Plaid Skirts and Handcuffs (Frerard)

Chapter 4

Gerard's house ^^^

And I said the characters were dicks so...

~~

I held onto the girl's hips as she ground against me. Music blasted through the house as people partied. The two of us were in the middle of the crowd of dancing people. I'm not sure what her name was, but I knew she was positively drunk and I was definitely buzzed. I moved her long, dark hair out of the way, kissing along the back of her neck.

"Iero!" Someone shouted.

I jumped back in shock, the girl looking at me with annoyance before walking away. I turned to Brendon with an irritated look.

"The fuck is your problem?" I asked.

"Come here," Brendon said, pulling me out of the crowd by my arm. 

We walked over to where Pete and Bob was. Brendon handed me a beer, which I took hastily, giving him a dirty look.

"What's up with you?" Bob asked me.

"He's pissed because I totally just took him from some hot chick," Brendon replied for me.

I rolled my eyes, sitting down on one of the couches as they followed. We hung out for a couple hours, occasionally one of us would leave to go make out with some chick or something along those lines, most likely even more than making out. The party started dying down, people started to leave and the music was subdued to simply background noise.

"You know, Hayley never showed up," I complained, feeling myself drunk.

"Fuck her," Pete grumbled.

"Yeah, that's what I wanted to do," I stated.

"Oh, poor boy," Lindsey said in mock pity.

"Fine, it might just be your ass that has to fill in instead," I said.

She rolled her eyes, taking another swig of her drink.

"Dude, we should prank the Way boy," Pete suggested, clearly a little more drunk than the rest of us. "He doesn't live too far from here."

"That idea is fucking amazing," Brendon agreed.

And that's how the six of us ended up outside the Way residence with a black duffel bag. The Way house was massive, looming over us with grey walls. In the back was a pool and a tennis court, things everyone dreams of having. The house could be on a poster for richest people in America. Hell, the whole family could be on that poster. Parents Donald and Donna with their son Michael. It was a perfect family in a perfect home. Donald is some sort of CEO man for a worldwide company. Donna is a retired model, who used to spend her days walking the runway but soon quit to take care of her son when he was born. And Michael, most commonly known as Mikey, was a straight A student who excelled at everything.

"These fuckers get what's coming for them," Brendon muttered.

He set the bag down, opening it up. He pulled out rolls of toilet papers, cans of spraypaint and cartons of eggs. We were laughing as we threw the toilet paper, draping it over anything we could and shushing each other when someone laughed too loudly, which only caused us to fall into more fits of giggles.

"Shit," Jamia muttered.

We looked over and saw that she was holding an empty carton of eggs, the little white eggs having fallen out and onto the ground. Luckily, due to the soft, manicured grass, none of them broke. Bob was writing with spraypaint on the side of the house while we ran out of toilet paper, moving on to the eggs. We chucked them, hitting the side of the house and thanking to heaven above that it wasn't loud enough to wake the family that resided inside.