Just To Get High (Extreme Language!)

[Waddle]

Evan picked up the laundry basket of his and Anthony's dirty clothes. He dumped the clothes into a garbage bag and pulled the drawstrings closed. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he looked at Ant, who was passed out on the ground and drooling. Evan shook his head sadly. He would have to do something about this. But later. Right then, he needed to get to the laundry mat and clean these clothes before Ant woke up. Putting his headphones in his ears, turning his iPod on and slipping it into his back pocket, he left, locking the door behind him. Walking down the street, head banging, and not noticing the multiple people who waved to him or asked what was in the bag. If he had heard them, his probably answer would have been 'Oh, just a body, don't worry, I took care of 'im.'

He opened the door to the nice laundry mat and went inside, going to one of the washers. Opening the bag, he pulled out some of the clothes and checked the pockets. He found nothing until he came to one of Ant's carpenter pants, that looked more like rags than pants. He pulled out a gallon bag filled with what he knew automatically as cocaine. His heart skipped a beat and he quickly put the bag back in the garbage bag. He finished putting the clothes in and started pacing back and forth, thinking about it. Stupid Ant, this was getting very out of hand. If the cops knew about half the things that had been happening... He didn't want to think like that.

The clothes finished washing and he tossed them in the dryer and continued pacing up and down, always keeping an eye on the black garbage bag. It felt like it took forever for the clothes to dry, but when they did, he stuffed them back in the bag and left quickly. He had to get rid of the cocaine, and he decided to go dumb it in the river at the old abandoned dock.

He walked quickly, making it to the dock within ten minutes. Setting the bag down, he pulled out the bag and stared at it for a moment. It was tempting; he hadn't had any cocaine in a long time. No, he couldn't. But it was very, very tempting... He snuck into the warehouse, completely forgetting about the clothes. He found the low, old table and sat before it, legs stretched out straight, dumping the contents of the bag out on it. He stared as powder floated into the air before disappearing. Where had Anthony gotten so much cocaine? This was unreal.

Making a small line out of just a little of the white powder, he leaned down, pressing one nostril closed with his finger and snuffed it. He choked for a second, snuffling and wiped the powder off his nose. What happened next, he wasn't terribly sure. He kept making lines of it, snuffing a lot of it. Next thing he knew, he had made an outline of France with it. He stared at it for a moment, then started making it absolutely perfect. This was great, he thought. He felt completely care-free, and he giggled uncontrollably. "This is the best God damned idea I have ever had!" he told the wall across from him.

[Anty]

Anthony had collapsed on the couch with a cold bottle of beer in his hand. He was determined not to sleep, he didn't want any nightmares tonight. But he couldn't live without sleep much longer and the inevitable happened. He dreamed he was running through a desert. Running for his life. Faceless people were running and screaming from the unknown enemies and bombs were blowing up in his face. Men were screaming in Arabic and other languages he wasn't sure about. Truthfully they sounded like a duck farting. This was one of the countless nightmares he had had during the war. But now they often occurred in his dreams though his war days were over for now. With a muffled scream Anthony rolled off the edge of the couch, still in an unconscious state. He clutched tightly to the empty bottle, muttering in his sleep.

The nightmare was ending. The man standing in front of him pulled the trigger and the bullet was heading toward the dead center of his forehead. He woke with a start as Evan slammed the door shut behind him. Turns out the tiny sonic boom was actually just Evan leaving with their laundry. He was covered in a cold sweat and the silk of his shirt was sticking to his back. Just a dream... he thought to himself over and over. He picked one hand up off the ground and found his knuckles white and tightly clenched around the bottle. But he wasn't wet only because of the sweat, he had peed himself in his sleep too. "I pissed myself... " and he vaguely recalled himself peeing into the fire of the dream. He ran his good hand across his mouth, there was dried drool crusted it around it.

But soon he had cleaned himself up, taking a shower, putting on his guyliner, etc. But he left the dark shadow because he hated the clean shaven look most men sported. Though he didn't like it, he searched through Evan's closet to find a fresh pair of clothes. Which reminded him, Where was Evan? it was getting late and Anthony was getting worried. Then a thought struck him. Evan had taken both of their clothes, Anthony's pants had the stolen cocaine in them... Evan wasn't back yet. He could be dead by now, if someone had found it. He could be in jail. Or he could be high. None of these things were good. Anthony's insides all seemed to be twisting and suddenly he was mad at Evan for risking so much. He knit his brow and the large veins poked out on his forehead. He slammed his fists violently against the wall, his bad hand searing with pain, which just enraged him more. "Holy... fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" He pounded against the wall until both his knuckles were bruised and bloody. He kicked the wall then turned quickly away from it, trying to get his mind into focus.

Anthony grabbed his gun and stuffed it into the leather jacket he had found in Evan's closet. He fumbled around with the door for what seemed like forever, his hands were slippery with his own blood. Any minute could be the one that takes Evan's life and they were quickly ticking by. The door slammed behind him, he didn't care to lock it, and he strode down the street taking long stride. It was starting to rain heavily and Anthony pulled the soft leather collar around his neck as he headed towards the entrance of the cleaners. He asked around and everyone said he had gone to the boat dock, so Anthony followed suit without question, muttering curses the whole way. It took longer than he had expected, he got lost along the way and had too ask for directions.

He stepped onto the beach. The sand was wet beneath his boots from the rain that was falling around him. He saw the black bag that contained all their clothes, "... Shit." He followed Evan's tracks which were slowly fading away in the heavy rain and hesitated at the entrance to the old warehouse. He fumbled around in his pockets until he found the pistol. He stepped inside the door and side-stepped so that the shadow of the wall would mask his presence. He looked around the dingy warehouse until his eyes trailed over Evan. He was slumped over a low-to-the-ground table and his nose was pressed against the table. There was a loud nasally sound as Evan snorted more cocaine. Anthony scowled in disgust. He moved towards Evan, and, with the best of his two hands he slammed the hilt of the pistol onto Evan's skull. "You little fuck!" His veins were popping out of his face and neck again.

He bent down on his knees to examine his friend. "You really are in deep shit." His eyes moved to the table, his finger running across the edge of the table. He recognized it as the shape of France, and a wave of guilt hit him. Hard. "I'm sorry, Evan, I never should have brought this on you," his voice was ragged and his eyes were stinging with the threat of tears. He ran his finger through south France then rubbed his two fingers together, the white powder with his own blood made a pinkish glop. He rose to his feet, kicking the long table over with the toe of his boot so that the white powder would scatter onto the concrete floor. A wave of pain his foot and he fell onto his knees. He looked over to Evan and wet his lips, preparing to say something. He took the pistol from the resting position at his side and aimed it Evan, and cocked it, "What would you say if I accidentally pulled the trigger? Better yet... " His hand was shaking as he moved the gun to his own jugular vein, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. "We won't die. we'll become legends."

[Waddle]

Evan didn't know that Anthony was behind him. He was too intent on the cocaine. That is, until something hard slammed into the back of his head, a flash of white light nearly blinded him, and he slumped over the table, almost unconscious. He straightened after a minute, shaking his head to clear it, even though the cocaine had made it hard to think about anything. The white powder stuck to the side of his face and got in his hair, making the left side of his face look like a ghost. He stared at Ant for a moment, not recognizing the face, and the words only made him more confused. Then he realized who it was, and his face went red as Ant kicked over the table, and he stood quickly, clenching his fists.

"Legends?" he seethed. "Are you fucking mad? Legends die, just as easily as you would if you pulled that trigger, you fucking fuck." His brain wasn't working right. Normally, he wouldn't have done what he was about to do. He would have found another way. But, instead, he lunged forward, reaching for the gun and tearing it out of Anthony's hands. It fired into the ceiling, pieces of wood shattering and raining down on their heads. "You fucking piece of fuck shit! You fucking piece of fuck shit!" He punched Ant as hard as possible on the nose, feeling something snap and stepped back as blood poured. But he stepped back in horror. What had he just done?!

"Fuck! Ant, I'm so sorry, I- I-... Damn! Damn! Damn! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" He started trying to wipe the blood away with his sleeve, dismayed at what he had just done. His brain was fogged up from the cocaine, and he kept wanting to just sit on the ground and close his eyes to try as the world continued to spin, as it had been since he had stood up. He sneezed, lost his balance for a moment, but regained it and continued trying to wipe the blood off his friend's face, still muttering apologies, laced with colorful phrases.

[Anty]

Anthony knew that. Of course legends died. He must have been confusing them with vampires, like Dracula. But still, his mind was also fogged up, though not as much as Evan's, from everything that was happening. He noted that he would have to clean Evan's face and hair before they left. Unless he wanted them both to go to jail. "FUCK!" he screamed as the gun fired, and he ducked away as little pieces of glass and wood shattered around them, some embedding deep into his skin. Once the passing threat was clearly over, he regained his anger at Evan and himself.

His head snapped backwards as the fist pounded against his nose and he was pretty sure that he got whiplash. But besides that, he felt something crack beneath the powerful blow and he was sure that his already crooked nose was twisted beyond help. But he allowed Evan to wipe away some of the blood, he sniffed repeatedly, trying to stop the heavy flow. He tasted blood and had to start swallowing. He wiped his bloody hands on his black pants and kept swallowing blood. Sooner or later he was going to get sick off all the blood. More of his lips were sticky with blood as he tried to lick the blood off. "Thank you," he said sarcastically, his mouth now shining with blood and blood climbing the cracks between his teeth.

This is Anthony's boiling point. Underneath the dried blood his knuckles were white. This is Anthony's tightly clenched knuckles. He pried the gun from Evan's hand and tossed it into the nearby corner, letting it rattle around on the ground. Then without warning he twisted his body around, violently bringing his elbow to Evan's Adam's apple. After that he brought his fist around to smack him in the eye. He was in the mood to destroy something beautiful. Keeping eye contact, he kneed Evan where it counts. Then, he quickly brought his boot up to meet Evan's gut with full force. "Do not fuck with me," he said, breathing heavily, "and do not fuck with my cocaine."
This is Anthony's smirking revenge.

[Waddle]

Evan choked and staggered back wards as Ant's elbow slammed into his throat, then spun in a circle from the force of the hit to his eye. The knee to his groin made him go down, curling into a ball, then he got kicked in the gut, sending him rolling across the floor for a bit from the power of the blow. He lay there, choking and gasping for breath, unable to get it. He looked up at Ant for a moment, and had a horrible moment where he thought his friend was Tomislav, and they were back at the basement at Uncle Sam's and Tomo was beating the living hell out of him. But he closed his eyes weakly and opened them again, relieved beyond anything to see Anthony. The cocaine was really fucking his brain up. The room was spinning in circles now, after all.

He made a small whimpering noise, trying and failing to choke out an apology. He tried to sit up, but the room started spinning so violently that he wanted to puke, and let himself fall back on the ground, puffs of the scattered cocaine rising about him and settling slowly back down. He moaned quietly as it felt like his blood was boiling. It mustn't be real, his blood shouldn't be boiling, it surely wasn't real. But the pain was real. He screamed and covered his eyes with his arms, writhing on the ground helplessly. He had never had so much of any drug or alcoholic product or anything in his body, and it was fighting back, and it fought hard. He may have just been imagining it, but it sure felt real as he continued screaming and twisting helplessly on the wooden floorboards of the abandoned warehouse.

[Anty]

Anthony turned away from Evan, trying to calm himself. To be a little rational. Breathe in. Breathe out. He waited until his breathing went back to normal, his heart stopped racing and all of the adrenaline left his body. He told himself to calm down, and slowly he did. He remembered all those times that he had been high or drunk and it had gotten out of control. He had no one to help him cope. He couldn't tell anyone about it. How could he? He sure couldn't tell his parents. But he remembered all those times he had struggled with the invisible pain that sometimes wraps itself around you, engulfs your mind in misery until you give up. Or until the hangover begins

His mind snapped back to reality. Here was Evan suffering as he wallowed around in his own sorrow. He mentally slapped himself. He sat down on the floor with a grunt, his legs stretched out in front of him. You're getting too old for this, ye old fuckwad, he thought, but then he took it back, realizing it wasn't true. He placed a firm hand on Evan's chest to stop the writhing and gently lifted Evan's head so that it was resting in his lap. He made sure the both of them were comfortable but kept the firm grip on Evan's chest so he wouldn't role away, or more likely, a nervous hand wouldn't come and smack him in the face. He ran a gentle hand through Evan's hair and wiped away the white powder off of his battered face, trying to soothe him. He spoke quiet and soothing words as he told Evan stories, whether they were peaceful, funny, or even embarrassing at his own expense.

[Waddle]

Evan distantly felt someone touching him, and at first he was scared, but the hands were gentle and kind, and he started trying to push away the pain and the fog. It went slowly, and only a little. Evan was able to control his writhing and just twitched, panting hard, occasionally making quiet moaning sounds. He didn't want to try to open his eyes, afraid that the world would spin harder and the whole thing would start again. He clung to Ant's voice mentally, as if he were someone drowning and the words his lifeline thrown out to save him. You're such a fucking idiot, Evan. You're supposed to be helping him and he's here, helping you.

For a strange reason, Evan felt like he had let Anthony down. Opening his eyes, he found that his right one was once again swollen shut, but he also found Anthony was above him. He smiled a small, exhausted smile. "I'm so fucking sorry, brother. I'm really screwed. And weak." He swallowed. His voice was ragged from screaming. "I meant to pour it into the river, honestly, but..." He tried to chuckle and coughed weakly. "First time on cocaine, bad decision. I don't think people normally react like that..."

He closed his eye and tried to ignore the gently shifting sensation he was feeling, like he was on a raft in an ocean, softly going up and down. He had never been good with boats, and the feeling made him want to throw up. But he didn't have the energy to vomit, and he didn't want to make more of a mess than he already had. And to think, he was going pretty well before Anthony had shown up. But you know you're glad he did, said a voice in his head quietly. He cluthced Ant's arm with a hand. He tried to say something for a several seconds, but he didn't know what to say. He felt like a failure. Anthony was here, comforting him. Evan felt like it should be the other way around. "I'm so sorry..."

[Anty]

Anthony racked his brain for more stories but all the memories that he thought of seemed to be bad ones. After several seconds a smile lit his face as he remembered what he guessed some might call a good memory. He chuckled. "One night I went out drinking. Big surprise, eh? he said, making his voice what he thought sounded close enough to soothing, "And so that night, I had a dream I pissed in the fridge. So long story short, the next day I woke up and found urine in my refrigerator," he said, scowling at his own mistake.

Anthony looked down at Evan, did he really think it was his fault? Of course it's my fault. It's my cocaine. I'm the one who made him look like this, he thought sourly. He looked up at the far off wall, "No brother. It is my fault. I'm the one who got us into this mess. But it's okay because I'll get us out," he told the wall so hopefully Evan wouldn't notice that his eyes were stinging with tears. "But we've got to get out of here before someone finds us."

With that he set gently down onto the concrete floor, stirring up more cocaine. He jumped up onto his own feet, and bent over Evan. Now how am I going to get him home? he asked himself, but he couldn't think of anything. He squat down on his heels and grabbed Evan around the waist, then he stood slowly so that he was leaning over him but still had a firm hold on him. It was tedious work but slowly he dragged Evan over to the nearby wall and set him in a sitting position so that he was leaning against it. "Well, that'll do for now. I think."

[Waddle]

Evan tried a chuckle that sounded more like a gurgle at the story. He could see that happening. Struggling to help push himself, which didn't work well, he sat against the wall and let out a pent-up breath, hissing through his teeth as things spun faster. This was just fantastic. Slow as his thought process may have been, he was thinking along similar lines as Anthony. How were they going to get home without anyone noticing them or stopping them? The real question is: Why, Evan Ikron, did you go and have to fuck yourself up like you did? But that was done, and there was nothing he could do to change it. So he turned his mind to the next big thing: how to get home.

"I- I think I can walk," he said, his voice raspy. The room had stopped spinning for the most part. Pushing himself up, he stood, leaning against the wall, swaying slightly. "See? I'm alri-" He stopped as he staggered forward, trying to grab onto Anthony to keep himself from falling flat on the ground. Things meshed into one. He felt like the cat who lived with the cruel teenager, and had just had the rug yanked out from under his feet. But instead of hitting the ground, he was falling. His knees gave out as his vision went blurry. But he caught himself before he sank too far, pulling himself back up with Anthony, leaning his head that seemed very much too heavy on his friend's chest. "Well," he choked, "maybe not..." You damn idiot...

[Anty]

Anthony took a half-step backwards to give Evan some room to breathe. He looked at Evan, who seemed to be okay for a second, actually, he looked more than okay. Didn't he? Anthony's emotions were all mixed together: love, hate, compassion, rage, sorrow. It was hard for him to tell one from the other. But there were pressing matters so he just pushed them all down. He craned his neck around to, again, take in the mess Evan had made of his cocaine... Stupid Evan. It was his fucking cocaine. He shook his head. No! he told himself. He had to stop thinking like that. It was his fault. His. Not Evan's. His. But he still had to do something about it, no matter whose fault it was. He turned his head again so that he could look out the door. It was still light outside, but it wouldn't be for long. Soon the sun would set and it would become dark. Soon the thugs would come out. The ones with guns. His eye caught something. A bucket. An old bucket someone probably used as a crapper or something. But it was still good enough to wash away the cocaine.

His attention was brought back to the present by Evan's shrill whisper, "No Evan, I don't think that would be a very good idea," he told him, the idea still forming in his head. "I think I'll go and-" he stopped short. He swung his head around just in the nick of time as Evan came stumbling towards him. He grabbed onto the front of his shirt to help him back onto his feet, a look of concern apparent on his face. He wrapped his other arm around Evan so that it was resting firmly on his shoulder to steady him. "Evan," he said firmly, "is this the first time you've ever snorted cocaine?" he said each word slowly, hoping that Evan would understand the importance in his question. Was Evan having some sort of reaction to the drug? Was that even possible?

[Waddle]

Evan felt Ant's arm go around him, and, in that second, he knew things would be alright. He knew he could trust Anthony in this. He may not be able to trust his friend in a lot of other things, but he knew they would get out of this. He listened to Ant's question, glad that he talked slowly, because there was a roaring in Evan's ears that would have drowned out his friend voice it he hadn't spoken like he was talking to a child. Evan tried to reply, making only a soft moan into Anthony's shirt, then strangled out, "Yep..." with a tiny nod.

This was all his fault. If only he had been smart and dumped the stuff in the river like he'd meant to. If only he hadn't done what he'd seen a lot of others do and not tried the cocaine. He knew they hadn't squirmed along on the ground screaming after they had. Then again, they probably hadn't had... How much had Evan had? He didn't know. Too much, way too much. He thought, with bitter humor, that it would be funny if he learned he had only snorted a little of it. No, it hadn't been a little. It had been a lot and he had paid for it. Paid for his stupidity. But it wasn't over yet. This wasn't over yet. He only wished he knew how he was going to help Anthony. He let himself slip back to the ground slowly, eyes closed, and leaned back against the wall again. He tried to mumble 'I'm sorry, brother,' but wasn't sure if it was understandable. The roaring in his head was too great.

[Anty]

Anthony felt Evan slip through his arms and onto the ground and he knew that his number one priority was to get them home. He crouched down beside Evan, his hands resting on his thighs. "How much did you take?" he asked, his voice filled with authority. But he didn't wait for an answer, he knew it must have been a lot. Most of it was not to be accounted for, which only means Evan snorted it or he ate it, which would have been a real dumb ass sort of thing to do. He was worried sick. Was Evan poisoned by the cocaine? His eyes flickered to the entrance, the sun would be setting soon. But before he left, he bent down on one knee, and, smoothing the hair out of Evan's eyes, he lightly kissed his forehead. He smiled sympathetically, "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back, I promise," he said right before jumping quickly to his feet.

Anthony moved quickly to the bucket waiting for him at the entrance. It was large enough, it could hold approximately five gallons or so. But it had definitely been used before. As he bent down to pick it up, he noticed it used to be white but was now stained an olive green. And the smell was overwhelming, as if someone had shit in a pine tree and then vomited all over it. He picked it up and went outside to the beach. It was still raining heavily and the tides were high. He set down the bucket as he approached the garbage bag full of their clothes. And another idea was forming in his head now. He undid the draw string and threw their fresh clothes into a nearby bush, which hopefully wasn't a sticker bush that was going to rip their clothes to shreds. Doing that, he stuffed the wet bag into a front pocket on the leather jacket and scooped up the bucket into his hand. He was urged to take his boots off and wallow in the waves, letting them do their therapy, but he had an important task to fulfill and the heavy rain was soaking him head to toe. He began whistling a little tune that had gotten lodged into his head somehow and scooped up some water into the bucket.

He moved quickly to the entrance of the ware house now, motivated by the dry indoors. he stepped in and shook some of the loose drops from his hair. Some of the contents had sprayed as he walked and now the bottom of his pants were wet with it. He spilled a little onto the cocaine, but it was well enough hidden and it didn't take much. Still whistling he walked back to Evan slumped figure. Even after Anthony's attempts to wipe his face clean, the white powder was still obvious on his features. "Sorry Evan," he said scowling, before he splashed the majority of the cold water on the miserable figure.

[Waddle]

He tried to mumble something, but the only comprehendible word was "...dunno...", which was enough. Evan smiled slightly as Anthony kissed his forehead. It comforted him even more. Damn, you sound like a little fucking girl, being comforted by a kiss. Then it sank it. It was Ant who had kissed him. It was like a cold shock, but it also felt like something he had been waiting for for a long time. His feelings about Anthony were still mixed. His heart said yes, but his mind rebelled, saying that it was so wrong to love another of the same sex. He had been raised and had believed that he was completely straight. And if it weren't Anthony you were thinking about, you would be straight. He reeled mentally. Everything seemed so much more complicated when there was a roaring in his ears and the up and down motion of his blood.

He thought he might have passed out, because the next thing he knew, freezing cold water was being splashed over his body. He shouted in surprise and flung his hands up to cover his face from any more water, but there was no need. He stared up at Anthony, blinking several times. "What the fuck was that for?" His voice might have normally been very angry, but it was only raspy and quiet. He felt a little better, and noticed that Anthony carried a bucket, had the garbage back sticking out of a pocket, and was soaking wet. He glanced behind his friend outside. It was raining. When had it stared raining? And when had it gotten dark? How long have I been in here?

[Anty]

Anthony took a handful of what was in the bucket into his own hands and splashed it upon his face, but it was just for precautionary reasons. He had just been in the pouring rain anyways. His hand searched around in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, but looking outside once again, and he realized it would be pointless to smoke in the rain. "Shit... " he muttered darkly as he realized that only made him want to smoke more. He took the bag from his pocket and shook some of the rain off of it. "Unless you wanted the police to come and ask you what the mysteriously cocaine looking white powder on your face was, or, even better, some thug were to come, shoot you down, search your body for more of it, then realize you used it all, I'd suggest you keep your trap shut, he said, the anger that he couldn't smoke apparent. He continued to shake the bag free of drops until it was as dry as he could get it. The outside was wet, but the inside was dry. "Get up," he said simply.

[Waddle]

Evan shut up at the harshness in Anthony's voice. He gulped a bit. Normally, he might have continued ranting, but now, he knew that Anthony was in control of the situation and would probably shut Evan up with his fists if he had to. And Evan was in no condition to react or defend himself. He might be thinking a little clearer, but it was only a little, and the dizziness and roaring were bound to return if he tried anything too quickly, or tried anything at all, for that matter. The thing about the police and the thug hit home, and he knew Anthony was right. He nodded slowly.

Putting his hands against the wall again, he used them to push himself up, then lowered them to his side. He felt alright, but he had felt alright last time. He looked around the completely ruined old shack and felt water droplets leak through the roof onto his head. It was completely covered in white powder... If the rain went on for long though, it might wash the cocaine out some. The roof mustn't have been that leak proof, and if the rain continued like it sounded it would, the place might be clean. A sudden flash of lightning, followed by thunder, caused him to start, catching his breath for a moment, then releasing it. Stop being so tensed up and try to make sure you don't collapse again.