darling you'll be okay

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Enjoy I guess~

Is it just me or does the world look so fucking cold and disgusting when I'm pissed. What. Why. Why does this always happen to me? It's like ever since I got these feelings for him, I pounce to his every beck and call. I even fucking shaved for him!

I hate shaving. Now my crotch itches and it's starting to rain. I do not have an umbrella.

"Come downtown and listen to us. It's our first set. It would mean a lot to me?" I'm such a sucker. I feel like punching myself. Stop smiling. It's midnight, the road is empty and you're being an obvious, nutcase smiling.

I try so hard. Why do I try so hard? I mean it was easy when we were nine. We swam in our underwear together and I even let him read my diary twice. It definitely happened after he got back from Seattle with his new hair and skinny jeans and nose piercing. Even Mike changed.

We listened to new songs together, wore stacks of bracelets and wristbands and he smelt different. Like a guy, a guy who plays guitar and hangs out in his basement too much and writes songs. He's so cute when he writes songs. He's all serious and I can't stop looking at him. I try to. I pick up a magazine or pretend to listen to music or text but I can't help staring. His eyebrows jut furrowed, his knuckles get tense and he pushes up his fringe a lot.

The matching haircuts is kinda like our own friendship bracelet or a type of bond we have together, I guess. He suggested it first. We got them both together, mine's longer than his but other than that our haircuts are identical. He thought it was cute (plus Mike or Jaime or Tony wouldn't do it with him so I was the next best thing).

"We look really cute, I swear. Come here", he grabs my hand and pulls me in front of the mirror next to him. His hand is still locked around my wrist and I feel all warm and gooey. A good gooey feeling.

"I look like a fag"

"No you don't, we're cute. If you look like a fag then I look like a fag"

"You don't."

"You don't too"

He hugs me after that. Not a boy-girl hug but more like a boy-boy hug. Is that all he'll ever think of me? Just one of the guys? An amigo? Doesn't he think about us being more than friends?

I mean, I've never brought it up with him before but I can't be the only one who's feeling these feelings? We pass notes during chemistry, we skip phys ed together and hide behind the bleacher and he sleeps over when we have group projects. We spend way too much time together, basically. We're best friends. Please tell me I'm not the only one who wants something more? The thing is, he knows what a big chump I am. How I'd do anything for the band, for him. Run errands, manage their blog, print flyers, hand out flyers. Fuck me. I'm such a chump.

The minute he hung up, I rushed all over the place for my jeans and the band tee, the Bless The Fall one that he loves. Heck, if the Guinness Book of World Records does not come knocking on my door tomorrow begging to put my name down for "Fastest Make-Up Applier" I will fucking scream. I ran all the way down five blocks while trying not to sweat out my eyeliner.

The gig was at a small, wooden bar where local garage bands played every now and again. It mostly catered to the underage group, they rarely asked for ID for drinks unless you looked super wimpy. The bar was just a tiny island counter and you could go up and ask Alex, this legit red head junkie, for drinks or the house special. The house special was usually pretty good and fruity. I sat at our favorite spot, the table at the heart of the room. When you looked up, a burst of posters are plastered all over the ceiling. Some are signed, some aren't, some faded over time. I was literally about to pee my pants.

He always dreamt of playing on that stage. Under the huge headlights and everyone's eyes focused on you and you only.

"I swear when, if I make it there it'll be my best show. Okay my FIRST show but I won't even miss a note. Not a single beat. Everything will be perfect."

He was passionate and true to every single word. When the lights dimmed down and Alex's burped into the microphone, I couldn't contain myself.

"We've got a new act tonight. The Dirty Bone's extremely regular customers, more regular than I'd appreciate. First-timers on the stage, give it up for PIERCE THE VEIL"

Alex pronounced each word with only a flair of an ex-punk band, merch-vendor would. PIURS DUH VAYUULL.

I clung to my bar stool, my butt hanging on the edge. He makes his way to the mic and adjusts it to his height. He's the shortest in the band. Mike sat at the back behind the big black drum set and did a beat test. Tony had his hair all decked out and had it super glossy for the occasion. You could hear swooning from the ogle of girls beneath his side of the stage. Jaime was being, well, Jaime, ruffling his Sonic the Hedgehog hair and tuning his bass.

He cleared his voice, "Ahem, hi uhm. We're gonna start off with an original I wrote and it's called The Boy Who Could Fly"

The set was brilliant. Everything he said it would. It was the best half an hour of my life and at the end the whole bar gave a standing ovation. Even Alex was hanging out of the island counter top with his shirt off, howling. The lights turned back on and I bolted backstage. There was a sea of girls waiting for an autograph. Mostly from Tony. I made my way through the sea of giggling, oestrogen pumping bodies and barged in the dressing room.

It was a fairly large room and clumps of girls were everywhere around; Mike and Tony and Jaime. I searched for him. As I narrowed my eyes to the corner beside the vanity mirror, I spotted that familiar haircut, those worn out skinny jeans, that nose piercing, those knuckles. He was talking to somebody. Blond, fair, pretty eyes, dimples. I bolted.

Why the fuck did I do that? Fuck you, Blond Girl. Fuck you, Vic. Vic Fucking Fuentes.