Joe, We Need To Talk 》 Trohley

|| Champagne For My Real Friends, Real Pain For My Sham Friends ||

Joe's P.O.V

I awaken in the early hours of the morning to a notification on my phone. I check the time whilst the notification, and it is 3:10am. The notification is a text message from my best friend, Andy Hurley. It's a text message, that I assume is long for it doesn't fit on the lock screen. I slide my finger across the screen, and it reveals a long paragraph.

From Andy
Received on Sat @ 3:10am

Hey Joe. I know you're probably asleep, but I can't sleep, as usual. Anyways, I was thinking about you, and I realised just how lucky I am to call you my best friend. Like, bro, do you have any idea how many people at school wanna be your friend? Like, everyone in my fucking class! They're always like "Awww, yo that Joe Trohman guy is fuckin' hilarious! He sassed a teacher so badly this morning! I wish that I was as sassy as him! Bruh, and he's Andy's best friend. Fuckin' jealous!" Then I laugh because you are my best friend, and you're great. I know this is weird, but I'm in one of those weird moods, I guess. It's 3 in the morning, and I get really weird at this time as you know. But anyways, just thanks for being a mate.

I smile at his kind message. Andy is a great guy, and there's a reason he's my best friend. Actually, there's a lot. When we were in primary school, I got bullied a lot because we hung out all the time and I'm a Jew, and people called us gay, but Andy would always get that sorted out quickly. Him sending me that message actually made me realise how lucky I am to have him as my best friend.

Andy is the kindest guy I've ever met. He's got such a kind heart, he's loyal, he's truthful, he's reliable, he's resilient, he's respectful, he's responsible, he's mature, he has the best sense of humour, he's. . . He's. . . He's PERFECT!

I mean, not meaning to sound gay, but he is. He's the most perfect guy you'll ever meet. He has no flaws. I mean, his voice is pretty high, but that's cute. I mean, there is absolutely nothing to not like about him. He is the definition of perfect!

I look at the ceiling, smiling at the thought of Andy's message. I get this weird feeling when I think about him. I mean, it's weird, 'cause I'm straight, but I get this weird feeling in my chest, and I blush around him. Maybe I'm not straight? All I know is that I would only ever, ever date Andy Hurley. I don't like guys in that way. It's only Andy.

I dismiss the thoughts of Andy. As if he would ever like me back, anyways. He's straight. He only likes the taco, not the sausage.

I mean, he's Andy fucking Hurley! As if I'd stand a chance, even if he was gay! I mean, Andy's a kick arse drummer, with a cute butterfly voice, and an awesome haircut.

And I'm. . . Well. . . Me. I have an ugly voice, I'm nothing above average when it comes to playing guitar, and a really shit haircut! There's no way Andy would ever see me as more than just his best friend.

A tear slips out of my eye, as I think about myself. I've always had a low self-esteem. I've never really liked myself. I mean, yeah I'm only 16, and I get that puberty takes effect of what you look like, and I'll eventually get better looking, hopefully, but I hate my image right now. Why can't I be hot like Andy!? If I was as hot as Andy, I wouldn't even bother with other people, and just date myself to be honest.

I have all this self-hatred for myself, so I can understand why Andy wouldn't want to date me, anyways. I mean, he doesn't want to put up with all my complaint about my image, and my crying because I hate myself with a passion.

I decide to drown out all of my depressing thoughts with the sweet sound of music. I reach into the drawer of my bedside table, pull out my earphones and MP3 player, plug one end of the earphones into said device, the other into my ears, and decided to put on 'Californiacation' by 'Red Hot Chilli Peppers'

I look up at the ceiling whilst listening to the pleasant music. Red Hot Chilli Peppers are an amazing band. In my top ten, for sure. I mean, the way the guitar goes along with the drum beat, and the melodic bass line. It's truly a masterpiece.

"Hardcore, soft porn. Dream of Californiacation. Dream of Californiacation. Dream of Californiacation." I mutter along to the lyrics.

I wish that I could write songs. I mean, I've written a few little phrases that could possibly be used in a song. They're really not that great, but who knows?

I write a lot of phrases, and possible lyrics into a journal that I carry. Some include; "the poets are just kids who didn't make it.", "wearing our vintage misery. No, I think it looked a little better on me.", "I spin for you like your favourite records used to." and "the best part in 'believe' is the 'lie' "

Like I said, they could be used in alright songs in the future, but I don't know. But what I do know, is that if anyone ever sees my diary, I'll get a gun, and pull then trigger. A loaded gun complex, cock it and pull it.

I continue to stare at the ceiling, as I soon feel my eyelids become heavy. I try to stay awake, so I can listen to my music, but weights grow in my eyelids. They tug on my eyes, slowly forcing them shut, and sending me into the beautiful realm of unconsciousness, also known as sleep. They only time where you can be both dead, and breathing.

Song - Champagne For My Real Friends, Real Pain For My Sham Friends
Album - From Under The Cork Tree