Ray feels depressed. Frankie hates him and he's really not feeling any love. Beer seems the only thing that can't argue with him or tell him to go away at this moment.
"Ray?" Mikey's voice called from the hallway opening. "You're b-" Mikey took in Ray's concentrated face as he raced his soldier through labyrinths, his gun shooting off in every direction; killing everything and anything. "Um."
"What do you want Mikey?" Ray snapped, swallowing. "Sorry, man."
"Nah, it's okay, dude." Mikey said, coming to sit on the floor next to Ray. "You seem..." Mikey gestured with his hands, Ray raised an eyebrow, his attention still fully on the screen. "Oh God."
"Yea, it was pretty much 'Oh God'..." Ray said, sighing deeply and pausing the game. "It went down the shitter."
Mikey just pulled Ray into a hug and his shoulders began to shake with silent sobs. "Hey, Ray-man, it'll be okay!" Mikey said, smoothing Ray's hair and patting his back. "It'll be okay..."
Ray groaned as he rolled over in his bunk. He couldn't sleep. Nothing was working. These stupid thoughts about Frankie were all that seemed to dwell in his mind at the moment. He shrugged off his blanket and swung his legs out over the bunk. He slid to the ground, readjusting his boxers and then slouching down the hall to the common room.
Ray reached into the mini-fridge, praying the Gee had restocked it at the last stop. Good ol' Gee. He always pulled through. Ray dislodged a beer from the cramped up fridge and popped it open. Ray took a long swig, gulping half of it down quickly. He shuddered. Ugh. He wasn't a beer drinker. He'd always preferred more liquor and hard stuff to this shit. But, he wasn't one to complain. As long as he had something.
Ray flopped down onto the couch and sighed. Frank. Frank. Frank. Frank. Frank. It was all he could fucking think about! God! Ray slammed his fist into the arm of the sofa and growled in frustration. Then he heard little steps and a tentative yawn. Mikey.
"Mike-man, go back to sleep. I didn't mean to wake you up." Ray said, apologizing.
"Nah...I'm fine. Just wondering why you're up at three in the morning drinking Gee's Miller Light." Mikey sat next to Ray. "Got any cigarettes on you?"
"Mikey?" Ray questioned. As far as he knew, and he knew a lot about Mikey, Mikey didn't smoke.
"Hey, I just keep it a secret." Mikey replied, stifling a yawn. "I don't want you all freaking out like, 'Oh my god, Mikey, you've got asthma, you'll kill yourself', you know? It's annoying. I'll do whatever the hell-" He yawned again. "I want."
Ray shrugged and stood, walking back down the hall and returning with a pack of Marlboro Reds. He tossed the pack to Mikey. "I don't want your brother chewing my ass out about this, so hurry, okay?"
Mikey nodded and lit one up, handing the pack to Ray as he sat back on the sofa. Ray followed suit. He took of a long drag, blowing the smoke out slowly before turning to face Mikey. "You know what I don't get?" Ray said.
"No?" Mikey said, taking a drag off his cigarette. "What?"
"I mean...Frankie said himself, that nothing I could ever say would make him do that. And then, when I finally told him what I said, he freaked out!" Ray's voice was raising.
"Hey, man. Calm down. I don't want Bob and Gee coming in here to harass me over my smoking, okay?" Ray nodded. Mikey ushered him to continue, but Ray said nothing. "It'll be okay."
Ray shook his head. "No it won't. He just doesn't understand, doesn't know, how much I love him." Ray said, Mikey just nodded. "I mean...I don't know."
Mikey stood, walking over to the little dining table where an over flowing ash tray sat. He stubbed out his cigarette and turned to face Ray. "Everything will work out. It'll take time, Ray, it will. You just have to let that time go by and take care of itself, okay?" Ray nodded and Mikey walked back over to him. He hugged him tight.
"Shut up and get some sleep, Ray-man, alright?" Ray nodded and Mikey left, stumbling back into the bunk-room.
Ray let his head fall to the back of the couch and took another leisurely drag off his cigarette. Yea...may be things would work themselves out. At least he hoped they would.
"Ray? Ray?" Ray tried to open his eyes, but everything in his body screamed him not to.
"What?" He managed to mumble. "What?!" He said louder when hands nudged and pulled at him.
"Ray, seriously, get the fuck up." He heard that voice, knew it was the voice of a pissed off Gerard.
"What the hell did I do?" Ray said, sitting up the best he could. Gerard cocked and eyebrow, his face red with anger.
He growled. "What did you do? You cleared out all 24 of my fucking beers man!" Gerard shouted. "And you threw up all over the fucking floor!" Ray rubbed his forehead. He felt sick.
"Sorry, man. I didn't realize it. I'll-I'll pay you back. I'll go buy some more right now." Ray said, trying his best to stand. He stumbled to the bedroom and threw on a pair of sweats and sandals. He reached for his keys once he reached the front door.
"Ray, you're in no condition to drive." Gerard said, trying to take the keys from him.
"Look, I drank the damn beers, I'll do buy some more." Gerard reached out and grabbed Ray. Ray swung around and punched Gerard. Gerard stumbled back, clutching his arm.
"God, man." Gerard said, through clenched teeth. Ray just shrugged it off and tripped out the door. Gee wanted more beer, he'd fucking get it. He could drive.
Ray unlocked his door and climbed into the car, breathing in the scent of cigarettes, old food, and something faintly like Tag body spray. He shrugged and jammed the keys into the ignition, turning the engine over and putting it into drive.
God...he was so fucked up. He had a hangover from the pits of Hell, Frankie hated his guts, he'd drunk all of Gee's beer...God what was wrong with him? He really wasn't okay, was he?
He was really not okay.