FicWad

A few summers ago I worked at a golf course as a cashier. After three weeks, I quit, because I couldn’t stand the people there. That’s just another negative quality about my personality: I always give up, never bothering to try. I wish I were someone else. Someone who was happy and strong and challenged himself to make sure he did well. But I figure, what’s the fucking point?

I hate people at school, so I haven’t come very far in the social aspect. But it’s my own fault. I make things this way; this is the life I have created for myself. It’s not even like I have some horrible secret or anything. It’s been rough not having my parents around since my childhood, but I’m fine.

Yet, I stay away from everyone like I’m hiding something from them. Then I come home and hate myself and cry myself to sleep because I think everyone hates me – it's that pathetic; I really do cry myself to sleep at times - but it’s really my self hatred that turned them all against me, because I ignored them first. Maybe I’m just really fucking arrogant; who knows, who knows.

But I don’t blame them for closing their eyes to me, because I’m boring and hideous and I don’t think there’s anything going on in my head other than my immeasurable gloom, so I wouldn’t be much company anyway.

Every night since meeting Gerard, I’d kept awake at night thinking about him. I wanted to know what the fuck he wanted from me, because no one else ever talked to me, but then I remembered that one of the first things he said to me was, "Let’s go see The Pixies."

So, I continually came to the conclusion I was being used. I bet that once his parents saw he was going with someone, he would run off and forget about me. Joke’s on me, huh.

I wished and wished that that wasn't the case, because I kind of just wanted to hold hands with him. I was so sick of feeling deflated and empty and hopeless.

I wondered what it would be like if we were together, as boyfriends. Just the thought made my stomach lurch with this weird sort of excitement. I didn’t think it would work, though. We didn’t look anything alike, and I figured that usually, couples kind of look alike.

He’s beautiful. I really do mean that, but it's in a tough sort of way. He's got an edge to him, I can tell. I’m a pretty boy – I’m not even pretty – I just look like a chick. Even if I had long hair and boys thought I was a girl, I would never find myself in a game of cat and mouse with them. None of my features go well together at all; it looks like I’m a collage that my parents cut out of some goddamn “Child Attributes” catalogue before I was born and created the most repulsive monster they possibly could have.

During that time of my life, all I wished for was to love Gerard and he would love me back, and I would be normal and not worry about my appearance, so much as I would the feelings that would fill up the emptiness inside of me.

I hated that I’d become so obsessed with a person I'd talked to twice. But it was spring, which meant it was time for me to fall in love and have my ragdoll heart broken yet again.




Ever since Gerard and I had gone for slushies, and he’d told me that we’d do it again, we hadn’t. It had been almost a week and every day I kept waiting and waiting for him to surprise me with an adventure, but he didn’t. I hadn’t actually seen him at school for two days, and I was really starting to wonder if he was okay, because he was disappearing a lot lately. I hoped he wasn’t ignoring me.

He never told me why he was gone on certain days, but I didn’t ask. I just worried too much. And there was never any sort of pattern; he’d just not show up one day, or the next, or maybe he’d be at school all week.




By then it was nearing the end of April and we had hung out a few times outside of school. Every night, before I went to sleep, I would think, I can’t wait to go to school tomorrow. Things were going well for me, for once.

I felt kind of complete, as lame as that sounds, but I was thinking that I had it all worked out. I would go to school to become a music producer. I had a plan. I had a friend. I found it weird that I was hanging out with the kid I always saw at lunch time sitting at the same table, with his headphones, spending his lunch hour the same way as I had.

The kid who wasn’t really weird, just kind of different. He always wore his long black coat, the one with furry cuffs, and there was something about him that was so mysterious, like I could never get to his soul, his mind, or anything. Gerard had this aura about him that I just couldn’t figure out. He was just so out there, unlike me. He never seemed to be scared of anything, but at the same time we had so much in common. We both had the same sort of experience in school: trying to find ourselves but ending up lost time after time.

He was kind of scary, but he was nice to me. He always seemed to wearing the same pair of black jeans, but he had stopped wearing his fancyass coat because he said it was getting too warm. Instead he wore this huge black sweater he had. He always dressed in the same black stuff and while most people called him a freak, or said he was poor - which he was not - I was intrigued by his complete lack of acknowledgment toward whatever someone would say. I kind of liked the way he dressed – he was black from his hair down to his ankles – but his shoes were black and white.

I think he loses about ten Goth points for every item he wears that is not black, poor guy.

Despite his dark and unapproachable image - it actually wasn’t even outrageous at all, I thought he was normal and fine, but most people at our school did not approve - he was so friendly to me. But he was frightening at times. His eyes would go huge, especially when he got really excited about something. Whenever he’d mention the concert, he’d start squealing and jumping around and his eyes would bug out of his head. It made me really happy, though, to be able to share things with someone. Things that were once bottled up inside of me were passed on to someone else and I felt a lot better about things, and eventually I was breaking out of my shell little by little and opening up to him.

I went on feeling like that for a couple of weeks. I no longer dreaded waking up in the morning. I was actually excited to go to school and I felt okay about myself - not great, but I was okay. Gerard and I met up at lunch every day and we joked about stupid shit and did he ever make me smile. He had me smiling all the time, which was new to me. I hadn’t felt happy in a long time.




He told me a lot about himself. He had personal problems. He explained how his stepfather was such an asshole to him and wanted his mother all to himself. I learned that, like me, he didn’t even have any siblings he could talk to.

I remember one story in particular. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it, either. There are some things that just stick with you, no matter what. Every time I think about it, I feel horribly guilty and wish I could have done something to help him out.

One night Gerard and I were at the park, sitting on our hill, and I had finished telling him about how my dad had passed away when I was only eight years-old, and my mom hadn’t been with anyone else. It turned out that his dad was an alcoholic and had been keeping it quiet for years. So-called business meetings were nights spent getting his hands on any booze he could find.

One day his mother, Donna, had found him drinking in the living room and he was pretty fucked up. She started yelling at him for drinking right there in the house where Gerard might have seen – at which he rolled his eyes, because he could hear her from upstairs anyway - and the guy got really pissed off, saying that he could do whatever the fuck he wanted. He told her that he was the man of the house and wouldn’t bow down to some lousy female. She became very upset and kicked him out, and that was that.

She had met Gary a short while later. Gerard fucking hates him.

Gary seemed charming at first. He was a gentleman, so eventually, Donna fell in love with him. They had only been together for ten months before their wedding, but they were so sure of what they had that they got married right away.

Gary used to take Gerard out to spend the day with him, to try to get to know him and stuff, and Gerard really hated how Gary thought he could just go in there and be his dad. He went along with it, though, just to make his mom happy.

One day, Gary had made a crack about Gerard’s dad and that sent him over the edge. I wouldn’t doubt it, either. Gerard had steadily been growing frustrated. I guess Gerard just blew up in his face; he yelled, “Fuck you!” at the man, and ever since that incident, Gary had been treating him like shit, but only behind Donna’s back. When they were all together Gary acted like nothing had happened. A few days later, Gerard’s mom came up to him and asked him if everything was okay, because apparently Gary was getting some weird vibes from him, claiming Gerard had put up a wall between them or some shit.

Gerard avoided Gary at all costs and sometimes Gary would threaten him, saying, “You stay the fuck away from your mother and me. She’s mine now, and she doesn’t care about you. Just stay the fuck out of my way.”

Not once did Gerard ever say anything to his mother, because he knew that she loved him and he didn’t want to ruin it for her.

After he had finished telling me that, I was almost crying, silently thanking whatever God there was that my mom had decided not to remarry.

“Can’t shit like that mess you up, though? Like holding it all in? You should tell your mom what’s going on, Gerard,” I said, stifling a yawn. I hadn’t slept much last night and my eyes were burning.

“No, I can’t tell her anything like that! She probably wouldn’t even listen to me, anyway. I know the shit he feeds her when I’m not home. Hell, I don’t want to go home. Ever.”

“I’m sorry, man…”

He shook his head, saying, “Don’t worry about it.”

That was probably the heaviest conversation we had shared so far; I found out a lot about him that night and I revealed a lot about myself.

I couldn't imagine living as he did, every day going through what he went through. I really couldn’t.

I moved closer to him, and daringly moved to hug him. I wrapped one arm around his back, one around his front and clasped my hands at his side. He did the same, and we remained in that position for a few minutes. I was so tired, and he was comfy and warm. What with the pressures of growing up, trying to be accepted and planning for our future and being plagued by threats of going nowhere, somehow in this mess we found each other. He was so alone and so was I; it was perfect. Everything would be okay.

We had each other and there was no need to feel alone anymore.

“I’m so glad I have someone to talk to, now…” he muttered.

I knew it was coming, because we were speaking of intimate things, but I was so nervous about this topic because I had never talked to anyone about it before - my mom had to ask me before I told her - and it was kind of weird to be sharing your innermost thoughts with someone other than yourself.

He brought it up, and openly told me about how he wasn’t really interested in anyone his whole life, that he, basically, kept to himself. He told me how girls would flirt with him at stores and stuff, and he said they were all fucking filthy, and he’d known all his life he was gay.

I guessed he was a bit of a misogynist. Then he looked at me abruptly, waiting for me to tell my story. I did, even though I didn’t want to. It was too damn awkward and embarrassing.

He’s just a person. Lives, breathes, eats, bleeds... just like me. He is no different than me, he already knows I'm gay, he's gay, too...

“Well,” I started off, keeping my eyes to the ground. “I don't know. Boys are sexier. I like their bodies and voices and scents better than girls. I don't know why I am this way, really. I just... I want the protection of a man.”

We left it at that. It felt so uncomfortable, though. There we were, two teenage guys who were pretty close friends and had just conversed about their homosexual tendencies. It almost felt as though we were expected to admit feelings toward each other.

He claimed he knew I was gay when we first talked, that he'd seen the signs in me, but he wouldn't tell me what those signs were.

He told me how before he got a car or his license he would sit up in his room with his door locked, just lying there on his bed all day, listening to different CDs while dreaming of a life he never knew, a life in which his parents were still married and they didn’t live in this shit town and he had a little more going for him.

Once he got his car, he explained, he could leave whenever Gary came home, and he would escape downtown and just walk around for a few hours, watching people. I’ve noticed that about him: he likes to watch people. That’s one of the main things we have in common with each other. We'd rather sit back and watch other people do things than live our own lives to the fullest. We’re dreamers, him and I.

“I’m happy we met. We can sit back and dream together and not worry about anything else,” he told me.

“Yeah… I'm beginning to think we’re exactly the same. Man, I’ve fucked up my life already and I’m only seventeen.”

“I’m only eighteen and my life has been fucked since I was born. What’s up with you?”

“Well, I’m just… I don’t know. But I cut everyone off. I cut all my friends off.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, leaning in and narrowing his eyes.

“I used to have friends… and everyone hates me now.”

“Why do they hate you?” He kept his eyes on me.

“Well, I used to get invited to parties and shit, and like, I’d run into people on the street and they’d ask me to do something, and I always declined, making up dumbass excuses to get out of it.”

“Why? Didn’t you like them?”

“I mean, yeah, I guess I did, but like, I never wanted to hang out with them. I just isolated myself and it’s my own goddamn fault no one talks to me anymore. I guess everyone just gave up on me. I never returned their calls or anything and I kept to myself. Why the fuck did I do that? Now look at me! I have no one! I’m fucking alone and I had friends, I had people to hang out with and now…” I trailed off, not really knowing how to end that statement. I was so fucking mad at myself. And I knew it was all my fault, and that made it hurt even more. Things didn’t need to be like this.

Gerard was quiet for a minute before he responded. “You’re not going to do that to me, are you? Because if you cut me off then I’ll have no one, and I mean it. I'll kill myself.”

“No, no… never. Don't say that.”

“Then why’d you do it to your old friends?”

“I don’t know! I guess I just started hating them all after a while. They never understood me. They were those people that talk shit about each other all the time, and I couldn’t take it anymore. They just liked to party and talk about the size of girls' tits and I just got so pissed off, and, also, I really don’t like drawing attention to myself. So, if I’m not with anyone, then they can’t look at me or notice me.”

“Don’t you think people would notice you more if you’re always on your own?”

“No…”

“I did.”

“Oh. Well… yeah. But I don’t know, I was scared to tell them I was gay. And you shouldn’t be afraid to tell your real friends stuff like that, right? So, I decided to keep to myself.”

Gerard frowned, looking at the grass he was absentmindedly plucking with his fingers. “Don’t do that to me,” he started. “I understand you, and you better understand me. And I’d probably kill myself if you ever left me.” He finished his sentence with an innocent and flashy smile.

“Well, how come you don’t hang out with anyone?”

“I… uh... I’m scared of them, to be honest with you. I feel like people wouldn’t want to associate with me, since I’m gay. It’s hard to be friends with a straight guy when you’re gay, because shit is just weird. And if I tried to make friends with most of the guys at our school, they’d probably only think I wanted to fuck them or something.”

I laughed a bit. “So why’d you decide to start talking to me?”

“Frankie,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I could tell you were gay, so I hoped you’d be nice… and, I noticed you liked the Pixies.”

“And did I please?”

“Yes,” he answered, raising an eyebrow. “Even if you are a little strange…”

By that point, the dismal, grey sky had evolved into a blacker shade, an empty sky, with no stars or anything to look at. It was just an endless dome of darkness. We always seemed to go there in the evening, and I wanted to go to bed because I was so fucking tired. I yawned again, letting my eyes water a bit. It felt nice because they were stinging from being so dry, and my eyelids were starting to droop.

“So that’s why I’m like this now…” I continued, in hopes of keeping myself awake.

“Like what?”

“Freaked out by people. And always fucking sad. I wasn’t born with this problem, you know.”

“I don’t think you have a problem, Frankie. I think you’re fine. We all get a little sad sometimes.”

“Yeah, but not like me. Trust me. It’s bad.”

He looked to me, apparently worried. “Can I ask you something, please?”

“Yeah…”

“Do you,” he whispered, “um, hurt yourself?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. And that’s what adds to it. I don’t have a way of dealing with my problems. And they’re not even real problems! I brought it all on myself!”

“But, I don’t get it… why wouldn’t you want to talk to people? I mean, you seem fine to me, so why do you think other people would reject you?”

I shrugged and looked away. “I guess it keeps me safe.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I never have to do anything I don’t want to. No peers to pressure me, right?” I smiled meekly. “A few years ago, my friends were all starting to drink and they always wanted me to try it, but I never wanted to. I did once, but never again. That’s another reason I hate them. They wanted me to be like them, and I'm not. And I guess I’m just afraid of losing people, or something. I know that if I keep away from people, they won’t hurt me.” But what I really meant to say was, I’d rather break my own heart than have someone do it for me.

“What the fuck…” he whispered. “I have never, in my entire life, met someone as fucking weird as you, man. But I like it. It gives you this innocence. And that’s cute.” He smiled at me, and my stomach flipped.

I didn't know what to say. I was pretty happy that he liked me, though.

I was feeling drowsy, as I did most days, and let out a wide yawn. I found it slightly funny - and quite fucking annoying - that I was always tired during the day, but at night when I got into bed, I lay awake as though sleep wasn’t something that happened when you lay down for the night.

“Aw, are you tired? Do you want to go home?”

“No, I’m okay… I just didn’t get much sleep last night,” I replied, lazily.

“Oh, okay.”

No words were spoken for a while; and my lids were closing on me slowly. I tried to keep them open and focus on things but I couldn’t. I felt myself nodding off but there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. I’m sorry, Gerard, I’m really not trying to be rude.







An unexpected noise woke me up; I wasn’t sure what it was – I wasn’t sure where I was. I was sort of lying on my side, my legs stretched out and I had a pillow of some sort, but it was slightly harder than the ones on my bed. Why is it so cold in my room?

I realized someone was singing. It sounded like it was coming from right over me. Oh God, am I dying? Am I floating up to Heaven? I was so worn out - it didn’t feel like I’d had much sleep at all – so I remained in my position and listened, with my eyes closed gently.

"Time is never time at all, you can never ever leave without leaving a piece of youth. And our lives are forever changed, we will never be the same... the more you change, the less you feel..."

It sounded really nice, and I opened my eyes, letting them flutter to adjust to the darkness around me and I remembered – I was at the park. On my hill. I wanted to go back to sleep – or, go home to bed - I was warm while sleeping but the voice had snapped me out of it and I was cold again.

"Believe, believe in me, believe... that life can change, that you're not stuck in vain, we're not the same, we're different tonight..."

As I came to, I raised my head from my resting place, and slowly sat up. I looked to my side and saw Gerard sitting there with his legs crossed, singing softly.

I looked down to where my head just was – Jesus Christ, I was in his lap.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” he called.

“Um… hi.” I grumbled quietly. What did he just call me? “How long was I asleep for?” I asked, rubbing my eye.

“A little bit, not too long.”

“I’m sorry. Did I fall on you?”

“No, not at all.” He let out a soft laugh, and went on, “Actually, I could tell you were falling asleep, so I lay your head down in my lap. I know it sucks to sleep sitting up… your neck gets all stiff and shit.”

“Oh.” I blushed, looking down. “Thank you. Am I dreaming right now? Or am I actually here?”

He looked at me for the first time since I’d woken up and shook his head and laughed. “You are awake, my prince.”

I'm his prince? “Oh. What were you singing?”

“A song.”

“I know that, but what was it? Did you write it?”

“No, it’s by Smashing Pumpkins. It’s called Tonight, Tonight. It’s one of my favourite songs ever.”

“It’s beautiful. I didn’t know you could sing.”

“I can’t.” He looked down again, letting his hair hide himself from me.

“Yes, you can. Keep going! I want to hear you sing again,” I urged. He really did sound incredible.

“Not while you’re awake, no.”

“Why not?”

“Because it makes me nervous.”

“You don’t get nervous. Please just sing it for me… it’s really nice.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh and flung his arms out. “Okay, fine, but you have to come here.”

“’Kay.” I slid over hesitantly, waiting for further instruction.

“Lie down again,” he told me.

“On you?”

“Yeah.”

Fucking hell. I rested my head where it had been previously, on his furthest leg, but he told me to roll over and face him. It was quite uncomfortable at first, until I got adjusted and settled. Then he took both of my arms and wrapped them around his waist, and started singing.

"And you know you're never sure, but you're sure you could be right, if you held yourself up to the light. And the embers never fade in your city by the lake... the place where you were born..."

There was something about his voice. It was slightly raspy, but it sounded like a lullaby. It was melodic, and it didn't even seem like he was trying but he could really carry the tune.

"Believe, believe in me, believe... In the resolute urgency of now, and if you believe there's not a chance tonight, tonight, tonight... tonight..."

It was almost as though he were serenading me; the thought of which made my stomach flop around and my heart race. I kept my arms around him and let my face fall against his soft belly, feeling it move in and out as he sang. I wonder if he minded that I had my head against him. For some odd reason, it put me at ease, while I lay with him and held him around his middle. I looked up at his jaw and throat, admiring the way his muscles moved while the words drifted from his mouth; he faced ahead and seemed detached, singing softly.

"We'll crucify the insincere tonight, tonight... we'll make things right, we'll feel it all tonight, tonight... we'll find a way to offer up the night tonight..."

I closed my eyes, letting his voice float to my ears and down through my insides, making them fidget wildly. The song was slow and I really liked the harmony. It was so pretty… I could have just stayed like that forever, with that beautiful being allowing me to touch him, and be close to him, and have him sing.

"The indescribable moments of your life, tonight... the impossible is possible tonight, tonight..."

My eyes were still closed, but I felt him lean down close to me and his voice almost whispered in my ear,

"Believe in me as I believe in you, tonight... tonight, tonight… tonight… tonight."

The way he sang the last word gave me goosebumps and I shuddered. His voice was low, quiet, full of pain; he was exquisite. Fucking lovely. I opened my eyes and found him looking down at me, but not maniacally staring, for once.

“Gerard, that was so nice…”

“Thank you.”

“Can we listen to that song sometime?”

“Absolutely. It kind of reminds me of you.” Then he grabbed a hold of both my arms again, and began to unwind them from his body. “I think we should go home now, though... you look exhausted.”

“Okay.”

I got up and he walked me home, as usual, but at least I knew it was because he didn't want to go home.




While I lay in bed waiting for sleep to come as it had at the park, I hummed the one line over and over to myself, because it was the only part I could remember, but I was sure there was a reason it stuck with me.

"Believe in me as I believe in you..."

Chapter 5
He’s leaving me.

I still don’t know exactly when he’s going to New York, but I know it’ll be before autumn, which leaves the options of July or August. Which means I only have about two and a half months left with him before he goes.

I have finally found a friend. I have found someone I think I truly love now – seeing as he hasn’t done anything to turn me off – and he’s leaving me. He’s taken my first kiss from me, he’s caused me ache because I am scared of him, he’s taken me out during class and has sung me a song while letting me cuddle with him; all of which means nothing to him because I think he is just a flirt and we are just really, really good friends.

I want to mean the world to him. Now I have something else to keep me from sleeping at night: fearing the day he moves away and I’ll be alone once more.

He may not have intended to break my heart, but he is my first real friend who I feel like I can trust and believe in. I am still reeling with bubbling infatuation from the night he sang for me at the park. I have fallen in love with him and he is leaving me.

After he is gone, exactly what will I do with myself? It’ll be much worse than any other time, because I will have lost something. Normally I wouldn’t have anything to begin with – that would be the problem – but this time, I will have had something, but it will have run away from me before I had the chance to turn around and say a farewell.





After another day of bullshit being handed down to me in the form of a textbook, and another day where Gerard was nowhere to be found, my mom came home early from work and took me out to dinner.

Throughout most of the meal, I wondered about where Gerard had been all day, and why he missed so much school. At times I got really scared and almost angry because our time together was running out. It was now something that plagued me and fucking followed me like a black cloud over my head. He wasn’t here for much longer and he spent all that time away from me. Out of the short time I had known him, not longer than three weeks, he had missed at least five or six days of school.

I was starting to get a little more used to it, though, because he would be gone here and there; there was no particular pattern, but I figured he must bag a lot of class because even the one time he had gotten me to skip with him. I wished he’d come every day to see me, but I was pretty sure he had more important things going on in his life than to make me his top priority.

I frowned and glared at my plate.

“So, how’s your friend Gerard doing these days?” my mom asked suddenly, breaking me from my thoughts.

I could tell Mom was trying to pull that whole let’s-get-to-know-each-other crap. She kept asking about school and stuff and what plans I had, and I responded halfheartedly to them all.

“Oh, he’s good, I guess.”

“That’s nice. I’d like to meet him. Why don’t you bring him over for dinner on Saturday?”

I gulped, nearly choking. Excuse me? What the fuck did you just say?

I was glad for the dim lighting of the restaurant, because she wasn't able to see how quickly my face turned about thirty red shades deeper. Then she’d be all motherly and like, “Oh, my Frankie has a crush!” and that shit is so awkward; but then again, the last time I thought the lack of light had me veiled, I wasn’t so right and I was with Gerard – and he had noticed for sure – and then he kissed me. But fuck, I could not think about that shit because if I did, my entire blood supply would have rushed up to my head so fast that I may have exploded.





At school the following week, I’d had countless chances to talk to him, because we made a routine of eating together at lunch. I can’t tell you how good it feels to finally have someone to talk to and sit beside in the cafeteria. He made it feel like people were no longer staring or laughing at me. Even if they were, I did not give a shit. It gave me a contented feeling.

Even though I’d seen him for the past four days, I just could not bring myself up to asking him. I probably should have just forgotten about it, but I knew I had no other choice because my mom was constantly interrogating me about my conversations with Gerard.

A few times I told her he’d been away for the day, but Saturday was coming up fast and I knew she’d probably track him down in the phone book and ask him personally. I don’t know why she does things like this to me. Sometimes I wonder if she had a child because she wanted to care for something that was her very own – to cherish and treasure and all that shit – or if she had me just so she could have someone to humiliate whenever they were trying to get their life in order.

So, on Thursday, while I was in my room waiting for the clock to land upon six-thirty, I told myself firmly that tonight was going to be the night. I had no choice, because if I didn’t have an answer for my mom by Friday evening, she would find her own way to inform him of her invitation.

I knew I had to do this, no matter how badly I wanted to just curl up in the corner and die.

The reasoning part of me was saying What the hell is your problem? All you have to do is ask him if he wants to come over; you don’t even have to say anything about dinner, just invite him over for the afternoon. It’s not a big deal. But my realistic inner voices were telling me, Holy fuck, I cannot do this shit, because he will totally think I am hitting on him and even though I am in love with him I cannot let him know this. It will destroy everything.

Once six-thirty came around, I scuffled along to the park, trying to prepare myself. I felt like I was going to throw up. This was worse than doing a presentation in front of the class at school. I didn’t have to face those people after the fact. But Gerard – well, it’d be just us and I couldn’t pretend to ignore him after I’d made a fool of myself.

My heart was thumping so heavily and quickly that it felt like I didn’t even have a pulse. At the same time, nerves were seizing at my insides and yeah, I had butterflies – but I think that’s a bit of an understatement. I just felt sick; absolutely nauseous.

As we sat atop the hill that night, every time there was a pause in the conversation I’d open my mouth to ask him but no words came out. How exactly do I word this?

He was in his black hoody and I was in a black one as well, but I was in jeans and he in his normal, baggy black pants. I bet he was so warm and comfortable and cuddly, the way he sat there in his clothes. Passersby would most likely think we were about to pull out chainsaws and create a fucking massacre, or something.

I kind of liked the looks we got from some people, though. All the time at school, and even as we walked outside together, no matter the age group, gender or race of the people walking around us, they’d either purposely take no notice of us or go all wide-eyed and walk faster. It was ridiculous. We didn’t wear make-up or long billowing capes, we were just two fucking teenagers hanging out. It made me laugh but want to punch someone at the same time.

We had talked about all of the usual things, what band was our favourite that day or what pissed us off in class, and it was comfortable and perfect and the sun had set. The streetlights lit the grounds just barely enough to see anything below or around us, but created vivid shadows on his handsome face. I liked the way the orange light sparked about his eyes, like fire, but I couldn’t stare for too long or he’d think I was some sort of creep.

Kind of like how he stares at me?

Yes. But I like that. He won’t.

“Hey – Gerard,” I started. Well, there’s no turning back now...

“Yeah?” His head tilting gracefully, his hair falling across his face charmingly, I looked away before I could start blushing.

“Um.” I stopped, not knowing what to say next.

“What?”

“Do you want to – I mean, if you have other plans that’s cool, but – my mom said…”

He laughed quietly, “Come on, spit it out, babe.”

Now how the fuck am I supposed to remember how to speak English when he calls me that?

My mouth was drying out rapidly and I feared my throat would get all crackily then it wouldn’t sound so nice, asking him over. Okay. Breathe.

“D’youwannacomeoverforsupperthisweekend?!”

I spat that out so quickly and inhaled, hardly sure he’d heard me properly, but I was grateful that the dreaded moment was finally fucking over and I could move on. It was done, it was off my shoulders; I could breathe freely and walk again.

But then he smiled at me and said in his husky-sexy voice, “Yeah.”

Yeah. Just like that. Yeah. I sat, stunned, not knowing what to do next. His voice just – I couldn’t handle it. He sounded all seductive and I was getting worked up again. And he was looking so extra-hot tonight.

“Heh, okay…” I squawked. Fuck.

We somehow got on the topic of the future, yet again, and of course, being me, I had to complain to him about something.

“Gerard, I don’t know what I’m doing with my life. I want to make something out of myself, you know? But I don’t know how to do it. I’m just fucking sick of feeling worthless all the time.”

He turned to me, on his side, resting his elbow on the grass and holding his head up with his hand. “That’s why we’re getting out of here,” he said, giving me a small smile. “In the city, you can do anything you dream of.”

“But I don’t have any dreams,” I replied, sadly. “I don’t know what living means. Like, I exist, but I don’t live.”

“It comes down to the same thing, when you think about it. You always hear about life being so full of opportunity and shit but it never happens. So many people end up in dead-end jobs with crushed dreams. But what other choice do they have?”

I sat quietly for a moment, going over what he had just told me. And all of it was absolutely true. Most of his thoughts were ones I had spent hours worrying over, crying, and fretting; because I thought I was the only one who felt that way about life, and he summed it all up in one sentence. He is just so wonderful. Ever since I had met him, it felt like I wasn’t so alone anymore, even if he was just one person. His friendship meant everything to me, because I had nothing else and I could relate to him.

He completed me, I was quite sure.

I had always wanted to have this great story to tell, and then I would meet someone and I could tell them all about it. I never knew what the story would be about, but it would be of some significance and I think – I really, really do – that the only reason I wanted a story was because I was so desperate to have meaning, and so desperate to meet somebody that would care enough to hear about it.

But here we were, me and my best friend, sitting above the rest of the town on our hill, and I looked down and realized that in a way we were above everyone else, because we had a real bond, and we had it all figured out. Maybe we would end up in shitty, worthless jobs but at least we knew we were being lied to. Everyone was in a cage, confined to the walls of their boxes with glass ceilings.

I wonder if Gerard was the one – the person I had been longing to meet and tell my story to. Maybe we were supposed to write it together.

As we sat there in the chilly spring breeze, with the smell of wet grass hanging in the air, I looked at him and my heart swelled, I swear to God. Either that, or it was squished in a tight fist – I really couldn’t tell.

I found him still propped up on one elbow, watching me. When our eyes caught, I felt a sudden lump in my throat. He was just so beautiful, the one I had been waiting for, and I wanted to lie down beside him and cuddle up to him. I wanted him to kiss my hair and run his elegant fingers through it; elegant fingers stained by those dirty cigarettes. I longed for it so badly. I just wanted us to lie in the grass and be together and not worry about anything except holding on.

Why was everything going so well? How had my life completely changed?

I wondered what it felt like to wear that sweater of his. I bet it was warm and thick and soft. The long sleeves covered up his hands, his fingers the only parts visible. It was just enough to pet me with. His shiny hair tangled within the hood.

He looked comfortable just lying there, with a nice little spot for me beside him. I wondered if anyone else had ever gotten to snuggle with him and be cute together and happy – if someone else had ever lived out my dream – I bet they had. I bet he’d had tons of boys. Maybe even girls, too, even though he didn't like them very much. He was stunning and funny and smart - who the fuck wouldn’t be attracted to him?

I was suffering. I could feel my eyes burning as tears threatened to fall. He was perfection, and I was so faulted, and I felt like even if he let me hug him, I would taint his beauty, just like all the filthy chemicals he was addicted to. There was nothing I sought after more than to just lie with and nuzzle into him. And I would close my eyes and breathe in his scent. He was tough, and manly, but at the same time so feminine; he was just right. I wanted to feel his breath against the top of my head as he comforted me. I wanted his embrace to swallow me up and hold me hostage.

“Frankie,” he whispered, “why are you staring at me?”

I bit my lip to keep it from quivering, but with no such luck. I didn’t take my eyes off him as the tears filled my eyes, for I knew that they would be sure to fall if my eyes shifted.

Gerard… I just want you to love me…

And so began my sobbing.