Pretty. (Frerard, Petekey, Ryden, Peterick)

27: In Which Mikey Way May Or May Not Die

The only good thing about this party was the cocaine.

And that was just about the only thing that the irrational and rational parts of Gee's brain could agree upon, mainly due to the fact that this party was pretty shit, and there was absolutely no question about the fact that Bert had only dragged him along for the sake of free drugs, and things had just gone south the very moment that Bert had disappeared into the crowd with a random girl at his side.

That fuck was nothing to Bert, and everything to Gee and entirely the wrong way, because even with the copious amounts of cocaine, his head was still spinning itself into oblivion, even to the extent that Gee would consider oblivion to be his current destination, and a permanent one at that.

People were just blurs and the lights hurt his eyes: noises, loud and then quiet - rinse and repeat, and there wasn't much else to say about the world around him. It was just a cycle of sitting in the corner of a party he didn't belong to be at, drowning his guilty conscience and really just himself in the white powder.

And he still wasn't an addict.

He still wasn't going to let Bert be right: Gee knew that for certain, but not nearly as much as he knew that crack cocaine was all he had left.

He hadn't spoken to Frank since that night with Bert and the following morning kneeled over the toilet puking his guts out as he tried to expel his system of not just the alcohol but the deed he'd done, and just how spectacularly he'd fucked up.

And nothing hurt him more than forcing himself to ignore every call from Frank and delete every message before really reading it.

Eventually he just turned off his cell entirely: a coward's escape, of course, but if Gee wasn't a coward at this point then the world had clearly taken far too much pity upon him.

And as he ran out of cocaine, he knew that he was utterly fucked as he came to doubt that his legs even still functioned at this point, rendering unable to get up and get some more or just anything to fade it all away, and that was what led him to nicotine: a back up plan, but better than nothing.

And as he attempted to pull his knees up to his chest, he came to accept that maybe his legs had gone numb for real, but somehow that didn't matter at all, and he simply found himself staring down at skinny jeans again: this wasn't him, this wasn't Gee, and he knew it, but there was just a part of him that couldn't face the world as himself anymore.

He was just a poster boy for the empty and insane as he put the cigarette back to his lips and wondered just how long it would before his consciousness dulled out and he'd found himself waking up somewhere he'd couldn't even remember: that was a mystery to say the least.

"You don't look as if you're really having the best of times, if I'm honest." Gee jumped at the sudden voice beside him, shaking a little as sound came back to him and it was less blurry and more music loud enough to make his ears bleed.

"I'm not." He admitted, sighing out, finally meeting the stranger's gaze: bright fucking blue eyes, and a smile that he couldn't quite trust, but the guy was evidently sober at the very least.

"Yeah, I could tell." The stranger laughed a little at that, smiling to himself. "I'm not either: I'm just here with my friend, who fucking disappeared within the first five minutes. I'm Dallon, by the way."

"Gee." And the twenty five year old almost felt proud for being able to remember his own name - well, he couldn't move his legs at this point so it wasn't exactly that absurd. "Same thing here as well, but I doubt if that guy is really my friend at all. I just live with him, I mean, we had sex like a few nights ago, but it was fucked up and I want to kill myself for it."