FicWad

Gerard’s POV

Aw, shit.

I attempted to move myself out of my bed; I remembered it was time to get up for school. I turned on the lamp next to my bed, and the sudden bright light sent pain shooting through my throbbing head. Shit, what happed yesterday? Did I get hit by a car or something? I couldn’t move; my head hurt like hell. Then I remembered what happened—my mom had called me.

My head felt like it was splitting open. I remembered Mikey talking to me; he was the one that made me take some bottles from Frank's house. Frank… I remembered Frank having something to do with my conversation yesterday; what did he do? Oh, yeah: my parents were moving less than an hour away from me to Hawthorne, and Mikey was going to hurt Frankie somehow for being my boyfriend. Wait, Mikey didn’t even know Frank, so how can he hurt him?

God, this headache wasn’t helping anything. “Grandma?” I called. Within minutes she was at my door, listening for what I was going to say.

“Yes, hon? You have to get up for school now, or you’ll be late,” she advised.

“I don’t want to go to school today. I have this huge headache; I can’t even move.”

“Hmm.” She walked over and felt my forehead. “You don’t have a fever, though you are awfully sweaty. Is your head all that hurts?”

I nodded. I didn’t want to tell her that I also felt like throwing up.

“Well, try to go to school today. If you still feel bad later, I’ll come get you,” she said.

“Can’t I just stay home today?”

“Honey, it’s only your second day. Just try going, please?”

I sighed and nodded, and with that, she left the room.

I attempted to get out of bed again. A wave of pain hurtled through my head, causing me to groan aloud. “Damn it.”

I remembered days like this, I thought once I got out of bed. Days like this where I couldn’t wake up for hours, unable to move, unable to even think straight. It used to be worse than this, but I guess I’m not used to doing alcohol anymore.

Oh God, how many did I have? I trudged over to my closet as quickly as my head would let me; turns out I brought home about fifteen and drank about five. Bottles. I was surprised I miscounted, but I was really surprised I wasn’t dead yet.

Shame lurched in my stomach. I should be dead, I thought. I’m not worthy of anything. I can’t even control my own actions; how the hell am I supposed to control my life?

No, don’t say that — I was startled by my own mind just then; I had a good voice too? I let it keep talking: You promised a few years ago that you were going to keep living; you have to keep that promise. Depression was what first got you into this alcohol and shit, remember?

But remember how good you felt while drinking? You were having a good time, and you couldn’t feel anything while having fun. You were invincible.

“Lies!” I yelled aloud, then realized I was probably audible from the kitchen, where Grandma was. I rubbed my forehead; my little outburst sent pain throbbing through my head like a knife. I found a t-shirt and jeans, checked the time, and realized I was going to be late for homeroom in five minutes. Oh well, it’s not like I mattered much anyway.

I gathered my stuff and threw it all carelessly into my bookbag. Damn it, I hated school.

I walked into the kitchen, muttered, “I’m late,” to Grandma, and grabbed a piece of toast.

“Have a good day, sweetheart,” she replied. I kissed her on the cheek and left for school walking as fast as my headache would let me. I eventually arrived fifteen minutes late.

Frank's POV

“Way?” Mrs. Smith asked, calling roll. She looked up and scanned the classroom. “Mr. Way? Gerard?”

When no one answered, my face fell. The desk behind me was empty; where was Gerard? He said he was coming to school, right? I knew he was probably not lost.

“Okay, class. Get out your worksheets from last week and begin working.”

A rustling of papers was heard and the class started working. I was reading a question about atoms and particles, having no idea what they were. God, I hated science. What the hell was all this shit? I read the question again:

27. Fill in the blanks: The number of protons determines the _____ of an atom, and the number of neutrons determines the _____ of that element.

Holy shit, I had no idea. I needed a damn tutor or something.

“The answer to the first one is ‘chemical element’,” a voice whispered behind me, scaring the shit out of me. I nearly fell out of my char as I spun to look at who said that. It was Gerard; he made it! Late, but at least he was still here!

“Mr. Way? You’re late,” Mrs. Smith scolded, and he shrugged in response.

“It’s not like I missed anything important,” he muttered under his breath. Giggles rippled from a few people around him. I myself had to hold back a smirk; Gerard seemed different at school than he was at home. “Hey, Frankie.”

“Hey, Gee,” I replied. “How come you were late?”

He suddenly looked uncomfortable; I noticed his hair was unbrushed, as if had just woken up.

“Mr. Iero, please turn around and get back to work,” Mrs. Smith said, not looking up from her desk.

I scoffed and turned back around, refocusing on my worksheet. Behind me, Gerard’s feet were on top of his desk, and I turned around to smirk at him. He was covering his eyes, massaging his forehead. “Gee, you okay?” I whispered.

He looked up at me, as if I startled him. “Oh yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, covering his eyes again.

“Mr. Iero! Please turn around!”

I spun around in my seat, glaring at the teacher. She saw my glare and decided then was the best time to humiliate me again, as she did nearly every week. She walked over to me and stood by my desk, looking at my nearly-blank paper.

“Mr. Iero, how can you be turned around talking to friends when you’re only on number twenty-seven?” The class found this funny, and I could feel my face burn at the attention. I was good at blending in, and Mrs. Smith was good at forcing people to look at me.

I picked up my pencil and pretended to read the question, not knowing the answer. I felt like an idiot as my teacher stared down at me. Everyone probably thinks I’m a dumbass, I thought. Not like anything’s changed much; I’ve always been the loser kid.

“You know what, class? I have an idea. Pop quiz, you can thank Mr. Iero.” No, she didn’t. Everyone in the class looked daggers at me. If looks could kill…

“Way to go, Iero,” I heard some kid in the back of the class say. This was joined by more rounds of, “Freak,” “Dumbass,” and other similar comments. My face was burning, I’m sure it was the deepest shade of red imaginable. A quiz was slapped down on my desk, and I felt a pencil hit the back of my head. I ignored it, but I heard Gerard turn around to protest.

“Hey, don’t throw any more shit up here, you understand?” he said, sounding grouchy. At this, I turned around to question his motives.

“Turn your ass around, I didn’t hit you,” the kid that threw the pencil replied angrily, with more attitude then Gerard had used.

“I don’t give a shit what you did, throw something else and see what happens.”

“Boys,” the teacher said warningly. As if she scared anyone.

“Gerard,” I said, trying to stop him from saying anything else. “Ignore him, he’s not worth it. He didn’t even hit you. He was aiming for me, not you.” He didn’t pay any attention to me; he kept his eyes on the kid he was talking to, who ripped off a corner of his quiz and crumpled it up, smirking as he threw it directly at Gerard, and hit him in the face.

“You little motherf—” he started, jumping up from his seat and making his way towards the kid’s desk. I jumped up behind him and grabbed his arm to stop him, and the kid’s eyes went wide. He obviously wasn’t expecting the new kid to do anything, and because of that, he slid backwards in his seat in attempts to get away from Gerard.

Mrs. Smith rushed over to try to break up the fight before it started, but only succeeded in stupidly pushing me off Gerard, breaking my grip on his arm. Gerard shot forward, half-falling, half-walking into the kid’s desk. He made a fist and nailed him straight in the face, much like he did with Alex on Friday. Two fights in two days; he sure did a lot of protecting me, didn’t he?

The kid’s nose started bleeding, and he held it, wide-eyed. The class all sat in their seats, watching in awe. The only ones standing in the room were me, Gerard, and the teacher. Mrs. Smith looked at the kid, then at Gerard, then at me.

“Go clean up in the bathroom, Jason,” she instructed the kid. Then, turning to Gerard, she said, “You, Mr. Way, are to go to the office. Mr. Iero,” she looked at me, considering my punishment. “You have detention for a week.”

Detention? For what? I took my seat again, and my mind raced; what was going to happen to Gerard? If he were to get expelled, I didn’t know what I’d do. He’d been my only friend in a long time.

“Good luck,” I mouthed to him as he gathered his stuff, still massaging his head.

“Yeah, right,” he replied out loud, and with that, he was gone.

Gerard’s POV

Damn, these school fluorescent lights really did not help a hangover headache at all, neither did a fight. I briefly considered going home, but just then one of the office people walked out and told me to sit down. I did, closing my eyes and crossing my arms as I waited for the freaky blue-eyelid lady to come.

A few minutes later, she did, and she asked me what my name was.

“Gerard… Way,” I said, deciding not to lie. Why did the office have to be so bright?

“Ah, our new student. Welcome back. Did you forget where your homeroom was? It’s room 107, right down this hall and to the left.”

“That’s not… okay, thanks,” I said, getting up and leaving the office. That was lucky.

I decided that it would be wise not to go back to class. We only had a few minutes left anyway. My head was still pounding; I should have asked for an Advil or something. I stood against a wall on some random hallway and slid to the floor, closing my eyes again. God, hangovers sucked. I didn’t remember them being this bad, but then again, I’d just had five full bottles of shit in about three hours for the first time in a few years.

If I thought my head hurt then, it was nothing compared to the searing pain that occurred when the clanging bell rang. “Damn bell,” I muttered, as students noisily filled the halls. It was time to go to my next class, which was art. I liked art.

We did rough sketches of our own personal projects; our only directions were to be creative. After a while, I had a detailed picture of something I randomly threw together, completely meaningless. My teacher walked by and stared at it admiringly.

“This is amazing, Gerard! Look at the detail.” She held it up for the small class to see, and they gawped at it for a few seconds and went back to their work. “This is really creative, Gerard.”

I shrugged. “I just threw some random stuff together. It’s not even real,” I confessed.

“Keep working at it; this is beautifully done,” she said, and commenced walking around the room again. Pretty soon, the bell rang again, signaling third period. I had lunch next; what a stupid time to have a lunch period. It was only ten o’clock. School starts at eight, that’s so dumb. Damn school.

I ran into Frank on my way to the cafeteria; he was waiting for me at my locker.

“Hey, Gee,” he said, smiling.

“Hey, Frank,” I replied lazily, trying to open my lock. He watched me for a while, then said,

“So, how long did they give you?”

“Excuse me?”

“In the office. How long did they suspend you?”

“Oh. They didn’t.”

Frank raised his eyebrows. “They didn’t?”

“No, they thought I was there because I forgot where my homeroom was. Idiots.”

“So, you’re not leaving?”

“Not yet.”

He hugged me, regardless of the fact that people were still in the halls, and some looked over reproachfully. “Good,” he said softly. “You shouldn’t have done that, you know. Started the fight, I mean. I’m used to people picking on me, you should have ignored him—”

I cut him off. “You shouldn’t be used to people picking on you, that’s why I did it. You can’t let people kick you around all the time, you have to defend yourself.” I noticed my voice was getting considerably louder, and I lowered it back to a normal volume. “If you think I’m going to sit there and watch you get hurt all the time, you’re sorely mistaken. That goes for your parents, too.” I lowered my voice to a near-whisper. “I’m just helping you until you learn to help yourself. Don’t ever take anyone’s shit, okay? Be yourself, don’t take anyone’s shit, and never let them take you alive.”

He looked a little startled by my outbreak, and nodded, dumbfounded. Making sure I hadn’t just scared him, I opened my arms, inviting him to another hug. He slowly agreed, wrapping his arms around my waist. Without thinking, I kissed him on the top of the head. A few nearby people shrieked and yelled, “Faggots!” and quickly left the scene.

This took Frank by surprise, and he quickly pulled away, blushing. Oh, yeah, I thought. Frank wasn’t used to being gay, considering he’d only been for about two days.

He stood there awkwardly for a second, and then came closer to me, as if he didn’t want to hurt my feelings or something.

“If this bothers you, just tell me,” I whispered.

He shook his head, and the bell rang. Frank looked around to make sure no one else was there, and then squeezed my hand. “See you in history, babe,” he said with a smile, and started towards his class.

History? What did he mean by ‘history?’ Oh, wait, history class, with Mr. Cullen. God, I hated hangovers, I thought as I crossed the hall to the cafeteria.