Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Grunge, like Seattle sludge crept through her veins. She had dark chocolate hair that cascaded down to the middle of her back, reminiscent of Farah Fawcett, and a cold stare to the night sky as she laid on that park bench. There was a sadness in her eyes that you’d usually only see in 19th-century art. She took a long drag of the night’s last cigarette, then sighed the tarry smoke from her lungs.

Jimmi skipped a song on her walkman, letting “Man In The Box” play yet again. A shiver ran down her spine as the cold night air chilled her bones. She heard the sound of clunking boots.

Footsteps? Who the fuck is out here at three-o’clock in the morning?

She quickly sat up, squinting her eyes to see better around the shady park. Her eyes began to focus, the smell of alcohol was permeating the air. There was a gutter punk approaching, just barely, should I say, since he stumbled almost every step of the way.

“Hey…you’re on my bench.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“I’ve been here all day, dude. Where’ve you been?”
“Work…Can you at least move your shit, I’ll sit beside you.”
She moved her backpack and guitar case to the ground. There was a moment of silence as he lit a cigarette.
“What’s your name?”
“Dante…like the Divine Comedy? My mom was a fuckin’ nerd…What’s yours?”
“Jimmi, like after Hendrix. My mom’s a hippie.”
“Your accent’s funny…You from here?”
“No, from Mississippi. My dad’s Mexican, if that contributes.”
“Mhm…Can I look at your guitar?”
“I’ll show you, but I don’t really let anyone touch it. You play?”
“Deal…Yeah, electric and acoustic. Can you play me a song?”
She smiled briefly, before pulling her Martin out of its case.
“Anything specifically, or just like whatever?”
“Surprise me,” he mumbled.

She began to play Carmelita by GG Allin, and to her surprise, the drunkard sang along.

(…)

His manic-panic red hair glistened under the streetlight as he stomped the cigarette out with his boot. His skin was tanned, and his eyes were dark; and he had an indifferent arrogance to him, like a dopesick philosopher.

“Hey, uh… Jimmi?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you walk me home? I don’t feel good…”
“Sure, lead the way,” she arose, slinging her guitar case over her shoulder.

(…)

The room was dimly lit, with red Christmas lights being the only source of illumination. It was fairly clean, aside from some clothes on the floor. He smiled at her, then tripped over a beer can on the floor. She helped him to his feet, then tucked him into bed like a child.
“It’s not safe in town at night…sleep here, if you want. Just don’t, like, serial kill me or anything,” he slurred.
“Thanks, Dante!”
“Y’know…you’re really pretty.”
“Wow, you really are drunk, Dante…”
“No…no I really mean it.”
She smiled, before leaving the darkness of the bedroom.

(…)

Dante awoke to the smell of frying bacon and black coffee. He slept in his clothes, as he usually did during times like these. After changing into a different pair of black jeans and a Mayhem shirt, he entered the kitchen with an unreadable expression in his amber eyes.

“You’re still here, huh?”
“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t, like, die in your sleep,”
“Thanks, uh…what’s your name again?”
“Jimmi…Jimmi Gomez. What’s your last name?”
“Rossi, it’s Italian. You like the Dead Kennedys?,” he nodded at her shirt.
“Fuck yeah, dude, made it myself. My favorite song by them has to be Police Truck.”
“Tonight’s the night that we got the truck,” he sang.
“We’re going downtown, gonna beat up drunks,” she joined in.
“Y’know, you have a pretty good voice there,” he chimed, grabbing a piece of bacon.

She smiled, then sipped her coffee. He grabbed a carton of milk from the fridge, smelled it, then poured it down the drain. As she began to wash the dishes, he looked at her with a peculiar expression.

“Why’re you washing those, you shouldn’t have to do that. You’re a guest.”
“I mean, I dirtied them, it’s the least I could do.”
“Get my laundry while you’re at it,” he joked.
“I can, if you want.”
“It-It was a joke, Jimmi.”
“Oh…sorry, I fucking suck at telling if someone is joking or not.”
“It’s cool.”
“Hey, you got a cig I could bum? I smoked my last pack yesterday.”
“Nah, I don’t smoke cigs. Got something better, though.”
“You smoked one last night, though? Whatcha got, though?”
“I only smoke when I’m like blackout drunk. I’ve got a few ounces, though, if you’re like that.”
“Sick, that’ll be fine.”

Chapter Text

Jimmi sank further into the couch, as if trapped in quicksand. He laughed at the lightweight, eyes half-open. She nodded off with the bong still in her lap, smoke exiting her freshly pierced nostrils.

“Yo, pass that shit,” he giggled.
“This is better than any I’ve had,” she passed the bong.
“Yeah, the guy I know gets it straight from the source. How long are you gonna be in town?”
“Uhh, I dunno. Probably permanently.”
“Oh really? Where you staying?”
“Well…nowhere, right now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I left home on my eighteenth. I’ve been camping at the park for days now.”
“Oh…you’re homeless? That’s awful.”
“Don’t pity me, please. It’s better than where I was.”

The conversation fell silent for a while. She pulled her walkman out of her backpack, and played a tape labeled, “Gothic Mix”. Let’s Go To Bed by The Cure began to play. Jimmi began to dance, just like the man in the video, which was entrancing, to Dante.

As some Siouxsie And The Banshees tune began to play, she sat beside him again. He half-smiled at her, then hit the bong.
“I’m fucking starving, do you wanna go get some McDonald’s?,” he uttered with smoke pouring from his lips.
“God, please,” she laughed.

(…)

He doused himself with cologne, then offered some to her. The entire car reeked of Axe body spray and marijuana as he drove.

“When was the last time you ate?”
“I had a coffee this morning, other than that, it’s been like…I dunno, two days?”
“Jesus fucking christ, Jimmi. You look underfed.”
“I’m a hobo, and I’m not quite cute enough to get cash from do-gooders.”
“I think you are-,” he blurted, quickly correcting himself.

A blush ran across both of their faces. He popped a cassette into the radio, labeled simply, “NSBM.”

“This shit is gonna blow your mind,” he stated, before beginning to growl along with the song.

To his surprise, she learned the chorus quickly, and growled along. She let out a fry scream, along with the singer, as the song ended. He paused the tape and looked at her briefly.

“Dude, that was fucking brutal! Who taught you to scream like that?”
“Myself, I used to scream into my pillow a lot, and I guess I just kind of… progressed. I listen to a lot of Cannibal Corpse, so I’d try to copy him. Plus, it scares away cat-callers and those fucking missionaries.”
“Sick, so, what do you want,” he questioned as he pulled into the drive-thru.
“A Ten-Piece, and a small diet coke, please.”
“You don’t have to say please.”

(…)

She scarfed down her food as he was still unwrapping his, causing him to laugh. She smiled at him, drinking the last of her coke. He quickly ate his food, as if he were starving, as well.

“Look,” he stated with food still in his mouth, “why don’t you stay the weekend? I’ve got nothing else to do, and neither do you.”
“Seriously? You aren’t joking, right?”
“No, why would I? You seem cool, and like, you’re not a serial killer.”
“Thanks, Dante,” she leaned over and hugged him.

He hugged her back, not expecting this much of a reaction. They held each other for an uncomfortably long time before she pulled away.

“So, why’d you leave?”
“That’s a story I would only tell after a few drinks,” she had this sad smile as she spoke.
“Well, my dad owns a liquor store, and gives all of the extra stuff to me. I’d be happy to share.”
“I’d like that, if you wouldn’t mind.”

(…)

After a few whiskey cokes, she began to stare at the floor. He partook in some beers. They sat in a comfortable silence as Alice In Chains’ Facelift played on the stereo. The light danced in her eyes as she began to look him in the face.

“I-I think I’m ready to tell the story, if you’re ready.”
“Sure, go ahead, Jimmi.”
“I, uh…,” her voice began to tremble,

“I was raised in an abusive home. Dad liked to belt me over anything he could. Mom’s strung out on heroin some-fucking-where, left when I was eight. My uncle liked to…he molested me for years. Dad never fucking cared, never did shit about it. A week ago, my uncle, he…he raped me. I couldn’t even scream, I was just…paralyzed. I told my dad a few days after, and he went mental. Called me a jezebel whore for dressing like that, and tempting that…man. I’ve barely slept since it happened, I just have been having these nightmares. I-I can’t escape it. I’ve always wanted to move here, saved up for years with a shitty job at a gas station until I had enough to get a plane ticket. I…I tried to kill myself yesterday morning, but I can’t even do that shit right,” she began to sob violently.

He awkwardly took her into his arms and held her. When the crying subsided, he looked her in the eyes.

“Jimmi, it wasn’t your fault. You were dealt a shitty hand of cards in this fucked game of poker called life. I look at you, and I feel this…sadness, since all you’ve known is alienation. But, in the two days I’ve known you, it feels like I’ve known you my entire life.”

She poured a shot, and threw it back quickly. The remnant of black nail polish on her chewed, punished thumbs was visible as she wrapped her fingers around the half-empty bottle.

“You really mean it?”
“Of course. I don’t lie when I’m drunk,” he halfway laughed.
“Thank you, Dante. You’re my favorite person,” she smiled, eyes still red and puffy from crying.
“I think you’re mine, too. Besides my friend, Luz.”
“That’s a cool name, what are they like?”
“Very analytical, really smart, and a big nerd. He could’ve been a doctor, if he wanted to. He does photography and stuff.”
“He sounds nice.”
“Very kind person, he seems cold at first when you get to know him, but he’s a big teddy bear.”
They both laughed. The phone rang, and Dante got up to answer it.

“Hello? Oh hey, Luz. I was just talking about you…No, good things, I promise…No, I have a girl over right now…Yeah, she’s cool…Yeah, sure…Ok, bye. Hey, Jimmi?”
“What’s up?”
“Luz is gonna come over, do you want to take a shower before he gets here. No offense, but you look kind of dirty.”
“Oh…sure. Yeah, that’s fine. Do you have any clothes?”
“Uhh, my ex left a few things here, I have ‘em folded up in that closet over there.”

(…)

She left the bathroom in a black lace camisole, and black ripped wide-leg jeans, with tube socks rolled under them. Her brown hair was curly, and she was scrunching it with a towel. He glanced at her, then looked again.

“You look nice,” he stated, finally looking away.
“Thanks! I’d say I clean up okay. I’m surprised that the clothes fit, thank god they do,” she laughed.
“If you want, you can sit outside and smoke while I talk to Luz. It’s whatever, though.”
“I’d feel bad if I smoked your stuff without you.”
“Don’t feel bad, you can stay, if you want.”
“Okay!”

She sat on the couch beside him as they heard a knock on the door. Luz invited himself in, and nodded at her.

“Hey, Don.”
“What’s up, Luz?”

Dante arose from the couch to give Luz a side-hug. Jimmi walked over, and approached him.

“Hi! I’m Jimmi, I’ve heard good things about you.”
“Yeah, I’d hope so. How old are you, you look pretty young?”
“Eighteen, what about you?”
“Twenty-three. You guys together or something?”
“No, no! I’m just visiting.”

He tried to make eye contact with her, prompting her to look away. His voice was flat, while Dante’s was more appealing to her. Luz gave her a half-smile before they all sat together on the couch.

Chapter Text

Luz glanced at the both of them, while tapping his caffeine affected foot. He held a paper shopping bag in his hands, before passing it to Dante. He chose his words before speaking.

“The entire house literally reeks of weed, so I know you both have been smoking. So, here’s some that’s actually been tested. It’s safe. I scored you some Narcan from mom, too. You never know about that street shit.”

“You brought me drugs, Luz?,” Dante laughed, opening the bag, displaying it to Jimmi.

“Yeah, I guess you could call it that,” Luz sighed.

“So, how’re things going with that girl?”

“Frances? Pretty good, yesterday made a month, so we went to a party. It was cool.”

Jimmi interjected, “Like after Frances Farmer?”

“Uhh, yeah, I think so,” Luz stated.

“Cool, my mom loved those old movies.”

Jimmi soon fell silent, seemingly reminiscing. Having a few drinks was never good for her, since it caused her to think. She hated the memories she had, and she never could find a healthy way to dull them. So, when she drank, she drank a lot; or when she smoked, she smoked too much. Just something to make her forget, even for a moment.

The conversation between Dante and Luz sounded like the adults from Charlie Brown as she dissociated, staring at the blank television screen. Her melancholy pondering was soon interrupted by Dante as he waved his hand in front of her face. She flinched, quickly turning to look at him.

“Hey, are you good? Sorry if I scared you.”
“I’m fine, just, I don’t know, thinking.”
“You look exhausted, if you want, there’s a beanbag in my room, you can sleep on that for now.”
“Thanks, Dante.”

She exited the room, nearly dragging her feet as she walked. She grabbed a sleeping pill from her bag, and soon fell into a light sleep. She slept curled up into a ball, like a cat, with her arms covering her stomach.

(...)

“So, how’d you meet? I’ve never seen her around before,” Luz questioned.
“Uhh, well, I got, like, totally wasted the other night, and she was at the park. From what I remember, she played me a GG Allin song, and walked me home.”
“So, she’s a stranger staying in your house?”
“I guess you could say that. But, she’s different, dude.”
“She–she’s a total stranger, in your bedroom right now. What if she pulls a Psycho shower scene on you?”
“She won’t, Luz. You’ve watched too many slashers. She’s only eighteen, and has nowhere else to go.”
“Homeless?”
“Yeah, only for a few days, though. Her folks beat on her and stuff, the way she described it was horrific. I just…I want to give her a chance. The streets are no place for someone her age. You never know what could happen. I really like her, Luz.”
“You don’t know her, Dante,” Luz sighed.
“In the past few days, I have. I’ve known her more than anyone she’s known, most likely.”
“Whatever you say, Don. Just…be careful, okay?”
“I will, I promise.”
“Alright, I gotta go. Love you, man.”
“I love you, too.”

(...)

Jimmi jumped out of the beanbag as she heard the fire alarm going off. She ran to the kitchen, only to see Dante fanning away at a smoking pan. There were pancakes in it, burnt to a crisp.

“What happened, Dante?,” she questioned like a disappointed southern mother.
“I-I don’t know. I walked away for, like, two seconds to answer a phone call, and they burnt. I was going to make something for you,” he stuttered, running water over the pan, making a soggy, doughy mess in the sink.
“It’s okay, Don. Can I call you Don? Just let the pan cool off, and maybe open a window,” she reassured him over the blaring smoke alarm.
“You can call me whatever you want,” he laughed, cracking a window open.

She smiled and looked away, hiding a laugh at the still smoking pan. He sat on the couch, and opened a bottle of Faygo. On the stereo, Mayhem’s Deathcrush played at a low volume. He tapped his foot along to the song “Chainsaw Gutsfuck” as he sipped at his drink.

“Hey, Don?”
“Yeah?”
“Uhh, if I braid your hair, will you buy me a pack of cigarettes?”
“Seems like a fair trade, I guess. No one’s ever offered me that before.”
“Yay, thanks! Are you fine with, like, a french braid?”
“Oh, we’re doing this now?”
“I’d kill for a cigarette. Only if that’s fine with you, though.”
“Sure, that’s cool,” he laughed.

He sat on the floor as she sat over him on the couch. She parted his chest-length, shaggy hair with a comb before she started to braid. The house still smelled of burnt pancakes and the night before, which wasn’t really a great combination.

“Jimmi, can you braid a little looser, it feels like you’re pulling my brains out.”
“No promises, your hair is really thick, and if you want it to last, I have to braid kind of tight.”
“Kind of,” he joked.

She smirked, finishing the first braid. Their hands brushed together as he passed her a rubber band, causing his eyes to widen. She finished the second braid at a quick pace, looping the band around the end.

“Alright, go look in the mirror, and tell me if you feel pretty.”

He came out of the bathroom with a confident aura, and looked at her with a grin.

“I feel bonita.”
“Muy bonita?”
“Muy bonita.”
“Bien,” she chuckled.
“Thanks, Jimmi. Are you ready to get some cigarettes?”
“God, yes,” she dramatically sighed.

He followed her out of the door, and they got into his car. Dante popped a Nirvana cassette into the stereo, and “Blew” began to play. As she gushed about the brilliance of Kurt Cobain, the drive began.

Chapter Text

Wearing the clothes she slept in, Jimmi hopped out of the car with the money Dante gave her to buy some cigarettes. He followed close behind her, since he needed some wraps. He held the door for her, and she smiled at him before going inside. She hummed Holiday in Cambodia as the line shrunk ahead of her. Dante hummed along, causing her to laugh. She did the math in her head, if she got only one pack of Marlboro Reds, she’d have the money left over to get a Blue Raspberry Slurpee. She put the filled cup and her money on the counter.

“Can I get a pack of Marlboro Reds, please?”
“Sure, can I see your Id?”
“Here,” she flashed her Id to the man, before putting it back in her grandfather’s leather wallet.

She walked out the door, motioning to Dante that she’d be waiting in the car. Dante soon came out with wraps, an extra pack of cigarettes for her, and a Cherry Slurpee. When he got into his Mustang, he noticed Jimmi staring out of the window with a slight smile on her face, as she held her half-empty slurpee.

“What’s got you smiling like that,” he laughed, closing the door.
“It’s just...I don’t know. I feel, like, free. For the first time in my life, you know?”
“Really? I love that for you, but why with me?”
“Dante, I’ve never felt seen before, by anyone. You just, you get me. I dunno. You listen to me, you’ve heard me, you just...get me. You’re the best person I’ve ever met, and I’d tear down the moon, if you’d wish for me to do that. I just–”
“Jimmi, stop, you’re gonna make me cry.”
“It’s the truth, Don,” she laughed.
“Dude, I’m not all that great, I promise. I’m selfish, and bitter, and ugly-”
“Can I kiss you?”
“W-what?”
“Dante, you’re not ugly, you’re lovely...can I kiss you?”
“Uhm...sure?”

She leaned over, wrapped her hands around his neck, and kissed him. He kissed her back, and put his arms around her waist. A scarlet blush ran across both of their cheeks as she pulled away. They sat in silence for a moment, staring into each other's eyes, before Dante finally spoke.

“Jimmi, that...that was great,” he released her from his grasp.
“Yeah...Dante, can I tell you something?”
“Yeah, what is it?”
“I, uh, you know what, nevermind, it’s stupid.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah…”

The ride back to his place was a comfortable silence as one of her cassettes played My Michelle by Guns ‘n’ Roses. Jimmi sang it word for word, with a certain reflection in her eyes. She felt as if Axl Rose was singing to her, in a way.

(...)
“Hey, Dante?”
“What’s up?”
“Can, uh, can you cut my hair? Maybe dye it, too?”
“Sure, you could totally pull off a magenta. Maybe like a chest-length shag cut?”
“Dude, that would be sick!”
“Yeah, I’d think so. Let’s bleach it first, so we can cut off the damage, then dye.”
“I don’t wanna die, I’ve got so much to live for,” she said sarcastically.

He laughed, rummaging through his bathroom cabinet before pulling out the bleach, dye, and rusty shears. He motioned towards the dining room, where she sat in one of the two wooden chairs he had.

(...)

“Dante, why is it spicy?,” she scratched her head with the comb he provided.
“Because it’s like witches brew, changing you,” he joked.
“Is it time to rinse?”

He looked at the clock, it was five minutes past time to rinse. He led her to the kitchen sink, and started to rinse her long hair out. Then, he applied the shampoo, needing at least a heaping handful, given how thick her curls were.

“I think your hair lifted pretty well, we won’t even need a second round. Wanna look in the mirror?”
“No, I want to be, like, totally surprised.”
“Whatever you say, you look like Madonna right now,” he laughed.
“Ew, no,” she giggled.
“Alright, time for the kool aid.”
“Wait, what?”
“I’m joking, Jimmi. We’re gonna use Manic Panic.”
“Okay, Jim Jones,” she joked.
“Drink the kool aid,” he said in a faux menacing voice.

He pulled out the rusty kitchen scissors and began snipping away at her hair. She watched the hair fall to the floor, with a contented look on her face. Hair holds memories, she thought. He then applied the dye with gloved hands, quickly, but carefully.

“Alright, now we just let that sit. Hey, Jimmi, do you mind if I ask a kind of…forward question?”
“Uh, sure.”
“So, like, what are we?”
“What do you mean?”
“We kissed, what are we?”
“Have you ever heard that song, Hallelujah?”
“No, why?”
“Nevermind…I don’t know. I hardly know you right now. Let’s ask that question later.”
“Sure…”

(...)

He rinsed the dye out over the kitchen sink, drowning her hair until it rinsed clear. She ran to the bathroom to give it a look, and gasped in surprise. She ran back into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around him.

“Dude, I love it! Thank you!”
“It’s no problem, I had all of that magenta dye that I never used but once.”

She finally let him go, and went over to the stereo, popping a Nirvana cassette in, as Love Buzz played, she invited him to dance with her.

Chapter Text

In the dimly lit living room, Dante approached Jimmi, and wrapped his hands around her waist. She put her hands on his shoulders, and they slowly swayed to the music. She smiled at him, so he gave her one back. He spun her, she laughed, then leaned in closer to him. He blushed, pulling away for a moment, before embracing it.

“I don’t think friends do this, Jimmi.”
“Don, we’re still practically strangers. Give it another week, okay?”
“Fine. Oh- there’s this party happening at my friend Krist’s house later, you should come with me.”
“We’re gonna need a driver, I know how you are when you’re drunk, and I can’t drive all too well,” she laughed.
“I’ll get Luz to chaperone, don’t worry so much, alright?”
“It’s in my blood to worry, Dante.”

As the song ended, they sat on the couch covered in cigarette burns, that reeked of pot. Jimmi and Dante were at barely arm’s length apart. He grabbed the half empty bottle of whiskey on the table from the night before, and pointed it at her like a gun.

“Do you wanna pregame?”
“What kind of question is that? Of course I do!”

(...)

“Whiskey tastes terrible,” he stated, placing the bottle onto the table.
“That’s why you mix it with coke, Don,” she laughed.
“Are you drunk, already?”
“I’m a lightweight, okay? I’m just tipsy,” she smiled.
“Yeah, you seem like it. I think Luz is about to be here, I have some more clothes, if you wanna change.”
“How much did your ex leave?”
“Everything, just about, she just up and left.”
“What happened?”
“I’ll tell you later, I promise. Just…look through them, and see what you like.”
“Alright.”

She could tell that the house had a woman’s touch, it was pretty obvious by the decorations. But, the woman was long gone judging by the beer cans and bottles everywhere. She wondered if the girl had left because of a drinking problem, or maybe because of another issue. Jimmi left the bedroom in a black Cannibal Corpse shirt, over a striped long sleeve, with light blue acid washed jeans, with her black steel-toe work boots.

“You look cool, Jimmi.”
“Thanks!”
“But, like, why are you wearing a long sleeve? It’s summer.”
“I, uh…I have self-harm scars, Dante.”
“Really? You don’t do it anymore, right?”
“I just really don’t want to talk about that right now.”
“Fine, but, if you are, just…be careful, okay? I really care about you.”
“Thanks, Dante. I care about you, too.”
“I appreciate that, alright, I’m gonna go call Luz.”
“Alrighty!”

(...)

As they got into Luz’s car, an upbeat metal song was playing on his car radio: Fucking Hostile, by Pantera. Jimmi immediately recognized the tune, and began to sing. Luz raised an eyebrow at her, looking back.

“You know Pantera?”
“Of course I do, dude. This is my favorite song by them. It’s like really good commentary, y’know?”
“True, true. I think you’re pretty alright, Jimmi.”

She began to smile, as the drive began as well. Dante changed the cassette from the front seat to something he liked more, which was from some underground hardcore tape from a band in the scene.

(...)

The house was crawling with punk rockers of all different shapes and sizes, young and old. Jimmi and Dante hopped out of the car, with Luz following close behind them. She had this look of awe on her face as she went inside. She immediately went to the counter and grabbed a cup, and took a sip, grimacing at the taste before chugging it. A Dead Kennedy’s song was playing on the stereo, and she started to dance with Dante.

“Slow down on those drinks, Jimmi,” he stated as the dance ended.
“You’re not my dad,” she rolled her eyes.
“Whatever, I’m getting another, too. Just, be careful, people are crazy here.”
“I will, Donny, I promise. You don’t have to worry about me, I can take care of myself.”
“Jesus, this is strong,” he muttered after taking a sip.

After Dante lost sight of Jimmi somewhere in the crowd, he began to look for her, finding Krist, as well. Dante smiled at him, and waved. Krist was his buddy from high school (old drug supplier).

“Hey, Krist!”
“What’s up, Don? Is that your girl over there?”
“It’s uh…it’s complicated. Why?”
“I was gonna take her to the back, just didn’t know if she was yours.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Whatever…,” Krist walked out of sight, with a certain look in his eyes.

Dante had a sick feeling in his stomach, so he began to look for Jimmi. He found her pinned against the wall by Krist, trying her hardest to get away. She managed to get an arm free, and punched him as hard as she could in the face. He sank to the floor, writhing in pain. Dante ran up to her, and held her in his arms tightly.

“You fucking asshole, I said no!” she shouted at Krist.
“He-he had me stuck, Dante,” she stuttered, “I did what I had to do.”
“Do you want to go home?”
“No, c’mon, let’s get a drink,” she said in a small voice.

He let her go, but still held her hand. Luz was standing behind the bar, holding a book. He looked around and noticed Jimmi crying, and Krist on the floor. He handed Jimmi and Dante a cup before he spoke.

“What the hell just happened?”
“Krist just tried to assault Jimmi, so she knocked his sorry ass out,” Dante said with a hint of anger in his voice.
“Oh shit…Jimmi, are you okay?”

She shook her head yes, and sipped at her drink. Dante did the same, still holding her hand. They went to the porch, and he sat next to her on the steps. She had this look of fear in her eyes as she pulled a cigarette from her pocket.

“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t believe it almost happened again,” she fumbled with the lighter for a moment, blinking hard to focus.
“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t think he’d be here…Are you okay? You don’t look too hot…”
“Gee thanks…I’m starting to feel pretty drunk.”
“Do you want to leave?”
“Yeah…I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re fine, dude, I promise. I’ll go get Luz.”
“Okay,” she mumbled, cigarette dangling from her lips.
(...)

Jimmi was silent as Dante and Luz laughed and talked in the car. Her eyes looked glazed over as she stared out of the window. Dante was in the backseat beside her, to make sure she didn’t throw up, pass out, or both. He grasped her hand firmly, causing her to look at him. He smiled at her, she gave a half-smile back.

“I think I’m in love with you,” she mumbled.
“Let’s talk about this when we’re sober, okay?,” he sighed, knowing she wouldn’t remember.

She soon fell asleep with her head on his shoulder, as Nirvana played on the radio.

Chapter Text

Dante had to practically drag her into the house, laying her across the couch. She stirred as he laid a blanket over her. She had a certain look on her face as she stared up at him.

“What is it?” he laughed.
“Thanks for taking me to the party, Donny.”
“No problem, Jimmi. Maybe try to go to sleep, it’s kinda late.”
“Yeah, you’re right…can I sleep in the room with you tonight?”
“Uhh…How about another day? We’re both pretty drunk, and I don’t wanna get puke on my rug,” he mumbled.
“Fine, whatever,” she sighed, closing her eyes, “Can you take this blanket off of me, I’m sweating like a whore in church.”
“That’s the liquor poisoning your body,” he laughed.

He pulled the blanket off of her, and sat it on the floor. As he walked to the bedroom, he heard her say goodnight to him. He smiled before flopping onto the bed, and falling asleep.

(...)

She awoke with a massive headache, to hear Dante in a chair next to her, picking quietly at his acoustic guitar. He softly sang a Beatles song as she opened her eyes to look at him.

“How are you not fucking dying right now,” she sighed.
“Wake and bake,” he laughed, nodding to the ashtray on the coffee table.
“You smoked and didn’t wake me up?”
“I mean, I figured you’d want to sleep, we stayed out late last night.”
“You got any weed left?”
“Negatory,” he continued to pick at the guitar, “I got some ibuprofen, though.”
“That won’t help much, but I’ll take it,” she sighed, “Did you make coffee?”
“Yeah, I got bored waiting on you to wake up, so I also made muffins, without burning the house down!”
“Progress, I guess,” she laughed as she walked over to the kitchen.

Jimmi took a bite of the chocolate muffin, not commenting on the fact that it was overbaked. She swallowed three ibuprofen with the lukewarm coffee, gagging as the pills dissolved in her mouth. She always hated taking pills, maybe they reminded her of the overdoses she’d had before?

“Hey, Jimmi?,” Dante finally spoke, interrupting Jimmi’s daydreaming.
“Yeah?”
“What do you think about maybe going into town today?”
“Maybe, why?”
“Well, for starters, I need more drugs, then I was thinking maybe we could just go out and have fun before I go to work tomorrow?”
“Yeah, that’s fine, mind if I get a shower and change first?”
“That’s fine, by the way, you might wanna put makeup on.”
“Oh? Okay…”

Jimmi left the room, grabbing a few things from her backpack, and putting them in the bathroom. She grabbed a set of clothes from the closet, and laid those out as well. Before she showered, she sat outside, smoking a cigarette. Dante poked his head outside of the door, to ask her a question.

“Hey. Jimmi?”
“What’s up?”
“Can I borrow some of your makeup?”
“Yeah, sure, why not?”
“Thanks!”

Dante returned in five minutes, visibly frustrated. He held out the eyeliner and eyeshadow, and Jimmi grabbed both.

“Can you do a wing, I literally cannot right now.”
“Yeah,” she laughed, “C’mere.”

He leaned in closer to her, and closed his eyes. She swiped the eyeliner, and smudged on some eyeshadow, giving him a smokey cat eye wing. He looked at himself in the mirror that came with the eyeshadow, beaming.

“Oh my god, I love this, you have to do my makeup every day now!,” he laughed.
“I’m glad you like it, dude,” she smiled, putting out her cigarette after her last drag.

(...)

She left the bathroom in romantic goth makeup, a Nirvana insecticide tee, a zip up baja hoodie, black ripped mom jeans, and her work boots. Dante glanced at her, then full on stared. After he forced himself to look away, she looked at him and smiled.

“You look cute, Don.”
“Thanks, you-you too,” caught off-guard, he smiled.
“You ready to rock ‘n’ roll?”
“Yeah, let’s go. Don’t forget your cigs!”
“Yeah, I got ‘em, and a lighter.”

As they got into his car, Jimmi popped in her Alice In Chains tape, and sang every word of the album, to Dante’s delight.