Revive

Saturday night, and I can't remember where I put my cigarettes. Can't remember where I've left my pants, the television remote. Can't remember the name of the perky brunette who's fiddling with her hair in the dull hotel mirror. Nice ass, though.

"I thought you say we're going out to dinner, Gerard," she sighs, bobby-pinning a curly tendril above her ear.

Can't quite remember the name of this hotel. Not the city. We might be in California. Might as well be in Hell.

"Are you listening to me, Gerard?"

Her accent is thick. Like honey. Like cream. I like the way it curls around my name, like mist.

"Gerard," she purrs, crawling onto the bed, "I thought you promise me dinner. I'm starving. Let's eat now, and then we can fuck again, yeah?"

Oh yeah, I definitely like the accent. She's some European number. Hell, I've never been good with countries though. German? Swedish? Does it even matter? Her tongue embraces each word, relishing them and then spitting them out. I bet she could do simply amazing things with that tongue...

"Let's fuck now," I tell her, cupping one bare, creamy breast in my hand. Her skin is like milk. Swiss? Polish? I pull her down to straddle my hips, moving my hands toward her bare ass...

Hard clicking sounds at the door. Someone raps their knuckles twice, three times on the wood. Not even regular knocking, but pounding out the tune to some song. Its title is at the tip of my tongue, but I just can't seem to remember.

"Gerard?" the anonymous knocker calls through the door. It's a voice of quiet desperation, as if he knows he's doing something wrong. Of course he's doing something wrong. The 'Do Not Disturb' sign is looped around the door knob for a reason.

I sigh, my hands frozen around my European Mistress's plush breasts. "Fuck off, Frank," I call out.

And that's that.

With a grin, I reverse our position so that I am on top, and she's giggling on the bottom. I growl a little, burying my face between those breasts. Oh, Gee Gee must have done something right...

"Gerard?" the voice comes again. A pause. "Please, Gee. It's important."

Another sigh, another growl. I roll off the bed and stumble over to the door, pushing the latch back and flinging it open. "Yes?"

Frank glances down, rolling his eyes. "Can't you wear clothes when you open the door?"

"I'm busy," I reply.

He peers around my shoulder, catching a glimpse of the European Bomshell lounging about in the sheets. She giggles and gives a fluttery little wave, not bothering to cover up her bare skin. Another roll of his eyes, and he's looking back at me with blank eyes.

"What was so important?" I press, impatient. Little Gerard says it's time to play. Especially because he knows he won't remember much of this in the morning.

"I lost my key," he says.

"Poor you." And then I shut the door in his face and turn back to my Beauty.

"Who was that little man?" she asks, stretching out on the sheets.

I grin. "Bandmate. He's a little forgetful."

"Gerard?" Frank calls from the hallway. "Come on, Gerard. I can't find my key, I can't get into my room."

"What do you want me to do about that?" I ask.

Silence from the other side of the door. "Can I at least use your phone?"

"I'm too tired to fuck," the brunette says, "Let's go eat, yes?"

And we're back to square one. So I get off the bed again, and I go to the door. Frank's hand is raised, poised to knock again when I open the door, and I have to swerve my head to avoid getting decked in the nose.

"Make it quick," I sigh, waving him in. My head hurts. My shlong is throbbing. I want to fuck. I can't remember where I put my goddamn cigarettes.

Frank comes in, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. He slides past the European Babe, mumbling, "Sorry," when his hand brushes her hip. She merely giggles and glides across the stained carpet towards me.

"I am going back to my room to get ready for our night out." She gives another feathery giggle, her perky breasts pressing against my chest as she shoves her tongue down my throat. Then with a swirl of the bedsheet around her milky body, she disappears out my door and down the hallway.

I grip the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes and trying to dull the pounding behind my eyes. Frank's voice, phoning down to the front desk and then explaining his situation, fades in and out in my ears. I fall back onto the hotel bed, splayed out on the sheets.

"Alright, they said they just need five minutes. Do you mind if I stay here until they come?" he asks.

"You already chased my fun away," I mumble, opening my eyes. He's blatantly staring at me, hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Do you mind?"

He glances away and walks over to the mirror. His reflection is dull and dusty in the water-spotted glass, pale against the harsh hotel lights. I watch him as he watches me in the mirror, finally finding my jeans and pulling them up over my legs. Then I flop back onto the bed.

"You got a smoke?" I ask, rising up on my elbows.

He fumbles around in the pockets of his coat, brushing some hair out of his eyes. I watch the crystal chandelier above his head. Some of the light bulbs are burnt out. Drop-like crystals pour from the middle like a rainfall, seeming to freeze in mid-air a couple feet above his head. They shimmer as they tremble on their strings.

When he produces a rumpled package of cigarettes, I walk over, sticking one between my lips. "Thanks, man," I mumble out the side of my mouth, leaning forward as he pulls a yellow lighter from his back pocket. His hands cup around my lips, the flame dancing in the shadow of his palms. Then he pulls back, the flame going dead.

My eyes shut as the nicotine floods my veins, sweet rush. I breath in, exhale. The blue-gray smoke forms a cloud above our heads, the crystal rain-drops breaking through.

The air seems to pop and crackle with energy. Electrical currents zap through the air, making each and every one of my hairs stand on end.

Frank and I stare at each other. His eyebrows are pulled together, confusion masking his features. I can feel my own features tightening, mirroring his.

The lights give a pop, like a light bulb shattering, and then black out. We are engulfed completely in darkness, and for a second I can't remember where we are.

"Gerard?" Frank says, his voice tentative. His hand comes out and gropes my arm, fingers wrapping around my wrist.

The glow from my cigarette is the only light in proximity. From the curtains comes a crack of moonshine, falling upon the floor. It bathes the electrical outlet where my laptop is plugged in.

"Shh," I whisper. My ears are straining to grasp on noise, any noise. There is none. Where are the people across the hall, coming out to complain about the power-outage? Nobody speaks. Nobody walks down the hall. In my head, there is a faint echo of the brunette's breathy giggle.

"Do you hear that?" Frank whispers. His voice sounds tense. His grip on my wrist is getting tighter.

"Frank, I can't hear any--"

"Listen!" he barks.

I hold my breath, straining to hear anything. And then I do. A faint rumble. So faint I can barely make it out through Frank's breaths, which seem to be getting faster and faster. The rumbling gradually gets louder and louder. A buzzing humming in my ear.

"What is that?" I ask, unable to stop the slight hysteric from reaching my voice.

A flash of light comes from the window, lighting up his features. His eyes are wide, glazed over in fear. The whites of his eyes are gleaming. The chandelier above us is rattling, like ice falling into a cup.

"Gerard..." he gasps.

And then the ground beneath us splits apart, as if to swallow us whole.