FicWad

 


Your hands are shaking cold. These hands are meant to hold. 

Your hands are shaking cold Your hands are mine to hold.
 -All-American Rejects.


Frank was sitting trying desperately to get one of his drawing to look right. No matter what he tried, it just wasn't working. 
Gerard wasn't giving up on art. He was making Frank work at it. He was forced to take the first dog he drew that one day, and slowly fix it. It sucked. It wasn't going for the best. Whatever he did seemed to make matters worse. Why couldn't they just play hangman? You have to draw in that. Plus, technically words are Language Arts, so killing two birds with one stone. 
Mostly Frank just watched Gerard. Gerard sat at his desk drawing and painting or whatever. Frank didn't know what he was working on. There was a pile of clutter in the way. But Frank watched Gerard go back and forth between jars of paint scattered open all about the desk. He watched the hand move as he pulled the brush across the page. The look of concentration on his face as his hair flopped onto his eyes, and his tongue poked out the side of his thin line lips. It was enthralling. 
Frank got away with doing nothing because Gerard paid no attention. Gerard started capping his paints and cleaning his brushes. Shit.
 Gerard wiped his hands on his pants on his way away from the desk, leaving colorful paint streaks down his jeans. He walked over to Frank. Watching him. Frank looked up expectantly. 

His eyes shining  with fear. Gerard sat on the floor below Frank. He took Frank's left hand in his. It was ice cold and visibly shaking. Gerard smiled reassuringly up at Frank. It wasn't returned. He took Frank's hand and slowly made large, general corrections to the drawing. When he was done, Frank dropped the pencil, Gerard didn't let go of his hand. He held tightly to Frank's hand, taking the other one. He rubbed Frank's hand with the pad of his thumb. This boy was beautiful.

They sat outside at lunch. Gerard loved the outdoors so he was always dragging Frank out as much as possible. It was nice and sunny with the tree’s shade wrapped around them. Though, Gerard still wore a signature black jacket of sorts, and a pair from his seemingly endless supply of sunglasses. Even though Frank was clearly the more normal one here, he still felt like the odd man out. Gerard just had that effect.
            Frank was feeding himself, as per usual, but eventually he got tired. It happened everyday, and it was a nascence.
            Gerard gently took the spoon from his lapsed hand. There was a bit of applesauce unable to make it all the way to his mouth, still of the edge of the utensil. But Frank was sick and tried of being unable, and continually babied. After all this was how he had spent his whole mundane life living. Gerard never seemed to mind helping out. He was a weird twist that seemed to almost enjoy it.  Frank grabbed after the spoon with a jerk, sending it flying off in directions, splotches landing on his cheek .The coldness of it made him flinch as if he had been spit on.
            Gerard smiled warmly and slowly swiped the applesauce from Frank’s cheek with his index finger. Frank stared at him unsurely; he had no clue what to think of this odd occurrence. Gerard licked it off his finger with an audible pop.
 
            Frank had slowly been fairly independent. Mostly being able to go about doing things all on his own. Except go down stairs. Stairs were evil. All stairs should simply be blown up, Frankie decided.
            Frank sat in front of the mirror conjoined to his bedroom. He was stubborn. He stared at the face reflected back at him, his licks a thin puckered line. He sat in his wheelchair which made him so low to the ground that the tip of his chin barely fit in the bottom of the mirror. He continued to stare at that face, unimpressed and approvingly. He pulled at the skin along his cheekbones, watching as the face reflecting back at him copied the movements. Frank frowned, opening his mouth, only to be filled with the sound of silence. He still sat, mocking his pathetic self.
            Why was he such a failure?
            He just stared.
As he turned his head, prepared to trek back to his bedroom, the word “Fag.” slipped past his lips and tainted the air around him. It had been unintentional, but the truest word he had ever heard


Sweet dreams are made of these
Who am I to disagree? 
Travel the world and the seven seas 
Everybody's looking for something 
Some of them want to use you 
Some of them want to get used by you 
Some of them want to abuse you 
Some of them want to be abused


            Lindsey was tossing and turning but trying desperately not to wake sleeping Bandit beside her. She couldn’t sleep, which wasn’t so great because even if she did pass out at a timely manner, she would still receive insufficient amounts of sleep. She was running into getting mere three hours sleep now.
            As she gratefully been to slip into the depths of sleep, she felt Bandit grip at a fistful of her hair. Groaning, she continued to join sleep hand in hand.
 
            She was sitting on her calves, looking down at the patch of Earth below her from inside a pristine glass triangle. Everything colored in brilliant pastels and colors never seen before and indescribable. So Bright and beautiful. Everything looked happy and pure. Untainted. Lindsey looked on with child-like eyes filled with child-like wonder and amazement. There was nothing, as if no humans inhabited Earth, or ever had for that matter.
            There was one lone, quaint little house seated atop the rounded Earth from below Lindsey’s bird’s eye view up above in the crystal clear sky. The sky such prefect blues. Colors no artist could ever even dream of. The clouds so puffy and unimaginable white, cotton candy like in fluffiness.
             Images began to flash in the sky around her, covering all angles and directions, filling and taking it over. Over powered with memories, not just her memories, but memories since before her. Her parents when they were young, times when they were happy, walking across the cross walk from school, swinging their hands merrily. The fights that had began, the resort to alcoholism, the baby sister that had died long before she could truly be remembered. Images so bright, burning, neon, flashing, immediate, etching into her closed eyelids. Gerard. Gerard then, Gerard now. Everywhere, a collage of Gerard. He her mistake, mistakes. Bandit’s Birth. Color flashed bordering the video clip memories.
            Her head ached, it was terrible, demanding direct attention, being dragged to the foremost of her brain. Her mind hurt. Lindsey clutched at her hair, tugging it, willing the stabbing in her brain to GO AWAY. She pounded at the walls encasing her, wishing for escape.
            Sand was falling from the top of the pyramid. Trickling so slow, but already the glass was beginning to fill. Sand was already touching her knees. And Lindsey had been oblivious.
            Things started to discontinued to include Lindsey. As if she was completely taken out of the picture. Gerard and Bandit, Gerard picking Bandit up from her first day of Kindergarten, Bandit smiling and laughing blissfully along with Gerard, Gerard shopping with her and holding up a dress for her approval which he received the ‘yuck’ face over, just Gerard and Bandit, Gerard kissing a man’s nose playfully as Bandit colored over a table in the background, so much Gerard and Bandit.
            Okay, so, she didn’t truly know that this little girl with hair so black, was hers, but in her heart, it told her so.
            Eventually the vivid imagines stopped playing, as if a movie reel jerked off. It left Lindsey with a deathly quiet, so quiet she could she could hear each grain of sand drop along the way.
            The sand was quickly gaining on her, eating up to her chin, nearing her mouth.
            She let out one silent shriek.



I'm holdin' on
And I hope you do the same
-The Jetset Life is Gonna Kill You




Ha, shit load of foreshadowing in this chapter.
So, I had every intention of having some physical therapy in this chapter, but I kind of lost the draft. I'll get back to you on that when I find it. (Hopefully) next chapter.
I'm sorry if this seemed like a bit of a conglomeration, it was like literally fifteen drafts I had floating around complied together.
Anyway, I hope this lives up to my disappearance. I kinda missed you guys. Actually, loads. I missed you all loads.
XO
Becca.