FicWad

HEY!!! Oh God, it's been so long! But, I'm finally back to writing, and I'm really excited to be; I've really missed this! How have you guys been?!?
Oh, and sorry about the shitty chapter name, it comes from a Simpsons episode...but it's honestly the best I could come up with, even though it has nothing to do with the chapter. Until a few days back this chapter was entitled 'what will soon be a chapter'...yeah.
I have to say, CosmicZombie actually really helped with me wanting to write again. Reading (and re-reading) her stories helped me remember why I loved writing so much. Things are...well...not the best for me at the moment, and what she writes always cheers me up. So yeah...a huge giant thanks to her!
Anyways, I'm really happy to have a new chapter to post! It's been a while (okay, a really long time), and I don't really know if my writing has changed at all, it might be absolutely horrible...I'm not really sure (if it is, please, please let me know!).
Well...um...I hope you remember what happened in the last chapter, otherwise a good part of this won't make any sense...XD


FRANK’S POV

I watched as the dark, plastic tip of an old pair of vans I happened to be wearing dipped into a fresh pile of shimmering, alabaster ice as the sun climbed higher into the pale sky, a freezing breeze nudging the tip of my button nose every so often. I giggled. I slipped my other foot into the pile of snow that was, for once, clean. I giggled again. I stepped out of it, examining the wide slots my feet had made, before jumping in fully, sinking down to my knees into what was much like a giant ice cube. I chuckled, and kicked around, watching fist sized lumps of snow fly about until they fully covered the neighbor’s glinting lawn. I smirked proudly. No, I’m not drunk. And no, I’m not high. Well…I mean, on drugs or anything… You see, after downing what was possibly my ninth cup of coffee, the caffeine I had been taking in started to have affect, and well…I’m jittery and cheery and I feel as if I have too much energy for my short 5’4 frame. So…if I randomly decide to chase a stranger down the street, you’ll have been warned. I chuckled again as I suddenly thought of something…something I would never dare to do if I didn’t feel as if someone had attached springs to my muddy shoes. Slowly, unsurely, and as steadily as I could, I made my way across the icy street and crept up a driveway I had sworn to myself I’d never even walk by intentionally. Making sure I could get away swiftly if I had to, I continued to trudge silently up that cranky old lady’s gravel path, the one who had snapped at me last night. Normally, I never would’ve done anything like this…but my heart felt so jittery I was genuinely worried it would burst out of my chest, exploding into a thousand pieces and divulging my deepest secrets. And the only way I could find to calm it down a little was to do something painfully stupid, yet pretty damn funny. Crouching right below her living room window, I allowed my hazel eyes to linger right above her window sill, staring through her stained ivory lace curtains. Smirking again to myself, I cupped my hands under a fairly large pile of snow, and heaved it up glancing around me one last time. Backing up a few steps, I patted it down a little, before raising it a little and preparing a beautiful throw.
“TAKE THAT OLD BITCH!” I yelled out, aiming it right in the center of the previously washed glass, my voice hitching in my throat as I shivered slightly from the unceasing amounts of caffeine I had consumed. Assuming I had a few seconds before she’d recognize me, I allowed myself to collapse down into the freezing extensity of soft, glimmering ice chips, as uncomfortable hiccups mixed with the uncontrollable giggles that were buzzing through me, nearly shoving each other out of my chapped lips, mixing in with the little air around me.

I’m about to get up, my spine felling just about as frozen as it can before it shatters, that a large, clammy foot covered in an old fuzzy brown boot steps forcefully onto one of my hands. I yelp out in pain, suddenly starting to worry about getting beaten up or something, before I realize no jock willing to punch me repeatedly would be wearing what looked like my grandpa’s old hunting boots. Dreading what I know I’ll be seeing any moment, I lift up my reddened hazel orbs and allow them to settle on the old woman’s face. She’s standing right above me. Fuming, yet smirking evilly. Her bushy salt and pepper eyebrows are knitted together, as if a giant caterpillar had somehow wound up across her face and was unwilling to move.
“Get. Up.” She snarled, little droplets of saliva spraying all over the place, causing me to cringe. Reluctantly, I do so, trying my best to muster up some nerve before her, but I’m unnaturally shaky for reasons mentioned earlier. I stare at her defiantly, or at least, try to. “What on earth do you think you’re doing, kid?” Her piercing emerald green eyes are drilling into mine, as if trying to see right through me. Upon trying to picture that in my head, another fit of giggles shoves its way up my throat.
“Resisting the urge to laugh?” I answer too quickly, as I suddenly regret my words. BANG. A dull pain rings out through my throbbing head, as I begin to fall backwards, shapes blurring around me. Finally, the soft snow nestles around me and I blink my eyes a few times, watching the very ugly face focus again. Yet I’m still fighting back the laughter ringing through me.
“I don’t care if you’re girlfriend broke up with you. But you’ll pay for how you act. I expect my entire driveway to be shoveled by 9 am this morning, or I’m taking this to the cops.” She sneers each word as if she was forcing poison down my throat, her leathery features wrinkling horribly around on her pale face. Slowly, extremely slowly, I rise up on my feet, as my heart gives another caffeine-produced jolt, tiny butterflies fluttering around my insides poking me with sharp, blood covered needles.
“Oh, don’t worry.” I say, a large grin playing across my face. “My girlfriend didn’t break up with me. I prefer getting some from other guys.” I retort brightly, watching a look of pure horror dawn on her face before I prance away happily, skipping giddily down the street while singing extremely inappropriate remakes of a few well known Christmas carols.



GERARD’S POV

“M-Mikey, na-no.” I said as sternly as I could, resisting the extremely tempting thought of punching my brother.
“Why not?” He asked in the voice he only used to whine about pop tarts. He turned around, scavenging throughout the cluttered kitchen cupboards, swearing at every item that fell onto the cold linoleum floor.
“F-F-Forget i-it” I repeated, interrupting a silent argument I was having with our prehistorically coffee maker. It was an off white, bulky, imposing piece of machinery that seemed to come straight out of the eighties, not to mention it was literally abused every day. How it still worked was beyond me.
“But it’s a good idea” my brother’s temporarily whiny voice floated over to me, as I heard what sounded like the fifth cereal box pilling onto the floor. I turned around as Mikey swore, kicking it out of the way and mentioning something about not wanting to have to clean that up. I rolled my reddened, sleep deprived eyes.
“I-It’s a-a-a sh-shit ah-idea.” It is. It really is.
“No it’s not! Just listen to me. If I tell him you were asking me to leave, not him--”
“M-Mikey N-N-NO.” I interrupted loudly, my eyes gazing over the assorted pile of Rice Krispies, Corn Flakes, and Frosties that now lay strewn across the cold kitchen floor. “A-a-nd ya-you b-b-better cl-clean tha-tha-that uh-up.” I added as an afterthought. I really didn’t want to have to spend the afternoon with a can of Lysol and paper towels. Finally, after a few violent punches, the stubborn coffee machine started spluttering out the first few drops of coffee, as I took in its warm, soothing aroma.
“You’re going to have to see him today anyways.” Mikey said matter-of-factly. I dropped the cup I was holding, watching sharp bits of shattered ceramic settle on the cool flooring. I felt as if I had been turned into a punching ball, dull, hollow sounds ringing in my ears. I had to see him today. How I had managed not to think of that overnight, I’d never know, and the fact that my younger brother had had to remind me of that was even worse.
“W-w-what a-am I-I-I ga-going t-t-to s-say t-to h-h-him?” I stuttered out, as I stared as the shards of the broken cup which were glistening slightly in the kitchen’s light.
“You don’t have to say anything to him! That’s why it’s such a good idea, my plan.” He said brightly, as he pushed his bulky glasses back up on his pale nose.
“M-Mikey n-n-no.”
“Why not?”
“B-because…I-I-it…I-I-it w-will--” I trailed off, staring at the tips of my fuzzy pink unicorn socks. Well, Mikey’s actually, but I had borrowed them ages ago and they were so comfortable I had traded a Misfits CD for them.
“It will what?” I snapped back to reality. I could feel him edging closer to me, his calloused hand rested affectionately on my shoulder. I shuddered slightly at the sudden contact, drawing in a shaky breath before opening my mouth, keeping my gaze locked on the fluffy white unicorns on the bubblegum pink socks.
“I-it w-w-would sh-show h-him I-I c-c-cared.” I closed my eyes, waiting for my brother to lecture me about my stupidity, bracing myself for his rejection. I waited...waited…waited…but it didn’t come.
“But…you do care. Why can’t he see that?” His voice had softened, and he was back to the Mikey I’d hold by my side when he had nightmares, the shy, sweet kid I loved a lot, despite how many times he got on my nerves. My head hung limp as I sighed. He didn’t seem to understand.
“M-Mikey, I-I-it w-w-would sh-show h-him…” I took another deep breath, coughing a little as I did so. “…w-w-would sh-sho h-h-him h-how w-weak I-I-I a-am.” I admitted, feeling my brother’s gentle grip tighten on my shoulder.


“You’re an idiot.” I looked up, confused.
“w-w-what?”
“You’re quite an asshole, you know that?” I stared up in shock, my wide eyes goggling up at him.
“W-w-whoompsht?” I stuttered out incoherently, watching as Mikey’s hand left my shoulder.
“You’re always bitching about the fact you don’t have a goddamn life, but when someone offers you something you’ve been wanting you’re whole fucking life you’re going to push him away just because you don’t want him to see how weak you are.” My mouth opened and closed repeatedly as I searched for something to say, unsuccessfully. Mikey was wailing his hands around angrily, his eyes dangerously small, and kicking cereal crumbs with his sock clad feet, a toe poking out of the hole on his right sock.
“You know what Gerard? Don’t do anything. Just sit here and fucking bitch about it, but next time you come crying to me because you’re life’s just so pathetic, I won’t be listening. I told you what to goddamn fucking do. Alright? If you don’t do anything, you’ll hate yourself and Frank forever just because I fucked up, and then you’ll be avoiding school and asking me where I hid the fucking alcohol. But I’ve had it. If you want to stay home and avoid everything, FINE! And if you wanna get shitfaced, there’s tequila hidden in my socks drawer! Enjoy yourself!” His hazel eyes were drilling holes into my skull, and I, once again, found myself feeling like the younger one. Fluffing his hair, he turned around and stomped out of the gloomy kitchen. Something deep inside my chest started to prickle, the sting growing bigger and bigger as the guilty feeling took over me; pride.


“M-M-Mikey! Wh-wh-where th-the f-f-fuck a-are ya-you ga-ga-going?”
“I’m going to do the thing you’re too frigging STUBBORN to do!”
“F-F-FUCKER.” I yell and he spins around, eyebrows raised. Without thinking I grab a nearby spatula and throw it at him, watching the metal tip crash into his black, white-rimmed glasses, following them to the ground. A thin tinkling sound fills the air around us, and I look down as the fall onto the floor, snapping in half. All the blood drains from his face as he picks them up, holding up what was, just moments ago, his ‘nice’ pair. Mimicking an annoyed toddler, I stubbornly place both hands at my waist, and cock my head to the side, daring him to say something. He doesn’t. Instead, he just takes a few steps forward before viciously kicking one of the kitchen chairs in my direction. I yelp out as it lands on my arm, and fail to kick it away. I only manage to untangle myself from the chair’s insistent wooden legs just in time to hear the front door slam.




FRANK’S POV

Light. Spotlight. Horrible disgusting source of heat. Blinding, threatening, and so fucking uncomfortable.

I stared annoyed at the bright, glistening ball of irritation nicknamed the sun, my good mood from earlier having vanished completely, leaving me shaky, angry, and as emotional as a preteen girl during her first period. The temporary euphoric and giddy effect of caffeine has drained completely out of my body, leaving only a jittery, anxious, and jumpy little monster. I swear to god, anybody pisses me off today and they’re in for it. I trudge along the gloomy hallways bustling with students as I try to ignore the fuzzy, prickly, and fussy beast in my chest as his hairy arms reach up, clawing at my dry throat. My feet are freezing, and my vans are leaving swishy-water-and-other-shit footprints behind me, which I will probably slip on later when I have to head back to my homeroom class. Which is in exactly three minutes if I trust my Ipod’s clock. I’m trying desperately to remember what my locker number is as I rake my calloused hands through my greasy bangs, accidentally scratching my reddened nose. Number two hundred thirty five, fuck face.. Finally, I locate it, rusting slightly on the sides with a large footprint in the middle, but I don’t want to figure out how it got there. I open it clumsily, and stare plainly at the few notebooks in there, and what looks like the guitar pick I was looking for the other day. I blink. Suddenly, a heavy shadow casts itself over me, and I look up to see a big, tan and hairy arm resting right beside me. My shitty mood plummets even lower. Gulping, I raise my eyes to a smug-faced jerk, with a light stubble and green slits for eyes.
“S’up fucker?” The words are ushered in a satisfied manner, laced with the revolting smell of excessive amounts of cologne. I mumble something even I don’t understand.
“What? I didn’t catch that...” A familiar grin spreads across him.
“No shit. I said fuck off, Anthony.” I say, dragging out his name as I try and find a way to get out of this.
“What’s wrong? None up the ass today?” His grin widens, displaying his pearly, splotch-free teeth which must cost a fortune to whiten, as he smokes more than a pack a day.
“…fuck off. I’m not in the mood.” I grumble, fishing out my ink splattered English notebook.
“I wasn’t offering a sexual favor.” his pale green eyes narrow “I was just going to ask you who you scored last.” If I only had a knife…If I only had a-- “Is it that new kid? What’s his name again? G-Ge-Ge-Gerald?”
“Gerard.” I answer back through gritted teeth, trying to open my bag with one hand.
“Hmm…bet it sounded different as you screamed his name out.” He’s now smirking broadly, tapping his perfectly groomed nails against the metal lockers.
“Keep him out of this.” I grumble ill-temperedly, grunting as a pen falls onto the mud splattered linoleum.
“You seem very protective” he mocks as all I can see is his wide, arrogant grin and the shadow his muscular arm is casting over my locker.
“I SAID FUCK OFF ANTHONY!” And then it’s over. I feel a sharp fist collide with my nose, and, loosing grip of the afore-mentioned English notebook I get dragged into an empty classroom. I think I’m blinking, but I’m not sure. Flashes of bright lights are all around me, until someone slaps the back of my head. Too. Many. Punches. In one. Day. My eyes focus and I realize that I’m not in a classroom, but in an old, dust sprinkled janitor closet.

And looming over me is Anthony’s shadow.

“Shut the fuck up, will you?” he barks, a thin line of drool dripping down his stubbly chin. “The last thing I need is another suspension.” I’m dying to scoff, but I stay silent, fear creeping over me as I remember the last time I’d been in this closet. It had ended in a blood soaked shirt--my own, and a temporary expulsion--Anthony’s. I nod, gulp, and hide behind my greasy, droopy bangs.
“Good.” he smirks proudly, and throws a sweat covered gym towel from his bag. “Clean yourself up.” He pats my shoulder roughly, and then slides out of the caramel brown door right as the bell rings, mimicking a dying crow calling out over a burned, abandoned village.



“Um…Frank? You okay?” someone calls out behind me as I stumble into the deserted hallway. I spin around confused, seeing a nerdy looking guy with lopsided taped up black glasses hanging off the tip of his nose, strands of honey colored hair gelled in place across his temples.
“Mikey?” he nods.
“Um…it’s Frank, right?” he asks unsure, as he eyes me skeptically. I must still have some blood on my shirt. I nod, smiling awkwardly. He smiles back a little, pushing his broken glasses back up his nose, before his expression darkens.
“Um…what happened to your glasses?” I ask, staring uncomfortably at the tip of my worn shoes. An awkward moment lingers through the air as he flattens his straightened hair across his forehead, before his hazel eyes meet mine again. Eyes which are alarmingly similar to someone else’s.
“I had a fight with Gerard.” I nibble slightly on my chapped lip; did he change his ringtone to another MSI song again? “Look dude, I need to talk to you.” I can feel my eyes cloud with concern despite me, and hastily grab his hand, pulling him into the dusty closet I just emerged from. I slam the door shut, and he jumps up as a can of Windex spills into the floor.
“Fuck, great day for spilling things, huh?” he asks, bobbing his head repeatedly. I stare at him confused.
“…huh?” I ask absent-mindedly, looking at an old rusty mop resting in the corner, cobwebs dangling off of it.
“Never mind. Um…the thing is…that the thing I…Gerard he…”
“He…?” I ask, already feeling like it’s a sentence I don’t want to hear.
“When he told you to get out of his room…he didn’t mean it.” My eyes travel back to Mikey, and, without really realizing it I scoff. Of course he didn’t. Mikey’s eyes narrow, and I jump back as I notice a resemblance to Anthony.
“You’re both really stubborn, you know that?” he says. I half-nod, blushing. My gaze returns to my scruffy black vans.
“What’s your point?” I ask, trying to count the dust bunnies on the plastic shelf behind him.
“He meant me. He was talking to me…not you.” he sighs, and his expressions softens. I stare at him dumbstruck for a few seconds, until he waves his thin, slender fingers in my face.
“Frank?…Frank? Hey man, you still here?!” He snaps his fingers, blurry shapes in front of my pale, reddened face.
I jolt and, as his words sink in, my lips form a perfect ‘O’. The next thing I know is that I’m blushing the color of a horny beetroot.



**


I exit the now starting-to-be-familiar duckling yellow office sighing, dragging my feet along the floor, happy I won’t be seeing the Easter color for another few days. I close the door behind me, trying not to listen to John’s voice more than I have too as he says something similar to a ‘see you soon’, and start my way towards the receptionist’s large desk, as I try to block out the back of her large head.
“Um…excuse me? Do you know how to get bubblegum out of hair?” An overly sweet voice floats over to me, and, horror-struck I lift my head up, a greasy strand of licorice hair brushing against the tip of my button nose. She’s trying to smile innocently, her large, almost blue teeth reflecting the overhead lamps, as her creepy, magenta and freakishly long nails tug insistently at a large pink wad of gum that’s tangled in her dyed hair. I shriek, and, realizing the embarrassing high pitch sound my throat just made I excuse myself quickly, mumbling something about peanut butter.
“Ewww…I’m not putting peanut butter in my hair!” She squeals, cringing. I roll my eyes and mutter.
“Fine, then walk around like that.” She gawks at me, fake eyelashes temporarily glued to her plucked eyebrows, and I hear a snort behind me. My heart stops in my chest as I spin around, coming almost face to face with an ivory faced angel, who’s hiding his mesmerizing hazel eyes behind a mop of ebony black hair, which only makes him look sexier.
“Gerard!” I gasp, surprised at how happy I sound to see him. I drop my head again, my face returning to its earlier sunburned pepper color.
“F-Frank…” he mumbles, playing with the hems of his puffy Iron Maiden hoodie, his slender fingers plucking at the loose threads. My heart beats accelerate again, and I can’t help but remember the first time I saw him. A shy, silent, and unbelievably hot image of him invades my mind, creating an invisible barrier with the present moment. Finally, after going over my previous conversation with Mikey, my arguments with myself, and remembering an elder’s advice, I take a deep breath, and attempt a shy smile. Failing, I bring a sweaty hand to my face, and blink a few times. He just stares at me expectantly.
“I…um…need to talk to you.” Finally, the words are out and the big, threatening monster that’s been resting in my chest all day wakes up, his fuzzy paws stretching across my lungs, reaching upwards to strangle me. That is, until I see the hazel eyes I’ve been looking at twinkle, and a half-smile form on Gerard’s face.



I'm really happy to have a new chapter to post! It's been a while (okay, a really long time), and I don't really know if my writing has changed at all, it might be absolutely horrible...I'm not really sure (if it is, please, please let me know!). I worked really hard on this chapter, so it would really mean alot if you could ...R&R? Pwease?

I really hope this was a decent update!
xx, a.