i need help
You snivelled, laying down on the cold floor. That conversation had you distracted from your previous small breakdown for a quick moment, before the tears started trailing down your cheeks yet again. You were staring at your phone, specifically, the text that Hobie left you. You were supposed to meet at a local venue in about an hour for a performance with some mildly famous punk band that you vaguely recall Hobie mentioning earlier.
“Fuck.”
Thing is, you looked like shit. Not ‘shit’ as in “Oh, i haven’t done my makeup.” No, you meant that you hadn’t brushed your teeth or showered since last week, and absolutely reeked. You didn’t want to be an utter embarrassment to go out like this in public, so reluctantly, you got up from the floor. You stretched your arms, catching a glimpse of the disgusting reflection of yourself in the stained bathroom mirror, which stared back at you with judging eyes.
You headed to your room as quickly as you could, grabbing some random clothes that you prayed would fit the theme of the concert before stepping into the shower, using whatever soaps you could find to get rid of the unbearable smell.
Soon enough, you were fully dressed, wearing a random band tee along with some ripped jeans and a thrifted leather jacket. Hopefully you weren’t gonna be a total shame to be seen with as you assumed earlier. You munched on a protein bar while slipping your boots on, not having the energy nor time to make an actual meal before rushing to the small concert venue.
“Thank God i live close by— Wait, no, fuck God. I’m a goddamn anarchist, I shouldn't be saying that.” You thought to yourself, then put on your headphones before your internal monologue drove you crazy, playing some loud music to drown out any noise.
After a few minutes of walking, you bump into a supposed stranger, being too focused on the deafening music.
“Shit— I’m so sorry—” You choked out an apology, your heart rate quickly increasing as you realised just how many people were attending this concert. “Did my first social interaction of this entire week seriously have to be so humiliating?”
“Hey, it’s fine. Good to see ya’,” The man that was towering over you smiled. It was Hobie. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, sighing heavily, before looking at him in the eyes. He was wearing a leather jacket decorated with spikes and pins, a t-shirt representing the same band that was gonna play in the venue, and some black makeup. It almost made you jealous how good he looked in it.
It had been a while since you and Hobie last saw each other, so it almost caught you off-guard how friendly he was suddenly being. Shit, maybe he heard you cry over the phone earlier? You better hope not.
“You alright, mate?”
Hobie glances at you, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. You had zoned out again. Well, he couldn’t blame you, you had a lot on your mind.
“Yeah— Yeah. I’m fine,” You stammered, fidgeting with your knuckles. You didn’t do well in crowds, especially not after rotting in your room for a solid week. You were still anxious about looking or smelling off.
“C’mon, let’s get inside before they get all the good spots,” Hobie grabbed your wrists, not in an aggressive way, more like a way of subtly saying to get a move on.
Hobie dragged you inside the venue, suddenly stopping at the bar further away from the stage.
“Want me to grab you a pint?” Hobie smirks.
“Are you even old enough to drink?” You give him a confused look, but you couldn’t help but feel intrigued at the offer.
“Want one or not?”
“...Maybe”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
And with that, Hobie walked up to the bar. You couldn’t hear what he ordered due to all the commotion, but soon enough, he walks up to you with two pints of beer in his hands, handing one to you while grinning like an idiot.
“How did you..?” You stare at him, absolutely dumbfounded, hesitantly taking the drink.
“You’re welcome.”
Hobie took a seat on a nearby couch, beckoning for you to get over there as he took a sip of his beer. You obviously sat down next to him, him being the only person you know in this place after all.
The place was starting to get really crowded, and the band was setting up their instruments on stage. After barely twenty minutes, the place was already full of commotion, people yelling the lyrics and dancing to the deafening music. You knew it would be loud, it’s punk, after all, but not this loud. You didn’t get a great view of the scene from the couch, but you didn’t wanna get up, because you’d most likely get pushed around in the moshpit like a ragdoll.
Hobie, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen, blending in with the crowd, having the time of his damn life. You wish you had the guts to be like him. For a moment, you contemplated joining him, gaining a bit of confidence from the alcohol. So that’s what you did. You left your glass at the bar, and pushed yourself through the crowd, trying to find Hobie. You finally manage to catch a glimpse of him, but the crowd starts to get more violent as the song transitions into the next. You almost fall over a few times trying to reach him, getting pushed around, just like you expected.
You suddenly felt a cold liquid spilling all over you, catching you off-guard and making you lose your balance. You fall to the hard floor with a thud, looking up at the people surrounding you, letting out a painful groan. An older, much taller guy had spilled his beer while moshing, and didn't even notice how it landed on you. It was a simple mistake, but it was enough to make you completely break .
Combined with the overbearing crowd, the pain all over your body from being pushed around, and the disappointment from having your hygiene ruined after finally having an ounce of motivation to fix it, made your eyes well up in tears yet again. You rushed away from the crowd, the tears blurring your vision as you kept stumbling over your own feet. You kept accidentally bumping into god knows how many people, ending up in slurred, half-assed apologies.
You frantically looked around for a place to be alone, barely keeping it together anymore. Your bottom lip quivered as you let out a sob, slamming the door to the bathrooms open, running into a stall. Without a second thought, you flopped down on the floor, breaking down into a sobbing mess. You tried your best to keep it quiet, but you couldn’t control your erratic breathing that soon became hyperventilating.
“It can’t get worse than this.”