Fight Fire with Fire (Frerard)

39. I Guess We're Pretty Similar Then, Iero.

Cracking my eyes open, I notice I must have passed out on the couch in the living room.

What an epic party that was! I don't think I've been so drunk in my life.

"Fuck." I groan, rubbing my pounding head, as I sit up.

I look at the mess in front of me. Shit, this place looks like a dump.

As I stand, I instantly regret it. My eyes widen as I frantically look around for the nearest bathroom.

I have no idea where the downstairs bathroom is!

Making a split decision, I make my way quickly into the kitchen, where I lean over the sink, letting my insides spill out.

Gross.

After I finish emptying my insides, I make my way to the staircase. I might as well go back to sleep in the spare bed, not that stupid uncomfortable couch.

Climbing up the stairs proved to be near impossible for someone who is severely hungover.

My mind filters through the night, trying to remember everything. That doesn't happen. The last thing I remember is making out on the couch with some chick who was as high as a kite.

Ew! I cannot believe I fucking made out with a girl.

That memory makes me want to vomit again. In fact, as I reach the top step, I realize that I will lose my insides again.

Feeling the bile rise in my throat, I rush to the bathroom. As I swing the door open, I notice the toilet is occupied with someone throwing up.

I turn, throwing up into the sink. What is with me and throwing up in sinks today?

"Oh god. My throat fuckin' burns so bad." I hear a familiar voice, but I'm a little too busy to speak or even look behind me right now.

Once I finish, I catch my breath. That was a violent one.

"What a night."

I turn, wide-eyed.

Brendon.

He clears his throat, turning to me. That's when his watery eyes widen too.

"Frank?"

I have clear view of the toilet bowl and god do I wish I didn't. Bile is covering the white bowl, painting it a horrible color.

"Um, hi." I mumble, feeling like sandpaper is rubbing against the inside of my throat.

Brendon lets a tear fall as he clears his throat. Has he been crying? Or is it from the vomit?

"Are you oka-" I get cut off by Brendon quickly turning back to the toilet, letting out a harsh gag.

Nothing is coming up, but he keeps dry-heaving.

"Shit dude, that sounds painful." I mumble, noticing him shaking and sweating.

Suddenly, he let's out a loud gag, before losing his shit.

"IT FUCKING BURNS!" He screams, tears coating his pale cheeks.

I rush to his side, kneeling down next to him and trying not to gag at the stench of his vomit.

"Hey, look at me." I mumble, watching him crumble down to nothing.

He begins sobbing, as I notice blood mixed with the bile in the toilet bowl.

Shit...

"Brendon, shhh, look at me." I gently bring my shaking hands to his face, resting them on his wet cheeks.

He flinches slightly, before letting me move his head to face me.

His big, tear-soaked, terrified, pained eyes stare at me in shock as I smile softly.

"It's okay. I know it hurts, but it'll only hurt for a little." I say softly, seeing him calm down dramatically to my voice.

For someone who hates me, he seems weirdly calmed by my voice.

"Are you done?" I ask, letting go of his face once he has stopped crying.

He clears his throat, nodding.

I stand, flushing the toilet.

"Here, I'll help you up." I say, taking his hands into mine.

He weakly get's up, sniffing and shaking still.

"How long have you been in here?" I ask, checking my phone to see that it is 11am.

"S-Since f-f-five." His rough voice shakes as my eyes widen.

Shit...that's a long time.

"Are you okay now?"

"Sore and tired." He mumbles, letting his eyes slip shut for a moment, before opening again.

They look like they burn when being open. Poor thing.

"Let's get you to a spare bed. I'm sure Ryan wouldn't mind."

Brendon sighs, "I live here. Um, my dad kicked me out when I was 12, but Ryan's family let me live with them."

My eyebrows are high, shocked.

"Oh...I always thought you had a perfect life with maids and money." I say, seeing his eyes look down in shame, "but for what it's worth, I had a shitty father too."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He used to beat me black and blue. Sometimes, I couldn't walk for like a week because he would injure me too badly." I open up to the last person I thought I'd speak to.

He smiles softly, "I guess we're pretty similar then, Iero."

I nod, smirking, "I guess so."