Yes I updated faster this time! I'm not trying to be a bother but last chapter I got a helluva a lot less reviews than per normal—not blaming anybody, I did forget to update for like a month—but I'm trying to redeem myself, so please guys, review! And most importantly enjoy! Fuck I love writing Highway Chile, it's almost like—I dunno…like I become Phin when I write it, because I feel his agony. And Ferb's too, I'm so excited to get to work on Free Bird—it's gonna have a whole different, weirder—if it can get any more fucked up—tone than HC. Anyways WATCH BROTHERS OF THE HEAD! So I think this may well be my longest chapter, maybe not my best but hey I had fun writing it—especially Vanessa—I don't particularly like her but she needs to be in there, and she makes a perfect groupie/photographer! And one last thing; the Bob Marley quote at the very end of the chapter…it's for Ferb.
~Peace, Love, Flowers, Puppies, Nirvana~
~~Mick~~!
Disclaimer: Nope, Phin and Ferb are sadly not mine. Neither is Helter Skelter by The Beatles. =C
I Got Blisters on My Fingers
When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide
Where I stop and I turn and then I go for a ride
'Til I get to the bottom and I see you again, yeh, yeh yeh
Do you, don't you want me to love you
I'm coming down fast, but I'm miles above you
Tell me, tell me tell me, c'mon tell me the answer
Well you may be a lover but you ain't no dancer.
Now Helter Skelter, Helter Skelter, Helter Skelter, yeah ...
a-Will you, won't you want me to make you
I'm coming down fast, but don't let me break you
Tell me, tell me, tell me the answer
You may be a lover but you ain't no dancer.
Look out!
Helter Skelter, Helter Skelter, Helter Skelter, oooh...
Look out, 'cause here she come ...
December 2007
"It's all fucking wrong!" Ferb snarled, brashly throwing the headphones Mason had handed him onto the floor. "What bullock did you get to mix the fucking songs?"
"Oi, I mixed the music!" Mason countered, receiving nothing more than a shimmery eyed glare from our lead singer.
"Why am I not bloody surprised!" Ridiculous. It was ridiculous. To think of all the fights we'd undergone, the four of us—excluding Mason—during recording. Most times it'd been Baljeet, Buford and I versus Ferb. Because in front of the microphone the power seemed to go to his head, he was a bratty, two faced, underweight anti-star in the makings…and I'd never had more butterflies in my stomach. He looked like a pious little fuck right there, staring Mason levelly, his sweater—some knitted teal monstrosity even Mr. Rogers wouldn't have been caught dead in—hanging off his skinny frame haphazardly. His imperfections made him perfect; gangly limbs, jutting-out bones and all. I wandered if he ever ate at all anymore. "No one. No one-"
"Ferb..." Baljeet sighed, his thick cinnamon eyelashes fluttering skywards.
"SHUT UP!" We all thought it but finally Buford was the only one who'd say it. Our usually stoic drummer's rumbling voice—almost as deep as Paul's—broke in. I daren't tell Ferb to shut up because every doomed emotion in the world coursed through me whenever we as much as caught eyes and Baljeet didn't speak up because he didn't want to lose his sex and drugs buddy, God only knew what'd happen if the Indian lost that. "Just because you're the motherfucking singer doesn't give you the right to treat us like shit. Straighten your priorities out right the fuck NOW before I do it for you." Buford balled a gargantuan pale hand threateningly.
I didn't understand how he did it. He glared the drummer—Ferb actually stood an inch or two taller than him—in the eye. "What gives you the right…" Lost for words. For once the infallible Ferb Fletcher was lost for words. "Lets just get this done with" He muttered, picking at—he'd been picking at it for half an hour now—his sharp jaw bone, scabbing it all over. "What fucking songs have we recorded again?"
Baljeet—tipsy as all fuck—tore a crumpled piece of loose-leaf from the pocket of his black leather pants and held it up. "Two-Way Romeo, In Bloom, Rosemary, Sitting in a Car, D-Rive, I Am A Sock, The Pusher and Highway Chile"
"Well isn't that just fucking perfect" Ferb grumbled, his eyebrows bent down menacingly. "Only half the album is our original stuff, aren't we just the most creative people in the universe?" The question was strangled with sarcasm so bitter the taste was palpable.
"W-where'd Mason go?" Baljeet wandered aloud, looking about the room. Our manager was nowhere to be seen, not that any of us really gave a shit, least of all the singer.
"Shit, shit, shit" Mr. Mason Donnelley came back bursting through the doors "She's fucking 'ere and you lot are still bickering like fucking two year olds."
I quirked a brow "Who's here?"
Mason threw his hands into the air shamelessly "The bloody photographer for your album cover you knobs!"
"WHAT?" Ferb yelled, and for a few moments everybody fell silent in the wake of it. "We haven't even gotten an album name have we, and there's a flipping photographer here?"
I could see Mason gnawing on his thin lower lip, just waiting for the green haired prince to say another bratty remark. Because that would give him the initiation he needed to punch the boy about. "Oi, you're lucky I got your sorry ass a photographer at all Fletcher. To me you're just another shitty gig, and that's all you'll ever be to the music industry too if you keep it up." He ashed the cigarette he'd been chain smoking the past while onto the carpeted floor.
"I don't care" Ferb growled back, not missing a beat.
There was no stare off or secrecy this time, Mason straight up punched, knocking Ferb right off his smug Converse clad feet. "Shut your dosser mouth Fletcher!"
"HEY!" I screamed, shoving Mason. "Don't you fucking touch him scumbag!"
Tiny black eyes narrowed in my direction. "Let 'im fight 'is own battles Phin. Just cos you're in bloody love with him doesn't change anything"
"Fuck off Mason" I hooked my calloused fingers in the collar of our manager's patchy blazer and—before he could read my eyes or notice the blush that toned my sunken in cheeks-tossed him, resulting in a dastardly collision with Buford's drum set.
Looming over Mason with the most threatening demeanor I could muster I hadn't noticed the photographer walk in. By this point Ferb had stood up, a trickle of perfect scarlet bubbled from his mouth and down his chin. "F-Ferb?"
"Vanessa!" Hearing his audible gasp I swung around and found myself just as astonished. She was as sexy as I'd remembered—maybe even prettier now that she'd toned down on the black eyeliner—instead now her chestnut optics were ringed with some mascara and gun metal grey shadow, even though her face was immaculate with cover-up the delicate features-so much less harsh than Isabella's-were visible. She'd kept the snug leather coat but traded the slutty vinyl minis in for a knee length pencil skirt, fishnets and violet heels. Long chocolate brown locks had been chopped into a 60's looking Bob that although she pulled off gorgeously was still a shame. "The fuck are you doing in LA?" Bleeding, black eyed and faced with the most beautiful girl we'd ever known and that's what he came out with. I couldn't resist the urge to smile.
"A modeling agency scouted me in January, I realized photography was more my thing and—this is my first shoot with a band. Fuck, if I'd known…" Silky red lips that looked like orchid petals—that looked like Ferb's—maybe she could make me forget.
But before I could push one word out of my sorry lips Baljeet grinned his skanky grin. "Long time no see Vanessa" He spoke with hot marbles in his mouth, that delectable Indian accent that one either loved or hated.
"Is that you Baljeet?" Vanessa's over-plucked eyebrows lifted quizzically accompanied by a wind-chime-like laugh. "Christ, you grew up. And where's the fireball Phineas?"
Fireball. That made me want to show my face even less. Last time Vanessa Doofenshmirtz had seen me—and I mean really seen, not up on stage back in 2006—was before I fucking hit puberty. When I wasn't all wrong. Back when my eyes were blinding blue and my outgrown hair shone like autumn leaves and crimson. Despite how much I yearned to cringe I instead smiled saccharinely. "Hey Vanessa, how're you?"
"Wow!" She spent an even longer time sizing me up than she did Jeet. "Wow Phineas…"
"What?" I questioned awkwardly, knowing that she'd probably found one of my innumerable flaws.
"You look great" I couldn't tell if that lusty, teeth baring expression she gave was fake or raw.
The shots were all taken, some behind an old club on Sunset Blvd and the others on a sandy beach during sunset. "You wanna come over later on?" By the time I finally got the balls to ask her the photo shoot was done and we were all well sick.
"I'm not sure…" She trailed off and looked around Buford's—surprisingly the only one of us who could hold a constant job—apartment. "I guess…yeah alright, I'll stay a bit."
Baljeet tapped my arm and winked, lifting his chin towards Vanessa with a smirk. "Go for it Phin." I rolled my eyes blatantly.
"So…" She unzipped her edgy jacket and hung it over Buford's ruined leather couch neatly. "What did you guys have planned?"
I one-shoulder shrugged and began twisting strands of my dull-but-fiery hair around my fingers. "We were gonna get wasted." Although it'd never been confirmed our nightly activities went without question, when weren't we under the influence? Sometimes there were girls—Buford tended to bring home trashy ones with big tits and sloppy curves—but most times it was just the four of us. Baljeet and Ferb snorted a few lines regardless, me and Buford did occasionally. More and more I needed it and I was afraid.
"Mmm were you now?" She purred "Because getting trashed sounds fucking amazing."
Ferb stood up abruptly, his spine looking like a metal rod, his lips in a straight pissed-the-fuck-off line. "I'll get the vodka" A bit later he remerged, but instead of sharing the alcohol he stamped off to Buford's bedroom alone with the Smirnoff, his lyric book and a pocket mirror.
"He's fucking off his knocker" Baljeet spoke to Vanessa in an explanatory way—and I came so close to decking him in the teeth cos under normal circumstances the Indian would've been kissing Ferb's dirty feet right about now.
Buford in the meantime had grabbed a case of beer, three bottles of Vodka, two flasks of tequila and a jug of Captain Morgan's. "Let's get this party started fuckers" He grinned, slouching down in his armchair and popping open a Budweiser.
Vanessa went straight for what I was going for—the rum. "A rum drinker too?" She chuckled, chugging a quarter of the bottle and passing it too me.
"Yeah" I replied, quickly swiping down some of the crystalline amber. "Lets chug, I'll do half then you."
"Deal" She breathed in my ear, mouth grazing a lobe, tugging the ring through it. Neither of us was drunk yet and she was already all over me. Not that I was complaining, this sex kitten of a potential-super-model was tracing butterfly kisses down my throat as I drank—Adam's apple bobbing up and down as the killer sweet liquid slid by. When half was gone Vanessa slugged back the rest, her silky cocoa hair brushing her jaw delicately. "Mmm, so…saccharine"
By the time we were through the rum and two of the three bottles of vodka I was on top of the world. Baljeet had flicked on some 80's movie—The Breakfast Club I think or Fast Times at Ridgemont High—and was sprawled out on top of Buford shirtless, sleepy, smoking a honey Cigarillo. Ferb still had the bedroom door locked tight, staying in his own world and shutting the rest of us out. I never understood the way he was—and fuck I missed knowing every thought that crossed those jaded eyes.
"Phineas" Her heavily lidded optics and full mouth—soaked shiny with alcohol—snapped me out of it. "Kiss me" So I obliged, I cocked my head and pressed my lips up against her warm inviting cave of teeth and tongue and gums. She tasted like rum and coconut. Baljeet lit up a joint spiked with cocaine crystals. The smoke writhed around the apartment; its tendrils stretched out, slid down my throat and went straight to my brain. Goodbye good judgment, not that I had any to begin with. Our kisses became more heated, with more appendages—like fingers and tongues stroking thick-lipped flesh—like tiny female hands running up my trachea. Off came her shirt, mine was already long gone. Neither of us cared that Baljeet and Buford were on the couch next to ours. She wrapped her endless legs around my waist and pushed down my jeans to my ankles with talented, high heel clad feet. "Mmm" Her tiny squeal of protest when I tweaked a nipple through her lacy bra made me smile. Then there was no bra. And my jeans were thrown across the living room. I remember that a cigarette hung from my mouth right before I tugged her fishnets and thong off. I brought her to the bathroom, sat her down on the toilet and made her spread those delicious legs. Licked her creamy thighs-licked a lot more than just that actually—then off went her skirt. Bathroom door was open, she pulled my boxers down. Thrusting. Hard, fast motions, fluidly slamming myself into her warmth over and over and over. Moans, groans, more kisses. When I reached breaking point she got on her knees and I came everywhere. Cum dripping from her lower lip, marring those perfect, perky tits, tangling her hair.
I left her on the bathroom floor and threw up off the balcony. I watched my vomit fly 12 stories until it hit the cool pavement below. Why was it that after I'd came—in that moment when her large brown Doe eyes caught mine—why could I only see green? Why green? Why reptilian, so alive emerald? Why the fuck not brown? The answer came to me as I walked back towards the living room. The door to Buford's bedroom was cracked open. And the most perfect, celestial being in the universe sat cross-legged on his bed. Skin looking blue-white in the moonlight filtering in from between the partially open blinds, hair that resembled over-grown summer grass, holding his Telecaster—and playing an amp-less rendition of Hendrix's Little Wing, his skinny-as-shit face was completely slick with tears.
Ferb's gaze rose and met mine. And it was green. In fact it was chlorophyll heaven. A green to outshine food coloring and flashing neon lights. A green to get drunk on. Jaded beyond all belief.
When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide
And I stop and I turn and then I go for a ride
And I get to the bottom and I see you again, yeh, yeh yeh
Well do you, don't you want me to make you
I'm coming down fast, but don't let me break you
Tell me, tell me, tell me your answer
You may be a lover but you ain't no dancer
Look out!
helter skelter, helter skelter, helter skelter
Look out! Helter Skelter ... she coming down fast
yes she is
yes she is
coming down fast
oh now helter skelter ... woo hooo
I got blisters on my fingers!
"The good thing about music is when it hits you, you feel no pain" - Bob Marley