Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Where the animals should go...
Early sunsets: the downside of the night
6 reviewsRipples in refelctions, pop-tarts (of course),vanilla lattes, mochas and facing nature.
4Moving
hey!
Ok, another huge HUGE sorry for being so slow to update. I know it can be annoying when updates take ages, and I'm really really sorry. On the bright side though, grades close friday! Which means that starting Thursday I should be able to upload more often!! (For the record: I am very jealous of those of you who are already in summer vacation XD). Well, I hope you like the chapter, and I already know what the next one is gonna be called :D
EARLY SUNSETS: THE DOWNSIDE OF THE NIGHT
Frank’s POV
I awoke the next morning to the sound of repetitive thunder, as the rain poured onto our shingled roof, cascading down over our worn siding. And people wonder why houses here get so weathered and worn so fast. It was already light out, despite the heavy canopy of charcoal clouds, making me wonder why I hadn’t woken to the sound of my alarm clock, which now indicated 8:47 am. Fuck. I pounced out of bed, slipping on a pair of blue jeans, on which I’d sewn (yeah…sewn) a Misfits patch on, and tumbling across the room, slamming my head against the poster-covered red wall.
“Fuck” I mumble, rubbing my head as I slowly get up, blinking repeatedly in attempt to chase out the forming headache, grasping the window sill for support. I drag myself up halfway, before sitting down resting my now sore head on the white window sill, on which are scattered a few guitar picks. I watch the flashfloods run down the street, washing away all the -now- decaying leaves and occasional beer or soda can down into the storm drain down the street. I follow a Pepsi can with my eyes until it disappears down the drain, wondering why the person who’d thrown it out hadn’t bought a Coke instead, but people are different that way I guess…That’s the nice thing about rain storms, after one, the air outside is so fresh and breathable…it hasn’t been polluted by our mistakes, contaminated by our greed, and broken by our carelessness…it’s natural…soothing… I get up, briefly closing my eyes before rubbing them open again, dreading the fact I’m already 50 minutes late for school. Hello Detention. I grab a clean pair of jeans and the black and neon green Misfits tee I bought myself on my birthday--I don’t need to hear you think that’s sad, I know that myself…But it kinda helps me feel a little better on my birthday…a day where the only person that gives enough of a shit about me sends a paragraph’s worth of words, which for her is a lot. My Grandmother. My Grams. My Nan…whatever you’re going to call her. That and a 20-25 dollar check she sends for me to buy some ‘stuff for that beautiful instrument of yours’. She’s the only one. And it never fails to make me smile. Well, my mother gives me a card, but makes up for it at Christmas, and my father doesn’t want to hear anything about my birthday. Apparently it has something to do with me being the fuck-up he’s engraved in his narrow mind I am. I rush into the bathroom, turning the freezing hot water knob and stripping of my blood red boxers, shivering as I wait for the water to heat. As soon as it does I run under, tense at first then slowly relaxing as I adjust. I reach for the nearest bottle of soap--honey scented- perfect- and squeeze a bit onto my hand, lathering it around, and basking in the heaven like scent. Deciding I’m already too late to worry about my hair--which is currently clipped back so my bangs don’t get drenched--I try and hurry as much as I can, shutting the water off and nearly slipping again on the now damp cream colored linoleum floor, reaching for my lavender colored towel and wrapping it around my waist. As I pad back to my room I notice that somehow the house has gotten comfortably warm, and I’m no longer shivering, but perfectly comfortable in my puffy, plush, and now partially wet towel.
“Frank! I’m going!”
“Huh?” I pause at the top of the stairs, staring blankly at my mother who’s waving tentatively from downstairs, while slipping her dark mucky green rain coat on, her dry brown hair pulled back in a clip, a fake pearl necklace around her neck.
“The parent-teacher conferences…your father’s at work already….so I’m going” I blink blankly, before remembering suddenly and resisting the temptation to slap myself repeatedly for being such a memory-lapsed bonehead. Parent-teacher (yeah, this highschool still does that…) means a day off for students. No wonder my alarm clock never woke me, I turned it off. To sleep in. Nice going Frank. I call a meek ‘Okay’ after her, before padding back into my room, feeling like the utter most idiot and dropping the pastel purplish-blue towel onto the carpeted flooring, and flop down on my bed. It’s a little cold, but the heat seems to be on, and I don’t bother with any clothes at the moment. It’s actually a kind of comfortable shiver…like a slight tingle, and I adjust pretty fast. The Smashing Pumpkin’s Tarantula is currently playing from my Sony CD player, and I absent mindedly hum along while repeatedly tapping my bare stomach. Before I can even stop myself I’m thinking of the only person I could call a friend, one that was, until yesterday a total stranger, and that I now realized is forcing me to challenge my sexuality. One with the most adorable button nose, with the most artistic, creative, yet clouded hazel eyes… midnight black hair sweeping over them from time to time, his complexion with slight hints of pinks around the cheeks despite its ghostly hue, and a voice he keeps like a secret hidden in his throat…one he trusts me with though…his girlish yet still somehow manly giggle, like Christmas bells, signaling the arrival of warmth and happiness, at least for most people-- It’s only when I get a familiar slight jolt in my lower abdomen that I realize I’m no longer playfully tapping my stomach but now affectionately rubbing a slightly lower part. One that has, now risen to semi-full attention. I can feel myself blushing when I realize what, or more who, caused it, even though I’m completely alone in our house. I spend some time debating whether or not to take care of it myself or to wait a little till it goes down on its own, feeling a little guilty that this was because I was thinking of…well, Gerard. But by the time I’ve decided to take care of it myself, nature’s already released, so I have nothing to do but lie naked on my dark comforter. Not knowing whether or not I’m disappointed in mother nature, I do decide I don’t wish to spend my day as such, and hastily get up pulling on some heather grey colored sweatpants. I go back over to the window, picking up my hoodie and cuddling into it, as I pick up my lighter, which is still in the corner form last night...last night seems…so far away…the night that I began to catch fire…
I pull on a pair of warm navy blue wool socks and start down the stairs to the kitchen, my stomach beginning to growl. I turn into our small wooden-green-granite-cream-tiled kitchen, flicking on the ceiling fan, watching the light illuminate the otherwise dim room, its small window barely providing enough light on a sunny day. I notice an open box of cinnamon pop tarts sitting open by the fridge, and my mouth starts to water as it literally calls me over to it. I press the dark brick red power button of the coffee machine, watching it turn orange as I do so, and turn back to our toaster to insert to the pop tarts. I lean over it as the delicious small of toasting pop tarts and brewing coffee invade the room, making me smile. I can strangely happy when it comes to my breakfast… I grab a ceramic plate from one of the wooden cabinets and a mug, watching my beloved caffeine fix pour into it, before being met with a twirling cloud of milk, and then by a small brown sugar cube. I watch as a few air bubbles float to the surface, before watching the pop tarts pop up out of the toaster, signaling they are ready to be eaten.
---
Gerard’s POV
I waddled into out smallish kitchen, greeted by the bright, industrial glow of the ceiling lamp, which I presumed was on due to the lack of natural day light available. I yawned tiredly, not as grateful as I thought I’d be not having to go to school today. I thought I’d be fucking ecstatic; an extra day doing nothing that productive; drawing, reading comic books and most importantly my beloved Calvin and Hobbes, and watching random movies with Mikey…But all night, as I tried to think about all the great things I could do today my mind kept going back to one person, and all the excitement fluttered away. Not that I wasn’t looking forward to no classes, no bullies, no jocks, no assholes, no math classes, no Phys Ed, I also found myself with no Frank…and the feeling of joy faded away…I just seemed so…safe around him. I wanted to see him…to talk to someone else besides Mikey too. Despite only really knowing him one day, I felt wanted around him. Appreciated. Just like with Mikey, only that with Frank, I wouldn’t need to be on the lookout for possible injuries due to electronic appliances. The smell of freshly brewed coffee greeted me, tickling my nostrils, as I waved forcedly at Mikey, who was rummaging angrily through the light wood cupboards, his light brown hair still poking out in all directions, while his ‘comfy at home’ glasses hung at the very tip of his small nose, making me wonder why they never fall off.
“Ah! We never have anything to eat! There are no more pop tarts!” he whined, his voice higher as he exclaimed the last part. I held in a chuckle, and made my way over to where my Ramones cup sat, placed on the white ceramic edge of the sink. I grabbed it and eagerly poured the dark warming substance into it, as I watched Mikey poor an abnormal amount of milk into his, before passing me the white and turquoise carton. I grab it, weary of the fact that he’s only left three drops of milk in, dropping down into my beloved coffee, it’s color not even altering one bit.
“M-Mikey!” I whine, waving the empty milk carton in front of him “Y-you’ve ah-only l-l-left th-three d-drops!... f-fucker” I smile faintly as the last word escapes my lips, making sure he knows I don’t mean it so harshly. “D-d’y-ya h-have t-t-to ya-use s-so ma-much?”
“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t leave the setting so high”
“I-I l-like m-my c-c-coffe st-strong” I argue, brushing my unruly black hair away from my face, as I slump around the kitchen tugging at the hem of my plain white tee shirt, which was barely covered by a huge brick colored fuzzy bathrobe.
“And I like my coffee with milk” he smirks, somehow proud of his response.
“n-no, ya-you l-like y-y-your ma-milk w-with c-c-coffee” he glares at me in what would be a death stare if the corners of his mouth weren’t twitching up into a faint grin. He smiles quickly before reaching for the sugar, adding a giant spoonful in his coffee, making me wince. How can he swallow something so sweet so early in the morning? I grab my cup and reach for the plastic honey bottle, popping it open and watch a thin of russet sweetness -the sugar was on the other side of the kitchen and I can be alarmingly lazy- drip into my shiny black and white cup.
“At least I put sugar in my coffee, like most people” he remarks, hints of amusement in his voice. I try my best to bite back a smile, knowing he’s only being playful, something that, no matter how annoying I admire a great amount. As a fifteen year old, he could pass off as ten when he wants to, but seventeen when he needs to, the later clearly helped by the fact he towers two inches over me, his toned, lanky frame compared to my ivory dead-looking unfit one. I’m not fat, but I’m definitely not fit; my stomach has a slight, plushy curve to it, and I couldn’t run fast enough even to save my own life, but you can blame coffee, cigarettes and insomnia for that. Suddenly, a mellow pain spreads through my forehead, cutting off my train fo thought.
“O-Ow!” I scream out, as I bend down to pick up the electric blue cardboard box that's just hit me. I Pick it up, and turn back to face Mikey who’s looking at me, smirking again, obviously proud of himself. When he smirks repeatedly like that he starts to remind me of John Mitch. I cringe at the thought of that man who, thank god I don’t need to see today, and resume glaring at Mikey.
“Wh-what w-was th-that f-for?”
“There’s no more pop tarts!” he whines again, sounding like a spoiled seven year old girl. I stare at him confused, still holding the blue box on which ‘Pop-tarts’ is printed. “It’s empty” he adds as if I were some mentally challenged kid.
“E-eat s-something e-else” I answer dryly. Hitting me this early in the morning is not the way to go.
“I want pop tarts!” what did I say about him acting ten? Right. I’m about to flip him off when I notice he’s put on his best puppy-dog face and sigh in defeat. I quickly gulp down my coffee, before sprinting back to my room, opening the door with a bang and pulling on the first tee-shirt I find, which happens to be a black and white Misfits baseball tee. I gallop over to the bathroom, plugging in the hair straightener and splash lukewarm water on my face, spritz on a bit of deodorant, and try helplessly to tame the back strands of my hair with the help of Mikey’s overly-protected straightener. That’s probably the only electrical appliance you could trust him with, but that’s because he was practically born with the thing in his hand. As soon as I’m done and look, in my opinion half-way decent, I trudge out of the bathroom, and back into the kitchen where I tie my converse laces. “Gee?” Mikey asks, and I look up, my ebony hair falling out of my face. “Make sure they’re strawberry” he squeals, before skipping out of the kitchen. I sigh in exasperation. Don’t get me wrong, I love Mikey, I’d even die for him. But sometimes in the morning he’s like a cross between some spoiled little girl and a male unicorn smoking pot. Yeah…not pretty. I rush out of the house, pulling my plain black hoodie over my head, and jutting out into the pouring rain. I can hear thunder’s threatening growl in the distance, while the rain plasters the little of my side bangs to my face, as my worn converse splash around in the puddles, glancing quickly at my mother’s teal blue 1999 ford, dreading the fact I haven’t yet learned to drive. I run down to the nearest bus stop, ducking under it and spread out on the plastic seats, in attempt to dry out my clothes since I am the only one there. It’s pure logic in a way, what kind of idiot would go out in a huge rainstorm like this? One who loves his brother I guess… I shiver as it starts to get colder and colder, and I can tell that by tonight it will be snowing. The park/soccer field on the other side of the street is deserted, and I clench my sides and wait for the bus to pull up, and as soon as it does, run into it dropping my change in the driver’s hand. The only person in the bus is an elderly woman with a beige trench coat, a fuzzy hat with flower appliqués, and fake leather chocolate colored gloves. A big plastic Christmas colored plaid bag sits in her lap, as well as a small black leather purse. The bus rolls past our new high school, the parking lot filled with parent’s cars, and I can’t help but smirk at the fact I’m not there. As soon as we pass it, the bus pulls to a halt, stopping in front of the supermarket parking lot, the one I already know from yesterday. I smile at the memory, and I suddenly start to wonder what our next PE lesson will be like. I hop out, helping the elderly woman with her bag who thanks me, before opening up her umbrella and walking her separate way to the Crafts shop. I run through the parking lot, skillfully avoiding mud puddles and oil drips, before hopping over the metal railing that leads into the supermarket. Once inside, I push past the flower display, which they’ve decided to move to the front, and all the way back to the isle I made sure I memorized last time, knowing Mikey would have me back here pretty soon. I keep going, my eyes looking up and down the shelves, cringing occasionally at the unpleasant odor every supermarket has: detergent, packaged bread, and the dairy product freezer shelves. Finally I come across my brother’s personal pick. I honestly don’t get why he likes them. To me, pop tarts always taste stale, and jam with icing? Ick. I’m about to scoop two packs off the shelf when a hand stops me. I freeze in place, staring at the hand that’s just brushed against my own, realizing it’s covered in skeleton gloves, ones just like the Misfit’s, a tiny bit of black nail polish left on the otherwise adorably pink nails.
“Oh! Sorry” my heart skips a beat as I recognize the voice, which is carried to me in a wave of cinnamon, coffee, and I slight smoky scent I tag as the lingering trail of a once smoked cigarette. I spin around, met by a slightly smaller guy, mesmerizing brown, hazel and gold flecked large childlike yet mature eyes peering out from dark, floppy side bangs...
Frank’s POV:
I place my now drained coffee cup in the sink, along with my now empty plate, all the crumbs carefully picked off, and walk out of the kitchen, right as the phone rings. Deciding to answer it, I walk over and pick up the chrome colored plastic Phillips phone from its socket.
“Hello?”
“Um…Frank, it’s mom…”
“Oh…hi?” I try. It’s always a little awkward between us, uncomfortable. Everything we say to one another is followed by an apologetic look, a tentative shy unsure smile, or a question like tone. And we’ve never been able to break it. I know she loves me…it’s just…hard for us to admit it. She’s trapped between accepting her son, and sticking to the man she believed held her heart. And whenever I think she’s fallen out of love with him, I’m soon convinced of the opposite…I guess that, she must hate him sometimes…but he’s her husband…and you just don’t fall out of love with people like that…
“Um…could you maybe get some groceries? Your father phoned me…he’s going to be home for dinner, and the fridge is pretty empty…please? I’m meeting Karen after, to help her with something. I don’t think I’ll have time” she pleads. Karen is her best friend, at least so I think. They always get together for crafts and stuff: cooking, scrapbooking. I once saw the scrapbook she made with Karen, who has a two year old son. They all looked so happy…it made me wish I could have a scrapbook like that.
“Sure…” I agree, not looking forward to getting drenched. I hang up before we have to deal with the uncomfortable -almost forced- ‘love you’ s. I go back up to my room, opening the door and slipping out of my sweatpants, picking up the jeans I slipped on earlier, and pulling them on, only after checking that they are clean. I pick up the towel from my bed, and toss it into the wash. I haven’t used it much, but I can be strangely obsessive when it comes to personal hygiene. I pocket my phone, lighter, keys and Ipod, pulling on the hood of my worn beloved Misfits hoodie, and darting down the stairs, locking the front door behind me and jutting out into the street. I run down along the flash floods, the now crowded storm drains, and to the nearest bus stop. I don’t bother sitting down on the freezing coated metal seats, as I see the bus pull up. I climb in, handing the driver my change, and sit near the back, watching the )for the most part) welcoming homes go by the window, before we pull up at the stop across the road from the parking lot I know so well. I jump out, running across the street and through the practically empty parking spaces, literally flying into the supermarket. I take in the fresh scent of the holiday bouquets; both left over thanksgiving ones and early Christmas ones, trying not to slip on the puddles left by other customers. It’s pretty empty, it being the middle of a week day, but you still see the occasional customer walk by. I walk by the meat isles, turning away and running through, the sickening smell of cooking chickens, before realizing I’ve forgotten a basket. I go back to the front, pick one up, as it’s ragged black plastic handles scrape my fingers. I cut through the fruit and vegetable section, picking up apples, zucchinis, squash and potatoes. I look around for fresh fruit, but there’s not much available, and I’m not a big supporter of imported-from-across-the-globe-pesticide-full-exotic-fruit, so I settle on just the apples, and one or two of the last tangerines. Those only come from Florida, okay so maybe that’s stills far, but at least they are marked organic. I pick up some quinoa, rice, almonds, chestnuts, and a loaf of whole grain bread for me, and white for my parents. Passing back by the meat I remember my mother’s earlier request for sausages, and cringe as I quickly pick up a pack, burying it under the other items, so I don’t need to look at it. Finally, I decide to go over to the packaged snacks/sweets section and cereals, heading for the pop tarts. Deciding to change from cinnamon and to try out strawberry, I reach for a pack, not paying much attention to the dude next to me, until my hands accidentally brushes against his. I manage an apologetic
“Oh! Sorry” when I see him tense up and spin around. I notice he's about the same size as Gerard--Frank, focus. Suddenly, his hood falls down and I recognize the ebony black hair, and the mesmerizing artistic hazel dancing eyes. I smile genuinely, happy as I wasn’t expecting to see him here. He smiles back sheepishly, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets, along with the pop tart box he was holding. “Shoplifting?” I joke.
Gerard’s POV:
“Shoplifting?” he asks, his beautiful eyes sparkling. I can feel myself blush violently, and pull out the box.
“u-umm…h-hey” I manage, my voice barely audible
“hey” he answers. “Um…you can put the box in the basket if you like” I smile nodding and placing it in.
“Th-th-th-th” I pause, close my eyes and breathe in sharply as i notice him bite his bottom lip “Th-thanks…s-sorry a-about th-that” I apologize, feeling utterly disgusting with myself.
“It’s okay” he reassures, seeming genuinely honest. “So…poptart fan too?” he asks, his voice hinted with joy as I blush again
“n-not ra-really…th-th-they’re f-for m-my br-brother” I admit, regretting we don't have that in common.
“Oh, Mikey right?” I nod. He shuffles his feet awkwardly, still smiling.
“U-um…d-do y-you wa-wanna ga-get a-a-a c-cup o-of c-coffee or s-something?” I ask, blushing as I ask it, getting ready for him to say no,for him to reject the offer. But another part of me wasn’t as scared to ask...I'm almost...partially confident about it. I peer at him through my dark hair strands, his eyes lighting up.
“Sure” he nods enthusiastically “There’s a Starbucks right next door, you can get to it through the door over there” he says, pointing to a glass and painted black metal door behind the checkout counters, on which the Starbucks logo is printed. I smile and nod, as he picks up the basket and we make our way to the cashiers. We get into the line, as he quickly swaps a pack of candycane colored spearmints off the shelf, and starts placing the items from his basket on the register. My eyebrows knit together in confusion as I notice a pack of sausages.
“F-Frank?
“Mmm?”
“A-aren’t ya-you a-a ve-ve-vegetarian?” I ask, embarrassed and confused. He nods simply
“Yeah, they’re for my…parents…dad actually” he informs me, bobbing his head a little.
“O-oh” I scoop the items into the paper bag as he hands a twenty dollar bill over to the quite attractive cashier, a pale skinned blonde haired girl, a thin diamond stud in her nose. We both smile our goodbyes and I follow Frank over the dirtied alabaster tiled floor to the Starbucks, realizing he also paid for Mikey’s poptarts.
“Sh-shit, I-I’ll pa-pay y-y-you b-back f-for Ma-Mikey’s p-p-pop-tarts” I say quickly, he smiles sheepishly
“Oh…” he giggles slightly “I’d insist not but I’m kinda broke so…” I giggle too, as we push the door to the beloved international coffee shop open, it’s delightfully welcoming aroma greeting us, as we walk up to the wooden decorated counter. We wait patiently for our turn, soon greeted by an attractive, tall, brown haired guy, a few piercings in his face, his white and evergreen name tag reading ‘Brian’, the exact same colors that are on John Mitch's 'therapy' sign. He smiles at us, and Frank orders first
“Tall Vanilla Latte please, and--”he turns to me as I mouth Medium Mocha, hoping his lip reading skills are good. “Medium Mocha” he adds. The supposed Brian looks at me a little strangely before nodding, calling out behind him and moving on with orders. We each pay separately, and go and wait patiently for our orders, soon hearing a rough voice belonging to a tall, imposing Latino man call out
“Tall Vanilla Latte and Medium Mocha!” it's Frank who picks them up, and selects a small round birch wood table by the window, setting down my drink in front of me, his own, and the paper bag on the floor against the ceiling-to-floor black rimmed window. We both sit down, a small silence settling between us… but it’s not necessarily awkward…I mean, in the sense neither of us know what to say it is, but I just am happy someone wants to spend time with me. We both quietly sip on our steaming overpriced coffees, me quite thankful this one has at least some milk in it, along with the oh-so familiar and very much welcomed taste of chocolate. “Um…so…excited we have no school?” he asks, attmepting to break the silence. I nod, and open my mouth to say something when my phone starts ringing and I blush furiously when I recognize Mindless Self Indulgence’s Get it up, as everyone in a three table radius turns to look at me, as Frank tries to stifle his giggles and avoid choking on his latte. I wanna make some babies! I wanna get it on! I wanna make ya horny! But I can't get it up--I’m going to kill Mikey. It’s not the first time he changes my ring tone. I flip the phone open, stuttering out an exasperated
“H-hello?”
“Gerard! Where the hell are you! It’s been twenty minutes!” my brother’s high pitched voice calls out into the phone, loud enough for Frank to overhear, who is still trying to bite back his laughter.
“M-Mikey! I-I’m g-going t-to f-f-fucking ka-kill y-you. M-my ph-phone w-went ou-out I-in th-the m-middle o-of St-Starbucks y-you f-f-fucktard! Wh-what d-did I-I s-say a-about ch-changing m-my ra-ringtone?!?” I shriek, my cheeks flaming, as half of Starbuck is still looking at me. Great, now I’m some suttering freak with a perverted ring tone.
“What are you doing in Starbucks!?! You went out for pop tarts!” He squeaks, making Frank burst into a fit of hysterical giggles. I glare at him and he almost chokes on his coffee. I mouth him an apology, before returning to my soon-to-be-dead brother.
“I-I’m w-with Fa-Frank”I answer back, not thinking. However, I soon regret having told him that
“FRANK?!? Who the hell is Frank?!?!
“U-um…a-a-a…f-friend” I answer, smiling slightly. From the corners of my eyes I see Frank has stopped laughing, and his eyes are now sparkling excitedly. “I-I’ll b-be ba-back s-s-soon” I hang up, glad faithful Starbucks customers have gone back to their own shit, no longer staring at me.
“How old is Mikey?” asks an amused Frank.
“F-f-fifteen” I say, knowing he was acting more like five on the phone. Franks giggles his heart-melting giggle and I find myself staring into his eyes for a little longer than plan, and he turns away, embarrassed. I blush again, my now tomato red cheeks prickling with self-loathing. I’m the biggest idiot ever. I’m gonna scare him away. And wait---why was I staring into his eyes in the first place? I mean it’s not like I--
“Um…So…maybe you wanna do something later today” he suggests, tugging on his lip ring, his cheeks flushing a slight pale peach like pink. I sigh in relief, and a feeling of happiness floods over me. I nod enthusiastically, as he pulls out a pen and jots down his number on the napkin. I copy his actions, taking the pen form him when he done, his calloused fingers brushing slightly against mine, as I take the pen, and scribble my cell number down. We exchange numbers, grinning, then resume to finish our coffees.
I open the front door, my keys jingling as I kick it open. Mikey’s pop-tarts are under my arm, me and Frank having parted a few minutes ago, under the agreement he’d give me a call later today. As soon as I close the door, Mikey appears in the doorway, smirking.
“H-here’s ya-your p-poptarts M-Mi---W-what?” I ask, noticing his smug expression.
“You have a boyfriend” he states, smirking proudly.
“W-What?!?” I screech out, my voice much higher than I intended it to be, sending Mikey into a fit of giggles.
“What!” he mimics, now rolling on the our dusty beige carpet floor laughing.
“M-Mikes!” I groan in annoyance. I throw the box of pop-tarts into the kitchen, watching them land on the floor.
“GERARD!” my mom’s usually voice screams out. Woops…didn’t know she was in there. “Don’t throw stuff across the house!” she scolds, her fair face poking out from behind the fridge. “Where were you anyways?” she asks, her voice softening.
“Out with his boyfriend” Pipes in Mikey, who is still lying on the floor, cackling like a hyena. Mom cocks one of her blonde eyebrows, a slightly amused expression across her pretty face.
“M-Mikey!” I screech out once again, glaring at him.
“The name’s Frank” adds Mikey, smirking.
“F-fuck y-you” I sneer at him
“Gerard!” my mother voice calls in “Watch your language for god’s sake” she scolds, shaking her head, her blonde hair falling a little out of her ponytail.
“I-I w-was b-buying M-Mikey p-pop-tarts”
“Ah, hence the flying box” she says, laughing slightly. I roll my eyes, stalking off to my room.
“Aww…poor Gee-Gee’s got the love blues” I hear Mikey call out from behind me. I flip him off
“Why didn’t you go get your pop-tarts yourself Mikes?” I hear mom ask Mikey as I open the door to my room
“Aw mom, you know how much I hate supermarkets” I close my bedroom door, suitably pissed with my brother right now. I lie down on my bed, looking at some of the posters up on my ceiling, and my mind wanders back to Frank. He said he’ll call…
---
I’m sitting next to Mikey on our comfy couch, watching NCIS on television… Although I’m not really paying attention…I keep wondering when Frank’s going to call me.
“Ya know, Abby’s really hot” comments my brother. I can’t help but chuckle. He’s had this crush on her for ages, and she’s the sole reason he even watches NCIS…I actually like the show, but my brother, it’s Abby he likes. “I wish she were real…like Rachel from Friends” I turn to look at him, amused. His brown hair is now straightened perfectly around his face, and he’s wearing his ‘outside’ glassed, black white rimmed frames, that actually fit on his nose, unlike the other ones. “And JJ form Criminal Minds”. Now it’s my turn to burst out laughing. I ruffle my hand through his hair teasingly
“A-awww…M-Mikey’s g-g-got a-a c-crush” I coo jokingly. He slaps my hand away
“Hey! At least I’m not the one with a boyfriend” he counter-attacks laughing. I lunge myself at him, attacking him with tickles, causing him to howl out, not worried about excessive noise as we are now alone in the house. However we both get interrupted by Jimmy Urine’s voice, announcing he ‘does that shit on tour’ and just 'can't get it up' I pounce off of Mikey, lunging for my phone.
“H-hello?” I answer, my heart pounding furiously as I hope with all my heart it’s Frank
“Gerard?” a broken voice asks
“F-Frank!” I hear Mikey chuckle in the background, causing me to glare at him menacingly.
“I-I’m...we--" his voice is quavering, shaky and cut up. Concern washes over me
“I-is e-e-e-everything o-okay?”
“I’m sorry, I--really have to go--” I hear something resembling a choked sob before the line goes dead. I lower my phone and stare at it blankly, confused. Did I scare him away? I did didn’t I…I should of known this was bound to happen…no one wants a stuttering art freak like me around them…I stare blankly at the television for a few seconds as the tears start to well up my unattractive hazel eyes before stumbling off the couch, half running half crawling to my room, the friction of the rough carpet scraping against my bare hands. I had a friend. I had a fucking friend. I shove the door open, tumbling through. Or so I thought I did. I drag myself into a ball…I’m so…pathetic…this upset about it…I barely even knew him…how could I be this upset?…I just wanted a friend…you should have known…people like you…they never get them…they burn and crash alone…fire’s all around…but the extinguisher... Suddenly, the urge to get it out of me is overwhelming. I stumble around for a piece of paper, and settle for a torn out crumpled one under my desk and red inked pen. I press the sharp tip of the pen to the tip of my finger until I sharp pain breaks through, and a dribble of blood forms on the tip of my finger. I release the pen, and start scribbling on the paper.
Just wanted someone, you should have known. People like you, They crash and burn alone. The fire’s all around, but the extinguisher’s out of reach. just accept the fate…you’ll be falling, burning and crashing alone. Until that little black thing you call a heart stops beating. The blood you could have shed is the one you drowned in, the one you were lost in. Just wanted someone, well you should have known, people like you, they crash and burn alone. I watch the little of my blood mix in with the red ink from the pen, and I suddenly feel a soft hand gently pressing my shoulder. I turn around to see my brother’s face, hurt and understanding reflecting in it.
“What happened?” he asks, his voice soft and caring. But I don’t want to face anyone right now.
“F-fuck o-off” I mumble, crawling over to the window, wrapping my ghostly white arms around my angular knees, rocking slightly. Mikey doesn’t listen. He slowly walks over to me, sliding down beside me, and placing my arm around his shoulder as he places his around me.
“t-this t-time I-I’m th-the o-o-one w-w-with t-the n-n-n-nightmares...a-a-aren't I-I-I?” I ask, my voice shaky, as I can’t help but feel pathetic and helpless, an older brother seeking comfort from his younger sibling...
“Shhh…it’s okay” he coos “just…what happened Gee?” he asks, brushing my dark hair out of my face.
“I-I-I j-j-just wa-wanted a-a f-f-friend” I cry out softly…my eyes shutting themselves, as Mikey tries his best to cradle me in his arms…tears staining my face...until blackness is swimming around me…
----
My eyes flutter open, and I notice Mikey and I are still glued to each other, and he seems to have fallen asleep too. My entire room is glowing, a mix of amber, russet and warm, sunny yellow casting over everything, the rest--the shadows, a deep, menacing, yet intriguing dusty chocolate brown. I peer out the window, and my eyes meet the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen. The sun is still hidden behind the clouds, but it has stopped raining. In between the horizon line and the charcoal clouds the sky has taken on a fiery orange, amber yellow and golden russet light, while the horizon line stays a faded teal blueish-grey. The glow of light from the sky is reflecting off every single wet side of a building facing the light’s origin, as the drops on the grass in the park in front of our house now glow that warm yellow color, contrasting with the other seemingly blue strands.
“M-Mikey...” I whisper. He bats an eye open “L-Look…a-a-at th-the s-s-sunset.”
He sits up, and lets out a small gasp.
“I-It’s f-f-fucking b-beautiful.”
I stare in awe as the sun peeks out from under the clouds, a bright, crimson ball of blinding light, and fades behind our horizon line. Mikey’s eyes are sparkling, like when he was eight years old; the first time he saw a shooting star. And far to soon, everything is plunged in obscurity. I look back at my brother, tears almost forming in my eyes. Mikey turns to face me, smilling apologetically, before opening his mouth:
“Sometimes…maybe it’s better for the sun to set...".
Well...I hope it was decent. I personally like the ending quite a bit, I based it off a sunset I saw recently, it was really beautiful.
I wanna thank those of you who took the time to rate and review, it really makes me wanna keep writing! So, a huge giant thanks and internet bear hug to you guys! You guys rock, seriously some of the coolest people ever! Well, as I said earlier I'll try and update sooner, but it might still be hard this week. After that though...
Anyways, I'd love some more feedback, or to hear any suggestions, comments, ideas on the story or other things you might wanna say! Also, a thanks to MSI for their (always) kickass songs, that I always blast full volume when no one is around XD
xx, a.
Ok, another huge HUGE sorry for being so slow to update. I know it can be annoying when updates take ages, and I'm really really sorry. On the bright side though, grades close friday! Which means that starting Thursday I should be able to upload more often!! (For the record: I am very jealous of those of you who are already in summer vacation XD). Well, I hope you like the chapter, and I already know what the next one is gonna be called :D
EARLY SUNSETS: THE DOWNSIDE OF THE NIGHT
Frank’s POV
I awoke the next morning to the sound of repetitive thunder, as the rain poured onto our shingled roof, cascading down over our worn siding. And people wonder why houses here get so weathered and worn so fast. It was already light out, despite the heavy canopy of charcoal clouds, making me wonder why I hadn’t woken to the sound of my alarm clock, which now indicated 8:47 am. Fuck. I pounced out of bed, slipping on a pair of blue jeans, on which I’d sewn (yeah…sewn) a Misfits patch on, and tumbling across the room, slamming my head against the poster-covered red wall.
“Fuck” I mumble, rubbing my head as I slowly get up, blinking repeatedly in attempt to chase out the forming headache, grasping the window sill for support. I drag myself up halfway, before sitting down resting my now sore head on the white window sill, on which are scattered a few guitar picks. I watch the flashfloods run down the street, washing away all the -now- decaying leaves and occasional beer or soda can down into the storm drain down the street. I follow a Pepsi can with my eyes until it disappears down the drain, wondering why the person who’d thrown it out hadn’t bought a Coke instead, but people are different that way I guess…That’s the nice thing about rain storms, after one, the air outside is so fresh and breathable…it hasn’t been polluted by our mistakes, contaminated by our greed, and broken by our carelessness…it’s natural…soothing… I get up, briefly closing my eyes before rubbing them open again, dreading the fact I’m already 50 minutes late for school. Hello Detention. I grab a clean pair of jeans and the black and neon green Misfits tee I bought myself on my birthday--I don’t need to hear you think that’s sad, I know that myself…But it kinda helps me feel a little better on my birthday…a day where the only person that gives enough of a shit about me sends a paragraph’s worth of words, which for her is a lot. My Grandmother. My Grams. My Nan…whatever you’re going to call her. That and a 20-25 dollar check she sends for me to buy some ‘stuff for that beautiful instrument of yours’. She’s the only one. And it never fails to make me smile. Well, my mother gives me a card, but makes up for it at Christmas, and my father doesn’t want to hear anything about my birthday. Apparently it has something to do with me being the fuck-up he’s engraved in his narrow mind I am. I rush into the bathroom, turning the freezing hot water knob and stripping of my blood red boxers, shivering as I wait for the water to heat. As soon as it does I run under, tense at first then slowly relaxing as I adjust. I reach for the nearest bottle of soap--honey scented- perfect- and squeeze a bit onto my hand, lathering it around, and basking in the heaven like scent. Deciding I’m already too late to worry about my hair--which is currently clipped back so my bangs don’t get drenched--I try and hurry as much as I can, shutting the water off and nearly slipping again on the now damp cream colored linoleum floor, reaching for my lavender colored towel and wrapping it around my waist. As I pad back to my room I notice that somehow the house has gotten comfortably warm, and I’m no longer shivering, but perfectly comfortable in my puffy, plush, and now partially wet towel.
“Frank! I’m going!”
“Huh?” I pause at the top of the stairs, staring blankly at my mother who’s waving tentatively from downstairs, while slipping her dark mucky green rain coat on, her dry brown hair pulled back in a clip, a fake pearl necklace around her neck.
“The parent-teacher conferences…your father’s at work already….so I’m going” I blink blankly, before remembering suddenly and resisting the temptation to slap myself repeatedly for being such a memory-lapsed bonehead. Parent-teacher (yeah, this highschool still does that…) means a day off for students. No wonder my alarm clock never woke me, I turned it off. To sleep in. Nice going Frank. I call a meek ‘Okay’ after her, before padding back into my room, feeling like the utter most idiot and dropping the pastel purplish-blue towel onto the carpeted flooring, and flop down on my bed. It’s a little cold, but the heat seems to be on, and I don’t bother with any clothes at the moment. It’s actually a kind of comfortable shiver…like a slight tingle, and I adjust pretty fast. The Smashing Pumpkin’s Tarantula is currently playing from my Sony CD player, and I absent mindedly hum along while repeatedly tapping my bare stomach. Before I can even stop myself I’m thinking of the only person I could call a friend, one that was, until yesterday a total stranger, and that I now realized is forcing me to challenge my sexuality. One with the most adorable button nose, with the most artistic, creative, yet clouded hazel eyes… midnight black hair sweeping over them from time to time, his complexion with slight hints of pinks around the cheeks despite its ghostly hue, and a voice he keeps like a secret hidden in his throat…one he trusts me with though…his girlish yet still somehow manly giggle, like Christmas bells, signaling the arrival of warmth and happiness, at least for most people-- It’s only when I get a familiar slight jolt in my lower abdomen that I realize I’m no longer playfully tapping my stomach but now affectionately rubbing a slightly lower part. One that has, now risen to semi-full attention. I can feel myself blushing when I realize what, or more who, caused it, even though I’m completely alone in our house. I spend some time debating whether or not to take care of it myself or to wait a little till it goes down on its own, feeling a little guilty that this was because I was thinking of…well, Gerard. But by the time I’ve decided to take care of it myself, nature’s already released, so I have nothing to do but lie naked on my dark comforter. Not knowing whether or not I’m disappointed in mother nature, I do decide I don’t wish to spend my day as such, and hastily get up pulling on some heather grey colored sweatpants. I go back over to the window, picking up my hoodie and cuddling into it, as I pick up my lighter, which is still in the corner form last night...last night seems…so far away…the night that I began to catch fire…
I pull on a pair of warm navy blue wool socks and start down the stairs to the kitchen, my stomach beginning to growl. I turn into our small wooden-green-granite-cream-tiled kitchen, flicking on the ceiling fan, watching the light illuminate the otherwise dim room, its small window barely providing enough light on a sunny day. I notice an open box of cinnamon pop tarts sitting open by the fridge, and my mouth starts to water as it literally calls me over to it. I press the dark brick red power button of the coffee machine, watching it turn orange as I do so, and turn back to our toaster to insert to the pop tarts. I lean over it as the delicious small of toasting pop tarts and brewing coffee invade the room, making me smile. I can strangely happy when it comes to my breakfast… I grab a ceramic plate from one of the wooden cabinets and a mug, watching my beloved caffeine fix pour into it, before being met with a twirling cloud of milk, and then by a small brown sugar cube. I watch as a few air bubbles float to the surface, before watching the pop tarts pop up out of the toaster, signaling they are ready to be eaten.
---
Gerard’s POV
I waddled into out smallish kitchen, greeted by the bright, industrial glow of the ceiling lamp, which I presumed was on due to the lack of natural day light available. I yawned tiredly, not as grateful as I thought I’d be not having to go to school today. I thought I’d be fucking ecstatic; an extra day doing nothing that productive; drawing, reading comic books and most importantly my beloved Calvin and Hobbes, and watching random movies with Mikey…But all night, as I tried to think about all the great things I could do today my mind kept going back to one person, and all the excitement fluttered away. Not that I wasn’t looking forward to no classes, no bullies, no jocks, no assholes, no math classes, no Phys Ed, I also found myself with no Frank…and the feeling of joy faded away…I just seemed so…safe around him. I wanted to see him…to talk to someone else besides Mikey too. Despite only really knowing him one day, I felt wanted around him. Appreciated. Just like with Mikey, only that with Frank, I wouldn’t need to be on the lookout for possible injuries due to electronic appliances. The smell of freshly brewed coffee greeted me, tickling my nostrils, as I waved forcedly at Mikey, who was rummaging angrily through the light wood cupboards, his light brown hair still poking out in all directions, while his ‘comfy at home’ glasses hung at the very tip of his small nose, making me wonder why they never fall off.
“Ah! We never have anything to eat! There are no more pop tarts!” he whined, his voice higher as he exclaimed the last part. I held in a chuckle, and made my way over to where my Ramones cup sat, placed on the white ceramic edge of the sink. I grabbed it and eagerly poured the dark warming substance into it, as I watched Mikey poor an abnormal amount of milk into his, before passing me the white and turquoise carton. I grab it, weary of the fact that he’s only left three drops of milk in, dropping down into my beloved coffee, it’s color not even altering one bit.
“M-Mikey!” I whine, waving the empty milk carton in front of him “Y-you’ve ah-only l-l-left th-three d-drops!... f-fucker” I smile faintly as the last word escapes my lips, making sure he knows I don’t mean it so harshly. “D-d’y-ya h-have t-t-to ya-use s-so ma-much?”
“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t leave the setting so high”
“I-I l-like m-my c-c-coffe st-strong” I argue, brushing my unruly black hair away from my face, as I slump around the kitchen tugging at the hem of my plain white tee shirt, which was barely covered by a huge brick colored fuzzy bathrobe.
“And I like my coffee with milk” he smirks, somehow proud of his response.
“n-no, ya-you l-like y-y-your ma-milk w-with c-c-coffee” he glares at me in what would be a death stare if the corners of his mouth weren’t twitching up into a faint grin. He smiles quickly before reaching for the sugar, adding a giant spoonful in his coffee, making me wince. How can he swallow something so sweet so early in the morning? I grab my cup and reach for the plastic honey bottle, popping it open and watch a thin of russet sweetness -the sugar was on the other side of the kitchen and I can be alarmingly lazy- drip into my shiny black and white cup.
“At least I put sugar in my coffee, like most people” he remarks, hints of amusement in his voice. I try my best to bite back a smile, knowing he’s only being playful, something that, no matter how annoying I admire a great amount. As a fifteen year old, he could pass off as ten when he wants to, but seventeen when he needs to, the later clearly helped by the fact he towers two inches over me, his toned, lanky frame compared to my ivory dead-looking unfit one. I’m not fat, but I’m definitely not fit; my stomach has a slight, plushy curve to it, and I couldn’t run fast enough even to save my own life, but you can blame coffee, cigarettes and insomnia for that. Suddenly, a mellow pain spreads through my forehead, cutting off my train fo thought.
“O-Ow!” I scream out, as I bend down to pick up the electric blue cardboard box that's just hit me. I Pick it up, and turn back to face Mikey who’s looking at me, smirking again, obviously proud of himself. When he smirks repeatedly like that he starts to remind me of John Mitch. I cringe at the thought of that man who, thank god I don’t need to see today, and resume glaring at Mikey.
“Wh-what w-was th-that f-for?”
“There’s no more pop tarts!” he whines again, sounding like a spoiled seven year old girl. I stare at him confused, still holding the blue box on which ‘Pop-tarts’ is printed. “It’s empty” he adds as if I were some mentally challenged kid.
“E-eat s-something e-else” I answer dryly. Hitting me this early in the morning is not the way to go.
“I want pop tarts!” what did I say about him acting ten? Right. I’m about to flip him off when I notice he’s put on his best puppy-dog face and sigh in defeat. I quickly gulp down my coffee, before sprinting back to my room, opening the door with a bang and pulling on the first tee-shirt I find, which happens to be a black and white Misfits baseball tee. I gallop over to the bathroom, plugging in the hair straightener and splash lukewarm water on my face, spritz on a bit of deodorant, and try helplessly to tame the back strands of my hair with the help of Mikey’s overly-protected straightener. That’s probably the only electrical appliance you could trust him with, but that’s because he was practically born with the thing in his hand. As soon as I’m done and look, in my opinion half-way decent, I trudge out of the bathroom, and back into the kitchen where I tie my converse laces. “Gee?” Mikey asks, and I look up, my ebony hair falling out of my face. “Make sure they’re strawberry” he squeals, before skipping out of the kitchen. I sigh in exasperation. Don’t get me wrong, I love Mikey, I’d even die for him. But sometimes in the morning he’s like a cross between some spoiled little girl and a male unicorn smoking pot. Yeah…not pretty. I rush out of the house, pulling my plain black hoodie over my head, and jutting out into the pouring rain. I can hear thunder’s threatening growl in the distance, while the rain plasters the little of my side bangs to my face, as my worn converse splash around in the puddles, glancing quickly at my mother’s teal blue 1999 ford, dreading the fact I haven’t yet learned to drive. I run down to the nearest bus stop, ducking under it and spread out on the plastic seats, in attempt to dry out my clothes since I am the only one there. It’s pure logic in a way, what kind of idiot would go out in a huge rainstorm like this? One who loves his brother I guess… I shiver as it starts to get colder and colder, and I can tell that by tonight it will be snowing. The park/soccer field on the other side of the street is deserted, and I clench my sides and wait for the bus to pull up, and as soon as it does, run into it dropping my change in the driver’s hand. The only person in the bus is an elderly woman with a beige trench coat, a fuzzy hat with flower appliqués, and fake leather chocolate colored gloves. A big plastic Christmas colored plaid bag sits in her lap, as well as a small black leather purse. The bus rolls past our new high school, the parking lot filled with parent’s cars, and I can’t help but smirk at the fact I’m not there. As soon as we pass it, the bus pulls to a halt, stopping in front of the supermarket parking lot, the one I already know from yesterday. I smile at the memory, and I suddenly start to wonder what our next PE lesson will be like. I hop out, helping the elderly woman with her bag who thanks me, before opening up her umbrella and walking her separate way to the Crafts shop. I run through the parking lot, skillfully avoiding mud puddles and oil drips, before hopping over the metal railing that leads into the supermarket. Once inside, I push past the flower display, which they’ve decided to move to the front, and all the way back to the isle I made sure I memorized last time, knowing Mikey would have me back here pretty soon. I keep going, my eyes looking up and down the shelves, cringing occasionally at the unpleasant odor every supermarket has: detergent, packaged bread, and the dairy product freezer shelves. Finally I come across my brother’s personal pick. I honestly don’t get why he likes them. To me, pop tarts always taste stale, and jam with icing? Ick. I’m about to scoop two packs off the shelf when a hand stops me. I freeze in place, staring at the hand that’s just brushed against my own, realizing it’s covered in skeleton gloves, ones just like the Misfit’s, a tiny bit of black nail polish left on the otherwise adorably pink nails.
“Oh! Sorry” my heart skips a beat as I recognize the voice, which is carried to me in a wave of cinnamon, coffee, and I slight smoky scent I tag as the lingering trail of a once smoked cigarette. I spin around, met by a slightly smaller guy, mesmerizing brown, hazel and gold flecked large childlike yet mature eyes peering out from dark, floppy side bangs...
Frank’s POV:
I place my now drained coffee cup in the sink, along with my now empty plate, all the crumbs carefully picked off, and walk out of the kitchen, right as the phone rings. Deciding to answer it, I walk over and pick up the chrome colored plastic Phillips phone from its socket.
“Hello?”
“Um…Frank, it’s mom…”
“Oh…hi?” I try. It’s always a little awkward between us, uncomfortable. Everything we say to one another is followed by an apologetic look, a tentative shy unsure smile, or a question like tone. And we’ve never been able to break it. I know she loves me…it’s just…hard for us to admit it. She’s trapped between accepting her son, and sticking to the man she believed held her heart. And whenever I think she’s fallen out of love with him, I’m soon convinced of the opposite…I guess that, she must hate him sometimes…but he’s her husband…and you just don’t fall out of love with people like that…
“Um…could you maybe get some groceries? Your father phoned me…he’s going to be home for dinner, and the fridge is pretty empty…please? I’m meeting Karen after, to help her with something. I don’t think I’ll have time” she pleads. Karen is her best friend, at least so I think. They always get together for crafts and stuff: cooking, scrapbooking. I once saw the scrapbook she made with Karen, who has a two year old son. They all looked so happy…it made me wish I could have a scrapbook like that.
“Sure…” I agree, not looking forward to getting drenched. I hang up before we have to deal with the uncomfortable -almost forced- ‘love you’ s. I go back up to my room, opening the door and slipping out of my sweatpants, picking up the jeans I slipped on earlier, and pulling them on, only after checking that they are clean. I pick up the towel from my bed, and toss it into the wash. I haven’t used it much, but I can be strangely obsessive when it comes to personal hygiene. I pocket my phone, lighter, keys and Ipod, pulling on the hood of my worn beloved Misfits hoodie, and darting down the stairs, locking the front door behind me and jutting out into the street. I run down along the flash floods, the now crowded storm drains, and to the nearest bus stop. I don’t bother sitting down on the freezing coated metal seats, as I see the bus pull up. I climb in, handing the driver my change, and sit near the back, watching the )for the most part) welcoming homes go by the window, before we pull up at the stop across the road from the parking lot I know so well. I jump out, running across the street and through the practically empty parking spaces, literally flying into the supermarket. I take in the fresh scent of the holiday bouquets; both left over thanksgiving ones and early Christmas ones, trying not to slip on the puddles left by other customers. It’s pretty empty, it being the middle of a week day, but you still see the occasional customer walk by. I walk by the meat isles, turning away and running through, the sickening smell of cooking chickens, before realizing I’ve forgotten a basket. I go back to the front, pick one up, as it’s ragged black plastic handles scrape my fingers. I cut through the fruit and vegetable section, picking up apples, zucchinis, squash and potatoes. I look around for fresh fruit, but there’s not much available, and I’m not a big supporter of imported-from-across-the-globe-pesticide-full-exotic-fruit, so I settle on just the apples, and one or two of the last tangerines. Those only come from Florida, okay so maybe that’s stills far, but at least they are marked organic. I pick up some quinoa, rice, almonds, chestnuts, and a loaf of whole grain bread for me, and white for my parents. Passing back by the meat I remember my mother’s earlier request for sausages, and cringe as I quickly pick up a pack, burying it under the other items, so I don’t need to look at it. Finally, I decide to go over to the packaged snacks/sweets section and cereals, heading for the pop tarts. Deciding to change from cinnamon and to try out strawberry, I reach for a pack, not paying much attention to the dude next to me, until my hands accidentally brushes against his. I manage an apologetic
“Oh! Sorry” when I see him tense up and spin around. I notice he's about the same size as Gerard--Frank, focus. Suddenly, his hood falls down and I recognize the ebony black hair, and the mesmerizing artistic hazel dancing eyes. I smile genuinely, happy as I wasn’t expecting to see him here. He smiles back sheepishly, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets, along with the pop tart box he was holding. “Shoplifting?” I joke.
Gerard’s POV:
“Shoplifting?” he asks, his beautiful eyes sparkling. I can feel myself blush violently, and pull out the box.
“u-umm…h-hey” I manage, my voice barely audible
“hey” he answers. “Um…you can put the box in the basket if you like” I smile nodding and placing it in.
“Th-th-th-th” I pause, close my eyes and breathe in sharply as i notice him bite his bottom lip “Th-thanks…s-sorry a-about th-that” I apologize, feeling utterly disgusting with myself.
“It’s okay” he reassures, seeming genuinely honest. “So…poptart fan too?” he asks, his voice hinted with joy as I blush again
“n-not ra-really…th-th-they’re f-for m-my br-brother” I admit, regretting we don't have that in common.
“Oh, Mikey right?” I nod. He shuffles his feet awkwardly, still smiling.
“U-um…d-do y-you wa-wanna ga-get a-a-a c-cup o-of c-coffee or s-something?” I ask, blushing as I ask it, getting ready for him to say no,for him to reject the offer. But another part of me wasn’t as scared to ask...I'm almost...partially confident about it. I peer at him through my dark hair strands, his eyes lighting up.
“Sure” he nods enthusiastically “There’s a Starbucks right next door, you can get to it through the door over there” he says, pointing to a glass and painted black metal door behind the checkout counters, on which the Starbucks logo is printed. I smile and nod, as he picks up the basket and we make our way to the cashiers. We get into the line, as he quickly swaps a pack of candycane colored spearmints off the shelf, and starts placing the items from his basket on the register. My eyebrows knit together in confusion as I notice a pack of sausages.
“F-Frank?
“Mmm?”
“A-aren’t ya-you a-a ve-ve-vegetarian?” I ask, embarrassed and confused. He nods simply
“Yeah, they’re for my…parents…dad actually” he informs me, bobbing his head a little.
“O-oh” I scoop the items into the paper bag as he hands a twenty dollar bill over to the quite attractive cashier, a pale skinned blonde haired girl, a thin diamond stud in her nose. We both smile our goodbyes and I follow Frank over the dirtied alabaster tiled floor to the Starbucks, realizing he also paid for Mikey’s poptarts.
“Sh-shit, I-I’ll pa-pay y-y-you b-back f-for Ma-Mikey’s p-p-pop-tarts” I say quickly, he smiles sheepishly
“Oh…” he giggles slightly “I’d insist not but I’m kinda broke so…” I giggle too, as we push the door to the beloved international coffee shop open, it’s delightfully welcoming aroma greeting us, as we walk up to the wooden decorated counter. We wait patiently for our turn, soon greeted by an attractive, tall, brown haired guy, a few piercings in his face, his white and evergreen name tag reading ‘Brian’, the exact same colors that are on John Mitch's 'therapy' sign. He smiles at us, and Frank orders first
“Tall Vanilla Latte please, and--”he turns to me as I mouth Medium Mocha, hoping his lip reading skills are good. “Medium Mocha” he adds. The supposed Brian looks at me a little strangely before nodding, calling out behind him and moving on with orders. We each pay separately, and go and wait patiently for our orders, soon hearing a rough voice belonging to a tall, imposing Latino man call out
“Tall Vanilla Latte and Medium Mocha!” it's Frank who picks them up, and selects a small round birch wood table by the window, setting down my drink in front of me, his own, and the paper bag on the floor against the ceiling-to-floor black rimmed window. We both sit down, a small silence settling between us… but it’s not necessarily awkward…I mean, in the sense neither of us know what to say it is, but I just am happy someone wants to spend time with me. We both quietly sip on our steaming overpriced coffees, me quite thankful this one has at least some milk in it, along with the oh-so familiar and very much welcomed taste of chocolate. “Um…so…excited we have no school?” he asks, attmepting to break the silence. I nod, and open my mouth to say something when my phone starts ringing and I blush furiously when I recognize Mindless Self Indulgence’s Get it up, as everyone in a three table radius turns to look at me, as Frank tries to stifle his giggles and avoid choking on his latte. I wanna make some babies! I wanna get it on! I wanna make ya horny! But I can't get it up--I’m going to kill Mikey. It’s not the first time he changes my ring tone. I flip the phone open, stuttering out an exasperated
“H-hello?”
“Gerard! Where the hell are you! It’s been twenty minutes!” my brother’s high pitched voice calls out into the phone, loud enough for Frank to overhear, who is still trying to bite back his laughter.
“M-Mikey! I-I’m g-going t-to f-f-fucking ka-kill y-you. M-my ph-phone w-went ou-out I-in th-the m-middle o-of St-Starbucks y-you f-f-fucktard! Wh-what d-did I-I s-say a-about ch-changing m-my ra-ringtone?!?” I shriek, my cheeks flaming, as half of Starbuck is still looking at me. Great, now I’m some suttering freak with a perverted ring tone.
“What are you doing in Starbucks!?! You went out for pop tarts!” He squeaks, making Frank burst into a fit of hysterical giggles. I glare at him and he almost chokes on his coffee. I mouth him an apology, before returning to my soon-to-be-dead brother.
“I-I’m w-with Fa-Frank”I answer back, not thinking. However, I soon regret having told him that
“FRANK?!? Who the hell is Frank?!?!
“U-um…a-a-a…f-friend” I answer, smiling slightly. From the corners of my eyes I see Frank has stopped laughing, and his eyes are now sparkling excitedly. “I-I’ll b-be ba-back s-s-soon” I hang up, glad faithful Starbucks customers have gone back to their own shit, no longer staring at me.
“How old is Mikey?” asks an amused Frank.
“F-f-fifteen” I say, knowing he was acting more like five on the phone. Franks giggles his heart-melting giggle and I find myself staring into his eyes for a little longer than plan, and he turns away, embarrassed. I blush again, my now tomato red cheeks prickling with self-loathing. I’m the biggest idiot ever. I’m gonna scare him away. And wait---why was I staring into his eyes in the first place? I mean it’s not like I--
“Um…So…maybe you wanna do something later today” he suggests, tugging on his lip ring, his cheeks flushing a slight pale peach like pink. I sigh in relief, and a feeling of happiness floods over me. I nod enthusiastically, as he pulls out a pen and jots down his number on the napkin. I copy his actions, taking the pen form him when he done, his calloused fingers brushing slightly against mine, as I take the pen, and scribble my cell number down. We exchange numbers, grinning, then resume to finish our coffees.
I open the front door, my keys jingling as I kick it open. Mikey’s pop-tarts are under my arm, me and Frank having parted a few minutes ago, under the agreement he’d give me a call later today. As soon as I close the door, Mikey appears in the doorway, smirking.
“H-here’s ya-your p-poptarts M-Mi---W-what?” I ask, noticing his smug expression.
“You have a boyfriend” he states, smirking proudly.
“W-What?!?” I screech out, my voice much higher than I intended it to be, sending Mikey into a fit of giggles.
“What!” he mimics, now rolling on the our dusty beige carpet floor laughing.
“M-Mikes!” I groan in annoyance. I throw the box of pop-tarts into the kitchen, watching them land on the floor.
“GERARD!” my mom’s usually voice screams out. Woops…didn’t know she was in there. “Don’t throw stuff across the house!” she scolds, her fair face poking out from behind the fridge. “Where were you anyways?” she asks, her voice softening.
“Out with his boyfriend” Pipes in Mikey, who is still lying on the floor, cackling like a hyena. Mom cocks one of her blonde eyebrows, a slightly amused expression across her pretty face.
“M-Mikey!” I screech out once again, glaring at him.
“The name’s Frank” adds Mikey, smirking.
“F-fuck y-you” I sneer at him
“Gerard!” my mother voice calls in “Watch your language for god’s sake” she scolds, shaking her head, her blonde hair falling a little out of her ponytail.
“I-I w-was b-buying M-Mikey p-pop-tarts”
“Ah, hence the flying box” she says, laughing slightly. I roll my eyes, stalking off to my room.
“Aww…poor Gee-Gee’s got the love blues” I hear Mikey call out from behind me. I flip him off
“Why didn’t you go get your pop-tarts yourself Mikes?” I hear mom ask Mikey as I open the door to my room
“Aw mom, you know how much I hate supermarkets” I close my bedroom door, suitably pissed with my brother right now. I lie down on my bed, looking at some of the posters up on my ceiling, and my mind wanders back to Frank. He said he’ll call…
---
I’m sitting next to Mikey on our comfy couch, watching NCIS on television… Although I’m not really paying attention…I keep wondering when Frank’s going to call me.
“Ya know, Abby’s really hot” comments my brother. I can’t help but chuckle. He’s had this crush on her for ages, and she’s the sole reason he even watches NCIS…I actually like the show, but my brother, it’s Abby he likes. “I wish she were real…like Rachel from Friends” I turn to look at him, amused. His brown hair is now straightened perfectly around his face, and he’s wearing his ‘outside’ glassed, black white rimmed frames, that actually fit on his nose, unlike the other ones. “And JJ form Criminal Minds”. Now it’s my turn to burst out laughing. I ruffle my hand through his hair teasingly
“A-awww…M-Mikey’s g-g-got a-a c-crush” I coo jokingly. He slaps my hand away
“Hey! At least I’m not the one with a boyfriend” he counter-attacks laughing. I lunge myself at him, attacking him with tickles, causing him to howl out, not worried about excessive noise as we are now alone in the house. However we both get interrupted by Jimmy Urine’s voice, announcing he ‘does that shit on tour’ and just 'can't get it up' I pounce off of Mikey, lunging for my phone.
“H-hello?” I answer, my heart pounding furiously as I hope with all my heart it’s Frank
“Gerard?” a broken voice asks
“F-Frank!” I hear Mikey chuckle in the background, causing me to glare at him menacingly.
“I-I’m...we--" his voice is quavering, shaky and cut up. Concern washes over me
“I-is e-e-e-everything o-okay?”
“I’m sorry, I--really have to go--” I hear something resembling a choked sob before the line goes dead. I lower my phone and stare at it blankly, confused. Did I scare him away? I did didn’t I…I should of known this was bound to happen…no one wants a stuttering art freak like me around them…I stare blankly at the television for a few seconds as the tears start to well up my unattractive hazel eyes before stumbling off the couch, half running half crawling to my room, the friction of the rough carpet scraping against my bare hands. I had a friend. I had a fucking friend. I shove the door open, tumbling through. Or so I thought I did. I drag myself into a ball…I’m so…pathetic…this upset about it…I barely even knew him…how could I be this upset?…I just wanted a friend…you should have known…people like you…they never get them…they burn and crash alone…fire’s all around…but the extinguisher... Suddenly, the urge to get it out of me is overwhelming. I stumble around for a piece of paper, and settle for a torn out crumpled one under my desk and red inked pen. I press the sharp tip of the pen to the tip of my finger until I sharp pain breaks through, and a dribble of blood forms on the tip of my finger. I release the pen, and start scribbling on the paper.
Just wanted someone, you should have known. People like you, They crash and burn alone. The fire’s all around, but the extinguisher’s out of reach. just accept the fate…you’ll be falling, burning and crashing alone. Until that little black thing you call a heart stops beating. The blood you could have shed is the one you drowned in, the one you were lost in. Just wanted someone, well you should have known, people like you, they crash and burn alone. I watch the little of my blood mix in with the red ink from the pen, and I suddenly feel a soft hand gently pressing my shoulder. I turn around to see my brother’s face, hurt and understanding reflecting in it.
“What happened?” he asks, his voice soft and caring. But I don’t want to face anyone right now.
“F-fuck o-off” I mumble, crawling over to the window, wrapping my ghostly white arms around my angular knees, rocking slightly. Mikey doesn’t listen. He slowly walks over to me, sliding down beside me, and placing my arm around his shoulder as he places his around me.
“t-this t-time I-I’m th-the o-o-one w-w-with t-the n-n-n-nightmares...a-a-aren't I-I-I?” I ask, my voice shaky, as I can’t help but feel pathetic and helpless, an older brother seeking comfort from his younger sibling...
“Shhh…it’s okay” he coos “just…what happened Gee?” he asks, brushing my dark hair out of my face.
“I-I-I j-j-just wa-wanted a-a f-f-friend” I cry out softly…my eyes shutting themselves, as Mikey tries his best to cradle me in his arms…tears staining my face...until blackness is swimming around me…
----
My eyes flutter open, and I notice Mikey and I are still glued to each other, and he seems to have fallen asleep too. My entire room is glowing, a mix of amber, russet and warm, sunny yellow casting over everything, the rest--the shadows, a deep, menacing, yet intriguing dusty chocolate brown. I peer out the window, and my eyes meet the most beautiful sunset I’ve ever seen. The sun is still hidden behind the clouds, but it has stopped raining. In between the horizon line and the charcoal clouds the sky has taken on a fiery orange, amber yellow and golden russet light, while the horizon line stays a faded teal blueish-grey. The glow of light from the sky is reflecting off every single wet side of a building facing the light’s origin, as the drops on the grass in the park in front of our house now glow that warm yellow color, contrasting with the other seemingly blue strands.
“M-Mikey...” I whisper. He bats an eye open “L-Look…a-a-at th-the s-s-sunset.”
He sits up, and lets out a small gasp.
“I-It’s f-f-fucking b-beautiful.”
I stare in awe as the sun peeks out from under the clouds, a bright, crimson ball of blinding light, and fades behind our horizon line. Mikey’s eyes are sparkling, like when he was eight years old; the first time he saw a shooting star. And far to soon, everything is plunged in obscurity. I look back at my brother, tears almost forming in my eyes. Mikey turns to face me, smilling apologetically, before opening his mouth:
“Sometimes…maybe it’s better for the sun to set...".
Well...I hope it was decent. I personally like the ending quite a bit, I based it off a sunset I saw recently, it was really beautiful.
I wanna thank those of you who took the time to rate and review, it really makes me wanna keep writing! So, a huge giant thanks and internet bear hug to you guys! You guys rock, seriously some of the coolest people ever! Well, as I said earlier I'll try and update sooner, but it might still be hard this week. After that though...
Anyways, I'd love some more feedback, or to hear any suggestions, comments, ideas on the story or other things you might wanna say! Also, a thanks to MSI for their (always) kickass songs, that I always blast full volume when no one is around XD
xx, a.
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