The story of a lonesome ol'Jerome

*Gwyn's POV*

“Uh…” I said. It was definitely not a good idea to look at the man’s face. Unfortunately, Andy Biersack was just as hot in person as he was on my phone, and my computer. I had the weird irrational thought that he was reading my mind and knew what I was thinking, and became profoundly embarrassed that he might know that an ol'Jerome like me might think he was such a hottie. So embarrassed that I just started laughing. I guess Andy wasn’t used to that reaction, because it made him smile (holy shit- what a smile!).

“What’s so funny?” His eyes really were blue. So blue. I wondered if he wore contacts? I looked at the ground so I could focus on what he was saying. I thought for a minute, and decided, well, what the fuck. This dude was a real person, not just a rock star, I’d just talk to him like a real person.

“Was I just a total dumbass? I mean, I dunno, talk about having a totally stupid ‘punk rock’ moment. I mean, I am, like, a regular dude, you know? I’m a veterinarian. If that dude presses charges, I’ll lose my license. But he just fucking pissed the shit out of me, I mean, no one was fucking stopping him. But, eh..” I paused, Andy didn't seem to follow, but I laughed again… ”I was actually laughing because I’m old.”

Andy chuckled and looked confused. “What the fuck are you talking about? Old?”

“Yeah, I’m 34, and, like, this is embarrassing but I thought it was totally funny that an old hag like me would be so smitten by,” I gestured grandly with my arms, “THE Andy Biersack, who, I understand, is, like, considerably my junior, that I would be momentarily unable to speak.” I grinned and laughed, and Andy shook his head, chortling softly.

“It’s ok. It happens all the time. That sounds conceited, I guess, but I’ve just gotten used to it.” He looked a little embarrassed before going to light a cigarette.

I stared at the cigarette. It looked almost as good as Andy. I had been a smoker for 16 years. I had quit when I turned 30, a goal I had made when I was a teenager. I felt desire well up in me like only a true addict knows. I had only had one relapse, last year, I had smoked a pack when I found out my ex, Drake, was engaged. The cigarettes had been incredible, not buying another pack had been agony, still was. The smell hit my nostrils. My head involuntarily snapped to the side at an angle, a tic, quickly returning to normal position.

“Whoa, what was that, are you ok?” said Andy, a little startled. I was mortified.

“Um, I have chronic motor tics.” I said softly. I looked at the ground. “It’s like, um, little movements and sometimes vocal tics, kind of like super-minor tourettes. I can usually suppress them. When I am experiencing exhaustion, stress, anxiety, or whatever, they tend to occur with greater frequency. And, eh…” I stared mournfully at the trail of smoke coming from his cigarette, “I am, um, a former smoker. But, uh, I do not mean to imply that, you know…” I trailed off. “I’ll just go. I’m sorry to impose.”

Andy looked irritated and grabbed my wrist, walking me over to a bench, where we sat down “What’s your name?”

Notes