catfish and the bottlemen imagines for rainy days + mondays

November / Bob

"Shit," you winced, trying not to jump when yet another bang from the field across the road from your brothers house set your heart racing. 

You hated firework night, you'd never liked it when you were young and though your parents had hoped you would grow out of hiding under the table every time you heard fireworks going off, you hadn't. You were 19 now, and though it wasn't the same fear that had you jumping and flinching at every explosion, it was still a fear that left your whole body tense and uncomfortable. 

In an attempt to ease your 5th of November nerves your big brother Johnny had invited some of his mates round with the promise that you could shut all the curtains and turn the sound up on your video games loud enough to drown them out, but the bonfire they were having across the street wasn't far enough away that drowning them out was really possible. 

So you remained, sitting in the corner of the sofa, knees hugged tight to your chest, trying to hide your childish anxiety from his mates. They were all lads from the band he'd joined the other year, nice lads, funny, easy going, a bunch of dorks and yet, you could tell they were all still much cooler than you. Much older than you too. 

When you'd been sitting with them earlier that evening you'd felt much smaller and younger than them, listening to them talking about the things they had planned whilst they were breaking from tour. 

"S'alright Mousey," said Johnny as he came back inside, cigarette smoke clinging to his jacket, his hand ruffling your hair as he perched on the arm of the sofa beside you, "couple more hours and they'll be done for the year," 

"A know," you said quietly, blushing because you could feel the eyes of his mates on you, at least you thought you could. All of them probably wondering why you were being such a baby about the whole thing. You bit your lip, jumping when another set of fireworks had you almost dropping your beer. 

"You're really jumpy aren't you lass," chuckled Van one of your brothers mates, his smile was friendly enough but you didn't appreciate him drawing even more attention to you. You knew his heart was in the right place but even so. 

"Yep," you said, your smile tight when you looked up and met his gaze, "I guess so," you said, cradling your beer in both hands, holding onto it like a little life line. 

Van smiled at you, you see in his eyes he was trying to be friendly, but it wasn't enough to ease your nerves. 

"She's always been like this, havent you mousey," said your brother, squeezing your shoulder before pushing himself up, asking who was having what out of the fridge and who was having next go on the game they'd been playing. You'd not joined in yet, pretending to watch, laughing along when they did, unable to really concentrate because of the noise outside and the fact that every time someone set fireworks off outside it scare you half to death. 

You nodded and smiled a little embarrassed, blushing as you pushed your hair out of your face and took a long gulp of your beer. You weren't really sure the drinking helped that much but it had been yours and Johnnys dodgy coping mechanism for the last few years and you weren't about to start something healthy now. 

He wasn't wrong either, you'd never liked fireworks, never. It was just that he was twisting the truth for you there because for awhile you had grown out of it. You'd calmed down in your teenage years and once you'd even been to a bonfire with your friends. It was just that something had happened a couple years ago, something which had nothing to do with fireworks and everything to do with a shitty relationship which had dragged your mental health through the mud, leaving you with several emotional and some physical scars. And PTSD is a bitch on firework night, whether your trauma has anything to do with fireworks or not.