The next day, Vince was no longer a beaten, disenchanted freak.
He was a prince.
A glorious smile lit up his smooth, shining features as he observed his handiwork in the mirror.
Layers and layers of ivory foundation had managed to conceal pretty much all of his cuts and bruises, and now his skin was immaculately pale. Thick black liquid eyeliner coated his eyes, shockingly bright yellow eye shadow making a pair of dazzling blue eyes somehow shine even brighter.
On his feet, a pair of silver Chelsea boots from Camden market complimented his metallic belt perfectly. Black, tight fitting leather trousers covered his legs, matching his studded leather jacket. On his torso, a bright yellow, ripped sex pistols t-shirt. Bollo had fondly named it "trendy homo punk", which could only make Vince's heart swell with pride.
Howard however, wasn't so approving.
At first he looked his friend up and down in confusion.
"V…..Vince? Why are you all dressed up?"
He grinned, ruffling Howard's hair. Howard cringed at the touch.
"I've only gone and got a date with a girl, haven't i? Well, I saw a date, more like a gathering with me, Pete and her. Aww you should see her Howard, she's brilliant! Pete told me a couple of weeks ago when him and I were doi-er, at a….Clockwork Orange gig together."
Howard frowned at the obvious lie.
"Why don't you just tell me the truth? And who the heck is Pete, anyway?
Vince chuckled nervously.
"I don't get what you're on with."
Howard sighed.
"Clockwork Orange broke up a year ago. Even I'M not naive enough not to know that. You were clearly out doing something bad with someone I'll hate."
Oddly, the Jazz maverick chuckled at himself then.
"At least it wasn't someone like Pete Doherty, eh?"
At this, Vince bit his lip. Howard's eyes widened in shock.
"No! Oh god Vince please tell me it wasn't?"
"He's not even that bad Howard! You don't know what he's like, you've never met him!"
"He's a junkie Vince! A good for nothing, waste of space junkie."
Howard regretted the words the moment they left his lips.
The look on Vince's face nearly tore him apart. It wasn't the immediate disgust that threw Howard off, it was the look of absolute betrayal that destroyed him.
"Is….is that all I was to you back then Howard? A waste of space?"
"Vince no! I didn't mea-"
"Fuck off Howard. I don't need you, right? I don't give a shit about you. Fuck off."
Howard watched in shock as his best friend stormed out of the shop, wondering how his mood had dramatically flipped so completely in such a small amount of time. There was definitely something wrong.
From the back of the shop, a gruff voice said quietly,
"I've got a bad feeling about this."
Vince was angry.
He tried to ignore the fact that tears blinded him as he stormed down the street, tried to ignore the heavy thud of his heart. It wasn't the fact that Howard had insulted Pete; Vince really didn't care about Pete, or anyone else, at all. It was the fact that Howard could have been so dismissive of Vince, so quick to treat him like a thoughtless, faceless dolly bird.
"I'm not stupid," He told himself, sniffling.
Sure, he wasn't exactly intelligent. But he was sick of the way everyone treated him like he was just a pretty face, like he didn't actually have any emotions.
He caught a glimpse of reflection in the window of a shop, a fleeting glance of colourful dress and ridiculous hair.
What if Howard was right though?
What if they all were?
Vince gazed uneasily at his reflection, unsure of why they even called him a "pretty face". Because there was clearly nothing pretty about his face. He looked like a fat, ugly troll. That was why he'd dressed up in weird clothes for so long, had a faux self confidence that obviously got on Howard's nerves. No wonder the Jazzy freak hated him.
"I'm the real freak; there's nothing wrong with Howard."
The realization hit him like a ton of bricks. If he couldn't be normal in comparison to Howard, then how on earth would any of his vacuous, thin, beautiful friends ever accept him? Why would they want an obese weirdo like Vince?
Vince winced, noticing how tight this once baggy t-shirt was on him. Granted, it had only been baggy when he was 12, but still. It meant that he'd gotten fat.
Even that…..monster had picked up on it.
Vince laughed in a hollow manner. In a way, he should have been thanking his rapist. Without his…. Words of encouragement, Vince would have never known just how obese he was.
Finally managing to pull his gaze away from his reflection, Vince looked at where he was and realised, with some irony, that he'd wound up in the back alley where he'd scored his coke the other night. A lifetime of debauchery and erroneous morals had seeped into his bones, so as a result of this Vince automatically knew that if he turned the corner Vinnie Wright would be there, ready and waiting with something that would help him to forget the world.
But Vince didn't want drugs. He wanted a friend who understood what he was going through, even if he didn't understand himself. Sighing, he turned back, heading for the nearest coffee house.