Love Has Second Chances

I turned and ran. I don't know who she is, but her kiss felt familiar. But... I just couldn't let her kiss me. I mean, I know I'm singal, but a strange woman just randomly kissing me? Da fuck man.

I pulled out the stupid walkie talkie and contacted Jordan. I told him I just couldn't do it. He said he'd reach Sydney and tell her to come around the back. It didn't tak her long. Jordan jumped in the back, and I sat in shotgun.

"How'd it go?" She asked.

"She kissed me. But I ran."

"What?!?!" Sydney asked, shocked.

"Nothing came to me. I just felt... creeped out. She had a kid. The security guard thought I was the father! Her mother, at least I thought it was her mother, was watching! Ten other people were watching! She kissed me! Asia is gonna be pissed!" I finished in a hurry.

"No memories?"

"No."

Sydney sighed. "I'm sorry. I thought it would work. I didn't expect for things to get awkward."

"It's not your fault. It couldn't predict something like that."

She smiled a small smile. Then a small sigh. "Wanna go home, guys?"

"Yeah."

"Definatly."

"Alright. Let's head home." She turned the key, the engine kinda purred, and we were off in complete silence.

Three Months Later

My eyes opened slowly. I hated mornings. Even if I didn't need to do anything. I just fucking hated mornings.

I took in the four white walls around my bed. A few pictures, the bedside table on my side, with the small blue lamp, the digital clock, and a random notebook. I sighed. The notebook held lyrics that I think of. But this one was empty. I was depressed with myself.

I moved head over to the wide brown dresser on my right. It had a bunch of colonges, my keys, a few asembles of jewelry, like my four dog tag necklaces, my watch, and my four favorite hats. I found it funny that my white with the gold Hollywood Undead on the side was covering the twenty tally marks. I can't remember what they were for, but something egged me about them. Like I should remember what they represented. Probably for all the people I killed. I'm kidding. Or am I? Fuck, I don't remember.

I sat up, even though I could have stayed in bed all day. But being lazy would just make my day worse.

I looked right across me and found the bathroom door closed. It didn't surprise me, the bathroom door was always closed when I slept. I moved my head over to the left, and saw my favorite thing in the room:

The full-length tri-fold mirror. It was pretty simplistic, a black frame covering the mirrors, and four legs, it's nothing special. But I loved it. Asia got it for me at some random shop, and it only cost fifteen bucks. For such a beautiful mirror, it was cheap. But I didn't mind. AND it was pretty fuckin' sturdy. I've had it since... I think 2013, but I could be wrong.

And I wasn't obsessed with myself, either, but I just loved looking at myself in that mirror. I just looked all HD and shit. And it had three panels, so if anything looked funky on me, I would know. Well, not always, but most of the time. And you know what made it even better? I had it positioned by the epic floor-to-ceiling two-panel window, in a diagonal kinda way. So if I moved my head in a certain way, I'd see outside. Not that wanted to, I'd probably be naked. But I had some pretty awesome curtains, so it was okay.

I threw my blankets off my body, and walked to the mirror. As I looked at myself, I realized I was in the clothes I was in last night. That didn't surprise me, either, I worked a lot last night. Well, it was more play, but it was called work, so I called it play.

I worked with my boys last night, listening to Tales Of A Murder Victim over and over, trying to get me to remember the lyrics. I must admit, the album deserved the number one spot on the charts, it was fuckin' bangin'. Even with it's title, we managed to get three party songs on there. But they were Hollywood Undead quality, and Hollywood Undead did party songs like no one else. I ended up remembering all the lyrics, and we continued to work with the lyrics. I didn't write any, but it was fun to listen to everyone else. Even Matt, of all people, rocked a few lyrics. It surprised how much we've grown, both as a band, and as well as just regular people.

My signature outfit, blue jeans with an HU belt buckle(which I took off last night; I only knew that because it layed by the mirror when I walked over here), a white wife beater, and a white-and-pale blue button down, looked good, even though I slept in it. God, I had a thing for button downs. Don't know why, though.

What's Wrong With Me?

I looked myself over. My reflection was still HD, which perked my mood up. Speaking of moods, I wonder what was with everyone else's. They kinda stopped talking to me. Well, my boys, my mom, and my ex and my daughter still talked to me, but they were all family, so that didn't count. But my friends stopped pretty much all communication with me. I'm still wondering why. Did I do something wrong? Fuck, I wasn't sure.

I revisited my outfit. Yup, still normal. I noticed the top of my broken heart tattoo, and pulled down my wife beater to get a better looked at it. Well, it wasn't broken now, considering I got it filled in. For Jasmine. The girl who kissed me at that show a few months back. Fuck, a few months? Damn. Time flied by.

Maybe it's because that girl. Maybe she's why nobody wants to talk to me. Shit, that didn't make sense. Or does it? Damnit, I hate it when things don't make sense. But I don't make sense. Fuck, shit, damnit, stop doing that! I keep doubting myself. Maybe no one talks to me because I started the bad habtit of talking to myself. Or maybe they think I'm crazy. Wait, isn't that the same thing? Damnit, I did it again.

I looked closer at my chest tattoo, where my cute, small, mole was. It was really tiny, but if you looked closely, you could see it. I thought it looked cute, but maybe others didn't think so. I wasn't sure of anything anymore.

I finally noticed my knuckles were white by holding on the the fabric of my shirt. I let go, not actually sure why I was clutching it in the first place. I also noticed my third button down poped off. Damn it, ANOTHER button down ruined. Or maybe it was better, maybe sexy. Nah.

Oh, well, I thought to myself. I'll just take this one off and put something else on. Actually, I'll change my WHOLE outfit and go for a drive. Maybe that'll clear my head.

I procceded to unbutton my shirt, but my hands went slowly. I felt my fingertips faintly graze my tank top, and my skin started getting goosebumps. I watched as my hands went down my stomach in a motion more fluid than I'd like to admit. I finally reached the button at the bottom, and I grabbed the two sides, and gently pulled them over my shoulders. I felt the fabric tense as it went down my tatted arms, slowly and like silk, then it dropped to the floor with a droop.

I looked back at my reflection, and saw something a bit shocking.

I was skinny. Like, way skinner than I ever remember being. I wasn't twig skinny, that shit's for sure, but it was a new skinny to me. I grabbed handfuls of my tank top and stretched it behind me, and I saw a flat belly. It looked kinda hot to me. What was funny was that my nipples were hard.

I chuckled a little. Then I let go of my shirt, and procceded to take the tank off. Like before, I went slow, and I felt the material rub my nipples. No lie, I kinda giggled. I let the white tank fall to the tan carpeting, right on top of the button down. I gazed at my reflection again, and saw that I was right.

I didn't have a six pack obviously, but my stomach was... toned? Was that the word? I wasn't sure. It looked awesome, though. I was actually kinda proud of my... toned-ness. Again, I was pretty sure that wasn't a word, but I don't care.

I stared at my tattoos. My arms weren't covered everywhere, but they were pretty covered. My Brittini tat was fading, but that didn't surprise me. I've had it for... a long time. What confused me was my Broken Heart tattoo.

It was filled in.

I don't remember getting it filled in. Everyone was telling me that I got it filled in for Jasmine, the girl who kissed me three months ago. Did I? I seriously don't remember anything. I just stared at it, like it was some kind of alien. I wasn't sure what to think of it.

I was about to take my pants off when I heard a knock on my bedroom door. Fuck.

"Just a second!" I shouted at the door. I grabbed mt wife beater and quickly put it on. Another knock erupted from the other side of the door. "Almost there!"

I took a deep breath to calm myself and started for the door as another knock, with more attitude this time around, pounded the door.

I kept quiet as I reached for the door knob. I turned the brass knob, and opened the door.

"Hello, George."

I stared at the tall, black figure. "Who the hell are you?"

The figure smirked. "Death." He then raised his axe and brought it down.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

I shot up from bed, my breathing frantic and out of control.

BAM!

"WHAT'S WRONG??!!"

"AHHHH! FUCK!" My breathing shot up again, but for different reasons.

"Dude, don't fucking do that! You scared the living SHIT outta me!" I yelled at Jordan, who busted through the door.

"Well, my fucking bad, I heard you screamin' like a little bitch, so I had to check on you."

I sighed. "Sorry, had a strange dream. How'd you get inside my house?"

"I have a key, remember?"

I thought for a few seconds. "Oh, yeeaaaaaah."

He laughed a little. "Okay, get up George, we've got shit to do."

I uncovered myself.

"OH GOD DAMNIT GEORGE, COVER YO SELF!"

I looked down as Jordan looked away, and realized I was naked. And hard.

"Oh, oops, sorry." I reached back towards the blanket and recovered myself. "You can look now."

Jordan turned his head back to me and uncovered his eyes. "Geez, I'm only HALF gay, George."

"Oooo, come here baby, I'll make you full gay." I threw the blanket off again. Jordan looked away, laughing.

"Just get dressed! I'll meet you in the living room." He closed the door behind him, and I heard foot falls on the carpet.

I got up and opened the dresser draw that held my day clothes(jeans, t-shirts, etc.) and another draw that my boxers. I took out a regular day outfit: a Dead Cultoure shirt, jeans, and plain black boxers. I decided to dress by the dresser. Made sense, right?

I grabbed a regular pair of aviators and a regular black hat(that I found in my boxers draw) to complete my outfit. I checked myself out in the tri-fold mirror. I looked good.

Wait, are those my clothes from last night? I stared at them, not knowing if I should be worried that my clothes were actually here, or that my belt had a few blood stains on it.

Is It Really Sexting If...

Jordan reached for the knob on the streo and turned the volume to zero. "I'm telling you, George, it's NOT SEXING IF YOU SEND A PHOTO TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND OF YOUR BONER, IF'S she's THE ONE WHO MADE YOU GET IT."

"Damn it, Jordan, yes it is! If you send a picture of a HARD DICK to someone, it's considered SEXTING! End of story." I leaned my head against the head rest, laughing at Jordan's stupid new "obsession"(he won't let me call it that to his face).

"Okay, what if, and this is a BIG what if, a guy sends a picture of his dick, in pants or out, to a friend and asks: 'HELP! BONER! NEED TO DEFLATE!'"

I just laughed harder. "I don't fucking know!"

"Seriously! Can't you just get serious about cocks just this once?!"

"Not when you put it like that!" Jordan's trying to kill me! I seriously thought my gut was gonna brust open.

"Okay, FINE, what if-"

And I'd just like to say,
I'd give it all away,
To see you and your smile again.... again...

I reached in my pocket for my phone. I looked at the picture, and my guess at who was calling was right.

"It's Jay."

Jordan shot me a suprised look. "Really? We just left. What could be wrong?"

"Good question."

"See what he wants! Knowing Jay, it's probably urgent. You know he's a strict texter."

"Yeah, true, true." I slid the lock thingy, and as it turns out, it was a text. I pushed a couple buttons, and turned the iPhone to it's side(my style of teaxting). He had a picture with it, so I clicked the attachment button.

"He sent a pic-OH GOD!" I screamed, shoving the very frightening image away from my eyeballs. "WHAT THE FUCK JORDAN!"

He probably couldn't hear me over his hyenia laughing.

"You are so FUCKED UP JORDAN! GOD, WHY AM I FRIENDS WITH YOU?!?!?!"

"You like my hardness?" He responded, his Chesire grin coming through.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

He just continued laughing. "Come on, you didn't see my dick coming?!" More hyenia laughing.

"FUCKING A, YOU ARE SICK, TWISTED, LITTLE MAN!"

"LITTLE?!?! MY FRIEND, DID YOU not SEE THE PICTURE?! I AM anything BUT LITTLE!" God damn hyenia laughing.

"Damn it! I can't get away from your penis! For Pete's sake!"

"He-e-e-y man, pay back's a bitch!"

"You mean earlier?!"

"HA! Yes."

"I was-I didn't-that was-DAMN IT, I CAN'T WIN WITH YOU!"

"Damn straight!"

I plugged my ears and curled up in the passenger seat, not willing to let this Penis Battle get outta hand. Or pants.

After a few more torturous seconds, all was silent. I faintly heard a 'hey, George," from my left.

"Ugggh, what?" I groaned as I uncovered my ears.

"Quite a scene, huh?" A chuckle.

"Hardy har har, very funny." I did a round of fake clapping.

"Oh, come on, it's not like you haven't seen it before."

"Yeah, but not like that. All... veiny." I shivered.

"I know. That's the sad thing about my penis, my veins pop out like tits."

I laughed, causing Jordan to laugh and smile with me.

"I'm writing that down-that was funny."

"Yeah, it was, kinda."

"Kinda."

"Well, fuck you, too."

"Hardy har har."

"Ah, George, George, George. Never got any joke thrown to him. He lived a very boring life, in all retrospecs. He-"

"You writing my goddamn euogloy?"

"Maaaaybe." A smile.

"You can be such a dick sometimes, Jordan."

"Yeah. I know." He sighed a heavy sigh.

"You all right?"

"No. I was hoping to spare you this, but..."

"But what?"

"Everybody thinks you should text Jasmine."

"What?! Why would I text her?"

"We all know you want to talk to her. Just... ask her when she's got free time, and just sort things out. You don't HAVE to, but... for your memories?"

I looked at Jordan's face. Well, the side of his face, he was driving. He probably hasn't been looking at me since he brought up Jasmine. But... he did have a point. I should just talk to her. It might be awkward, but... my memories... she could help me. Maybe Jordan was right... Sigh.

"All right... I'll send her a simple text. If she doesn't answer so be it, if she does I'll talk to her. Or try to. Sound good enough?"

"Yeah. I'll be herwe for moral support." Jordan turned to me, and gave me an encouraging smile.

I looked at the black screen of my phone. Then I turned it on. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck."

I rolled my eyes. I found Jasmine's number at the bottom of my contact list, and sent her a simple text.

Hey, I know this might awkward, but can we talk? When we both have time?

I hit the send button, and the message was off. "There. I sent a simple text. Hopefully she'll respond."

"Awesome. Now, how 'bout we get some Del Taco?"

I laughed. "Yeah. Some food sounds real good."

And we continued our drive, veering left on the street we were on. Jordan kept bantering about his dick(like good 'ole Jordan), and we tried to decide who had the bigger penis while eating(we kept our voices down, due to children). After we finished eating, we got back in Jordan's car, and heading for home.

But in the back of my mind, something was very, very off.