Facedown

I apologise that I'm posting less and less nowadays. I guess the holidays just caught up to me. :P I'm gonna be very busy when school comes back, but I'll still try and regularly post; monthly, perhaps. This is another song adaptation, but it's much shorter than the previous one. Welcome Facedown by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus.

I crushed the can in my hand, flattening the aluminum into pulp. The crisp, crunching sound gave me reassurance, and I found relief in the knowledge that he would hurt a lot, a lot more than she ever did.
“No, really, I’m fine,” she said, still sniffing and wiping at her wet eyes. My heart clenched, as if a coat of metal had been dragged over it. I couldn’t stand how much pain she had to go through, while all he did was fool around with girls. I hated how cheap he was. I hated his attitude. I hated how much she loved him.
“You’re not, Melissa. But don’t worry, everything has a consequence.” I gritted my teeth in anger, pounding them. Her brown eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to say something. “Don’t even say anything. I’m still going to make sure he’s sorry for it,” I waved my finger in front of the webcam to make my point.
She rolled her eyes and sighed, blowing her fringe out of her eyes. I gulped. I loved it when she did that, but of course, she would never know that. And even if she did, she would not care.
Quickly, I ended our webcam session and switched my laptop off. It was so hard talking to her like this, when I loved her so much, but she loved someone else. Someone like my best friend, who was a gigantic flirt.
I’d warned her never to get into a relationship with him, but she didn’t listen. It hurt, but not as much as when he keeps cheating on her, cutting her and making her bleed so much. I hated it. I hated him.
The song Facedown started playing and I searched for my phone through the clutter in my room. I huffed when I saw the caller ID. How could I have forgotten? Facedown was my best friend and I’s new theme song.
My eyes narrowed as I answered the phone. “Hello,” I heard my monotonous voice echo throughout my cell phone. “Hey buddy. How’re you?” The bubbling, cheery sound of Chuck drove me to the edge and I gripped my table hard, almost breaking the wood.
“I’m good,” I said through gritted teeth. Undeterred, he continued on, “Hey, guess what? I’m at this club right now and there are so many hot girls!” That explained the noise that was burning into my ear.
The table shook with my fury and a plan conjured itself in my head. “Do you think I can meet you there?” I asked. “Sure! Girls are for sharing! Meet me at Middle Street down Second Avenue. The party’s there – hidden, yeah?” I shoved my hands in my pocket as I threw my long legs out of the door. “I’ll be there.”
~
The club was taking place in a shabby-looking house down the street – a three storey bungalow with dizzying lights and people walking out, reeking of booze. My nose wrinkled as I swung the door open and forced myself inside.
People were partying in the middle of the living room, complete with a DJ booth playing heavy metal music and teenagers – who can’t possibly be much older than me – drugging themselves. I rolled my eyes and dipped my head to let my fringe cover my right eye. Apparently, this party was for emo people.
I made my way to the bar and swigged a mug of whisky; not caring of anyone spiked it. In a place like this, it didn’t matter if it had been spiked or not, anyway.
Scanning the crowd, my eyes raked over a drunkard knocking into people in the middle of the room, surrounded by a group of girls who didn’t have enough underwear to cover their butts. Sluts. I was about to look at some other people when I caught the tattoo on the dude’s forearm. A dragon. Chuck.
I quickly waded my way over and as I came closer to him, I became more and more convinced he was my best friend. The best friend who kept on killing the girl I loved. And now, he was going to kill the hearts of other girls as well, who I’m sure all have best friends like me who care for them and who would get so mad.
Pushing past everyone else, I got within an inch of Chuck, and then grabbed a fistful of his hair before he turned around. I threw a punch at his left cheek, releasing all my anger and hurt at him. I heard a loud crack as I realized I’d punched him with my right fist, the one with a large ring on it.
Chuck staggered and fell on the ground, but the rest of the people were oblivious to him, too drunk or drugged up to notice. He slowly stood up after recovering from the blow, and while I was practically seething with fury, I looked at him. He was not Chuck.
My eyes drifted over to the tattoo on his forearm, and gulped. He was the gang leader of the Red Dragons, one of the most ferocious gangs in the whole suburban area of New York. And I’d just scraped his cheek, which had red blood gushing out of the wound. It was deep, and I was in trouble.

--Song Adaptation