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[just1tearforme.livejournal.com]

Nerd Gone Wild
Chapter 8: Cry if You Saw Me
PG, 1436 words

Previous Chapter: Chapter 7: Basket Case with a Shopping Cart

Chapter 8: Cry if You Saw Me
 

He had been returning with lunch when he heard, another of the victims of the warehouse party had died. His hand holding a mug of coffee trembled, and some spilled over the lip and onto his fingers. He sighed heavily, letting his eyes flutter closed for a second and then set his coffee down and dried off his hand. He felt a hand on his shoulder, “You okay?” Catherine asked concernedly. Everyone was watching him, their lunches discarded on the table.

“Yeah.” He replied softly, taking a seat between Nick and Sara. “Who was it?” He asked.

“Benjamin Jacob Prescott.” She answered. “He succumbed to his injuries this morning.”

“Wow.” He murmured, shocked. “Benny,” slipped from his lips, softly like a sigh. His eyes closed as the image of Benny’s face came to mind. He smiled, he was always smiling; there wasn’t a time that he could ever recall there not being a smile on Benny’s face. It was always a smile that reached up to his eyes too, those vibrant emerald green eyes that seemed to glow of their own accord. His eyes were what drew Greg to him when they first met; he had wondered if they glowed that brightly during the throes of sex and how they looked darkened in a haze of lust. He found out how they looked and that they did glow brightly that night even in the darkened recess of his bedroom. He also had discovered that Benny wore his hair in accordance with his mood. They entire time they were together it was red and purple and long, tied back in a satin ribbon at the nape of his neck. The only time it was worn unfettered was during sex; Greg loved the feeling of the waves of silky hair flutter over his body as they rocked together bringing themselves to sweaty release. After they split up, amiably, his hair went to blue violet and remained long but was curly and never tied back. The last time he saw Benny, his hair was purple with streaks of red, tied back in a satin ribbon. And he was smiling a shit eating grin as he casually leaned against the bar, watching him come up the stairs following the goth girl, his eyes sparkling vividly.

Tears slipped from beneath his eyelids, sliding down his cheeks slowly. He felt hands on his shoulders, forearms. Slowly he opened his eyes, sniffling slightly. “Sorry,” he mumbled, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hands. “Guess I got carried away for minute.”

“It’s okay to cry Greg,” Catherine responded. “It’s part of grieving. Obviously you knew him pretty well, to cry for him.”

“Yeah, I met him my second week in Vegas, he had this huge grin on his face at the time…”

He didn’t say a word to anyone when he left, just grabbed his things from the locker, got in his car and left. The girls were strangely silent, watching him from the backseat. They sat there as he parked his car, and then returned a few minutes later a bag clutched in his hand. The quiet in the car unnerved him; it was silent like a tomb. He shuddered; he didn’t want to think of tombs right now. Turning on the radio he was assaulted by Everclear’s “Wonderful”. Snarling, he turned it back off, he didn’t want to hear that shit, he would settle for silence instead.

The door slammed, as he closed it a lot harder than he had intended. Heading to the bathroom he set his package on the counter and went to his room to change. He stripped his shirt off, throwing it viciously across the room. His shoes flew in the same direction, hitting the wall with a thump and then bouncing to the floor. His jeans and boxers were kicked towards the closet. He inhaled deeply. He picked up a ratty pair of denims from the floor, pulling them up over his hips. He padded to the living room; he turned his stereo on putting a few mix cd’s in the changer and walked back to the bathroom. Pulling bottles and packets out of the bag he lined them up on the counter. Reaching under the sink he retrieved bowls, gloves, measuring spoons, and other paraphernalia out placing them in front of the other things. With great precision he grabbed one of the packets and bottles, measuring out the needed amount of their contents and began mixing them carefully in one of the bowls. He repeated the process twice more. Pulling a pair of gloves on he glanced in the mirror, he looked a little like death defrosted in a microwave. Sighing, he picked up a comb, running it through his hair he sectioned it out, securing it with hair bands. Deftly he grasped a brush, dipped it in the first bowl. The mixture was cold on his scalp, but quickly warmed to his body temperature.

He did one section at a time with the precision of an artist. His hands fluttering between multiple bowls; picking up little blobs of colour here and there and depositing them on his hair. Every once in a while one of the containers would be empty, so he would stop and create more of the mixture. Once he had covered his whole head, he reached for the only unopened bottle and packet, combining them in another dish. Picking up a toothbrush he dripped it in, swirling it around the viscous liquid then began dragging it carefully through his hair. When he finished, he checked his work over carefully before washing up the bowls and storing them back under the sink. The gloves were peeled off and discarded in the trash. He fitted a plastic cap over his hair and turned the light off.

Greg turned the stereo up louder, and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He unlocked the sliding glass door and slid it open, stepping out onto his porch balcony. He leaned against the wall, taking a long drink from his beer. Slowly he slid down to the floor, strains of music flowing out the door and into the air.

He had loved the colours green and blue; they reminded him of so many things. Grass, clear sky, ocean, popsicles, drinks with names he couldn’t be bothered to remember. He always wore nail varnish, no matter what the colour was it was always painted over with a blue and green glittercoat. Greg loved the look of his nails, so elegant on him, as they dug into his body while the two of them thrust together. Those nails had been part of many memories. They dug into his palm when they went and got tattoos done on a drunken whim. Scratched him at random moments when the sensations overwhelmed them. And twinkled in the lights as the hand they were attached to beckoned him closer for a stolen kiss or two.

Tears filled his eyes, overflowing down his cheeks. He would never seen those beautiful green eyes again, feel those lips upon his skin drawing forth unintelligible sounds from sensitive places unknown. He could only have the memories of heated nights when they held one another close like the world was ending. His beer slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor, the amber liquid draining off the edge of the porch. A loud sob escaped him, large tears tumbling down his face mixing with fat drops of rain that had begun to fall. He clutched at the wall, turning into himself, weeping uncontrollably as the rain poured down around him. He remembered seeing him as he climbed the stairs in the warehouse, the huge grin stretched warmly across his face, and eyes sparkling like stars. He looked like he had been offered the moon and the sun the moment he saw him. He had reached out to him as he walked by, brushing fingertips, nails decorated in green glitter over his arm. He had winked at him, and raised his glass of whatever he was drinking in his direction. And then he turned away, someone else’s arm wrapped around his waist. Greg hand curled into a fist, pounding on the wall. “Why?” he wailed through sobs. “Why?” He turned his face upwards, feeling the rain fall on his face blending with salty tears. “Why?” He screamed haltingly through the tears. “Why wasn’t God watching? Why wasn’t God listening?” His only answer was the dancing rain. “Why wasn’t God there...” he trailed off, collapsing to the floor. “Why weren’t you there?”

Comments

[kayos209.livejournal.com]

I'll be back soon. I'm gonna head on over to the doctor's and see if he can fix my heart. I was reading your story and my heart literally broke. When I get back I'll let you know and I'll send you the bill. :P

[just1tearforme.livejournal.com]

As long as the bill isn't too expensive now... :)

[shacky20.livejournal.com]

Oh Goodie, I was hoping to come home to more of this. I reread it while I was gone and am printing it off as I type. I just love this story. I know a lot of people may not like such dark and angsty, but I just love it. So different, and life isnt' always easy and roses and I love this side of Greg, and can't wait to read this part, and see what happens when Nick finds out, what will his reaction be. I really hope we get more soon and I'll be back later to write another awesome review. I even rec'd this on my lj site shacky20 before I left so I could tell everyone how wonderful it was.

[fred-bear.livejournal.com]

Sweetie, I love what you're doing with this fic, but damn you're killing me with it!

[shacky20.livejournal.com]

Oh, Poor Greg, this is getting harder and harder to read, but that's a good thing, means an emotional investment. I can't imagine what Greg is going through, and not telling anyone, I am completely loving this and cannot wait for more. Hope it's soon cause I cannot wait to see what happens to Greg and if Nick is there to catch him.

[thefieldmouse.livejournal.com]

Wow that was very intense. Shacky and Fred Bear were telling me how good this story is. I have to agree. I enjoy reading a good angst story, and that's definitely what this is. My heart's just aching for Greg.