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Cocoon Crash	By : mao Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Goo Goo Dolls Views: 2130 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of the Goo Goo Dolls. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Title: Cocoon Crash: Follow You Down
Author: mao
Disclaimer: I don't own the members of the Goo Goo Dolls, their instruments, their music, their thoughts, their past, anything about them at all. I wrote this purely as an exercise in writing and take full artistic license here. The title of the whole piece comes from a song by K's Choice of the same name. The title of this part comes from the Gin Blossoms' song of the same name.
Author's Notes: There's a shout-out (of a fashion) to Steph in here. She's one of the greatest writers lurking about the net (fanfic or otherwise) and unwittingly turned me on to GGD fiction. Rock on.
Warnings: none really.
***
I never meant to fall in love. I want you to know that before I go any farther with this story. I never meant to fall in love, never meant to make anyone else fall in love, never meant any of it to happen. I wanted to go for a jog, and it was that moment that I chose to stop and take a sip of my water when my life changed; meeting John Rzeznik just perpetuated it. Had that man managed to rape me, to take from me what was mine to give, I still would have been different when I went home.
The fact that I decided to spend one more day with John and Robby had as much to do with them as people as a solar eclipse might. They really could have been any pair of nice, decent guys; it wouldn't have mattered, unfortunately. I was as much in love with their lives, with their freedom, as I was with them. It was just friendship love anyway; I didn't trust them enough yet to tell them more than my first name. They must have thought I was some presumptuous girl from Queens, or maybe a hooker from the Bronx. I tried so hard not to let on who I was, who my people were, the society I'd grown up in. I was terrified that they wouldn't like me if I did. Of course, if I'd known them better, I might have saved myself a lot of pain.
So let it be clear, from this point on, that it was not purely for John or Robby that I stayed there the next day the the next night. They were both open, but shy enough not to ask anything of me I wouldn't give. I did have ulterior motives - I wasn't ready yet to go home and be the same as I always had been; to live as a doll, dressed up neatly, beautifully coiffed, eating only the fat-free cholesteral-free foods I was given, drinking tea and mineral water.
That and I had a wicked hangover.
When I woke up, I couldn't immediately remember anything about the day or night before. All I knew was the following:
One, my head hurt. Like a bitch, even though I never would have put it into quite those terms before that day. The sun hurt my eyes where it hit, and I felt dizzy with it. My eyes couldn't quite focus, and my head was swimming with the contrary lightness and heaviness I was feeling.
Two, I had no clue where I was. The ceiling was dark, the sun was actually hitting me, which it never did in my room, and I was sleeping on a sofa. Me! Elisabeth Bloomwood! Asleep on a sofa, in last night's dress, my breath harsh and hair messy. I was simultaneously shocked and pleased with myself, knowing my mother would surely have been angry with me and my father would have been disappointed.
Three, I hadn't the faintest idea what had happened to get me into this situation. This was solved as memories slowly trickled back, beginning with the concussion I'd most likely gotten. The attack - the rescue - the dog, now sleeping by the couch - the two kind young men - the new, bohemian world that had been mine the night before - the vodka - kissing that beautiful man on his couch, this very couch! I groaned and tried to go back to sleep.
When I awoke again, it was to a glass sitting on the coffee table. I sat up partway, looked around, and seeing no one, looked at it. Next to it sat a small note on a pad of paper and a few bottles. I read the note slowly, blinking in the sunshine - the clock nearby said eleven thirty, and I was shocked, but my aching head was more important.
The handwriting was a little messy but not terrible - neater than I would have expected, actually. It simply told me to take two of the aspirin, one of this, another of that, and drink down the mixture. I did so, wincing at the taste of the drink and wondering what it contained. It was fruity and spicy, warm yet cool somehow. And it tasted terrible. I finished the note from John - he and Robby had gone to work, but if I wanted to stay another night, I was more than welcome.
I spent most of the day in bed. I hadn't any fresh clothes aside from the jeans I'd bought - my jogging clothes were ripped and bloody and impossible to wear again, and the slinky black dress was starting to get rank. So after I took a shower, I rifled through the drawers in what I assumed to be Johnny's room and emerged with a black t-shirt that didn't smell too bad that said "gin blossoms" on it. I hadn't a clue what a gin blossom might be, but it sounded pretty and...floral, so I took it on a superficial layer as a good sign.
So I sat in front of the television, watching shows I'd never heard of. I ate more food in that day than I felt like I'd eaten in the last twenty-four years. It was all food I'd never imagined, though had heard of - potato chips, coca-cola, cheap but delicious ice pops. I watched cheesy soap operas - The Bold and the Beautiful, The Young and the Restless, Days of Our Lives - and borderline ridiculous talk shows - Ricki Lake, Jerry Springer. It was the most relaxing day of my life, and the first one I'd ever spent completely alone.
Robby walked in a little after five - apparently he was working as a waiter - and offered to get me some 'real food' to eat with a laugh at the clutter I'd made of the sitting room. We went out to a McDonald's around the corner - another first for me. As we sat over our hamburgers, he joked at me, "You can just hear your arteries clogging, can't you?" And he took a handful of french fries and stuffed them in his mouth.
We were halfway back to the flat when he became serious again. His face was a living thing, of its own, really - when he was laughing, it seemed the embodiment of joy and happiness. And when he became serious, I had to force myself to believe no one had died. He took my hand and stopped me from walking.
"I just wanted to say," he began, took a breath, and spoke again. "Thank you. You have no idea what John was like yesterday morning, before he met you. I have no idea who you are really, where you came from, or what you're really like, but the laughing I heard from him yesterday is enough." He paused, looked up at me almost imploringly. "Whatever you're doing is a beautiful thing." And then, like that, he rushed past me to the flat.
Needless to say, a speech like that made me intensely curious. John had been different before he met me? He was quiet, a little reserved, but a good person. Had he been violent? Angry? Depressed? Suicidal? A drug addict? I'd only known him a day, but those questions plagued me until he wandered slowly in that evening, a little after ten.
"Hey there," I called out, already forgetting vocal modulation and how improper not only my language was, but for a lady to shout. He looked at me, slowly, his eyes lazy and heavily-lidded, sliding over my face and down my neck, to my breasts, where he finally cracked a smile.
"Hey," he said back. He walked over - it was clear his feet hurt after a long day of standing - and flopped down on the couch next to me. "So..." his voice was lazy, slow, and it suddenly occured to me that he was sloshed...again. "What's the showing tonight?" He gestured in the direction of the television and I smiled.
"Jay Leno, it looks like," we were both looking at the big-chinned man on the screen. He nodded slowly.
"You like the Gin Blossoms?" I looked down vaguely at my shirt.
"I haven't the faintest clue who they are, actually," I told him after a minute. "I just thought the name was pretty." He cracked a smile, laughed at me, and after a moment I laughed as well. He lay down slowly, lazily placing his head in my lap to watch the television.
We sat like that, comfortable for some time, me picking lightly at his hair as we both watched Jay Leno. Eventually, he dozed off, and I sat like that, sleeping half on top of him. It was uncomfortable, but certainly companionable, sleeping like puppies in a basket, and when I awoke at three in the morning to the sound of the television telling viewers about the emergency broadcast system, I missed his warmth and presence.
In fact, I missed it enough that I got hit with some insomnia. I sat there, flipping through channel after channel, until I found one that was playing music with videos...music videos? I'd never heard of MTV before, but I fell back asleep to it at six in the morning, to the sound of a band I'd never heard of, called Our Lady Peace.
Morning finally came again, with bright sunlight that was less painful this time around. I got up, showered, and dressed in the same clothes I'd worn the day before. John called me a cab and told me to keep the shirt.
"After all, it does look better on you," he told me softly when I thanked him. Robby was already at work when I left, but John walked me to the cab, told the cabbie that in no uncertain terms was I to be treated well and not accosted, and brushed a kiss on my cheek before murmering a goodbye in my ear.
"Goodbye, Lis," he whispered, his lips just touching my ear, sending a thrill down my spine like nothing I'd ever imagined. And then he stepped back from the cab and we trundled down the road.
"Where to?" The cabbie asked. He was elderly, middle-Eastern, with a thick accent. I snapped out of my daze and told him.
I tried to memorize the streets, so later I could find my way back to John, but there were too many of them, too many turns, so many unfamiliar names that I couldn't keep them all straight. My mind ended up a confused jumble, and I leaned my head against the window, praying this would all end soon and I could just try to glide back into my old life.
If I'd only known how difficult that would be...
Needless to say, this being the first time I'd ever technically done anything wrong, my parents didn't even notice. I climbed out of the cab, took the elevator up, and found myself face-to-faith ith my mother, tipsy already, going out shopping.
"Good heavens, darling, what are you wearing?" She asked, looking at my rumpled, foreign clothes. I was thinking up a quick lie, an excuse, when I saw Adam Green behind her. His eyebrow was raised, glancing at the unfashionable, cheap cloth covering my body. And then his eyes lit on the butterfly closure on my forehead.
"What happened to your face?" He asked bluntly, and my mother whipped around to examine me.
"Oh, I just..." I glanced around quickly, saw a shelf, and had my lie. "Walked into something. A shelf." It was executed badly, but Adam was a guest in my house and my mother was already halfway out the door with a trill about being back later.
I tried to rush past Adam to my room, but he cornered me, gently catching my arm. "Seriously, Beth, where have you been the past two days? Your parents didn't notice, but the maids called to see if you were with me." I examined the way his hand felt on my arm. Not a flare, a flame, not a single spark. I felt nothing except that his palm was a little clammy. Not like - and a thrill went down my spine at the thought of him - John.
"Don't touch me, Adam," I told him. I pushed past him, into my room.
I took a long, hot, langorous bath, thick with bubbles, so hot my skin turned pink. I lay in it, on my back, hair wet with suds, and stared at the ceiling. First I counted the tiles, then the red cars driving past the windows. Finally, when I could take it no more, I forced myself to think of the past two days. Of the flat in Brooklyn. Of Bethie and Robby. Of John.
I didn't think I'd ever see any of them again. I hadn't even told them who I really was, where I lived, what I did - which was nothing. They knew next to nothing about me. They had no way to contact me. And while I knew their names and the name of their band, I had no way to contact them. I couldn't exactly look up "Goo Goo Dolls" in the phone book.
I knew they were simply a couple of extraordinarily nice men I met once, who helped me in a jam. And now I had a real life to look after - cultivating a relationship with Adam or another equally rich young man so I might win my father's difficult approval.
I leaned over out of the tub, picked up the phone that sat there, and dialed his office number.
"Hello, it's Elisabeth Bloomwood. Put me through to Adam Green's office, please." Then, as I was connected. "Adam? Darling! It's Beth. I'm so sorry I was so wretched earlier. I had an emotionally difficult couple of days..."
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Cocoon Crash