I Fell in Love With a Dead Boy
The effects of Finlanda Vodka
The trip wasn’t too bad and the guy in the comic book store was really quite sweet, however he scarily looked like comic book guy from The Simpsons he also had a ridiculous obsession with Green Day and had recorded Billie’s phone call as his voice mail. I arrived back at the arena quite late; I noticed that Tre’s bus was absolutely booming. It was practically rocking on its wheels so before I decided to join the festivities I planned on quickly dropping off the comic on Gerard’s bus before departing for a good party. I needed to get completely arsed faced drunk…
I opened the door and tip-toed through the bus, it was deathly quiet; the only flicker was from the ghostly glimmer of the reading light above the table opposite the kitchen area. I placed the comic on said table carefully and was about to turn to leave when there was a sudden crash of metal.
I turned back around in shock, what the hell was that?
I slowly approached the door to the living area, it wasn’t completely shut but I couldn’t see a thing through the blackened gap against the wood. I had a repugnant feeling in the pit of my stomach, this wasn’t good…
I barely touched the door as it swung open with a horrendous squeak that split the deathly stillness.
I gasped and clutched my mouth at the sight before me.
Gerard was collapsed onto the wooden table in front of him, cell to his right, and bottle of vodka to his left. I approached him slowly,
“Gerard…” my voice whispered through a combination of shock and amazement.
The empty bottle shook as he lifted his head, it toppled and crashed to the floor, unbroken, it rolled across the room only to be stopped by the wall next to the door.
He gasped at me, a shaking hand brushing through his hair,
“Fia, what, are you –sic- doing?”
I cringed as his eyelids fluttered in a poor attempt to see clearly.
“What are YOU doing Gerard?” I asked, now at the edge of the table.
He looked to his right at the cell phone, a silent flow of tears escaping from his eyes. My heart twisted in compassion at him, he was an utter wreck.
“She…she…” his voice shook and I recognised the beginnings of a vomit attack, rushing to the kitchen I crashed open the cabinet and pulled out a bowl and quickly dashing back I placed it under Gerard’s face…
I knelt over him patting his back as he lurched into the container.
“Would you like some water?” I asked him as he placed the, now full, bowl on the floor. He nodded, chest heaving from the convulsions in his throat.
He took the glass form me gratefully, nodding in silent thanks. Taking a gulp he placed it shakily on the table in front of him.
“Gerard…”
He turned to me, suddenly collapsing in my arms in a mixture of grief and drunken stupor. He was silently crying, my t-shirt becoming damp at the salty tears escaping slowly from his closed eyes.
I choked up, this was too much. His breathing soon levelled and I realised he had conked out on my lap, my fingers continuously brushing through his hair.
I sighed, just feeling the dead weight of his body across mine made my heart flutter. If only he was mine…if only he could become mine. The longing was horrific, but to have him. draped across me in this way, clearly distraught from some girl who I knew nothing of (but who I had become to dislike greatly in a short space of time and knowledge) was worse than having tiny daggers dance across the sole of my foot.
Glancing over to the table I spotted his cell, open, tempting and inviting me to look.
I gulped, glancing down at Gerard, he was comatose.
I bit my lip; hiding in that cell could be all his secrets, text messages, explanations to everything…
Should I look?
Curiosity killed the cat…but the spy never learned anything without its nose.
I glanced down at Gerard, heaving him up from my lap and placing him on the couch underneath me were he huddled into its confides, I had the sudden urge to wake him up and yell at him for getting in this state, but my demon died when he turned around. A dreg of a tear escaping his wet eyelashes, erupted across his smooth cheek. Waking him up now would be like clubbing Bambi with a baseball bat.
I picked up the bowl of sick and wretched, pouring it down the toilet and flushing before dropping it into the sink, pouring the entire washing up liquid contents in it then turning on the hot water. How glamorous, if this wasn’t love then what was?
I quietly tip-toed back into the room, Gerard's heavy breathing piercing the silence. Sliding a blanket over his body and stroking his hair juts one last time I made to exit.
I wouldn’t be snooping today, some things are better if you just don’t know. I had a feeling this was one of those times, after all ignorance is bliss… agitated bliss…but still bliss. Anyway, I wanted Gerard to tell me himself why he was in such a state.
My fat luck had guided me into finding him and I oculdn't help but feel that this was just teh first in a number of incidents where I would be his shoulder to lean on and the hand to rub his vomiting back. He didn’t have one clue how much he had just strangled every emotion in my system. I could have easily just left him there I know, but the possibility of kicking him while he was down, made me want to hurl more than cleaning up his vomit.
I left the bus, hands in pockets and turning to look at the navy sky above me.
A huge bang exploded behind me and I shook my head, making my way to Tre’s party bus, ready to forget my crushing -on Gerard- troubles with a huge bottle of Jack Daniels and maybe a shot of morphine… that would probably do the trick.
The next day was rather horrific; I awoke on Mike’s bus between Frank and Rigger Dan. Mike was wearing his Punisher costume again and was lounged across the floor in a heroic pose, his left arm stretched out into a fist in front of his head, while the other lay bent next to his side. He looked like he would be flying if he weren’t being supported by the carpet. I giggled and got up softly so I didn’t disturb the other two, making my way to Billie’s bus. It was six am; we were due to be leaving at 10.00 for Glasgow so naturally everything would be chaotic in the next couple of hours.
Jumping on the bus I grabbed a jacket, mirror and my purse chuckling as I heard Billie’s snores floating from his bunk.
Heading off down the road to the 24 hour store to retrieve coffee and donuts I took my mirror out and did some severe touch ups as I walked. Thank Christ for concealer and 8 hour cream. That 8 hour cream was a tip from Billie Joe by the way, the puff.
The store was empty, it was quiet scary, the humming fluorescent lights from the fridges, the shitty electronica music ushering me down the aisles, the creepy early hour shift staff staring at me with dead eyes. I hurried around quickly, spotting the café as I handed over money to the cashier.
Piping hot coffee, it sounded delicious. Intent on grabbing some cups and heading back to the car park straight away, I was disturbed by a black figure hunched over a table in the seated area of the café. A very, very familar black figure.
I opened the door and tip-toed through the bus, it was deathly quiet; the only flicker was from the ghostly glimmer of the reading light above the table opposite the kitchen area. I placed the comic on said table carefully and was about to turn to leave when there was a sudden crash of metal.
I turned back around in shock, what the hell was that?
I slowly approached the door to the living area, it wasn’t completely shut but I couldn’t see a thing through the blackened gap against the wood. I had a repugnant feeling in the pit of my stomach, this wasn’t good…
I barely touched the door as it swung open with a horrendous squeak that split the deathly stillness.
I gasped and clutched my mouth at the sight before me.
Gerard was collapsed onto the wooden table in front of him, cell to his right, and bottle of vodka to his left. I approached him slowly,
“Gerard…” my voice whispered through a combination of shock and amazement.
The empty bottle shook as he lifted his head, it toppled and crashed to the floor, unbroken, it rolled across the room only to be stopped by the wall next to the door.
He gasped at me, a shaking hand brushing through his hair,
“Fia, what, are you –sic- doing?”
I cringed as his eyelids fluttered in a poor attempt to see clearly.
“What are YOU doing Gerard?” I asked, now at the edge of the table.
He looked to his right at the cell phone, a silent flow of tears escaping from his eyes. My heart twisted in compassion at him, he was an utter wreck.
“She…she…” his voice shook and I recognised the beginnings of a vomit attack, rushing to the kitchen I crashed open the cabinet and pulled out a bowl and quickly dashing back I placed it under Gerard’s face…
I knelt over him patting his back as he lurched into the container.
“Would you like some water?” I asked him as he placed the, now full, bowl on the floor. He nodded, chest heaving from the convulsions in his throat.
He took the glass form me gratefully, nodding in silent thanks. Taking a gulp he placed it shakily on the table in front of him.
“Gerard…”
He turned to me, suddenly collapsing in my arms in a mixture of grief and drunken stupor. He was silently crying, my t-shirt becoming damp at the salty tears escaping slowly from his closed eyes.
I choked up, this was too much. His breathing soon levelled and I realised he had conked out on my lap, my fingers continuously brushing through his hair.
I sighed, just feeling the dead weight of his body across mine made my heart flutter. If only he was mine…if only he could become mine. The longing was horrific, but to have him. draped across me in this way, clearly distraught from some girl who I knew nothing of (but who I had become to dislike greatly in a short space of time and knowledge) was worse than having tiny daggers dance across the sole of my foot.
Glancing over to the table I spotted his cell, open, tempting and inviting me to look.
I gulped, glancing down at Gerard, he was comatose.
I bit my lip; hiding in that cell could be all his secrets, text messages, explanations to everything…
Should I look?
Curiosity killed the cat…but the spy never learned anything without its nose.
I glanced down at Gerard, heaving him up from my lap and placing him on the couch underneath me were he huddled into its confides, I had the sudden urge to wake him up and yell at him for getting in this state, but my demon died when he turned around. A dreg of a tear escaping his wet eyelashes, erupted across his smooth cheek. Waking him up now would be like clubbing Bambi with a baseball bat.
I picked up the bowl of sick and wretched, pouring it down the toilet and flushing before dropping it into the sink, pouring the entire washing up liquid contents in it then turning on the hot water. How glamorous, if this wasn’t love then what was?
I quietly tip-toed back into the room, Gerard's heavy breathing piercing the silence. Sliding a blanket over his body and stroking his hair juts one last time I made to exit.
I wouldn’t be snooping today, some things are better if you just don’t know. I had a feeling this was one of those times, after all ignorance is bliss… agitated bliss…but still bliss. Anyway, I wanted Gerard to tell me himself why he was in such a state.
My fat luck had guided me into finding him and I oculdn't help but feel that this was just teh first in a number of incidents where I would be his shoulder to lean on and the hand to rub his vomiting back. He didn’t have one clue how much he had just strangled every emotion in my system. I could have easily just left him there I know, but the possibility of kicking him while he was down, made me want to hurl more than cleaning up his vomit.
I left the bus, hands in pockets and turning to look at the navy sky above me.
A huge bang exploded behind me and I shook my head, making my way to Tre’s party bus, ready to forget my crushing -on Gerard- troubles with a huge bottle of Jack Daniels and maybe a shot of morphine… that would probably do the trick.
The next day was rather horrific; I awoke on Mike’s bus between Frank and Rigger Dan. Mike was wearing his Punisher costume again and was lounged across the floor in a heroic pose, his left arm stretched out into a fist in front of his head, while the other lay bent next to his side. He looked like he would be flying if he weren’t being supported by the carpet. I giggled and got up softly so I didn’t disturb the other two, making my way to Billie’s bus. It was six am; we were due to be leaving at 10.00 for Glasgow so naturally everything would be chaotic in the next couple of hours.
Jumping on the bus I grabbed a jacket, mirror and my purse chuckling as I heard Billie’s snores floating from his bunk.
Heading off down the road to the 24 hour store to retrieve coffee and donuts I took my mirror out and did some severe touch ups as I walked. Thank Christ for concealer and 8 hour cream. That 8 hour cream was a tip from Billie Joe by the way, the puff.
The store was empty, it was quiet scary, the humming fluorescent lights from the fridges, the shitty electronica music ushering me down the aisles, the creepy early hour shift staff staring at me with dead eyes. I hurried around quickly, spotting the café as I handed over money to the cashier.
Piping hot coffee, it sounded delicious. Intent on grabbing some cups and heading back to the car park straight away, I was disturbed by a black figure hunched over a table in the seated area of the café. A very, very familar black figure.