FicWad

Next installment c: R&R?

It was approximately 6am when Gerard returned through the door quietly, and sat down in the corner of the room, with his drawings. His skin was a light grey from being outside and his hair a little dirty. He breathed softly, keeping his head down. He turned a new page, and began to sketch an outline, of the boy who he wasn't sure if he could call friend. He didn't know his features, as he hadn't seen them, but the outline of his back arching in the darkness, he remembered, and his profile against the soft light, he remembered. Frank turned onto his side, gazing over at the boy, seeing the back of him, and slightly his side, he was quite pale, but as he drew, he smiled softly and Frank found himself blushing. He sat up, placing his comic, and book, back in his back pack. Gerard could feel eyes on him, but he refrained from meeting them with his own. He continued sketching, blowing hair from his eyes, frustrated. Laughing gently to himself, Frank threw a black hair band at the boys table, staying clear of his work.
"It's a hair band, and you should use it." He smiled softly, sorting out his backpack. Gerard looked at it and frowned.
"Thanks, but no thanks." Gerard pushed it aside, keeping it on the table. Frank nodded, flicking through his bag.
"Ouch, fuck." He mumbled. He pulled his hand out, seeing a bloody line stretching across his palm.
"Reason for your swearing?" Gerard inquired, trying his best to be polite on some level.
“Um…Lots of blood and a little pain,” Frank shrugged, covering his palm with his other hand, climbing down from the bunk.
“Come here.” Gerard ordered, holding out his hand. Frank walked over to him, showing him his blood-covered palm. He avoided his gaze, sighing. Gerard didn’t look at Frank, but rather kept his gaze on the blood soaked palm. Gerard reached under his bed and pulled out bandages, and antiseptic. He took Frank’s hands in his own ice-cold fingers and treated them accordingly, without a word. Frank gulped, chewing his lip, gazing down at his pain, not wincing when the antiseptic touched his skin.
“Why are your hands so cold?” He asked, softly.
“If you must know,” Gerard replied calmly. “I have a heart problem which leads to bad circulation, so there is very little blood in my fingers.” Frank nodded.
“Oh.” He smiled softly, briefly looking up into Gerard’s eyes, before blushing, returning his gaze his now fully bandaged hand. “Thank you.”
“Welcome.” Gerard didn’t meet his gaze, his eyes dropping back to his sketchbook, which he hastily closed. Frank sat back on his bed.
“You have-. “He stopped himself talking and sighed.
“You were saying.”
“Nothing,” Frank blushed, gulping, feeling the saliva travel down his throat.
“Uh, alright.” Gerard shook his head, returning to his drawing. He was pretty certain he knew what Frank was going to say anyway, so he needn’t hear it. Frank continued sorting out his bag, puling out a small cloth package, with something inside. Gerard paid little attention, having been taught not to pry. Frank placed the fabric package, carefully back in his bag, making sure he didn’t give himself any more cuts. Gerard glanced out of the window as he had done the previous morning, calculating the time and standing up, to go to the door for a breakfast he wouldn’t eat anyway. Frank sorted out his bag, pulling out the package once more, gazing over at Gerard for a brief moment.
“Breakfast,” Gerard stated, rather than asking. He was still yet to meet Frank’s eyes and he didn’t intend to now. Frank shook his head.
“No.” He spoke softly, placing a hand on his stomach, biting his lip.
“If it means anything, I don’t eat either.” Gerard nodded, opening the door and making his way to the cafeteria.

Frank smiled softly; feeling butterflies in his stomach, as opened the package, gazing at his blades. Gerard sat at his usual table, sketching the perfect outline he had memorized. Frank traced the blade along his arm, watching the blood pour. He stopped for a moment and just gazed at his arms, both filled with cuts to his shoulders. Gerard returned shortly after, sitting in the corner of the room. He was yet to look at Frank, but he already knew what he was doing. Frank hurriedly pulled his sleeves down, tying the package, stuffing it in his bag, praying his arms wouldn’t bleed more.
“Frank, Come here.” Frank bit his lip, anxiously, climbing of the bed, ashamed. He walked over to Gerard. Gerard held his gaze away from Frank, cleaning the cuts and applying antiseptic. Sometimes, Gerard had found, his ice-cold hands were soothing. He bandaged them and rolled Frank’s sleeves down. Frank sighed, nodded in thanks, sitting back on his bed, and holding a blade between his fingertips.
“Put it away,” Gerard barked, knowing Frank still had hold of the blade. Frank shook his head, softly.
“Please.”
“Why should I? No one gives a fuck about me, that’s why I’m here.”
“Because I just healed you and you should be fucking grateful,” Gerard hissed. “Away,”
“No.” Frank spoke sternly, “I won’t do it on my arms, then.” He sighed, unzipping the jumpsuit, revealing his chest, full of scars.
“Doing it on your chest won’t stop me from healing you.” Gerard replied. “Cut all you like, i don’t give a damn, because you’ll still be here tomorrow, and I'm still going to heal you."
“Like I want to be.” Frank scoffed, “I don’t understand, why people won’t let me die?” He sighed, dragging the metal edge along his hip.
“Because you’re here for a reason.” Gerard said, softly. “Whether it was a planned birth, adoption, street dwellers, or a condom breaking mid-thrust, it all happened for a reason. Such as the big bang. That was a tiny random act, and look what happened? It made you.”
“I am a fuck-up! A failure at everything!” Frank sighed, zipping up the jumpsuit, “I am here because I was passed out on the floor from losing too much blood, for what I had done to myself! I don’t want to be here any more!” He sniffed, lying on the bed. Gerard sighed.
“Don’t think your special in here, sunshine.” Said Gerard, as he stepped over to where Frank was, his hair covering his face. He pulled him over his shoulder against his will and laid him down on his own bed, unzipping the jumpsuit to an appropriate level before healing the cuts. Frank mumbled, squirming a little but too exhausted to bother moving.
“Why are you doing this?” He asked softly.
“Because I am a good person. I am making up for my mistakes.”
“Well, stop. It’s called mixed signals and it’s fucking my brain up on how I think of you.” Frank explained, sighing.
“Not until it’s patched up. Then I can return to being a bastard and you can continue hating me.” Gerard pressed his icy fingers against the cut to sooth it whilst he searched for antiseptic.
“Look, I can’t make up my mind, on if I like you, or not, okay?” Frank shrugged, biting his lip.
"Most people don't like me, I really wouldn't worry," Gerard shrugged, bandaging the cut and removing his fingers.
"I know the feeling." Frank sighed, placing his hands on his bandaged stomach, frowning. "I'm so fat." He mumbled. Gerard stared down at Frank, refusing to meet his gaze. Frank was anything but fat; skinny features, ribs showing - he was malnourished, to say the least. Gerard didn't retaliate, but stood up from the bed and returned to drawing. Frank gulped, climbing onto his bed, putting the blades away.
"If I see those blades again I won't be happy." Gerard noted, drawing carefully.
"Why do you care?" Frank asked, sighing, zipping up his jumpsuit, placing a hand on his stomach.
"I don't like razorblades." Gerard responded, tugging on his loose white clothes. It had occurred to Frank that Gerard was one of the few of the inmates that didn't wear the poorly constructed signature jumpsuit.
"Don't look at them then." Frank replied, sighing.
"But I can hear them. And smell them. I can feel them." Gerard insisted, darkly.
"Well, live with it." Frank smirked, running his hands down his ribs. "Not skinny enough." He mumbled, softly. Gerard grumbled, trying to ignore Frank's whining. He sighed and shut his sketchbook, resting his head back against the wall and shutting his eyes. Frank abruptly jumped from his bunk and ran to the bathroom with his blades, locking himself in behind him. Gerard knew where he was going; he could feel it and he could hear it. He crept silently over to Frank's bunk, looking over at his belongings.

"If you look at my stuff, I'll fucking kill you!" Frank shouted from the bathroom, crying softly. Gerard continued looking softly, not touching, but watching. He took any remaining razorblades from the small package he had seen before and walked over to the window, depositing them out of it and down into the streets below. Frank ripped off the bandage on the left arm, cutting, letting it bleed as he walked out of the bathroom. Gerard stood by the window, watching wistfully. He lent against it, pushing his forehead against the glass, softly. Frank sat on his bed, looking through his bag desperately.
"Gerard, where the hell are my blades?" He looked over at him, annoyed. Gerard pointed out of the window, not turning to look at him.
"Why the fuck would you do that?!" Frank asked, sniffing.
"Because you're wasting my bandages and you don't need to do that to yourself. It's all in your head." Gerard responded, watching out the window, keeping his gaze averted.
"You don't understand!" Frank shouted, pushing the heels of his hands in his eyes.
"What are you going to do?" Gerard asked, innocently, not frightened, but not in a taunting manner, either.
"I don't know." Frank sniffed, looking through his bag, finding scissors. Gerard turned, smacking Frank sharply but gently over the back of the head, his fingers releasing the scissors immediately. He refrained Frank from reaching them out of his hands and dropped them out of the window also. Frank jumped down, grabbing the front of his shirt, pulling him down to his height.
"Get them back. Now." He was nose to nose with the older boy.
"No," Gerard replied, pushing Frank off him to ensure he didn't cause him any damage. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't - they're outside the facility."
"Why the fuck do you care? Let me do what I want! You don't give a fuck about me," Frank snarled, sitting back on his bed. Gerard was truthful.
"My last two inmates killed themselves." He paused. "I was blamed for each one."
"Then let me be the third." Frank spoke softly, sighing. "No one cares, this is why I don't know why I'm here." Frank rolled his eyes, "I don't want freedom. I want to be dead, and buried under the ground." He shrugged. "I'll die one way or another. But you don't understand what I've been through. So, shut your mouth, Gerard." Gerard grabbed Frank's shirt and pulled him off the bed, pushing him up against the wall with a hand pressing down on his throat.
"Now listen here and shut the fuck up, you little punk. Get some things straight; one, you're a skinny bastard so leave it at that, two, saying things like that in here will get you felt up behind the showers and probably beaten to a pulp and three, don't think you've been through anything more than any poor fucker in here. Get some perspective, Frank," Gerard spat, angrily. "You're in a whole institution full of screw overs and fuck ups. Nearly every person in this whole damn place wants to kill themselves, and very few get that luxury, so it is not fucking fair that you waltz in here thinking you deserve that freedom of death when every other damn person here has been stuck, for their whole lives in this hell hole." Gerard hissed, his spit flecking into Frank's face as he spoke. He let go of him, shoving him against the wall, skulking to the door.
"Go fuck yourself." Frank flipped him off, clambering back to his feet and sitting on the bed, sniffling, and rubbing his stomach.
"I don't do that, it's dirty." Gerard nodded, holding onto the doorknob. "It's enough hating yourself. But wishing that kind of hurt upon everyone else isn't just spite, that's just a trait of a horrible, horrible person." He shrugged, slipping through the door and shutting it behind him.