Guns For Roses (Frerard)

Chapter 2

Me, to the earbuds that I have tried to put down three times but due to three fucking pairs of non-working earbuds I have taken them back: I guess it's me and you again. It's like I can't escape. Our relationship is becoming toxic with your one-working bud, and I wish I could move on, but my only backup are the massive headphones with the malfunctioning clicker, so I am crawling back to you.

It was fucking pointless.

Not that it surprised me, but I called my mother and got zero information. (After weeks of her ignoring my calls! She only answered when I finally called on my birthday.) I asked her why the fuck she wanted me involved with Wentz, and she wouldn't tell me. She seemed really uncomfortable that I was asking too, which just made my skitz act up. Which I didn't fail to tell her, by the way. But she just told me she loved me and to be safe, and she hung up.

Actually, before she hung up, she, torturously loudly, sang me happy birthday, which Frank thought was was too funny. Then she got excited and had me put her on speakerphone so she could tell us all about the time she found out she was pregnant with me. Which would be a funny story, if I hadn't already heard it at least twenty-three times. 

Frank has declared he will never let the story die. That asshole.

So, like I said; it was fucking pointless.

Pete Wentz, weirdo as ever, had been mostly quiet. We met one other time since our meet about a month prior, and all it was was he and I making a plan to catch some guy named Hurley who hadn't paid for services yet. We were supposed to be watching Hurley or some bullshit like that, but long story short, Hurley recognized me, and paid up.

Because news got around quick that I was working with Pete and had a new partner, I'm not sure we had anything to do with it, but seeing us was scary enough to get him to cough up ten grand, so if I know anything about Pete Wentz, it's that you don't even think about fucking with him.

But, like I said, since then: radio silence. It wasn't all bad, considering I didn't have to put up with Ice's cold stares—pun intended, and those two silent guys of Pete's (who still had never spoken, believe it or not), and Pete's general existence, which made my fucking skin crawl.

It left a lot of time for me and Frank to get used to partying together. Which the kid was pretty good at, actually. His high school years must have been fucking good, because at his age I was still an emo hiding out at my mom's house, drawing until my hand was inky and aching.

The bar we went to the night before was why I hadn't woken him up yet at noon. I'd brought a girl back to our hotel (yes, our hotel. I decided we'd share one that night because he was fucking plastered) and he just slept through all of it. The kid was fucking wild, but once he's out, he's out.

I was sitting on the ugly, sideways egg-shaped chair by the bedroom door, looking at some weird shit on the internet when she came out, fully dressed and showered. 

Her name was Tasha. She was young, short, had long dark hair and dark skin, she was a little on the heavy side, curvy. Definitely beautiful. She knew it too, obvious from the confident way she carried herself.

"Hey." I said to her, staying quiet as to not wake Frank up- who was, as far as I could tell, still unconscious on the bed near me.

"I was almost expecting breakfast in bed." She joked, sitting next to me on the arm of the chair.

"Yeah?" I grinned up at her, saying, "Maybe next time." Though we both knew I would never.

"Oh, you know I don't promise next times." She scrunched her nose at me with a smile, running her fingers through my hair. "Thanks for letting me use your shower."