FicWad

I can't tell you how many times I've tried to get clean. How many years it's taken me to even come to terms with my sickness in the first place. Now, it's like none of that even matters anymore. Why try to halt what's worked so well for me, all these years? I drink, I smoke, I shoot; and all of those modifications make me the man I am. I'm thin, I'm small, I usually don't complain about my day to those who couldn't care less. Being under the influence works better for me than one could guess. But on this night, this chilly night in Jersey where the stars are wrapped in smog and dogs are barking at the criminals down the street, I need to stay sober. 'Cause on this night, I've finally met a guy as pathetic as I am, and it'd be a damn shame if I saw him through bloodshot eyes.


"What do you say, wanna dance with me?" he asks, his grin so crooked and so smug that I literally want to rip it away with my bare hands.


"You must be joking. Out here?" I ask, coming off a bit too shy for my liking. First impressions are everything, and so far mine is that of a docile child.


"I don't joke... least not about dancing with a pretty boy like you." he counters. I scoff and roll my eyes, though the action has probably gone by unnoticed, because the only light we have is growing dimmer by the moment. The sun's going down, and the closest streetlamp is three blocks away.


"Listen, go find another fairy for the night, I'm heading home." I nearly shout. I can't believe I even agreed to meet him in the first place, out here of all places. There I was, minding my own business, only a sip of scotch closer to paradise, when he grabbed my hand firmly and asked if we could leave the bar together. Great thinking, I scold harshly. Now someone's probably taken your drink away.


"Or you could head back to my place..." his crooked smile shifts a bit, wavers slightly at the prospect of being rejected. I don't know what made me do it, I really fucking don't. I can't even blame it on the alcohol, tonight.


"Lead the way."


About fifteen minutes later, we're standing in front of some old building with very little-to-no curb appeal, compartmentalized into small-looking rooms. "Here's the place." he says cheerfully. I learn on the drive over here that we're both twenty-somethings, and his name is Frank, which seems terribly boring for a kid with a personality like this going for him. I decide to forget about his name, though. I just want to enjoy myself, and I doubt he wants anything different.


Before too long we're on the second to highest floor, and already my pants are growing tight.


"Hey, Gerard? You ever done this before?" Frank asks slyly, slowly locking his fingers with mine as the lift dings and allows us to leave.


"Stand in an elevator with a stranger? Every fucking day." I retort. He just looks at me for a second before shaking his head, the grin from several minutes before still plastered on his face.


We walk out, and I observe my surroundings. Shitty carpet, crooked frames on the wall. As we move, Frank draws closer, and closer, until he's all but on me. His arm finds my waist, and his hand my hip. I should really start to feel uneasy, really find his advances repulsive or at least cheesy, but I don't. I just want to fall asleep beside of someone for once in my life, and if that means taking their ass first, so be it.


"Don't expect to be blown away." he whispers self-consciously before unlocking his door and pushing me into the room. Light floods in as he hits the switch, and really it's just a simple loft; queen-sized bed in the middle, kitchen on one side and bathroom on the other. The living room kind of finds its way into the bedroom, or perhaps it's the other way around. Either way, it's cozy. Comfortable enough to pretend like it's my place for the night, at least. Then I take a look at the man standing awkwardly behind me. Not very tall. About as thin as I am, which is really saying something, considering the height difference. He dresses so differently, though. The guy's wearing a black suit, like that's going to absolve him of his cockiness or something. Underneath, I spot a red, V-neck sweater, which actually makes sense considering the temperature outside. Oh, and I forgot to mention the hat, like he's in the '50s. Whatever, out of the whole ensemble, the hat is probably my favorite part. It gives him a bit of character, I admit to myself.


"Well, you gonna look at me all night, or?" Frank asks, placing his hand on my hip again. I could just go for it, I could make everything easier by asking if he has any gin too, but I don't. I just stand there like a frightened animal and wait for him to make the next move.


Frank sighs heavily, and I can almost make out what he's mumbling to himself, but not quite. Then he steps closer and places his other hand on the side of my neck, pulling me down just a little before pressing his lips to mine. It's comforting, I'll give him that. I haven't been kissed like this in over a year. In no time at all, he actually tries kissing harder, deeper, making things interesting with a slip of tongue. To my dismay I realize I'm just not into it. He's great looking, and looks like he could really treat a guy right, but I can't let myself do this, and I have no fucking clue as to why.


"What's the problem, hm?" Frank asks, pushing into me harder as a last-ditch effort. I just place my hands on his shoulders and separate us from one another, before grazing the room with my eyes.


"You've got a really nice place. And nice clothes. Your attitude could improve but, that's beside the point." I start out with, realizing straight after that I sound like the most insensitive prick ever. "But, I've got a lot of problems." I say forwardly, perhaps comparing my life too closely to one of those cheesy romantic flicks.


"Everybody's got problems, Gerard. It's how we choose to deal with those problems that generally gives us even more of them." Frank says wisely, backing off like I had wanted. He walks over to his dresser and pulls a cigarette from its box. "You got a light?" he asks, as if distracting me from our sudden emotional exchange will put me in the mood again. I nod though, and toss him my lighter after finding it in my back pocket.


"So, let me get this straight. I've manipulated you, how many times tonight? Twice? Do you really think, now that you're up here and we're getting comfortable, that I won't be able to do it again?" Frank asks directly, his cancer stick hanging loosely from the side of his lip. I just shake my head and grab the cigarette from him, taking a puff to rid myself of worry.


"I don't really know what I think. All I know is, you're an ass." I say, pointing the cigarette right at him before passing it over. Frank's eyebrows shoot way up, and he lets out a squeak of a laugh.


"You think I'm the ass? Just tell me, how long have you lived alone, Gerard?"


"I've lived alone since I was sixteen years old." I say, no trace of shame evident. Frank just smiles and puts his cig out on the dresser, then steps closer until we're face to face.


"Well, now we both know why."


The rest of the night is a whirlwind of perspiration and expletives. I curse him out in between every angry kiss and desperate touch. He thrives on this, I can tell. Frank gets off on conflict, it's like the kid's aphrodisiac or something. It's like every time I call him a bastard, he becomes more eager to please, more interested in what's going on between us. Then I'm inside of him, and it's all he can do not to whine and beg, like I'm punishing him or something. At one point I ask if he wants me to stop, but he just shakes his head and laughs, saying something senseless about how much he likes it this way. Ten minutes later, I'm cumming on his face, and there's not an apology in the world that can correct a move like that, unless of course you're this guy Frank, and you just so happen to enjoy it. I pump him until there's nothing left, not even a human under my hand. He's reduced to ash as he lets go and sinks further into the sheets, breathing heavily and whispering something about how I should try not to wrinkle his suit jacket too badly. I crash beside of him, just heave with everything I have until I'm nothing but ash as well.


That night, everything's perfect, or at least as close to perfect as it could possibly get. When I close my eyes, I picture a different world for a while, one that consists of happiness and diminished loneliness for the both of us. I stop drinking, and we keep each other warm at night. Then sleep takes over and all is forgotten.


"We should do this again sometime, don't you think?" Frank mentions the next morning after walking out of the shower with a towel hanging loosely from his tattooed hips. I don't see how I didn't notice the ink last night, must have been the sobriety or something.


"We probably should, you're right." I say calmly, grabbing a handful of his soaked hair before bringing him in for a kiss. But when I let go, something isn't right. I'm not drunk enough to let this happen again. I can actually see myself bringing Frank home to my parents, and that image scares the shit out of me. I have to leave, I've gotta get out of here before I start picturing a white picket fence next.


"What the hell?" Frank calls after me as I forget the coffee I was making and run out of the door.


"Everybody's got problems, Gerard!" Frank shouts from his nearly top-story window at the ant down below. I feel as small as I must look from that altitude; I feel lower than low. I feel like there's a bottle and a gun calling my name somewhere, and it won't take too much searching to find the two and wash the thoughts from loft-boy out of my head for good.