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Almost Easy

Chapter Five: For Research Purposes

When I was eight, my parents died in a car accident. No one has ever been super clear on the details, but I gather that my father was an idiot and drove after having just a little bit too much to drink. The vehicle flipped a couple of times when the asshole behind the wheel lost control.
So, naturally, my aunt took me in. She had no kids of her own, no husband—she was a corporate lawyer with quite a lot of money but not a lot of affection. It was fine, I guess. I grew up mostly void of any warmth but I had unwavering support in spades.
She bought me my first album and she paid for my guitar lessons—and once I’d become bored of that, she ultimately paid for my singing lessons too. She was in the audience at every end-of-year recital, always gushing to everyone that she was my guardian.
I was fourteen the first time I referred to her as my parent. Apparently that was overstepping a boundary that I hadn’t known existed.
It’s not a far jump to assume that she was the catalyst for my apathy—and for my social anxiety. Every time I tried to show her that I loved her, I was pushed backward. Tyler was really my only constant source of love that I’d ever had in my life.
He’d been there longer than my parents.
My aunt didn’t seem to mind at all when I told her I was leaving Massachusetts to move to California.
“Wear sunscreen,” is literally all she said about it.
It’s sort of funny now but at the time it was heart-wrenching. What had I ever done in my life to earn such a void? I was innocent still when my parents kicked the bucket. I was less innocent as I grew into my teens.
But what teen is a saint, anyway?
I stretched my arms out across the rooftop table where I still found myself wrapped up in anxiety. Life is funny that way—you think you’ve escaped your past and found peace within yourself. But then your ghosts come creeping up from behind and pull you back with them.
My cigarette was nearly out and I’d become painfully aware that I didn’t have any more to replenish it with now that the handsome stranger had confiscated my pack.
My aunt hated when I smoked. It only made me want to do it all that much more.
I finished my drink with a satisfied gulp and smashed my cigarette into the ashtray.
“Okay,” I mumbled to myself, collecting my consciousness. “It’s fine.”
The mere idea of strolling back into the chaos that was this party was enough to make me want to step up onto the rooftop walls—and then step off. That was reasonable, right? I could leap to my death to avoid the noise—but it was likely that the noise would then come to me.
I groaned to myself and forced my way back downstairs.
I didn’t think it was possible, but the crowd had fucking grown. There were easily five hundred people crammed into this space. Where once was space along the walls, was now filled to the brim with drunken antics. People were laced with each other, scattered motherfucking everywhere.
Deep breath.
I’d have to get used to crowds like this if I was going to be as big as I wanted to be in the music industry. I was going to have to learn how to be comfortable and confident without being Blair Peterson—I needed to learn to just be Blair.
Find Tyler.
I started on the west wall, trying to pinpoint exactly where it was that I’d left Tyler and Jimmy. They were in a booth somewhere, but unfortunately from where I stood, it was impossible to see inside any of them. I started pacing back and forth through the rows of tables and chairs.
I must be on the wrong side.
I pushed my way through the crowd on the dancefloor, frantically trying to escape from the sea of people and trying desperately not to explode into a panic. Eventually I was free of the pit and I could breathe again.
My eyes darted around in a last ditch effort to spot someone I knew. Deep breathing.
“Are you lost?” someone shouted into my ear from behind.
I jumped.
I whipped around, still gripping at my chest. The man behind me was laughing heartily.
“I didn’t mean to scare you!” he shouted. “You look lost!”
“I am!” I shouted over the deafening bass.
“Who are you looking for?” he shouted back.
“The Rev!”
The guy smiled widely, “He’s over there!”
He pointed with his ink-free arm to a set of tables on the other end of the room. It was going to be a harrowing journey but it was one I knew that I must take.
“Thanks!” I yelled and tried to make for the table.
He grabbed my arm, “Hey! Come dance! The Rev can wait!”
I squinted at his arm, surveying his arrogance, “I’m good, thanks!”
He tightened his grip on my extremity, “Come on!”
I peeled his fingers off of me, ready to break the bones if I felt so inclined. I was many things—anxiety-ridden, nervous, insecure, but I was not fucking vulnerable. And I was sure as shit not going to let some man intimidate me into letting him grope me on the dancefloor.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I warned him. “I said I’m good.”
He put his hands in the air, looking genuinely offended which only enraged me more, “No need to be a bitch about it.”
And there it was—the one fucking line that drove my mind batshit crazy. If I said no, then I was a bitch? If I had my own opinions and my own desires…If they don’t match yours, I’m a bitch? What about trying to force someone into doing something that they clearly don’t want to do. Badgering them endlessly until they cave—are you not the bitch, then?
Fuck this guy.
Despite my growing urge to deck the guy in the face, I forced myself away from him and toward my friends. This, I thought, is why I don’t go out.
By time I made it to the table, I was pissed and I was tired. I decided I’d grab Tyler and get the fuck out of dodge.
“Blair!” Jimmy shrieked once he’d caught sight of me. “We thought you were dead! We’ve been here planning your funeral in your absence…how do you feel about lilies?”
“What?” I groaned.
“Lilies,” he repeated seriously. “We’re thinking one hundred lilies. You know, for your funeral.”
I grimaced at him, “Lilies are fine.”
Jimmy cheered before ushering me back to the table, “Guys! She said lilies are fine! So, it’s a go on the florals.”
I rolled my eyes, looking straight to Tyler with a telling expression on my face, “Ty, some guy just touched me, I lost my smokes, can we—“
A figure caught my attention from the corner of my eye. He was sitting across from Ty, staring up at me warmly. I glanced over quickly and then back to Tyler.
And then back to the guy.
“Hey,” I interrupted myself. “Stalking me, are we?”
Brian looked real smug in that moment, he smirked up at me, “Yes.”
“Great,” I sighed. “Anyway, Ty, let’s go.”
“Wait, you’re leaving?” Jimmy gasped. “No, you can’t go! If you don’t like Syn here, we can remove him. I know a guy.”
“Syn?” I asked mockingly. I turned back to Brian, “I thought you said your name is Brian.”
“It is,” Brian grinned. “But it’s Syn too.”
I scratched at my head, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Blair,” Tyler moaned, “This is Synyster Gates.”
Suddenly I felt very, very stupid. I’d fucking asked him if he was a musician.
“Oh…” I hesitated. “I—uh…”
Brian laughed maniacally.
Jimmy pulled me in with his long arm, “Don’t worry, Blair. His split personality confuses us, too. We can get through it together.”
“You’re fucking Synyster Gates?” I asked finally, feeling flooding back into my fingertips. “You said you’re even good at the guitar!”
“He isn’t,” Jimmy cackled.
Tyler eyed me once over, “You’ve met, I take it?”
“Well I met Brian,” I stammered. “But now I’m confused.”
“Let me buy you a drink,” Brian said to me, his eyes wide and beautiful.
I stared.
“Sit,” Jimmy instructed, pushing me onto the bench next to Brian—err—Synyster? He sat me next to whoever. “Good girl.”
“Jimmy I’m not a dog,” I hissed playfully.
“No, you sure aren’t,” Brian mused, giving me once over with his devilishly intoxicating eyes.
I felt my body flush.
“So, let me get this straight,” I started, turning my focus solely to Brian while Jimmy flagged down the waitress. “You are Synyster Gates.”
“Right,” he nodded with a playful smile.
“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” I whined. “Now I feel stupid! I thought you were a session guitarist!”
“What?” he laughed. “Why would you think that?”
I shrugged, shaking my head, “I don’t know!”
“Don’t give me shit for destroying a story you built up,” he chuckled.
“But you lied,” I protested weakly.
He narrowed his eyes, “About what? My name is Brian. Next?”
I had nothing.
“So,” I tried again, “You’re Brian or Synyster Gates? What do I call you?”
He raised his eyebrows, “You can call me whatever you want, baby.”
“Stop,” I giggled like a school girl with a playground crush.
I slapped his shoulder playfully—mostly just because I wanted to touch him. God damn did I ever want to touch him.
He looked perfect underneath these dim bar lights. He looked especially perfect as he pulled my pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.
“My smokes!” I exclaimed excitedly.
He tilted his head slightly, holding the pack up to his chest, “I believe you mean my smokes.”
“Yeah, can we get a round of shots?” Jimmy interrupted as the waitress announced herself to the table. “I don’t care what as long as it’s strong. You know what, just send a bottle of whatever over here. And a couple dozen shot glasses—you know, for research purposes.”
“Jimmy, we don’t need a fucking bottle,” Matt interjected, rubbing his temples.
Jimmy grinned, “Sure we do! A bottle of Petrone, my fine lady!”
“Jimmy, we don’t need a bottle of fucking Petrone!” Matt argued again.
“A bottle of Petrone,” he said again to the waitress, more seriously this time. “Off you go.”
“Research of what?” Johnny asked once the waitress had disappeared.
Jimmy cackled, “How much tequila it takes to give Syn alcohol poisoning.”
Brian didn’t seem to notice this exchange at all—he seemed to only notice me.
“So, what are you going to do to earn back these cigarettes, huh?” he asked me suddenly, breaking my fascination with Jimmy.
Jimmy nudged Tyler in the ribs, gesturing to Brian and I with his head, whispering lowly so that I couldn’t hear. Tyler smirked, nodding in response.
I forced myself to ignore this and turn back to Brian, “Sorry, what?”
Brian looked hurt that I’d neglected him.
I recovered, “It’s loud in here, I think I might be deaf.”
He held the cigarette pack up and dangled them back and forth, “How bad do you want these?”
I didn’t until he started torturing me with them.
For fucks sakes.
I lied, “I don’t.”
“Is that so?” he asked whimsically.
He pulled a cigarette from the pack and placed it firmly between his lips. His eyes were unwavering in their contact as he teased me with his addiction. Cancer looked real good on him.
“That’s not fair,” I pouted.
“Is it not?” he smirked, lighting the cigarette and filling the air with smoke.
I breathed it in.
“Here,” he held the lit cigarette out to me, “we can share.”
“Or you could give me back my pack,” I argued whilst batting my long lashes.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
I shrugged, “Seems like a good time to me.”
“I told you,” he sneered, “You have to earn them back.”
“Earn them how?” I bit.
He shrugged, still holding the cigarette out to me, “Get creative, Peterson.”
I took the cigarette and pushed a cloud of smoke down to my chest, “Don’t call me that.”
The waitress appeared again with the bottle of requested Petrone and a dozen tiny glass shot glasses. They shimmered in the neon lights and I could already taste the hangover.
Jimmy thanked her with a wink before shooing her away.
“Tell you what,” Brian challenged me, the cigarette in his lips again, “I’ll race you.”
“Race me?” I laughed. “Where?”
“To oblivion,” he laughed.
“Hey! Hey! Do I hear a challenge brewing?” Jimmy interrupted with great excitement. “I want in!”
“You don’t even know what they’re doing,” Johnny groaned at his friend.
“I don’t care!” Jimmy smiled. “I want in!”
“Here’s the deal,” Brian started, sorting the shot glasses into rows in front of him, me, and Jimmy. “First one to finish six shots wins.”
“Do you want me to die?” I choked. “I’m like two feet tall!”
Brian fake pouted at me, “Aw, is someone afraid of losing?”
“Losing? No. Dying? A little.”
Tyler was watching with concern written all over his pretty face. He looked at me seriously.
“Blair, I don’t know if that’s a great idea,” he said shyly.
“It isn’t,” I agreed. “But I’m in.”
Brian’s lips spread across his face into an evil grin, “You think you’re going to get these back?”
He taunted me with my pack again. I held my hand out to thief the cigarette out of his mouth. He made no effort to stop me.
I placed it between my lips and pulled on it hard; ensuring that I kept my gaze locked firmly on Brian’s. I could do this whole sexy, seductive thing—why not. He was obviously doing it and doing it well. I could contribute.
“Okay,” I breathed, pushing the smoke out of my lungs, “Let’s pour.”
“Rev, the honour is yours,” Brian laughed.
Jimmy looked like a child on Christmas, pouring the liquor into the glasses—and also onto the table. I felt sorry for whoever was going to have to clean this table later as it was already covered in lord knows what and would surely be full of my vomit before the night’s end.
Once all eighteen shot glasses were full, Jimmy readied himself before his.
“Shadows, count us down!” Jimmy demanded, his eyes gleaming with excitement and intoxication.
Matt obliged, “Alcohol poisoning in 3, 2, 1… Drink!”
What few knew about me was that not only was I a bad ass bitch, but I could drink like a fish. Like I said earlier, I was a wee bit indulgent—which meant very little self-control. Which, in turn, meant that I had to develop a tolerance and fast.
I tossed back shot after shot, leaving Jimmy and Brian in my dust. My stomach turned as each ounce flushed down my system—there was no time for chasing, no time for breathing. I was in competition mode and would reign supreme.
“Done!” I shouted, slamming my sixth empty shot glass onto the sticky table. “Fuckers!”
Brian looked to me in amazement. Jimmy looked pissed.
“I only finished four,” Jimmy pouted, folding his arms across his chest. “This is bullshit.”
“I almost had you,” Brian said to me, flirtation twinkling in his dark eyes.
I grinned, “Almost—but not quite.”
With that, I snatched my pack back from the sexy beast and lit one immediately.
“Syn, it seems you’ve met your match,” Matt called from across the table.
Brian and I stared at each other in a moment of acknowledgment. He seemed just as puzzled and curious of me as I was feeling about him.
“Who are you?” Brian half-laughed.
I pulled on my cigarette, feeling quite haughty. He didn’t take his eyes off of me.
“Puff?” I asked from the side of my mouth, using my peripherals to study his interest in me.
He took the cigarette from my hand.
“You know you have your own smokes, Bri,” Johnny said, his face riddled with confusion.
“This is why you’re single,” Matt laughed.
“They’re flirting!” Jimmy shouted at Johnny, leaning over the table for extra effect. “Duh!”
But again, Brian didn’t seem to notice anything but me.
“Who are you?” I mocked him, desire burning behind my eyes.
I was in deep, deep trouble.



Notes

Mmmmm Brian.

Comments

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RamonaFoREVer RamonaFoREVer
6/18/19

@LostinDreams77
Oh!!! I'm so glad!!! <33

fyction fyction
5/13/19

Only on chapter 6 but I bloody love it already lol

LostinDreams77 LostinDreams77
5/13/19

@kiss my sas
Omg!!! Lol

fyction fyction
3/27/19

Ok, time for a re read on this one now :D
Baby Blair, come at me!!!

kiss my sas kiss my sas
3/27/19