You Make My Dreams Come True

Laughing with Thomas on the floor of his dorm, with maybe just a little alcohol involved. That's how this all started. The rising action, boys and girls. This is where it gets good.

Over the past week or so, Thomas seemed to be interested in what I had to offer as a friend. Maybe he was curious and maybe he had a secret motive, like I did. But that never really crossed my mind. All I knew was Thomas and I were on the road to becoming fast friends.

I decided to make a surprise visit at his dorm, with a bottle of my father's beautifully aged red wine in my arms. I had debated whether to bring the drink or not. Eventually I said to myself, "Might as well. If it doesn't do any good, at least it won't do any harm."

Thomas opened his door and welcomed me quickly. He seemed to enjoy my presence, which was quite shocking to me. Why would Thomas like me, the weird guy who was an arse to him just a few days before? But no matter. I wasn't going to question a good thing.

We talked about everything we always talked about. People, teachers, classes, films, shows, anything on the face of the earth. Thomas doesn't watch much TV. He just doesn't like it. I've never watched much TV but I'm a big fan of the films, something he doesn't agree on with me. I told him that was subject to change.

Then we started getting into... feelings. And thoughts. Don't get me wrong, I have a whirlwind of feelings and thoughts. But nothing I talk to people about. I'm Oliver Redmond, cocky and confident. I always know what I want. I can't be the confused guy, unsure of everything. That would just ruin the appearance I had built for myself: the gay guy who is just out for some fun and a hot bloke. Actually feeling like I was in love with someone but not being sure... well that was somewhere I didn't want to go.

"Marie-Claire is pretty sweet," Thomas said. Those words almost ripped my heart to shreds, but I don't give up that easily. "And cute."

"She's a fine girl," I added. "But not my cup of tea."

"I can see that," Thomas laughed slightly. His little, breathy laugh that he laughed when he though something really was funny. Obviously, my blunt homosexuality tickled his funny. But I wasn't offending or anything. Quite the contrary, actually. It made me want to kiss him, let him know what that little laugh did to me. I wanted to show him how I felt. So I did. (Hint- here's the climax.)

I leaned over him and pressed my mouth against his. It wasn't passionate or intense, like most of my kisses were. This was more soft and romantic, yet prying. I licked his lips, silently begging him to part them. He obeyed and quickly reacted, moving his body closer to mine and letting me run my tongue along his teeth.

Slowly, we lowered to the floor. Once we were on the floor, we paused to remove our shirts. Thomas had a nice chest. No abs, but it was clear that he was a very fit young man.

I pressed my body to his as I unzipped his pants and mine. I soon realized I was getting hard. So was Thomas. I took this as an opportunity to give Thomas a little hand job, and he returned the favor.

After a while, we both arrived. We were too tired and too happy to move and change our underwear. It may sound gross but at the moment I wasn't really thinking about my tighty-whities.

"That was amazing," Thomas breathed.

"Hell yeah it was," I returned.

"So," Thomas began. "Where does this leave us?"

"I have no idea," I said. "Does it matter right now? I think we both are in a happy position. Let's worry about what to call ourselves later."

"Sounds like a plan," Thomas told me. He smiled his cute little smile and I felt on top of the world.

As happy as I was, I couldn't help thinking about when to tell Thomas I originally befriended him to get into Xavier's pants. Does it even matter anymore? I just know I can't sleep at night knowing that Thomas is being used by someone, especially me.

"Thinking about something?" Thomas inquired, snapping me out of my reverie.

"No," I answered. "Nothing important." He smiled again and we sat in happy silence for a while. No matter what I hide from Thomas, I'll always remember this day as an exceptionally fantastic day.

Have you lost your mind or has he taken all of yours too?

Journal,

"In Act II, Scene 3 of Julius Caesar, Shakespeare portrays Brutus and his fellow conspirators as soaking in the blood of Caesar, not to demonstrate that their killing of Caesar was a sacrifice to better Rome, but to show that they become so wrapped up in their quest for power that they failed to recognize their own barbarism. "

I stared at the paper in front of me for several minutes. It had taken me .15 seconds to construct that sentence, and 15 minutes later I still couldn't figure out what to follow it up with.

The fact that I was even working on this paper in the first place was frustrating. I had woken up at noon and headed to Marie-Claire's dorm room at 1, only to find that she was out at the movies with Thomas. I shouldn't blame her for doing things without me, because I was actutely aware of how shamelessly I had ditched her this last week and a half. That didn't stop me from blaming her for my current situation.

I hopped up off the floor, which was were I did all of my schoolwork. I headed over to my bookshelf and scanned the titles. I picked up "The Stranger" by Albert Camus. Great way to kill a couple of hours.

I set up two chairs in the middle of my dorm and threw a blanket over them. I grabbed a flashlight, my Ipod, and the book, and set up camp in my makeshift fort. It sounds terribly immature, but if you're going to cut yourself off from society for a day, you might as well have fun with it.

Thirty pages into Part II, there was a knock on the door. I wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the break in songs on my Ipod. Truthfully, I didn't know how long the person had been out there, but I didn't feel like getting the door. Sheer curiosity drove me to action.

"Hello?" I said, opening the door. A man with with the hood of his jacket up pushed his way past me and into my dorm. Immediately, I had a pretty good guess of who it was. I stared absentmindedly out the door, noting for the first time that it was dark outside. How long had I been reading?

"Are you going to shut the fucking door or are you going to stand there all night?" Peter Landen snapped, unzipping his jacket behind me.

"Nice to see you too," I replied unenthusiastically. I shut the door and turned around. Peter was peering around my dorm room.

"Is that a fort?" he laughed, poking the blanketed contraption with his foot.

"It is my dorm room," I shot back. "I have every right to have a fort."

"Yea, I guess," he shrugged. "If you're five."

I sighed and turned my Ipod back on. Ignoring Peter, I bent down and disappeared back under my "childish" fort. I grabbed my book off the floor and continued reading. Five minutes later, Peter poked his head in. He smiled and climbed into the fort.

"Did I say that you could enter the fort?" I snapped, slamming the book closed.

"Can I enter the fort?" he murmured and smiled at my annoyance.

"Well, now that the rules of fort etiquette have been blatantly violated, I suppose you can do whatever you feel like," I huffed.

"You're cute," he whispered, and I smiled softly.

"I know," I replied. "What are you doing here? I was under the assumption that I'd seen the last of you. What was it? If I want to find you, which I doubt I ever will, I know where to?"

"Well," Peter shrugged. "I wanted to find you."

"Did your fiancée drive you up a wall?" I asked, curious despite my intense desire to genuinely not give a crap.

"You could say that," he shrugged. "I left her."

The shock read on my face. "What? Why?" I sputtered.

Peter stretched his arms out and laid down on his back. "I kind of don't like girls like I like guys," he stated simply.

"Oh."

"The press is going to have a field day with this," he sighed, covering his face with his hands. "Not even the gay part, because I never even told that to Sofia. But I can imagine it now. "The Drug Problem that Tore Rock's Power Couple Apart." Or even "Sofia Morghan's Affair with Lead Drummer of The Smith's was the Last Straw". God, I hope she doesn't get shit for this."

"That's sort of inevitable," I shrugged. Peter glared at me and I shut up about that. "How long did you two go out?"

Peter shook his head and shrugged. "I didn't exactly come here for the therapy session," he smirked and sat up. The thought of sleeping with him in my fort, right after his breakup, was all wrong. Some lines shouldn't be crossed.

"I'm curious," I shot back, pushing his back down to the ground. "I want to know what happened."

"So you can tell all of your little friends about it?"

"No," I stated coldly. I laid down on the floor next to Peter and stared at the quilt pattern on the blanket. "Did you love her?"

Peter didn't say anything for awhile. "I lost my virginity to her when I was 17."

"Was this before or after you realized that you liked guys better?" I asked. This time I wasn't trying to poke fun at his sexuality. I was genuinely curious.

"Before," he said. He covered his face with his hands and mumbled something else.

"What?" I inquired.

"By two days," he restated. "I had sex with her two days before I first kissed a guy. And I had sex with a guy four days after I lost it to her. Two different situations, two different guys."

"You made up for lost time quickly," I remarked.

"Yea, I guess," he chuckled. "I was talking to my friend Teddy about how it went with her, and I was showing him something that we did and I just kissed him. I didn't even think about it, either. I just went for it. I was able to play it off like it was all part of Show n' Tell, but..."

"That's when you knew something was horribly wrong," I said in my deep, horror movie trailer voice.

"Two days after that, I was at a cast party for Melissa's first season of EastEnders. She was... 14 then, so that would make Mark Simpson 19. Two years older than me at the time, and the star of the show."

"Isn't he out now?" I asked.

"Yea," Peter nodded. "But he wasn't when I was 17. He was far too much of a sex symbol back then to come out."

"As compared to now?" I asked, recalling all the times I had seen him on the cover of magazines in the last year.

"Yes, well now he's a sex symbol for a different sex. Do you want to hear the story or not?" Peter grumbled. I shut up obediently. "So I was at the cast party and my band had just done our set and I was in the back room, getting drunk out of my wits. Mark Simpson comes up to me and introduces himself, talks about how much he loves working with my sister and how great the band was, and slips his hand into my pocket "for a light." I, being jacked up on adrenaline from the show and being a lovely stew of confused teenage hormones, went hard as a rock." Peter paused for a second and chuckled.

"So I guess he had you figured out pretty fast."

"We shagged in the bathroom of the club. I mean, just think about that lovely story. I lost it, for real this time, in a bathroom of a club."

"How poetic."

"How romantic," he scoffed. "I was still going out with Sofia. I was an amazing boyfriend."

I concentrated on ceiling of blankets and thought about how weird, but great, it was that he was telling me all of this stuff.

"So what about you?" he asked. "I want your story."

"My story's boring," I shrugged. "I lost it to a girl on the field hockey team in the locker room when I was 14."

"Locker room and bathroom?" Peter smiled. "We're a classy gang. So what about on the flip side of things?"

I bit my lip and tried to think of how to word this without sounding like a major loser. "Well, okay. See, here's the thing. I like to mess with people. Halfway through this last year I met this guy at my school, and it was obvious that he was in to me. I couldn't pass up the opportunity, especially because he was in this "perfect" relationship and his girlfriend was blind as a bat."

Peter laughed and rolled over on his side to look at me. "You're evil."

"Wait, I'm not done. So this guy and I fooled around for like 3 months, but whenever it came to sex, I didn't want to and he couldn't bring himself to. I was way more into girls than I was into him, and the whole thing kind of grossed me out. So we never really got that far, and eventually he decided to try to be "straight" once again."

"Uh-huh," Peter nodded. I looked over at him, but he was staring up at the ceiling.

"So my best friend made me a bet that I couldn't get this one celebrity to sleep with me, and me being me, I won that bet. And I slept with her brother too."

Peter turned to look at me. I felt weird meeting his eyes, and once I did, I couldn't decipher his expression. "Holy shit," he murmured.

"Ever since then, I've sort of been on a roll," I shrugged.

"That's insane. You're insane to lose it to someone you knew for all of twenty minutes."

"Crazy like a fox," I chuckled nervously. "Congrats, you're the first person to make me feel horribly inexperienced."

Peter sighed and shook his head. "10th grade, you said you were in?"

My forehead was on fire and my fingers were trembling with... I don't know what. I nodded.

"Don't do something stupid and fall for me," he murmured. "I leave for Lollapalooza in America in a week."

I nodded, not bothering to think of some shitty remark about how it would be ridiculous for me to fall for someone. Peter sat up and kissed me softly on the lips and this time, I was fine with that just how it was.

Because The Mind Is A Weapon, See

And it's got you on

Your hands and knees

Pull the trigger if you're gonna

We all know that you wanna

Count off 1, 2, 1, 2, 3!

You better pray that there’s

Another way out

You better pray that

Someone’s listening now

(And doesn't wanna watch you drown)

'Cause when you lie like

The devil himself

No angel's gonna hear your

Cry for help!

I found myself in the dingy, rundown room again. I looked around, frantic, for a way out but my feet were glued to the spot. I began to panic. I couldn’t get out and soon he would be here to use me again, to hold me in place and tell me how to let him use me.

He came out of nowhere, shoving me to my hands and knees. I tried to stand up but he pushed me down again.

“Stay,” He barked. I nodded, tears rolling down my cheeks. He stood behind me, thrusting his hips into my hind side. I felt him get hard and I sobbed harder.

I wanted to kill myself. I wanted him to kill me. I wanted to die. I didn’t want to know what he was doing to me, I didn’t want to let him. I wanted to go to heaven where everything was rainbows and kittens and cake and candy.

He stopped.

“I’m done,” He said as if I was a machine he was using. “You can do whatever you want with yourself now.” I sobbed even harder. Now he had rights over what I did with myself. I wasn’t my own person anymore. I was a dog that someone else owned.

He kneeled down on his knees and handed me a gun. I took it from him and ran my hands over it. I stared at it for a few minutes, thinking about what in hell I was going to use it for. Would I blow a bullet in his head or mine?

“Let me help you,” He told me. He placed his hands over mine and moved them to the right spot on the gun. He turned it towards my face. I slipped it into my mouth, squeezing my eyelids tightly together.

As I hesitated ending my life, I felt a hand on my back. “Go ahead.” The man said. Would I follow his orders?

The trigger fell back, almost as if by it’s own accord. But I could tell that there was a slight pull in my first finger.

My eyes flew open. I was lying in my bed, squeezing the pillow tightly. Sweat was running down my face, along with tears.

How could I have listened to him? How could I have let him help me kill myself? I’ve never been the kind of person to give up. Sure, I’ve had falters where giving up sounded like a really good idea but I never did. I’ve been able to deal with things similar to this before… why was it so easy to give up now? If I was just going to give up the moment someone shouted boo, then maybe I deserved to be raped.

I’m never going to get back to normal, am I? I’ll never be the same strong, confident Genevieve I used to be. I can’t stand knowing the me I loved isn’t going to come back.

Even though I know it’s all my fault, I wish someone was there to save me.

I closed my eyes, trying to think of something else. I couldn’t. My mind kept making me feel guilty. I felt like I was bending over again, held in place by an invisible force. I felt the guilt, I felt the pain. I sobbed soundlessly, wishing that I would fall asleep and never wake up again. The pain was too much to bear. The world was one big black color, devoid of all happiness. I couldn’t stop crying.

The darkness closed in around me, like Satan hugging a lost soul. It was a cold, evil hug that I wanted to shake free from. I couldn’t escape though and fell into the arms of darkness. I relinquished myself to thoughts of guilt and fear. I know I’ll never reach a point of normalcy again. The darkness will always be there.

If I drown tonight, bring me back to life.

Have you ever had one of those moments where you have an epiphany so epic that you realize you've been an idiot for way too long? I had one of those moments today.

Xavier is obviously out to get into Thomas's pants. And when you like someone, to get their attention you try to have common interests. Thomas isn't that bad of a guy. So why can't Thomas be our common interest? To get to Xavier, I have to be closer to Thomas than Xavier is comfortable with.

So I decided to go talk to Thomas and apologize for being such an arse. I knocked on his door rather authoritatively. He opened the door and his face remained expressionless when he realized it was me.

"Hey there, Thomas," I tried to say as normal as possible.

"Here to berate me for something?" He almost scowled. I don't think Thomas is really capable of scowling. He's just capable of getting close to it but being so shy that it doesn't come out right.

"You're a really nice bloke, I've realized. And I've been quite a tosser towards you. I just wanted to apologize." I told him and stuck out my hand. "What do you say, mate? Want to start over?"

Thomas eyed my hand suspiciously, wondering if I would pull something when he grasped my hand. After a few moments of inner battle, he finally accepted my gesture and shook my hand.

When we finished, Thomas asked, "What made you want to do this?"

"I try to be a nice guy. Just though I should apologize for being such a git."

"It's greatly appreciated," He returned with an almost-smile that made my heart jump into over drive. Seeing Xavier made me think about fucking him which gave me a hard-on. But seeing Thomas smile shyly made me feel like butterflies were trying to escape my stomach. The feeling confused and for a moment, I was unsure of what I wanted. But I shook the thought from my mind and returned to normal mode.

We were silent for a few moments. I didn't know if Thomas was one for hanging out or just casual talk in class. So I told him what I wanted him to believe instead beating around the bush.

"I want to be friends with you. Not 'Hey, Thomas, what mark did you get on your exam? Me too!' friends. I want to be good friends, close friends. And I don't know how one becomes good friends with you, so feel free to lead the way into friend ship town."

Thomas was silent for a few seconds. "What makes you want to be friends?"

"You are an interesting kid." This was not a lie.

"Whatever," Thomas mumbled. I smiled at his reluctance. Why, I do not know. I realized my confusion would not help the situation because I'd probably end up testing my feelings by kissing him or something and that would jeopardize the whole thing so I decided to retreat.

"Oh, wow, look at my watch. Is it that late already?" I said, using something so basic to escape. "I'd love to stay and chat but I have to go."

"It's like three in the afternoon." Thomas said to himself as I walked off and he returned to his dorm. I laughed to myself. This will be better than I expected.

Ravaged and plundered and ripped him and bit him, Stuck him with knives in the side of the dawn

Your ballroom days are over.

Journal,

I woke up to the peculiar feeling of sweaty skin against skin. The left of my side of my face was temporarily pasted to my bicep. Where was I? Who was I with? What had I done last night? It was a sex addict's game of Clue.

I sat up slowly; a wave of nausea washing over me. My head was tense, my ears rang, and my eyes couldn't adjust to the sunlight. From what I could make out, I was in my dorm room. I looked at the empty space in the bed next to me. There was no way I had gotten this fucked up and sex hadn't resulted. So where was the mystery suitor?

"Looks like Sleeping Beauty has awoken," a thick British accent said behind me. I looked behind me and saw Peter Landen walk out in my bathroom, clad only in a towel.

"Fuck no," I groaned. I had tried so hard to get with him and I couldn't even remember it. The tragedy. The irony. The cosmic karma.

"Awwww," Peter cooed, his voice lacking the sympathy that his words portrayed. "Does the ittle bittle schoolboy have a headache from the Big Bad..."

"Heroin," I cut in. The last thing I could remember was heroin and a microphone, and something told me that Peter was responsible for all of this. "The Big Bad Heroin that you gave me." I grabbed my head and thanked god that I was alive for a brief second. "You really try hard to fit the whole "rock star" stereotype, don't you?" I remarked coldly.

Peter glared at me, his face telling me that I could go fuck myself. I let my anger drop without an argument.

"What happened last night?"

Peter pulled his shirt over his head and messed with his hair. "What's the last thing you remember?" he remarked inattentively.

"Not much," I shrugged.

"That's a shame," he smirked. He looked down at me, like he was trying to piece together the story in his head before he told me. "You're famous, kid."

I laid back down on my bed. I couldn't wait to hear the story behind this one.

"You managed to ride my opening act into a partly drug-induced coma, so you went on instead. You were abso-fucking-lutely stoned, but you were amazing. You took your shirt off and sang the Doors. Teenage girls eat that shit up. In fact, my manager called me and told me that the opening act last night had real "charisma and sex appeal." He doesn't just say that about everybody, either," Peter explained. I clenched my eyes shut and tried to associate what Peter was talking about to the few blurs of images I remembered.

"That sounds vaguely plausible," I sighed. "For me, anyways."

"Then we came back here and shagged," Peter added on.

I sat up and grinned at him. "I thought you said "No sloppy seconds"?"

Peter looked at me quizzically and shook his head. "You really don't remember anything about last night, do you?"

I nodded reluctantly. Peter sighed and sat down next to me on my mattress. He turned to face me, then looked up at the ceiling.

"What grade are you in?" he asked despondently.

"Two years from graduating," I replied. He held up his hand and tried to figure out what grade that made me be in. "Tenth," I added. Attractive people shouldn't think that hard.

"Holy s...mokes," he groaned.

"You can fuck me, but heaven forbid you say 'Shit'", I laughed nervously. Suddenly, I felt like... what I was. A kid.

Peter sighed and put his head in his hands. He stayed like this for a few moments, while I stared awkwardly at my feet. Finally, he looked up at me. His eyes looked genuinely concerned, though I couldn't quite figure out who he was concerned for. Me or himself. He leaned in closer and kissed me softly. I'm not used to this.

Seeing as I'm too emotionally fucked to handle tender kissing, I shoved him back on my bed and deepened the kiss. He worked his hands up under my shirt, which I slid off. I broke off the kiss so that I could work on my belt buckle. He laughed softly, until his laughing turned to a low moan. Perplexed, I looked down and realized that his phone was vibrating in his pants pocket.

"Sofia?" I asked, grabbing his cell from his pocket. "Who the fuck is Sofia?"

"Shit!", Peter exclaimed, snatching his cellphone away from me and shoving me off him. "Hello?" he said, flipping his cell open. "Hey love... I went for a walk through Liverpool... No, I don't know where I am currently... Yes, I remembered that you were coming up today... See you... Love you... Bye."

Peter snapped his cellphone closed and jumped up.

"Who's that?" I smirked.

"My fiance," he snapped. My mouth curled into an "O" and I contemplated what to say next.

"So... Does she know that you like guys?"

Peter glared at me and grabbed his coat off the floor. "I've got to go."

"Well..." I said, but Peter cut me off.

"Listen," he stated calmly. "This isn't a "thing". That's not how I operate. I'm not a repeat offender. We're not going to "meet up later." You cannot have my number. If I want to find you, which I doubt I ever will, I know where to."

With that, Peter Landen, Rock Star of the New Generation and Closet Case #200 in the Recurring Chronicles of Xavier Beckingham... departed unceremoniously.

Five to one, baby, one to five. No one here gets out alive.

The things I do for love, Journal.

Not love at all, really. That's a laugh. In my own sick fucked-up universe though, continously wanting, for an extended period of time, to sleep with someone and not being able to is love. I hope Marie-Claire doesn't read this though, because she's in a different category. Or maybe she should read this so that she can finally realize what's good for her and ditch me. Anyhooooo....

In the last week, I managed to casually stumble into the lead singer of Sunny Day Real Estate's opening act, introduce myself, get myself invited to the concert, and end up exactly where I wanted to be.

"Who's fucking?" the ever-elusive Peter Landen called in a sing-song voice as he stumbled backstage before the show. I grinned widely at the ceiling as Lucy (Or was it Lucia?) continued to do what she did best, not even hearing Peter over her...vocal expressions of happiness.

"Lula?" Peter mumbled, brushing his hair out of his ears.

Lula, I noted silently. That's a name I never would have guessed.

Just then, "Lula" came and collapsed down next to me. Peter's eyes grew wide with surprise as they fell upon me. I remained ambivelent in appearence and grabbed my pants off the floor.

"That was definitely worth the price of admission," I mused as I put my pants back on.

"Don't you know it, babe," Lula mumbled through her cocaine induced haze. She yawned and stretched out on her bed, most likely falling in unconciousness a few moments later.

I left the room and looked back at Peter, who was still standing there in his confusion. "Oh," I said nonchalantly. "You again."

"It's kind of my fucking concert," he mumbled off-handedly. Now that I got a better look at him, he looked completely out of it. Heroin, I was going to guess. "So, are you just the groupie of Liverpool? The communal bong? Everybody takes a hit and passes it down the line?"

"I'm offended. She was a very lovely girl and we connected on a personal level," I shot back and smirked. I jumped up and grabbed a bar hanging from the ceiling, swinging back and forth in my post-coital adrenaline rush.

"You're fucking ridiculous," he said, point blank. "What are you, 15?"

"16," I corrected, jumping down in front of him. He stepped back, so I stepped forward and sneered. "And you are, what? 25?"

"I'm fucking 20," he scoffed, pincing my cheek. "You're going to be so cute when you hit puberty."

I brushed his hand away and grimaced. "So who's this chick you're marrying?"

"My personal affairs are none of your business," he said coldly.

"Wow," I exclaimed. "You almost sounded, like... not stoned out of your fucking mind."

Peter sighed in frustration and turned to walk away. Seeing as that would be highly detremental to my sleeping with him, I couldn't let this happen. I grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and went for it.

A few moments of heavy breathing, salvia sharing kissing later, Peter pushed me away. "I'm still not into sloppy seconds," he shrugged.

"Whatever," I shot back. "It's not like guys are lining up to screw you, seeing as you're engaged and all. Even if they were, they'd choose me over you in a heart beat. Even if you're famous."

"You think quite highly of yourself for a teenybopper."

"If you got it, flaunt it," I shrugged, quoting the Producers.

"I'll make you a deal," Peter said, pulling me in closer. "Lula's passed out. Might not wake up tonight. Hell, might not wake up ever. And we need an opening act."

"Fuck no." I said before he could even vocalize his thoughts in question form.

"It's a shame," Peter shrugged. "I really wanted to..." Peter looked me up and down.

"Fuck you," I reiterated. "Can't sing," I said, counting out my reasons on my fingers. "Can't play an instrument. Can't hold a tune to save my life."

"The opening act makes us look good," he shrugged. "Just take off your shirt, grab an guitar and a microphone, and sing some old song that you know, and feel free to bomb."

I shook my head. Peter groaned and threw his hands up in frustration. Suddenly, he patted his pocket and pulled out a syringe.

"No," I said.

"It's not heroin," he assured me.

"What the fuck is it then?"

"I have no fucking clue. But it's amazing."

Journal, I know this sounds odd. See, if you could freeze the frame right here, I would like to explain myself. I knew that I shouldn't take whatever he was giving me. I knew that I didn't want to fuck around with drugs. I knew this and that meant that I was going to do the right thing. I was going to be responsible. And I couldn't fucking stand to live in my own skin if I was going to become the "responsible" guy.

"Sure," I nodded.

I clenched my fist and Peter blindly stuck the needle in my arm. The moment he pushed down on the syringe, I knew that he had been lying about it being heroin. I didn't give a fuck at this moment. I was on fire.

"Do you know the song "Five to One" by the Doors?" I asked. Peter nodded. "Play it."

And honestly, Journal, I have no fucking clue what happened next.

I'm all shook up

Dear Diary,

When I’m talking to a guy I like, the first thoughts that race through my head are “Do I sound completely stupid? Is there anything in my teeth? Does my smile give me a double chin? Do I look nice today?”. I second-guess everything that I do. I regret everything that I say. I want to go home and crawl into a ball and eat ice cream. I think it’s this way for a lot of people. When you walk through a crowd, it’s like walking through a giant cloud of self-doubt and and this passionate desire for acceptance. And then Xavier Beckingham weaves his way through that crowd with some idiotic girl or guy on his arm and all he’s thinking is “Fuck you. You’re lucky to have me.”

“What are you thinking about?” I hear in my ear.

“What?!” I shout above the blaring music and twirl around. Xavier was scanning through the crowd. He looked down at me and smiled. Why did I let him drag me to this stupid concert? He repeated the question and wrapped his arm around me, pulling me closer. Oh yea, that’s why

“Nothing,” I shrugged. “Do you know who’s playing here tonight?”

“No clue,” he said.

“Then why did we come?,” I asked, already annoyed.

“Because the girl who handed me the flyer had DFL,” he shrugged. I looked up at him and saw that he was looking at some guy who was staring straight back at him, despite the girl hanging off his arm. That poor girl and I should make a fucking coalition.

“DFL?” I asked, regretting it as soon as the letters left my mouth.

“Dick fondling lips.”

Lovely.

“Hey!” I heard behind me. It was the slur of a girl who had had far too much to drink. The slur of a girl who would probably end up slapping Xavier for some time he slept with her four months ago. She’d yell at him about how she “thought he wasn’t one of those guys” and later, Xavier would laugh and tell me that the slap was totally worth the sex. This is what I wanted to witness tonight.

“You’re that guy I met in London,” drunk girl behind us continued. Suddenly, this drunk girl threw her arms around Xavier and I saw her face for the first time. It was Melissa Landen, who played Kelly on EastEnders, who Xavier slept with on a bet with me. This was the motherfucking twilight zone.

“Melissa” Xavier said, unwrapping his arms from me.

“You were good in bed,” Melissa blurted out, like it was the most normal thing to say after casual “hello”s. The guy beside her (her date, I presume) blushed crimson red. For a second, I wondered if it was because he recognized this fact first hand, but that was too cynical for my tastes.

“I know,” Xavier nodded.

“Did you come here to see my brother?” Melissa asked, composing herself temporarily.

“You have a brother?” Xavier asked, playing dumb. Of course, Melissa had a brother. Like I didn’t hear about how Xavier slept with him for the entire week afterwards.

“Peter, yea,” she giggled. “He’s such a blockhead. I don’t know why Sarah is marrying him at all. She could do so much better!”

“Sarah?” Xavier asked, this time genuinely ignorant of what Drunk Girl, aka Melissa, was referring to.

“Don’t you read Rolling Stones?” she exclaimed, far too loudly for my taste. “They’re like... the hot new couple. Just got engaged. It’s everywhere.”

“And he’s playing here today?” Xavier inquired. I didn’t like the look on his face. It was his scheming look.

“You want to go backstage after the show?” she asked, biting her lip “sexily”. Gag me with a spoon.

“Or we could just go backstage now,” he shrugged. “We could occupy ourselves to the end of the show.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic!” she yelled, grabbing his hand and dragging him through the crowd. I shrugged empathetically at her date, who stood there bewildered.

The lights went down and the concert started. Peter Landen’s band, Sunny Day Real Estate, was pretty amazing. He’s cute, too, and I did recognize him from magazines.

After the show, I used my feminine wiles (ie boobs) to get backstage and get Xavier before he did something stupid, like out the poor bastard in front of everyone.

I stumbled around backstage and looked around for Xavier. I saw him in the corner, talking to Peter. Xavier was basically radiating sex, while Peter didn’t seem as interested. I saw him say a few words and walk off, leaving Xavier standing there, bewildered.

“Didn’t remember you?” I asked, walking up to where Xavier was frozen.

“No,” he seethed. “He just turned me down.”

“We all strike out sometimes,” I shrugged. Of course, I wouldn’t know. Chasing boys isn’t exactly my style.

“This isn’t over,” Xavier hissed. “Not even a little bit.”

“Can it be over for tonight?”

Xavier shrugged and followed me as I dragged him out of there. I understand that this has to be a critical blow to his ego. Is it bad that I love it? Well, stay tuned. I’m sure Xavier will do something totally idiotic/brilliant and keep the rumor mill running.