All or Nothing

I turned off my phone, holding it to my chest as I curled into a ball and squeezed my eyes shut, willing the pain in my heart to cease. Before I could stop them, tears began to roll down my cheeks, a quiet sob escaping my mouth.

"John?" I heard Twiggy ask groggily. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," I said, but my voice betrayed me, another strangled sob escaping. He'd told me never to text or call his phone again.

"You deserved so much better than him. Believe me, you'll find someone who really loves you," Twiggy said, much more awake now. He really was such a nice guy, that's why he ditched Marilyn's room for mine. To make sure I was okay, as much as I knew he wanted to snuggle with Marilyn, but that was something he'd told me he could do whenever.

"Thank you, Twiggs," I didn't really agree with him, but I knew he meant well.

"Well, goodnight. Sweet dreams," he muttered as I heard him move around in the bed next to me as I curled deeper into the bed, trying to disappear into the mattress, wanting to just cease to exist.
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"I can't believe it! After all those times I didn't care about you, was an asshole to you, forgot about you- hell, I forgot your fucking birthday, and you still think I love you? You're such a fucking idiot, John!" Ginger screamed, my body shaking and threatening to collapse under the weight of the fight. Ginger was fed up with me. Ginger didn't love me. Ginger was disgusted by me. Ginger hated me. Ginger was leaving me. Ginger was never coming back. I loved Ginger, even now as he yelled at me.
"You're not even fucking listening!" Ginger screamed in anger before balling his left hand into a fist and pulling it back like he was going to punch me. I closed my eyes and waited for the blow that came often, and begged silently for him to get over his current anger. He was like this often as of late, threatening to leave and abusing me.
Smack! The sound of his fist connecting with my cheek filled the room, waves of pain coursing through my face as I fell to my knees, a tear winding down my cheek.
"Oh, poor fucking Johnny, did I hurt you?" Ginger sneered as I looked up at him, holding back tears.
"Love, please-"
"Oh shut up!" Ginger groaned before slapping me hard enough to send me falling backwards, my head hitting the ground with a loud thud, darkness filling my vision as I left consciousness.
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"John, please eat some breakfast," Twiggy begged me as I picked at my eggs.

"John, please eat some breakfast," I mimicked him. I was being rude, sure, but Twiggy knew better than to order me around.

"Leave him alone, love. He'll come around. He's mourning in his way, which I guess is being depressed, but he'll be back," Marilyn advised Twiggy. I mentally cheered for Marilyn. Ginger would've just because Marilyn didn't side with Twiggy for once. Fuck, I thought about him. I'd thought maybe hunger pains would keep him out of my head.
I took a huge crunch of my toast, Twiggy smiling smugly as he twisted a bit in his chair, Marilyn just sighing.

"John, I..." Marilyn began. Where the fuck was the bastard going?

"John, I want you to know... We're... Twiggy and I... Well... We're... Here for... For you. Okay?" Marilyn said shakily, he never was a very affectionate person and this coming from him sorta blew me away.

"You have no clue how much that means to me coming from you," I said as a smile crept across my face, an odd warmth spreading through me. Marilyn never gave off any hint of emotion, and just this simple gesture really showed how concerned he was.
Twiggy was always worried about me, but when Marilyn got worried, I needed to do something. I needed to just clean up, move on, and breathe.

"Well, do I ever feel loved, Johnny Boy," Twiggy muttered into his cereal. I instantly felt bad before getting ahold of my emotions; Twiggy would get over this before I could eat breakfast.

"Twiggy, get the fuck over it. You're always concerned about Blondie over here, therefore it doesn't surprise anyone that you're worried or trying to get him to eat, whatever. It's no big deal, you're just a person who gets worried often about everyone but yourself," Marilyn shrugged. Twiggy just muttered something unintelligible in
response. Marilyn and Twiggy have one of the weirdest relationships ever, I can never really begin to comprehend it. Just when I think I've figured it out, something proves me wrong.

"I'm sorry, Twiggy, but you know how reclusive this bastard to my right is." Marilyn nodded in agreement, Twiggy just sighing.

"I love you, you know that, right, love?" Marilyn asked as he grabbed one of Twiggy's hands from across the table. Twiggy sighed before speaking.

"I know," he said before rolling his eyes, Marilyn always was worried that Twiggy thought he didn't love him.

"I'm gonna go utilize the wonderful device that spits hot water in great amounts over a period of time," I said. Twiggy laughed softly and Marilyn made it look like he didn't care, but I knew he was watching my every move and interpreting it in his complex mind. I really didn't care to know hat went on it that brain of his, but I'm sure it was too complicated for even Pogo to understand.

The pipes shuddered throughout the house as I turned the shower on to scalding, wanting to rid myself of Him. He existed in every pore, and I needed him out. He'd left me months ago. It was time to move on.

I winced slightly as the boiling hot water hit my skin, but quickly grew used to it, just standing under the comforting stream of water with my eyes closed and mind free.

I took a deep breath in, Ginger was gone. Ginger wasn't coming back. Ginger was my past.

Damn, I missed the way it was.

Before everything, I mean. Before he began using more drugs and alcohol. Before the abuse and threats and scares. Before, when we were happy.

We were inseparable, a force destroyable only by its makers- ourselves.
I believed we were forever.

The shower runs cold, pulling me from the comforting confines of my mind. Someone must've flushed the toilet, I reason as the pipes shudder again and, once more, hot water falls down the drain.

I got out of the shower and toweled off quickly. I was suddenly extremely hungry.

I ventured to the kitchen where, no surprise, Twiggy was sitting carelessly on the edge other counter eating a box of cereal and Marilyn was nursing a small glass of absinthe.

"Hey, Johnny Boy!" Twiggy said cheerily as he saw me.

"How many times has he told you not to call him that?" Marilyn asked, and I knew today was one of those days where Twiggy was too childish and Marilyn was too exasperated and fed up with his games so he drank a bottle of absinthe before lunch and passed out by dinner.

"Sorry," Twiggy muttered into the cereal box.

"I actually don't mind." I regretted the words the instant they left my mouth.

Twiggy squealed and jumped over to me, squeezing me tightly. "Oh, Johnny Boy, I love you so much thank you thank you thank you let me love you, Johnny Boy!" he said quickly, the words almost merging together as he squeezed me tighter.

"That's great, Twiggy!" I said with forced enthusiasm before shoving him off of me so I could search for food. Twiggy pouted but hopped back on the counter and swung his feet into Marilyn's lap so he could play with his feet.

Marilyn had some kind of foot fetish that I'd realized over the years, it was odd but whatever. Marilyn was Marilyn.

I ended up grabbing a bottle of whiskey and uncapping it, taking a drink before anyone could say anything. I looked at Marilyn and Twiggy's gaping faces before taking another swig of the fiery liquid, relishing the way it burned down my throat.

"You okay there, Johnny Boy?" Marilyn asked tentatively

"Never been better," I said giggling before taking another long drink, my insides beginning to feel warm and my mind becoming fuzzy. It was lovely.

"You sure?" he asked cautiously.

I took another long drink before answering, "So fucking wonderful!"

"C'mere, JohnJohn. Let us drink together!" Twiggy declared, hopping over next to me and taking the bottle do he could take a drink. Marilyn sighed loudly and left the room.

"Lettuce!" I replied, not sure exactly what was being said.

Within minutes, the bottle was drained and Twiggy and I were giggling uncontrollably. Marilyn walked into the room and took the empty bottle and walked out, had he told us to calm down and eat some bread or was I drunk? I wasn't sure. I couldn't think straight. Why had I done this?

Ginger. A voice in my head hissed, my mind recoiling at the sound of his name.

Twiggy handed me an Oreo. We had Oreos? I stole the box of Oreos from him, Twiggy fighting me for them.

Marilyn walked in again, telling us to calm down. I was fighting a life or death battle with Twiggy over Oreos, no way in hell was I about to calm down.

"Go away, you baboon!" Twiggy yelled. Marilyn shook his head as he walked out. I think I called him a babbling baboon.

I high-fived Twiggy and resumed our fight.

Marilyn came back in- couldn't the baboon just leave us alone? He took the Oreos and Twiggy. Twiggy was thrown over Marilyn's shoulder and he stuck his tongue out at me.

I trudged back up to my room and fell on the bed, blacking out.

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"Oh, Johnny Boy!" Twiggy coed, poking my shoulder repeatedly. I groaned and curled into a ball.

"Wake up!" Twiggy shoved me off my comfy bed.

"You fucking asshole," I muttered into the floor.

"Get up." Twiggy got on me and shook me.

"Stop yelling!" I whined, shoving Twiggy off of me.

"But I'm not yelling!" he said, shoving me again.

"You are!" I argued, trying to get him off of me.

"Am not!"

"Are to!"

"Am not!"

"Are to, you nasty troll! Get off of me!"

"Am not! I'm not a nasty troll- I showered yesterday!"

"Marilyn!" we both yelled at the same time, probably sounding like three year olds. I winced at how loud my voice was in my ears.

"Yes, Twiggy?" Marilyn sighed, trudging his way towards us.

"Joh-"

"Twiggy woke me up!" I interjected, Marilyn looked at me funny before he sighed, again.

"Hungover?" He asked softly, his voice full of sympathy.

I winced before answering him, "Yep."

"C'mon, Twiggs. Let's leave John alone," he tugged on Twiggy's dress. Twiggy pouted a bit before following him out the door.

I sighed in relief as the door was locked and fell back on my bed.

I woke up around noon to the sound of Marilyn and Twiggy fucking in their bedroom next to mine. I sighed in disgust before rolling out of bed, messy hair catching my attention in the mirror.

I hastily ran my hands through it a few times, anxious to get out of this room, maybe escape to the kitchen or outside. I shuddered at the thought of having to seek refuge in sunny LA.

I stood up on weak knees and immediately ran to the toilet, barely able to keep from puking before I could get it in the toilet.

I fell back against the tiled wall; my head was pounding, vision blurry, and I couldn't remember anything past deciding to try some whiskey. I was hungry and exhausted and lines were in my vision, I couldn't hear anything as loud as my headache, as weird as it sounds.

After my stomach had emptied again, I trudged to the kitchen, greeted by the sight of Twiggy and Marilyn cooking chocolate cake. How did Twiggy not have a hangover?

"'Morning, Johnny Boy," Twiggy said groggily, slowly mixing the cake mix while Marilyn watched him carefully.

"I want some cake," I muttered, hopping on the counter and yawning.

"Well, hello to you, as well, Johnny Boy," he muttered under his breath.

"That's good enough, Twiggs," Marilyn said, stifling a yawn before taking the bowl away from Twiggy. Twiggy muttered something before dragging his body back upstairs to his bed.

"Where's he going," I yawned. I stuck my fire in the mix to taste it- Twiggy put more chocolate in it than usual. Yay, Twiggy.

"I dunno," he shrugged, pouring the lumpy mixture into a pan.

"When's it gonna be done, Marilyn?" Twiggy whispered, walking back into the kitchen with a bottle of jack which he promptly took a hearty sip of before handing to me. I followed his example and grimaced as the liquid made its way to my stomach.

"Soon enough, baby," he answered, watching us cautiously as we shared the bottle of jack, already half way gone.

I was buzzed, but not drunk. Still coherent enough to know.

I had to see Ginger. My back was against the wall here, I had nowhere to run but Ginger. I had fallen, and I needed to get back up.

I needed to make things right with him.

I got up, ignoring Twiggy and Marilyn's questions as I ran to my room. I pulled on some clothes and shoes, made my hair presentable, and walked back out.

Even after all this time, I still knew the way to his house by heart.

I stood in front of his house, a step away from knocking the door.

It's time to cross the line, a voice whispered. I took the step, not expecting it to be so anticlimactic. I knocked hesitantly and footsteps could be heard past the door.

"Hel- John!" He acted surprised and happy. Why happy?

"Hey," I said awkwardly, glueing a smile to my face. "What's up?"

"Not much. Come on in," he gestured inside. I kicked off my shoes as I crossed the threshold; his house looked the same. Exactly the same- the pillows I'd put on the couch, my spare guitar against the wall, my blanket on his couch. And my blanket looked... Recently used.

"So..." I trailed off awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck.

"I miss you," he said, surprising me. He'd kicked me out.

"I miss you, too."

"I'm sorry to just barge in on you,' I apologized, kicking at the rug beneath my feet.

"Don't worry about it." We stood there awkwardly, something about our feet keeping our attention.

"You still have my guitar." I pointed warily to my guitar, the old one I had left here for when I stayed over. It was ancient and had stickers and god knows what else all over it

I leaned against the wall, breaking away from my feet to meet his eyes.

"Didn't have the heart to throw it out," he shrugged.

"You hate me," I said slowly; it felt good to admit it.

"No. I never did. I thought I did. I was wrong. So wrong." He played with his thumbs nervously.

"But-"

"I got help," he interrupted. "Met someone who talked to me about you. I realized that I didn't hate you, I was mad at you. For making me love you. I don't even know. It's weird, but I do love you," he continued. It felt so wonderful to hear those words flow out of his mouth.

"It was weird, not having you here. Unnatural. You're a part of me. You never fully left me. You left parts behind," he gestured to my guitar and blanket, "The parts that made you who you are. Or were. I don't know you anymore, and I hate that." His eyes were so sad, I wanted to hug him tight and never let him go.

Wordlessly, I moved toward him and wrapped him in my arms, holding him tightly against me and burrowing my face into his neck, just letting his scent permeate my body.

Cautiously, he wrapped his arm around me and rested his chin on my shoulder, rubbing my back gently.

Before I could stop myself, tears began to roll down my cheeks and onto the warm skin of his neck.

"No, John, baby, don't cry. Please don't," he murmured softly, his voice silky as I ran my fingers through his hair, memorizing the way his hair felt in my hands.

A sob escaped me before I could register its existence, and I realized Ginger was crying too.

Maybe he was telling the truth.

Maybe I was right to believe we were forever.

Today was all or nothing, and I'd chosen to take a risk and go for all, and having Ginger in my arms, like this, I knew. I'd be spending forever with him.

Together as one. Against all others.