Shattered

Five

Charlie's POV

"Hey, Charlie?" Steve asked as I lit a cigarette.

"Yeah?"

"Do you mind if I ask what that tattoo means?"

I frowned slightly. I could trust Steve. He was a trustworthy kinda guy, I could tell him anything. Hell, I was pretty sure that I liked Steve.

"Well, the '8' stood for how old I was when I joined the gang. '1949' is the year I was born. '13' is the number o' guys in the gang, at least when I was in it. And the 'G' stands for 'Ghost'. It's what they called me, 'cause I'm so pale and I was almost always silent 'round them. So they used me a lot, sent me crawling through air ducts to get into buildings without gettin' caught, taught me how to shoplift and not get caught."

I took a pause to exhale the smoke from my lungs.

"I also learned how to take glass outta cars, and I can hotwire one in about a minute." I left the sentence there, not talking anymore.

"That's awful." He said.

"Yeah, they're how I got this scar," I pointed to the scar that went from my above my right eye, across my eyelid, and just above the right corner of my mouth.

"Damn." Steve frowned. I felt my chest get tight as I looked at him, staring up at me from the register, head tilted slightly and leaning forward on his elbows.

I wondered if it was possible that he liked me back.

.

After work, he let me drive his car. We stopped at McDonald's and ate in the parking lot.

"Charlie, I gotta tell you somethin'." Steve blurted out suddenly.

I got mad at myself for getting my hopes up, praying that the next words out of his mouth would be 'I like you'.

"Sure, what's up?" I asked, putting my arm behind his head.

"I'm bisexual."

"What's that?" I frowned slightly. "I ain't ever heard of it."

"It's like... liking both genders. Liking boys and girls." He said, and I felt awful that he looked terrified.

I nodded. "Whatever makes you happy, man."

"So, you're alright with it?"

"Yeah, it ain't up to me who you get to love," I shrugged it off. I wondered why he was telling me.

Probably just because we were friends, and he wanted me to know.

.

"Let's hope this show don't end with one of us beatin' somebody up." I said before I took a shot.

"I'll drink to that," Ray sighed before copying my actions.

"Cheers." Chuck nodded.

I cracked my knuckles and my neck before I hooked up my bass to the amp and strummed a few notes to be sure it was in tune.

"It's these substandard motels on the corner of 4th and Fremont street. Appealing, only 'cause they're just that unappealing, and any practice catholic would cross themself upon entering," I sang (song- Build God, Then We'll Talk by Panic! At The Disco).

Most of our songs didn't have much bass, and relied heavily on guitar and drums.

For once, the whole show went smoothly.

"Yes! No near death experiences, no ex-band members showing up and trying to beat the shit out of me, no power outages, no angry exes! This show actually went well!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands in the world.

"Oh, the night ain't over yet, fella." Ray slung an arm around my shoulders.

"Oh, god, please don't tell me that's Chuck's ex's brother?" I sighed, hiding my face in my hands.

"I won't tell you." He patted my shoulder. "But yeah, it totally is. You're a big guy, go stop him."

"No way. I know how to pick my battles." I shook my head. "Ooh! Ouch."

We watched as Chuck got bodyslammed into the wooden floor.

"I feel like we should hel- AH!" Ray jumped into my arms as Chuck and his ex's brother wrestled past us, nearly colliding with him.

"Are you serious?" I asked.

"You're the one who picked me up!" He defended. I was, in fact, holding him bridal style.

He had an arm wrapped around my neck and he grinned up at me.

"I will drop-kick you." I deadpanned.

"Please don't, I value my ass very highly."

"You're my least favorite person."

"I love you too, don't worry."

"Dropping you now."

"No, no, wait-"

I dropped him and then walked away.