The story of a lonesome ol'Jerome

*Owen’s POV*

After I finished filling a bag with some clothes and basics (fuck Z and his gutter punk holier than thou aesthetic, I wasn’t going anywhere without my fucking toothbrush, deodorant, and a few other choice items), I found a suspiciously quiet Z outside, not smoking. Uh-oh.

I knew Z couldn’t kill me, and he needed me to fulfill his bargain, so it wasn’t in his interest to break every bone in my body. I just eyed him intently as he came up to me, reached in his pocket, pulled out his cigarettes, and… offered me one? “Peace, motherfucker?” Totally confused, but wanting to encourage him, I accepted the offer with a nod, and he lit it for me. Ugh, just as foul as I remembered. I took little, symbolic piffs of brotherhood, not wanting to irritate him, but also not wanting to cough or make myself totally nauseated.

After lighting his own cigarette, Z started us off in some new direction. I gathered he had either decided he wanted to bring some things of his after all, or had some new plan. I just tagged along as he started talking, gesticulating in his wildly animated fashion. Z was a likable guy, and funny too, when he wasn’t threatening me or hitting me, uh, that was.

“Owen, I’m not used to your ways, man. You’ve been around a softer crowd, maybe, I dunno, since you died. But in the brothel, no one asks me, like, what I care about, who my friends are, what my fucking childhood was like, for fuck’s sake. You have to keep those things close to you, protected.” Z gestured to his chest with his fist, rather adamantly. “If you don’t, you might forget you care about anything, that you had friends, that you had a childhood. Uh, not that I want to talk about my motherfucking childhood. That is not what I meant, dude.”

I nodded, exhaling my symbolic piff. “Same.”

“Look dude, you may be some kind of new-age hippy, really into feelings or whatever, and I mean, I’m really, really not, dude. But I don’t think you’re a total pussy. Anyway, I will try to fuck with you less, if you will try and be less of a fucking pansy-“

I rolled my eyes. “-Roll up your sleeve and give me your arm.”

Z snorted. “I can’t roll it up, it’s a fucking leather jacket, moron!”

I was getting irritated. “Then take it the fuck off and give me your arm, stop whining!”

Z flung his jacket on the ground and held his arm out, as though I were going to inspect his tattoos. Instead, I grabbed his hand, and quickly ground my cigarette out on the upper side of his left wrist, making him scream like a bitch. “Graaaaaaaaaagh! You fucker!”

I dodged, laughing, as he swung at me awkwardly with his right hand, in which he was still holding his cigarette. “Don’t drop your cigarette or you’ll have to light a new one!” At that, Z stopped attacking and just looked at me, confused. “Come on, you fucking idiot! I thought this would be right up your alley: a primordial ritual of comradeship, bonding through torture before an insane, somewhat ill-advised quest! Well?” I stuck my left hand out, still smiling.

Z eventually returned my smile, hesitantly, than shook his head. “I hadn’t thought to make that sort of friend again, is all. Plus, shit, dude, you did that totally sober!” I nodded, giving him an impatient look. Z snorted, then grabbed my hand and put his cigarette out on my damned wrist, laughing.

“AARRRRGGGHHHhhhhh! Fuccckkkkk!!!!” Z snickered evilly.

He pointed to the spot on his wrist, seeming now oblivious to any pain. “Why’d you pick that spot? Looks like fucking stigmata, for christ’s sake!” He giggled.

My wrist hurt, it fucking hurt! “Because it was there, I don’t fucking know, fuck, ugh!” Shit, why the fuck had that been a good idea?

“You sound like me!” Z picked up his jacket and slung it back on. I noticed he was looking chipper and sounding pleased. “Let’s get going, don’t want to keep the big man waiting.” He started drumming a little rhythm out as we walked, he was in such a good mood. Ugh. I just hoped he didn't start whistling.

Notes

QOTD:

(hmm... trying to think of something chapter related....)

anybody have a leather jacket?

my answer- yes. though i'm in the middle of sewing a patch on it (so worth it though- i'm a big silence of the lambs fan, and i love acherontia sp.), and i don't have a machine, so it takes bloody forever, as i have to do it by hand and my jacket is lined. i've gotten really good at it, but it's still really time-consuming especially, on sleeves! i have a tailcoat i plan to sew some patches on too, that should be a lot easier when i have time for it. ( i have a LOT of patches i've collected)