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Perquisite. Chapter 3. Gerard's POV.
I stood outside the sea green door with the chipping paint and brass handle that was the only thing between me and the junkie. Frank. Frank the junkie. Hopefully he was better. I summoned up some courage and shoved the key into the lock. I had just come from the school, only able to report that he was going through withdrawals, and that his body seemed to overload and shut down a lot. Hollis wasn't there today. I pushed the door open, it stuck a little and entered the dark musty room. Stale air flooded into my nostrils, mixing with the smell of sweat and vomit, Frank's sweat and vomit I sound found out after I nearly stepped in a pool next to his bed. It didn't make it completely off the bed, and he didn't seem to care.
I put my hand to his hot forehead. It felt sticky. He murmured and then his eyes flew open, making me gasp.
"I'm... I'm sorry..." I said backing up. I was the only thing keeping him alive, so I didn't really know why I had to apologize. After all I would have to clean up the puke. He inched away from me, pushing the filthy sheets towards me, and then curled into a ball. "Get. The. Fuck. Out." He said.
"Get the hell up." I retorted and in a couple long strides reached the window and threw open the curtains, turning the rays of yellow to full-on sunshine.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!" he shouted and pulled the sheets over his head with a shaky arm. At least it seemed that last night was a distant memory to him, or filed away where he kept his dreams, if junkies could dream about anything worth saving.
"Hungry?" I asked and went into the kitchen to get the cans of SPAM I had left in the cupboard.
"For a fucking hit!" He shouted.
"You know, SPAM isn't so bad."
"Heroin isn't so bad."
"You need a shower." I said and cut the SPAM into slices on the counter.
"You need to give me a hit. And not be such a prick."
I heard him choke on some throw up. "If you're going to vomit, get the garbage can." I abandoned the SPAM for a second and returned to the side of the bed. "Come on." I said and grabbed his arm. He pulled it away from me and close to his body.
"I dun care about a shower." He said and turned over. I reached around his waist like I was going to hug him from behind. His amazingly frail body was easy to pick up and I was able to maneuver him into the shower without much of a problem.
The bathroom was done completely in a yellow theme, much the color of Frank's vomit. Yellow stains matched the yellow tiles. One inset light was above the small square shower stall. I set him down on the floor. His eyes were closed and he didn't move, like he was dead. No need to get hopeful Gerard, he also looks like he's sleeping. I smiled. Another joke.
I turned the rusty knob and the orangey water rained down on him. "Ah fuck...." I said a redirected the stream of water to run down the wall and off his face until it went clear, and at a warm temperature. Steam soon filled the room and fogged up the mirror.
"Frank you gotta stand up." I said and pulled him up until he was erect and let go. He stayed there for a second, and then slowly fell against the wall. I watched him for a second. He wouldn't drown. His clothes would have to dry later. I left him there and went back to the kitchen.
A couple minutes passed where I heard nothing but the crackling of the SPAM's fat against the pan. Then I heard the door open with a squeak. "Frank." I said in a stern voice, assuming he was trying to escape. "Fuck!" I exclaimed as I caught a full view of Frank's naked, wet body.
It glistened in the sun. "Oh fuck..." My body reacted every way I knew it shouldn't. Fuck, these pants are too tight. I stretched out the collar of black t shirt. "Fr-Fr-Frank what are you doing?" I stuttered and tried to look away. He didn't seem to realize where he was and if he did, he didn't care.
"Fucking hungry." Was all he said and he pushed the hair out of his face. Steam swirling off his body is wispy trails and refracted some of the sunlight. I coughed.
"Shower over so soon?" I asked in a meek voice.
It was a very inappropriate, very large, very useless erection. He didn't reply and sat down at the table. It was very, very hot in there. I turned around quickly, a bit farther away from the stove than I was before, and plopped the SPAM on the ceramic plate. I placed it in front of him and sat down adjacent to him awkwardly. He picked up a piece with both hands and slowly brought it to his mouth to eat. Slowly. He licked the salt of his lips. I caught myself staring. "I'm going to-go-other-leave you-alone-room..."I couldn't really get a sentence out but I don't think even if I did he would acknowledge it, much less understand it.
In the solitary of the other room, out of his view, I paced back and forth, running a sweaty palm through my hair. "Oh man, fuck!" I said as quietly as I could. Shower. I could take a shower. Then he would never know. I almost checked in on him, but I realized that couldn't help my situation, so bypassed him and went back into the bathroom where most of the steam had cleared. I placed my hands on either side of the sink and stared into the mirror for a second, letting my shoulders clench around my neck.
I slowed my breathing, trying to control it like I couldn't control anything else. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on the piece of scum Frank really was, junkie scum. Already working. Losing wood was almost as easy as getting it. Well, with Frank around at least. Was he even legal? He lean body looked so young and supple, and ...shit.
Frustrated I splashed some cold water on my face. But that wasn't the place where I'm having the problem. I looked up into the mirror again. I saw Frank shuffle back into the bathroom and into the shower. He turned the water on himself this time. I mumbled a poor excuse for an apology and closed the door behind me.
I waited for him, for something. I guess I was just dreading to go back to the apartment that I couldn't pay the rent for, the apartment which was like my tomb.
Income was nonexistent now, well as it always had been. Here, with him, with this project, I didn't dwell on things like that. He gave me a reason to ...keep going. I wasn't alone when I was with him.
He came back out about ten minutes later, this time looking more level headed, and most definitely fully clothed. His clothes were still shit and there were all types of stains on them. Could I ask the group for more money for his clothes? No, that was unnecessary. I could give him my clothes, if he would even fit. Needed to feed him more; needed to take better care of him. I didn't need to be reminded what a transition he was going through. He would need me more now than ever.
He was back in the bed, which I had taken the Vomit Sheets off of.
A half an hour must have passed. "Why are you doing this to me?" he asked in a hoarse voice.
"So you can get better." I responded without hesitation. I crossed my arms.
"There's nothing wrong with me."
"Really?" I scoffed. "Look at yourself." I felt nothing but disgust for him. I had been justifiably aroused, flesh and blood aren't what is bad about the junkies, it's their minds. And God knows his mind was as much a junkie's head as it could be.
"Nothing was wrong with me before." He said stubbornly. I shook my head angrily but refused to engage in the argument that would end like it always did. I thought about a lot of shit before asking my question. I knew my answer, but what was his?
"Why did you do it?"
"Why do I do it?" He clarified. "It makes me somebody, y'know? Makes me stand out from just a kid, makes me special. Happiness is a warm syringe, yes it is." I felt the anger rise in me.
"I think you've got it all wrong." I said, trying to keep a lid on it. He's just a kid. I repeated to myself. Just a kid. I wasn't much older, I couldn't be that much older, but he had years to live, and that was the difference.
"Yeah? You would, you fucking adult." He spat and retreated back into his shell.
"Is that supposed to be a fucking insult? The fact I'm more responsible than you? The fact that I don't have a chemical dependency?" I stood up quickly, knocking the chair over.
"No the fact that you don't understand what the fuck I've been through!" he sat up and glared at me. "You think I'm a piece of shit? Well so did everyone else. And they still do. And they're just another brick in the wall, another prick in my fucking arm." Angry tears ran down his face. "Some guy said "...that what is moral is what you feel good after and what is immoral is what you feel badly about after." And I never, ever felt fucking bad after shooting up. Never. I deserved it. And I loved it!"
I almost hit him, I almost killed him. "You're so fucking concerned with now and what, but you don't give a shit why and what happens next! Jesus Frank, wake up from your fairy dusted addiction!" I yelled, stormed outside, and slammed the door behind me. It was his own deception that was misleading him, but it was fueled by every person who never decided to help, except me. He didn't see it. Blinded by a junkie's love. I leaned against it exhausted from the yelling. He had it all wrong, and all I wanted was him to be all right.