The Storms Of August

Chapter Fourteen: You Know I Cannot Lie, But Why Can't You Just Tell The Truth?

I was very quickly swiped clean of any debate in my head with the help of countless glasses of intoxicating liquid and marijuana's plentiful use in every fathomable fashion. I was definitely in the best shape, though, that's for sure. I was the only one with steady eyes and the ability to add numbers. Coherent sentences were rarely coming out of Joe's mouth after an hour or so. Nick has gone into hysterics multiple times already, stumbling into walls and large pieces of furniture. And Demi, as per usual, was in her own world. The entire time she'd talk about nothing and then got grumpy when no one understood, or she would wave me over to tell me something with a stupid grin on her face and then pat me away. Currently, I was getting acquainted with a tall bottle of Absolute Vodka while I leaned against Joe, who traced one of my neck muscles absentmindedly with his finger and downed the rest of his eighth Red's Apple Ale. Across the hazy basement, Nick sat next to Demi, staring at one stain in the cement floor minute after minute while she strummed the five notes I first heard on the porch on a slick acoustic. To the side, A full drum kit and a variety of guitars and microphones sat in wait beside two big, black speakers. Despite this, only one was in use, and the notes seemed to have a negative tone to them.

Instead of them being graced into the air in a slow exhale, Demi stared at me very attentively while she strummed with a nearly screaming anticipation between each note. The look in her intense stare might have been frightening to most people, the way she looked at me under sharp eyebrows and almost half the alcohol intake made her appear dark, evil, borderline murderous to those that don't know her. I was confident I did though, so I decided to keep the expression in mind and ask her later. For the moment, I held up my bottle as a silent 'Cheers' and smirked directly at her before taking a rooftop swig. The friendly gesture seemed to bring her spirits up, because immediately afterwards she smiled back and winked at me before watching her fingers prick at the strings.

I looked at Joe, saw that he was out of it, and pecked his stubbly cheek to bring him back. As he looked at me and smiled, Demi did just the opposite, but she did not let it ruin the facade she had made clear was carved with blood, sweat and tears just for me, instead, she shook it off like a bug and returned to neutrality.

"You need to shave," I told Joe, smiling up at him while I let the low laying hairs poke at my fingers as I rubbed his jawline.

"huh?" he asked, not paying attention but projecting a drunken smile towards me.

"You won't understand anything I say will you?" I laugh at him. Joe laughs as well, but doesn't respond as an answer. I resort to patting his chest and giggling, his response was a negative.

I crawled over to Demi, who continued to watch my every move at frightening accuracy taking preoccupation and intoxication into account. I went to the free side of her and slouched against the wall. Demi stopped strumming when my head hit the wall with a thud. "You're back."

"I was fifteen feet away, I was never gone."

"It's debatable with different perspectives," Demi smiled humorlessly.

I didn't understand, but I was drunk, so even if I asked, I would trip over her first sentence. So as a result of nothing to say, I laid my head on her shoulder and she put her guitar down. "feeling rambunctious?" I asked.

"Of a sorts," she admitted, "but the Jonas brothers usually have about a half hour of zone time before everything kicks them in the ass all at once, so I'm not lulling myself to sleep, just passing the time."

I observed the motions in her face as she talked. The dim twinkle in her big brown eyes that served as a mood ring, the muscle movements in her smile, the baby curl of her lips when she and I crossed paths in our lonesome gazes; they were all the same. The tap in her fingers and the slow exhaust of anxiety with her right foot spas was the same too. Her head was nearly on the roof, the only difference was the reluctance, subtle but present like Carbon Dioxide in the air. It lurked in her eyes and fading smiles with the swiftness of a creature under a shadowless night. It came out and held her tongue just enough for me to notice. The reluctance made no sound, it just muffled what she wanted to say. From what I could tell, no harm was being done, it was just an uncomfortable experience, being restricted involuntarily by her own conscience.