Style Doesn't Matter When You're On Your Knees [10]
Title: Style Doesn’t Matter When You’re On Your Knees/Corduroy Boy
Rating: R
Summary: Have you guys seen the stars tonight? They’re incredible.
A/N: After waiting forever to update, now I can’t stop writing.
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
“Hey Pete, you know smoking is bad for you.”
Inhale.
Exhale.
“Hey Pete, where are we going?”
Silence.
“Hey Pete! Wait Up!”
With a quick spin, and fake irritation, “Hey Patrick, shut up.” You didn’t turn back long enough to catch the look on his face, or his distance.
Don’t turn back around. Keep Walking.
You began to hear quick, heavy strides coming toward you from behind. Patrick caught up, and forcefully pulled your hand into his.
“What are you doing?” You asked confused, pulling your hand away, and hiding it behind your back, not allowing him to discover it again.
“If I hold your hand, then I can’t lose you.”
More silence.
“Hey Pete.”
“WHAT?” You were about ready to change your name.
“Thanks for this,” he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the teal notebook; the teal notebook that started all of this.
You stopped walking, going over the situation in your head. Back at the house, he had played like he’d never seen you a day in his life, and now he was reminiscing a shared moment from earlier in the day. You weren’t the smartest kid in the world, but you were less confused doing long division. Before you even had a chance to question this kid’s nonsense, he had sprinted ten feet ahead of you, and was lying on his back in the middle of the road.
You walked up, legs on either side of his head, and just stared.
“Hi.”
“You are really messed up.” You tried to resist, but you were locked into those eyes.
“Come sit.”
“No.”
“Come sit.”
“No.”
“Come sit.”
“Fuck,” you sat.
The wet from the damp, frigid concrete was seeping through to your thin dickies, and took a minute to get used to.
“Lay down.”
“What is wrong with you?” You wouldn’t deny the fact that you were intrigued by all these odd requests, but you continued to play hard and distant.
“Would you just lay down?”
“Can’t, don’t want to get my hair dirty.”
He laughed, and you tried to fight back the chuckle inching out of your throat. It felt weird, sitting in the middle of the road with a boy you barely knew. Not bad weird; comfortable weird. You managed to crack out a smile, pull the plush hood over your head, and lay down, in the middle of the street running through your suburban neighborhood.
It was silent for a good five minutes, but of course seemed like a whole lot longer. Maybe because Patrick’s mouth hadn’t stopped moving since the moment you walked out the door. You just rested contently, watching your breath escape in clouds from your cracked lips. You needed another cigarette. Your lungs were crying out for a serving of nicotine. You smoothly rolled over onto your stomach, and reached back for the box inside your back pocket, and slid it out. You rolled back over, packed the carton against your hand a few times, and pulled out two.
You looked to the left, for the first time since your back touched the concrete. “Wanna smoke?”
He kept staring up toward the sky. “Never have.”
“There’s a first time for everything, y’know.”
“I guess.”
Without breaking his focus, he rested his open hand against your chest, and you placed the extra roll between his thumb and pointer. He left it there for a moment, and you didn’t protest. You just watched it rise and fall with the pattern of your breathing. When he pulled it away, you dragged your leg up onto the other and glided your lighter out of the cuff around your ankle. You sat up and lit yours, inhaling the tobacco deeply before turning over to light his. He remained in his position, never disconnecting his eyes from the sky, and smoked like a pro.
“Doesn’t look like you never smoked before,” you inquired, hoping for an answer.
Nothing.
Instead of trying to force anymore speech out of the boy, you just laid down beside him.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale; you counted every pair until you couldn’t bare the silence any longer.
“What the fuck are you looking at?”
Words, finally.
“Have you ever just shut out the world, to focus on something really meaningful, and made nothing else important, but that moment?” He asked confidently.
“I don’t know,” you lied. Every time you were in that room writing your heart out, you did that. It was almost as if he knew.
“Look at the stars.”
“Okay.” You looked up. Stars… cool. It wasn’t like you never looked at the stars before.
“No, really look at them.”
“I am!”
“Do you see them?”
Maybe this kid really was crazy. “See what?”
“The stories. The words. The pain. The memories,” he answered; as serious as he could answer.
“No, I see a bunch of stars, all over the place. And black, I see that too.”
“I want to teach you something.”
“Teach me what?”
“How to stop hiding behind your heart.”
More silence.
Uncomfortable silence.
Borderline painful silence.
You didn’t want to start thinking through this silence. The last thing you wanted to do was think about what he was saying. You took out another cigarette and started peeling the paper away from the tobacco strains; anything to keep you from thinking. It worked in keeping you away from the present, but you and those flashbacks. You were overdue to relive another distant memory.
You walked into the random house, full of empty faces you had maybe seen around once or twice. No one you ever spoke to; no one that meant anything. You saw a spot open on the stain covered, plaid couch? It could have been a couch, but all that was left was one arm rest and a couple cushions. The house reeked of stale beer, sex, and rotting teenage lives. The kids were dirty. You were dirty too, but on a more beginner level.
You walked over to the filth around the coffee table, and sat down in between a friendly kid with a mullet, and a passed out chick in an old, cut up band t-shirt.
“Hey, I’m Marcus,” he extended his greasy hand out to engulf yours.
“Pete.” You reluctantly shook his hand, and later wiped it on the thigh of your pants.
“Have you ever done a line before?”
“Of course.” You were a good liar. You were also good at putting up a front, and acting like you belonged in places you knew you didn’t.
“Alright, here. Take my turn.” He handed you his straw, and placed his arm against your back, lightly pushing you in toward the table.
You had seen old movies before. You weren’t going to risk being embarrassed around these scumbags by fucking up your first time snorting crack. As you sat face to face with the white powder, you pulled the straw up into your nose and sat still for a moment.
“Here goes nothing,” you whispered.
At first, you felt nothing. It was only a matter of seconds before the tube going from your nose to your throat was on fire, and you were facing hands full of blood, white and tears. You looked at the table, and saw the entire foot of a white line had disappeared. You looked over at Marcus, who looked concerned, but appeared to be amused by the disaster you just created. You couldn’t hear anything, and you could barley see anything but blur.
Didn’t matter; the blur would soon be replaced by black.
You opened your eyes, and the black of your closed lids was swapped with Patrick standing over you, clearly distressed.
“Hey,” you muttered, like a jerk.
“Are you okay?” Worry still in his voice.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
“You fell asleep, and were sweating a lot. You screamed no a couple times; maybe you really are sick.” He was serious.
“Nah, must have been a nightmare.” You blew it off.
“Okay then, should we started walking?”
Before you could answer, you saw three familiar figures in your place on the road, but quite a distance away. You didn’t need to be close, to know who was heading in your direction.
“Hey fuckers!” You screamed, oblivious to the hour, and the fact you were in a family filled neighborhood.
In no more than five minutes, the three met you where you sat. Patrick had sat back down by now, and your friends were quick to notice the intruder on their territory.
“Who’s this?” Andy questioned, staring down the small boy.
“This is Patrick. He moved into the old Johnson house.”
“Wait, isn’t that corduroy kid?” Joe asked, obviously intrigued by the connection.
You looked over at Patrick, who remained seated, and un-phased.
“Yeah, whatever. Lets go to the woods and have a bonfire,” you demanded, and Joe dropped the topic immediately. He grabbed your arm to help you up, and the four of you started walking toward the direction in which they had just come from.
“Hold on a sec,” you paused their walking, and ran back.
“Ready?” You directed at Patrick. “Doesn’t matter, we’re leaving.”
You grabbed his hand, and with some effort, lifted him to his feet. You didn’t let go until you pulled him into the line, and placed him in the space between you and Andy. Andy gave you a look, and you simply continued walking.
“Have you guys seen the stars tonight? They’re incredible.”
Rating: R
Summary: Have you guys seen the stars tonight? They’re incredible.
A/N: After waiting forever to update, now I can’t stop writing.
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
chapter six
chapter seven
chapter eight
chapter nine
“Hey Pete, you know smoking is bad for you.”
Inhale.
Exhale.
“Hey Pete, where are we going?”
Silence.
“Hey Pete! Wait Up!”
With a quick spin, and fake irritation, “Hey Patrick, shut up.” You didn’t turn back long enough to catch the look on his face, or his distance.
Don’t turn back around. Keep Walking.
You began to hear quick, heavy strides coming toward you from behind. Patrick caught up, and forcefully pulled your hand into his.
“What are you doing?” You asked confused, pulling your hand away, and hiding it behind your back, not allowing him to discover it again.
“If I hold your hand, then I can’t lose you.”
More silence.
“Hey Pete.”
“WHAT?” You were about ready to change your name.
“Thanks for this,” he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the teal notebook; the teal notebook that started all of this.
You stopped walking, going over the situation in your head. Back at the house, he had played like he’d never seen you a day in his life, and now he was reminiscing a shared moment from earlier in the day. You weren’t the smartest kid in the world, but you were less confused doing long division. Before you even had a chance to question this kid’s nonsense, he had sprinted ten feet ahead of you, and was lying on his back in the middle of the road.
You walked up, legs on either side of his head, and just stared.
“Hi.”
“You are really messed up.” You tried to resist, but you were locked into those eyes.
“Come sit.”
“No.”
“Come sit.”
“No.”
“Come sit.”
“Fuck,” you sat.
The wet from the damp, frigid concrete was seeping through to your thin dickies, and took a minute to get used to.
“Lay down.”
“What is wrong with you?” You wouldn’t deny the fact that you were intrigued by all these odd requests, but you continued to play hard and distant.
“Would you just lay down?”
“Can’t, don’t want to get my hair dirty.”
He laughed, and you tried to fight back the chuckle inching out of your throat. It felt weird, sitting in the middle of the road with a boy you barely knew. Not bad weird; comfortable weird. You managed to crack out a smile, pull the plush hood over your head, and lay down, in the middle of the street running through your suburban neighborhood.
It was silent for a good five minutes, but of course seemed like a whole lot longer. Maybe because Patrick’s mouth hadn’t stopped moving since the moment you walked out the door. You just rested contently, watching your breath escape in clouds from your cracked lips. You needed another cigarette. Your lungs were crying out for a serving of nicotine. You smoothly rolled over onto your stomach, and reached back for the box inside your back pocket, and slid it out. You rolled back over, packed the carton against your hand a few times, and pulled out two.
You looked to the left, for the first time since your back touched the concrete. “Wanna smoke?”
He kept staring up toward the sky. “Never have.”
“There’s a first time for everything, y’know.”
“I guess.”
Without breaking his focus, he rested his open hand against your chest, and you placed the extra roll between his thumb and pointer. He left it there for a moment, and you didn’t protest. You just watched it rise and fall with the pattern of your breathing. When he pulled it away, you dragged your leg up onto the other and glided your lighter out of the cuff around your ankle. You sat up and lit yours, inhaling the tobacco deeply before turning over to light his. He remained in his position, never disconnecting his eyes from the sky, and smoked like a pro.
“Doesn’t look like you never smoked before,” you inquired, hoping for an answer.
Nothing.
Instead of trying to force anymore speech out of the boy, you just laid down beside him.
Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale; you counted every pair until you couldn’t bare the silence any longer.
“What the fuck are you looking at?”
Words, finally.
“Have you ever just shut out the world, to focus on something really meaningful, and made nothing else important, but that moment?” He asked confidently.
“I don’t know,” you lied. Every time you were in that room writing your heart out, you did that. It was almost as if he knew.
“Look at the stars.”
“Okay.” You looked up. Stars… cool. It wasn’t like you never looked at the stars before.
“No, really look at them.”
“I am!”
“Do you see them?”
Maybe this kid really was crazy. “See what?”
“The stories. The words. The pain. The memories,” he answered; as serious as he could answer.
“No, I see a bunch of stars, all over the place. And black, I see that too.”
“I want to teach you something.”
“Teach me what?”
“How to stop hiding behind your heart.”
More silence.
Uncomfortable silence.
Borderline painful silence.
You didn’t want to start thinking through this silence. The last thing you wanted to do was think about what he was saying. You took out another cigarette and started peeling the paper away from the tobacco strains; anything to keep you from thinking. It worked in keeping you away from the present, but you and those flashbacks. You were overdue to relive another distant memory.
You walked into the random house, full of empty faces you had maybe seen around once or twice. No one you ever spoke to; no one that meant anything. You saw a spot open on the stain covered, plaid couch? It could have been a couch, but all that was left was one arm rest and a couple cushions. The house reeked of stale beer, sex, and rotting teenage lives. The kids were dirty. You were dirty too, but on a more beginner level.
You walked over to the filth around the coffee table, and sat down in between a friendly kid with a mullet, and a passed out chick in an old, cut up band t-shirt.
“Hey, I’m Marcus,” he extended his greasy hand out to engulf yours.
“Pete.” You reluctantly shook his hand, and later wiped it on the thigh of your pants.
“Have you ever done a line before?”
“Of course.” You were a good liar. You were also good at putting up a front, and acting like you belonged in places you knew you didn’t.
“Alright, here. Take my turn.” He handed you his straw, and placed his arm against your back, lightly pushing you in toward the table.
You had seen old movies before. You weren’t going to risk being embarrassed around these scumbags by fucking up your first time snorting crack. As you sat face to face with the white powder, you pulled the straw up into your nose and sat still for a moment.
“Here goes nothing,” you whispered.
At first, you felt nothing. It was only a matter of seconds before the tube going from your nose to your throat was on fire, and you were facing hands full of blood, white and tears. You looked at the table, and saw the entire foot of a white line had disappeared. You looked over at Marcus, who looked concerned, but appeared to be amused by the disaster you just created. You couldn’t hear anything, and you could barley see anything but blur.
Didn’t matter; the blur would soon be replaced by black.
You opened your eyes, and the black of your closed lids was swapped with Patrick standing over you, clearly distressed.
“Hey,” you muttered, like a jerk.
“Are you okay?” Worry still in his voice.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
“You fell asleep, and were sweating a lot. You screamed no a couple times; maybe you really are sick.” He was serious.
“Nah, must have been a nightmare.” You blew it off.
“Okay then, should we started walking?”
Before you could answer, you saw three familiar figures in your place on the road, but quite a distance away. You didn’t need to be close, to know who was heading in your direction.
“Hey fuckers!” You screamed, oblivious to the hour, and the fact you were in a family filled neighborhood.
In no more than five minutes, the three met you where you sat. Patrick had sat back down by now, and your friends were quick to notice the intruder on their territory.
“Who’s this?” Andy questioned, staring down the small boy.
“This is Patrick. He moved into the old Johnson house.”
“Wait, isn’t that corduroy kid?” Joe asked, obviously intrigued by the connection.
You looked over at Patrick, who remained seated, and un-phased.
“Yeah, whatever. Lets go to the woods and have a bonfire,” you demanded, and Joe dropped the topic immediately. He grabbed your arm to help you up, and the four of you started walking toward the direction in which they had just come from.
“Hold on a sec,” you paused their walking, and ran back.
“Ready?” You directed at Patrick. “Doesn’t matter, we’re leaving.”
You grabbed his hand, and with some effort, lifted him to his feet. You didn’t let go until you pulled him into the line, and placed him in the space between you and Andy. Andy gave you a look, and you simply continued walking.
“Have you guys seen the stars tonight? They’re incredible.”