21st Century Breakdown

[Anty]

Anthony listened to the almost noiseless ticking of the clock hanging on the wall, his eyes following the second hand, and slowly, that turned into watching the minute hand, and finally the hour hand. He didn't want to sleep until he had to. He knew what would come if he let himself sleep, the awful dreams. His hand draped over the edge of the cushion, his fingers running slowly along the linen lining on the couch involuntarily. He wet his lips with his dry, cracked tongue.

With a melodramatic groan, he swung his legs easily over the side of the couch that Evan had bought him after his constant whining about the stiff reclining chair. he stood and stretched with a sigh and moved noisily to the light switch, flipping it on. The light fixture flickered on, blinding Anthony's blood shot eyes momentarily. It had been three days since he had slept and it showed in his appearance. He looked around the cozy living room, searching for any sort of liquid to soothe his parched mouth. Nothing.

He moved to the fridge and bent over it, his eyes running over it contents. Mostly what he saw was condiments, as if Evan had a huge collection of it. But there was nothing decent Anthony could see: a barely touched jug of milk, a few open beer cans and a bottle of half used water that contained some sort of colored dye. He was giving up hope when something caught his eye: a few bottles in the back with huge warning signs on the label. He picked one up curiously and read the large label: Jack Daniels. His hand reached to the back of the fridge, ready to set it back down and forget about it completely, knowing it would screw with his brain, but he hesitated. To hell with it, no one would care. And he really was thirsty...

He snatched three of the bottles from the back of the fridge and slammed it shut. He moved back to the new couch, unscrewing one of the bottles. Half of it remained as he slammed his body onto the soft couch. Sooner than he realized he was draining the second of the three bottles and smashing it into the coffee table. His head was drooping onto his chest and his eyes were threatening to close. But the whiskey was kicking in, and it felt as if fire was rushing through his veins.

He flipped on the TV and watched the cartoons. Soon Sponge bob had come on, "Oh my... Oh my God! Anthony said, giggling. He sat on the edge of the couch, bottle in one hand cigarette in the other. "Don't do it Mr. Krabbs... Don't... No!" he puffed at the cigarette nervously, fretting over whether Mr. Krabbs was going to be alright. Anthony shivered, and realized that his feet were freezing. He stood, dropping the bottle onto the hardwood floor, and found his combat boots. He moved back to the couch, his head resting on one of the arm rests and his filthy boots on the other white arm rest.

The walls were spinning around him now, his feet lifting off the couch as if he was experiencing an out-of-body experience. The was a irritating buzzing noise that was getting on his last nerves. His eyes flickered up to the light fixture above him. Soon he was moving around the cozy apartment, taking the light bulbs from the sockets. Occasionally he would burn his hand on a lit light fixture and curse colorfully, but soon he had huge pile of them. All the light bulbs in the house. He picked a glowing one up, tossing it around from hand to hand. Then an idea struck him.
He threw one light bulb after the next, smashing them into the wall and leaving a mess of shattered glass and everything else that light bulbs contain.

[Waddle]

Evan slept peacefully, dreaming of his ex-girlfriend. Suddenly, the sound of breaking glass shattered the good dream, and he started violently, sitting bold upright in the bed. He hit his head on the headboard hard, and shouted in surprise, clutching the back of his head. He cursed and swung his legs over the side of the edge, standing up. "What the hell was that?" he muttered to himself, going to the door and opening it, rushing out of the room, thinking that someone had broken in through the window or something. He wasn't thinking that clearly.

He saw Anthony first, then the broken light bulbs on the floor. Running up beside his friend, he shoved him aside before thinking about it, then caught him by the shirt before he fell over. "Sorry. Ant, what did you do?!" Evan was very grumpy, having only a couple hours of sleep. He had had to make up for time in the hospital by staying late at work. He saw the more shattered glass near the coffee table and saw the Jack Daniels labels, along with the warning labels, scattered across the floor. He grabbed Anthony by the pajama shirt, twisting it and pulling Anthony's face close to his as he snarled, "How many did you drink, Anthony Wade Sanderson?" He had completely forgotten about the whiskey. If he had been smart, he would have thrown it out long ago. Anthony had proven himself to not be too smart sometimes. I gotta childproof this house.

[Anty]

Normally Anthony would have kept his balance. But his mind was spinning from the heavy alcohol and his equilibrium was unbalanced, so of course, he lost his footing. But before he could go crashing into the floor Evan saved his skin. Or so Anthony thought. "I got thirsty... " he said, his words slurring together into one. He was standing on his tip toes now because Evan had his fist clenched around the front of his shirt. But he was lucky, if he was forced to stand by himself he would be swaying like wheat in a wind storm.

Anthony leaned forward so that his lips brushed against Evan's ear, pushing the hair behind it. "Feeling feisty tonight, aren't we, kitty cat," Anthony said, "mrrow," he made a cat-like claw gesture to add to the effect. "Nice boxers," he said in a sarcastic, demeaning manner. Chest against chest, he cocked his head sideways. He was about to make a move. His mind was twisted and confused and he had no idea what he was doing, really. Though the unintoxicated part of his mind wasn't objecting. He leaned in, there lips now mere centimeters apart. But as he lost his balance again, he swayed forward so that there lips brushed against each other.

[Waddle]

Evan froze when Anthony leaned in. He felt Ant's lips brush his ear. He glanced at his boxers. They were purple leopard print. He had no honest clue as to why he had them. He flushed a bit, embarassed. Then he looked back at Ant, only to feel Ant lean in as their lips were mere centimeteres apart. An odd rush of some emotion filled him, twisting his stomach into nervous knots. Love, he realized. "Thank you, sweetheart," he whispered demeaningly. He could smell the whiskey on Ant's breath, and it snapped him out of the overwhelming emotion. Disgusted, Evan shoved Ant roughly back, more out of confusion about his own feelings than anything. He turned away and walked to the smashed light bulbs, staring at them without really seeing them. What the heck was going on? Normally, he never found other men attractive, but Ant was a different matter. He may just be extremely femenine... Ant was his best friend, and Evan didn't like seeing him like this. Drunk out of his mind. He realized suddenly that he did love Ant a lot, more than his ex. That's awkward.

[Anty]

Sweetheart? That was odd. Evan thinks my heart smells sweet? But Anthony's crooked train of thought was interrupted as he tumbled backwards over the back of the couch. "What the-" he stopped as he face planted onto the cold floor. But now his insides felt like mush and the whiskey was threatening to come back up. He felt as if he had just gotten off of a roller coaster. He rolled himself onto his back, but the walls were spinning. Uh-oh. "The spins" were starting. He shakily rose to his feet but fell back onto his hands and knees. "Evan... help," he said, all his words slurred together. He looked over to Evan. But wait, why were there two of him? Had Tomo snuck in? "... Tomo?" he asked. He heaved himself to his feet with a grunt and began moving shakily towards the two Evans. His steps were uneven and he tripped multiple before he managed to balance his weight on the back of the couch. It was as if the house was spinning, and so were all of its contents. Which included him. Screaming, he rose both of his arms to his eyes and pressed hard on them so that maybe the nausea would cease. It didn't. Without warning his hand flung itself back onto the couch uncontrollably and he began staggering towards the Evans. "Evan what did you do with all those light bulbs? And why do you keep multiplying?" There were now four Evans. Once he guessed that he was close enough he reached out to rest his hand on Evan's shoulder but instead he groped around in the air until he found the real Evan by smacking him across the head. "I'm sorry Evan number three," he slurred out. The walls kept spinning around faster and faster. Somehow he managed to find Evan's shoulder and he staggered behind him. But the nausea overtook him and his body heaved forward, splattering upchuck all over Evan's backside. "I'm so sorry Evan... the third... " With another spasm his body shook as more vomit hit Evan. He began laughing. And laughing. And laughing. He staggered backwards, laughing uncontrollably. It was what most people called the Labile affect. He continued to stagger around blindly until he ran into the back of the couch. Then he slumped down against it and continued laughing until he could barely breathe. Then, again, he puked. Even that didn't staunch the uncontrollable laughter.

[Waddle]

Evan didn't turn to watch Anthony as he stumbled and tripped around like a blind bear. He just continued to stare down at the light bulbs, thinking that he was surely going insane. Maybe this was all like a movie he had seen once, where the main character started seeing ghosts of past friends and family members coming to life. Surely, no, though. Tomo had been real, Real enough to leave my face permanently disfigured a bit, and the gunshot wound had been real, so Anthony was surely real. He almost wished he wasn't, though. Maybe being insane would be better than being around his friend.

No, no, he had to stop thinking like that! Anthony was his only brother, the only one person in the world who would be there for him if he really needed it. He had proven that already. Evan had to be there for Anthony, at times like this, when his friend was at his worst. When Ant said something about Tomo, Evan glanced up and around, making sure the door was locked and the windows locked and curtains drawn. He blinked several times as Ant tried to find him, called him Evan number three, then promptly emptied his stomach on Evan's back. His nose wrinkled up and he started to breathe through his mouth as the smell in the room went from whiskey and new couch to vomit.

Evan watched as Anthony collapsed behind the couch and puked once more. He grimaced and went to the kitchen sink, grabbed several towels and wetted them all in the water, used one to wipe off his back as best he could, threw it in the sink and went to kneel beside Anthony. He gently rubbed one towel against Ant's face, around his mouth to clear the vomit. It was hard, considering Anty refused to stop laughing. But he managed to and took the other clean hand towel and wiped it along Ant's face, whispering quietly. "It's alright, you son of a gun. Calm down, before you throw your insides up. Wait a second, I'll get a bucket or something."

Standing, Evan went back into the kitchen, leaving the towels, and quickly returned with a large pot. He thought momentarily about whacking Anthony on the head with it and knocking him unconscious, but decided against it. He knelt back down beside his friend and sat the pot to the side, then picked up the more clean towel and continued wiping Anthony's face, whispering curses under his breath.

[Anty]

Anthony watched three Evans leave from the corner of his eye, his head resting against the back of the couch. His body shook again but this time he managed to swallow the vomit, forcing it back down his throat. It didn't seem to like that. He graciously allowed Evan to wipe away the vomit and his body convulsed. "Thank... you," he managed to say. He looked down to notice that his shirt had managed to stay clean, and, ironically, he vomited down his front, and vomit filled drool dripped down his chin.

he was sobering up quickly. And was beginning to feel hungover. To the extremes. More and more alcohol left his body each time he vomited. He took the large pot from Evan and began using it immediately. But still he managed to wrap his arms around Evan in an attempted hug and craning his neck over the pot so he could continue to puke up everything that had ever entered his stomach. But while he was in the middle of a particularly large vomit he quickly took a breath in and swallowed vomit, which caused him to choke and cough horribly. Unable to breath, his head lolled down on his chest and he fought consciousness.

[Waddle]

Evan patted Anthony on the back with one hand, speaking quietly and calmly about random things that came into his head, often returning to the point that it was a good thing the floor was hardwood and not carpet. He realized then that he would rather be here, helping his friend puke alcohol from his body, than almost anywhere else right then. Except maybe a beach in Mexico with a couple of beers and hot senoritas everywhere. But that was a fantasy that would probably never come true, so he guessed this was a good place to be. It might not be pleasant, but he felt better than he had in a long time. Like he was actually doing something right for once. No, actually, the second time. The first had been when him and Ant had first become friends.

He leaned Ant back against the couch when his friend started coughing and choking. He shook his friend's shoulder gently. "C'mon now, stay awake, don't fall asleep." His voice was smooth and calm, though he knew he couldn't let Anthony go to sleep. He wasn't sure why, it was just an instinct that he shouldn't. He pulled the pot close and set it in Anthony's lap. "Use the pot if you can, puke it all up, it's fine, it'll all be fine." He had noticed Ant's lack of sleep for the past few days, and it worried him greatly. He knew he should've given Anthony something to help him sleep, NiQuil, or something, but he had been afraid that Anty would find a way to get at the medicine and use it for who knew what. Maybe an OD on NiQuil would have been easier than this.