The story of a lonesome ol'Jerome

*Gwyn’s POV*

Once we got to the hospital, I started to get nervous. Granted, we were going to an Emergency Room, pretty late at night. But Andy, was, well, famous. I’d never been around him anywhere in public before. I didn’t know, really, how often he got recognized, or what sorts of things happened. He must have seen me hesitating, or maybe it was the horrifying grimace I didn’t realize I had been making.

“Hey.” He just smiled, then reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. “It’ll be fine.” I just nodded, and in we went.

I hung back from the desk, but I overheard Andy describing the issue to the receptionist. I was glad to hear that he was up to date on his tetanus, and it sounded like Blasko had even emailed him the record of his last one. I guess Andy had health insurance, too. That was cool.

My mind wandered, and then I saw the first one: a woman, probably in her twenties, staring at Andy. She would definitely have qualified as goo-goo eyed. Uh-oh. Should I hide? I couldn’t do that, Andy would wonder where I had gone. I watched her take a picture of him with her phone. Oh shit, I guess if I ever went anywhere with him, I might be getting my picture taken! Godmotherfuckingshitanus, I hated having my picture taken…

Andy came up to me after he was done checking in, and before I could think to protest, planted one right on me. “Andy!” I hissed, ultra-quietly. “There’s a fan or something taking pictures of you, like right now!”

He looked concerned. “Really? Right now?” I nodded, glad he understood. “Ok, I know how to deal with this, don’t worry.” He smiled at me reassuringly, and it was too late by the time I noticed the mischievous sparkle in his eye. He put one hand behind my head and kissed me, hard, pulling me to him with his other arm behind me and grabbing my butt. I wanted to resist but couldn’t help but cave almost instantly. Andy created a kind of sensory overload so intoxicating that all I could do was give in.

He pulled away first, and as we caught our breath, he leaned his forehead against mine. “See? No problem, all taken care of, Doc.” He looked proud of himself, complete with a little half-smile.

I couldn’t help but smile too. “You’re a cocky bastard, you know that? Let’s go sit down. Preferably in a very remote corner.” I glanced quickly at the lady who had recognized Andy (well, presumably- I suppose it was possible she just thought he was super-hot. I mean, he is really hot), and she was still staring at him. Creepy. Andy was unfazed, I wasn’t sure if he even registered her, but that kind of shit would freak the fuck out of me. Maybe she was too shy to approach him? Was it because of me? Had she taken my picture?

We sat down in a corner and Andy looked at me, grinning. He picked up my right hand gently and looked it over. It looked better than yesterday, but the knuckles were still bruised, and my palms still had healing abrasions. Then he looked at his left hand, which had the puncture wound in between his third and fourth metacarpals. We both started laughing softly at the same time.

I don’t think that he put much thought into what he said next, “I hope daily hand injuries don’t become a focal point of our relationship.”

I was kind of thrown off, and briefly my breath caught. I hoped Andy hadn’t noticed. I was pretty sure he hadn’t, at all, meant ‘relationship’ in the romantic sense, not this early, it had just surprised me. Maybe because I did feel I would like to date him, maybe because I didn’t want him to know I felt that way, maybe I felt a little guilty at having any kind of feelings for someone literally overnight... I managed a weak, “totally,” and a bit of a laugh.

Andy seemed to sense he had said or done something mildly wrong, but it appeared he wasn’t sure what. I swear, dudes sometimes have the emotional intelligence of a zucchini! He gave up easily (he was such a dude) and got his phone out. “Want to see something both hilarious and awesome?” I nodded. “This is how we met!” He looked at me, flashing an ovary-melting smile. Whoa. He must really like this video, though what it had to do with me, I wasn’t sure.

I watched as Andy hit ‘play.’ There was that giant butthole from the line last night! I didn’t know anybody had a video of this! There he was, yelling at BVB:

“I’ve waited an hour, man! What the fuck, guys!-”

I gestured to Andy to turn the volume down, since there was swearing in the video and there might be children around. He looked amused, but humored me and turned it down a little.

“-Don’t you give a shit about your fans? You guys are fucking dicks! I’ve been listening to you for years, and just spent $35 of my hard-earned money to come see you guys, and you can’t stick around just to sign your name? Hell-oo!?! You guys didn’t even do any signing this morning, don’t you even fucking care? Are you coming back or-“ And there I was, looking like an angry sausage. I had weaseled into the gap that had cleared around the guy and grabbed him by his collar. I didn’t remember being that rough with him.

“Shut the fuck up, motherfucker. These men are real people, with real needs and real lives. If they need to piss, or if they want to leave, you will fucking well let them, because they are great men and fucking heroes to thousands. Treat them with the respect they deserve. They don’t owe you anything, motherfucker.” I released him, still looking like some kind of irritable, female, nightmare version of the Stay Puft marshmallow man. Ugh, I hated watching videos of myself. There was a smattering of applause.

“Fuck you, you fucking fat cunt!” The big guy shoved me over by smacking me hard across the face and hitting me in the chest. I went skidding across the ground. Well, that explained why I had been dazed. What a prick! I watched in fascination as I started cackling like a total maniac and then sank my fist into his balls. After he went down, I was still laughing like a total loony, and had my foot up to try and crush his skull, when Andy grabbed me and dragged me awkwardly away from the fallen, groaning dickhead.

The camera followed Andy and I. I had given him one small elbow jab, but then had stopped protesting and become passive. “Can one of you guys make sure that asshole is ok? And maybe find out what happened and let me know? And can the rest of you help me get this girl somewhere quiet? I think she’s upset and needs to sit down, away from everybody.” Andy was talking to a muscular looking guy, while holding firmly onto my wrist. I looked like I was about to pass out. I figured the big guy was probably Matt Yanni, of Turka Mayne fame, but didn’t say anything. Andy knew I was a big fan already, I didn’t want to seem like a total creeper.

A random voice: “Dude, come on!” The camera shook, then the video ended.

Andy looked at me, smiling brightly. “Cool, huh?”

I was embarrassed and kind of terrified. I spoke quietly. “Um, it would be, but who has that video, Andy? I could lose my license. And was that guy ok? I don’t remember doing all of that, just the beginning.” This could be really, really bad.

Andy was unconcerned. “One of our roadies took it. You don’t need to worry about it. Let’s just say that now I owe Ashley a favor. And now we have a cool souvenir. But, yeah, that guy was ok. Aside from, presumably, his pride.” He nudged me in the side, making a dorky face, until I caved and smiled.

Notes

QOTD:
Anybody here like the blues?

Fuck yeah! All hail Muddy Waters (~for example~)!

i am really sleepy. apologies for any mistakes, point it out if i made any really heinous ones, please.