Only Drunken Words (Jimohnny)

Chapter Eleven: Jimmy

"Wake up," Matt's voice whispered close to my ear, as he shook me, "Jimmy, get up."

I groaned, turning away from him. Yet, he didn't give up.

"Get up." He shook me again, and I slowly opened my eyes, beginning to feel the headache pounding through my skull.

"What?" I snapped, reaching my hand to my temples.

"Where's Johnny?" Matt asked, quietly.

I furrowed my eyebrows, "What do you mean?"

"He's gone."

I sat up, all too quickly, immediately feeling as if someone had just shot me in the head.

"Fuck," I whispered, my head pounding, "Where could he have gone?"

Matt raised an eyebrow, "I don't know. You were supposed to stay with him. You know him more than any of us."

I thought back to the hours before, which I barely remembered. The last time I could remember seeing Johnny was while he spoke to Zacky in the corner of the room. Then, I had gotten too drunk to remember anything.

I felt the guilt gripping at me.

What if he got drunk and did something to himself? What if he walked home alone in the middle of the night and something happened to him?

"I'll go to his house and find out what's going on." I glanced at Valary asleep on one couch, while Brian and Zacky slept on the floor.

"But, give me some pills first, my head is fucking killing me."

~*~

As I began the drive to Johnny's house, I surfed my mind once more about what could have happened.

What if he got drunk and left with someone else? No. He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't leave with anyone he didn't know. But, if he was drunk...

I let out an exasperated sigh.

"Dammit, Johnny." I mumbled under my breath.

I pulled up to his house, and quickly hopped out of the car, almost running to the door. After knocking, I impatiently tapped my foot, trying not to continuously consider the awful things that could've occurred.

He's fine. I repeatedly told myself.

I glanced back at the driveway, finding that there were no cars parked at his home.

The sound of the door opening almost made me jump. I turned back to find Johnny, standing there, with an unreadable expression on his face. Without even thinking, I immediately reached forward and pulled the younger bassist into my arms.

"Jesus Christ, Johnny." I whispered, holding him tightly, "You scared me."

"What?" He mumbled, stepping away and pulling me into the house, as he closed the door.

I ignored his question, "When did you come home?"

"Um," Johnny paused, as if he was thinking back, "Maybe like, two or three in the morning?"

I raised my eyebrows, "Alone?" And when he nodded, I continued, "What the fuck, Johnny? You can't walk that far, alone, at night. What if something would've happened?"

Johnny stepped back, his demeanor quickly becoming angry, "You sound just like my goddamn parents. Just because I have a mental disorder doesn't mean I can't fucking take care of myself."

I winced, widening my eyes and guiltily averting my gaze to the floor, "M-mental disorder?"

Johnny sighed, "Yeah, whatever, it's nothing." He brushed it off, staring at the wall.

Clearly, he didn't want to talk about it, "Johnny, I still would act the same way whether you have mental problems or not. I-I didn't even know-"

"It's fine." Johnny snapped.

I opened my mouth, glancing at him, unable to speak. He looked beyond pissed.

"Why are you so mad?" I asked, trying to keep my voice at a gentle state, "I just wanted to make sure you were safe."

Johnny furrowed his eyebrows, instantly snapping, "Because I'm sick of being treated like a fucking baby! It's not my fault that I'm like this. I can take care of myself the same way you can. I hate when people act like this towards me. I hate them for it. I hate you for this." Johnny's voice was rising, almost to the point where he was screaming, and I flinched. He lifted his hands, covering his face with them as he trembled with rage.

He immediately widened his eyes, lowering his hands as his jaw dropped, the realization what he had said slamming into him as if he'd just been kicked by a horse. He harshly dug his teeth into his bottom lip, and I watched as the tears fell down his cheeks.

"No, no, no." Johnny whispered, "I'm so fucking sorry, I'm so-"

"Johnny," I stepped forward, placing my hands on his shoulders, "It's okay. You didn't mean it."

But he continued to shake his head. He sniffled, the tears still falling, "No, no it's not okay. I didn't mean to say that. I'm so sorry. I don't hate you Jimmy, I don't hate you, I'm sorry." He repeated the words over and over, speaking so quickly that I almost couldn't understand him.

"Johnny," I leaned my forehead against his, as he shook with sobs, "Shhh." I cooed.

He dug his fingernails into my shirt, pulling me onto the floor as he slid down. I sat, cradling him in my lap, waiting for him to calm down.

At that moment, I realized how incredibly fragile this boy was.

"It's okay, Johnny." I whispered, "Everything is fine."

His breathing slowed overtime, as he conciliated, and he leaned his head against my chest.

I still felt like a bullet had just shot directly into my heart, as Johnny had never snapped at me before. It was strange. The incident wasn't even that huge of a deal, yet he took it way too far. Why? I wondered if that was the "mental disorder" he had mentioned.

Is he temperamental?

As the frail, hazel-eyed boy fell asleep in my arms, I began to go over all of the possible reasons as to why he got so upset over something like that.

Was it something I said? Did I not take my concern in the correct path, and hit a nerve at something I had said?

Eventually, I shook the thoughts off, carrying Johnny to the couch, where I sat down and laid him on my lap.

I watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, then studied his expressionless facial structure.

Damn, he's kinda attractive. I thought, instantly mentally slapping myself. But, the thoughts continued, leaving me wondering whether I was beginning to develop feelings for the mohawked bassist.

"I think I like you." I whispered, so softly it was almost inaudible.