Polaroid Cancer

The air is crisp, frosty and hits me a lot harder than I had anticipated. I figure since I feel sober enough, I’d stop by Drop Dead and give everyone a surprise visit. I knew it would definitely please a lot of unsuspecting fans. That’s when I become particularly keen on how horrid I smell. My nose scrunches up as I sniff myself in repulse.

I can’t turn back now, Vivienne and Sarah are waiting at my house and God knows what the fuck they’re talking about. So I push on forward to the nearest store to buy some deodorizer, a water bottle, shampoo, and conditioner.

My favorite gray beanie that… that Casey had bought me sits idly in the passenger seat. I grab it and pull it on roughly, trying to mask the dirty smell that wafts off of me.

After locating all of the necessary items, my eye catches a hand-mirror hanging on a hook, and I realize what I hadn’t realized at home: my face needed to be fucking shaved. I had the dashing appearance of a dirty hobo and I was surprised anyone could find me attractive. Turning heel, I sought to obtain shaving cream, and razors, immediately.

Finally, I made it to the check-out, and dumped everything in front of the young male cashier. Distracted with my own thoughts, I hadn’t noticed he was gaping at me like a goldfish. He didn’t speak until everything had been rung up, “that all?”

“Mhm,” I nod.

“Yeh’re Oli Sykes, yeah?”

I glance up at him, “yep.”

“Cool.”

“‘Ow’s yeh day goin’, mate?” I ask, feeling bad for being so short with him. When pent up in a house for a month, hyped up on drugs, it sort of makes someone lose some of their social skills.

“Pretty drab, until now,” he smiles brightly, “yours?”

“It’s definitely picking up,” I smirk, “‘ave a good rest of yeh day.”

“Yeh too!”

When I get into my car, I slam back into the seat and rest my head on the window. I feel so exhausted all of a sudden, and I’m quietly thankful that Casey has been helping run my clothing-line recently. I don’t know what I would do without her very existence.

Taking a deep breath, I drive to a more private place and begin washing my hair; which starts crystallizing as soon as the cold air hits it. Regret starts filling me after I realize I didn’t have a towel, so I resorted to using an old t-shirt in the back seat of my car. Next, I shave my face using a side mirror and finally, I spray some deodorizer on.

Feeling fresh, in what seemed like years, I wound my way to Kingly Street and found I couldn’t hold back the smile that sprouted on my face. Most of the time I visited Drop Dead was when Bring Me the Horizon went on tour in Europe. I really missed this place and regretted not dropping by more often.

When I walk in I’m greeted by a small cluster of people looking around at all of the items throughout the store. At first no one pays much attention to me, too busy talking amongst each other and admiring the clothes; until one girl lets out a small squeak when she happens to peek over her shoulder. She quickly taps the arm of one of her friends and soon everyone has turned to stare at me. They all move in unison toward me, smiling or shyly glancing away, but eager nonetheless to see me, Oliver Sykes, standing there.

A good portion of them ask for my autograph but one asked a particular question that stood out like the explosion of a Molotov cocktail: “So… I read on Tumblr that you an’ Casey called it quits on gettin’ married, is tha’ true?”

I stare at the tall lad for a few seconds, my brain taking in his lanky body, ruffled sandy-blonde hair and hazel eyes, before replying, “no. It’s not true.”

“Oh…”

I can tell he looks pleased with this answer, probably happy to hear it straight from my mouth rather than some gossip over the internet.

“Of course they can’t be split up Jessie, he’s still wearing ‘is ring!” the girl, who had pointed me out to begin with, hissed at him with a disapproving look on her face.

Honestly, I don’t know why I still defended our engagement; Casey could have flushed her ring down the toilet and all of us would be none the wiser. As I stood there talking to the group, I could slowly feel my body breaking out into a cold sweat. Soon the shaking would start, possibly a nose bleed and I knew I needed to get out of there quick. Ebbing toward the door, I nearly bump into two of our models who were just walking in.

“Oli!”

I whirl around and am face to face with Amanda Hendrick and Matthew Godfrey.

Amanda throws her arms around me and gives me a tight hug; I hug back but probably not as warmly as I had intended to be. Matthew gives me a slight smile and a high-five, “where yeh been, mate? We’ve missed yeh an’ Casey.”

“Oh, just around.” I smirk, trying my best to come off nonchalant, but from the look on Matthew’s face, I can tell he seems doubtful.

“Well, I can tell yeh were jus’ abou' to leave,” he says, “we’ll be seeing yeh again soon, I hope?”

“Yeah,” and before anything else can be said, I dash off to my car. My body is aching and it feels like my arms and legs are going to fall off. I bend over the side and vomit all over the ground. Spit clings to my chin, and dimly aware, I wipe my face off with the sleeve of my jacket. A fluttering noise has accumulated around me, my eyes begin feeling detached and my tongue is immensely heavy. Taking a shuddering breath, I start the vehicle and somehow manage to get home.

I sit there with my car running, taking in quick, painful breaths until suddenly everything goes black.