(no subject)
it all started out normal enough. i floated around a party where i only recognized a few faces and pretended that it didn't bother me. the music was so loud that it changed the pattern of my hearbeat. i never left. i stayed sober through the hours of beer pong and silly fist fights and your drunken accusations. i stayed. earlier in the night, everything was so good that i just couldn't fathom how they could get so bad. i went to penn station with mike d and hid myself inside of you during the fireworks because it was just so damn cold, jeromy. you started drinking irish whiskey that you mixed with the cherry pepsi i bought you earlier. i played beer pong, but because of my wicked accuracy, i never drank anything. the more you drank, the more accustomed i became to sitting alone and acting like i had someone to text. ryan and jack talked to me. to be honest, they're the only thing that kept me from leaving that night and never talking to you again. in hindsight, i guess you owe them your life in a way. it got late. it got cold. familiar faces filtered out and i was left with a slew of loud strangers and you, who had honestly become unrecognizable. i walked to the gas station with you as a last stitch effort to collect any affection that i had left for you. the boy that had been punched earlier was there. he was leaning up against a car and we studied each other.
you kept drinking. when you fell over and hit the wall, everyone laughed and shoved more beers in your face. against all of the disgust i had manifested in the pit of my stomach i picked you up and dragged you to your bed. we yelled at each other, but none of that is important now. i tried to save you, jeromy. you were being resistant and completely ridiculous. when i finally laid you down, i pulled two beers out of your pocket and had to choke back tears, i was so mad at you. i heard the front door open. i heard glass break. i heard corey scream.
jeromy, once i realized who was there i tried everything to keep you in your room. "baby, i know you're going to disagree with this but..." you ran out of your room before i even had the chance to grab your belt loops and sit you down like i usually do. what happened between this point when i found you again is trivial and a blur of screams and tears and pipes and blood. i saw you run down the ally. it all seemed to happen so slow. by the time i realized that you were the skinny silhouette that had been knocked unconscious, all i could do was run. i screamed your name so much that my throat is still hurting. "i called the fucking cops, get lost." that's all it took. they left you alone honey, but i was too late.
you were limp like a baby doll that is made entirely out of stuffing except for the rubber head that is heavy and awkward on its plush body. nothing fit anymore. i pulled you into my lap and tried to drag you into the house. i gave you over to aaron and some other nameless, faceless, arms and called an ambulance. the guy on the phone called me tara and told me to stop yelling at people. i told him that they were trying to touch you and thus deserved to get yelled at. i wiped all the blood out of your face and kept everyone away from you. i went to the hospital with you and tried to make jokes with the ambulance driver and the cops. it was 4 AM and some punk kids had them out and away from their families. the least i could do was be charming. before they put you in the ambulance, i had thought to grab your glasses and your wallet and a hoodie in case you got cold. im sorry i forgot your shoes.
in your hospital room, it took a while to calm you down. you were so swollen and bloody. you smelled like jamison and lacked every quality that i adore about you. i got a towel wet and wiped all the dried blood off of you that i could. it had gotten scaly and sticky, so it pulled at your skin, but you couldn't feel a thing. sara and aaron came and went. it was always me and you. our hands were rough from the gravel and the blood that couldn't be scrubbed off. i never left your side. not even for a second. i only allowed myself to cry when no one was around and all i had to look at were the bruises on your forehead and the gashes above your eye. you always caught me and somehow in your drunken, beat-up stupor you were genuinely concerned. every single time.
the moral of the story is, i care about you a lot. i ran towards a gun for you and tiptoed around to sweep up all the glass today wearing only ballet flats. if only you could understand how dangerous that is, you would laugh too. i plan on continuing to hold your hand in public as much as you hate being there and checking around corners for you. jeromy, you stupid asshole, i'm glad you're alive.
you kept drinking. when you fell over and hit the wall, everyone laughed and shoved more beers in your face. against all of the disgust i had manifested in the pit of my stomach i picked you up and dragged you to your bed. we yelled at each other, but none of that is important now. i tried to save you, jeromy. you were being resistant and completely ridiculous. when i finally laid you down, i pulled two beers out of your pocket and had to choke back tears, i was so mad at you. i heard the front door open. i heard glass break. i heard corey scream.
jeromy, once i realized who was there i tried everything to keep you in your room. "baby, i know you're going to disagree with this but..." you ran out of your room before i even had the chance to grab your belt loops and sit you down like i usually do. what happened between this point when i found you again is trivial and a blur of screams and tears and pipes and blood. i saw you run down the ally. it all seemed to happen so slow. by the time i realized that you were the skinny silhouette that had been knocked unconscious, all i could do was run. i screamed your name so much that my throat is still hurting. "i called the fucking cops, get lost." that's all it took. they left you alone honey, but i was too late.
you were limp like a baby doll that is made entirely out of stuffing except for the rubber head that is heavy and awkward on its plush body. nothing fit anymore. i pulled you into my lap and tried to drag you into the house. i gave you over to aaron and some other nameless, faceless, arms and called an ambulance. the guy on the phone called me tara and told me to stop yelling at people. i told him that they were trying to touch you and thus deserved to get yelled at. i wiped all the blood out of your face and kept everyone away from you. i went to the hospital with you and tried to make jokes with the ambulance driver and the cops. it was 4 AM and some punk kids had them out and away from their families. the least i could do was be charming. before they put you in the ambulance, i had thought to grab your glasses and your wallet and a hoodie in case you got cold. im sorry i forgot your shoes.
in your hospital room, it took a while to calm you down. you were so swollen and bloody. you smelled like jamison and lacked every quality that i adore about you. i got a towel wet and wiped all the dried blood off of you that i could. it had gotten scaly and sticky, so it pulled at your skin, but you couldn't feel a thing. sara and aaron came and went. it was always me and you. our hands were rough from the gravel and the blood that couldn't be scrubbed off. i never left your side. not even for a second. i only allowed myself to cry when no one was around and all i had to look at were the bruises on your forehead and the gashes above your eye. you always caught me and somehow in your drunken, beat-up stupor you were genuinely concerned. every single time.
the moral of the story is, i care about you a lot. i ran towards a gun for you and tiptoed around to sweep up all the glass today wearing only ballet flats. if only you could understand how dangerous that is, you would laugh too. i plan on continuing to hold your hand in public as much as you hate being there and checking around corners for you. jeromy, you stupid asshole, i'm glad you're alive.