Disclaimer No, I do not own, or are in any part of My Chemical Romance or Fall Out Boy... However, I do call dibs on all of them. Whoops.
ONE
Joe sat up abruptly, sweat bleeding out every crease and line on his shaken, pale body. He wiped his damp forehead with his wrist, his breath deep and raspy with panic. He glanced down at his sleeping wife, sighing as he was pulled back down to earth.
The guitarist sank back down into his rightful spot in bed; the sheets were damp from the sweat that was already drying on Joe's back.
"I'm alright. The guys are fine. Pat has both hands..."
Joe closed his eyes, recapping the dream he woke up from just a few seconds before. He and his closest friends, Patrick, Pete, Andy, and himself were hiding something.
The main facts were blurry to Joe, mainly because he was intoxicated and he was now understanding that doing shots with Pete never really ends well; in his favour, anyways. But one specific part of the dream was haunting him; something Joe couldn't shake off.
He found it incredibly stupid, but the part of his dream that he was uneasy about involved him, and three immature, little girls.
All that Joe could remember in his dream was that he was sitting on a stage, tied up in a straight jacket. He felt alarmed, believing he was going to be murdered, and the only way for someone to hear him, was to scream into the microphone set up in front of him.
After what seemed like an eternity of yelling, the room door opened. Relieved at the idea of being freed, Joe calmed down... But only for a moment. Three figures walked in and stood in front of the stage. These three figures were smaller than Joe. Much smaller.
Joe's head went blank when he realized the three figures were just three little girls; properly groomed, not to mention. They seemed around the age of five to seven years old.
They grinned up at Joe, the guitarist taking this as a sincere gesture, but the children were really thinking of other things, their devilish grins were concealed with their looks of innocence.
The three children skipped up to the stool the lanky man sat at, each picking up one rope that was knotted to Joe's jacket. They pulled it seemingly out of nowhere, nodding to each other in silent approval.
They each began skipping around Joe tauntingly, tightening the jacket around the guitarist. Joe attempted to loosen the jacket with his arms, but it continued only to get tighter, straining his thin frame.
Joe started insisting the girls to stop their child's play, his body's circulation being cut off by the tight rope; but they didn't listen.
The three, disobedient children continued to skip around until they had no more rope to play with. The tallest of the three collected the rope from the other girls, and tightly knotted them together behind Joe's back.
The children highfived each other, and skipped off of the small stage where Joe was, hunched over, feeling the jacket pull tighter on his body. His limbs started falling asleep and he looked up at the girls, attempting to keep his mind occupied from the wincing pain his body was giving off.
The girls looked up at Joe, their large, doe eyes watching as he squirmed in the chair.
They giggled as Joe started whining in discomfort. He watched as the eldest girl's eyes widened more, if that was even possible.
She reached behind her back, her hand grabbing something from the table behind them. She pulled out an entire head of broccoli, exchanging a glance with her two other friends.
They nodded to her, knowingly, and they each grabbed a different vegetable from the table. One girl held a head of cauliflower, and the youngest girl reached for a tomato.
Joe's eyes widened, shaking his head. You wouldn't, he thought, but all three girls drew back their arms, and began throwing the food right at Joe, their target.
He yelped out as the food collided with his skin, crying out louder as he felt an egg break against his forehead, the yolk flying into the air and seeping into his thick, curly mop of curls.
The three girls giggled and cheered as they continued to toss food at the vulnerable musician,
not stopping when sirens started sounding throughout the entire building. All of the lighting blew,
and a red light in the corner of the room flashed slowly, once every four seconds.
And that's where Joe's dream ended; or, of what he could remember. He glanced over at his wife once more, who shifted from her side, onto her back.
He smiled softly and rested his hand on the side of her face, thinking about how much of a good life he really had. He leaned in to press a kiss to his wife's forehead, but the realization hit him.
Oh.
He was scared of their child.
***
Joe drew back his hand in hesitation. He knew his doings were all about a stupid nightmare;
but what those girls had done to him… it got him thinking. He, in no way, wanted his two year old daughter, Grace, to be just as influential as the other children that seemingly bullied him in his dream.
He didn't want to feel what he felt. It was all too real. He forced himself off his bed, padding his way quickly into the bathroom across the hall from Grace's bedroom. Joe made sure to lock the door and he started running cold water into the vanity.
He splashed his face with the clear liquid and dried off, taking a breather. He stared at himself in the mirror. His face began to sweat again. He looked exhausted, not to mention, his body feeling drained of energy.
The strong taste of alcohol and vomit was still fresh on his tongue, because he had thrown up just before he got home. On his breath, the vile taste and his ensuing breakdown was almost enough to make him sick again. Joe ran his digits through his messy hair, taking deep breaths.
He felt as if he was going insane.
Joe returned to his bedroom. When he looked over at his wife, he didn't feel love. He felt paranoid. He felt as if the whole time he had been with her, all he was doing was disappointing her. Joe's breath hitched in his throat.
He could leave. He had the chance.
Joe walked over to his dresser, pulling out a hoodie, and a pair of ripped, black jeans. The alcohol was consuming his mind, eating away at all the sanity he had bundled up in his brain this early in the morning. The guitarist threw his clothes on, returning to the bed and grabbing his phone from off the nightstand.
Joe turned to leave, but he gave his wife a double-take.
He sighed and once again, returned to the bed, leaning down on his knees.
Joe smiled sadly and kissed his wife's forehead. "I'm so sorry…" He stood up and left her alone in the dark room. He closed the door quietly, and his slim fingers let go of the silver doorknob.
The dim hallway felt very uninviting. It was very quiet and unsettling; almost depressing. As Joe looked up at the ivory walls, and all the pictures of his family of three, his eyes started to burn with unfallen tears quickly building up to his waterline, threatening to spill over.
It wasn't as happy as the time he and his wife first walked down the hallway as a young couple,
hand-in-hand.
The Open House was coming to an end and Joe's wife, girlfriend at the time,
wanted to see the home. They walked down this very hallway, and remembered that when no one was looking, they pulled back a piece of the wall paper and signed their names onto the wall with a pen that Joe kept in his wallet.
Joe was now crying. He let out a small sob and ran his fingers over the pen ink that he and his wife decided to keep visible after they bought the house.
The hall wasn't as happy as it seemed when Joe and his wife got intimate in their relationship.
He pressed his wife softly against the piece of wall that was between the doors of the bathroom and master bedroom. Joe remembered peeling off his jacket, and immediately dispose of his wife's as well.
Joe sobbed once more when he remembered resting his calloused hands on both sides of her face, leaning in and attacking her kiss-swollen lips, a feeling of need kindling deep down inside of him.
His wife giggled and rested her hand on the back of his neck, pulling him towards their bedroom. Joe kissed her once more before she opened the bedroom door and pulled her husband in with her, slamming the door shut.
The hall wasn't as joyful as the day they brought Grace home for the first time. His wife was holding her protectively, and Joe was holding the hospital bag that he packed for her and the baby, who was now in the world.
The new father set down the back and took Grace from his wife. "Hi Gracie… This is your new bedroom." Joe opened the door and walked in, his wife following close behind, even though she was exhausted.
Joe stopped outside Grace's door, grabbing the doorknob and turning it until he heard the click.
He pushed the door open and slipped inside quietly. Sleeping in bed, was his daughter, who was sound asleep.
"What am I doing, Gracie?" Joe squatted down next to her, her resting face was concentrated. His deep blue eyes softened as he laced his slim fingers through his daughter's hair, his eyes burning with tears again.
"You have all my looks." Grace had big curly hair like her father, and he knew just by memory that her magnificent eyes were the same colour as his. "And you have your mother's beauty."
Joe thanked God that Grace was a heavy sleeper; he wouldn't want her drunken father leave her while she was wide awake and watching. He pressed his lips to her pale, smooth forehead and stood up, balancing himself against his daughter's purple wall.
Joe stumbled out of her bedroom and closed her door softly, then took his time through the dark hallway, and down the staircase leading to the front door. On the last step, the musician lost his balance and his stomach lurched forward, almost having the guitarist projectile vomit into the carpet below him. "Son of a Fuck," he mumbled to himself, after forcing what remained in his stomach, down.
Joe sobered up after he got outside; the cool, fresh air helped his upset stomach, but he was still too drunk to change his mind about his dream, and leaving his family. He pulled out his phone and sloppily pressed a number onto the phone's keypad, then raised the cellphone to his ear.
"Andy? Yeah… I'm okay… can you uh… please pick me up? If you weren't drinking tonight?"
He paused for a moment. "Thanks man." Joe hung up and sat down at the curb, waiting for his buddy to arrive.
When Andy eventually did make it, Joe thought to himself, "I had way too much to drink."