Life is Hard
Title: Life is Hard. Chapter Two: Wrong Impressions.
Author: Ana
Pairing: young!Billie/Mike/Tré
Rating: PG-13
Notes: This story is turning out to be a good outlet. Finally have some days off to work on my other stories. I'll let you have a look at this first; hope you like it.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"You do the honors," Frank says as he hands me the joint. I only fake a tiny smile and willingly take it from him along with a lighter I always keep near my desk.
Surprisingly enough, it only takes about two drags from the improvised cigarette for me to start feeling dizzy and light-headed. I just have to admit, I kind of missed this sensation of not giving a shit about anything; in fact, it has been a fair amount of time since the last time I've had a smoke, and quite honestly, I can't be more glad that Frank is here to help me do just that.
Still, the air feels heavy for some reason. It’s not the first time I’ve smoked a joint with Frank, and it sure as hell isn’t my first time smoking weed, but this time feels like I’m about to throw up.
It’s my own fault, I reckon; I’d already heard somewhere that drug effects depend pretty much on your mood. Weed is wonderful, but it’s not exactly a miracle worker; it doesn’t make you smarter or happier, and I was well aware of that. The same thing happened with Frank. He was starting to become a new distraction from the reality, but I knew that spending time with him worked only as a temporary solution; I loved to just draw myself back from the outside world with him and let our music guide us through whatever paths were available, but as soon as the door closed behind him, Mike popped back into my mind.
Frank didn’t know anything about him, and I intended on keeping it that way. For all he knew, every love song he had read on my notebook was about a girl which I had met and fallen in love with at some point of my life, and I wasn’t by any means, going to break that illusion; maybe if I repeated it for myself enough times, I’d start believing it.
So I close my eyes and lay back on the bridge of my bed, my senses heightening with every passing second. Back in the distance, I hear Frank ask me if the effect has kicked in yet. I turn to look at him and meet his expectant blue eyes.
"What does it look like to you?"
"You tell me; I need to test the quality of that guy’s weed.”
"This is some pretty good shit," I say and pass him over the joint. Frank puts it down, then pulls a small package out of his pocket.
"Want to feel even better?" he smirks. "Here, smoke this."
"A menthol? Really?"
"Shut up and do it, Armstrong."
Frank places the white cigarette on my lips; his index finger traces my lower lip, but only for a second before it's gone, and I can't help but sigh. That thing he just did... It really felt so...so hot.
I blink once before I realize that Frank has the lighter right in front of my face to light up the smoke. I gently lean towards the dancing flame and in and take his hand between my own. I can tell he felt the same thing I did moments ago, for his stare lowers, yet he starts rubbing my fingers gently.
"You're really something, Frank," I say without thinking. He quickly looks up and withdraws his hand away from mine.
I can’t help it; I want to kiss him so bad now. I need to be close to him; he's not Mike, and I'm well aware of that, but in moments like these, it doesn't really matter.
Frank thinks that something might be wrong. He stands up from the carpet and goes to lie on my bed. I am not sure whether it is an invitation for me to follow him, but what's still left of my consciousness somewhat decides to think that way. I suddenly find strength out of nowhere, and I too incorporate myself to climb onto the bed.
The cigarette is out now. I turn the small switch on the bedside table and the darkness is there to surround the room. I slowly crawl my way towards Frank until I'm way too close to him, so close I can feel him shaking. I need to take a shot, so I run my fingers through his hair, and put a loose strand behind his ear; Franks closes his eyes in anticipation; I lean in and brush my mouth on his. I barely move my lips; I need him to get used to it. Frank's fists are gripping tightly my shirt. He is really nervous; it's obvious he's never done anything like this before.
"Should I stop?" I whisper quietly, as if expecting he'd shoved me off of him roughly at any minute, but that didn't happen.
"It's just that I don't... I don't like you like that," came instead.
"I'm really sorry," is everything I can muster as I hurry to get away from him as quickly as possible. He says it's all okay, still I know it is not. Probably, it's not going to be okay even for a while.
***
END OF CHAPTER TWO
Author: Ana
Pairing: young!Billie/Mike/Tré
Rating: PG-13
Notes: This story is turning out to be a good outlet. Finally have some days off to work on my other stories. I'll let you have a look at this first; hope you like it.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"You do the honors," Frank says as he hands me the joint. I only fake a tiny smile and willingly take it from him along with a lighter I always keep near my desk.
Surprisingly enough, it only takes about two drags from the improvised cigarette for me to start feeling dizzy and light-headed. I just have to admit, I kind of missed this sensation of not giving a shit about anything; in fact, it has been a fair amount of time since the last time I've had a smoke, and quite honestly, I can't be more glad that Frank is here to help me do just that.
Still, the air feels heavy for some reason. It’s not the first time I’ve smoked a joint with Frank, and it sure as hell isn’t my first time smoking weed, but this time feels like I’m about to throw up.
It’s my own fault, I reckon; I’d already heard somewhere that drug effects depend pretty much on your mood. Weed is wonderful, but it’s not exactly a miracle worker; it doesn’t make you smarter or happier, and I was well aware of that. The same thing happened with Frank. He was starting to become a new distraction from the reality, but I knew that spending time with him worked only as a temporary solution; I loved to just draw myself back from the outside world with him and let our music guide us through whatever paths were available, but as soon as the door closed behind him, Mike popped back into my mind.
Frank didn’t know anything about him, and I intended on keeping it that way. For all he knew, every love song he had read on my notebook was about a girl which I had met and fallen in love with at some point of my life, and I wasn’t by any means, going to break that illusion; maybe if I repeated it for myself enough times, I’d start believing it.
So I close my eyes and lay back on the bridge of my bed, my senses heightening with every passing second. Back in the distance, I hear Frank ask me if the effect has kicked in yet. I turn to look at him and meet his expectant blue eyes.
"What does it look like to you?"
"You tell me; I need to test the quality of that guy’s weed.”
"This is some pretty good shit," I say and pass him over the joint. Frank puts it down, then pulls a small package out of his pocket.
"Want to feel even better?" he smirks. "Here, smoke this."
"A menthol? Really?"
"Shut up and do it, Armstrong."
Frank places the white cigarette on my lips; his index finger traces my lower lip, but only for a second before it's gone, and I can't help but sigh. That thing he just did... It really felt so...so hot.
I blink once before I realize that Frank has the lighter right in front of my face to light up the smoke. I gently lean towards the dancing flame and in and take his hand between my own. I can tell he felt the same thing I did moments ago, for his stare lowers, yet he starts rubbing my fingers gently.
"You're really something, Frank," I say without thinking. He quickly looks up and withdraws his hand away from mine.
I can’t help it; I want to kiss him so bad now. I need to be close to him; he's not Mike, and I'm well aware of that, but in moments like these, it doesn't really matter.
Frank thinks that something might be wrong. He stands up from the carpet and goes to lie on my bed. I am not sure whether it is an invitation for me to follow him, but what's still left of my consciousness somewhat decides to think that way. I suddenly find strength out of nowhere, and I too incorporate myself to climb onto the bed.
The cigarette is out now. I turn the small switch on the bedside table and the darkness is there to surround the room. I slowly crawl my way towards Frank until I'm way too close to him, so close I can feel him shaking. I need to take a shot, so I run my fingers through his hair, and put a loose strand behind his ear; Franks closes his eyes in anticipation; I lean in and brush my mouth on his. I barely move my lips; I need him to get used to it. Frank's fists are gripping tightly my shirt. He is really nervous; it's obvious he's never done anything like this before.
"Should I stop?" I whisper quietly, as if expecting he'd shoved me off of him roughly at any minute, but that didn't happen.
"It's just that I don't... I don't like you like that," came instead.
"I'm really sorry," is everything I can muster as I hurry to get away from him as quickly as possible. He says it's all okay, still I know it is not. Probably, it's not going to be okay even for a while.
***
END OF CHAPTER TWO