FicWad

hey,
so, here it is, the 3rd part of Tarantula! I know took me some time to get it written, and I'm sorry about that, but one of my best friends moved back to California today. I don't know when I'll be seeing her again, so, before she left I was trying to spend as much time with her as possible. I'm really really gonna miss her though, she was really cool (and she actually hadRay Toro's hair. I know, she's so lucky!) but yeah...and well, I'm leaving for france tomorrow so I'm gonna be without internet for maybe up to 2 weeks (I mean, maybe less, but maybe more). I'm really sorry about that :S
well, anyways, I hope you guys like the chapter!


TARANTULA prt 3: heart shaped box
(Oh, and although the title is that of a Nirvana song, I didn't use any lyrics in this one or anything)


I aimlessly trudged along the concrete sidewalk, my once black shoes trailing along as Pansy bobbed behind me, her charcoal black case almost as heavy as herself. I was back. It seemed to be about 7 in the morning, a pale, powder blue sky emerging from an eternity of cotton candy and lavender, which had in turn faded from ebony, a few fluffy clouds floating across the fading darkness of the sky. I’d caught the 1:05 am train, and had gotten off a good twenty minutes, only earning a few disapproving glares from strangers. A familiar intersection approached, which lead directly under the freeway, right past the bridge a tall, bushy dark pine tree shot straight up towards the sky, swaying gently like a feather in the chilling morning breeze. A few, occasional patches of icy, crystallized and now muddy snow had formed right on the edge of the sidewalk, sometimes nestling by the roots of dormant trees.


I could feel my cheeks tingling from the inside, as if ants were crawling out under it, trying desperately to escape. But it wasn’t just the cold, December dawn. It was the fact that I was going back to a house I’d ran away from, a father whom I’m not sure would allow me back in, a mother whom I’d hurt, and a therapist I was sure had gotten quite an earful from my biological predecessor. Lovely. I quickly darted across the desert intersection, feeling safer on the sidewalk than in the bare asphalt boulevard. Another though plagued me, a softer, just as nerve-racking but tinted with sweetness lingering of unresolved issues. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to listen to what my Grams had said. The more I wanted to follow my heart. But follow it where? Surely not to the Starbucks that now lay in front of me. I sighed happily, anticipating the delicious, warming cup of coffee that I would hold in my hands as I pushed open the plate glass door, the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee beans greeting me. I stepped inside, careful not to knock over the mug display with all the shit I was carrying, and made my way over to the line. It wasn’t that busy, it being fairly early enough that most kids weren’t up yet, but late enough that early birds and people who had to commute to the city were already gone. About three people stood in front of me, the first a tall, blonde dude, with relatively fancy clothes and a black, leather briefcase at hand, the second an average height blonde woman in jeans, snow boots and a heavy wind breaker, and the third a toothpick chewing, backwards baseball cap wearing kid whose belt was balancing on his knees. I couldn’t help but think that somehow, the money and the finding my heart thing were related, but I couldn’t just see how. I frankly had no need for 200 dollars, and I still had my own heart to find, and for some, slightly random, confusing, and mind twisting reason all I could do was think on how, or better yet where I would find whatever I needed to find. The line went through relatively fast, and soon I was at the coffee scented counter, staring aimlessly at a tall, pierced guy whom I recognize as Brian, the barista the other day. Memories of said day started invading my mind, as I remember trying to figure out what it was Gerard wanted to order, his beautifully flushed pink cheeks contrasting against the alabaster white of his smooth, flawless skin, ebony hair sweeping down over his artistic, hazel eyes that mesmerize me whenever--
“Hey man, you gonna order something or what?” I jolt back into reality, staring at -Brian- (if name tags are correct) and automatically order a vanilla latte, telling him to give me the size of whichever cup is closest, as I slowly seep back into day dream. “Um…Okay, ‘s tall cool?” I nod, invading and dangerously yummy thoughts of a certain angel like boy filling my mind again and-- “You sure you’re okay kid? It’s just that spaced out attitude and backpack full of clothes doesn’t exactly say ‘regular coffee stop’, ya know?” he smiled a little, as I can’t help but chuckle, and he eventually hands me my steaming, vanilla scented heavenly caffeine fix, when suddenly an idea hits me. Gerard…following my heart…two hundred bucks…
“Um, do you know where any good art shops might be?” I tentatively ask “Brian”, who cocks an eyebrow playfully.
“You an artist?” he asks, smiling confusingly.
“Um…no…I wanna get something for the guy I li--friend, for my friend” I quickly correct, blushing violently as the barista smirks, amused, his eyebrow piercing reflecting a small ray of light coming from the fluorescent lighting above us.
“There’s one two blocks down, to the right, past the Burger King. So, friend huh?” he smirks again, as I silently thank him and inwardly wish I could either disappear, or time travel back about 5 minutes ago. I quickly hand him the money, grabbing my change and fly out of the coffee shop, the cold, brisk morning air like a violent slap against my bare cheeks in contrast to the heat of the Starbucks. I inhale deeply, the air stinging my smoke-stained lungs slightly.

Traffic started to accumulate along the streets, the lines for the ruby lights to turn to emerald getting longer as rush hour came around, blinding red backlights lining the streets, backing up the entrances to the highway, people impatiently waiting to make it into New York. The mustard yellow and ketchup orange sign for Burger King was now towering above me, perched up on a freezing, worn metal pole. I turned to the right, skillfully avoiding a small pile of frozen slush, a few dark pebbles contrasting the light brown mess that is shoveled snow. As the fast food’s parking lot disappeared into a badly kept hedge, a small, brick building slowly poked out from behind it, piles of canvases, sketchbooks, crafts supplies and photography things lined the plate glass, wooden rimmed windows, the large, two-door entrance seeming too big for the small building. I wobbled across it’s small, empty parking lot, a few chimes sounding as I entered. A strong smell of glue, paper, and oil paints floated through the air, and I suddenly realized I had absolutely no fucking idea what I should get. I know nothing about art supplies, yet alone about Gerard’s art! What the fuck am I supposed to get? He said something about using comic books as inspirations sometimes…or maybe he was just referring to colors…or…or…or…
“Can I help you?” A young, pale, jet black haired girl asked me, appearing from behind a stack of A3 watercolor paper.
“Um…s-sure…” I stuttered, not really sure what to ask “the thing is…I don’t really know what I’m looking for…I don’t know much about art... it’s…for my…my friend” She smiles sympathetically, her full, pink lips twitching upwards as she fully appeared from behind the stack, placing her slim figure a couple feet from mine.
“Well…what kind of art does your friend do?”
“Well…something in more of a comic book, cartoon-ish style I think…but not cartoon, more like…I…” I lower my gaze to my scruffy converse, nearly knocking over cream colored display stand with Pansy’s case. “I don’t really know…” I finish, suddenly feeling like the world’s most pathetic idiot. I wanted to get him something really special, something he would like. I didn’t want to lose the little amount of friendship we had, even though it felt like we were already best friends, to me anyways. I wanted to show him how much he meant to me, or how much he could mean to me… I wanted to...to...well, maybe it wasn’t totally following my heart, since my heart was pleading me to catch his lips with my own and--never mind. But if I know one thing, it’s that I wanna show him that I really consider him a good friend…he’s…the only one I’ve got.
“Well, I might have something” the girl’s sweet, high voice brought me back down to earth, or rather to the art shop, and she signaled me to follow. I did so, dragging my worn shoes against the greenish-heather grey rough carpet, as we passed by shelves and shelves of sketching paper, watercolor paper, poster boards, construction paper, canvases, etc... until we were finally at the back. She pointed a thin, pinkish finger towards a small metal shelf containing several boxes of markers. “These are like special comic art markers, the color changes whenever you add a second layer, they’re really great for that sort of stuff…or, sharpies work well too…strongly pigmented watercolors…” I watched as she pointed to different shelves, cardboard boxes, royal blue metal pouches, markers, sharpies, watercolors, pencils, stacks of sketchbooks, graphing paper…I tried to follow best as I could, determined I’d get the best thing available. I sheepishly picked up a big box of the markers she had first showed me, my eyes glazing over the box, admiring all the different shades that could be created.


I turned the street corners, the sky darkening again as concrete colored clouds floated in from the horizon, settling above. I now had, in addition to my backpack and Pansy a rather large plastic bag filled with the special marker thingies, some good paper (well, at least so she’d said), and another set of markers. Finally, a small, narrow-ish street came into view, a street I recognized as my own, my family’s small, quaint house visible from here. I managed to make it all the way to the wooden steps until suddenly a prickly, roaring, and careless monster more commonly known as anxiety kicked in, my insides knotting together in some chain-bound, barbed-wire wrapped fool proof knot, as my throat seemed to close up, forcing me to lean against the weathered railing, feeling as if I would faint. Clinging onto the chipped wooden beams my throat seemed to open up a little, allowing the clean, crisp air to invade my lungs, my breathing becoming regular again. I managed to take a few deep breaths, as the tips of my bangs settled on my nose, stroking it gently. Setting Pansy down, I managed to make it to the front door. I rummaged through my cluttered pockets, my fingers finally grazing the cold, dented metal. I had barely cracked the front door that I found myself being choked by a pair or warm, frail, familiar arms, as I recognized my mother’s perfume.


“Frank! You’re back!” she squeals as she pulls back, as a few glass like tear drops slowly roll out of her tired and reddened hazel eyes. “Where were you?!? You shouldn’t of left! You--” She wraps her arms around me again, as her soft fleece sweater rubbing against my cheek,as I just close my eyes, trying my best to enjoy the first real hug I’ve gotten in a very long time. She drags me inside, her thin hands clasped around my arm, my legs trailing behind me. She disappears for a brief moment, and shortly after I notice Pansy resting against the wall and hear the door snap shut. “I was so worried!” she exclaims, her voice cracking as she tries to fluff my bangs. I swiftly pull away, and sink my hands back into the warmths of my hoodie.
“You have no idea how scared I was! Your father told me you’d come back, but I was still so worried about you!” I pull out of her grasp, losing the warmth of the tight embrace.
“He…He said I’d come back?" I ask as loud, confident footsteps approach, soon followed by his appearance, a cocky grin on his face.
“I knew you weren’t strong enough... Too much of a wuss” he states, advancing towards us.
“Honey, stop-” intervenes mom, as she steps in between us. “Please. Just…stop”. He doesn’t listen though, and far too soon his arrogant, obnoxious tainted voice fills the room, as if dipped in venom
“Not. Strong. Enough.” he frowns a little, and leans in towards me. “Pity” he snarls.
“Your mother's dead” I spit, deciding I've had enough and that I'm going up to my room before this spins into another fight. But right before I go up the stairs, I notice something... something I’ve never seen before: my father’s cold, piercing and apathetic eyes are slowly filling with tears, as shock spreads over his vulture like features, softening them. I turn away quickly, but manage to see a single tear stroll down his face as I disappear up the stairs.


---


I’m nearly running down the cold streets, watching dusk approach as my feet pound along the gum and tobacco splattered sidewalk, a plastic bag in one hand, and a small, crumpled piece of paper in the other. I’m stopping at every intersection, trying to figure out how to find the address I’m heading for, hoping with all my heart that I won’t make a fool out of myself. Because the tiny, shriveled piece of lined paper holds Gerard’s address. One I’ve spent all day researching, and double checking. My other hand holds the large, plastic art bag shop, in which I’ve carefully wrapped the presents, praying he’ll like them. My skeleton glovies make it a little harder to hold the bag, as the plastic keeps slipping against them, but I hold onto it tightly, determined not to let it fall.

Finally, I find the street I’ve been searching for, ending up in front of a medium sized park and a small soccer field. I continue down the opposite side of the street, counting down the street numbers as I go until I find a two-story white house, the siding slightly weathered, and the graphite grey roof sloping down over the small porch. I recognize the number as the one I jotted down, and trying my honest best to ignore the kick-you-in-the-crotch-spit-on-your-neck asshole razor-winged monster that’s working his way up my digestive system again, quietly skip up the front steps, and force myself to ring the doorbell.

I can hear it buzz from inside as I press my index finger to the little oval orange button, stepping back as I wait anxiously, debating whether or not I should try to make a run for it, or make myself stay. My mind anders off again, filling with tantalising thoughts of anguish. What if this isn’t the right house? What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if he’s figured out that I like him and doesn’t want anything to do with me? What if he’s mad at me about--The sound of a door creaking open snaps me out of my (unbelievably unpleasant) thoughts, and a tall (-er than me---which isn’t hard), lanky teenager opens the door, light brown hair straightened perfectly around his face, black and white rimmed glass resting on the tip of his nose.
“Um…hi?”
“Um…hey…is…is…is, um, Gerard here?” I ask, trying to peer inside. The kid nods before turning around.
“GEE! DOOR!” I jump slightly, a little startled and wait, fiddling anxiously with the hems of my sleeves. A light flicks on down the hall and soon an angelic, beautiful guy with an ivory complexion and-
“F-Frankie!” he shouts excitedly, before scurrying over to the door. The other kid suddenly erupts into a hysteric fit of giggles, sounding as if he just swallowed a weasel-fucking hiccupping unicorn on crack. I giggle uncomfortably as Gerard shoves the guy out of the door, a smile as wide as his face plastered all over his features. I smile back at him, and he leads me inside. I stand uncomfortably against the wall, watching the kid who answered the door gasping for air as he still continues to cackle like a hyena, until finally Gerard gently kicks him in the stomach.
“Sh-Shut u-u-up Mi-Mikey” he commands, before signaling me to follow him. I do so, padding along behind him until he kicks a wooden door open revealing a dark, barely lit room that looks as if a hurricane blasted through it while hysterical and rabid chipmunks were having an orgy. I bite down on my lip ring, tugging at it a little as he closes the door behind me.
“Is this your room?” I ask, looking up at the multitude of posters and drawings on the wall, the piles of clothes and junk on the floor. He nods simply, a few strands of his ebony black hair falling down over his adorable face, nudging the tip of his nose
“S-sorry, I-I-it’s a-a ma-mess” he says, slurring slightly and biting his bottom lip and shoving a bunch of sketches off his wooden desk and into a drawer. I step closer, noticing beautiful and talented sketches and a few paintings, each one more beautiful than the next. A replica of Iron Maiden’s Killers album artwork catches my eye, and I hesitantly pick it up, my mouth hanging open as I do so.
“Did-did you draw this?” I ask, my eyes studying the amazing attention to detail, and the precision of the brush strokes. He nods as his cheeks flush a shade of bright crimson, and he ducks behind his midnight black hair. He stumbles over to the bed, where I notice quite a couple of empty beer cans, shoving them off into the corner. The ceiling lamp reflects off the silver and gold aluminum containers, tricking me into paying attention to them. He stumbles slightly as he makes his way back over to me, and I can’t help but chuckle as I open my mouth.
“…Gerard?” I ask amused, as he looks up at me, expectantly “Are you drunk?”
“n-n-n-no” he says, before giggling a little. I raise my eyebrows, trying my best not to laugh as he sits down on his bed, and notices the bag I’m holding in my right hand. “w-w-what’s I-I-in th-the b-bag?” he asks curiously, following it with his eyes as I go and sit next to him. I gulp.
“well…um…" I begin, not really sure how to explain "lots of things happened and well…I…um…got you something” I manage, as coherently as possible. I hand him the white plastic bag and he pulls out the big, black and red package I tried to wrap earlier, and starts unwrapping it, shredding the licorice colored wrapping tp pieces revealing the different sets of markers, and the paper. He gasps as he examines them, before smiling up at me, tears welling up in his eyes.
“I-I-I’ve a-a-always w-w-wanted m-m-markers l-l-like th-these” he says, words rolling out of his mouth, as he gets up carefully and goes to set them on his paint-splattered desk, nearly toppling over. I chuckle
“You are so drunk!” I exclaim, amused.
“I-I-I’m n-n-not th-that d-drunk!” he argues, collapsing onto his unmade bed next to me. I watch as his hair settles around his beautiful face again, and swiftly look away when I realize I’m staring openly at him. He smiles up at me though, sitting up, almost rolling off the bed.
“Gerard, please you’re almost completely wasted”
“I-I-I-I’m n-n-not! J-j-j-just m-m-my a-a-actions…b-but m-m-my ma-mind I-I-isn’t!” he slurs, straightening himself. I start giggling wildly as I hear this, trying to figure out how the hell that’s supposed to make sense, before I notice him only a couple inches from me, his entrancing eyes glimmering before me. “F-frank…w-why d-did y-y-you ga-get m-m-me a-a pr-present?” he asks, as I recognize the smell of coffee, cigarettes, beer, papayas,and another sweet scent I can't quite place, which all manage to go surprisingly well together.
“I…wanted to…I wanted to get you something you’d like…” I admit, lowering my voice down to a whisper. “why? Did you not want me to?” I add, alarmed. He shakes his head.
“n-no…I-I-it’s j-j-just th-that n-n-nooned b-b-besides M-Mikey a-and m-my m-m-mom h-h-have e-e-ever ga-given m-me a-a-anything b-before” he says, tears welling up in his eyes. Without thinking, I pull him into a hug, only realizing what I’ve done when I feel him tense up in my arms. I’m about to pull away and seriously injure myself repeatedly when I feel his arms wrap around me too, as he mumbles a ‘th-thank ya-you’, placing a tiny kiss on my cheek. I freeze as he does so, prompting him to pull away, but we remain face to face as I stare into his mesmerizing artistic hazel eyes, as his gaze stays locked on mine. He’s the most beautiful human I’ve ever seen, beautiful, sparkling, entrancing golden-hazel eyes and it’s just too hard to pull away. It’s just impossible…it’s like were frozen in space. I've even forgotten about all his amazing artwork, I'm not thinking about grams, or any ther bad thoughts either. It's just the two of us. Suddenly, he seems to come closer, and closer, and closer until--
“EHEM” we both jump up to the sound of Mikey loudly clearing his throat in the doorway, a smug smirk on his face and three coffee cups at hand.


Please R&R! The more reviews I get the likelier I am to try and update sooner!
Oh, and a few people suggested I space out the paragraphs more, to make it easier to read, so, was it better like this? Or should I still splace them out more?
well,
like I said, the more reviews I get the likelier I am to try and update (like, maybe at a friend's house or something like that) while I won't have any internet :D
you guys are all really really awesome, thanks so much for your support so far!
--Be everything they never wanted you to be--MCRmy--
xx, a.