Chapter 4-Need You Now

It was late the next day when Priestly decided that he should probably get off his lazy ass and do something productive. He had spent the majority of his day cooped up in his room, too moody to go to work. He wasn't even sure if it was Lara's fault. In fact, he was positive that it really wasn't. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that it had something to do with her.

He stared in the mirror for a long time, looking over the same face that he has looked at since the day she left. Frowning at his reflection, he raised his hand up to run it through his hair, still slightly red from the previous day. Priestly grumped as he turned in his small bathroom and turned on the shower. As he waited for it to heat up, he brushed his teeth, pacing the minuscule length of the bathroom over and over again. It only took him three steps to get to each wall. Step, step, step, pivot, repeat. He was lulled into a trance by the repetitiveness of it, only broken as he spotted the steam starting to gather on the bathroom mirror. Looking into it one last time, he set his toothbrush on the sink, stripped himself free of his clothes, and stepped under the hot water.

Priestly was under the spray for a long time, simply letting it run over his body. It felt good, slipping across his skin and through his thick hair. He couldn't help the sigh that spilled from his mouth as he closed his eyes, relishing in the feeling of water caressing his scalp beneath his hair. After a while, he reached for the shampoo and squirted some into his hand, not even looking as he set it back on its precarious shelf. He knew every last nook and cranny of his house. It's just the way his brain was mapped out. Swallowing as he started cycling the memories through of when he had shared the house, he focused on scrubbing the shampoo through his hair thoroughly. The red swirled out of his hair, down his lean back, and cycled the drain for a moment before disappearing down it.

Knowing the precise amount of time it took, Priestly was satisfied after it that all of the color was gone. He lathered up his body in soap quickly, not letting himself linger too much on any of his physical appearance. That's why she left, he reminded himself, wincing as the water started to turn cooler. How long had he been in there?

Shaking his head, he turned off the cold water and stepped out of the shower, forcing his eyes away from the long mirror that hung on his wall and instead focusing on the fluffy towel that sat in patient wait for him on the counter. He dried himself off without really looking at his body, careful to direct his senses elsewhere, like how the towel felt on his skin, or the reminder that he needed new soap because he was running low.

He ran a hand down his face before starting to pull on new clothes that he had grabbed pre-shower. And of course, as was everything that Priestly wore, it all had questionable cleanliness. Not that he was a dirty person, he just hated doing laundry. It bored him to fucking death. And Priestly hated being bored. It was literally the worst thing that could happen to him.

With a bit of a sigh, he pulled open the drawer containing all of the bright colors that adorned his hair on a daily basis, and they undoubtedly brought a smile to his face. "Hello, there, beauties," he greeted, mood instantly uplifted. His fingers skimmed across the top of them for a moment before he grabbed a blue bottle from the stock. He was in the middle of putting it into his hair (he really just used the spray stuff, but he used nearly a full can every time), there was a knock at the door. Pausing mid-spray, he scoffed. Who the hell would be visiting him? Barely anyone knows where he lives. Even his parents don't know, but that's because they'd basically disowned him as soon as he started with the piercings and tattoos and all.

It was no skin off his nose. Not like they were doing him any good whatsoever anyways.

He bounded across the house with his bare feet as the knock came again, still quiet and unsure, but enough to annoy Priestly. "If you're Girl Scouts, you can leave now. I can't stand your cute friggin faces," he yelled out as the knock came yet again.

Needless to say, when he opened the door, he certainly didn't expect to find a girl with bright orange hair, a sarcastic shirt, and what looked like a lunch bag gripped tightly in her hand. She smiled as his eyes bugged open in surprise. "I-uh-thought you might want some lunch. Jen told me your address. I was a little worried that you hadn't come into work by, you know, noon. The others were worried, too. But they told me that you were fine." The girl before him shifted.

Priestly suddenly realized that she was waiting for a response. He rubbed the back of his neck and gestured for her to come inside. Giving him a thankful grin, she stepped in, eyes immediately looking his place over. He almost wanted to punch himself in the face. Of course she looked around his place. Because nearly everyone who walks in his door can't help but wonder what the house of a punk like him would look like. Feeling a bit out of his element with this girl he'd barely ever spoken to in his life, he went for the one thing that had always helped him stay friendly instead of awkward. Humor. "Disappointed that there's no garage band in my living room, huh?" he smirked.

Lara kind of looked at him, then cracked a smile, then laughed. Maybe she was waiting to see if he was joking or not? Priestly had no idea with this new chick, which means that she was probably in the same boat vice versa. "Don't worry, I can just hire mine to stop by," she quipped, sending a discreet wink in Priestly's direction. Honestly, he didn't really know how to respond. Ever since her, he had left the flirting to people who actually gave a flying fuck about their love life anymore. He shook his head as Lara gave a tentative little giggle, which brought to his attention that she had made a joke, one that even he himself would've been proud of, and he hadn't even batted an eye. Trying not to make it too awkward with obnoxious or over the top laughter, Priestly allowed himself a reserved chuckle. Thank God, that seemed to be enough for her, because a proud smirk had now spread across her face.

It wasn't long before they were seated in Priestly's living room, shoving their faces with food and talking nonstop. "Who the hell made these? They're so awesome and I know it wasn't me," Priestly questioned around a particularly large bite. Lara tossed her head back in laughter.

"Actually, I did. Did you know that the left side of the grill-?"

Knowing what she was about to say, because it really was his grill, he nodded. "Yep. I know everything there is to know about her. The perfect woman. She would never double-cross me." Before Priestly could weigh that statement in his head and think about her again, Lara giggled. He flashed a grin back at her.

Maybe he should hang out with Lara more. She seems pretty awesome, and she can cook, and she's a really good conversationalist.

Just when Priestly started to feel something in his stomach, Lara looked at her watch and the smile slipped off of her face. "Oh, crap. Trucker said he wanted me back by one. It's, like, 1:30. I'm as good as fired," she groaned, slumping her face forward into her hands.

Priestly couldn't help it. He started laughing. Lara looked up from her hands, looking thoroughly distressed. Face brightening, she stood from the couch, seeming ready to bolt. Priestly immediately stopped laughing and lunged after her, grabbing her arm. "Woah, don't run off on me. You really think that Trucker would fire you? Are you kidding me? I never show up to work on time, and he's never even come close to firing me. Not to mention, I look a lot more abstract than you, Lara. No offense meant."

She was back to her perky self at this point, and God, was Priestly glad. He wouldn't have been able to deal with it if she had burst into tears or some girly shit like that. "Oh. I didn't even realize, honestly. You really think Trucker won't fire me?" she said sheepishly, and judging by the look on her face, she thought that it was too good to be true.

Smirking down at the bright hair, he ruffled it slightly, causing her to make a face. "I am positive. Trucker hasn't fired someone since-" The words caught in his throat. Of fucking course she had to come to his mind right at that moment. "And you're not anything like her," he finished quickly, suddenly feeling very awkward and out of place.

His hand drew away from her elbow. He had forgotten that he had it, honestly. "You can go," he choked out half-heartedly, feeling the darkness press in on the corners of his mind again. "I'll... um... I'll catch up." Both of them knew that it was a lie, but neither could find the words to call him out on it.

With a quick goodbye, Lara walked right out his door, flashing him a worried look before he closed it and leaned his forehead against the cool wood.

God, why the hell is she tearing his life apart? Even after she's gone...

Priestly, with slumped shoulders and constricting throat, trudged to his kitchen. Running a hand up and down his face in barely-there indecision, he reached up and grabbed that damned bottle of whiskey off of his shelf. He could almost taste her lips when he took the first swig. The next one knocked him on his ass. Nearly. If he hadn't grabbed the edge of the table, he wouldn't be standing. "Shit," he swore, voice already slurring.

Knowing that whiskey generally wiped him out, he stumbled into his living room, bottle swinging from the tips of his fingers. "I'm fine," he said to no one as he collapsed to the couch. "More whiskey'll help," he justified to invisible friends. The once full bottle was almost empty by the time it fell from Priestly's limp hand onto the hardwood floor with a thump.

And God help him, his last thought was a prayer that he had never had this life. That he didn't want to be there anymore. That his life was worthless.