AN: This is my first Green Day related fan fiction, but this is technically about their music and the play combined. I have posted this story on one other site already and decided to put it onto here. Anyways read and hopefully enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything but my own character.
Faithful Denial
"When we're young, the consequences of our actions don't matter. They are a far off dream, an unrealistic prospect. In our minds, they don't exist. As we far as we know, we're invincible.
If you would have told me one day that I would be sitting in a hard wooden chair, beside an aging man wearing a black dress, twelve strangers to my left, and a room full of accusing eyes burning into my skull, well…I would have laughed.
The chance of that happening to me was little to none in my mind. In all of our minds. There weren't any cops. There were no parents. There was no government. There were no rules. We were free. For once in our pathetic little lives, we were completely and utterly free.
It was all thanks to him. Him with a needle, a tie, and a little bag of freedom. His words were powerful. He spoke with a brutal honesty that we couldn't get enough of. They made sense to our muddled brains. He was our hero, our savoir, our saint.
The first time I met him I was naked. Now I usually don't go around in nothing but vans and a ski mask, but it was a special circumstance that day. I started off being wrapped up in a blanket just outside the populated quad area at the beginning of lunch hour. I took a deep breath dropping the blanket and took off at a sprint. I left chaos in my wake, which was the point in all of this. It wasn't everyday you saw a buck ass naked teen running through the quad. The mall security must have began chasing me at some point, making me run even faster. I couldn't be caught, that'd defeat the purpose.
Hooking a right I headed towards the parking lot. At least one person left their car unlocked. All I had to do was find that car. The security guard was trailing behind me, I could hear his heavy footsteps behind me, fueling my speed. I jumped over one of the railings not in the mood to zig zag through the ramp. My eyes quickly scanned the parking lot.
There was a sharp whistle. I zoned in on an old looking car with it's passenger door opened. I took off towards it. The security guard still trying to catch up. I jumped into the car slamming the door closed behind me. The driver slammed on the gas pedal and we were off.
My chest was heaving from the exertion; I ripped off the constricting ski mask. I glanced over at whoever had picked me up. He wore all black his pale skin a stark contrast to the dark clothing. He was thin, and when standing might be about 5'8. His hair was spiked and a dark brown color. He wore a chain necklace and bracelet. His arms were inked. Around his eyes was faded eyeliner. Physically he wasn't imposing, but there was something about the air around him that made my heart pick up and my mouth go dry. There was something…seductive in how he carried himself. Those closed off eyes slid off the road and in my direction.
"Hey." was all he said.
"Hey, thanks back there. You're a life saver." I said breathily, still winded from my mad dash through the mall. He nodded looking back towards the road.
"Where am I taking you?" he asked not taking his eyes off the road.
"Twelfth street," Twelfth street was an foreclosed apartment complex that a lot of us squatted in. "You know where it's at?"
"Ya." I got the feeling he didn't do small talk much. I had no idea what to say. I mean, what could you say when your completely naked in a strangers car?
"I'm V by the way." he glances my way, a smirk forming on his lips.
"St. Jimmy." I knew who he was immediately. Everyone's heard of St. Jimmy. He was the patriarch of the drug world. The supplier, the middle man. I've heard his name said by enough people in Twelfth street that you would think it was sacred. In a way, I suppose it was.
I was dropped off without another word, but somehow I knew I'd be seeing him again. Home to me was a second story one bed and bath. It was one of the better apartments, even though I never had hot water and my electricity was constantly flickering. It wasn't infested with cockroaches and mice. My parents offered to pay for a better place. I refused. I no longer had to live under their rules, and their world. I was an adult, independent.
Sure enough a couple of days later I ran into him while I was leaving my apartment. A different outfit, chains, and belt clanging with ever move, walking with a fluid arrogance. He smirked when he walked by me.
"Wearing clothes today."
"Unfortunately." I retorted with a smile. He gave a short chuckle.
I can't remember why I ended up spending the day with him. I think it had to do with the promise of something fun to do, something that didn't include me going off to my shit work.
I had asked why people listened to him so devotedly, why they clung so tightly to his words. His answer was "Everyone needs to believe in something, even if it's denial." he smiled then, a secret knowing smile that had infuriated me because I didn't know what it meant. The first time I ever did drugs was in his car. It was then that he began to speak.
St Jimmy talked about hypocrisy of the world. The shit hole we lived in and believed to be grand. The lies that threaded through our very existence. He talked about a world that had none of that. His words painted a picture of place where we didn't have to deal with fucking bozo's that ran our country. I couldn't get enough of them, of it, of him. I needed more. And very soon, I became a regular customer of his.
The months that followed were a massive blur, but never his voice. He made sense as the world spun around me. I didn't feel the populace breathing down my back. Accusing me of being a fuck up, and a worthless pile of shit when he spoke. I had a purpose, and that was to do absolutely nothing and everything at the same time. To live and to breath while giving society a big 'fuck you!'. His words became our bible.
Jimmy fucked around with a lot of girls, but there was one girl in particular that he kept around. I called her Caution Princess since I've never heard her name, or if I had I couldn't remember it. They were technically an item, but that didn't mean shit in our world.
I called her Caution Princess because that's exactly what she was. The girl acted like she was better then everyone else, but I'd seen her enough times sprawled out on the floor in her own vomit to know that she had some serious issues. She was no better then the rest of us.
In my few moments of clarity I knew I hung out below the freeway a lot. Lounging on a torn broken couch with it's springs digging into the backs of my thighs. Keeping my freezing body warm from the large oil drums that seemed to be in a constant state of burning. I also knew I would sit on a curb in front of the 7-Eleven waiting, anticipating some action. Something was always going down there.
Two chicks got into it that day. There was a mix up of who was fucking who. One got the upper hand, pounding the other's face into the pavement. Not all girls pulled hair. This act of violence was normal. Guys and girls alike beat each other up to a pulp to show superiority, to prove that they mattered just as much as the next person. Fighting was a symbol that there was shit worth fighting for. The moment we heard those tall tale sirens we scattered.
The girl who got her face smashed into the pavement needed thirty seven stitches and a facial reconstruction. The whole left side of her face had caved in. I passed her in the store once. She looked like a rotting tomato. I didn't talk to her, there was no purpose to. She had fallen out, fallen away, drifted into the sea of nothingness that consisted outside of our world. I turned down an aisle before she could recognize me.
I OD'd on coke a year after I met him. I was hanging out by the 7 Eleven when I went into the bathroom to snort what was left of my last buy. The store manager ended up unlocking the door to find me convulsing on the ground with foam coming out of my mouth and my eyes rolled back. He called an ambulance immediately.
I had to stay in rehab for a couple of weeks. It sucked, the detox was excruciating. I was constantly shivering, sweating out the drug that had nearly killed me. My stomach would clench and twist in protest, craving, wanting, needing more. I'd spend hours curled up in the toilet, unable to move from the shakes, burning up from the fire that surged within my veins. My parents were paying for this stay. Dear old mom and dad.
I screamed and threw things at them when they came to visit. I didn't need them or their money. I could take care of myself. I was independent. All I needed was a needle, a bag, and St Jimmy's promises of freedom. That was what I needed. I didn't need to get off heroin and coke. I was doing perfectly well with them. They allowed me to live in a way I never could before. I was free, free of the ties that held me down.
I was squeaky clean, fresh out of rehab, my mind was clear of the drug induced fog, yet I still went back. I told myself I wouldn't use again, I just didn't want to give up the relationships I had forged over the year. I didn't want to give up him. I guess you could say I fell in love with Jimmy. The unattainable Saint. I wasn't Caution Princess, or Jen, or any of the other girls I'd seen him with. I was V, the girl who streaked for the hell of it.
The first place I went was the 7-Eleven. Nobody had noticed I'd been gone. I fell back into the groove of things easily. There were parties to attend, people to see, things to do. There was always something pointless for me to waste my time on. St. Jimmy dropped by, his old primer paint car clanking into a parking spot. I asked for a ride back to my apartment, and true to who he was, I was high by the time I got dropped off.
At one party I found Caution Princess choking on her own throw up in Jimmy's room. I walked in there hoping to find a cigarette. I flipped her over, using a plastic bag to catch what fell out of her mouth. The girl was fucked off, completely wasted. I highly doubted she even knew she was throwing up. But then she sputtered a cough and started puking again. I had no idea where Jimmy was, so I stayed sitting on the floor beside the bed. Caution Princess looked up after a while, her eyes blood shot and glassy.
"I'm going to get out of here one day." she croaked out her voice hoarse from her stomach acid. I nodded, leaning my head against the dresser. "I'm going to save some money and go." the ceiling had small stucco popcorns. "I'm getting out of this town and never looking back." her voice was light with hope. "I'll go to New York and be a Broadway actress." my head began to pound. "I'm going to be famous, just watch. My name will be all over billboards." I closed my eyes trying to block out her words. They spun in my head. I couldn't think straight anymore. "I'm going to get out of here." The soft hopeful tone of her voice stabbing at my sanity. "I'll leave this place behind and never look back."
I wrapped my arms around my head, shoving my palms into my ears. I didn't want to hear her speak anymore. I didn't want to hear about her dreams. If we dreamed that meant we didn't like where we were. I liked where I was. I enjoyed where I was in life. I liked it here. Her words repeated themselves in my head, reciting them word for word like a mantra. I pushed my palms harder against my ears, curling in on myself. I couldn't get her out of my head. Her glassy eyes, the cheap violet wig laying haphazardly on her head, the stench of vomit. I screamed, begged, pleaded for it to stop. I didn't want to hear anymore.
That night Caution Princess poured her hopes and dreams out to me while I screamed silently in my head was when I finally realized that I was living a lie. I was rotting away in this god forsaken place.
The next day I chalked it up to too much booze. I denied to having ever thought those things. I met a guy, his name was Mr. S. He wasn't charming, but he evoked a certain rage within me that I craved. He was an aggressive partner, making the sex fast and gritty. I enjoyed the rough handling. It wasn't all about the sex, there were drugs involved, and even a real date or two here and there. The only thing gentleman about him was he paid for just about everything, even the little bags of freedom Jimmy doled out.
We had a good run, until one night when he killed a man for accidentally bumping into him. I watched a man bleed out under a yellow street light, his mouth agape, a bullet in his head. He wouldn't be getting up. I don't recall screaming, but when the police and ambulance showed up they had to sedate me because I wouldn't calm down. All I could remember was the blank look of horror as he fell to the ground.
That's how I ended up there, sitting in a court room, wearing my best clothes. The jury staring intently at me as I conveyed my story. I was one of the witnesses. Mr. S sat in a chair in front of me, looking absolutely stoic. He didn't care that he killed a man, didn't care that because of him a mother was grieving, a daughter was fatherless. He was cold, heartless. Mr. S was found guilty of manslaughter.
We think we're invincible when we're young. We can't be harmed by the mundane problems of every day life, and in a way we can't. We fill our bodies with mind numbing substances, we flip off anyone who gives even the slightest vibe of authority. We're invincible until our minds can no longer delude itself. In that panic, we cling to someone powerful, someone that seemed to have all the answers. St. Jimmy spoke about the corroding world, that everything would come to an end. He spoke of these things so truthfully, so clearly, yet never had we listened to him. We denied anything he spoke of that might ruin our warped reality. He knew this, he knew that It'd all come to an end one day.
I never did see St. Jimmy again. I never went back to my life when the only things that were real was his words and the needle in my arm." I conclude staring out at the lightly clapping crowd. I'd repeatedly opened up that box of memories over the past few years. I've had the pleasure of reliving every single memory a hundred times over. When I speak about my past, people lean forward in their seats, their eyes alight with confusion and wanting. "Any questions?" one person stands, a technician running towards them to give them a mike.
"Why would a teenage boy be considered a Saint?" the girl who asked looked to be eighteen. The same age I was when I met Jimmy.
"Well, everyone has to believe in something, even if it's denial." and I smile.