I could play the drums for hours. Literally. If the school stayed open long enough, I would, too. It was probably about four thirty-ish when Rayn found me.
"Thought I'd find you here, Cancer," he grinned, dumping his bag on the floor near one of the guitar amps. I look up and nod at him, but I don't stop playing. I don't say anything either. Rayn is probably the only person at school who isn't scared of me. His reputation is almost as bad as mine. We don't always hang out, but he's a wicked guitarist. Always going on about how we should find a singer and a bassist, and get together as a band. I tend to shrug it off and tell him he can do what he likes, I'm just happy playing the drums. "Got a spliff?" he asks, sitting on the amp by his bag.
"No, Rayn. You know I don't carry that kinda stuff around school." I tell him, throwing one of my sticks at him. He dodges it, but I'd thrown to miss him anyway.
"You'll carry a knife, but no drugs?" he laughs, throwing the stick back. I guide it into my out stretched hand with my telekinesis, out of habit more than anything and dump them on the floor, moving around the kit to where Rayn is sat watching me.
"Yeah. You'd have thought after all this time you would get that." I roll my eyes. "But even if I did carry it with me around school, I ran out of that earlier. And Si took the last gram of coke. He needs to stock up again." Rayn shrugs and smiles.
"Whatever Cancer," he says. Oh yeah - he uses my nickname. I don't think he's ever called me Luca. He was the one that started calling me Cancer in the first place. "I'm gonna go over yours and see if Si kept anything. You know what he's like." I nod. I do know. He's the one that thinks it's a good idea to hide his drugs in my clothes.
"Okay," I pick up my sticks and shove them in my bag. While the bag is open, I grab a pack of smokes from the carton and throw that at Rayn. He catches it and pulls the cellophane off, with a mumbled ‘thanks'. He doesn't bother waiting until we're out of school until he lights up. In fact, he lights up in the corridor outside of the music room. I would, but I can't be bothered, I just take drags from his as we walk out of school.
I see Gemme on the way back to the apartment, and though I notice her, I don't acknowledge her, instead talking to Rayn about the new guitar he wants. He enthuses about it for ages before I tell him that he could probably make one himself hat would sound better than that piece of crap. He gets all offended and punches my shoulder in a not so playful way. I punch him back in an equally unfriendly way and the next thing I know, we're beating the hell out of each other in the middle of the street.
Using my telekinesis, I unfasten the knife that's still attached to my wrist and hold it to his throat. You'd never have guessed we're friends, really. But this is how most of our fights end. We don't seriously hurt each other, and I remind him who's more psycho, and then he goes all huffy and whines that he'll tell the principle on me as a joke. And then we're back to being friends again. Yeah. I know. It's screwed up.
As we pick ourselves up and walk off, I realise that the whole fight was probably all in Gemme's sight, and she was going to be all upset that I'd blanked her in the first place. I sigh and keep walking, lighting up a smoke and detailing how Brian May - you know, the guitarist from Queen - made his own guitar out of like, a mantle piece or something, and it's such an iconic sound that he rarely uses anything else. Rayn yells at me as asks why I didn't tell him that before I gave him a black eye. I shrug and grin.
"You love our little fights really," I tell him and he shakes his head, snatching the smoke from my fingers and scowling at me.
When we get to the apartment, I'm firstly, bored to death by talking about Fender strats and Gibson whatevers, and secondly worried about how quiet the den is. I push the door open and see Si on the floor, not moving. Any ordinary day I'd say he had a bit too much to drink and had passed out. But... this isn't an ordinary day, and y'know... people who are passed out from drinking too much don't usually have a bullet between their eyes. I swear and push Rayn out of the apartment.
"You gotta go," I tell him. "don't bother calling the police, I'll do it," I say, slamming to door on him. He shouts at me from behind the thin wood and bangs on it, but I'm not listening to him, I'm listening to the apartment. A floorboard creaks in my room.
I'm alone with a corpse and a trigger happy murderer. Possibly more than one. Oh, goody.