Title: The Chosen One
Pairing: Christian/Gloria, implied Jimmy/Whatsername
Disclaimer: Characters belong to Green Day, not me.
Notes: AU, a mixture between AI and 21CB univererses
As soon as the name left her lips, she immediately regretted bringing him up. She saw her boyfriend’s face change, saw him recalling the memory of that day at the Bay, and saw the resentment cloud his handsome features.
"He thought he was some kind of martyr. He thought that he could run off to the big bad city and look for answers he couldn’t find in this god forsaken neighbourhood. And he walked down that damn boulevard like he was some kind of God, some kind of saint." He spat the last word out, his lip curling in disgust.
“But in the end, he took the coward’s way out.”
She shrugs, resting her head against the cold brick wall and closing her eyes for a moment. When she opens them, the look on his face suddenly tells her he isn’t going to let this drop. His eyes are bloodshot and she realises with a pang of disappointment that he’s probably high. After the morning he’s had, she understands, although grudgingly. She pulls her hoodie tighter around her frame as chill runs through her, although the late afternoon sun still beats down on them. She bites the inside of her lip, trying to push her last image of Jimmy out of her mind; but it persists. Him lying there, track marks marring his tattooed arms, converse splattered with blood, colt 45 in his hand. And the girl, the girl who’s face is burned into her mind, but whose name escapes her. The thought of her expression as she watched them take the body away is still enough to make her blood run cold. She’ll never admit it to anyone, but she saw herself in that nameless widow of the modern age.
Her silence proved to be more provoking than her words.
Christian takes a step towards her, his voice is dangerously low, taunting. "You think I idolize that son of a bitch?” He grips her shoulders, bringing his face inches away from hers. She crinkles her nose as his breath, hot and sweet with the smell of liquor ghosts across her face.
He lets go of her and turns away, running a hand through his dark hair. "Jimmy was a fucking nobody. He was some fucked in the head suburban kid who thought his life was oh so tough because Daddy didn't love him." He paces the length of the alley, gesturing with his arms as he speaks, becoming more animated, more agitated. "He thought he was some kind of Saint, someone for all the disillusioned assholes in this deadbeat down to look up to. He thought he could make a difference.."
He tails off, his mouth curled into a bitter snarl, “He said he wanted to smash the state, the church.. all of bastards trying to bring us down in this world. And in the end, he was worse than any of them. Everybody is goddamn hypocrite; especially those who want to save the world from itself. ”
She’s calm as she raises her clear blue eyes to him. “Why are those people hypocrites? Because it’s them the world needs saving from?”
He pulls out a crisp white envelope from his back pocket, keeping his back to the girl. "There is no world to save, Gloria."
Her eyes are cast downward; all along the ground are cigarette butts and empty beer bottles haphazardly discarded everywhere. She shifts her weight and hears the unmistakeable crunch of broken glass underneath her sneakers.
“So you want a start a war? Burn down something beautiful just to prove that you can?”
He turns, flashing her a wicked grin, and she realises that playing devil’s advocate is giving him ammunition.
Christian turns his attention back to the envelope in his hand, "Everyone expects us to grow up and be somebody. What if I don't wanna be somebody, huh?"
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cigarette lighter, holding the envelope over the small flame. "What if I'm not meant to be a doctor, or a lawyer.." His eyes glaze over as the flames lick at the corner of the paper, catching it, "What if I'm destined to be more than some drone who wears a suit to work and goes to church every Sunday and swallows all of their pathetic fucking lies? What if I’m destined to be more than Jimmy ever could be?"
Gloria watches, swallowing the lump forming in the back of her throat. “Maybe you’re right.”
His dark eyes flicker orange and red as the fire burns the rejection letter, the once pristine paper curling up and dropping to the ground, remaining as orange embers for a moment before turning to ash, blowing away in the light breeze, lost among all the other debris.
“Maybe I'm the chosen one."