FicWad

"Get back here!"

Just keep running. Keep running...

"Faggot!"

Don't slow down. Keep running...

"I'm not done with you yet!"

The oxygen was no longer entering my lungs. My short legs were weakening as they carried me down the dirty streets of Jersey. I needed to find somewhere to hide. I needed to get help.

Up ahead, I saw it. The youth center. I was almost there. Just a little farther and I would be safe within it's dingy walls.

All at once I felt a weight on my back. I toppled to the ground, the weight never lifting. I heard a snicker behind me and new that he had gotten me. I tried to keep still, but I was shaking in fear. He saw this and it only made him more satisfied.

"Aw, little faggot scared, is he?" He pushed my head into the pavement of the sidewalk and I whimpered. He laughed again.

"You really shouldn't try to resist me, Frank. You know yourself that you're too weak... But maybe you need some reminding..." I felt the weight leave me as he stood up. I prepared for the impact and it came with a hard blow to the ribs with an Adidas-sneakered foot. I coughed and curled myself into a ball.

I was hauled off of the ground and slammed against the wall of the Center. I finally looked into the face of my attacker and saw nothing. He was expressionless, just like always. He knew no other way of life.

A fist connected with my jaw and my head whipped to the side. I would have fallen if it weren't for the firm grip he still had on my collar. I felt blood seep out of my mouth from my busted lip.

"You bleeding already, faggot? I thought you'd have a little more in you than that."

"P-please..." I moaned, giving one last ditch effort to save my sorry ass.

"What was that, Frank? You trying to say something?" I was shaken violently, my head flopping. I had no strength left to keep it upright.

"I-I said STOP!" I brought my knee up and jammed it between his legs. He keeled over and I shot towards the Center again, using all the strength I could muster.

"HEY-" His voice was cut off as I let the door to the safe building shut behind me. I sighed, leaning against the wall. I looked up, seeing the familiar surroundings. Safe again.

I wandered over to one of the couches in the corner. The main room was filled with furniture for relaxing and reading and such. There was a small gym, a canteen, and in the back was a small room used for 'art'. It had all this shit to be creative with. I was no good so I generally stayed away. I usually sat out in the open and wrote. Lyrics, journal entries...sometimes even homework. Anything to get my mind off of life.

There were a few others out here. One was working away on a calculator, obviously conquering her math lessons. Another was curled up in a comfy chair with a book.

I decided I would write in my journal. It was a sissy thing for a boy like me to do, being 16 and all... but there was something so comforting about believing that someone was there to listen to me. Even if it was a spiral notebook. I set to work on venting my problems.



I felt myself being shaken. I frowned, not wanting to wake up at the moment. Wait... I was asleep? My eyes shot open to see a blurry figure above me. My eyes quickly adjusted and I saw that it was a guy. He looked older than me, with shaggy black hair. It framed his face and swooped along is forehead. His skin was pale, and his eyes - they were completely indescribable.

I saw him smile.

"The Center's closing up for the night, kid," he stood up straight and walked away, over towards the art room. That's when I noticed his black clothes, splattered in paint. He must be the art supervisor.

I stood, finding my journal on the floor beside the couch. I scooped it up, telling myself I'd finish my entry later. I slung my book bag over my shoulder and was about to head for the door when I felt my feet guide me over in the other direction. To the art room.

I had only been in here once before. There were tables everywhere. It was slightly messy, but a good messy. One of those 'art messes' with paint all over everything and papers on the floor, art work left behind by kids plastered on the walls. It showed the room was used, at least. I glanced over at the wall clock and saw that it was 9:00 p.m. I had been asleep for a while! I looked over when I saw the guy emerge from a back supply room.

He looked at me for a second, then smiled like he had before. He screwed the cap onto more paint
bottles and scooped them up into his arms, walking back into that room without anything said. I decided to follow him, wanting to talk. I was drawn to him.

I leaned on the door frame and waited for him to notice I was there. He didn't turn around to look at me, so I figured he didn't know I was behind him.

"What's your name?" His voice suddenly pierced the silence and it startled me. I stood straight and looked to the floor.

"Frank," I said plainly, disliking the sound of my name. "What's yours?" I looked to the back of his head until he turned around.

"Gerard," he held out his hand and shook mine. Gerard. It was a name that suited him. He was different, and so was his name. I mean, my name suited me too. I was a lame loser, and Frank was a lame, loser name.

He went back to organizing his mess of art supplies when I spotted some canvas leaning against the far wall. It was turned away from me, so I couldn't see what was on it. I knew they didn't give the kids real canvases, so I got curious. I made my way over and gently pulled one back to look at it.

I was no art critic, but what I saw blew me away. There were swirls of paint that blended seamlessly into each other. It looked like anger. As if the artist ripped the anger from his body and threw it against the piece of stretched fabric. Deep, I know.

"Do you like it?" I jumped when I heard him right behind me. I turned.

"Uh yeah I do! Who... who did it?" I stumbled over my words. He was probably a foot away from me and there was a funny feeling in my gut.

"Me," he walked up beside me and grabbed another canvas from against the wall. He turned it around and my heart sank. Sadness emerged from the colors organized into each other, a wave of mourning filling me.

"Wow... You did these?" I shuffled from foot to foot. I was a little uncomfortable, really. He was important and special. I felt so inferior to someone of his creative ability and confidence.

"Yeah. I do a lot of painting. Kids seem to disappear around supper time from this place. So, I have time to work on my own stuff... Well, all kids except you," he put the painting down and turned to me, giving me that smile again. I returned it, though mine was more nervous.

"So... I best be going, I guess..." I turned quickly and headed for the door.

"O-okay... See you around, Frankie," I smiled to myself. Frankie. A little more interesting.

I made it back to the main room where I had fallen asleep and headed for the glass doors. I pushed them open and stepped out onto the street. The wind blew straight through my zip-up sweater, making me shiver. I folded my arms across my chest and prepared for my walk home.

"Frankie! Wait!" I turned when I heard Gerard's voice call out to me. He was running from the Center towards me. I stopped walking and waited. He came to a halt a few feet away, panting softly.

"Yeah?" I asked shyly.

"I was wondering... If you, you know, had a ride home..." He played with his cuticles.

"Uh, no. I'm just going to walk," I smiled and went to start home again when he grabbed my shoulder and turned me back around to face him.

"Let me walk you home." He looked worried. I frowned.

"No, it's alright. I walk home all the time from here! I don't want to bother you," I smiled and, again, went to head home.

"Frankie, this is New Jersey. You don't walk anywhere alone, especially at night. Let me walk you..." He paused, thinking for a moment. "I'll spend the whole night wondering if you made it home okay."

I got a light feeling in my chest. He sounded so much like he cared. I hesitated, wondering if I really wanted him to walk with me. I didn't know him very well. What if he was a bad person?

Why would a bad person work at a youth center?

To lure in young boys like me...?

"Sure!" I pushed aside my previous thoughts. I trusted Gerard. He grinned and turned back towards the center.

"I just need to lock up!" He shouted back and I leaned myself against the building to wait for him.

This is the first time I'd ever spent time with anyone in a while. He'd probably ask me questions. It was a natural thing to do. I wondered how much I should actually tell him. I didn't like speaking about my life. I didn't like anyone knowing anything about me because that is when the pity starts. Or, things become awkward between us and they distance themselves.

"Ready to go?" I was startled out of my thoughts when Gerard appeared beside me.

"Uh, yeah!" I nodded and we set off down the sidewalk, a small smile playing on my lips.

No. I couldn't lose this one. I wouldn't tell him anything.