Skeleton pajamas, irritating siblings and rainstorms...
Chapter Twenty One
Gerard’s point of view:
Strangely enough, spending most of my Saturday in my skeleton pyjamas, trying and failing to create and entry for the art competition, getting extremely frustrated when I’m distracted by (extremely distracting) daydreams involving a certain Misfits loving 5”4 someone, and watching endless movies with an equally bored, pyjama clad sibling who seems to think it’s necessary to discuss every minuscule detail of his latest victim (crush) is not really my idea of a fun way to spend the first day of sacred weekend.
It’s nearly half eight in the evening now and I’m lolling on my bed with Mikey, halfway through my third bag of popcorn, Corpse Bride, and a daydream involving the replacement of Victor and Victoria with me and a certain someone else, when my phone buzzes on the bed beside me, jolting me out of the land of sad teenage girl with a pathetic crush daydreams.
1 NEW MSG: FRANK: HEY, U BUSY?
My stomach jumps and I quickly text a reply saying I’m not busy, the nervous, excitedly butterflies I’ve grown to know so well starting to flutter energetically, making my mouth dry, my palms clammy as I stare at my phone, willing it to light up with a message.
1 NEW MSG: FRANK: MEET IN THE PARK IN 10?
Texting a quick ‘yeah’, I leap up, panicking slightly as I realise I’m still in my skeleton PJs, unwashed, greasy-haired and make-up-less.
Okay, slightly is an understatement.
“Shit!” I groan, running a hand through my tangled hair.
“What?” Mikey asks, eyes still glued to the TV screen.
“I’m meeting Frank in like, five minutes and I’m not showered or dressed or-”
“Gee!” Mikey rolls his eyes at the TV. “Chill, man! Just chuck on some jeans and a t-shirt and you’ll be fine- it’s not like you’re going on a freaking date!"
My cheeks flush and I duck my head, scrabbling through all the unfinished drawings on my desk, in search of my favourite black eyeliner, feeling like a right idiot.
“Gee…?” Mikey says slowly, when I don’t respond. “It’s…It’s not a date, right?”
“No, course it’s not!” I snap, smudging black under my eyes with a shaky hand.
“Then why are you blushing?” Mikey smirks, because now, he can see me without even looking away from the TV, and when my back is turned.
“I’m not!” I retort childishly.
“Denial, Gee, denial.” Mikey smirks infuriatingly.
I want to throttle him.
“I just don’t want to look this fucking terrible for seeing Frank, okay?” I snarl defensively, examining my reflection critically in the mirror. My hair looks like it’s been electrocuted and backcombed to the extreme, my skin is unhealthily pale and I’ve got dark purple sleep deprived circles under my eyes.
“You look fine…” Mikey glances up at me, then grimaces. “Though..uh…you might wanna do something with your hair..” he adds tactfully.
“Like what?! Dye it? shave it off? Get a fucking Mohawk?!” I shout sarcastically from the depths of my wardrobe where I’m searching frantically for something clean and halfway decent, something, I’m sure has never even existed inside my room. “Help me, Mikes!” I moan, chucking yet another crumpled t-shirt over my shoulder.
“Jeez, Gee! calm the fuck down! just brush it or something, yeah? I’ll find you something to wear.” Mikey sighs, pauses Corpse Bride and joins me at the wardrobe.
“Straigtners! I need straightners!” I dash across my room, yanking open the drawer in my desk where they’re kept.
“I don’t think they’ll work on your sexuality, Gee.”
They do, however, work well when thrown at younger siblings.
Ten extremely stressed minutes later, I set off for the park in my black skinnies, faded black slightly too tight Misfits American Psycho t-shirt, a stripy black and white hoodie, my hair carefully brushed and straightened, black smudged under my eyes, as man-eating, bloodthirsty butterflies mangle and devour the inside of my stomach, their tiny wings fluttering excitedly.
The sky is a slivery, grey satin, almost all the light drained from it, as murky grey clouds are swept across the already darkening sky by an icy breeze that rustles the crinkled amber leaves that cluster at the side of the pavement, making them whisper softly as I walk briskly in the direction of the park, the same chilly Autumn breeze stinging my cheeks and making me huddle into my hoodie.
My stomach is a churning mess; giddy excitement, dizzying nerves and nagging worry that I’ll say or do something I’ll seriously regret, all the contrasting emotions curdling uncomfortably in my stomach, like oil and water, feeding the fluttering butterflies and flowing through my veins, making my legs tremble, my palms clammy.
When I finally reach the park, the murky rainclouds have eclipsed the silvery satin sky and are now shedding tiny ice-cold teardrops of indigo, splashing into the puddles in the grimy grey pavement and trickling down the back of my bare neck, making me shiver. I spot the silhouette of a smallish, skinny person sitting on the wall of the park by the gate, legs swinging, hood up in the freezing dusky drizzle.
My stomach lurches and I hurry forwards, heart in my throat, nibbling my lip nervously with anxious anticipation.
“Gerard?” Frank’s voice drifts out into the gloomy dusk and I see his silhouette slide off the wall.
“Hi Frank.” I call, stomach a writhing mass of excited nerves as I walk over to him.
His greeny-russet eyes are big, bright and shining with intelligent innocence, the tiny teardrops of rain falling from the charcoal sky clinging to his dark, spiky lashes, his ivory skin pink-cheeked and rosy from the bitter wind, lips stretched into a wide, warm smile.
I almost feel my knees weaken.
“H-Hi…” I breathe, as I reach him, heart pounding.
“Hey…” he says softly, and then there’s just silence as we stand by the gates into the park in the misty, damp dusk, bitterly cold wind howling thought the trees, the lashing rain pounding the grimy chewing-gum speckled pavement and soaking into the decomposing clumps of dead leaves that shroud the grass of the park.
I don’t know how long I stand there, just drinking in Frank’s wide, heavy-lidded eyes, full of smiles, his soft dyed-black fringe peeking out of his hood, the way his Misfits hoodie clings to his skinny torso, the speckled rain on his faded black skinnies, the adorable way his feet turn in slightly as he stands…
“Umm…do you wanna find somewhere to shelter?” Frank ventures tentatively, breaking through my daydreams, and I suddenly realise that the tiny teardrops falling from the sky have become huge, icy bullets soaking through the thin fabric of my hoodie.
“Umm…sure.” I mumble, blushing slightly as we go through the gate, the rain progressing from the icy bullets to it feeling almost as if someone is tipping gigantic buckets of freezing water over our heads, as we half run across the park, dodging overflowing puddles and clumps of muddy, rotting leaves, towards the climbing frame, where we duck under the rope bridge, squeezing into the tiny kids playhouse. We both sit down on the tiny square of dry tarmac, panting from our sprint across the grass; it’s so cold I can see our breaths filling the small space, mingling together.
Frank grins at me, brushing his wet hair out of his shining eyes. “Well, that was fun.” He jokes.
I laugh, still panting. “Yeah…it reminded me why I shouldn’t skive PE all the time.”
“What’s in the bag, by the way?” I ask, noticing Frank has his scruffy school bag slung over one shoulder, and suddenly feeling curious.
“Oh, umm…” Frank ducks his head, and I swear I see his cheeks flush pink from behind the strands of damp, dyed-black hair, but it could just be from the bitterly cold wind and icy, lashing rain we’ve just run through. His nimble fingers fumble with the zip of his bag, and he draws out a large rectangular package wrapped in paper.
I look questioningly at him, puzzled.
“Open it.” Frank smiles, playing with his lip ring.
Still confused, I carefully tear the wrappings off and then just stare, utterly awestruck, completely lost for words.
It’s my painting.
Except it’s not ruined anymore.
It’s a hundred, thousand times better than it first was.
Where the vicious slashes were tearing the picture, it’s been stitched carefully with thick black thread, stitching up its wounds with morbid, onyx Frankenstein style stitches, fitting perfectly with the style of the painting; it’s macabre, ruby black oozing blood, the gnarled old tree, the wicked, bloodthirsty eyes, the ambiguous swirling deep violet mist. It completes the painting perfectly/
“…Is it okay?” Frank asks nervously, nibbling his lower lip anxiously, eyes wide. “I’m sorry of you didn’t want-”
I finally manage to drag my eyes from the better-than-new painting to look at him, his big russety eyes anxious and hopeful in the half light.
“Okay?” I cut him off hoarsely. “Okay?! It’s fucking amazing! And so much better than it was in the first place…thank you so, so much Frank!”
I don’t really think about it, but suddenly my arms are wrapped round his skinny frame, pulling him to me, burying my nose in his soft, damp hair, the gentle scents of guitar strings, cinnamon shampoo, raindrops and just pure Frank tickling my nose.
“It’s okay.” He mumbles into my neck, hot breath tickling my jugular, and I feel him smile against my shoulder, faintly feeling his heartbeat against my chest.
I pull back and look at him, chest warm despite the harsh wind that makes me shiver.
“Why would you do this for me, though?” I ask softly, wonderingly.
“I…I felt really bad about what Aled had done to it, and kinda responsible too and… I just wanted to make you happy.” Frank ducks his head a little, hiding behind his fringe, sincere russet eyes peeking out at me.
He’s like a magnet, reeling me in, closer and closer…no matter how hard I try and resist, the longing and resistance gnawing against each other, making it hard to think straight.
It’s all too much.
The warmth of his body right next to me.
His shining eyes, his irresistible smile.
The intoxicating smell of guitar strings, cinnamon and raindrops.
His shoulder pressed right against mine…
One minute, I’m just gazing into those entrancing eyes, trying to resist the pulling longing in my chest, the next, my lips are suddenly against his, soft and surprisingly warm in contrast to the icy rain. My mind has exploded into oblivion, making thought process impossible, so I do the only thing that seems possible and start to mesh my lips against his, heart beating right out of my chest, insides tingling, breath coming in stifled gasps against his lips, tasting of sweet raindrops and caramel. He’s kissing too, kissing me back fearlessly as if it’s the only thing in the world, sliding his arms round my waist and pulling me into a bone-crushing embrace as I slide my hands up his neck and through his hair, sparks igniting up and down my spine, tingling my fingertips, thoughts whirling so fast everything’s blurred but the feel of his lips. His tongue snakes out eagerly to meet mine. My eyes are rolling up in my skull, stomach twirling and lurching, skin shivering and boiling at the same time, pulse fluttering irregularly, feeling something I’ve wanted for so long, something so amazingly mind-blowing I never want it to stop.
There’s a loud clap of thunder overhead as the ebony clouds collide and Frank pulls away suddenly, gasping, looking at me, wide-eyed and shocked.
He runs a shaking finger over his swollen lips, almost as if confirming the reality, staring at me in disbelief.
His eyes flash with horror and he scrambles unsteadily to his feet, eyes wild, raw, confused and shocked as he staggers from the shelter, bolting across the park in the pouring rain.
Leaving the park.
Leaving the rain.
Was it okay? Sorry if it was kinda shitty, but I’m still feeling pretty down :/ anyways, I hope you liked it, and I worked hard on this one so please please R&R and I’ll update as soon as I can :0 love you guys so much- without all your awesome R&Ring I probably would have given up on this.
p.s. I’d really appreciate it if you could check out this oneshot I wrote and R&R it. thanks guys :) http://www.ficwad.com/story/155860