FicWad

Good, he's gone out with Ray. The minute that you see the fro-bearer halfway drag your brother into the car, and drive down the street, you're sprinting to his room. Your hands fly to the doorknob, only to find it securely locked. Damn, you hadn't expected him to have locked it. But then again, when he was being so paranoid and private about everything, could you have really expected anything different, anything better from him?

Not willing to give up hope yet, you run back to your room, grabbing up couple of bobby pins your girlfriend had left last time she was there. On your way back to Gerard's room, you were busy unbending them as fast as you could. You jammed them into the slot for the key, and started feeling your way around. Even though it was you alone in the house, you couldn't help but feel embarrassed to be crouching in front of a door, your ear firmly against the wooden surface, doing your utmost to break into the room it guarded.

Soon, you managed to pick the lock, and the door swung open squeakily.

The room was a tip. Dirty laundry lay everywhere, covering the floor, the bed unmade, and papers and books scattered around. You fought your OCD desire to just start cleaning the place as best as you could. Instead, you began to pick up the pieces of laundry, looking under them, giving them a good shake, going through the pockets, finding small change, cigarette butts, erasers, the occasional gum or candy wrapper, but nothing suspicious.

With a sigh, you grabbed his sheets, yanking them off the bed, just to make sure that there was nothing underneath them. There wasn't. Struggling to lift up the mattress with your scrawny body, you saw nothing under it either.

As if you could stoop lower than this, you began to search through your brother's drawers in his dresser, his nightstand, and his desk. They were all as disorganized as the rest of the room. Still, there was nothing interesting in them, aside from some rubbers in the nightstand drawer. You couldn't remember the last time he had brought a woman home with him.

In the closet, you began to go through the pockets of his clothing, looking in the boxes scattered around the floor. You didn't find any drugs, but you did find a rather sizeable collection of Penthouse magazines. Somehow, you were unable to find any drugs. But what else could explain his behavior?

You scuttled into his bathroom, looking through all the drawers and the cabinets. All you could find was a bottle of Advil, still in the original container, all pills looking to be exactly what they were supposed to be, and a packet of allergy medication, all still in their individual foil wrappers. There was nothing in here either.

Then, your phone went off, causing you to let off an unmanly squeal of fear at being shocked, before you grabbed it up.

Your afro'ed friend had sent you a message, saying the movie was over, and they were about to come back.

You flew into a tizzy, doing your best to set the room back exactly the way that you had found it. You couldn't believe the amount of time that you had spent in the room looking for something that you couldn't find.

You managed to get everything looking as messy as it had been, practically the way that you had found it, locking the door behind you, just as the car pulled into the driveway.

As your brother shoved past you, key in hand, into his room, you did your best not to look like you had been up to something.

Ray gave you a quizzical look. You could only shake your head in defeat. You hadn't found a single thing. He threw you a confused look. You shrugged. You didn't know how this was possible either. All the signs pointed to it.