FicWad

Sometimes I like to look at the ugly peoples’ finger and see if they had wedding rings on, to see if there was still hope for me yet. Obese women with triple chins had the golden band around their annular finger, so did men who were deathly skinny with ratty faces. Men with big ears and big noses; women with alien eyes and cleft lips. So there had to be hope for me. If all of these butt-ugly people could find someone to fall in love with them, then so could I. Just because I ripped my skin to shreds didn’t mean I couldn’t find love, right? Right?
Wrong. I was so pessimistic. Of course no one would love me.
You have to love yourself before others can love you.

The sides of my fingers were scabbed and I studied them hard before bringing my pointer finger up to my mouth and chewing on the hardened flesh.

“You’ll make it bleed,” Cassie warned me as we walked in to town, but it was too late. It had already started to bleed.

I sucked it into my mouth, the blood continuing to flow as I tongued the wound, willing it to stop bleeding.

“Told you,” Cassie said smugly and I knew that she had just squeezed Harvey’s hand in all her glory, pleased with herself that she had predicted my finger would bleed.

“Puck woo,” I muttered around my finger, glaring at her. She just laughed lightly and added a spring to her step. I pulled my finger out of my mouth and wiped the saliva away on my hoodie sleeve. It was still bleeding. I just groaned and decided to leave it to clot on its own. There would be dried blood around my nail later, but whatever.

The bar that his band was playing at wasn’t far from our houses and we arrived in time to watch them setting up. There wasn’t loads of people inside, but it was still full. The majority of the crowd were teenagers dressed in black with swoopy side-fringes, all chatting to their friends with animation. I guessed that they had already heard the band and knew what they were like. They all seemed to follow the same dress code.

We took a seat at the bar, facing away from the alcohol and towards the stage that wasn’t too far away.

There were four of them up on stage. A man behind the drum kit who was slightly chunky in a burly way. He had dark brown hair that was spiked and some dark stubble around his chin. The man with the guitar was tall and had a head full of afro hair, big and bouncy. There was a skinny man with mousy brown hair standing behind a bass guitar, his toes pointed awkwardly inwards towards the other foot. And then there was him. The man I was insane abut. He stood behind a microphone, swaying slightly on his footing. His hand was held up limply, just hanging there. His black hair flopped in front of his face, hiding his eyes, and that turquoise patch stood out brightly against the inky locks.

He was drunk.
It was so obvious.
Completely hammered.

“His hair’s kinda greasy, huh.” Harvey commented and I looked at him with a blank expression, silently agreeing with him. His hair [i]was[/i] greasy, there was no denying it.

He was wearing a dirty white button up shirt with the top couple of buttons undone and a messily-tied red and white striped tie. His black trousers hung low on his hips and the shirt was half tucked in half out. A black blazer covered his arms, shoulder and back. However, his band mates wore the usual t-shirt and jeans. He looked so different to when he was in the shop. He was so bizarre.

To be honest, I hated drunken people when I was sober. I had nothing against them when I was drunk, but when I was sober they were so annoying. I had no tolerance for drunken rambling when I wasn’t the one giving in it.

The music began and I watched as he swayed on his step, banging his head heavily to the beat before swinging the hair out of his face and singing into the microphone. His voice, obviously, wasn’t perfect, due to his intoxication. It was messy and his words occasionally slurred. He was out of sync, too. But, despite all of that, they were gripping. They had this raw unexplainable talent that captured the crowd.

I was drinking spirits as I watched their set, glad that I brought my fake I.D with me. It was probably painfully obvious that I wasn’t 21 – I was so ridiculously short. But the bartender didn’t seem to mind our underage drinking. He kept the drinks coming so long as I kept the money flowing.

I, too, was pretty drunk by the time their set had finished – like Cassie and Harvey were. But they were so deep into their conversation that I decided to leave them to it. I was too busy, myself, basking in the glory of their band. It was impossible to fully explain just what they were. They were fantastic.

Stupidly, I drunkenly stood from my bar stool and stumbled forwards, trying to get to the man I was obsessed with. I had to push through the sea of clapping fans, but I was set on my task. I had to find him and tell him how fantastic he was.
God, I hated being drunk. I had no control over myself.

I managed to get to him at the corner of the stage. He stood their swaying his hips to a beat inside his head as his band mates moved their instruments around him, occasionally looking at him with a frustrated expression or with a snarl. It was probably safe to say that him being drunk wasn’t helping them out in the slightest.

“Dude, you were so good,” I spluttered as soon as I reached him. I probably looked like a complete dork – with my eyes squinted from the alcohol and a massive grin on my face. I just couldn’t wipe it off.

Alcohol made my cheeks burn bright red and my armpits sweat. It was so embarrassing. My cheeks were blazing as I smiled at him and I kept my arms wrapped tightly to my waist, probably making me sweat more.

“Thanks, man,” he mumbled, nodding his head as he continued to sway gently.

“Frank... I am,” I stuttered, burning bright red and my eyes widening in fear. I couldn’t believe that I had just messed up my sentence. Frank, I am. Frank, I fucking am! This wasn’t a Dr. Seuss book – /I do not like them, Sam-I-Am. I do not like green eggs and ham/.
I wanted to kill myself right then and there.

But he laughed. A hearty laugh left his throat and he slung his arm over my shoulder. “Gerard,” he said in return and began to lead me away from the stage and down the side of the room towards the bar. I stumbled along beside him, weighted down by his dead-arm on my shoulder. But I didn’t care. His arm was on my shoulder. He was touching me.
And I had found out his name!
Gerard.
/Gerard/.

He stood by the bar and took his arm off from around me. I instantly missed the feeling of his lazy embrace – if you could even call it that – and I stood awkwardly beside him as he ordered another drink. In the back of my mind I knew that he had had enough to drink, but I, too, was drunk and wanting another. I ordered one for myself and paid the man behind the bar.

We sipped together, looking at each other for a while before he gave me a cheesy grin.

“What was your name again?” he slurred, taking a swig of his rum and coke.

“Frank,” I mumbled. “Gerard, yeah?” I double-checked; though I knew it was correct. I just wanted to make it seem like I had semi-forgotten his like he had forgotten mine. I couldn’t deny the slightly crushing feeling it had given me when he had.

“Cool,” he mumbled. “So you’re in the record shop a lot...” he began, swaying on his stool.

“Yeah. I um... like CDs,” I mumbled stupidly and wanted to slap myself.

“Me too!” He said excitedly and almost child-like. “Well... I do work there, after all. I need to like CDs to work there. It’s pretty much the job requirement... like music, like CDs. Pretty much...” he slurred his words as he spoke, speeding up and slowing down at different intervals. It was funny. He was so wasted.

“Uh-huh,” I responded and took a sip through the straw in my drink. “So you’re band...” I began. “How long have you been together?” I slurred.

“Um...” he thought. “A couple of months, maybe... Mikey’s my brother,” I had no idea who Mikey was but I didn’t bother ask. I assumed that it was one of his band-mates.

“Cool,” I replied idly. I couldn’t believe that I was sitting here next to him, talking to him! I was doing all I could to not spaz out and embarrass myself further. Though, I probably seemed too ‘chilled and relaxed’. I was trying so hard to not mess up.

“I-I need... I w-want to...” he leant in close to me, so close that I could feel his breath on my face, before he pulled back sharply and almost fell off the back of his chair. “Woah...” he braced himself with his drink-free arm.

I giggled and almost pushed him but thought better of it before I did. For starters, he would spill his drink; secondly, I didn’t know him well enough to push him off of his chair.

I had forgotten what he had just mentioned and instead brought up a new topic of conversation. “I l-like the turq-quoise of your hair,” I managed to get out, having to pause so that I could find my words. God, I hated myself so much. It was happening. I was losing the ability to form words.

“Thanks,” he smiled at me and swayed in close again. He shook his head violently as he pulled back. He was so weird!

“N-pro-problem,” I mumbled. His eyes were locked onto mine, as mine were to his, and we were inching closer. I had no idea what I was doing. I was drunk and had an overwhelming desire to just kiss him!
I always had an overwhelming desire to kiss when I was drunk. But this was different. This was /Gerard/. This was the guy I wanked to, the guy I pictured having sex with. This was totally different to the other drunkenly-wanted-kisses. I was practically obsessed with this guy.

I didn’t kiss him, though. Our noses didn’t even touch.