I was inspired so I decided to write a nice, little Punkers shot.
NOTE: this story is based on the song "Spend the Night" by She Wants Revenge so all props go them and on another unrelated note, you noticed that my first Junk story is also inspired by a She Wants Revenge song?
NOTE #2: this has a lot of violence, blood and gore, slash, so if that's not your cup of tea, I suggest you turn away. I am not held responsible if you see a bad word or throw up. Not my fault if you can't handle what I like.
NOTE #3: Review or die. This one-shot took me forever to write.
Spend the Night
Rated: +18 – mystery; dark; themes
Summary: Glass shatters. Blood fall. It's so cold in here. Sloppy kisses. Deadly whispers. "Can I spend the night?" JUNK. Oneshot.
sunday; car ride
It's all cold outside and all I want to go is go home.
The midnight sky burned with thick, cold air as Punk closed the door of his car, shut tight and he sucked in a deep breath.
That was when he had first seen the hint of white.
Tucked away into his seat, the sharp hint of white that sparked into the darkness of the car and he took another deep breath as he let his finger glide over the sharp edge, taking the white paper away in the seat and he spent so long just staring at the words but not reading them.
A letter from himself?
Confusion stirred through Punk's features as he snuggled deep into his car, trying to push away all the thoughts of his mind.
I hate you.
He was so tired that he let the letter slide out of his hands but confusion had stirred even more as he laid his hand on the fuzzy cushion of his car, feeling the warmth of the short fluff underneath him as he heard the sound of blades screeching and he was swallowed up in an ocean of fear as he peeked out the foggy window, wiping his window away with the back of his hand, only to see a blackened figure in the shadows but fog had overtaken the window again and an annoyed grunt escaped Punk's pink lips.
He bit his lip ring as he picked up the letter from the ground, placing it on the next seat and he watched as his window wiper swabbed the fog so that the road was slightly seeable and as Punk started up the engine, hearing the familiar song of his car as he started pulling out of the driveway and stopped when he'd seen the black figure again and he looked through the darkness, trying to find the figure again only to hear the sound of glass smashing and Punk reluctantly opened his car door and stepped out, looking out for the black figure and he felt as if something was behind him—something moving…
Arms wrapped around him, and he felt lips tackle his throat and kiss him and he was engulfed by the all too familiar strong scent of alcohol and Punk was ready to throw up from the nausea that burned in his head as he looked down to see blue and purple hair and rage burned through Punk's blood as he pushed Jeff back and he had clutched onto his stomach and dizziness was visible in his eyes.
"What the hell do you want, Hardy?"
He didn't respond but only hopped inside of Punk's car and Punk ran inside as well, trying to push Jeff out of his car but only managed into throwing Jeff to the next seat as they heard the car door shut tight and they stopped fighting when they hear the click of the shut door. Fear bubbled through their bodies, burning into every fiber of their being as Jeff's heavy eyelids dropped halfway, trying to stay awake but couldn't and Punk heard the sound of childish laughter fill the air.
They were both pushed to the ground as they felt the car move, hearing that sound of smashing glass once again but this time, Jeff wasn't the reason for that sound, it seemed to come out of nowhere but it was so loud and so real that Punk knew he wasn't imagining it as he and Jeff entangled to a mess on the floor and they heard the sound of that bubbly laughter echoing through the car.
"What the hell is going on?" Jeff snapped, feeling Punk move on top of him, the coolness of their bodies, the ice cold of their flesh melting into warmth as Punk's heartbeat steadied when he couldn't hear anything in a while and Jeff bit down his lips, looking around for the source of the sound but nothing at all.
"I'll take you home right now, you bastard," Punk muttered and he reached for his seat, sitting up as Jeff put his head on the seat next to Punk, the nausea exploding and sloshing through his head as he tried to push away the delusion he just had—a very vivid delusion in fact and how his acidic throat craved for another round of sweet acid to soothe his troubles, to feel as if reality wasn't there as he saw Punk hold onto the steering wheel and pushing onto pedal, hearing the familiar sound of his car and for a around ten minutes, he was calm and he hated knowing where Matt's house was and the only reason he could remember was because yesterday, he came around because he felt the need to insult him but now, his thoughts were all smeared together and he can't make out anything anymore. He just wanted to get Jeff the hell out of his car.
"Hardy, sit down straight before I kill you."
"You always boss people around. You're no fun to be with. You're all work and no fun."
"I have fun. I don't go around drowning myself in alcohol or just because I'm not doing drugs, I'm not fun to be around?"
"You just don't get how you are. You're like a fucking parent, Punk. A bad one, too, by the looks of it."
Punk tried to ignore Jeff's words as he looked out the foggy window, finding nothing and the misty highway was still too cloudy but he stopped at Matt's house, almost positive that Matt was inside watching or reading or eating or whatever he did these days and he opened the door for Jeff but Jeff didn't go. He stayed there, lingering in his seat and he pulled Punk into his embrace, tracing kisses down his throat, those drunken sloppy kisses that Punk always tried hard to avoid.
He remembered driving his peers to parties and having to be the one always sexually assaulted because he was a sober, clean one that stood out from the normal, with wide eyes and an ability to dance on the dance floor, he was different and how both boys and girls wanted to run their hands down the smooth muscle of his thighs and stomachs, whispering hushed whispers they never would've if they were sober and Punk knew that he'd never lose control like that. He'd always remain in control of his actions, always remembering what he'd done and why he'd done it. He didn't want to possibility risk his life for nothing.
Jeff's kisses turned sloppier and left a mark of moisture on Punk's flesh and as Jeff's hand runs up and down Punk's back, he finds himself almost playing this game but no, he will never stoop to Jeff's level and he'll never lose his control because without control, he wasn't CM Punk. He was this complete stranger that only resembled Punk's delicate features but had no of the characteristics that Punk had.
Jeff's hands wrapped around Punk's body, and the closeness of them had almost smothered Punk as he pushed Jeff away. "Hardy, what the hell?"
Jeff stared at him, thoughts of only stripping the young Punk boy as his erection throbbed in his pants and with every move that Punk made, all he could see was the soft sweet flesh underneath his clothes, somehow the hint of a glint of white that glazed off his skin because of the moonlight had made Jeff want Punk even more than ever before, want to touch him, obsessed with the skin, sweetness bubbling in his body.
And he wanted to bite through every bit of that candy inside of Punk until there was nothing left and until the sugar had rushed to every cell of his wanting brain.
Jeff reached out to unbuckle Punk's belt and when Punk realized that, he pushed Jeff as hard as he could as his back hit the back of the cold metal of Punk's vehicle and Punk hyperventilated, disgusted at the Hardy boy for wanting to take advantage of him at this state and as Jeff saw bubbles dizzily pop in front of his face—another delusion?—he didn't really know but he heard the sound of that childish bouncy laughter fill the air once again and fear ignited through Punk's body, burning him into a black fire as he realized that that sound was louder than ever before, piercing through his delicate ears.
"Punky, Punky, Punky…"
Another laughter followed, echoing as Jeff reached in for Punk's shoulders, clearly trying to ignore the 'hallucination' as he kissed Punk's shoulder and Punk, in fear, didn't move at all, trying to understand where the voice had come from as Jeff continued to plant kisses throughout Punk's exposed neck to his clothed chest and how Jeff wanted to touch that skin that was underneath the clothes so much now—
"Punk, I hate you!"
The forcefulness in that cheery voice just drove Punk over the edge and all he could remember was that there was glass scattering all over the place as he saw bloodied flesh fall from the tips of the glass and when he'd looked down, he'd seen that his flesh was bloodied but he'd never hit the glass of his car, would he? He was confused, so very confused, as the glass dug into their flesh and Punk was pushing Jeff so hard to the door that it clicked open and both of them had tumbled down onto the floor and Punk could've sworn he'd seen that black figure in the misty world around him as he inhaled short and sharp breathes to take oxygen he'd needed to take.
The coldness engulfed both of them into a mess as Punk stood to his feet, walking over to his car and looked back at Jeff who was hyperventilating onto the ground and all that Punk could say was "that's what you get" in the coldest voice ever as he walked inside of the car, his only want and need was to wash out of these clothes that were smeared with Jeff's kisses and all he wanted to do was wash off the memories.
And as he laid into his bathtub that night, he felt the water around him freeze as he moved through the waters, leaning down and picking up a piece of glass from the bottom of the tub, and he stared at it.
But for some reason, he knew that it was Jeff's blood instead of his just by the scent that lingered around. That alcohol heavy scent that lingered in that piece of glass and Punk heard that voice again, that bubbly echoing laughter and he gripped onto the piece and when he looked down at his all over again bloodied hands, he'd looked down at the cold water of his and noticed that there was a letter. A note. In the water, written in Jeff's and Punk's blood mixed together in this intoxicating scent.
Don't turn off the lights tonight.
That night, Punk slept with open lights and open eyes to match, but he fell asleep anyways and when he was awake, he'd rolled to his side only to be met with a bloodied wall, stained down with a streak of blood that Punk didn't quite know of and when Punk looked back at his bandaged hands, he'd seen a streak of blood run down the bandage into a horrible 'X' sign that he'd loved so much.
His walls were marked with that one sign that was once his pride and now, it was horrifying him to see the thin lines of blood curve into such a perfect X on the walls of his bedroom. The bedroom that still had his Tom plushy hidden in the back of his closet from when he was six years old. The bedroom that still had the yellow blanket he had held when he was afraid when he thought that monsters existed and would make his mother check under the bed all the time for any. The bedroom that still had that slightly ragged Minor Threat poster hung on the walls with the list of his crushes from high school. This was his bedroom of memories and now, this memory was carving its way to his brain and scaring him on the inside.
I forgot how home looked like now.
monday; bedtime story
Sometimes, horror stories can be real.
The air was still so very cold the next day and as Punk strode back to the arena, still so very late at night, to retrieve his gym bag from the locker room but was met with a Jeff who was on the floor, in a navy sleeping bag, his hair covering his face and in his hand, there was a silver flashlight and when Jeff heard the sound of feet shuffling through the hallways, he'd thrown his flashlight and it landed on the right side of Punk's head and he heard the sound of Punk's annoyed groan, a smile spread on Jeff's face. How he loved annoying Punk of all people.
He watched as Punk took the flashlight and aimed that strong beam of light at Jeff. Jeff felt the light bite to the core of his brain as he bit down onto his lip and Punk walked towards Jeff's side, leaning down with a cold glare that Jeff was all too familiar with as words fell out of Punk's lips, "you know this isn't a camping area. Too scared to go into the real world?"
"No. I hate the real world. It's much better to use your imagination," Jeff snapped, acid burning in every word of his as Jeff shook his head, "I woke up with a hangover today and weird, I had a nightmare about me and you being in a car and me making a move on you. When I told Matty, he laughed so hard that milk was threatening to fall out of his nose. I would've laughed, too but I didn't because—"
"The hangover was too overwhelming," Punk stated, as he shoved the flashlight towards Jeff's stomach and Jeff felt the impact of the flashlight poke at his stomach, as he gripped onto it, seeing Punk move towards him, with puffy red eyes that had indicated that he hadn't had much sleep last night.
"Since you're camping here and you want imagination," he rolled his eyes over the too cliché word, "I want to tell you a horror story then, Hardy."
"Great. I had trouble sleeping."
"Ha, ha. Very funny."
"You see, ever heard of people writing letters to themselves?"
"Yeah, you, you dolt."
"No, you shut up."
"Very mature, Hardy."
"Says the guy who started all of this."
Punk stuck a tongue at Jeff and Jeff laughed, shaking his head as he violently pushed Punk down onto the floor and Punk closed his eyes, preparing for Jeff's kisses but remembered that Jeff was sober for once and that had shocked the young straight edge superstar more than anything as he flickered one eye open to see if it was an act but was met with a confused faced Jeff so he willingly let the other eye open, so that two intoxicating chocolate orbs were staring at the confusion that stirring through Jeff's face.
"Seriously, writing letters to yourself?"
"I never heard of anything more stupid in my life."
Punk scowled at Jeff and for a while, Punk felt something inside of him burst, as if there was something inside of him that had been practically kicking to get out and Punk ignored the feeling because he thought that it was just nausea but it had gotten stronger and Punk had felt the need to throw up on the floor right then and now.
"Why the hell are you throwing your life away, Hardy? You hate yourself that much."
"And you? Do you hate yourself so much that you don't want to do anything fun in your life? You're always so bossy, so unable to submit to anything, you don't want anyone to find a weakness in you and you're always in control like you're a robot. You don't have any fun in your life so I find you boring. You're as boring as a leaf, Punk so what I liked to do is see the leaf crush and break into pieces, that's fun. Ever heard of fun?"
"Yes, yes, I have, Hardy. But doesn't mean that I take a drag of cigarette to make my life shorter than it already is."
"I'd rather feel alive for one day than feel dead for a year. You picked the safe way out and I'm in the danger zone."
"Because you're an idiot."
Jeff and Punk heard a bubbly laugh surround them and Jeff shook his head, "it's that voice from last night but last night never happened so—I'm hallucinating?" but Jeff's question was answered when he realized that Punk's body was pale even if his eyes tried to remain the same unfeeling color that it always had and how his pink lips were pursed into a thick line of emotionlessly and blankness.
The bubbly laughter echoed.
Punk wanted to get away now, before anything happened and Jeff grabbed onto Punk's shoulder, only to feel Punk try to push him away with fragile, shaking arms, and Jeff saw as Punk's lip started quivering from fear and terror as it pulsed through every fiber in his vein, every molecule of his being.
"Last night really did happen."
Jeff didn't need an answer when he heard glass shatter onto the floor. Pieces of glass were all over the floor and both of their bodies were entangled with each other from fear as soft brown eyes glowed into the darkness.
"Punky, Punky, Punky…"
That same sound from last night, it all registered in Jeff's head, the familiarity of the situation didn't make the fear fade away. It somehow just intensified the horror that was raking through their bodies.
Jeff took the flashlight and looked around the room, trying to scan for those glowing soft brown eyes that he had tried to look for before and stopped when he'd noticed that there was something on the floor, next to the shattered glass. Written in blood.
I'm going to break you as if you're glass.
Jeff's flashlight fell out of his hands. "What in hell's name is going on?"
Punk only shook harder, trying to come up with an explanation himself but he couldn't. He couldn't understand why these letters were addressed to him and by him at the same time. He couldn't understand anything at all.
It was all too confusing for Punk but he tried to understand it all, tried to make something out of the confusing words that were shaking in his head and Jeff was just as confused as the straight edge superstar as his flashlight went out and they were left alone, in the cold, in the dark, both of them clinging onto each other, not caring about the hate they harbored for each other, just scared for their lives as whimpers filled the room, their bodies shaking and shivering as the coldness engulfed them.
They didn't think they made it until morning.
They didn't know when the lights opened up but when they had, the glass was all gone and they were left both practically glued to each other on the floor, Punk was in Jeff's arms, engulfed into Jeff's warm embrace.
Jeff's eyes snapped open as he caught his brother, Matt, standing with shock and horror burning into his eyes, trying to put together pieces of their lost night but he couldn't and he watched as Punk stirred and woke up, both of them instantly moving away from each other as disgust filled them.
"What's going on?" Matt demanded in the softest voice he could've harbored.
No one said anything as Punk walked towards the bathroom to take a shower and change and wash away the scents of last night and Jeff only took his sleeping bag and blanket, walking off, trying to convince himself that last night was a dream but it wasn't and he knew that nothing can be even more real and more horrifying than seeing the blood and glass on the floor.
"Punk's…Punk's been screwing with me."
"What? No! You saw it! It was real!"
Punk had never felt more betrayed in his life as he stared at that stupid cocky always got his way Jeff walk outside the door without another word coming out of his pretty little mouth and how Punk wanted to curl down the floor and die just then and now. He knew that this was too cruel. No one should've done this to him. He knew that Jeff thought it was real. He just knew…
It's all real
There's no place I can go…
Coldness engulfed Punk's body as he moved down the street, grunting and glaring at anyone who would stare at him as he gripped onto his childhood yellow blanket and walked down the street in his ring attire and his CM Punk Hardcore t-shirt, his armbands and boots were his only protection against the harsh weather that was freezing Punk completely and he stopped when he reached Matt's house, hating himself for this as he picked a tiny rock from the front yard and hurled it towards Jeff's window and when he heard no response, he threw another few rocks but none of them had woken up the Hardy boy. Punk, who was tiring, took a huge rock and hurled it towards the window with sleepy, puffy eyes and was ready to fall asleep right then but the rock had broken the glass and he saw Jeff Hardy's face poke out of the window in annoyance.
He opened the door anyways and Punk made his way inside of Jeff's house, seeing Jeff standing there with a ponytail, boxers and an oversized football jersey that didn't seem to be his and Punk dropped his blanket, slouching and Jeff broke the silence. "What the hell are you doing here, Punk?"
"Trying to prove to you that yesterday wasn't just a dream. You know that Hardy. You know that it was real."
"Can't you do that tomorrow?"
Jeff smirked, his eyes lighting up, shining softly, "you came here for another reason."
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did, Punk. I know. Why are you really here?"
Punk looked down at the floor, taking his blanket and slinging it on his shoulder, closing his eyes, "I had a fucking nightmare."
Jeff tried hard to shuffle his laughter but exploded right there on the spot, knowing that the Straight Edge World Heavyweight Champion came to him after experiencing a nightmare and Punk scowled at him as he pushed him down at the floor but Jeff shunned the pain as he continued to laugh at the younger superstar. Jeff stopped laughing, grinning as wide as hell. "This is coming from the world heavyweight champion?"
"Shut the hell up, Hardy."
In one way or another, they both ended up back in Jeff's room, Jeff flopped down on his bed, loving the feel of the warm sheets pressing against his body and a smirk burned through Punk's lips as he sat on Jeff's bed.
"Punk, if yesterday was real then before yesterday was real, too."
Punk didn't know where this was heading to but the nausea was burning through Punk's stomach badly.
"Then I really did hit on you."
"Yeah," Punk admitted.
Silence burned through both of them as Jeff's eyes burned with rage. "Why the hell didn't you tell me it was real then?"
"Because it doesn't matter! You were drunk and I was sober, like always, and you hit on me. Anyone would've hit on me."
"And you didn't tell me because…?"
"Why should I tell you? It's it obvious that alcohol plus you equals idiocy?"
"At least I had fun. Do you know what that is, Punk?" Jeff's voice was filled with acid and Punk ignored Jeff, crossing his arms across his chest and both of their hearts started being as furiously as ever when they heard that sound of shattering glass, Jeff's window. The remaining glass was shattering on the floor.
"See? That's real." Punk spat out.
Jeff's eyes widened in horror but he shoved the thought away, trying to ignore the shattered glass that resided on the floor but when Punk heard that bouncy laughter, he jumped into Jeff's lap, wrapping his arms around Jeff's neck, his legs entwined in Jeff's back, Punk stuck to Jeff like glue as Jeff tried to push him off but found it almost impossible.
But his grip only tightened when he heard another chorus of that melodic, haunting laughter and God, did it sound familiar…familiar…
"Let go, Punk!"
Jeff was finally able to push Punk out of the grip and he fell onto his bed, lying silently, staring at the bed as he took short and sharp breaths. "Jeff—"
"You wanted me, didn't you? That damn night?"
"No. I hate you."
"Because I'm scared."
"Like I believe that you're really scared."
Punk cupped Jeff's face in his hands, making him stare straight into his truly terrified eyes, "do I look like I'm joking, Hardy?"
"You really are scared." Jeff chuckled under his breath.
Punk didn't say anything else but the lights suddenly flickered on and off, on and off, repeatedly, but an unknown source and all that Punk was staring at was the walls, already draining in blood and when Punk looked down at his bandaged hands, they were still bandaged.
Punk's concern broke out as he searched every piece of flesh in his body and when he got tired and half relieved, rubbed the sweat from his forehead only to realize that he was bleeding from his forehead.
Streaks of blood falling from the wall.
All too horrifying.
Streaks of blood falling from his forehead.
"What the hell?" Jeff's voice squeaked the same fear that Punk felt and as both of them searched the room, knowing that they could've died just right then was horrifying enough, and the lights flickered off completely.
Jeff opened a flashlight he'd gotten from the desk next to him, and looked around the room, a note, a letter.
Kiss your little friend one last time because it's the last time that you'll be seeing him…
At that, Jeff dropped his flashlight and the colors all tuned out into nothing and their breathing reduced so that they were both gasping for breath, both shaking and shivering from fear and coldness, unable to register why or who or what kind of a joke was this.
Punk felt as if his whole being was ripped apart from him as he grabbed onto Jeff's shoulders, screaming in pure agony as he took another breath, and Jeff's arms wrapped around him from the fear that was overtaking his body. The sweat of his back made his t-shirt stick to him like hell.
No other sounds.
Punk wasn't relieved.
That message stuck in his head, replaying over and over, that horrible tape of violence that was carving the core of Punk's brain.
The voice was much clearer now.
"Punk, go to sleep…"
Using his own words against him, horrifying him—he was afraid to go to sleep but somehow in the darkness, managed to, they both did.
Where's my home? I'm not safe anywhere anymore.
wednesday; lying and breaking hearts
Am I still breathing?
"What the hell?!"
Both of them out of their sleep, stirring in the hazy image of Matt Hardy by the doorway, with wide eyes and an open mouth, staring at the two people that seemed to hate each other the most, all stuck into each other's arms with no pants and sweating so badly that the scent was smothering Matt's nose.
"I had a nightmare." Punk tried to explain. "Came here because I wanted to bug the hell out of him. Fell fast asleep because your brother's the best remedy for sleeping trouble."
"He really did have a nightmare, Matty. Honest."
That look in Jeff's eyes, Matt couldn't deny, "he's staying for the night," Jeff said with finality. "Because he's going to end up breaking my window anyways."
"He broke my window?!"
Punk smacked the back of Jeff's head, "you little bitch…"
Jeff grinned. "There's not much I can do. But Matt will kill you."
"I'm still staying the night since you offered."
Matt's thoughts were still on his window from the looks of his crumpled, raged face. "If you break another one of my windows, you little bastard, I'm going to send you to Hell!"
"No, thanks. Undertaker doesn't have enough room for me."
Jeff giggled under his breath and Punk stared at him, smirking, "you sound like a chick."
"You are a chick, Chick Model Punk."
The rest of the day went by smoothly. Punk saw enlighten in Jeff's actions but also, he couldn't help but feel uneasy whenever he'd hold a cup of glass or anything, he didn't want to break anything. It was of habit. So at dinner, when Matt forced Punk to help him with the dishes while Jeff finished his dish, Punk was slyly cleaning his plate and Matt watched, seeing Punk twitch and tense at random pauses. "What's wrong with you?"
"What are you? Five? I know what you two did up there."
"We didn't do anything."
"Yes, you did. I've never seen Jeff act like that before. You deflowered my Jeffy." The last sentence sounded as deadly as could've been. "You better watch your step, Punk."
"I didn't touch him."
"Like I'm going to believe you."
That night, as Punk laid on his bed, with Jeff sitting there, scowling at him coldly, remembering what his brother had told him just a few moments ago. "Punk, what the hell? Denying that we did it just makes him believe that you really did touch me! He's never going to forgive me for this."
"Why? You promised you'd wait until marriage to do it or something?"
Jeff didn't answer him.
"And you claimed that I was no fun."
"You aren't. You're in here, with me, because you're terrified of a killer we don't know of and he wants you dead but he's never really killed you. Every time, he's just threatening to 'break you' but it doesn't happen so why are you so afraid?"
"Because it can happen at any moment and I might never see anyone I care about ever again."
"Shut up, Hardy. Shut the hell up. You just don't understand that I have feelings, too."
"You don't act like you do."
"Why can't I just spend the night peacefully without all of this?"
"Because you start it."
"I don't start it."
"You made him think that I touched you. You made Matty think that I was deflowered. I'm not. So shut up."
Punk rolled his eyes.
In the middle of the night, Punk wrapped his arms around Jeff, afraid, so very afraid and when he opened his eyes just to see if Jeff was asleep, the room's lights were on as Punk had requested much to Jeff's dismay and as he looked at the walls, seeing the blood that smeared onto the walls, so horribly, so hauntingly—
You'll wish you've never been born…
Punk felt that force again, that strong force he felt yesterday when he had the feel of his body being ripped into pieces, except this time, it was almost as if his bodies was reconnecting with that broken piece, and the haunting laughter burned at the back of Punk's head. The lights went out; nothing was left, just in the darkness once again…
It was suddenly all gone, he felt like he couldn't trust anyone or anything, he felt as if something was slowly moving inside of him, slowly taking over him, as unheard laughter burned at the back of Punk's head and Punk's head only. What the hell was going on? Punk took a deep breath as he pressed his head against Jeff's chest and he panted, so out of breath, so unable to think or talk or feel, so incredibly numb.
"My name isn't Punk! It's Phil."
Punk groaned as he heard the screaming voice at the back of his head, biting at the core of his brain, shouting at him enough to make him deaf.
"Punk?" Jeff's voice was louder this time.
Punk had no control over anything anymore, he threw himself on top of Jeff, his hands ripping at his own shirt, pressing Jeff's mouth to his neck, his heart exploding, his head pounding, his body igniting, on fire…God…
"Punk! What in hell's name—?"
The words that were coming out of Punk's mouth weren't his. "I'm not fun, am I? I'll show you not fun!" He reached in to unbuckle Jeff's pants but Jeff pushed him down, staring at him with a shaking lip and confused eyes.
"What the hell…?"
Punk can barely rasp out his own words. No control of his body or emotions, or anything really, as Jeff tried to register out his words, and his body twitched, his hand going towards a broken piece of glass that still remained on the floor, the clear plastic that he gripped on, making blood rush out of his hand…
"No!" Punk screamed, trying to gain control of his actions but he couldn't. Something inside of him wanted him dead and he wanted him dead now…
"My name is Phil…"
"What the hell are you doing?"
The words still weren't his own, just someone else's, mixed up in someone else's mess, "s-s-suicide, like you'd care, Hardy…"
"Why?" Jeff's voice laced with concern.
Punk tried to gain control of his own body, finding it hard to say the words that were at the tip of his tongue, feeling as if the words weighed a ton. "Jeff…" Punk whispered, feeling the glass rip against his wrist, blood falling out of his wrists so rapidly, staining the floor of the room and the scent was so damn strong…Punk was ready to faint.
Jeff leaned down towards him, trying to take the piece of glass away from Punk but Punk only ripped it towards Jeff's cheek, a thin streak of blood falling from his thick skin. "Punk, what in hell's name is going on?"
"I…I don't know…I just don't understand—"
Just then, Punk felt that ripped feeling again, of separating and being cut in half as he fell into Jeff's arms, and Punk looked around to find the person responsible for this mess as soft brown eyes glowed and stepping from the darkness of the room, a pale white figure with wide brown eyes and black hair that went to his shoulders… Punk only saw this figure as his former ten year old self.
"What's-what's going on?"
"They're all right," the voice of the bubbly laughter that they Punk heard before was right there in front of him. It was familiar because it was his laugh. Those soft brown eyes of the child hardened. "You are no fun. You're just work and no play. I'm that part of your brain that hates that. I hate you, Punk."
Punk connected this all. He went on about how straight edge was a better life style when a part of him, a silent small part of him hated himself. Phil, so Punk decided to call the child, batted his eyelashes, waiting for a response from Punk. "You're no fun…I know you don't want to live…I don't want to live either…not like this. Not when I love him and he doesn't even know."
Tears gathered in Phil's eyes as he shook, pale skin turned even paler at the course of the darkness that engulfed the room.
"Him?" Jeff repeated.
"You! I love you! And you…I…" Phil stuttered and stammered, tears falling out of his eyes and Punk's heart burned with pain as he saw his younger self try to shuffle out the sobs that were falling out of his lips and as a smile stretched on Phil's lips, a smile that hurt more than ever, "I-I'm crazy. I'm addicted. I'm hooked onto a drug. I'm hooked on him."
Punk reached out to embrace the child and Phil went towards him, taking Punk into a clasp but then Punk felt something dig in his flesh, a piece of glass and Punk realized that Phil was serious. Phil wanted to be dead. Phil wanted Punk to be dead. That part of him wanted to commit suicide and wouldn't stop until Punk truly did it.
"Leave me alone!" Punk exclaimed as Phil infused their bodies with each other once again; Punk twitched uncontrollably as Jeff took Punk in his arms, trying to make sure that he couldn't hurt himself because both couldn't handle seeing anymore blood on the floor. Punk reached in for a piece of glass, "no…please, don't make me do this! Don't!"
Punk's hand took another piece of glass that his eye caught and brought it close to his wrist, ripping it so that the blood was pouring out of his wrist and Jeff lifted Punk's chin, trying to make him stop looking at the glass, stop thinking of dying, stop everything but no, it was no use as Phil forced Punk to drive the glass through his wrist, as hard as possible and Punk let out a scream, and Jeff covered Punk's lips with his own, shocking Phil enough to let the glass drop from Punk's hand.
Jeff pulled back, utterly breathless as Punk stared, still confused, "Jeff? Did you just do that so I'd stop—?"
"I don't want anyone to die. Even if it was you." Jeff responded, tucking Punk's hair behind his ear.
"What if I start again? I don't want. I don't want to lose control again, Jeffy. I'm scared…I'm so scared…" Punk was on the verge of tears, the blood, the sweat, the pain; it was all too much for Punk.
"Shh…" Jeff kissed Punk's nose, trying to calm him down. "Did any of what he said was true? About me being your drug?"
"I was in denial. I didn't know…I'd never think that somehow, deep inside, I'd wanted to kill myself. I swear. I didn't know…" Punk whispered, tears finally falling from his eyes, burning from his face and how the cloth of him was just absorbing years and years of hidden emotion as if it was nothing. He was nothing… "I-I-"
"Don't say a word, Punky."
For once, Punk's tense shoulders relaxed as he let his head fall onto Jeff's chest, hearing the sound of his steady heartbeat was just enough to let Punk fall to asleep…
thursday; under the rain
Punk had decided that spending the night in Jeff's house wasn't too horrible after all.
He walked down towards his car with Jeff's umbrella and Jeff followed him, to take back his colorful umbrella no doubt, and Punk stopped when he reached his car, staring at Jeff one more time before giving a smile. "Thanks for helping me be in control again, Hardy," his tone was playful yet there was edge to his voice when he said 'Hardy'.
The rain pelted down harshly onto the windows and roads and it was soaking Jeff to the bone and as Punk tried to open the door, he stopped and gave Jeff his umbrella but Jeff shook his head, "you keep it."
"Yeah. I got a lot of them."
Silence roamed between them as Jeff bit down his lip and Punk sucked in a soft breath, "hey, Jelly, can I give you some payment?"
"Jelly?" Jeff grinned, "Yes, sure, Peanut." Jeff winked.
Punk chuckled under his breath as Punk leaned towards Jeff and pressed his lips to his own before Jeff's hands wrapped around Punk's waist, the umbrella falling out of Punk's hand and both of them soaking and drenched within minutes as Punk leaned away, shaking his head when he felt Jeff's hand sneak into Punk's jean pocket. "What are you doing, you sneaky Jellybean?"
Punk rolled his eyes. "I'll see you around, Jeff."
"See you around…Phil."
Punk didn't say another word, picking up the umbrella as he got into his car and closed the door, waving his hand off to Jeff Hardy before he started his engine and disappearing as the rain fell furiously.
He felt something sharp in his pocket and realized that there was something truly in there as he stopped his car on the side of the road and took out a white, slightly wet note from his pocket.
I've been in denial all this time about liking a boy named Phil Brooks. I love him a lot…can you please pass on the message?
For letting me spend the night.
Okay. Review. Now.