#but seriously Joan Jett eddie please

[corrodedcoughin]

Bad reputation by Joan Jett eddie munson fancam WHEN???

[plscallmeeren]

3 I H A T E M Y S E L F F O R L O V I N G Y O U

'Midnight, gettin' uptight, where are you?

You said you'd meet me, now it's quarter to two

I know I'm hangin' but I'm still wantin' you

Hey Jack, it's a fact they're talkin' in town

I turn my back and you're messin' around

I'm not getting jealous, don't like lookin' like a clown

I think of you every night and day

You took my heart, and you took my pride away

I hate myself for loving you

Can't break free from the the things that you do

I wanna walk but I run back to you

That's why I hate myself for loving you

Daylight, spent the night without you

But I've been dreamin' 'bout the lovin' you do

I'm over being angry 'bout the hell you put me through

Hey man, bet you can't treat me right

You just don't know what you was missin' last night

I wanna see you beggin', say, 'forget it' just for spite'

- Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

"See you later, have fun," I called after the twins as they hurried off, simply smiling back at Evan before she left as well. Miriam was at home, 'sick', but in truth she was grieving for her ex-girlfriend that broke up with her.

I wanted to be with her, hugging her, comforting her, whispering sweet nothings that I never knew whether they were true or not, all of it. But instead I was standing in my car door, holding eye contact with Billy Hargrove as he did the same.

Max jumped out of the car beside him, ready to catch up with Angel (who hadn't seen her), but made a point to come up to me beforehand.

Her head sunk as she whispered to me, mildly fearful but mainly fierce, willing me to believe her words: "Stay away from him. Please. I can tell you're not like the others to him - I don't know what he'll do. But he's dangerous. He could hurt you."

"Thanks for the warning. I'm taking you seriously, believe me, but... I spent almost every day of my life with him for three years. He never hurt me," I countered. At least not physically, but I kept that thought to myself. There were no greetings, no small talk, no sugar-coating.

It was strange talking to someone that way. I wasn't used to it in the least. But it was undeniably refreshing. Who did, after all, need all those frivolous words and endless double-meanings?

She shook her head in disbelief, licking her lips nervously as she glanced behind her at Billy, who was beginning to approach us.

"Be careful," she breathed, throwing her skateboard onto the ground and jumping on it, rolling away as she called out for Evan.

What had he done to her? What exactly, so that she had grown so scared?

"That little shit- What did she say to you? Huh? What did she say?" he spoke loudly, and for the first time in years I remembered the intimidating aura that pulsated and radiated when he was angry at someone. More than anything, I remembered those same savage eyes when their hungry gaze was turned on me.

"You're angry, baby. I always told you I'd refuse to talk to you when you're angry. Hasn't changed. Even if no one else abides by such a sensible policy," I reminded him calmly, closing the car door behind me and leaning on the vehicle instead.

He tensed, visibly making an effort to breathe deeply and stop his raging heart.

"Okay, now what-"

"You're still angry," I repeated, walking up to him and setting a hand on his cheek as I stared at his eyes, waiting patiently.

"Okay. Okay. It doesn't matter. Doesn't matter," he chanted, trying to convince himself.

"Yeah, sugar. It doesn't." My other hand found his face as well without my permission, but I had never had enough control over my emotions as to stop myself.

"Skip first period with me?" he offered hopefully, leaning into my touch as I momentarily closed my eyes to consider.

"Just this once," I gave in, painfully aware of what I had told Eddie the day before.

•••

We sat in the forest, Billy's head lying on my lap as I fiddled with his hair, appreciating it more than ever now that I could see him again. For so long, the most I had seen of him was his silhouette sitting arrogantly in his Camaro, waiting for Max to leave my house in order to drive her home. That was all.

"So, how's Johnathan?" Billy asked lightly as he took a drag on his cigarette.

"You're really trying to make up with me, aren't you?" Considering the amount of time Billy had spent tormenting both me and my friend for our friendship was impressively terrible, I couldn't help being just a tad surprised as the past lay in very stark contrast to asking how he was.

"But I think he's okay. Well, as okay as one can be after that sort of thing happens to your little brother and family and shit," I confessed, snatching the cigarette from his hand and inhaling a breath of deviously calming smoke as well before returning it to his smug self.

"Yeah. I wouldn't mind if Max went missing for a few weeks-"

"Shut your fucking mouth," I snapped, frowning, not finding the insinuation funny at all.

"Okay, sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to upset you," he replied with his hands raised beside his head in surrender.

"It's not about me," I scoffed, hoping upon hope that I meant it. "Max is great, and you treat her like shit. That's what it's about."

He stayed silent, the grin fading from his face at my words as he stared into void air.

"Yeah. I do," he finally admitted, not so much guilt as nostalgia dominating his features. I could've screamed at seeing it. At the reason he had suffered so much. The reason Max had suffered so much. The reason I had. Susan had. Mr. fucking Hargrove.

Except it probably wasn't him. It was probably his father, or his mother, or maybe his aunt. Who knew these things. But that leaves one with the aggravating truth that the act can always be justified, and the culprit can never be served.

"Hey, speaking of blood relatives... How's your father treating you, love?" I asked carefully, stroking the side of his face gently as he closed his eyes.

"Cologne isn't the only make-up I have on. And damn, do I love when you call me that." I didn't answer that. No more than a 'cologne isn't make-up', at least. What was I supposed to say that I hadn't a million times already?

"And your mother?"

"Oh, she left. Max didn't tell you? That was years ago."

"No... I'm sorry," I breathed, but he just shook his head.

"No, I'd leave me, too, if I could. Who wouldn't?" Another way we were the same. And our mothers before that. All the same, sad, motherfucking story.

"That's not fair. You can't say that to me," I whispered, cradling his head in my hands protectively as I stared forward blindly, refusing to look at him.

"Guess not."

He sat up, sitting down next to me as his cologne washed over me in a new wave of serendipity. Too much for comfort.

"Hey, I still love you," he cooed, and the shift in his features was noticeable as he tweaked himself in just the right ways to charm more people. A more general population. Not me. I liked him just as he was.

He cupped my cheek and easily slipped his knee between my legs from the side, insinuating heavily, but I just stared on, empty of myself with a frown on my face.

"Look at me. Please." I did as he asked, but not because I obeyed him - because there was nowhere else I wanted to look anyway. Nothing worth seeing, or am I wrong?

He slowly leaned in, his knee digging further into me as his lips almost touched mine, but that was too far. Too much betrayal to be undone in an hour.

I turned my face away from him again, letting his kiss find my cheek gently instead. He was hurt, it seemed. Well, not as hurt as me.

"Did I even know you?" He wasn't angry. Or desperate. Nothings as primitive as that. He was sad and he was disappointed and he was guilty, but most of all, the doubt was taking the place off the last strands and sparks of hope he had had left.

At least I could say I felt far more guilty. Not that I could have named a single one of my resonating emotions in that specific moment.

"How could you have known me? I don't even know myself," I breathed, the very disbelief and anger I looked down upon sickering through my immature words. I sounded like I hadn't talked in weeks. I felt like someone was screaming into a microphone inside my head, banging against my skull to let them out but there was no door, or at least none I had a key to, and I swore I could hear a threatening buzzing sound. I swore.

"Or maybe that's just it. Maybe you knew me. Maybe it's only me. Maybe every accusation anyone has ever made and every therapist's diagnosis was right. Maybe I just don't wanna accept it. How would I know?" I didn't mean to snap at him. I really didn't. But I hadn't talked to anyone in years, and I suppose that was changing at a high volume.

"Well, have you ever thought... that maybe that's not exclusive? I don't know, but what if it's all true - every image, diagnosis, whatever - but it's just... not the full story? Maybe it's just that there's a whole lot more to you. You surprise me every time. So I guess there's always more. Right?"

Is he just as perfect as he was when I was 17?

And then I snapped out of it. My two lives; Dreamwalking and the anxious realist. Whatever did I prefer? My Piscean or my Aquarian?

Suddenly my fingernails were very interesting, the ones on my right hand picking at the others. The way my muscles moved as they did so. The dry, leaf-covered ground resting about a meter beneath them. They've gotten pretty long. I should cut them again soon.

"Raven?"

I had to look up at him, simply had to. His pretty blue eyes as pure as poetry. Hair falling beside his face like it had been painted with the swift and delicate turns of a painter's tool. Lips that seemed to beg to be kissed, if they could not be watched talking.

And yet I was the one who had just turned him down.

"Maybe," I whispered, suddenly not able to look him in the eye. "Maybe."

"I'm not proud of what I did, y'know. I'm not proud of what I do to Max either, no matter what I say. I just... I have nowhere to show emotion anymore. Nowhere to be me or just... talk without a million lies and charms to make sure the only thing anyone will ever hear from it is 'I wanna fuck you'. That's not- I hate it. I hate it. Not Max. I don't really hate Max. Who could hate Max?"

I smiled sadly, looking back at him, but I wasn't blind. I saw what he was doing.

"No- I, uh. Remember that night when, um, Neil beat me up so bad I was scared to go to school because there was no way to cover it up?"

I nodded intently.

"Yeah, well, when you climbed through my window and held me and used your magic make-up shit on me to make it all look like it wasn't there... I stopped hiding for the very first time in my life apart from with my mother when I was little. It felt really weird. But I never forgot it. But the next day, at school, I got over myself and talked to you no matter what my so-called 'friends' would think of it.

'When I did, you practically whisked me away to that field - y'know, that pretty one up on the hill?"

I nodded again.

"And we talked about all kinds of shit. From how our parents treated us to our favourite bands to fuckin' philosophy. And then we fucked under a tree, on a meadow, and I have never enjoyed sex as much as I did with you that day. Ever. And I still think you're not only the most beautiful girl I've ever met - by far - but also that you have the hottest figure-"

"Okay, I can do without that compliment, hon'", I laughed, and he laughed with me.

"Yeah, I remember", I repeated, stealing his cigarette once again to calm my nerves a bit. "But don't pull your 'you're the only girl who does that or this' crap on me. I'm not a fucking idiot, I know the tricks."

A moment of silence.

"Are you... Did you give up on dope?" he asked carefully. Nothing else other than the final fight had damaged our relationship as much.

I had to laugh. A hollow, dry laugh that I wished hadn't need be.

"Oh, yeah, I gave up on weed a long time ago," I told him with a sarcastic edge. I was still an addict. Just an addict with not enough money.

"Oh. So... I regret my actions, you're not a dope-head anymore... I'd say we're perfect for each other," Billy finalised, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and kissing me on the cheek.

"Hm, yeah, I dunno," I joked, teasingly putting a finger under his chin and leading his face to mine, allowing my lips to ghost his, pulling away and standing.

"Oh, you are still a tease, aren't you?" he squinted at me, disapproving yet smiling.

"Right? Crazy, huh."

"Yeah. Now c'mere, the least you can do is sit close to me."

"Billy Hargrove wants someone to intrude on his personal space?"

"Shut up."

"Sure thing."

2405 words

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