Do or Die

Prologue

I laughed as he stared at the empty bottle.

I fucking full out maniacally laughed as I set it down on the bar, and motioned for another shot from the bartender.

The club reeked of sweat and beer and smoke. I could hardly keep myself from gagging. I stood as close to the bar as possible, the only reason I was there.

Normally I wouldn't go out. Normally I'd stay in my shitty apartment with a bottle of vodka, maybe whiskey, and drink the night away by myself.

Before you say anything, I didn't have a drinking problem. Okay, maybe slightly, but didn't everyone at 21? Especially the kids who didn't go to college after high school and ended up with a shitty job in NYC.

I could hardly afford his apartment, let alone a night out, but with my brother pestering me every waking moment about how I never left the house except to work, I finally gave in. Of course Mikey ditched me for a red headed chick not even 15 minutes after we arrived.

I spent the time drinking and people watching. I didn't exactly have a ride home so I hoped opportunity arrived somewhere. If taxi's didn't cost so much, I'd be as far away from this damned place as possible.

I once again called over the bartender, feeling myself get the familiar buzz of alcohol that made everything go away for a bit.

But that feeling of content didn't last long as I jumped when someone slammed their glass down on the counter as close to me as possible.

"What the fuck?" I snapped, turning around.

What I was greeted with was a cheeky boy who looked about 19, maybe younger. He raised an eyebrow at my burst of anger and I narrowed my eyes.

"Dude, chill. I just want a drink."

I rolled his eyes and turned back around. I was a slightly angry drunk.

"One shot of whiskey," I heard the boy next to me shout over the crowd. "Actually make it two."

I didn't think much about it until the bartender returned with two shots of whiskey and one was shoved in front of me.

I turned and raised an eyebrow at the boy.

"Drink up," the boy simply said.

So I did.

Which was probably stupid considering he could have easily spiked it before he gave it to me, but I wasn't thinking straight and who was I to pass on a free drink?

He chuckled as I immediately ordered another. "Hard times?"

I snorted. "Something like that."

He sighed and slipped into a seat next to me. "Aren't we all in that place?"

"You don't look old enough to be in this place, let alone be having a mid-life crisis."

"You're right, I'm not old enough to be here. The bouncers an old friend," He took my expression as the go-ahead to tell me his age. "Oh, I'm eighteen."

"Eighteen? Jesus."

He frowned. "Hey, I'll be nineteen in a month. You don't look any older than 23 yourself."

"I'm twenty-two, actually," I informed him. "But I'll be 23 in April." I mimicked him.

He smirked and playfully punched my arm, like they were old buddies catching up over a drink.

"My name's Frank by the way."

Frank. The name didn't fit him. Frank's were intimidating bald men in their fifties who worked in cubicles. Not eighteen year old boys with tattoos and piercings. Frank got the intimidating part down though. Somehow, even though he was no shorter than 5'7", he was able to make you feel like you were insignificant, like his knowledge on life was far more complex than yours.

It could be the way he seemed to analyze words as you spoke them. He didn't just listen and spit back whatever his mind brought him, he had to think about what you said and how he would respond.

"Gerard." I held out my hand and Frank took it, laughing.

"You don't have to formally introduce yourself. A nod and grunt is normally the correct way to greet someone around here."

I felt a small tint creep in to his cheeks due to my awkwardness but ignored it.

"Have you always lived in New York?" Frank asked, taking a sip from the beer he'd ordered after his shot.

Shaking my head I answered, "Nope. Grew up right outside the city in Jersey. I planned on going to college here but..." I sighed, "What about you?"

"Born and raised!" Frank beamed, obviously proud of where he came from, "My parents moved to Florida about a month ago, which allowed me to drop out of college without being beaten."

I furrowed his eyebrows. "Didn't school just start this week?"

He grinned. "Is there a rule about dropping out before you actually go?"

I chuckled, "I'd tell you you're an idiot, but I never even applied to any in my senior year."

Frank whistled. "You win."

We sat in an awkward silence for a bit, fiddling with our thumbs or picking at our nails.

Relieved when the bartender showed up with the glass of whiskey I ordered, I turned back to Frank.

"Well, it was nice to get to know you." My words slurred slightly. "Maybe sometime we sh-"

My words were interrupted by an exasperated "Fuck!" and soon I was being dragged out of the crowd and into the privacy of the hallway.

"Frank, what're you-"

I was once again cut off, but this time by Frank's lips being pressed roughly against my own.

And damn that boy could kiss.

Before I let my mind slip away and continue, I pulled back. "You're fucking eighteen."

Frank smirked. "It's still legal." Then his smirk faltered. "Shit! You're not straight are you? I just kinda figured that-"

It was my turn to interrupt Frank by pulling his lips back to mine.

"Fuck." Frank moaned as I ran my fingers up through his dyed black hair and tugged on bit. "That's an answer."

Frank smelled like cigarette smoke, one of my favorite smells. His mouth tasted like alcohol and his hands were rough. I could feel the calluses on them as they traveled up my shirt and over my body.

Frank's hand made their way down to the zipper on my pants, and I was about to tell him that maybe we should go somewhere else, before everything went black.