FicWad

Hello people. How've you been? Alright. Here's the dealio. I have one EXTREMELY long bit, which I'm gonna break up into two chapters. And I'm PERFECTLY willing to post them both this evening, howeva- I don't want you all to forget and not comment and rate this one and just go on to the next, sooooooooooo... I will check back on this a few times throughout the evening. once I get either five rates or five reviews, I'll put up the second part. And believe me. You WANT the second part. Most dramaLlama yet. Gratzi. Enjoi.

I stare nervously into the mirror as the stylist, Trixie, whips the apron off from around my neck. What used to be my long black hair floats to the floor, and there's so much of it part of me thinks that I must be bald.

I kept my eyes shut through the entire process, after being thrust into her chair and begging her for the same thing which I demanded from the receptionist. Change.

In a dreamlike state I see someone who simply cannot be me, reflected in the mirror. He raises his hand, slowly fingering the long, violently cherry colored bangs falling over his forehead, running his fingers along the short, shaved sides behind his ears.

I don't even know what to think. I GOT change. And it doesn't feel like it helped. I feel even emptier now, faker, as I stare back at my reflection.

On one hand, I feel liberated. I like the bright color and the bold styling. But I can't feel myself in it just yet. I feel like I'm in another costume.

I thank Trixie politely, and she beams, saying something about how FAAAAAABBBBBUUUUULOOOUSSS I look, babbling on about dye retention and other things that I completely fail to comprehend. I simply listen to her talk, while silmaltaneously drifiting towards the front desk where I hand over cash in a daze, walking out and nearly forgetting to grab my change. I'm not thinking very clearly, be it shock from the insanely intuitive girl at the bar, or my attempt to change myself in reaction to it.

I sit in the car for a moment, waiting for the heat to set in, though that's fruitless as the heat is more or less broken anyhow. Through the haziness, I somehow recognize the fact that this was extremely childish of me. Though everything the girl, (Mallory, I remind myself) had said was completely and utterly true, I could not erase all the things I hate about myself just by getting a radically new haircut. However, upon further consideration, I decide that it was not a mistake. I had make a huge physical change, which hopefully would pave the way for the others that I hoped to make. It felt good, too, I had to admit, to shed that layer of myself. I'd worn my hair the same way for so long, and it was nice to feel different.

I continue to nervously finger it all as I drive back to the hotel, wondering what Mikey will think. He'll be surprised, no doubt about that, but the thing with Mikey is that he was certain to at least be diplomatic, complementary even if he didn't like it. Besides. This wasn't supposed to be about anyone else. This was supposed to be about me.

I walk up the stairs slowly, switching my opinion of my hair six times before finally closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, trying very hard to dig up some confidence.

I push the door open and call out, "Mikey!" scanning the room quickly for him.

I'm met with a bored reply of, "He isn't here." I can see Frank's unmatching socks poking out from the top of the couch. There's a soft thud and he's on his feet, staring at me with wide eyes.

"Wow." He says softly. His eyes are wide as saucers and I immediately feel self conscious.

"Uhhmmm..." Is all I can say, putting my hand on the back of my neck and rubbing the skin there with icy fingers.

Frank continues to stare at me, and I suddenly notice something is different. It's not Frank-like of him not to say anything. I look him over again, trying to see what it could be.

"It's so...red." He says simply, with a dazed expression. Goddamn his pupils are huge.

And then it clicks.

"Are you...stoned, Frank?"

He giggles..."Pfffttttttttt...." He doubles over in laughter, then stops suddenly, blowing his hair out of his eyes and trying to look serious. "Yes. Yes I am."

I'm not quite sure what to make of this. It doesn't REALLY surprise me, but it's also strange to me nonetheless. Frank isn't so carefully composed. He isn't working so hard to be bored and disinterested like I had become accustomed to seeing him. In fact, right now he was EXTREMELY interested in my hair, walking toward me with unsteady steps and reaching out to touch my hair. Upon reflex I slap his hand away, and he looks up at me with an abashed expression.

"I just wanna touchhhhh it. It just looks so br-eyeee-eeett." He says, looking at his feet and swaying like a little kid.

I sigh, tossing my jacket to the floor. I'm suddenly extremely exhausted, having cycled through so many emotions in one night. I rub my face from forehead down, trying to awaken myself, but honestly, I just didn't want to. I wanted to be incapacitated at the moment. I wanted to feel absolutely nothing. I wanted to...

Frank had walked away as I went deep into my head and returned now with a huge smile on his face as he held a Ziploc bag up like a cross.

"Do you want to chill with me?" He asks in a slow but excited voice. "You look like you need to chill."

I blink. Yes. That IS exactly what I need. I'm almost surprised by this, and it shows in my answer. "You know what Frank? I would fucking LOVE to chill with you."

His whole face lights up, like nothing in the world would make him happier than this.

"Excellent." he says, in a flawless imitation of Bill and Ted.

I follow him to the sweet potato couch, plopping down with small oomph. Frank sits on the floor, carefully putting little nuggets of weed into his grinder. I notice the pieces of paper that are torn up, obviously being used for joints. Upon closer inspection, I come to realize that the paper he's using is actually some loose paper from my sketchbook.

I bite my lip. "Frank. You used my art as joint wrapping paper?"

He nods proudly, and then the smile falls. "Shit. I'm sorry Gerard!" He pauses, licking his lips before he speaks. "But consider this. When you smoke from it, it'll get INSIDE you. You'll literally be breathing in art."

Even I had to smile at that, and besides, he wasn't using anything I actually cared about, just some shitty little sketches. Stupid really. And his concept was actually quite clever when you thought about it.

I ease myself down onto the floor beside him, watching him wrap a joint with nimble fingers. He picks my lighter up from the table and ignites it. He passes it to me and I take it awkwardly. I inhale deeply, allowing the dense smoke to completely fill my lungs, holding it for so long I nearly burst, then exhaling with a huge PUH sound. I cough like a maniac. I haven't smoked weed since high school, and am extremely out of practice.

Frank chuckles and takes the joint from my hand, sucking in and blowing out a perfect smoke ring. He grins at me, offering me a second hit, which I gratefully accept. I don't cough quite as much this time and Frank looks at me approvingly.

"Nice improvement." He observes.

I feel the hazy calm beginning so set in, and I do nothing to resist it, allowing it to completely take me over, and reinforcing it with a few more hits. By the time Frank is smoking down the last bits, I am calmer and more content than I have been since God knows how long.

"Thanks for this Frank." I say in a voice that sounds slow to my own ears.

He smiles again. "I owe you. Sorry I give you such a rough time. You don't deserve that. With letting me stay here and all."

All the stress seems to have fallen away. It seems like ages ago I was at Jackie's, and having my every flaw laid out in front of me by a total stranger, and now even that feels trivial. Everything is good right now. I'm even starting to like Frank.

My brow furrows as a small bit of a thought crosses my mind, but I have to chase it down through the depths of my now befuddled mind before I can articulate it.

"Frank." I say casually. "Why ARE you staying with us?"

He stares at me with a slightly embarrassed expression. "It's a long story. But basically I dropped out of college. It wasn't for me. Parents didn't like it. My relatives aren't real big fan of yours truly, so I started sleeping in my car. My car got towed. I had nowhere to go. I called the only person I could. Mikey, I mean. He told me to stay here with you guys." He sighs loudly, then adds, "Your brother's a really great guy, Gerard."

I nod in agreement. "One of the best."

There's a moment of quiet while we both are lost in our own fucked up thoughts. Well maybe more than a moment. Time seems different when you're stoned. My brain is skipping from thought to thought so quickly I can barely keep up, when Frank suddenly speaks.

"I. Need. Food."

I contemplate this carefully. "Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Food would be excellent."

Frank and I push ourselves up off the floor with what feels like excessive effort, moving sluggishly towards the cupboards. Upon scouring the fridge I find nearly expired milk, butter, and a pack of turquoise cheese that most definitely did not start out that color.

"We have like, nothing," I relay with a disappointed tone.

Frank's voice is muffled when he replies, having literally crawled inside one of our cabinets in an attempt to be thorough. "Wait, wait," he shouts, like he may have found a million dollars. He might as well have, when he sticks out an arm and reveals to me the box of pancake mix.

"Pancakes?" He says, breathing hard as he tumbles out of the cabinet and onto the linoleum.

I look at the box with a look similar to the one I imagine people would've had when they beheld Jesus.

"Oh mother fucking yes." I tell him, grabbing the milk and butter out of the fridge and clamouring about trying to locate our single frying pan.

It takes something like an hour for us to manufacture a grand total of two pancakes, burning something like six and dropping two. Frank tried to flip one without a spatula, and it is still stuck to the ceiling, unsticking itself bit by bit. The kitchen is coated in butter, flour and milk on every possible surface. But I am absolutely positive I have never tasted anything this delicious in my entire 24 years of existence.

"Ohhh my god." Frank moans.

I close my eyes, savouring every bite. "This is what sex tastes like."

Frank looks at me with a confused expression. "I thought cum was what sex tastes like."

I shake my head. "Nahhhhh. Sex tastes like this right here. This perfect pancake."

He considers it sagely, taking another bite while debating my statement. "Yeah." He finally decides. "Yeah."

I chuckle, though we both meant it in all seriousness. We finish our pancakes in silence then lay down against the cool tile.

"You know, you're not that bad Iero." I tell him.

He grins. "You either Way."

We both lay there, appreciating the moment, when the handle creaks on the door. There are a few footsteps which come to an abrupt halt, followed by a loud, "Mother of GOD! What the fuck happened in here!"

Frank and I both roll over lazily to look at Mikey, who is still trying to comprehend the disaster zone that is our kitchen. His eyes are narrowed through his glasses as he tries to take everything in.

"Good fucking god.Your hair Gerard!"

I grin at him. "Heyyyyy Mikes. Come sit with us!"

Mikey holds up a finger and inhales deeply, shutting his eyes. They snap open in another moment. "Weed. And pancakes. Really?" He raises his eyebrows at us.

We both nod enthusiastically in response.

"Really! They tasted like sex!" Frank says happily. Mikey rolls his eyes.

"You guys are ridiculous." There's a pause. "You saved me some right?"

We giggle hysterically, rolling on the linoluem. My stomach hurts by the time I stop laughing long enough to speak.

"Nope. Sorry Mikes."

He glares down at us. "Bastards." He says, then retreats to the pull out bed, yanking the comforter over his head grumpily, and sending Frank and I into uncontrollable laughter again.

I don't remember going to sleep on the floor, but I wake up there the next morning and wonder dazedly how I got there. I can't seem to recall anything, and then I notice the flash of red coming down in front of my eyes. That jogs my memory, and everything floods back like a dam breaking. The girl. The haircut. The weed. Frank. My head feels excruciatingly heavily as I tilt it to the side, looking at Frank, curled up on the floor besides me. His brows are furrowed in sleep, like he's upset or something.

With a sigh, I roll my head back over, trying to shake off the drowsiness, as well as the dark emotions that are threatening to pull me back under. I bite my lip, nearly giving in to it all, when I see my clown shoes in my peripheral vision and realize, with a horrendous feeling of dread, that I still have to WORK today.

"Motherfuckinghellsonofacocklovingwhore." I growl to myself, pushing myself up with a loud groan. It takes far too much effort, I think, to shower, but the concept of hot water is just so tempting at this point that I can't resist it. It's worth it in the end- the water is extremely soothing, though I suffer a jolt when I see the red streaming from my head and down the shower drain, but then I recall for the second time, my "change." I take far, far longer than necessary, only getting out when the water starts to turn cold. I shut it off with a moan, wrapping a towel around myself and getting dressed without enthusiasm. I wonder vaguely where my brother is; I didn't see him anywhere when I got up to shower.

My answer comes in the form of a note, which I find in the ashtray- of course he knew I'd look there.

Hey Stoners- gone to mom and dad's, they needed help with something stupid, like the tv or the car or something. I dunno. I'll be back later, don't know when. Peace.

I chortle to myself as I recall all the ridiculous things my parents have had my brother fix for them, always taking full advantage of his intelligence and general technical knowledge. He hates it, but he always helps them, forever the dutiful baby of the family.

I grab my keys and cigarettes, and head towards the door, leaning down to shake Frank awake.

"Frank." I say, grabbing his shoulder and pushing him gently. He doesn't stir and I push him, only a little less gently. "Frank come on man."

He groans loudly and rolls over, kicking at me.

"Frank!" I repeat, louder this time, I pull his arm, which had previously been covering his face, and see a thin stream of crimson coming from his nose. Befuddled, I reach out tentitively, about to touch it, for some odd reason, and then pull my hand back with a start.

"Frank! Wake up! You're bleeding!"

Upon hearing this, he starts, sitting up quickly and looking at me with glassy eyes. He rubs his hand under his nose, looking at the blood and frowning.

I really don't have time to waste any longer.

"Look Frank, I gotta go. Mikey's gone to my parents house. Bebackbyfourbye!" And I rush out the door, leaving Frank on the tile, still staring at his hand.


Okiedokeymylovelyartichokes. Thought you might appreciate a happier chapter, especially after the darkness of the last one, and what's coming next. Remember, five rates and or reviews and you can have the next part tonight. Kick it. Peace. xoxox