Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Die Young And Save Yourself
And Every Breath That Is In Your Lungs Is A Tiny Little Gift To Me
4 reviewsyayayayay update. warning this is a filler
0Unrated
William's POV:
My crusted eye lids slowly separated. I found myself cuddled up against an unfamiliar body. I uncomfortably rolled myself off of the couch, not caring who I woke. My legs felt starchy due to sleeping in skinny jeans. I could taste the alcohol and bacteria swimming in my mouth. I managed to get up on my feet with the assistance of a coffee table and stumbled into the kitchen where I found Gabe, leaning on the counter top with his head in his hands.
"Yo, Gabanti." He jumpily turned towards me, evident anxiety. "What's your problem?"
He sighed and dragged a chair from the small table set, sitting in it lazily, "She knows."
"That your a raging sex addict? Everyone knows that Gabe" I knew my sarcasm wasn't welcome, but I thought that it could lighten the situation at the time.
"Don't be an ass, Bill. She knows about the game." His voice trailed off with anxiety in his breath, speaking slowly to keep calm.
"How does she know? Where is she? What did you do?" His anxiety transferred to me.
"She said that the company I keep isn't very secretive, she's upstairs, and I didn't do anything. Nothing that would benefit our cause, anyways."
I just nodded, and walked away. I started up the stairs, keeping myself quiet. I would twist every cold doorknob, checking for Monica. I found her sitting at a table, typing. Her eyes were focused on the world beyond the window. I slowly and silently approached her, trying to get a peek at whatever she was writing.
Small poems, in haiku format:
Incarnation Grieves
Rapidly, Hullaballoo
Wakening Souls Fume
Breathless Snowman Blares
Hawkishly, Cask Jingles, Orange
Screaming Frothy Doubt
Sleeping Chokingly
Finger Murmuring Sailboat
Darkens, Mountain Rides
Farmer Distends, Owl
Explodes, Cemetery Yearns
Buried Aching Blind
Rigidly, Dragon
Recurs, Sordid Reflections
Replenish, Howling
Abstractly, Goat Barks
Abrupt Chimpanzee Oozing
Screaming Leprechaun
Idiot Poses, Pearl
Encircles Faintly, Strutting
Imprisonment,
"It's rude to read over someone's shoulder."
I froze. She finished the last poem.
Spunk
The type writer clicked and she pulled out the paper with the poetry printed on it and flipped it onto a thin pile of other papers, probably more nonsense written on them.
"What are you doing here, Beckett?"
"I was just checking if you're still here."
"I'm not going to tell anyone." Her eyes were still fixed on the tree's surrounding the house.
"None of those poems make any sense to me." I sadly tried to keep the conversation from dying.
"They're not supposed to. Readers will try to decode, thinking there's some hidden meaning or symbolism. These are just marijuana induced words in the format of five syllable, seven syllable, five syllable." She grabbed the stack of papers, securing them together with a pink paper clip. She placed them in a compartment in her type writer case, gently placing the type writer in the case with it. She grabbed the box by the handle and took the near empty bottle of vodka she stole from me the day before in the other one. She headed towards the door and looked at me for the first time since I entered the room,
"Don't beat up your girl too much, she may just hit back one day." With that, she walked down the hall and down the stairs. I listened to her every action. The door finally slammed.
I hoped that I never had to deal with the confusion called Monica ever again in my life.
Harper's POV:
Water trickled down on my skin, and my eyes snapped open. Fully clothed, I was leaning in the ice cold shower. All I could taste and smell was alcohol, although hangovers no longer existed for me. I involuntarily let out a scream, and the curtain opened. There, I saw Paige, a greasy looking blond kid, and a ginger.
"Oh, good morning, Blondie. Nice to see you found your way over." Paige's comments were always drenched in sarcasm.
"What are you doing here?" My voice was dry and sick sounding.
"I just got home and found your dead weight on my couch. What the fuck were you doing there?"
"I- I'm not sure... Who are those two?" I gestured to the two mysterious guys watching our conversation.
"I'm Kyle, Paige's boyfriend. That's Caleb." The blond said everything so bluntly, evidently annoyed. Paige's already rosy cheeks burst with color as she pressed her lips together trying to hide a smile.
"Take a real shower, I'll get you clothes." Paige pushed the two boys out of the bathroom, closing the door. I stripped down and turned the hot water on instead of the piercing cold I was sitting in. I lightly sang The Little Mermaid songs to myself, not very well, but I was entertaining myself. Once I finished, I grabbed two towels hanging on the towel rack, wrapping one around myself, the other gathered my dripping hair. I opened the door, releasing the steam from the bathroom into the rest of the apartment. I walked out and found Paige a set of clothes, "Here, goofball. Try not to soil these."
I started back to the bathroom, and notice Caleb staring at me in nothing but a towel.
"Do you mind?" I asked, annoyed and violated.
"No. Do you?"
I felt the blood rush to my face, and I just silently rushed back into the bathroom.
Brooke's POV:
Daily, Joe would send me off. To fetch, to let him think, whatever it may be. I knew he was shooting up. Did I do anything about it? Of course not. All I could do was pretend that he was getting better. I just imagined what would happen when he left, us living in a little brick house with a white picket fence. I could dream, but I knew in the back of my mind that he would always be a drug addict, and I would always be his doormat.
Joe walked into his room, coming back from his creative coloring session, something the hospital recommended him do. "Hey, Brooke, you wanna go and pick me up some Sunny D?"
My eyes started to slightly tear, "No, Joe. I know what you've been doing." One tear fell down my cheek.
"Brooke... come here." I shook my head 'no,' but I wouldn't win, anyways. Joe came and sat with me on the bed, slipping one arm underneath my knee's, pulling me onto his lap, the other around my upper torso for support. We just sat there, him holding me. We would exchange turns breathing. That's the only sound either of us heard. Heart beats, breathing, and the occasional stomach growl. That's how we fell asleep, and that's how we woke up, all with out shooting up.
Natalie's POV:
I took a sip of my black coffee, barely tolerating the bitterness. I had taken Caro out to lunch, she needed it. When I walked down stairs that morning, she just sat, staring at the wall. The girl was a mess.
"So when are you going to stand up for yourself against Bill?" It's better that I broke the silence with bluntness than awkwardly dance around the subject for an hour.
"When are you going to convince Gabe to stop gambling his life away?"
"Touche, but, enlighten me. How do you live with yourself?"
"I don't"
I took another sip of my coffee, shaking my head, "You're gonna die out there, kid."
My crusted eye lids slowly separated. I found myself cuddled up against an unfamiliar body. I uncomfortably rolled myself off of the couch, not caring who I woke. My legs felt starchy due to sleeping in skinny jeans. I could taste the alcohol and bacteria swimming in my mouth. I managed to get up on my feet with the assistance of a coffee table and stumbled into the kitchen where I found Gabe, leaning on the counter top with his head in his hands.
"Yo, Gabanti." He jumpily turned towards me, evident anxiety. "What's your problem?"
He sighed and dragged a chair from the small table set, sitting in it lazily, "She knows."
"That your a raging sex addict? Everyone knows that Gabe" I knew my sarcasm wasn't welcome, but I thought that it could lighten the situation at the time.
"Don't be an ass, Bill. She knows about the game." His voice trailed off with anxiety in his breath, speaking slowly to keep calm.
"How does she know? Where is she? What did you do?" His anxiety transferred to me.
"She said that the company I keep isn't very secretive, she's upstairs, and I didn't do anything. Nothing that would benefit our cause, anyways."
I just nodded, and walked away. I started up the stairs, keeping myself quiet. I would twist every cold doorknob, checking for Monica. I found her sitting at a table, typing. Her eyes were focused on the world beyond the window. I slowly and silently approached her, trying to get a peek at whatever she was writing.
Small poems, in haiku format:
Incarnation Grieves
Rapidly, Hullaballoo
Wakening Souls Fume
Breathless Snowman Blares
Hawkishly, Cask Jingles, Orange
Screaming Frothy Doubt
Sleeping Chokingly
Finger Murmuring Sailboat
Darkens, Mountain Rides
Farmer Distends, Owl
Explodes, Cemetery Yearns
Buried Aching Blind
Rigidly, Dragon
Recurs, Sordid Reflections
Replenish, Howling
Abstractly, Goat Barks
Abrupt Chimpanzee Oozing
Screaming Leprechaun
Idiot Poses, Pearl
Encircles Faintly, Strutting
Imprisonment,
"It's rude to read over someone's shoulder."
I froze. She finished the last poem.
Spunk
The type writer clicked and she pulled out the paper with the poetry printed on it and flipped it onto a thin pile of other papers, probably more nonsense written on them.
"What are you doing here, Beckett?"
"I was just checking if you're still here."
"I'm not going to tell anyone." Her eyes were still fixed on the tree's surrounding the house.
"None of those poems make any sense to me." I sadly tried to keep the conversation from dying.
"They're not supposed to. Readers will try to decode, thinking there's some hidden meaning or symbolism. These are just marijuana induced words in the format of five syllable, seven syllable, five syllable." She grabbed the stack of papers, securing them together with a pink paper clip. She placed them in a compartment in her type writer case, gently placing the type writer in the case with it. She grabbed the box by the handle and took the near empty bottle of vodka she stole from me the day before in the other one. She headed towards the door and looked at me for the first time since I entered the room,
"Don't beat up your girl too much, she may just hit back one day." With that, she walked down the hall and down the stairs. I listened to her every action. The door finally slammed.
I hoped that I never had to deal with the confusion called Monica ever again in my life.
Harper's POV:
Water trickled down on my skin, and my eyes snapped open. Fully clothed, I was leaning in the ice cold shower. All I could taste and smell was alcohol, although hangovers no longer existed for me. I involuntarily let out a scream, and the curtain opened. There, I saw Paige, a greasy looking blond kid, and a ginger.
"Oh, good morning, Blondie. Nice to see you found your way over." Paige's comments were always drenched in sarcasm.
"What are you doing here?" My voice was dry and sick sounding.
"I just got home and found your dead weight on my couch. What the fuck were you doing there?"
"I- I'm not sure... Who are those two?" I gestured to the two mysterious guys watching our conversation.
"I'm Kyle, Paige's boyfriend. That's Caleb." The blond said everything so bluntly, evidently annoyed. Paige's already rosy cheeks burst with color as she pressed her lips together trying to hide a smile.
"Take a real shower, I'll get you clothes." Paige pushed the two boys out of the bathroom, closing the door. I stripped down and turned the hot water on instead of the piercing cold I was sitting in. I lightly sang The Little Mermaid songs to myself, not very well, but I was entertaining myself. Once I finished, I grabbed two towels hanging on the towel rack, wrapping one around myself, the other gathered my dripping hair. I opened the door, releasing the steam from the bathroom into the rest of the apartment. I walked out and found Paige a set of clothes, "Here, goofball. Try not to soil these."
I started back to the bathroom, and notice Caleb staring at me in nothing but a towel.
"Do you mind?" I asked, annoyed and violated.
"No. Do you?"
I felt the blood rush to my face, and I just silently rushed back into the bathroom.
Brooke's POV:
Daily, Joe would send me off. To fetch, to let him think, whatever it may be. I knew he was shooting up. Did I do anything about it? Of course not. All I could do was pretend that he was getting better. I just imagined what would happen when he left, us living in a little brick house with a white picket fence. I could dream, but I knew in the back of my mind that he would always be a drug addict, and I would always be his doormat.
Joe walked into his room, coming back from his creative coloring session, something the hospital recommended him do. "Hey, Brooke, you wanna go and pick me up some Sunny D?"
My eyes started to slightly tear, "No, Joe. I know what you've been doing." One tear fell down my cheek.
"Brooke... come here." I shook my head 'no,' but I wouldn't win, anyways. Joe came and sat with me on the bed, slipping one arm underneath my knee's, pulling me onto his lap, the other around my upper torso for support. We just sat there, him holding me. We would exchange turns breathing. That's the only sound either of us heard. Heart beats, breathing, and the occasional stomach growl. That's how we fell asleep, and that's how we woke up, all with out shooting up.
Natalie's POV:
I took a sip of my black coffee, barely tolerating the bitterness. I had taken Caro out to lunch, she needed it. When I walked down stairs that morning, she just sat, staring at the wall. The girl was a mess.
"So when are you going to stand up for yourself against Bill?" It's better that I broke the silence with bluntness than awkwardly dance around the subject for an hour.
"When are you going to convince Gabe to stop gambling his life away?"
"Touche, but, enlighten me. How do you live with yourself?"
"I don't"
I took another sip of my coffee, shaking my head, "You're gonna die out there, kid."
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