The Gays of Vaudeville

Jumpsuit, Cover Me

Oh hey, an update this quickly? Woo! Though before we get started with the chapter, I want to state some trigger warnings. Trigger warnings will be implemented throughout the chapter for mentions of alcoholism, hangovers, vomiting (for the emetophobes), and vague mentions of self-harm. Please use discretion when reading this chapter. Now, with that out of the way, I sincerely hope you enjoy!

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~January 20th, 1973~

    I WOKE UP THE next morning to a smell coming from the kitchen, and a rather pleasant one, too. The smell made me reminisce of a time when I was younger when my aunt cooked her and me some breakfast before I had left for school each day. Except that the only thing preventing me from getting out of bed in a good manner was the fact that I had a massive pounding going on inside my head, caused by the amount of alcohol that I dared to touch last night. And when I threw the large maroon pieces of cloth and cotton off of me, it felt like the room spun around me.

    A few minutes later, I mustered up the energy to walk down the hallway and into the... area... near the kitchen, which had a dinette set. The sound of eggs, bacon, and pancakes sizzling in the skillet on the stove awakened a sense in me, one that I hadn't really felt before but needed to suppress for... survival reasons.

    The plastic slab with a metal-silicone hybrid handle was slammed on the rim of the skillet as the eggs have finished cooking. "Oh! You're up," Lemmy said enthusiastically as he set aside a plate of eggs for himself.

    "Mm, yeah," I groaned, stretching every single limb into unimaginable directions. "Definitely tired, though."

    Because you drank alcohol before going to bed and sleeping for nearly eleven hours, stupid.

    "I can see the slight bags under your eyes. Might want to cover those up with makeup before we head to work," the punk-aligned acrobat explained to me. "Also, do you have any eyeliner in your makeup bag, at all? Because my bag is at my place and I don't feel like walking ten blocks back to my apartment."

    I nodded slightly as a response to him. "Only because you've stayed here last night and have helped me out. Sorta the same with Ludwig. I trust you two the most, honestly."

    Lemmy grabbed a cup from the dish rack and filled it with cold water from the faucet. "You might be thirsty, too. I heard you vomiting again at two in the morning, and trust me, it wasn't pleasant at all."

    "Believe me, Lemmy, nothing's pleasant when you're having a fucking hangover."

    "I know, and I don't know why you're using alcohol as a quote-unquote coping mechanism. It's really fucking dangerous and you could end up drinking yourself to death. Even Wendy said so when she noticed that you were shaking severely last week!" He yelled out of concern and anger.

    I know. Shut up. Please do not remind me of what happened last week. I certainly wasn't in the best headspace then, and I'm sure as hell not in the right headspace now. Especially not with you yelling at me while I'm hungover.

    "You know something, Lemmy? I've been biting my hand a lot recently, and I've been rocking back and forth a bit lately."

    I'm doing it now as I sit in a slightly uncomfortable wooden chair.

    "Do you think I'm of a different neurotype?"

    "I... I don't know. Do you?" Lemmy asked.

    "Well, who would have been able to read The Great Gatsby at age four? Ninth-grade reading level at such a young age?"

    "I guess you would have been, and I don't know. Let's get back to the topic at hand here, you're putting yourself in fucking danger," the multi color-haired Koopaling said as he adjusted his mohawk. "Like, when I first met you, your skin was a little healthier than what it is now because you're not taking care of yourself."