Gerd POV
"Ray!", I yell up at the stairs as I made my entrance into our old, extremely-lived-in-apartment, which I've generally always hated.
I heard no answer as I graciously put the keys on the marble table. I scoffed to myself as to why he was probably 'so occupied as to not even answer me.'
"Ray, what the hell are you doing!?", I said, making my way up the creaking stairs. God how much contempt I held pint up for these stairs. Every fucking creak it made when I took even the slightest step made me want to rip out every inch of its red wood. But I didn't. I never did. Because I know its just the universe hating on me..like always.
I heard a low grumble when I made it into the hallway, making me giggle a little bit. I always liked making Ray mad, because I literally gave not even a tiny ounce of a shit. I mean maybe a little....
I pushed open his door to find him in his bed, laying on his stomach with his leg being shown from the lack of cover. He looked up at me with a half open eyelid, and grunted once more before turning to face his wall filled to almost every inch with posters, covering his leg up completely by curling into a tiny ball on his bed.
"What the hell do you want?" He grumbled at me with his high pitched voice. I always found it funny that he could be a little intimidating at times, with that squeaky voice.
"To wake your fat ass up." I said with a giggle and he only grunted as a reply. "No, but seriously why are you asleep? Its like nine o'clock." I folded my arms across my chest, and plopped my head on the side of the door.
"Well if you had an actual job, you'd understand." He muttered in his pillow.
"Way to make someone feel bad." I scoffed at him and passed his door, going into my room.
It was a nice room. All of the walls painted a creamy beige color. But then again the wall were still slightly peeling at the corners. Like all of the fucking walls in this godforsaken house.
I gradually made my way to my desk, far off into the right corner of my room(if directly in the middle), and sat down with a loud sigh of exhaustion. I grasped my journal with a slight smile as I read the cover.
It was covered with friend's old phone numbers (which I assumed that they still didn't have after five years), and 'I love you!'s written to the far corners as to not interfere with the middle, which I wrote a few things on myself.
My journal from high school. I never knew exactly as to why I kept it for this long, but I never felt the need to question it. I guess most people that knew me (which were not many) knew that I was over protective over this one in particular object, but who wouldn't be over something that holds all of you thoughts and memories and especially things that would make you uncomfortable with as if someone were to read it. I mean I never really did write things that happened to me on a day to day basses because I always thought it was to sappy for my taste. I mainly just drew in its fin lines. But on rare occasions I would write about something that was appealing to me at the moment, or even someone that would be appealing to me.
I opened it up to the next completely unfilled page, and began to draw.
Whenever I drew, I always began with a certain shape or figure that my hand, I guess you could say, wanted to form. It was almost like whittling to me. Beginning to carve and not really have a reason or yet even an exact idea of what I was destined to carve the piece of wood into.
It was the beginning of a body, I could tell so far, and it seemed to have a smokey background. I was shading in the remainder of its background when I heard some shuffling outside of my window. I turned my head to the left, and let out an almost startled scream when I seen a figure fall onto the floor of my room with a loud crash. I jolted in my seat, falling on my ass with a 'thud'. I closed my eyes as the searing pain in my ass cheeks resided in my crotch.
Fuck...
Not now.....
"Shit.." I mumbled under my breath, and then sighed slowly.
The so-called person let a chuckle fall from the lips and I opened up my eyes to find Bob fucking Bryar, or you could say the biggest fucking dick head in the planet, sitting on the floor with a tight grip on his right arm.
"What the fuck is you're problem, Bryar?" I scoffed at him.
"Well isn't that a way to greet your friends." He smiled sarcastically.
I huffed loudly. "Your not my friend, Bryar. Your just a fucking druggie. You don't even have friends."
I knew I was kinda harsh on the guy but I also knew that he can do just as much assholish damage on me as I can to him.
He didn't seem to want to reply to my statement, which I took as him saying that I was right. I mean he never really did have friends. I would possibly be his only acceptance as a friend, concluding from the statements, but I could never be friends with such an asshole. Well maybe...
"Well...", I continued, "what are you doing in here anyways, climbing in my window like you're afraid of Ray or somethin.." I said, climbing back onto my chair, while he sat on the far corner of my bed.
"Well...actually I um..well that uh, actually is the case..." He mumbled in between looking around my room for an axe murderer I suppose, and scratching behind his left ear like the druggie he was.
I let out a halfhearted chuckle and ran my hand through my oily hair. "So you go to me... For help... This doesn't seem like the asshole Bryar I'm used to. What's up?", I asked almost the slightest bit concerned.
"Well I um...", He started to scratch his arm pretty profusely, "I kinda owe him..some...uh crack..." He said before sniffling, making me cringe at the sound.
"Oh and I guess you suppose that I can help you with that kind of shit?", I said with a certain tone in my voice, making him flinch at the slightest.
"Well....uh-um I guess...look um, could you...uh..maybe tell him to back off at the moment...I'm just...just not having the best of...luck...", He said between sharp sniffs that made me want to slap him.
I opened up my journal and started to get back onto shading again, which I had trouble with because of the position of the led against the paper. I sighed before actually acknowledging that he had spoken to me.
"Bryar.....you may be a complete dumb fuck and dick when you're not completely on a high...but this is probably the most stupid thing you've ever asked of me." I huffed and turned to the druggie behind me scratching his head.
I knew it was useless trying to get something into his head when he was on a high, but it was probably the only time he would ever fucking shut up for more than five seconds and not be a complete asshole to me.
"You know how Ray is about this shit...he doesn't settle well with it. I mean..." I could feel my eyes start to prick and sting as my eyesight became blurry at the thought of him, but I tried to push it away.
"You know what happened to Mikey, I mean Ray's never been the same after what happened...Fuck.." A single tear rolled down my face as I began again. "We've all not been the sane as we were back then."
"Yeah...", He sniffed again, but this time it seemed somewhat congested. Wait..is he fucking crying? This I had never see Bob mother fucking Bryar do, except when the incident actually took place. Not even when his own mother died, he didn't even shed one solitary tear that I know of.
He looked up at me with slightly puffy eyes and began to rub his eyes like a maniac (which he probably was.)
"Ughh.", he began, "I hate this sappy shit...(sniff) what fucking time is it..." He said, thankfully changing the subject.
I fumbled in my back pocket until I could freely slide my phone out. God I hate this shitty phone...
I unlocked my screen, and it read 9:37.
"Nine thirty-seven." I said trying to stifle a yawn, and failed horribly.
"Oh..." His eyes started to ho wide. "Shit. Fuck. Fuck uhhh" He started to fretting on my bed.
"What the fuck's up with you?" I asked him, only half concerned.
"Dude I uh..um, I gotta go.." He said before stumbling off the bed, and falling on his knees before sprinting towards the god damn door, and then he almost turned the knob when he shot his hand back, falling to his side. He then took a few steps back and then turned to run back to my window. What the hell?...fuckin' druggie..
I stood up from my desk, to help the little druggie as he tried to lift the window open with his weak, druggie arms. I reached out to graze his arm when his head shot back to look at me.
"I uh- I got it." He scratched the side of his left cheek, still trying to open the damn window.
"Sure you do.", I replied, sarcastically. "Let me help."
I tightly gripped the front of the latch thingy, trying to lift it up. I successfully did, in fact, and I let my hands fall to my sides before I backed away, turning to let the druggie climb through.
He was still scratching his cheek quite profusely before he actually acknowledged me, and the open window to the left of me.
"Well then...", I urged him on.
He let his scratching cease, and began to climb onto the ledge thingy of the window, but stopped when one leg was completely plunged in to the scary, unknown darkness of which we call the world, and the other still in my room, craned at a certain angle, his eyes meeting mine.
"Um..See ya, dick head." He smiled slightly before looking into the darkness, moving back a little to let his other leg fall into the dark abyss of the world. He did a slight movement before his entire body was gone.
I watched as he did movements, and then not even five seconds later he was down to the ground in a flash.
I haven't a clue in the world as to why I kept watching him as he walked over to the other side of the New Jersey side walk like the creep I was, but I didn't really care all that much. He was looking around for an axe murderer once again scratching behind his left ear.
He shuffled a bit on his feet before he balled up his fists into his black hoodie.
He was under a street light when I seen it.
That same black fucking figure I witnessed in the park.
Falling into step with Bob....with his sleek movements...just.. following his every move.
What the fuck... I thought to myself.
The figure seemed to be more radiant than it was before. And even more....black if possible. The black figure suddenly stood in its tracks like a dog, and then even from this angle, I could see the demonic smirk slowly creeping onto the figures face.
He turned his head at the slowest pace imaginable (or maybe it was just me) and then his eyes, which now took a more red tint to it, stared directly into my fucking soul. Still with the smile on his face.
It was almost as if I could recall that very smirk from somewhere. I couldn't tell exactly, but somewhere...
The figure waved at me in a girly fashion, before turning back to the druggie before him, almost running back into the vast darkness in which had blinded me of his presence before.
God, I need a cigarette...
A.N// Okay so this is lyk the longest chapter I've ever written......sad ryt? Well anyway I kinda have an idea for were this story's gonna go.
Song: Rooster by Alice and Chains
I fucking love the guitar part for that song. Byeee!! I love feedback if any of you fuckers actually care!!