FicWad

I sighed to myself and stared at the road. Nobody's going to let me hitch a ride with them, for all they know; I could be a fucking psycho killer. I was pacing up and down the road, probably looking pissed off or high, and holding my thumb out, hoping for a car to stop and offer a lift.

Mumbling obscenities, I sat down heavily on the side of the road and stared at the ground. I needed a lift to Belleville, where I hoped my grandmother still lived. I haven't seen her since I was seven, but she seemed nice enough then, so maybe she'd take me in. My parents kicked me out of the house this morning. So yeah, I guess I'm currently a homeless person. The reason they threw me out? I told them I was gay. They completely freaked out and started spewing bible verses at me, while I sat there helplessly, staring at my feet. When they were finished with their little rant, I asked them if they thought that was going to help. Apparently, that was the last straw, because my father told me to pack my shit and get out of the house, which I promptly did, remembering to slam the front door on my way out.

A car stopped in front of me and I blinked. Fucking finally! I scrambled to my feet and walked up to the window. "How much d'you charge?" A scary looking guy with a missing front tooth and a truckers cap asked, looking me up and down. I backed away quickly, horrified.

"I'm not a fucking whore!" I half-yelled, tripping as my feet collided with the sidewalk and landing on my ass.

"Oh, what a shame," came the reply before the man sped closed the window and sped off.

I thought about flipping him off, but I decided not to when the thought occurred to me that he could totally take me.

I got off my ass and kicked the ground violently. My life officially sucked. Two weeks ago I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me with my best friend, one week ago I flunked the biggest math test of the year, three days ago my puppy was hit by a car, and finally, today I was kicked out of my home for the past seventeen years of my life because I liked boys. Best fucking day ever, right?

I picked up my backpack, which was pretty much the same size as me, seeing as I seem to have stopped growing at age twelve. All the bag contains is three pairs of jeans, underwear, five shirts, two jackets, a hairbrush and a toothbrush. I don't even have my phone with me. Perfect.

After a short moment of insanity, where I started talking to myself, I noticed that another car had pulled over next to me. I suspiciously walked over, stooping a little so I could peer through the window. "I'm not a prostitute," I blurted out, folding my arms in front of my chest, before I could even see the driver of the car.

A man's laugh drifted out of the window. It kind of sounded like a mix between a giggle and a dying chicken, but it was cute in a weird way. I looked at him for the first time. He looked about twenty. He had obviously-dyed-black hair which stopped just below his ears, and shining hazel eyes. He was wearing a well-worn looking AC/DC shirt and I heaved a sigh of relief. He didn't look like a rapist or a murderer.

"Do you need a lift somewhere?" The man asked, snapping me out of my thoughts. He smiled slightly, and he looked even less like a psycho murderer. This made me happy.

"Yeah, I was hoping to get a lift to Belleville, but if you could get me any closer to it, I'd really appreciate it," I said hopefully, attempting to use my puppy-dog eyes on him. It seemed to work, because he nodded and told me to get in. I grabbed my backpack and got into the car, grinning at him. "I'm Frank," I announced loudly.

"Gerard. And I just so happen to be headed to Belleville, myself," he said, smiling at me broadly.

"Thank fuck! I was waiting, like, forever, and it was getting dark and I thought I was going to get raped or something, and this creepy looking dude thought I was a prostitute, which I am most definitely not and it was getting cold and it was just not cool, and just so you know, if you try to murder me or something, I think I could totally beat you up," I rambled, moving my hands around for emphasis.

He stared at me for a couple of seconds with a blank expression on his face before bursting into laughter. Once he was finished, he looked at me seriously. "Frank, you're a five-foot-one, white teenager with eyeliner. You're, like, the opposite of scary. Also, your jeans are so unattractively tight that if you tried to kick me they'd rip. So, yeah, I'd like to see you attempt to fight me," he said, raising his eyebrow.

Fuck, I was going to die. This is not the way I pictured myself dying. I always thought I was going to die peacefully in my sleep, or get hit by a car or something. I didn't think I was going to be murdered by some charming serial-killer who I had a slight attraction to. He must've seen my reaction or something, because he laughed his dying-chicken laugh again, and shook his head.

"I was kidding Frankie, I'm not going to attack you. And I lied, I like your jeans," Gerard winked at me before putting a Misfits CD into the radio and cranking it up.

I grinned at him and sang along with 'Mommy, Can I Go Out And Kill?'. Maybe this trip won't be so bad after all.