Gerard knows, and Dante knows Gerard knows, but what does actually Gerard know?
Older ladies passed with disapproving glances, and the curious eyes of little girls lingered as long as their mother's guiding hands would allow. I felt like screaming at them all. I felt like skinning to the floor like I would in my bathroom at home; the smooth cool tiles caressing my flesh as my mind floated away into space- lingering between the physical and the metaphysical. I wanted something to take away the sharpness of the fluorescently lighted bathroom and airport terminals. I felt like screaming at Gerard; that bastard had dragged me here hadn't he?
"Fuck," I growled, louder this time, grabbing at a paper towel and scrubbing at my damp face. My skin was pallor, and my eyes raw and swollen; I looked ill.
"Uh, excuse me?" A timid voice injected, quickly followed by a quick tap on my right shoulder blade. I spun to find a girl, not much taller than myself, and hardly younger. She had neat ashen hair, and a pretty cerulean sundress.
"What?" I demanded, jealous of the girl's innocent appearance and timid doe eyes.
"There's uh... A man asked me to see if there's someone in here called Dante. He's looking for his sister." She spilt the words haphazardly into my lap, and I impatiently stared at her. "I mean, is you're name Dante?"
I nodded silently, unable to not stare.
"I'll uh... Tell him you're still using the bathroom," the girl said awkwardly, hurriedly turning to flee.
"Don't bother," I replied, breaking my self pitying trance; surely I've lived more life than this scared little girl ever would. "I'm done."
Tossing the paper towel I'd unconsciously scrunched into the rubbish I followed her meek self to the door. "Thanks," I tossed over my shoulder as she held it open for me. Obviously manners weren't dead.
Gerard was waiting off to my left.
"I thought you'd drowned in the toilet bowl or something," he stated, giving the shy girl a smile. I wondered if she even knew who he was; with a leather jacket and large shades he could be a mobster as easily as he could be a rock star.
After my politely interrupted bathroom breakdown the airport became tenfold more painfully solid. I ran into three people. I stared at my scuffed chucks. Too many people talked too loudly. And the luggage handlers had torn one of the handles on my beaten duffel bag. Basically it was another rubbish experience at an airport.
Gerard hadn't spoken in a while when I looked up at him while we waited in the pick up lane, and frankly his words surprised me.
"It gets better, you know."
I didn't bother asking. Not even after he hailed the cab. Not even as we approached the venue and the debacle of vehicles before it. There was nothing to ask.
A/N: Thanks to everyone out there who has read this story, and especially those who left a kind word or two. Also, sorry for taking such a bloody long time to actually get this pathetically short chapter up. Who knew you're final year of high school was such a bitch, right? Anyway, now that I set the scene I'm hoping to get on with the actual thing, and most likely the proceeding chapters will be longer.
On another note, I've had a couple of questions relating to Dante. I'm hoping that this chapter gave attentive readers a bit of a clue, but be patient, all will be revealed sooner or later. CHEERS!