone holding my hair back. I looked up. It was Frank.

He waved, "Hey, lightweight."

"How many have I had?" I asked.

"Probably about...22?" Frank said.

"Holy fuck." I mused.

"Feel better?" he wondered.

"No. I feel like shit."

"You look like shit, too."

"You look like a dick."

"Thanks!"

"That wasn't a compliment."

"I like you."

"I need to brush my teeth."

"You're cool."

"You're wearing eyeliner."

"You're wearing mascara."

"And lipgloss."