AN: My god. I finally got a new computer. A Dell, Dimension 3000. Windows XP. Oh yeah. angels sing from above as light shines down on it Ok. So I know someone requested a sequel to Summer Colors. And for the love of God I hope you guys didn't read my other fan fiction stuff. It's horrible. --; Anyway, I got to thinking about it. And I wasn't sure where to start, but I think I do now… Again, tell me how I'm doing because I never can tell myself.
November Air:
Chapter One: A Chill in the Air:
Johnny lay on his bed, having been there for weeks. It'd been three years, and everyone he'd killed since had haunted him. He didn't even fight sleep so much anymore, even if he did have nightmares. It was an escape from something worse. Something far worse than when he lost Nail Bunny's assistance against the Doughboys.
Thought-control loss.
It was something he'd never had to deal with. Something that tore him apart from the inside, because, like every other element in his life, it was outside the realm of his control. It was really one of the only things he could watch over and monitor, and function the way he wanted it to function.
Maybe that was why he killed. He could control whether people lived or died. Maybe that whole time he was just saying it was them who chose their own fate by being assholes. He didn't know. He didn't want to. He'd claim to not care if he thought it would help. But it never did, and if he told himself he didn't care, he'd just be lying to himself. After all, if he didn't care, he wouldn't spend weeks at a time in his room on his bed, in a puddle of his own saliva and tears, and other people's blood. It didn't even matter that the vile liquid of the human body was saturated all over random parts of his body.
And on top of that, it was freezing. Happy Noodle Boy didn't have the randomness and hilarity and chaos it once possessed, so not many people bought it anymore. And late monthly issues were not good for profits. Not that he cared much. But it was still cold. The heating was turned off a week ago. It wasn't pretty, oh, no. He could see his breath. The dirty snow outside was probably warmer than his house. His water pipes were probably frozen.
His physical state was in worse shape than it'd ever been. Not so much mental, no that didn't really fluctuate much at all. He was still as sick and warped as he'd ever been. But for slightly different reasons. At least before, he could pay bills, and function. At least he ate. At least his beliefs were solid. At least, before, he had something solid. He hated sleep and knew why. He hated assholes and knew why.
But now, all his beliefs, and all his thoughts, and everything he'd ever looked for were beginning to crush him. In every way. Just the other day, he was cutting open an Overdue Payment notice for a bill, and accidentally cut his finger. It didn't even bleed. It disgusted him more than blood itself.
His life had gone careening downhill since "The Incident"...
God, were there even words for…Him?
No…No there aren't. And I've got to...To…
He felt his stomach churn in anxiety, in anger. Nothing hurt more than...
He leapt up off the decrepit bed, sending a watery mixture of bloody saliva at the wall, and all over the floor. He ran to the toilet, and, trembling uncontrollably, vomited as much as he could. As much as he had in him, to the point where it hurt, and he felt like he had no more strength for dry heaving and such things.
When his body was finally exhausted, he fell to the side, crumbling to the filthy floor, weakly. He'd forgotten how long it'd been since he'd showered. He didn't want to know what he smelled like. He knew he was encrusted in dirty blood, and other things, he just couldn't muster up the energy to climb into the shower. Much too much exertion was required to bathe. But he'd do it anyway in a moment. After he ceased the exhausting writhing and shivering on the bathroom floor.
Nothing hurt more than vomiting.
In a Distant Place, Far From this Hell, and Closer to its Own
Warm.
Unusually warm.
Cozy.
Comfy.
Way too comfy to be anyplace but in her arms.
He looked down at the dark-haired head on his chest, with one arm around his waist. His own arm wrapped around her shoulder.
Oh crap. Her roommate is going to kill me!
With a great amount of willpower, he nudged her slightly.
"Alice," he whispered, "Alice, wake up."
She opened her bleary eyes.
"Where am I?" she asked, as a small surge of fear swept through her body. She looked up to see Jhonen's face, and the fear slightly subsided.
"My couch." he said, "We fell asleep last night watching horror movies."
"Uh oh. Maria's gonna kill me." she said.
"You're a grown woman; she has no right to give you a third degree. We've been together for three years." He said, "I don't care if she hates my guts or not, she has no right intruding on your life."
"Our life." She said, quietly smiling.
"Our life." He repeated, and smiled back.
She leaned up and gave him a small kiss on the lips, and got up. Her clothes were wrinkled, and her hair was a bushy mess, same as his.
She left for the bathroom to wash up a little so he could drop her off at her apartment. He smiled warmly at the spot where she'd been standing a moment before. How he'd begged her to move in with him. She said she'd wait until her roommate, Janice, could get a replacement. In his own opinion, Janice had not been looking very hard. She didn't like Jhonen and didn't try to hide it.
He suddenly got a chill. A dark chill that made him want to vomit in agony.
What the hell? Maybe I'm getting a cold...?
He considered the possibility, but then ruled it out as he had no other symptoms. He looked suddenly at a framed picture of Johnny the Homicidal Maniac on the wall.
This is Southern California. I'm not meant to be cold. Maybe it was just a draft... It is still kind of early. Early morning dew, that's all.
He looked at the clock on the wall. Around 8:00 in the morning. He turned the radio on. It was so loud, for some reason. It scared him at first, but then he lowered it.
"Pardon me while I burst..." he sang along in a low voice, not really in any tune. Just to sing. He'd caught it as it was ending. He smiled as the next song came on.
"...I LIKE MY COFFEE BLACK, JUST LIKE MY METAL!" he sang in a louder voice, "I can't wait for you to shut me up and make me hip like badass..." he even attempted feebly to match the higher octave the lead singer achieved. He loved the song, and directing the video for them. It was insanely fun.
And just like that, the chill was gone and forgotten.
"Jhonen?" she called, and like a flash he was there. Sometimes he questioned how she had him wrapped around her finger so tightly. She wasn't demanding. Low maintenance, she never really asked for anything. Maybe that was it, in and of itself. She requested things so rarely that when she did, he felt a need to provide them for her. No matter.
He'd found this 'love' thing. And, hidden inside of this 'love', was the very connection he'd been craving, and denied, for so many years.
"Do you have a towel?" she asked in her ever-gentle voice. He handed one to her from a laundry basket that was roaming near the door to the bathroom that had yet to be put away.
"Thanks." She said, smiling and closing the door again.
He sat on his bed and changed his clothes. When she came out, she smelled like...
"Mountain Breeze?" he asked out loud.
"Yeah, I found some Fabric Fresh in there. I decided I didn't want to smell like...Someone who slept in their clothes all night." She laughed faintly.
He smiled. "You're so smart. Y'know, you can take a shower if you want." He said.
"No. I don't need to give Janice a reason to give either of us a third degree."
"She already has one. It's getting close to nine." He said, rolling his eyes, "That girl is ridiculous. She needs to mind her own business. She really does."
"Jhonen, please keep your temper. Please." she said.
"...Bu-"
"Please. For me?" she asked with big, mournful eyes. He couldn't say no.
"Alright, jeez." He said, "At least your mother likes me..."
"...Um...Sure...If you believe that..." she snickered and left for the kitchen.
He followed her, buttoning up his shirt.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Nothing."
"C'mon, what do you mean? Does she hate my guts, too?" he asked.
"She just doesn't like your 'devils work' as she calls it."
"What? Like Johnny and Invader Zim?" he asked.
"Mostly Johnny."
"She read Johnny the Homicidal Maniac?" he asked, in disbelief.
"No, she wouldn't when I presented her with it." She answered, "Going back to how it's the 'devils work', she wouldn't even pick it up."
"Oooh. Ok. So she's bias?"
"You could say that, yeah. And religious."
"Nice. Great." He said, "Just wonderful."
She laughed.
He smiled as he watched her.
"What?" she asked, handing him a cup of coffee.
"I just love the way you laugh, is all." He said, and kissed her, and leaned back against the counter, sipping his coffee.
She leaned on his body, and asked "Are we meeting in Juanita's Café later?"
"Yes. I want to take you someplace special from there."
"Oooh, where?" she asked, anticipation and excitement coming alive in her chocolate eyes.
"It's a secret..." he said, mysteriously, and sipped more coffee.
"Well fine, if you're gonna be that way about it..." she said, playfully.
She kissed his chin, not quite tall enough to reach his lips, as she was shorter than anything.
"I love you." He whispered, almost inaudibly, but still, just loud enough for her ears to catch it.
"I love you, too." Alice said.
AN: Ok, too much? Not enough? TELL ME OF MY SINS, oh mighty reviewers. And to those of you who don't believe in sequels: No story ever truly has an ending...Just new beginnings...