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Frank’s POV

Understandably, Elena let us stay home from school today. I had woken up on the couch with Gerard, unsure which arm or leg was mine. We were curled up so tightly, I’m surprised Elena knew which shoulder was mine to shake awake. She guessed the right one, however, since Gerard was still asleep in front of me. His deep breathing calmed me, even though I had just woken up anyway. I winced as memories of yesterday’s events replayed in my head. It was weird; it didn’t seem like Bob was gone. It felt like it was all a hoax; some big joke. Bob was really still alive; he had to be.

He wasn’t, though, and nothing couldn’t bring him back. I had to keep telling myself that, or else I wouldn’t believe it. Gerard stirred beside me, and his hazel eyes sparkled up at me. I smiled at him, waiting for the memories to rush over his sleepy head. It did in a few seconds, and his face went from being bright and perky (for someone like him this early in the morning), to poignant and nostalgic. I saw the change bloom across his face, and like a child, he reached his hand out toward me. I softly took his hand into mine, and rubbed his knee with the other, reassuring him that I was still there.

“You boys hungry?” Elena chimed, trying her best to sound animated, but not too animated. “I mean, I know you probably aren’t, but you need to eat. How about pancakes?” Gerard and I shared a glance, smiled weakly to each other, and nodded to Elena. Pancakes were, after all, the best medicine for a broken spirit. Gerard and I both knew that.

Gerard’s POV

Pancakes with Frankie and Grandma were a good way to start the day; all I needed was the two people I loved most to help me get through it, even if it was going to take a while for Frank and me to get over Bob.

When the next day came, and we had to go to school, I was not ready. I wasn’t ready to go back and face everyone, especially now that they knew about the whole Mikey-Eric-Alex-Bob-Me-and-Frank situation. They knew if they watched the news, at least. The only thing I wanted to do was curl up somewhere and die, but Frank wasn’t going to let me. I couldn’t. Frank needed me; no, I needed him. I didn’t even know anymore.

But I went to school, much to my reluctance. I went for a week without cracking under everyone’s glares, name-calling, telling me they wished I was dead, general meanness, and the occasional punch or fight. No, that didn’t hurt me as much as I thought it would; what hurt me the most was the fact that Frank was getting it much worse. His height didn’t help him much, and the school had practically turned on both of us. The first time he came to me bleeding and bruised, I knew it would only get worse as the week progressed. I was right, and it hurt knowing I couldn’t do anything to help him.

Just as I had predicted, the torment only got worse as time went by. The rest of the week was hell, and it was impossible to stop. I had to get away; I had to escape from it. I know I was being a coward, and Frank was a lot worse off than I was, but I couldn’t help it. I would have to help myself deal with it, or I would die trying. Unfortunately, I made a promise to Frankie not to do the latter, but there was always the alternative. Granted, I promised myself I wouldn’t do the alternative anymore, but desperate times called for desperate measures. It was true that the alternative had gotten Frank and me into all this shit, but who knows? It had gotten us into this; maybe, just maybe it could get us out.

Frank’s POV

I had to literally tell myself that I had to get through this week for Gerard. If it weren’t for him, I would’ve backed out a long time ago. I knew he was going through as much hell as I was at school; apparently, a lot of kids watch the news at our school. And unfortunately, a lot more of them knew me. At least Gerard was still relatively new to Jefferson Hill, so he didn’t get picked on; not as much, at least. I knew it hurt him to see me getting beat up all the time, so I tried not to let him see me after I had received a bloody nose or a bruised cheek or something. It was hard, considering I saw him after class sometimes and I pretty much lived with him.

One day, however, about a week later, I didn’t see him at all at school. It was immensely strange, since I had walked with him that morning myself. He had gone to school that day; now he was nowhere to be found. Worry rushed over me; what if he had gotten in the way of more jocks? Where else would he be, besides where he always is? He could have skipped that day, but he would have told me beforehand. It wasn’t like Gerard to just disappear like that.

After getting shoved into a locker after lunch, I decided to take the rest of the day off and go to his—our?—house to try to find him. No one was home but Elena, and when she asked me where Gerard was, I told her the truth. I didn’t know, and I was worried about him. Her eyebrows arched and a look of pure fret bloomed over her face. Together, she and I frantically got into her car and drove around the neighborhood, looking for him.

It wasn’t until about an hour later when we saw a boy stumbling down the sidewalk, dressed in black. We overlooked him at first, too caught up in our frenzied search, but realized something familiar about this boy after all. What really gave him away was what was in his hand.

Gerard's POV

I tried to walk in a straight line down the sidewalk, but it wasn't easy. This morning, when I had left school after my first class, I had gone out and gotten myself drunk again. Not hammered; just enough to alter my normal way of thinking. I didn't even tell Frankie where I was going; he must be worried sick about me. I knew I probably have thought a little more about this, but it seemed like the right decision. The more I drank, the more I realized I deserved what was about to happen.

I ran away from school this morning, I ran away from Mikey, I ran away from everything I was afraid of instead of facing them like a normal person would.

Hell, I even tried to run away from Frank when I thought he was trying to make fun of me for being gay. I was so tired of running away, but I knew I would never be able to stop. I knew I would forever be too much of a weak coward to be able to ever confront my fears, and I hated myself for it. That was the very reason why I deserved this.

Not long after leaving the school, I went back to the same little shopping center I went to the day I met Bob. I saw the same little gas station, which looked even more out-of-place; the same girly shops; the same little bookstore where I bought A Rose For Emily. I really should try to finish that book sometime, but what difference does it make? It's not like I would be around long enough to read it, anyway. One thing I missed last time, miraculously, was a little liquor store. It sounded like the right thing to do at the time, since I was so messed up over Frank and what was happening to us at school.

We were hated, I thought after I had made my purchase. Frank and I were hated at school. And it's my fault. If it weren't for me, Bob would still be alive, Mikey wouldn't be somewhere across the country in juvie, and Frank wouldn't be beaten up everyday at school. Hell, if it weren't for me, Mikey and I would still be close. I would still be living with my parents at home, and my seventh grade boyfriend would still be alive. Granted, Bert and I would have never crossed each other's paths if I hadn't been so depressed in the first place. Mikey was right; why couldn't I be normal? The more I thought about this, the more of a conclusion came to me: get rid of the thing that's causing so much destruction to people. Kill the killer, destroy the destroyer.
Taking the first swig of the strongest stuff I could find was like being in a suicidal car accident: you know how badly it will turn out, but you don't care. And it was over soon enough anyway, right? You won't even know what hit you. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

It was decided. Frank didn't need any more hell; his life was already too distressed. He was better off without me; it would have been better for him to have never known me. I was only helping him by ridding him of me, and everyone at school would leave him alone once the person they hated left. I was only hurting him by being alive, because I am selfish enough to want Frankie, even though he deserved much better. I was selfish, and I was hurting him, but what I hated myself for the most was that I was happiest when I was with him. I didn't even care that I was getting marred, but when I saw him hurt, it made me want to kill the person that had done that to him. I had killed enough people already, though; that was the reason Frankie was getting hurt in the first place.

It was then I decided I was really going to do it. Frankie didn't need me; I needed him. Sure, he'd be a little gloomy, but he was stronger than me, he would be able to get through it without stooping low enough to get drunk like I had. He doesn't deserve shit like me, but I loved him anyway, because I was so selfish. That was the very reason why I had to do what I was about to do.

The sky was darkening; it looked like it was about to rain. I finished my drink, now completely drunk. I stumbled down the sidewalk, trying to walk in a straight line. It was harder than it looked; the sidewalk kept moving underneath my feet. I laughed at myself; I must have looked so funny from people's windows. I looked around to make sure no one was watching me, but no one was. I kept trying to walk down the sidewalk toward the baseball diamond, where I first met Bob. I figured this would be a tribute to him; I was going to die the same way he did. I took the knife out of my pocket, accidentally slicing my hand in the process. Damn drunkness.

With a new bottle of alcohol in one hand and a knife in the other, I made my way to the baseball field, taking deep breaths and thinking about what I was about to do. I deserved this, Frank deserved this, and pretty soon, everyone would be happy.

Frank's POV

"Gee? Gerard!" I yelled out the car window. Elena had pulled over, allowing me to run out and towards the boy. "Gerard!" I reached him, and knew why he looked so familiar: he wasn't Gerard, but the boy who he had had a fight with in first period a little while ago. Jason, was his name? This boy was the one that was mocking Gerard for the whole Mikey situation, and didn't he call him a fag-lover at one point? Anger rushed over me as I came to this consensus; he was one of the very many boys that was giving us hell at school.

What made him look like Gerard, though, was from the back, he had dark hair and dark clothes, but he was also carrying a bottle of something, occasionally taking a swig as he staggered down the sidewalk.

"Whadda you want?" he stuttered as I approached him.

"Nothing, I thought you were someone else," I said, trying not to show my anger. He was, after all, homophobic, and one of the reasons Gerard was in pain.

"Hey, aren't you that gay dude? The one that's with that other gay dude?" he asked. No shit. God, he was drunk.

"Never mind. You're not who I was looking for," I managed to say calmly, and started to turn back to Elena's car. I shook my head at her, informing her that it wasn't her grandson, and she looked disheartened.

"Hey, faggot! I asked you a question!" he said, lurching at me. I took a sudden step back; I wasn't expecting him to react that quickly. He swung at me before I could respond, and his fist collided with the side of my face. It didn't hurt, but it did make me furious.

"Keep your hands off me, you homophobe," I threatened, curling my fists into balls by my sides. I didn't want to start a scene in the middle of some neighborhood with Elena not far behind me, but I didn't want this Jason guy to think he'd gotten the best of me. "Keep your hands off me and Gerard, or I'll kick your ass. We didn't do anything to you." My words were punished with another punch to the face, but I managed to duck in time.

I threw a punch of my own to his stomach, and he spilled his bottle of vodka all over me as he doubled over. Infuriated, he yelled at me for spilling his drink and swung the empty glass bottle like a baseball bat in my direction. I braced myself for impact; which was more painful than I thought it was going to be. He had crashed his glass bottle right into my upper arm, shattering it into little pieces. Glass caught in my skin, and blood was already starting to surface and trickle down my arm. Hearing Elena get out of the car, he got scared and ran away from the scene, still drunk.

I tried to follow him, but a hand on my shoulder firmly held me back. Elena looked completely horrified, already carefully holding my arm to examine it.

"Frankie, honey, are you okay? Who was that boy? He has no right to—oh, Frankie, baby," she said all at once in the motherly voice I rarely heard anyone else but she and Gerard use. "We have to get you cleaned up," she said, reluctantly.

I finished her thought for her. "But Gerard," I protested. "We can't go anywhere until we find him."

"I know," she said. "But you know, he's probably already at home, wondering where we are. He's a good boy; he knows what he should and shouldn't do." She didn't sound like she was convincing herself, and that made me want to cry. "We don't want your arm to get infected," she whispered after a short silence.

I had no choice but to go with her back home. The air was starting to cool, indicating that it was about to rain. We both rode in silence, trying to comfort each other. We were both worried sick for Gerard, and we only hoped he would be at home, waiting for us.