Not sure what to tell you. Go find out for yourself.
Jesus Smokes And Priests Say Bad Words
“Ay. Up.” Egan made no move to comply. Frank sighed. The little ones were always the heavy sleepers; he knew from experience. “Yo, Egan. Tattoo guy’s here. Gotta get up.” She didn’t flutter an eyelid. There was one thing to do.
Frank leaned down and gently prodded Gerard’s arm from around Egan, unraveled her arms from his torso, and lifted her up into his arms hero style. All he needed was long, flowing hair, a sunset backdrop and wind rippling his majestic cloak. And also possibly a good hero name, such as Marcello. Frank wasn’t going to cut the mustard.
He swung her around towards the artist’s chair and deposited her there, perhaps a bit more roughly than necessary, hoping the jarring would rouse her. No dice.
“You want I should work on her like this?” The artist asked disbelievingly. “She’s asleep.”
“She’ll wake up once you start.”
“Your funeral buddy. I won’t be held responsible.”
“Aw, come on now, big guy like you, what’s there to be afraid of?”
“Look at her. That’s alotta ink. This one’s got moxie.”
“Exactly what I said when I met her. But she’s a sweetie somewhere very deep down. Don’t worry.” The tattoo artist looked dubious, but started the needle. The high whirring whine it made instantly woke Gerard. He looked to his right and started up quickly when he found Egan gone. He gaze swiveled all around him wildly as he pushed himself up. He stilled and breathed a visible sigh of relief when he saw her laid on the chair, head lolling to the side, still asleep. Then, seeming embarrassed by his display of concern (Which no one saw anyway dude) his face reddened and he settled back down against the wall, pretending to sleep but really keeping his eyes open to watch and see what would happen. He was feeling much less queasy.
The tattoo artist lowered the ink loaded needle to her left wrist, one of the only places which was still bare, and began his work. He traced the outline of the drawing, then the thicker lines for shadows. Next, he dipped the needle in different colors, sometimes switching needle sized for different effects. Around forty five minutes later, the creation was completed. A miniature depiction of the Rio De Janeiro Jesus, arms spread wide and everything, was now shining there, surrounded by red, irritated skin. A cigarette dangled from his lips.
Egan hadn’t budged an inch. This made the artist uneasy. He was uncomfortable with the whole business from the start. He had at least expected her to wake up when she felt the needle on her arm. He would get a chance to explain to her then, he thought. Let her know it wasn’t his idea. But no, she’d slept on. He’d used a larger needle for some of the colors and he’d thought for sure that would get her, but still, she slept on. The entire time she’d slept. He wondered if perhaps she had died. He watched the wrist he had just tattooed for a pulse. If he watched very carefully he could see one, ridiculously faint under the thin milky skin. This girl unnerved him, especially when she was asleep. Awake as she had been the last time he’d seen her, her black eyes watched him silently as he made sample sketches for them, not saying a word. But asleep she was too still, too far away. She didn’t move at all. Her skin lost the scant color it had as the blood steadied and slowed. She breathed deeper as well, and in a more measured manner. She almost could pass for a corpse.
It just wasn’t normal to sleep through a tattoo.
Frank paid the man, roused Gerard, and stood with him over Egan, wondering over what they should do with her. She was out cold and it seemed likely she would stay that way. Carrying her through the mall would draw attention and would be very awkward as well. Leaving her here would be abandonment and would probably result in a lawsuit of some sort. Trying to wake her up was futile, that had already been established. So what course of action would they take? Without a word Frank leaned over and picked her up in his arms hero style once more. He sighed, shifted her a little to make himself more comfortable and started for the back exit of the shop. Gerard pushed the door open for him and they walked out together into the cold night air. They were on the opposite side of the building from the car. It had been a long walk in the first place, but this was going to be ridiculous. Frank sighed once again. Sure, she was small, but she was getting heavier quickly. They set off.
Finally, panting a bit, Frank was able to put Egan down. About a quarter of the way to the car, heroism had been given the boot and she had been tossed unceremoniously over his shoulder. If Egan had been awake for this, she would have been mortified. The butt to face distance would have been highly inappropriate in her eyes. He laid her gently across the back seat of the car and shut the door after making sure it wouldn’t catch her feet. She stirred slightly at the slamming sound and rolled over onto her side, cradling the now bandaged arm in her other. Gerard looked back at her lying there unsecured, and something occurred to him.
“Shouldn’t she be in a seatbelt?”
“Uuuuum, why?” Vehicular safety was not a big thing with Frank. Truth be told, he was bad at safety in general.
“Just ‘cause. If we stop really quickly or something, she’ll roll forward. If she wakes up she’ll probably be royally pissed off.”
“Why would she be pissed? She got in a good nap. People are always less cranky after naps.”
“Well, one thing, we gave her a tattoo without her express permission.”
“A tattoo of her choosing. And she knew she was getting tattooed before she fell asleep.”
“Yeah, but she might have changed her mind. Tattoos are permanent my friend. What if she decided she didn’t want Jesus on her wrist for forever and eternity?”
“Well, she’s got Jesus every other fucking place—“
“SSSSSSSSSSSHHHH! That’s sacrilegious! You can’t say ‘Jesus’ and the F-word in the same sentence!”
“Doesn’t change the fact that she has three other easily visible tattoos of Jesus that I’ve seen already. And there could be more. I think it’s safe to say she would have gone through with this one.”
“We’re going to Hell. No, I take that back. You are going to Hell.”
“Why? Because I said ‘Jesus’ and ‘fuck’—“
“Now you’ve done it.”
“—In the same sentence?”
“Yes. Your fate is sealed. You are going to burn for all eternity.”
“You’re not even religious.”
“I’ve got enough sense not to mess with Hey-Soos, that’s for damn sure.”
“Ooooooh! You just said ‘Jesus’ and ‘damn' in the same sentence, you—“
“This is an entirely different thing. First, I said ‘Hey-Soos’, which is the Spanish version of Jesus. Second, haven’t you ever heard a priest say the word ‘damn’? It’s a holy word. No priest ever said ‘fuck’. I am safe. You are doomed.”
“You’re the worst fucking theologian I’ve ever met.”
“Yeah, but, how many have you met? How many have you had discussions on the moral implications of holy names and foul words with?”
“Don’t you think we should buckle her up though?” Frank got out of the car, slamming the door shut as he went. He opened Egan’s door, grabbed her, forced her into a sitting position and buckled the middle seatbelt around her waist. He released her and she flopped back over, none the wiser. He returned to his seat, Gerard started the engine and they were off.
Back at the house, the task of carrying Egan once again fell to Frank. He accepted his fate with poor grace, and mumbled quiet obscenities all the way inside. They continued as he stood in the entrance hall, waiting for Gerard to direct him to a suitable place to drop her.
“She sleeps downstairs. Last bedroom.”
“Guess I should be grateful she doesn’t sleep in the library.” Frank muttered as he carried her down. He laid her on the bed, unsure of whether tucking her in was called for. He decided she could fend for herself in the clothes-changing department. Feeling his duty was done, he turned to leave. But his eyes caught a blue shimmer and just like Egan had been, he became captivated with the blue mural on the wall. He knew this room looked familiar. Unlike Egan, he heard Gerard walk up behind him.
“Wasn’t this…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. They both knew what he was talking about.
“So…she sleeps in here now?”
“Does she know what it is?”
“I told her.”
“Why does she do it?”
“To piss me off would be my guess.”
“Mm-hm.” They both silently studied the glass mural.
“She messed you up that bad, huh?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” Gerard stated matter-of-factly. “She’s still got me messed up. She’s been gone for so long, and she still has a hold on me. I never could sleep, but it’s worse now. The night terrors too. I think I’m gonna die, and then I wake up and I realize I am dead.”
“I don’t have anything I could say to that.”
“Good. I like you better when you’re quiet.” Gerard laughed out loud.
“Your sense of humor is fucked up.”
“So am I.”
“But you’re not always gonna be like that man, right? I mean, come on Gerard.” Frank’s voice has lost it’s casualness, he was pleading now. “She’s gone, but I’m not. The band’s still here. Your mom’s still here.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“You got Egan too.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
“I’m just saying. She might be good to talk to. I don’t know, I don’t know what she’s been through. But you guys seem to relate well. You understand what the other is thinking.”
“Hm. I guess so.” Seeing that there wasn’t much further they were going to get tonight, Frank said goodbye to Gerard.
“’Night Frankie.” He heard behind him as he walked through the door. He turned to see a tiny Egan hand flopping around sleepily, trying to wave. She looked cute. “’Night Egan.” He said back, chuckling under his breath as he exited the room.
Gerard made to follow Frank, but a whine from Egan made him stop.
“Geraaard?” She whined again.
“Yeees?” He whined back.
“My wrist hurts.”
“Be nice. I was nice to you when you were sleepy and sick.”
“You’re not sick.” He pointed out.
“I’m as good as.” She pouted. “I’m sleepy and my wrist feels like it might be slowly combusting from the inside.” Something seemed to dawn on her. “Why is that?”
“Why’s what? Why is your wrist combusting? Couldn’t tell you, I didn’t even know they could do that. Why is it hurting? It’s recently tattooed. Tattoos, from what I hear, usually result in pain.”
“Oh. I don’t remember getting a tattoo.”
“You wouldn’t. You were asleep. I can’t believe you slept through a tattoo.”
“Sorry, I’ve just got mad skills.”
“That you do. Goodnight.” He wasn’t escaping that easily.
“Will you get me some Advil? My wrist really hurts. A lot. Like, a lot a lot.”
“Yes. Now hush.” Gerard has a bit of a mommy streak as well. He returned momentarily with a bottle of Advil and a cup of water. He dished out two pills in the bottle cap and handed them over along with the water to Egan.
“They’re Advil PM, so they’ll make you sleep. Just a heads up.” Egan downed both pills at once with a small sip of water, then laid her head back on the pillows and took a deep breath.
“I like Frank.”
“I’m partial to him myself.”
“You should have him come back.”
“I’ll be sure to do that.” Egan patted the space next to her on the bed, inviting Gerard to sit. He cooperated with nary an eye roll, a substantial accomplishment for him. “’Member when you said I could meet your family and stuff? Were you being serious?”
“Well can we do that sometime soon? I like you, and I like Frank. I think I’ll like them too. And I need to make friends so I can have a big destructive house party.”
“Where were you planning on holding this house party?”
“Um, here, duh.”
“So, can we?”
“Good deal. Let’s make plans.” Gerard got up to leave but was once again halted by a whine. This time he didn’t even turn around, he just paused and slightly growled “Yes?”.
“Will you stay until I fall asleep?”
“I’m sorry, what?
“Pleeeeeeease? I’m not tired yet, and I don’t wanna sit here and be bored.”
“Watch a movie.”
“And do what?”
“You’re being belligerent. Nip it in the bud.”
“Gerard. Please?” Fuck, she was being sweet. And now, there was no choice. He would have to stay.
“Fine.” He said, sitting down on the bed again. “Talk.”
“No, you! Tell me a story.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Tell me a story.” She insisted.
“I don’t know any.” He ran one hand through his hair and breathed heavily out through his nose.
“Make one up.” She offered.
“I’m not that creative.”
“Sure you are. You write songs. Same basic principles apply, right?”
“No, wrong. I freestyle half the songs I write, the others I write when inspiration hits. I can’t force them. And I co-write a lot of stuff with Frank or whoever.”
“I’m fine with freestylin’. Now go to it.” Gerard sighed heavily and closed his eyes for a moment, looking for somewhere to start. Keeping his face blank, he opened his eyes and began.
“Alright. Once, there was a very small, very white, slightly annoying…ah…princess. This princess had lots and lots of magical drawings on her body, put there by a pretty fairy queen. These drawings, um, helped her scare off monsters so they wouldn’t try to eat her. Because they did try to eat her anyway. She was so small and the monsters were so tall that to them she looked like a tasty snack. One day, the princess met a nice young lad by the name of Frank. The princess and Frank got along well, so they decided to go off together and have an adventure. First, they decided to go to the market and see what there was to see. While they were there, Frank, who was a tricky little devil, unsnapped the princess’s bra when she wasn’t looking—“
“I cannot even believe you’re bringing that up.” She said in a muffled voice, her face very red and buried under the sheets. She removed her head from hiding and sat up. “I cannot even believe he told you that. Geez.”
“Oh yeah, he told me.” Gerard said, grinning in a suggestive manner.
“Pervert. Get off my bed.”
“Not a chance little girl. You wanted a story, you’re getting one.” Egan stuck her tongue out at him. “Act your age, not your shoe size.” He said.
“I’d rather act my shoe size. It’s three and a half.” She considered something, and a look that said she was up to no good came over her face. “Actually, can I take that back?” she inquired, biting her lip and twirling a piece of hair around her finger.
“Um, sure? Yeah, I guess.” Gerard was bemused. Since when did this pint sized terror have a high maturity level? Oh, no, now that was Frank the pint-sized terror. No, no, it was Egan too. Actually, she was probably more mature than—
His train of thought was cut off when Egan deposited herself on his lap.
“What the hell?” he managed to get out. The shock had made his windpipe constrict.
“I’m acting my age.” She said, grinning and leaning close to his face. He had an excellent view of her entirely black eyes. What a curious phenomenon. No color to them at all, just black. “Someone my age would be at their hormonal and sexual prime. Just trying to live up to expectations.” She giggled joyfully at his open-mouthed gape and curled her arms around his neck. The pose remained fairly innocent, she was sitting to one side, not straddling him, but it was still enough to have some sex appeal. They sat like that, Egan smirking, Gerard allowing his heart to slow down. Finally she rolled off and switched the light off, then made her way back into the middle of the mattress. After much shuffling and rolling around, she was in a comfortable position. Gerard stood to leave.
“’Night honey.” She called.
“I’m not your honey.” He murmured back, and shut the door.
Author's Note: This is a long chapter. I hope you like it. If you don't, I don't blame you. I'm not getting alot of good writing out of my self right now. It's disconcerting. So, thanks for your patience as I sort through this shit. Remeber the three R's: READ, RATE and REVIEW!!! That is all.