` of all the places [open]

[brandon peter westley]

` brandon peter westley `

[/color]
I'M HERE AGAIN, NO SURPRISE[/size][/center]

So maybe he was a bit of a partier. Sometimes too much of one. But all of the places Brandon had to pick; twenty / four seven had to be the worst. He wasn't much of a druggie, and had barely touched the stuff. And yet he was in this shit hole of a place. The air just smelled like poisonous gasses from the smoke. Countless cigarettes littered the floor, making a horrid feeling of stepping on class as you walked along the dirtied red carpet. Hell, Brandon was surprised the police wasn't keeping an eye on the place every second they could. It was just an open door or trouble. They would probably catch countless of people simply screwing around. If he was a police officer he would just the stake the place. But, surprisingly, as he pulled up to the club in his old-fashion looking Impala; he didn't even see any police. Just a few lazy looking guards. Hilarious. This was going to be easier then normal. But why this place? Truthfully, even he didn't know why he found a parking spot down the street and made his way toward the crazy ass club. He didn't know why he made this kind of lame-ass choices. If he was smart, he would go somewhere else for a drink. But sometimes he just acted so stupid. He was a fool when it came to picking the worst and most horrid places to go to. Frankly, he figured it was because his life was so boring. Doing this was just trying to get some excitement into his dull schedule. He had been able to escape work for one night, so heck, why doesn't he just let himself go right?

Yes, he was aware of how short of a temper he had. But he tried to ignore that. He hated the fact that he had to be so careful most of the day, trying to just not explode at the littlest things. He knew he would just get fired from being a bartender if he was ever to get angry at a customer. So he had to just bite his lip and barrel through the day. After-hours and off work was his release. Which was another thing that didn't make sense. He allowed himself to loose his composure and just explode. But heck, don't blame him. Blame is pretty screwed up mind and his even screwed up childhood.

Getting into the club really wasn't that hard either. He climbed the steps to the building, the music blasting so hard that he swore that his ears burst. The guards did a simple once-over. He looked pretty lower class, even though he was more around middle. His clothing was anything but spectacular. He was wearing pretty plain jeans, hole forming where his knees are located. He was wearing a somewhat clean jacket, underneath was a simple colored t-shirt. The guard turned away without a word, leaving the door free for him to enter. Obviously they didn't care who was in their club. As long as they didn't look like an cop, they let them in. Obviously, Brandon didn't look like a cop at all. Snorting slightly he pushed open the door. The pandemonium came over him like a wave, and he could sware that he felt a breeze fly past his head from just the sound. A smug expression formed on his features as he entered the place without a care. It didn't make him feel bad at all that he looked like he belonged there. But he did fit into the crowd, played the part perfectly. He shimmed his way through the dance floor, the seemingly hundreds of bodies creating quite a heat in the club. By the time he pushed and shoved to the bar, his head was already spinning and the desire to keep his jacket on seemed not as important. Many seats were open, making it clear that most of the people in the club had chosen dancing as their current occupation. So, with ease, he grabbed the nearest red-cushioned seat and turned to face the awaiting bartender. Man, he looked quite ugly. They really didn't seem to make bartenders as good looking as him, did they?

Leaning forward with his elbows propped up on the table, he spoke to get the bartender's attention. "Heyy, bartender. Can I get a beer?"

he said. He was surprised the bartender even heard him. The music was playing so loud he could barely listen to his own thoughts. The bartender murmured something under his breath that he couldn't catch, and turned away to get his drink. Hrm. Not very friendly either. That was too bad. Within seconds Brandon got his beer; so he was happy after that. He spun around in his chair, using the bar table behind him as a back support. The brown bottle pulled to his lips, he downed most of the bottle with one fatal swig. He was quite good at that. As the alcohol entered his system, he became a bit more alert for the moment, the sensation of it burning down his throat giving him a good 'ole wakeup call. The music became not as exploding as before, his ears adjusting just enough so that the music was almost not loud enough. His mind spinning from the alcohol consumption, he continued on drinking until the point that he was finished. What seemed like hours of drinking was just a few minutes, and he looked over his shoulder back at the bartender. The empty beer bottle was put down on the table as he spoke once again, "Can I get another?"[/color] he asked, but his words more of a statement then a question. Without even looking back, the empty beer was taken from his hands and a full bottle replaced it. That one went down just as much as the first.

An hour and six beers later, he was pretty off his rocker. He was speaking in such a slurred manner, that the bartender chose to ignore his pleas for another beer and stalked off to serve as less boozed-up customer. Brandon had to practically grip the table until his knuckles turned white just to keep him from tipping over. Maybe it was time to leave. But walking was about five million times harder then just sitting still. His legs felt like jello when he moved off the seat, and he had to use the table still to just steady himself. But as soon as he took a careful step away from the table, some bozo ran into him. With a grunt he nearly toppled over, but luckily one of the chairs were in grabbing distance. His head spinning and his conscious seemingly out of gear; the only thing left for him to so was get angry. "Hey, ass hole...watch where your going"[/color] he spat his voice filled with uneasy content. He could barely see clearly; drunk goggles. There were definitely more then one guy in front of him, it had to be. The guy, his face pulling a scowl turned around in shock that someone was speaking to him in such a rude way. He was a huge brute of a guy really, standing way taller then Brandon. Hell, his hand was just about as big as his head. But Brandon was just drunk enough to not care, or even notice. 'What did you say to me?' the man asked, his face turning read in anger. Obviously he didn't like people calling him names. Oh well. "Come on man, are your ears really that small? You hear what I said"[/color] Brandon replied smugly, his own scowl forming on his features. Bad mistake. The guy to take the first swing was definitely not him.

Fist collided against face with a resounding thud. This time Brandon was pushed off of balance so much that he was forced to double over to the ground. Coughing slightly, he held his bleeding nose with anger. The bigger man looked pretty triumphant, and even Brandon's hard head didn't bruise his meaty hands. The dancing crowd had slowed to a stop, most of them turning to look at the fight with interest. Using his free hand to prop himself up, Brandon slowly took a stand. He looked as if he was done, defeated. But the crowd, and the huge man, was surprised when his knee jerked upward to nail the man in the groin. Even that got the man doubling over in pain, crying out slightly because of his injury. Brandon spat blood onto the crowd next to him, trying to gain his composure. But his face was burning hot and his mind was still elsewhere. He didn't even fight back when the guards collected him up and tossed him out of the club. Luckily, he had something to grab onto before he hit the cement. Coughing slightly as fresh clean air flowed into his lungs, he wobbly made his way down the stairs of the club. The guards were eying him as if he was going to do something foolish. But instead, he just knelled over, taking a seat on the curb. Oh god he was sick. His face was hurting like hell as well, and he was sure there was going to be something broken or bruised in the morning. He felt way out of it to make his way to the car, so he just propped his head up with his hands and tried to get a hold of himself.

Of all the places, Brandon had to pick this one.
[/blockquote]
ooc;
1600 words exactly :O. Open for anyone that wants to deal with him[/size][/color][/blockquote]

[cadence reagan matthews]

`like lucy in the sky ,

[/i] [/font][/color]
[ click for clothes ]

Though Cady knew that she was just one person in this huge world, she felt on top of it. Absolutely nothing could bring her down, and she was proud of that. Ask anybody and they would describe her with that one word; awesome. Cady wouldn't deny it, because she enjoyed being the center of good intentions every once in a while. She had great friend, a life she loved, and the best family you could ask for. The only thing that ever really shadowed her to-die-for personality was her past. In high school she had been, without a doubt, the most popular girl in school. This got her into trouble, and lots of people feared her, but most of all; Cadence let it get to her head. Especially to spite her brother, who had told her straight up what would happen to her if she wasn't careful. The partires, the booze, the feeling of being on top because people feared you; it was the lifestyle Cady had built. Back then were her darker days, and she did her best to move past them. Still, the emotional scar of where she had been sent after almost dying was what got to her most of the time. Other than that, she was proud to be herself. People loved Cady, and she loved people. There was absolutely no reason to be sad or depressed when you were her, and she was the absolute life of the party. Everything about her made you smile from her sunshine blonde curls to her never-ending smile. She was Cadence Reagan Matthews; nothing brought her down.

On this particular day, the blonde-haired beauty had been walking down the street for some time. Her mother and her had gotten into a fight about what she ate and what she bought. Cady wasn't one to let other people take her down like that. Especially family. She had already battled everything from bullimic shit to anorexia. She didn't need it from her mom about 'how she was going to be fat some day if she kept eating this junk'. People in every day life ate this, and she'd seen so many people who weren't from the Upper East Side that were skinnier than her. Not everybody could afford caviar and roast duck. So in light of that scene, she had grabbed a scarf, jacket, and left the house. Maybe she'd go clubbing? No. She wasn't dresed for that. Still, the club district of Manhattan was coming up, and you could hear the music bumping from the speakers miles away. Turning a particular corner, she looked at twenty - four/seven. A known druggie hang-out. Cady wouldn't have stepped within a twenty food radius of that place if it hadn't been for her desire to get to Sushi Samba, where she could talk with Jude. Taking a cab just wasn't an option for Cady tonight. The cool air was too entrancing for her to care about aching feet by the end of the night. Somebody was on the steps, coughing. Some stupid idiot probably got in a fight. That club was brutal. As long as you didn't look like a cop, they let you in. Who cared if you had fifteen different drugs on you? Just don't bust them for being what they were. People just wanted to have fun, remember? Cady rolled her eyes at this. She'd had far too many experiences with people like that. She was about to cross the street when the boy looked up.

"Oh no..." Cady's face turned ash white in horror. She trotted over to one of her friends, her bare legs taking the cool air in. He was more of a crush really. Brandon was a great guy. Short temper, but he could really show you a great time. He had a bad childhood, but Cady really put her trust in him. Brandon Peter Westley. As said, she jogged over to him her heels clicking. She felt like she was in some sort of movie that involved a shooter. Shoving all thoughts aside, Cady made it to his side and squatted down. "Brandon..oh gosh..." her hand went to his head and she carressed it for a moment. "What happened? Come on.." she noticed he had keys in his pocket. They jingled as he shifted, and she got up. She smelled the stench of alcohol on his breath, and the blood that had spilled from his nose stained his face, crusting. She had to had done this over five times, already, drunk friends getting into fights and needing rides home. There had to be a good explanation for this one, though. Brandon knew better than that. He was drunk, though. And he had a horribly short temper. That would explain how easily he got into fights. "Come on.. i'll drive you home." she took his arm and began to help him up. He was in no condition to drive. He was so intoxicated that he might as well had passed out by now. Cady wasn't about to let him go home without her helping him...that's what friends did. Her hands pulled at his arm, hoping that he'd respond by getting up so she could help him to the passenger seat of his car. This was not good.

[ ooc:

[/color] sorry that sucked. :'/ ]
[/blockquote] [/blockquote][/center][/color][/size]

[brandon peter westley]

` brandon peter westley `

[/color]
THEN YOU SHOW UP, AND SEE ME LIKE THIS[/size][/center]

At this point, he didn't even know why he was here. He was almost on the brink of passing out, his hands gripping his head in a horrid attempt to get himself to concentrate. But that was almost impossible. His eyes slammed shut, he didn't dare open them. Every time he did, the world spun around him. Colors, objects, people; like one big fancy kaleidescope. That was just going to make him throw up. He had a pretty strong stomach, because frankly, this wasn't the first time. Sometimes, if he was 'lucky' enough, he drank more then a few beers. The only thing keeping him from completely over loading on alcohol was the little bar fight. Ug. He hated pain. But, then again, that was a stupid thing to say. Who actually liked pain. His face was throbbing now, a nice good bruise forming near his eye. That was going to be pretty clear in the morning. Moaning slightly in pain and at his predicament, he hung his head near his lap. His free hands wrung his neck nervously, his stomach slightly spinning along with his head. Buzzed was one word you could call it. But the sensation of alcohol was slowly disappearing, just like a 'high' on some sort of drug. And normally after every high was a low. In this case, he was just beginning his hangover for the night. Sick, wounded, and drunk. That was just what he needed. He, of all people, seemed to always end up like this at the end of the day. Almost like a bad habit. A dangerous bad habit.

Put your head between your knees. He remembered that from somewhere. The so called protocol of post-faint syndrome. He felt awkward as his head fell between his knees, his eyes forced shut and hands at his sides. Normally he wouldn't dare do something so stupid in public; but he really didn't like the idea of passing out in front of a druggie club past midnight and near the street. Didn't sound fun at all. He was completely out of it when he heard the sound of clicking heels. He barely even comprehended when he heard a voice from above. "Oh no..." But he did hear something. Hesitantly, he rose his head up slowly, opening his eyes painfully slow. He had to blink a few times to just get a clear image of the person in front of him. But at that point he wished he didn't. It was Cady. He was unsure whether he should be complete relieved or sadly guilty. Truthfully, he didn't want the girl he had the most feelings for looking at him in this state. He hated disappointing his close friends, and it just made him feel worse of a person then he really was. Even a guy like him did not like to be seen as a completely drunk and beaten fool. He was the essence of defeat really. "Brandon..oh gosh..." she said, shock and dismay in her voice. He preformed a few more painful blinks as his eyes lost focus once again. He felt the soft skin of her hands on his face, sending shock waves up his spine to his brain. "...Cady?"

he asked, almost as if his mind was not computing with his words. He knew who she was, and yet he questioned her name. I guess thats just what happens when you are pretty drunk. Just saying one word was hard for his mind to compute, and he felt such an urge to slur the two simple syllables. Ug. His felt his stomach seemingly spin inside him, causing him to cough painfully. Felt and looked like shit; he must be shit.

She caressed his face with care as she continued, Brandon just fighting to keep his mind as straight as he could. "What happened? Come on.." Humm, what did happen again. He had to search the depths of his confused mind to just seek that question. He saw her stand up in his beer-goggle eyes, and he leaned back slightly to face her. "Some...uh...jerk off bumped into me and i gave him a piece of my...my mind"[/color] he said, contempt and even guilt woven into his speech. He sounded perfectly fine, but doubted the words coming out where anything but really clear. "Come on.. I'll drive you home." she said lightly, but somewhat calm. He obviously knew how to handle the situation. He felt a slight tug on his arm, a little hint for him to stand up. Biting his lip, he propped his hands under him for support as he took a wobbly stand. All his weight and blood flooding to his feet, he nearly fell over. Luckily, a skinny tree, one of the many that was planted down the side walks of New York, was close enough for him to grab. Steading himself against the tree, he groaned again in pure pain and helplessness. "Ug, i feel like shit Cady" he said, his voice low and slurred enough to send his mind spinning. Eventually, his free hand moved to his jacket pockets. He took a few minutes, but he finally gathered the key's of his old Impala in his hands and outstretched them to her stiffly. Relinquishing his keys, he ran his hand through his short brown hair in a stressed out way, a bad habit of his for mostly every situation. He forced his eyes shut for a few minutes to keep the world from spinning before he spoke once again, "I'm..uhh...Parked down the street a ways. I think"[/color] he said. Very slowly and carefully, he let go of the tree, loosening his death grip to steady himself. He stood straight and as steady as he could for a few minutes before taking a step. Everything spiraled around him, and the ground appeared to fall from under him. Was getting drunk really this worth it? For some reason he never thought about the consequences before he started. He almost never did. He was then glad that it was Cady instead of someone else. Because he was sure he might have blown a fuse and accidentally throw a punch in their direction. His attraction for the stunningly beautiful blonde was the only thing keeping him under slight control. "You look wonderful Cady, very sexy"[/color] he said with a weak smile. He didn't even know whether that was him talking, or his screwed up drunk mind. Oh well.
[/blockquote]
ooc;
brandon is so drunk xD[/size][/color][/blockquote]

[cadence reagan matthews]

`like lucy in the sky ,

[/i] [/font][/color]

Cady remembered one time when her friend was in this state of mind. She actually remembered many times when her friends were like this. She was usually the one getting them home. She didn't make it a point to get this way.. it wasn't ever worth it. All that came out of it was a huge headache and some stupid comments to dust away once you realize what you've said the next morning, and you're going "Oh mannnn.". Not to mention how many times you toss some groceries during the night if you aren't too heavily sleeping. Or maybe during the next day, if you're unlucky enough not to have processed it all. It was certainly no surprise that Brandon ended up like this often. Cady just heard about it, concerned and tired of his actions. But now she was experiencing what his other friends had to. Was he an alcoholic? Cady shook her head mentally. Of course not, he was Brandon Westley. He couldn't be. He was too good for that. Too free-spirited, and too down to earth. How could he do this, though? Why did he do this? Wounded. Beat. Intoxicated. Cady felt scorched by it all. The feeling you get when you've just burned your tongue with your hot tea. This was like the first time you taste coffee. The smell may be sweet, but the taste was bitter. Such a decieving fantasy was easily compared to this situation. Brandon accomplished the look of being completely sane and together, his smile the sweetness of the coffee. But his actions were the taste; bitter, putred, sick. A stupid habit he had gotten into, this was. At least that's what Cady thought.

"Looks like he gave you a piece of his mind..or fist.." she couldn't help but ridicule him. He was so pathetically inclined to fights that it wasn't even worth the time and effort he put into it. He knew he'd loose. Especially if he was drunk. Guilt dripped heavily from his words, as if he knew he had done wrong. Cady sure hoped he did, because if he didn't, he was a lot less intelligent than she took him for. At least when he was sober. Cady remembered the car wash a couple months back for a fundraiser. He had joined in, and they would squirt each other and play around and having a grand time. Their sounds were golden; the bubbling laughter of children. It echoed in Cady's mind, and she wondered if this was a mirror of her future visits with Brandon. Taking care of him because he couldn't get a grasp on his nasty habits, even if they did get him into a crapload of trouble.

"Ugh, Brandon, you're stupid." she told him, letting his heavy frame lean on her own slender silouhette, straining herself in the slightest bit just to get him on his feet. She said this with a tone compelled by his weight, irritated and somewhat disappointed that she had to be in this situation. He stumbled around a bit before she started moving him towards the car. Man, how stupid could somebody be? Brandon Peter Westley, the drunk idiot. Oh how it made Cady swoon! She let this thought run through her head with sarcasm intertwined with every mocking word. He said something about feeling sick. Cady rolled her eyes. "Of course you feel sick, you moron." he leaned on her and she struggled to keep his weight off of her. Her athletic muscles could only do so much. He let a hand run through his hair after handing her the keys, and Cady was reminded of how bad he got hangovers. Now she'd have to clean him up, make him black coffee, and attempt to keep him awake all at the same time. Wasn't that just peachy? His hands were shaky and his steps were unsteady. Brandon didn't think before he did anything. He acted on impulse, just like his sister. Wasn't she aware of his dangerous state? Of course she was, but Brandon wouldn't dare hit her. No, no. Had it been Jude or he brother.. yeah, maybe he would've took a swing at them. But something kept him under control when he was with her. Cady did that to people; calmed them down, cheered them up, let all of their worries glide past them. She was a support system, really, and almost everybody loved her. Almost. There were those fair few that were jealous, angry, or irritated by hre constant happy and arrayed state of mind. She was sunshine to everybody, and nearly everybody saw that. Cadence was special. She always had been.

Brandon's drunken mind disgusted her. He shot a dog-faced comment towards her and she just rolled her eyes, propping him up against the car as she unlocked the passenger side. "Yeah, well. You don't." she let him slide -more like fall- into the passenger seat. "Actually, you look like crap. Don't move." she jogged to the driver's side and unlocked the door, hastily sitting down and slamming the door shut and starting the car. "Buckle." she shot at him in cool tone before buckling herself. Cady started the car, and worked the car out of the horribly done parallel parking and zoomed off down the street. "You're an idiot, you know that? You could've got yourself killed." her smooth voice was toned cooly as she drove expertly down the road. She didn't have her license with her, so she wasn't in much of a hurry. Then again, it was around 2 am, not many police were in this district...she hoped.

They arrived at his house without much conversation, the silence suffocating the air, making it hard for Cady to even think. She didn't like silence. She swung into his drive way on Ocean Street and parked the car, swiftly making her way to the passenger's side and holding her hand out to Brandon. Cady tried to block out the smell that potruded from him, stale alcohol filling her nostrils. This was going to be a very long night.

[/center][/color][/size]

[brandon peter westley]

` brandon peter westley `

[/color]
AND I CANT EVEN MAKE AN EXCUSE[/size][/center]

Even in his complete and utter drunkenness, he could tell Cady was angry. Or really, pissed. He was feeling completely and utterly drunk, but he still felt guilty. Horribly guilty. But why should he? It was his life, his choices, his mistakes. It was his fault, but should he worry about it? But the truth is, he didn't feel guilty after he was drunk. Nor if he was punched in the face and kicked out of a club. Those things had happened a few times in the past, and this was not the first time he ended up defeated on the curb. This was not the first time he was completely drunk and completely helpless. He had never felt guilty on those occasions before. Truthfully, he was guilty because Cady was there. That was the only real reason. But it was a strong one. Him and Cady, they were close friends. Almost enough to be called best friends. He had known her forever, and was one of his first friends when he escaped his horrible family and moved to the NYC. She was one of those friends that a guy could never ask for. She was almost as close to him as his sister himself. She was the closest thing he could come to as a real friend. But, he couldn't help but wonder. Did she know how much he loved her? Love, i know, it sounds big for Brandon. He wasn't a guy that actually loved anyone. But there could be a first time right? He wanted to be considered so much more then just a best friend. But he couldn't help but feel completely and utterly out of her league. I mean, look at him now; struggling to just stand up with a black eye. And she was just the stunningly beautiful, almost perfect, Cady. Or at least, thats what he saw.

Trying to steady himself, she spoke again. "Looks like he gave you a piece of his mind..or fist.." she said. Briskly, he laughed. But his chuckle was dry, almost regretting or doubtful. He was trying to smile, but it just appeared a confused frown. "So, true. But he might be able to have...err..kids after that"

he said, his hand raising slightly. His thumb pressed into his temple, pressing it in an attempt to cease the throbbing pain in his head. "Ugh, Brandon, you're stupid." He felt her form press against his, supporting him so that he would be able to walk somewhat straight. His eyes, wide, blinked quickly, trying to get the world from spinning. Concentrate. Concentrate! They slowly began to walk forward, the fresh air of the late night a relief on his burning hot face. Some people were staring at them, for they did look a little comical. A huge, and completely drunk, guy with a flustered and angry girl trying to get him to stand straight. He repeatedly closed his eyes every once and a while, trying to get them from producing allusions. "Of course you feel sick, you moron." she said again, her words almost distant as they made their way to his car. "Alcohol tends to do that..."[/color] he said, for some reason stating the obvious. Eventually they came upon the old Impala, they long slender car glaring back at them as they rounded the corner. Biting his tongue he leaned against the side of the car as she unlocked it, eying the black car with a perplexed mind. Eventually he felt a push, and he literally fell into the car. Flustered, he held the sides of the passenger door in shock. "Yeah, well. You don't." she said, the anger in her voice causing him to flinch. With a pained sigh, he righted himself in the seat after some time of concentration. Sitting as far as he could in the seat, he thudded his head against the head rest. "Actually, you look like crap. Don't move." He didn't say anything as Cady slammed the door shut and quickly got into the drivers-seat. Normally the fact that someone else was driving his car would drive him nuts; but he was way too drunk to notice.

"Buckle." her voice still angry, but cool and collected. His hands fumbled for the seat belt, not even consciously paying attention to what he was doing. He practically strangled himself getting it on, but eventually the metal piece snapped into place. His eyes closed slowly, the car revving up in motion a few moments later. He truly felt like crap too. He felt the urge to get sick; but not in his car, and NOT with Cady sitting next to him. After a few moments of eerie silence, she spoke again. "You're an idiot, you know that? You could've got yourself killed." she said, scolding him. She sounded like his mother. Oh, wait. His mother would have never said that. She was always too drunk to even notice with his mistakes. His father would just wound him some how, a kick, punch, a whack. Then, she sounded like his mother should have been. The rest of the ride was in silence, and he could find a grip on himself or an opening to reply to her comment. So he was just silent, struggling to steady his breath and control the pain from his punched face. His chest was rising and falling slowly, and his face numb by the time they arrived at his place. He felt the car roll to stop, and hear Cady exit the car. His eyes finally opened, finding Cady outstretching a hand. Blinking slowly, he grabbed it, using her help to get himself to stand up. However, instead of making his way to the apartment he stood there in front of her, still gripping her hands. Suddenly his arms moved, relinquishing her hand to grab her upper arms, pressing them to her sides. It seemed almost forcibly, but his grip was amazingly careful. His eyes averted from his feet to stare at her, attempting to keep her gaze. A breadth away from her, he could smell her perfume and admire her features. But he hadn’t grabbed her too do that. ”Look, I'm really sorry that you had to help me. That was a stupid idea, I know that. But for some reason I couldn’t help it”[/color] he said, his voice amazingly apologetic. It was surprising to hear him talk that way. Pausing for a second, he found himself unable to look her in the eye, and his gaze fell down to his feet. "You really shouldn't of helped me Cady. I don't deserve to be helped. And quite frankly, I don't deserve you either"[/color]. Maybe he was just complete drunk and rambling, but at the time his words seemed sobered up. For once, he was telling the truth. Or, at least what he felt. Biting his lip he let go of her arms, one of his hands reaching behind him to grab the open car door. Steadying himself again, he slammed the door shut, trying to just calm down and relax. But his head was already hurting and his breath coming in short intakes.

He turned away from her, his eyes looking up at the steps of his apartment. Truthfully, he really didn't think he deserved her. As a helped, as a friend, as a relationship. But that was just him. "Sorry"[/color] he murmured slightly, leaning against the car. He turned away again, making his way to the apartment.
[/blockquote]
ooc;
voice; 618F45[/size][/color][/blockquote]

[cadence reagan matthews]

`like lucy in the sky ,

[/i] [/font][/color]

The mirror of her past was sitting right next to he, and she was worried about Brandon catching a cold? Geeze, Cady, what kind of mind do you have? The kind that's more concerned with the well-being of her friends than anything else. Watching him like this.. if she just walked past him? She couldn't bear it. Her compassion level was far too high for the people she hung around most of the time. It got her into little situations like this. So many people would've let him drive home by himself. Then what would've happened? He wouldve gotten into this horrible wreck and she would be held responsible for it. That just wouldn't do. Besides, she cared about Brandon too much just to let him ruin himself like this. He was completely blistered up. He had dabbled with the wrong gig, and that's what happened; he got himself all torn up for no good reason. As much as she hated to admit it (not really, she just liked to say she hated to admit it) she felt horrible. Cady wanted to be in his place, and he could take hers for the night. Seeing her friends in pain was something she could barely stand, and in times like this she had to do everything possible to cure them of their depressing state.

Brandon sat there looking quite angry with himself, despite the lolling expression he held because of his intoxicated state. Cady shook her head. How and why did he get himself into these predicaments? People had stared at them as she struggled to make the way to the stupid little trashed piece of crap he called his car. His ways never failed to amaze Cady. Why would he do this to himself? He knew how things went. Take a few shots, get in a fight, and then feel like you're shot in the morning. In all honesty, it wasn't that difficult to understand. He lolled in his seat, and looked about ready to cry. He shot some remark before they were speeding down the road. Man, was he hating it in the morning. She didn't want to have to deal with this. She would rather be home, petting Penny and bidding her goodnight while she climbed into her own bed for a good night's rest. But helping friends was more important than her own well-being. It was, in fact, the most important thing to her. It might've been dangerous to think so, but it was. She enjoyed helping people, and she enjoyed being the sane one. In some sort of sick, twisted way she enjoyed being the only sober one around this place most of the time. But more so than that, Cady was in fear for her friends, and it was more important to her (and she would rather it be so) that her friends were sober and safe.

In some ways, she wished that they weren't her friends at all. They were constantly getting themselves into predicaments such as these. Especially if they were a certain Brandon Peter Westley. Though handsome and quite sweet at times, Brandon's most known trait was how often he enjoyed the drink. Though he could be quite amusing, he spent half his time wasting away at his house and sleeping it off. This angered Cady, of course-- and if she had been so heartless, this would've been her only emotion -- but more so she was saddened by this situation. These whole deal was screwed up, and Cady hated cleaning up her friend's messes. Though she was an all-around lovely spirit to handle, Cady had a hard time accepting that she was the one to fix problems. She had so many fears in her heart that it was as much difficult to believe that she could be so lively and brave as it was to believe that pigs could fly. Then again, she knew how things would be. She'd be wishing still, for one more day doing the same thing over and over, because she'd rather be here. Rather be here than faking friendship with some other friends with absolutely no problems, no worries in life, and no way in the world would be stuck in this situation.

Cady sighed, and when they got to his house -- quite a slouchy thing, and a bit worn down -- they proceeded to get out of the car. It broke her heart to see his face. . . it was so torn up and grotesque. She had to help him. It drove her to do so, and when he grabbed her hand, she suddenly had more strength than before and pulled him up with just a little more ease than before. He seemed to try and get his bearings. Cady could tell he was hurting bad, and it nearly broke her heart. She wouldn't let him know that, though, and she kept her eyes on him, and her lips in a slight frown. One minute he was leaning on her and the next his hands were around her arms, pinning them to her sides. She looked up in surprise and listened to him. She nearly began to cry, and it definately broke her heart to hear what he said. It was then that she let the bad feelings vanish. He had sounded genuinely sorry.... When he let her go and turned to leave, Cady jogged to position herself in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. It wasn't as if he were moving away with any sort of gait you'd call 'fast' anyway. She put her delicate hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eyes. Her touch was gentle, as if she were afraid to break him. "Don't ever think that you're not good enough. You're one of my best friends, Brandon. I'm here to help you. I don't know what i'd do without you." after that being said -- she hoped he hadn't noticed the way her tone broke in the end -- she hugged him, hoping that the dry blood wouldn't glom onto her. At this point, she didn't care.

She let go after a few minutes and looked up at him."Come on, i'll make you some coffee."

[/center][/color][/size]

[brandon peter westley]

` brandon peter westley `

[/color]
TO WHY I DO THESE THINGS TO YOU[/size][/center]

He was so not worth Cady. For more then one reason. To begin with, brandon really wasn't the richest guy on the planet. After him and his sister came to New York, their lives differentiated. Jensen became one of the rich girls, the post popular and the most glamorous. Truthfully, Brandon didn't know why he ended up as middle class. The lower area too. Maybe it was just her friends, and her boyfriend. Yes! That's what it had to be. She was going out with one of the most prestigious guys in the NYC. Jude. Everyone knew about him. Brandon knew him as a friend purely because of his relationship with Jensen. But they had developed into pretty decent friends. They both trusted and respected each other; and that was all the mattered at this point. But, anyway, Brandon had ended up taking the middle class. He really wasn't that glamorous, however. He wasn't bathing and sleeping in cash, and neither was he wearing expensive clothing or getting limo rides to school. Half the time he drove himself, and his car was anything but glamorous. It was a old black version of a Impala, a 'druggie' looking car actually. Low to the ground and abnormally long, it did stick out in the crowd. It wasn't shiny clean and un-dented neither. However, it was Brandon's 'baby' if you will. He was obsessed with his car just as much as he was attracted to girls. And that was a big comparison. He hated taking taxi's, and thought they were pretty lame anyway. He would either walk or take his car. Not many people in New York even owned a car actually. There was too much traffic and mass-transit for someone to hope to own a car. But still, it was useful in some situations. But, overall, if you to take a glance at him you wouldn't even think he had friends in the upper-class. And you would be surprised that such a handsome guy would not be with the top people in the NYC. But that was just how is life played out.

The look on her face, oh god. It was enough to make even a guy like him feel necessary to break down. It was so sad. More then sad. A let downed, defeated, guilty sadness. He hated it. His eyes flickered to the side, unable to stare at such a face for long. He didn't want to hurt her. And, frankly, that was just what was going to happen sooner or later. Maybe not just physically. He could get out of control all the time, almost way to much. Alcohol was not helping him. He was fully aware that he might snap one day. He knew he would never try to hurt a girl, never. That was one thing you could be sure with Brandon. No matter what happened or occurred; he would never purposively hurt a girl. Why? He really didn't know. He just figured that was the lowest of the low. By no means was he sexist. It was just; purposively hurting a girl was one line he would never cross. But that was the thing. Purposively. If he was drunk, the option to watch himself may not work correctly. But there was more then physical hurt at this point. He didn't even need to touch her and he could hurt someone. Whether it was with his words or his actions; he couldn't always stop himself. Hurting Cady was the last thing he ever wanted to do. For once in his life he had found someone that he actually had feelings for. But just that thought made him dread something even worse. Maybe the person that would do the hurting was her. The thought made his head spin. What if, what if. The more time that ticked by, the more he was sure that she didn't love him back. She was way too beautiful to be single. Or really, stay single. God knows that some lucky sucker would make his move before he could. God knows if Brandon would ever make a move in the first place. Why was he so nervous? Every other girl he could flirt with like their was no tomorrow. And yet, he never could remember doing so with Cady. Never. Why was that? Why was she so different from every other girl he met. For some reason, she was seen as special to Brandon; and he had no idea why.

He couldn't stand it anymore. Her face was going to make him spill it, explode. He turned his head away, making his way for her place. But before he could, Cady had made her way in front of him. With ease actually. He wasn't exactly moving quickly. Her hands went to his shoulders, but with the lightest and carefullest of touches. "Don't ever think that you're not good enough. You're one of my best friends, Brandon. I'm here to help you. I don't know what i'd do without you." she said. He was just having a hard time staring her in the eyes. Self confidence issue much? He forced himself to do so, keep her gaze as much as he could. But it was hard, one of the hardest thing he could possibly do. He caught that her voice broke, and he really didn't know what that meant. He sure as hell wasn't going to mention. He forced a weak smile on his features, but couldn't help make it look fake. He still felt horrible. For some reason he felt like he couldn't trust her words. Or maybe he wanted her to realize something more then just best friends. Even he couldn't figure out what the hell was wrong with him. He was almost bitter at the situation. Even when she reached out to hug him, he could only hug her back lightly. What was up with him? He forced himself to embrace her back, but it didn't last long enough. After a few moments of pure silence she pulled away from him. The side of his mouth was pulled up in that weak smile still. Somehow, he was able to let loose something to say. "If you say so Cady..."

he said, his voice unmistakably doubtful. ."Come on, I'll make you some coffee." He followed her without a sound, Brandon lagging behind dizzily as they approached her apartment. It took him forever to just walk up the simple stairs to the door. Holding his head slightly, he leaned on the railing, waiting for her to open the door. "Coffee does sound good right now..."[/color] he mumbled slightly, attempting to get the world from spinning as he closed his eyes and leaned back on the railing.


[/blockquote]
ooc;
voice; 618F45[/size][/color][/blockquote]

[piper imogen o'neil]

EPILOGUE

[/SIZE][/COLOR][/CENTER][/B]

Cadence and Brandon made it into his house. Cady used what knowledge she had obtained from previous experience to tend to his wounds. While she let him clean up, take a shower, and change into some clean clothes, she made him some coffee. Cadence stayed most of the night to make sure he was okay. They hugged goodbye, and by the time Cady had left it was around four to five am. Little did either of them know that Brett Kite had spotted them, and now had the wrong idea in her head, and revenge up her sleeve.

[/blockquote]