The Freudian Slip (2/10)
Title: The Freudian Slip (2/10)
Author: Gess aka live_by_lyrics
Pairing: Jack Barakat/Alex Gaskarth
P.O.V.: third person omniscient, (slightly limited to Jack Barakat)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Minor references to one night stands, being a social outcast and psychiatric help.
Summary: An amateur psychoanalyst becomes enamoured with his latest patient.
Disclaimer: This story and its author are in no way affiliated or representative of the band All Time Low or Gabriel Saporta. This work is purely fiction, I don't own 'em. If you are any of the aforementioned people, I recommend reading at your own risk.
Masterpost
Only twenty minutes later Jack arrives to his destination. He would have been there sooner had he not stopped for coffee, caffeine being the only addiction he has ever succumb to.
He takes his time in the city mandated parking lot, taking sips of the dark liquid because he knows alcohol will not be an option tonight. He relishes the after taste of the beans, reminiscing of the days when the sugarless poison would sear his virgin throat; he has grown up so much within the past year. Regardless of the ways his parents and Gabe treat him, Jack knows he is an adult. Albeit, his mind had reached maturity long before his body, but he appreciates how the facial hair is finally coming up to par.
It has been hard for Jack of course. Always being the youngest in his grade, and even then he has always been far too scrawny for his age. His height could be considered a bonus, but with his awkwardly high-pitched voice it took him a few years to gain any sort of dominance when he engaged in intellectual conversations. Jack spent all of high school career doing his best to entertain the idea that he was an adult. He never bothered engaging in those typical teenage shenanigans, preferring to spend his weekends at the library where he worked as a book stocker, or at home, reading through online forums, critiquing the latest psychoanalysis theories users much more experienced than himself were offering. No, Jack was far too dignified to waste his precious time on earth ‘getting crunk’ at some shady house party.
Of course this made him insanely unpopular with his peers, everyone assuming he was a stuck up snoot, which was more than partially true. Jack has never had ‘a best friend,’ a term he scoffs at for its superficiality. His peers seemed to interchange this so called partner within a week’s notice. He took note of the fact these bonds were usually terminated thanks to the opposite sex, they seemed to withhold some sort of otherworldly power over most males his age. Jack supposes it has to do with a portion of the female population’s abnormally large busts and posteriors, or perhaps the way the coat themselves in powders and oils. In all honesty, females have never been alluring to the boy genius. From this one could suppose the obvious then, that Barakat has never ‘been in a relationship,’ which is another one of those superficial terms Jack cannot help but smirk at. The exchange of feelings is not one of his priorities. That is not to say Jack is anyway inexperienced with the physical interaction aspect of being ‘with someone.’ No, Barakat relieved his repressed sexual desires as soon as he enrolled in university, finding an abundant amount of reckless young adults who left their dormitory doors and legs wide open for the picking.
One can then easily classifies Jack Barakat as ‘anti-social.’ A label the boy rolls his eyes at, because labels are childish and categories are far too restrictive. As a psychology student, Jack knows that no human being is ever that simple. People are complex things, motivated by emotions and physical needs, they tend to get defensive over property and hold things like religion and capital in far too high of a regard. Society seems to have created its little sets of ‘cliques’ in which cultures allow differentiations of music, food, language and entertainment. It is fascinating to watch as opinions collide, beliefs and values ricocheting off the walls created by politics that in turn crumble at the idea of war or true democracy. One can hardly classify Jack as anti-social when he finds people so...stimulating. Perhaps one could even say that Jack has succumbed to only two addictions in his lifetime; coffee and people.
And so, when Jack has finally finished drinking the former, he steps out of his car in search of the latter. He walks the two required blocks towards the club he overheard was opening tonight. He is thankful that Gabriel has an early shift at work tomorrow; otherwise he would surely be present. As amusing the elder’s company can be at times, his form of dance quite entertaining if not alarming, tonight’s mission is something Jack prefers doing alone.
He walks up to the front of the building located in a shadier part of town, its rare architecture compensating for its lack of stability. Confetti and streamers litter the ground because Jack has intentionally arrived after the official opening time, but he nods towards the bouncer still manning the front entrance.
“Opening means it’s free tonight, right?” he asks lightly when he notes the bouncer is not about to step aside and let him walk in.
“Yep. But you’re a little late for opening night kid.” the man scoffs, checking his phone which reads 1:58 a.m. in bright red block font.
Jack winks at the bouncer, feeling his adrenaline surge and mix with the caffeine in his blood at the prospect of conflict. He loves conflict.
Unfortunately, it is much too dark at the entrance for the guard to see Jack’s wink. But the light reflecting from the neon sign allows Jack to spot the amused smirk on the bouncer’s face. That, and the fact the bouncer seems to be sporting a wife beater despite the October weather. His muscles bulge underneath the thin fabric, and streams of ink stained skin peek out and glare at Jack, menacing and aware.
“Does that mean I can’t get in?” he asks pointedly, cocking his head to the side and stepping up a little closer to the bouncer. As he suspected, the guard immediately steps back and finds himself pressed up against the wall. This man is strong, but beneath all this testosterone and protein filled intimidation, he is actually quite shy.
“You realize we’re closing in a few hours right?’ the larger man provides, instead of answering the question.
Jack permits himself to laugh a little bit at this, his breath short and low. “You actually think I would get here this late if I wanted to drink and dance the night away?”
At this, the bouncer scrunches up his nose with confusion, something some people would consider ‘cute’ or ‘adorable.’ Jack merely dismisses it as overly expressive and childish. Barakat sighs as he realizes he is going to have to explain himself. Jack finds that he has to explain himself to quite a lot of people, and usually he is okay with that. He understands that most people simply cannot process the inner workings of his mind, it is just too sharpened. But tonight Barakat is on a tight schedule. He needs to pick a new specimen soon if he wants his first set of experiments to be done before the end of this semester. Jack needs to -
“That’s kinda what people do here,” the muscled opposition states half seriously, as he comes to terms with the fact that Jack is strange. And unlike Jack, this man is not amused with oddity. Despite his natural optimism, he has got a short fuse when it comes to evasiveness. He prefers things to be short, sweet and to the point. People who natter away at topics, who speak when their words are still only half-formed in their minds are not truly speaking; they are simple making unnecessary noises.
Jack only sighs again, not entirely unaware of his opposition’s growing frustration, but at this point he feels he must explain himself, so why not use examples? Visual aids are always a plus.
“See that guy over there?” he points haphazardly through the curtain-less window where the both of them can spot a lone man on the side of the dance floor.
“The man in the leather jacket,” Jack clarifies, “even though it must be at least ninety degrees in there.”
“What about him?” the guard asks, because he cannot help but be a little intrigued with where this is going.
“He’s practically gagging on his tongue, he’s so thirsty. But he isn’t willing to head back to the bar to get another drink, not when he has finally managed to attract the attention of the blonde on his right. Despite all the scantily dressed women that drunkenly gyrate up against him, he’s getting pretty desperate to get going back to his place. Those made up leeches have sucked him dry of this month’s pay check. He’s getting frustrated when he figures that at this point it would have been cheaper to just rent himself a doll that stands ready for the picking at any one of these street corners.”
The guard raises an eyebrow in amusement and waits for Jack to finish his colourful tirade.
“But then again, he can’t be picky right? He isn’t the smoothest guy around; otherwise he’d find himself a real treasure. So he’s thankful he’s got his arm around Blondie, who seems a little classier than most of her friends. But what this stud over there doesn’t know is that the reason Blondie keeps flipping her hair this way and that, is not to send out more pheromones, but to hide the fact her makeup is slipping off her face like a sweaty kid’s Halloween mask. He’ll take her home for the night, have himself a good and proper one night stand and find out the truth in the early hours of the morning when the alcohol is nice and settled.”
“And what exactly is the truth here?” asked the bouncer, and goose bumps quickly stand up on his exposed skin as he sees the way Jack licks his lips in anticipation of ending his hypothesized tale.
“Who knows?” Jack asks rhetorically, but he is fairly confident he does, “That much make up is most likely hiding a scar. Her abusive ex-boyfriend never hesitated to give her a little beating if it meant Blondie kept in line. She isn’t a very reliable person; she frequents the clubs around here far more than she does any sort of workplace. So when the stud wakes up to find Blondie is no lady, he’ll be quick to dispose of her. He lives in a flat with a few of his old college buddies and would rather avoid the embarrassment of having them find out he’s sunk as low as going after a woman who has a capped tooth and crooked nose from all her beatings. He’ll wake up her, not all that gently, and inform her that the cab is on its way. Blondie, being as classy as she is, will take her time, insisting she get some form of breakfast and cab money before blowing him a kiss goodbye.”
“And that’s it huh?” the bouncer chortles.
“Yep,” Jack puts it simply, “I mean, seeing as this club is pretty hyped up right now, being new and all, they’ll both be back here soon enough. Probably will have one of those awkward run ins when their friend’s friend introduces them, but they’ll play it off cool and pretend they’ve never met. But no matter how politely they shake hands, they’ll both remember what happened. No amount of alcohol can wash away the everyday shame of being desperate for a quick fucking.”
“And so what you’re trying to tell me kid, is that you’re any better?” the bouncer bombards Jack with yet another question, because he is truly skeptical this time. The man may have just started off as a bouncer, but he has a long past that fed off the lives of the sleazy and easy.
“To skip all that tedious foreplay? I’d like to think so.” Jack smiles darkly with such confidence that the bouncer cannot help but look at his deviance with admiration. Whether one would like to admit it or not, humanity finds deviancy sexy.
“You’re not going to find the right girl with that kinda attitude.” the guard predicts tiredly. He knows. He has seen far too many good men fall from their graces in the pursuit of a cheap thrill. Hell, he’s fallen himself; otherwise he would not be where he currently is now.
“Oh, I’m not looking for the right girl,” Jack nods appreciatively when the guard finally steps back and realizes there is nothing more he can do for this boy. There are some mistakes that were meant to be repeated by all, “Quite the opposite actually.”
Before the guard has a chance to delve into what Jack is saying, he is off and swallowed into the dancing crowd. It is only a few moments afterward, when Zack Merrick is done scratching at his short brown locks that he remembers that he should have asked for some identification. Despite all that social articulation, that boy is far too young-looking to be permitted full bar access.
A/N: Alex is in the next chapter, I promise!