Hey, okay, fairly long chapter. Hm. This stupid reader traffic tool is making me obsessed. Why is it that I still get more hits on Rebellion then even the stories I'm writing right now? I kind of want to take it down, it's so embarrasing! Whatever... *pout* I just want some love!
Note for the chapter: I do not condone any form of alcohol misuse or abuse. Also, while I don't think weed is as awful as the government propaganda would have you believe, I do not condone its illegal use. (*cough cough* 4:20! kidding!!) Remember chil'uns, binge drinking is incredibly dangerous and just not smart. I've seen enough of its aftermath to know it is neither attractive nor fun (buh-lieve me).
Please enjoy!
Tommy stayed in his room until Kimi knocked on the door at 6, carrying two bags of alcohol and a bag of chips and dip. As Chuckie helped her with the bags, Tommy came out of the hallway, looking as though he'd tried to take nap and had failed miserably. Upon seeing him, Chuckie tried to catch his eye, to apologize but his friend was pointedly ignoring his gaze. Kimi raised her eyebrows and followed Tommy into the kitchen where they set all the bags.
"I'm going to order some pizza in a little bit, what kind did you want Kimi?" Tommy asked, and his voice was a little hoarse.
"You know I'll eat whatever." She said and glanced over at Chuckie. Tommy followed her gaze before glancing back at her fairly quickly, as though afraid to even meet his eyes.
"I know what he wants." Tommy said almost immediately, "Mushroom and pepperoni, right?" he added, not bothering to even look in his direction.
"Uh, yeah." Chuckie answered.
"I still have a bag in the car and my CD's, Tommy, can you give me a hand?" Kimi asked. Tommy nodded after sending a furtive glance in his direction. Chuckie watched the two of them head out of the room and he shook his head in slight frustration. He busied himself with setting up all the liquor on the counter and putting the dips in the fridge. When the other two walked in a couple of minutes later, Tommy came and stood by him. Chuckie glanced at him surprised. Kimi went over to the stereo in the living room and started flipping through her CD's, her back to them.
"I'm mad at you." Tommy muttered finally. Chuckie mouthed wordlessly for a moment, unable to think of the correct response. Finally he sighed.
"I know."
"I'm not going to forgive you right now."
"Uh. Okay."
"I'm only letting you know."
"Okay."
"Now tell Kimi to leave me alone." Tommy said and the two finally met each other's eyes and Chuckie was sure he caught a smile in his friend's gaze.
The tension that had permeated the room earlier had been somewhat alleviated but neither of the two men were really talking directly to each other, preferring instead to talk to Kimi. After glaring at the both of them, she regaled them with her latest political tales as her music played in the background and they waited for the other guests.
Phil showed up shortly after 6:30, bringing with him more alcohol and a couple of friends that he didn't recognize. They were introduced as his friends from the "tank," which Chuckie could only surmise referred to the drunk tank and he fought off a roll of the eyes. As seven rolled around, people began to show up and Chuckie started to recognize a few faces and remember a couple of names. Soon, the music was loud, reverberating against the windowpanes and his eardrums. Phil made his rounds, goading everyone and anyone into taking shots. Chuckie let himself get into a small battle, but after three shots of tequila, he conceded and let Phil take the win. He wanted to make sure he still had his head on straight for the night.
After chatting with a two classmates from high school for a bit, he snatched up a slice of pizza, not sure when it had arrived, and made his way to the kitchen to grab a beer. He knew he was a little out of it when he realized he was humming along to the radio and that he had been standing in the door way of the kitchen for several minutes without moving. Laughing at himself quietly, he started again for the fridge and grabbed a cold Newcastle, the old saying, "beer before liquor never sicker; liquor before beer in the clear" going through his mind. He grabbed a bottle opener from the counter and fought briefly against the cap. Unfortunately, just as he managed to pry the lid off, a voice spoke behind him. Startled, he jerked and the beer instantly shot out of the bottle and over his shirt.
"Party foul!!" Phil shouted behind him, laughing. Tommy stood with him, a grin on his face.
"Damn." Chuckie muttered.
"There's a line for the bathroom, you can go change in my room." Tommy said gesturing at his pants, which had also caught some of the beer. Nodding, he set his beer down and headed for the bedroom, stopping only to grab his bag of clothes. He tossed the plastic bag onto the dresser, not bothering to turn the light on. He had just finished buttoning his pants when the door swung open and the light was flicked on. He turned and found Tommy looking in, a strange expression on his face.
"'Sup?" He asked.
"Phil and Kimi are about to have a little competition." Tommy said finally.
"Okay." And he grabbed the target bag from the dresser, unaware that he'd tossed it onto something else, until it slid to the floor, "Oh, sorry." He said and went to pick it up.
"No, that's okay. I got it." Tommy came forward quickly to stop him. But his hands had already closed in on the same bag he'd been trying to get a look at for two days. Its contents had spilled across the floor, and slowly his eyes took everything in. He looked up at Tommy who had a look of frozen fear and trepidation. His gaze returned to everything on the floor. He ran his fingers over the bottles, the pills, and closed in on a small plastic baggy with several green buds.
"Tommy?" Chuckie glanced up again. His friend had crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head.
"Nah man, Nah."
"Weed, Tommy!? Vicodin!? Sleeping pills!?" Chuckie said, voice rising as he spoke.
"Huh-uh. Don't. Not right now." Tommy said, shaking his head even more vigorously.
"Yes. Yes, right now." He snapped, "We need to talk about this." Tommy glared at him defiantly. He leaned forward and snatched up one of the bottles, opening it and dumping some pills into his hand before he could react. Tommy smirked and tossed the bottle at him.
"Tommy!" Chuckie gathered up everything and put it back in the bag.
"We don't need to talk about shit." Tommy started out of the room. Chuckie stood and caught his arm.
"No. I'm not going to let you ruin your life."
"TOO DAMN LATE!!!" Tommy whirled at him, raising his hands as though to push him away but he only opened and closed his fists before dropping them to his sides. He turned and left the room. Chuckie looked at the paper bag in his hands before shoving it into his clothes bag and following Tommy to the living room.
A crowd had gathered in the living room and was shouting and cheering. He could make out Phil and Kimi's heads, both presumably taking shots. He didn't see Tommy and continued toward the kitchen. The younger man was there, pouring himself a glass of tequila. He cringed, thinking about the pills that his friend had just taken.
"Tommy. You shouldn't be drinking." He said, taking the glass from the counter and out of Tommy's reach.
"Goddammit!" Tommy snapped, turning on him again. Chuckie grabbed the tequila bottle and turned toward the sink, but Tommy knocked the glass from his hand and it fell to the floor. It shattered, sending glass shards and tequila across their bare feet and the kitchen floor.
"Shit, Tommy. What the hell?" Chuckie said. Tommy only glowered at him.
"Hey. What's going on? Everything okay?" the two men turned toward the doorway where Kimi, Phil and a few other people stood.
"Yeah, he just dropped a glass." Tommy finally muttered.
"Stay there, I'll get the broom." Kimi said and came in, still wearing her shoes. The other spectators left the door way. Kimi grabbed a hand towel from a drawer and tossed it at Chuckie. He caught it and bent down to start mopping up the liquor, careful to avoid the shards of glass. Kimi came over with the broom and together they started cleaning it up. Tommy waited for a moment before taking the few steps out of the kitchen.
"Should we call it a night?" Kimi asked. Chuckie groaned and rubbed his face with free hand.
"I don't know." He said finally, "I guess. Tommy… he's- Well, I have to talk with him."
"I'll let Phil know and we can herd the people over to his house or something." Kimi said, "Will you be okay?"
"I hope." He said. Kimi stood, having swept all the glass into the dustpan. They both went into the living room where Tommy was drinking a beer. Chuckie fought the urge to run and snatch it from his friend. Phil caught the siblings coming from the kitchen and headed over.
"What's up?" he asked.
"We're gonna take the party over to your house. That okay?" Kimi asked. Phil nodded, slightly confused.
"Sure, but why?" He asked.
"Tommy's having some issues." Kimi said and she headed off to a group who were dancing, tapping them on the shoulder and gesturing toward the door. Phil glanced over at Chuckie, but he said nothing before walking over to his "tank" friends. Slowly, people made their way toward the door, still holding their beers and shot glasses. Tommy was fairly unaware of the slow migration until the music cut off and he looked around.
"Hey! Hey what's going on? Where's everyone going!?" He shouted jumping up and glaring over at Chuckie.
"Party's over, Tommy." He said finally.
"No! This is my house!" the younger man shouted and started toward the door, slamming his leg into the coffee table and falling back against the couch. This seemed to decide it for some of the guests who had lagged behind, and they all turned toward the door, having seen enough of drunken ravings to know the signs. Phil and Kimi lingered by the door, hesitant to leave Chuckie with the near rabid Tommy.
"You going to be okay?" Kimi asked him, and Chuckie forced a smile and nodded.
"Give us a call in the morning, a'ight?" Phil said.
"Yeah, sure." He waved them off and turned back to Tommy as the door shut. His younger friend had not moved from the couch but he jumped up when Chuckie turned toward him.
"Fuck you man." He snarled, shoving past him toward the kitchen. Chuckie caught himself and followed his friend, already exhausted. Tommy was sitting at the table, a new bottle of beer in his hands.
"Get out of my house." Tommy said, not looking at him.
"I'm not going to leave you right now, not like this."
"Like what?!" he snapped.
"Tommy. You know I'm your best friend and I only want what's best-"
"Best friend?! Yeah fuckin right! How many times did you call me over the past three years?! You have no right to call me that!" Tommy gripped in his hair in his hands and collapsed against the table, "You left just like everyone else and I'm rotting here!" Chuckie faltered, wondering if this was simply a drunken man's ravings or the actual pains and thoughts of his friend. Either way. He sighed and settled into a chair next to his friend.
"Tommy, I'm sorry, alright? We can talk about this tomorrow, when you're sober."
"Don't patronize me. I might be drunk but I'm not stupid." He stood and started digging through the cupboards, "Where the fuck is my bag?" Chuckie rubbed his face and sighed again. He didn't even remember that it had been moved to his bedroom. Tommy practically stomped toward the door of the kitchen.
"Tommy, I'm going to call Dil later. He needs-"
"No." Tommy looked back, wild-eyed, "Don't tell Dil." His voice and face suddenly seriously calm, "Please don't tell Dil. He doesn't need to know."
"Then you agree that this is bad. What you're doing is wrong." Chuckie said, glad to get an admission of some kind, glad he hadn't lost Tommy completely.
"Hey! I don't need to listen to your 'holier than thou' bullshit alright!? Fuck you!"
"I didn't mean it like that!" Chuckie shouted back. He threw his hands up in exasperation. He couldn't get into an argument with a drunk man.
"Goddammit!" Tommy said, raking his hands through his hair and sliding down against the wall. He curled his legs up to his chest and clasped his hands over his bowed head. Chuckie got up from the table and went to sit beside him. They sat in silence for a little bit. Chuckie wondering how his optimistic friend had gotten so lost, so messed up and if this was his fault.
"I'm not really that bad…" Tommy said, bringing his head up and Chuckie looked over as his friends voice cracked and he saw tears coursing down his face.
"Hey, we don't have to do this right now, alright?" Chuckie put a hand on his shoulder and gave a squeeze. His friend turned toward him as though to say something, but when he opened his mouth, the only thing to come out was all that he'd eaten that day.
"Ah!" Chuckie leaned back as Tommy crawled onto his knees, still hurling. Chuckie grimaced, wiping his hands off on his dirtied shirt, "Disgusting." He said and stripped his shirt off, careful not to let any of the throw up touch his bare skin. Tommy sat back and looked over, eyes half closed and face flushed and sweaty.
"Sorry, I'm sorry." He said, wiping his mouth.
"No, that's fine." Chuckie started but Tommy bent over and started again. Chuckie stood.
"I'm gonna get you a pan, okay?" he went and dug in the cupboard and came back with a big stew pot, setting it in front of Tommy who had paused again. Chuckie wet a washcloth and took the time the wipe the sweat from Tommy's forehead. His flesh was hot to the touch. Tommy let out a groan in misery and Chuckie almost pitied him. He sat back down, on his friends other side, away from the puke.
"I'm sorry Chuck. I didn't mean it, what I said-"
"Shh… we'll talk about it later." Chuckie said soothingly, wiping the towel over the other mans face. Tommy relented and leaned back, closing his eyes.
"Hey, Tommy let's get you to your room okay? We'll get some clean clothes on you and put you to bed alright?" Chuckie stood and leaned down to help hoist the other man to his feet. Chuckie led him down the hall to his bedroom and set him on the bed. He turned and started pulling clothes from Tommy's dresser. When he turned back to hand them to the younger man, Tommy was shaking his head.
"I gotta take a shower first."
"Tommy. Look at me." Chuckie waited for his intoxicated friend to meet his gaze, "You are not sober enough to get in the shower. You'll fall and hurt yourself."
"No I wont. I do it all the time."
"What? You regularly shower after you've pumped yourself full of drugs and alcohol?" Chuckie snapped, fear and the anger born from it gripped his chest rather tightly as he imagined Tommy slipping and falling in a drug-induced state.
"There you go again! Stop talking to me like that!" Tommy said.
"Like what?! I'm not talking to you like anything!"
"Yeah, you are! Like you're better than me!"
"No I'm not! Excuse me for trying to come to terms with the fact that a man I considered my hero for 24 years is actually just as fucked up and stupid as the rest of us, okay?!" Chuckie lost his temper for the third time or so that night and he sighed and leaned against the dresser, head bowed as he tried to calm himself. Tommy stood and left the room and Chuckie started when he heard the shower. He crossed the hall to the bathroom and found Tommy sitting on the toilet, in the process of removing his clothing.
"Know what? Fine, take a shower. I'm going to go clean up. If you need me, holler." Chuckie left just as Tommy stood to remove his boxers. He made his way to the kitchen and took a moment to sink into a chair and close his eyes. He buried his face in his hands and took a deep breath. This was one of the worst nights of his life. All he wanted was to fall asleep and not wake up for a good 48 hours and yet he knew that this was really only the beginning. He sighed again and stood, gathering up towels and some plastic bags. He knelt next to the mess and started cleaning it, resisting the urge to dry heave. The shower turned off and he listened carefully as Tommy climbed out of the shower. When no crash came, he turned back to the task at hand.
Finally satisfied, he made his way to Tommy's room. His friend was currently sprawled across his bed, eyes closed, towel still wrapped around his waist. He had to fight the urge to run to check his breathing, afraid that the drugs had gotten to his system. Instead, he chose to see if his friend was awake before rushing over to check his vitals.
"Tommy." He called softly, the other man lifted his head slowly off the bed and Chuckie bit back a sigh of relief.
"Chuckie. Chuck, can you do me a favor?" he asked, falling back against the comforter.
"Yeah, bud?"
"Can you sleep with me tonight?" he asked and Chuckie heard him wait with bated breath. He thought a moment. The worst that could happen was Tommy throwing up on him again, and anyway they'd been sharing beds for years.
"Yeah Tommy, sure thing." He said finally. He waited for Tommy pull his boxers on before he flicked the light off. Barefoot and shirtless, he climbed next to his friend. He closed his eyes and listened to the breathing of his drunken friend. Tommy shifted over onto his side, facing his direction. Chuckie opened his eyes using the pale moonlight to seek out his friends gaze.
"Yeah?" Chuckie asked. The younger man said nothing, simply reached a hand over, briefly touched his cheek, grazing his knuckles against his five 'o'clock shadow before reaching down and grasping his hand.
"Good night Chuck." He said once he had the redhead's hand firmly held in his own, "Thanks for being here." Tommy murmured as he drifted off to sleep. Chuckie squeezed his friend's hand as he, too, felt sleep capturing him. Thoughts of the last time they'd been like this going through his mind, just after the accident.
Review please. Or I wont post any more!!! So kidding!!! I hate when people do that. How obnoxious!!!
But really, any thoughts, ideas or opinions???