Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > But No One Sees the Gnashing Teeth of My Heart [Frerard]
"You... all right?" Gerard asks with a confused expression mixed in with his normal features. I can hardly find it within me to give him a decent nod before my eyes are shamelessly scoping the place out once again. The living room we've entered is what first catches my eye.
Aside from the antique wood stove to the corner, there lies a vacant couch with ungodly stripes from way-back-when. Stationed just diagonally lies a crate filled to the top with every video game and DVD under the sun. What can't be fit into the crate takes residence on the sturdy shelf beside of the decent-sized TV. I can feel my eyes grow wide with interest against my will as I skim the rest of room. To the left of the wooden stove is a makeshift alcove, complete with an office and art supplies, a desk and chair. I get the sudden urge to touch every last marker and pen; to sit in the chair and pretend - if only for a little while - that this life is my own.
The curtains to every room are obviously drawn, blocking out all light, only leaving room for the synthetic. The carpet is tan but stained. Nothing before me seems particularly inviting, and yet all I can do is admire such a strangely set up house. No pets or food bowls in sight. No picture frames of anyone; not even Gerard or his faceless brother. I start to wonder little things about the people of this household. What do they do; who do they see? A nailed and bloodied figure steals my focus. The intensely detailed crucifix tacked safely to the wall spurs alarm inside of me for only a quick second. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. That name and his followers. The name so sacred and perfect and plentiful. The name that's taken in vain more often than it is in prayer. That name that often means nothing to everyone, but sometimes means everything to a very few. That name and that face. But Gerard seems not to care and so I avert my eyes to whatever else this place has to offer.
"Well... what do you wanna do?" Gerard asks, snapping me out of my trance on purpose. I turn to him, remembering what it's like to be shy once again.
"Anything you'd like." I answer politely. Gerard rolls his eyes jokingly and ushers me to the exposed stairwell a few feet from the front door.
"Well... there's the upstairs. Nothing much up there. Just... bedrooms and stuff. A few movies, too. There's a wider selection than there is down here." Gerard says, indicating to the crate my eyes have just left. I find that hard to believe but choose not to dwell on it as Gerard continues to throw out options. "And then there's the kitchen if you're uhm... hungry." he trails off, seeming to lose his sense of ownership and hide under the metaphorical bed once again. "Let's see... there's the basement." Gerard offers, his eyes resting on a door close to the barrier hallway between the laundry room and kitchen.
"What's in there?" I find myself asking, almost as if it's some taboo knowledge I'm not ready to know about quite yet.
"Nothing much. Just a bedroom." Gerard answers mysteriously. I dare to take my interrogation one step further.
"Whose?" I ask, almost daring Gerard to answer with anything but the truth.
"M-mine."
Within moments of convincing Gerard, the two of us are headed for the small door near the dryer. I follow in his footsteps, careful to not let the creaking of each step cheat me out of going. It's dark and musty; the thick atmosphere of such enclosed quarters leaves me thoughtless. All I can do is continue to walk, and to hope that my senses return to me shortly.
"Well..." Gerard starts, leaving off for me to guess. I take a good look around as soon as Gerard has felt the side of the wall for the light. A dim brown fills my eyes, leaving me absolutely speechless, but in the best of ways. From floor to ceiling, all there seems to be are pictures and posters; splashes of light and dark. The red excites me while the black brings me comfort. The occasional hint of yellow or green keeps me wondering, but the harder I try to make each picture out and distinguish it from another, the more difficult it is to tell.
"It's..." I offer, seemingly unable to finish my sentence to the dismay of us both.
"Filthy, I know." Gerard fills in, with a laugh. I quickly move my hands in a "No no!" fashion, still unable to find my words and with reason.
"No, it's beautiful. You do all of this?" I ask, nearly breathless and still unable to take my focus from the walls.
"All but the laminated stuff. Those would be from magazines or uhm... craft stores. Whatever." Gerard answers, the tone in his voice suddenly different. Conscious. Like he's uncomfortable with my fixation on his art. Like it bothers him to be praised.
"Well, over here's the couch. I also have a b- well, just here. Here's the couch." Gerard speaks with a nearly silent voice, hardly able to hear over top of these screaming pictures; this vibrant detail. Still, my body reacts to his words and I sit where he suggests. Eventually I'm able to peel my gaze off of the walls and over to him.
"What do you do here all the time? Just draw?" I ask in amazement, my voice retreating from its original volume at the notice of his eyes.
"Pretty much. Life's kind of boring at the moment. I rarely come upstairs." he answers, his hands starting to wring themselves; his legs tucking themselves further and further toward the couch's bottom until they were virtually glued to the stitched fabric.
"Do your parents not make you come up any?" I ask, wondering why they're not home, but not giving it any more thought than what I know I should.
"Uhm, no. They don't really care at this point." Gerard says with a gentle laugh almost too soundless to notice.
A solid half hour flies by, the both of us involved in two entirely different conversations. The first and less important is about anything we can think of. Starting with games and art; music and hobbies. And ending with how we've done in school so far to where we plan to continue life once Senior year is over. The other conversation is on a much deeper level. This one is being spoken with our actions. It's hard to keep from noticing that copper and hazel stare; that fixed glance that looks less than innocent, but safe nonetheless. That look that makes me want to scream in fury but sit still and watch all at once. I hope he sees more than simple brown in mine. I know I have very little to offer, but it'd be nice to fantasize that he sees more to me than there is.
I start to fumble with the string on my hoodie, very eager to be talking with such a different person than what I'm used to, but nervous all the same. I begin to wonder if it's normal for two guys of our age to simply talk the afternoon away, but then I realize I don't care. It's up to others to live the lives they want. Meanwhile, I'll live mine.
At one point, the conversation steers over to art and what each of us wants the other to do for the sake of our project.
"Honestly, I don't see anything wrong with what we've started. The string instrument idea was great." I say earnestly, hoping Gerard doesn't see my appreciation as anything but sincere.
"Thanks. So... how are your sleeves doing?" Gerard asks. Instantly I feel each wrist, wondering if there's a speck of paint I might have missed. Within moments, the thought occurs to me that Gerard really isn't talking about my sleeves at all. I find that his care is something foreign and not quite wanted. I don't want him to gently wonder about my well-being. Like I'm someone who needs to be looked after; like I'm a little boy in need of a babysitter.
"They're fine." I say, probably too bitterly for my liking. I make up for it by flashing my first smile of the evening, just to let him know that his care is appreciated, but unwanted.
Nearly an hour later, Gerard decides he'll simply die if he doesn't eat something soon. I realize I'd have much rather stayed down there with him until the end of time, just listening to whatever music he felt like playing; just staring at those pictures he's less than proud of. Considering it's his house though, I rise up and follow his trail back up the stairs and over to the kitchen which is on the left hand side as you come up. The black and white tiled floor seems plain and cliche, but somehow homely; comforting. Gerard paces over to the refrigerator and opens it cautiously, as if he's afraid of what he'll find.
"Hmm..." Gerard mutters, not quite talking to himself nor me. I decide to peer in, but before I can, the door is being slammed shut thanks to the cue of a phone ringing on the counter.
"Just a sec..." Gerard offers as he walks dutifully over to the counter and checks the Caller I.D.
"Hello?" he questions, his brow scrunching up, causing his features to contort and morph into those of a stranger. "He... I'm sorry? We were told... okay. All right, all right. I'll be there as soon as I can. Yes, thank you." he says quickly and with little emotion about a single cell of his body. I give him questioning eyes, but his mind is somewhere far away and probably not in the mood to humor my curiosity.
"Well... I have to leave. I-I'm sorry. Do you need a ride to wherever you plan to go or?" Gerard asks, his body moving three steps ahead of his voice and already over to the door to slip on shoes I never noticed he had taken off.
"N-no. Will I see you again before the weekend's over?" I foolishly ask, almost positive of what the answer will be.
"That all depends." Gerard answers cryptically as he fumbles for the car keys which have been hanging near the door from the very start.
"On?"
"On if you come to the park tomorrow." Gerard says with a worried smile. The corners of his lips begin to twitch as if they can't bear to stay up much longer. I decide not to torture him and direct my focus elsewhere so he won't feel obligated to smile any more.
"Okay." I say with only minor excitement. The shock of such a sudden goodbye is nearly too much for me to handle as I find myself following Gerard, as I have been all day, out to the driveway. After shutting and locking the door, his feet are flying over the deck and down to ground level with the car he's about to enter. I feel my mouth and lungs begin to form words well before I feel ready to say them.
"So I guess I'll see you later?" Gerard mentions as he opens the door to the driver's side and slides in."
"I guess you will." I finally decide to say. And with that, he was pulling out to the road, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the back of the headrest so he could see any obstacles that may have been behind him. If I hadn't been looking the exact moment it happened, I probably wouldn't have witnessed it at all. The smallest of waves twitched from the pointed fingertips sticking from the steering wheel. Every voice and feeling inside of me begged for my body to react to this. Just to wave or smile, even if Gerard wasn't looking. But something stopped me, and so there I was simply watching the decrepit Volvo slank further and further down the road until it was almost too distant to be noticed at all.
Aside from the antique wood stove to the corner, there lies a vacant couch with ungodly stripes from way-back-when. Stationed just diagonally lies a crate filled to the top with every video game and DVD under the sun. What can't be fit into the crate takes residence on the sturdy shelf beside of the decent-sized TV. I can feel my eyes grow wide with interest against my will as I skim the rest of room. To the left of the wooden stove is a makeshift alcove, complete with an office and art supplies, a desk and chair. I get the sudden urge to touch every last marker and pen; to sit in the chair and pretend - if only for a little while - that this life is my own.
The curtains to every room are obviously drawn, blocking out all light, only leaving room for the synthetic. The carpet is tan but stained. Nothing before me seems particularly inviting, and yet all I can do is admire such a strangely set up house. No pets or food bowls in sight. No picture frames of anyone; not even Gerard or his faceless brother. I start to wonder little things about the people of this household. What do they do; who do they see? A nailed and bloodied figure steals my focus. The intensely detailed crucifix tacked safely to the wall spurs alarm inside of me for only a quick second. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. That name and his followers. The name so sacred and perfect and plentiful. The name that's taken in vain more often than it is in prayer. That name that often means nothing to everyone, but sometimes means everything to a very few. That name and that face. But Gerard seems not to care and so I avert my eyes to whatever else this place has to offer.
"Well... what do you wanna do?" Gerard asks, snapping me out of my trance on purpose. I turn to him, remembering what it's like to be shy once again.
"Anything you'd like." I answer politely. Gerard rolls his eyes jokingly and ushers me to the exposed stairwell a few feet from the front door.
"Well... there's the upstairs. Nothing much up there. Just... bedrooms and stuff. A few movies, too. There's a wider selection than there is down here." Gerard says, indicating to the crate my eyes have just left. I find that hard to believe but choose not to dwell on it as Gerard continues to throw out options. "And then there's the kitchen if you're uhm... hungry." he trails off, seeming to lose his sense of ownership and hide under the metaphorical bed once again. "Let's see... there's the basement." Gerard offers, his eyes resting on a door close to the barrier hallway between the laundry room and kitchen.
"What's in there?" I find myself asking, almost as if it's some taboo knowledge I'm not ready to know about quite yet.
"Nothing much. Just a bedroom." Gerard answers mysteriously. I dare to take my interrogation one step further.
"Whose?" I ask, almost daring Gerard to answer with anything but the truth.
"M-mine."
Within moments of convincing Gerard, the two of us are headed for the small door near the dryer. I follow in his footsteps, careful to not let the creaking of each step cheat me out of going. It's dark and musty; the thick atmosphere of such enclosed quarters leaves me thoughtless. All I can do is continue to walk, and to hope that my senses return to me shortly.
"Well..." Gerard starts, leaving off for me to guess. I take a good look around as soon as Gerard has felt the side of the wall for the light. A dim brown fills my eyes, leaving me absolutely speechless, but in the best of ways. From floor to ceiling, all there seems to be are pictures and posters; splashes of light and dark. The red excites me while the black brings me comfort. The occasional hint of yellow or green keeps me wondering, but the harder I try to make each picture out and distinguish it from another, the more difficult it is to tell.
"It's..." I offer, seemingly unable to finish my sentence to the dismay of us both.
"Filthy, I know." Gerard fills in, with a laugh. I quickly move my hands in a "No no!" fashion, still unable to find my words and with reason.
"No, it's beautiful. You do all of this?" I ask, nearly breathless and still unable to take my focus from the walls.
"All but the laminated stuff. Those would be from magazines or uhm... craft stores. Whatever." Gerard answers, the tone in his voice suddenly different. Conscious. Like he's uncomfortable with my fixation on his art. Like it bothers him to be praised.
"Well, over here's the couch. I also have a b- well, just here. Here's the couch." Gerard speaks with a nearly silent voice, hardly able to hear over top of these screaming pictures; this vibrant detail. Still, my body reacts to his words and I sit where he suggests. Eventually I'm able to peel my gaze off of the walls and over to him.
"What do you do here all the time? Just draw?" I ask in amazement, my voice retreating from its original volume at the notice of his eyes.
"Pretty much. Life's kind of boring at the moment. I rarely come upstairs." he answers, his hands starting to wring themselves; his legs tucking themselves further and further toward the couch's bottom until they were virtually glued to the stitched fabric.
"Do your parents not make you come up any?" I ask, wondering why they're not home, but not giving it any more thought than what I know I should.
"Uhm, no. They don't really care at this point." Gerard says with a gentle laugh almost too soundless to notice.
A solid half hour flies by, the both of us involved in two entirely different conversations. The first and less important is about anything we can think of. Starting with games and art; music and hobbies. And ending with how we've done in school so far to where we plan to continue life once Senior year is over. The other conversation is on a much deeper level. This one is being spoken with our actions. It's hard to keep from noticing that copper and hazel stare; that fixed glance that looks less than innocent, but safe nonetheless. That look that makes me want to scream in fury but sit still and watch all at once. I hope he sees more than simple brown in mine. I know I have very little to offer, but it'd be nice to fantasize that he sees more to me than there is.
I start to fumble with the string on my hoodie, very eager to be talking with such a different person than what I'm used to, but nervous all the same. I begin to wonder if it's normal for two guys of our age to simply talk the afternoon away, but then I realize I don't care. It's up to others to live the lives they want. Meanwhile, I'll live mine.
At one point, the conversation steers over to art and what each of us wants the other to do for the sake of our project.
"Honestly, I don't see anything wrong with what we've started. The string instrument idea was great." I say earnestly, hoping Gerard doesn't see my appreciation as anything but sincere.
"Thanks. So... how are your sleeves doing?" Gerard asks. Instantly I feel each wrist, wondering if there's a speck of paint I might have missed. Within moments, the thought occurs to me that Gerard really isn't talking about my sleeves at all. I find that his care is something foreign and not quite wanted. I don't want him to gently wonder about my well-being. Like I'm someone who needs to be looked after; like I'm a little boy in need of a babysitter.
"They're fine." I say, probably too bitterly for my liking. I make up for it by flashing my first smile of the evening, just to let him know that his care is appreciated, but unwanted.
Nearly an hour later, Gerard decides he'll simply die if he doesn't eat something soon. I realize I'd have much rather stayed down there with him until the end of time, just listening to whatever music he felt like playing; just staring at those pictures he's less than proud of. Considering it's his house though, I rise up and follow his trail back up the stairs and over to the kitchen which is on the left hand side as you come up. The black and white tiled floor seems plain and cliche, but somehow homely; comforting. Gerard paces over to the refrigerator and opens it cautiously, as if he's afraid of what he'll find.
"Hmm..." Gerard mutters, not quite talking to himself nor me. I decide to peer in, but before I can, the door is being slammed shut thanks to the cue of a phone ringing on the counter.
"Just a sec..." Gerard offers as he walks dutifully over to the counter and checks the Caller I.D.
"Hello?" he questions, his brow scrunching up, causing his features to contort and morph into those of a stranger. "He... I'm sorry? We were told... okay. All right, all right. I'll be there as soon as I can. Yes, thank you." he says quickly and with little emotion about a single cell of his body. I give him questioning eyes, but his mind is somewhere far away and probably not in the mood to humor my curiosity.
"Well... I have to leave. I-I'm sorry. Do you need a ride to wherever you plan to go or?" Gerard asks, his body moving three steps ahead of his voice and already over to the door to slip on shoes I never noticed he had taken off.
"N-no. Will I see you again before the weekend's over?" I foolishly ask, almost positive of what the answer will be.
"That all depends." Gerard answers cryptically as he fumbles for the car keys which have been hanging near the door from the very start.
"On?"
"On if you come to the park tomorrow." Gerard says with a worried smile. The corners of his lips begin to twitch as if they can't bear to stay up much longer. I decide not to torture him and direct my focus elsewhere so he won't feel obligated to smile any more.
"Okay." I say with only minor excitement. The shock of such a sudden goodbye is nearly too much for me to handle as I find myself following Gerard, as I have been all day, out to the driveway. After shutting and locking the door, his feet are flying over the deck and down to ground level with the car he's about to enter. I feel my mouth and lungs begin to form words well before I feel ready to say them.
"So I guess I'll see you later?" Gerard mentions as he opens the door to the driver's side and slides in."
"I guess you will." I finally decide to say. And with that, he was pulling out to the road, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the back of the headrest so he could see any obstacles that may have been behind him. If I hadn't been looking the exact moment it happened, I probably wouldn't have witnessed it at all. The smallest of waves twitched from the pointed fingertips sticking from the steering wheel. Every voice and feeling inside of me begged for my body to react to this. Just to wave or smile, even if Gerard wasn't looking. But something stopped me, and so there I was simply watching the decrepit Volvo slank further and further down the road until it was almost too distant to be noticed at all.
Sign up to rate and review this story