I'd Rather Be in Love than Dead

Chapter Three

A/N:

Hey everyone,

So, We JUST realized that it was Thursday, so I apologize for the late update but we're kind of busy with finishing up Chapter Fourteen.

We're a little behind in writing ('behind' being a relative term, as we were ahead before) but posting will stay the same as we're working to catch up again.

Again, we can't thank you guys enough for reading and I hope you enjoy Chapter Three!

~Anna

Chasity's Perspective: 

I stayed seated beside Garrett’s bed where he lay, still unconscious from the fight the night before exactly where John had moved him after that bastard had hit him in the head with a lamp. His pale form was covered in bruises and his face coated in blood around his blackened eye that he’d received standing up for me. Or trying to.

Honestly, he got pounded. And honestly, I thought he was a complete dumbass for going after that huge guy just for making a sexist comment about my butt. But honestly, I was flattered that we were back to the point in our relationship in which we’d do anything for each other (even if it resulted in unconsciousness for the next day or two.)

I watched him carefully and smiled slightly at the memories that came back, flooding my mind with images of Sir Bedhead attacking any jerk that dared disturb the princess and her castle. The pale face that lay peacefully on the small pillow that took residence on the bed before me still greatly resembled that of the happy boy I’d known as a six year old. Well, other than the fact that he was passed out on Pat’s bed.

I continued to hold the warm hand of my childhood best friend as he lay silently in the only empty room left in the house. The party had gone on all night and half the people were still passed out on the living room floor, though it was very unlikely that their unconsciousness was due to lamp related incidents. I couldn’t tell you any of last night’s events after the fight, because it took merely moments for me to have a chair pulled up beside where Garrett lay in Pat’s room, so other than watching him carefully (hoping that whatever dreams he was having, if any at all, were good ones that consisted of complete lamplessness and anything else that would bring him joy after the unfortunate events that put him in this state to begin with), I did nothing for hours. Though I must admit, I did fall asleep beside him for a few hours, but never did I let go of the hand that belonged the boy that stood up for me, despite the consequences.

I tensed as he stirred at last and was slightly afraid of being the first thing he saw when he woke, finally. I mean, of course he wanted to see me alive and well if he took that hit for me, but I felt guilty, as it was my fault, if you thought about it, that he was like this.

His non-blackened eyelid fluttered open to reveal a blue eye staring blankly up at me as I accidently tightened my grip on his hand, but hastily loosed it upon realizing that he was in enough pain without more of my ‘help’. He smiled a little, but it fell quickly as he coughed sleepily and moaned at the pain in his busted lip.

I gently stroked his skin (trying with all my might not to put any pressure on the scrapes he’d received from the lamp that hit him so hard) and tried to calm him a bit. It seemed to work, as his eyelid slowly shut and he fell back to sleep and into more (hopefully lampless) dreams.

I sighed and decided I’d best leave him to rest (that rhymes!) and I went down to the kitchen to find a sleepy looking John sitting on the counter. “Hey,” He said. I walked over to where he was and used my arms to lift myself onto the counter beside him.