FicWad

He sat up quickly, searching my eyes with a worried expression. “Hey, now, come on… what’s up?” His arm went around my shoulders as they shook.

I want you to love me. I want you to hold me and I want to hold you, back.

His hand rubbed my arm reassuringly, and I turned in to him. I grabbed fistfuls of his big, black, warm sweater and sobbed silently into his chest, looking helplessly at the landscape far away from where we were.

Finally, my dream had come true. He was holding me, but it was out of pity, not love.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered, his dark warmth protecting me from the rest of the world. “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t have, really, because my mouth was full of saliva and salt and I wouldn’t have made much sense anyway; I was whimpering violently and shaking all over the place. Plus, I would have drooled all over him. My grip on his shirt went limp as the strength in my trembling fingers dissolved into the air around us.

“Frankie, sit up now, come on. Talk to me.” He didn’t release me until I let go of him completely, then he rested his hand on my forearm again once I was sitting up on my own.

I silently wondered what people must have thought about us; our closeness. Any person would walk by and see two teenage boys embracing. It’d be interesting to know what ran through their heads.

That was mortifying. I was out in public and I was crying. The unsightly, overweight loser was sitting at the park crying. The worst part of it was that Gerard could now see my puffy, broken face head-on. When it came down to it, I didn’t give a shit about anyone walking by who may have seen me. What mattered was that Gerard had seen and heard everything, and I still had to look him in the eye when it was all done.

Humiliated, I wiped my wet skin with the sleeves of my sweater and took in a few quivering breaths. I could feel my lips, now plump and hot, moisten as the last of my waterworks display ran across them. I hid my face behind my hands for a few minutes; everyone knows how ugly people are when they cry. For someone like me, that isn’t saying much, but I really didn’t think I needed the extra warping to my features.

“Frankie, baby, show me your face. Don’t hide, it’s alright…” he told me gently, still rubbing my arm slightly.

I sniffed and wiped my face again, hoping to give it a fresher, cleaner shine, then slowly removed my hands. I looked down at the growing grass, frowning harshly. I hated crying in front of people. It was alright when I was by myself, in my room, because it felt good to cry. When there’s no one watching your every move, you feel okay and it’s enlightening to let out your frustrations or sadness.

A guilty pleasure of mine is that I like staring at my lips in the mirror because they swell and it feels nice. I sit there posing with them, watching them move and press together, until the blood falls away thus decreasing their size. I was always so entranced by the way my lips looked, but I didn’t know why. I guess it made me feel sexy. I wanted to kiss someone with those lips.

As Gerard sat in front of me, however, I knew he was more than likely judging me and thinking to himself, What a sorry loser; what an ugly fuck.

“I’m sorry,” I said, keeping my eyes cast downward. We’d been having an okay time, he agreed to come over to my house for supper on the weekend, but then I had to go think about myself and get fucking sad. I was being so selfish, even if I didn’t want to be. I wished that for once I could live in the moment and forget about my fucking misery. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry for what, baby?”

He keeps calling me baby.

“I’m sorry for crying like that. I’m such a loser… look, we can go home if you want,” I offered, praying to God this nightmare would just fucking end already. I get the point. I’m making an idiot of myself in front of a beautiful person – now wake the fuck up!

“No, no. I don’t want to leave you. I want to know why you’re sad.”

Oh, Jesus - if you only knew.

“I just was thinking about something…”

He dragged me over beside him and placed my side against his, and he put his left arm around me. “Now tell me what’s wrong. Seriously. I want to know. Because you always act like the world is ending, and fuck, man – if we’re being invaded, I think I have a right to know.”

I snorted and pushed into him a bit. “You retard.”

“So, tell me why you ignore everyone again?”

I groaned, wishing we’d just get off the fucking topic. “I just want real friends. Remember when I told you they tried to pressure me to drink and stuff? Well… I just want a friend who likes me for who I am.”

“I like you for who you are.” Then he lowered his voice, it was now raspy and quiet, and pressed his cheek against my hair; “They don’t matter anymore. If they’re trying to turn you into someone else, it’s not worth it.”

My unenthused heartbeat suddenly sprang to life and thudded hard within my veins. I could feel his breath colliding with the side of my head. It was like the words he spoke were for me – just me - no one else. Only I was to hear them, as they were made for me. Little children playing below would not hear his voice carrying through the air. Somebody walking in front of us would not be able to decipher the empowering words he spoke into my ear. I was the only person he was talking to, and in such an intimate way, as well.

“I know… and they started partying and they have their own lives now. They’ve forgotten about me, because they don’t care anymore. Because I’m not like them.”

“Don’t think about it. They’re losers. Do you remember when I told you that I needed someone to talk to?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well,” he continued in that low voice, “I think you should realize that you’re needed, Frankie. You're very special. But I know you need someone, as well.”

“I do,” I agreed, wondering where he was going with this.

“Let me be your best friend," he whispered, hugging me around my middle.

“You are my best friend. You’re my only friend. What –"

“Tell me everything,” he whispered. “I want to help you.”

“Tell you everything about what?” What was there to tell? I had already bawled my eyes out in front of him, what more did he need to know? I’m a loser, the-fucking-end.

“Yourself. If we’re best friends, then you can tell me everything and you can trust me. I want to tell you everything, too.”

I wondered if he could feel my rolls of fat. Actually, I knew he could. They sat there, bulging out around my middle, right where his arms were. Didn’t he find it disgusting? Why wasn’t he moving?

“Then you tell me something,” I said, worming around in his hold. “Like the real reason you don’t have friends.”

“I already told you about that.”

“Yeah, but…”

“But what?”

I'd wanted to know the truth since we'd met. No, I never saw him with anyone at lunch or anything, but still…

“I don’t get it! You’re so, so… attractive that I can’t understand how you don’t have friends. It’s unreasonable, to me.”

“I could say the same about you,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve tried to make some. It’s hard because I’m scared of all the guys except for the gay ones. And you’re the only gay one I’m even remotely interested in being friends with, because you’re fucking weird, like me. I can tell. And girls, well, they’re just after me because I’m gay – every girl wants a gay friend, for some reason. They’d want me to show them how to put on makeup and go shopping with me. Fuck that shit.”

I giggled. He was being funny and it was raising my spirit. “Yeah, no kidding.”

"Either that or try to turn me straight. I've come across that before. Anyway, people in high school only drag you down. They get in the way and you probably won’t even talk to them once school’s done, so... fuck it.” Then he paused for minute, and said, “But you... I think I’d like to keep in touch with you.”

“Even after you’re gone?” I frowned.

“Yes.”

That made me smile, because, hell, writing letters to him wouldn’t be so bad, if I couldn’t be with him in person. “I feel better right now.”

“I’m glad. I like you a lot, Frankie. You have personality; really, you do. And substance. I like having good conversations.”

Sometimes he puzzled me. The only things I ever thought about were either how grotesque my appearance was, or how lonely and sad I felt. Yet, he believed I had substance.

“Oh, thanks…” I muttered.

“You’re welcome.”

“But how are we weird?”

“We’re just different. I don’t know… we’re both kinda shy and lonesome.”

“You’re not shy, Gerard. No fucking way. You’re crazy!”

He grinned at me. “Yeah, I can be. But I’m still shy when it comes to certain things.”

“Like what?” I dared to ask. I was curious but not sure if I really wanted to know. I was afraid. I didn’t know why, but I was.

He rolled his eyes, like he was reminded of an awkward situation. “Um… well, when I like someone, I don’t know how to ask him out.”

“Oh, I see,” I said, a heat flushing my cheeks, my stomach dropping. I knew he wasn’t talking about me specifically, but I still got all shy, because I figured he’d say something relating to that topic. Just talking to him about things like that put me on edge. “So what do you want to help me with?”

“Oh, Frankie." He let out a dramatic sigh and went on, "I want you to be happier. I mean, sometimes you’re really funny and stuff, but then there’s times when I look at you, and I can just tell that something… I don’t know what, but something isn’t right.”

“I have no idea. I’m just lonely, I guess. That’s all.”

“But Frankie, even when I’m with you, you’re still kind of distant.”

“I’m sorry!” I breathed, not realizing that I’d been acting rude towards him. That was the last thing I wanted.

“You don’t have to apologize for it. Is something wrong, though? Please. Tell me.”

“Nothing – I’m okay. I told you before, I’m better right now.”

I hated talking about myself, even though I usually ended up doing it anyway. I felt bad, and wanted to talk about something else. I didn’t want to focus on me. I wanted to find a new subject and forget about myself, for once.

“Why were you crying earlier?”

“I don’t want to tell you,” I said, hesitantly. There was no way I would let him know what I’d been thinking. Well, I was basically just dreaming about you and getting jealous that you weren’t holding me. And it made me cry. I know - pathetic, right?

“Yes, you do. Fucking tell me.”

“No! Gerard, I’m not saying! It’s embarrassing…” I trailed off, trying to hide my face.

“That’s okay. I won’t care.”

Yes you will. Oh my God, you so will. Your beauty is just so overwhelming that it brings me to tears.

I would tell him the truth… but maybe leave out a few details.

“Okay, fine. I… I was just getting upset because… well, you’re such a good friend to me. And… you’re gonna move away soon… and it’s just gonna suck, that’s all.”

Well, hopefully that would suffice for him.

“But, it’s okay... you’ve got me right now. Come on, let’s go home, alright?”

I inhaled sharply, almost to the point of pain, and nodded.

On the way to my house I kept my head down, hugging myself, not saying a word. I needed to catch my breath and calm down a bit. He walked me to the end of my driveway and I glanced at him before walking up to my front door. I couldn’t smile.

But it’s okay – you’ve got me right now.

Yeah, I guess I did. But when it came down to it, he was still moving, so I didn’t know what to do with him. I couldn’t reveal my true feelings for him, because I was so scared of rejection. I was scared of a relationship. I was scared to open up that much.

Besides, if he was leaving, then what was the point? I didn’t know how to spend time with him, really. It seemed all we did was talk about my personal problems. I wanted something more – something of ‘substance’, as he so claimed I had. I was quite sure he was mistaken, or lying.

My tears were not the only ones to fall; I had fallen. And I was so battered I could not stand myself back up.
Chapter 6
It was bad enough that I had to try my hardest at school to keep calm around him, but now that he was coming over, what the fuck was I going to do? I couldn't believe my mom was doing this to me.

However, I did feel a little better about things. He'd been so helpful and gentle with me when I'd cried in front of him, and I knew that I could trust him. I sensed that we were going to become very good friends, if we hadn't already reached that point.

I tossed and turned and watched the clock last night, after being out of bed until two-thirty. I was trying to find something to wear, and I had taken longer than normal because I had to do everything carefully and quietly so as not to wake my mom. I was so paranoid that she’d hear me because it was the dead of night and nothing else was making noise. By the time I had gone to bed, I still wasn’t at rest because I hadn’t found anything, and I kept freaking out about what was going to happen when he came over for dinner.

That morning, when I had woken up after an inconsequential three hours of sleep, my stomach seized as I looked at the clock. Gerard was to be at my house for four-thirty, which gave me eight hours. How the fuck was I going to be ready in eight hours? I needed like, eight weeks of extensive training for that shit!

I ate a small breakfast while my mom bustled around the house. By ten-thirty I had showered and brushed my teeth, and once again stood in front of my closet, frantic and distressed. By eleven I had everything laid out on my bed. Up until twelve-thirty, I had tried on every possible combination of shirts and pants that I could come up with, but I realized that I didn't have any nice clothes to wear.

It was another time I had cupped my package through my pajama pants to make sure it was still there. During times like those, I wondered if I really was a girl – I looked like one - but I found my balls again and smiled to myself.

I decided to tackle the outfit thing later. For the time being, I had to come up with a way to get access to my mom’s hair straightener without her noticing. Fuck, I really need to plan ahead. I should have stolen it when I came out of the shower, and I could have blow-dried my hair, then straightened it... but she would have heard that...

Fuck this.

“Honey, come down here for a minute,” I heard her call, out of nowhere.

I went downstairs apprehensively, almost scared she’d been reading my mind and was going to tell me Gerard wasn’t allowed over anymore because I was grounded for stealing her things. Perhaps it would have taken some stress off my shoulders.

“What do you want for dinner tonight?” she asked, smiling at me in a most awkward way.

“Oh, um, I -”

“How about macaroni?”

“Uh, sure. I don’t know if Gerard likes that, though.”

“Frank, everyone likes pasta. But I need to get some cheese and tomatoes to make the sauce, okay? I’ll be right back. Maybe I’ll get something nice for dessert; would you like that?”

I grinned. “Okay. Thanks, Mom.”

She winked at me and turned away for the door, with her purse under her arm.

Wait a minute…

She knew. Fuck. She knew.

I pushed it to the back of mind because that was my chance to get the fuck back upstairs and make use of a certain cosmetic appliance.

By two o’clock my hair was ready and I was sitting on the edge of my bed fucking losing it. I still didn’t know what I was going to wear or say or what we were going to do all night, once we had eaten. I had no idea how to entertain a guest.

After some time had passed, I decided on just wearing a dark blue t-shirt and black jeans. Though my house was comfortably warm, I put on the only black hoodie I had, so that I’d look more like his type. I checked myself in the mirror, lifting up my hoodie, to find the t-shirt a little small for me. I would just suck it in, because I had nothing else that was nice enough, and I figured dark blue was classy but it didn’t look like I was trying too hard.

Now all I had to do was wait. To kill time, I sat on the floor with my back against the bed, and started reading my book. I had an hour and forty-five minutes to go. After I’d read half of a chapter, my mom knocked on my door. I looked at the clock. It was three o’clock. What the fuck does she want now? I turned off my stereo and called, “Come in, Mom.”

The door opened and I was at eye-level with her legs but my mom never wore pants like that...

“Oh shit, it’s you!” I gasped, my eyes huge, instantly regretting what had just come out of my mouth. Fuck! He was an hour and a half early!

“Here I am!” he exclaimed in a sing-song voice, outstretching his arms and presenting himself like a movie star. “Sorry I’m here so early. I just needed to get away from the house.”

“Oh, that’s cool. Come sit.” I put my book on a shelf and crossed my legs, my heart hammering against my ribs.

He was wearing sunglasses on his head and a rich, deep red t-shirt, with extremely tight, black pants that I’d never seen him wear before. His broad shoulders filled out the shirt nicely, and the colour was stark against his skin and hair. His pants were... different. They were black, but not like his other pair. The pants I saw him in every day were baggy and flared out at the bottom.

His new pair, however, were skin-tight, from his hips right down to his ankles. They made his legs look slender and trim and mighty fucking fine. As he took a seat off to the right, perpendicular to me, I didn’t take my eyes off his legs until he turned his head to look at me, pushing his school bag aside.

“What’d you bring?” I asked, curious.

“Sex toys.”

“Are you serious?”

“No." He pushed a stray piece of hair out of his face. “So, what’d you do all day?”

“Um… well, I straightened my hair…”

“I never would have guessed. Anything else?”

“Uh… I listened to some music… and stuff… I read a bit of my book... my mom bought some dessert for tonight,” I said, feeling smaller by the second. I ran around all day trying to find a nice outfit so that you’d think I’m sexy, even though it’s impossible.

“Oh? What are we having?”

“She bought pie.”

“Ooh! I like pie,” he said enthusiastically, beaming.

I nodded slowly with raised eyebrows. “That’s good.” What a freak. God, why is he so hot? He looked damn good in those pants. Furtively, I glanced to his legs to get a better look. I could see his bulk beneath the snug, black fabric, creating an obvious bulge that I wanted desperately to take my eyes off of. He stretched out abruptly, leaning back on his arms. I glanced up to his face and shit shit shit he was looking right back at me.

“Guess what I learned in English class yesterday?” he asked me.

“I don’t know, what?”

Oh, thank God, he’s not saying anything about me staring at his…

“Well, we’re doing a unit on Shakespeare, and I noticed an interesting little fact during one of the scenes from Hamlet.”

“What is it?”

“That cock is another word for ‘God’ in oaths,” he replied slyly, raising an eyebrow just so.

I looked away, easily embarrassed by his blunt statement. Maybe also because he’d caught me ogling his goodies.

“Do you like my new pants?” he asked in a straight tone.

“Yeah, they’re nice,” I said, trying to sound uninterested. I am so uncomfortable right now… he’s being provocative and it’s all because I was looking for too long… and now he’s using that to his advantage and rubbing it in my face.

“I bought them this morning. They’re soft, too. Real soft. Here, feel.”

I really did not want to touch his pants. Well, I did, but… in that very moment I could have settled for simply looking. To my surprise, he grabbed my left hand and rubbed it up and down his thigh slowly, letting me feel out the real soft material. I couldn’t tell what they were made of. They felt thick, and strong, balancing out the slimming effect they had on him. Well, maybe he really did have thin legs – I wouldn’t know, because he usually wore those baggy pants all the time. They didn’t give him any shape at all, just that of a normal teenage boy who couldn’t care less about throwing on some pants for the day.

But in these ones, every detail pertaining to his waist down to his feet, I could make out. Especially the bump I’d been caught looking at. All was dead silent as I could see the muscles in his thighs curving in at his knees. I could see his solid calves and skinny ankles, covered with grey socks. I decided that was how the pants made his legs look: solid.

I pulled my hand away, blushing, and he was grinning at me. Smirking.

What the fuck is he thinking?

He stood up then, signaling me to do the same. I stood in front of him, motionless. I was waiting for him to lead the way out of my room, since we were not really saying anything. I figured he wanted to take me down to his car so we could get out of the house, before supper was ready.

Instead, he took my hand again and ran it up the curve of his backside.

His ass felt nice and compact in the confines of those jeans, or velour fucking pants, whatever they were. Jesus Christ I hate him so much right now. I was embarrassed but I loved it and wished he’d grab me like that.

He then pushed me away, playfully scolding, “Why, Frankie, you bad boy. Your mom is home, too!”

“Well, I’m sorry. It’s hard not to when you’re forcing me!” I shot back, embarrassed as fuck. I stood quite still, waiting for him to make the next move. I didn’t know what to do.

He laughed at me - right in my face - and said, “I know you like that.” He smacked his ass, then flung himself down on my bed, testing out the bounce of the mattress and how far his face could sink into one of my two pillows. “Your pillow smells like you,” he called out loudly. His face was buried but I heard him clearly.

“Well, maybe that’s because it’s my fucking pillow.”

He turned around and looked at me, and said, “Don’t give me your attitude, boy,” but giggled and ran around my room like a happy little fucking girl, looking at my possessions.

“So, I see you’re wearing colour, today,” I mused, when we sat on my bed together.

“Yeah… I didn’t want your mom to hate me, because most adults don't like when I wear all black. It’s nice of her to invite me over and I didn’t want to be disrespectful.”

“That's sweet of you. Normally you don't give a shit.”

“Well, when it’s for people I care about, I do.”

It went silent for a moment while I looked away, trying to hide.

“You read Clive Barker,” he stated, looking at the novel I’d been reading before he got here. I was impressed he’d noticed.

“Yeah… I love his stuff. It’s weird, and dark. He’s an amazing writer. Do you read his books?”

“Yeah, I do. They're a huge turn-on; so kinky. That’s cool we like the same things.”

I would have sworn he was fluttering his eyelashes at me

He leaned back on his elbows, letting his fit, firm, solid legs stretch to the footboard. He was looking down at his shirt for a few seconds, so I took the opportunity to glance - quickly, just for a moment - down his body.

Oh God. As a matter of fact, I agreed with him. They use ‘Cock’ as a replacement for ‘God’ in certain oaths. It was almost as though his pants were so tight that they showed everything in full silhouette; giving the impression he was half-erect all the time. Then I wondered, Is he? So I stared harder, narrowing my eyes, trying to determine if that was a boner or just an abnormally large dick he was sporting.

“Is something wrong?”

My eyes shot back up to his face. Well, fuck, he’d caught me again!

“Um, no…” My voice was quiet, hoarse. Heat flushed my face in a swift second, making me look away.

“So, what’s for dinner, Frankie?”

“Um, just… some… pasta, I think..."

“Cool. Okay, well, what are you waiting for? Show me your stuff!”

Oh my God. He wants to get it on. He wants me to take off my clothes and put on a show for him. I turned around quickly and looked at him in disbelief. “What did you just say?”

“Show me what you’ve got. We have time until supper…”

My eyes went wide and I blushed even harder. “I don’t want to…” I muttered.

“Why not? You got something to hide? Are you keeping drugs in here, or something?”

I looked at him again, giving him a confused look. Drugs? In my pants? What the fuck? “No, I’m not hiding anything…”

“Do I have to beg? Would you like me on my knees? We need to find something to do before supper is ready, right? I don’t know why you’re so shy all of a sudden… it’s not a very big deal.”

“Um, yes, actually…” I interjected, getting a little worked up. I wasn’t ready for this. It was so sudden, and Jesus, my mom was downstairs…and oh no, oh no, oh no – he was going to take advantage of me, because I was weak. I could not - would not - do that. I loved him more than anything, probably even my own mother, but fuck. I wasn’t ready for that. I didn’t know how… “Gerard, I – I don’t want to take off my clothes,” I whispered. “I don’t want to do that.”

He dropped his jaw, letting his mouth hang slack. “You don’t have to strip to show me your room, Frankie.”

“What? Oh, shit, sorry – I thought you meant, like… my… stuff as in a sh- oh my God.” I covered my face with my hands, shaking my head. As if I had been that immature.

He laughed. “Get your mind out of the gutter, sicko!”

We fucked around - not in the way I’d originally thought - in my room for a couple of hours, killing time. It felt a little strange to let someone into my world, to show him some of the things I had, or books I liked to read.

I didn’t show him my memory box, though. No one ever saw it. I was pretty sure my mom didn’t even know I had one. In it, I kept photographs or little doodles I’d drawn during class, just so I could look at them every now and then and distract myself from reality. I didn’t have a photo album so I threw all of the pictures I had in there. It was always hidden under my bed. I didn’t want anyone knowing about it because having a secret for myself made me feel special. No one else knew about the box, but I sort of wanted to tell Gerard. I really trusted him, and wanted to open up to him. Maybe he would think I was more interesting.

As I was contemplating sharing it with him, Mom called us downstairs and announced that our dinner was ready.

We sat at the table beside each other, and I prayed to God that I would not get messy fucking tomato sauce all over my chin.

As our bowls were placed in front of us, he crinkled his nose and leaned forward to smell it. “Mmm! This is gonna be good. I’m starving,” he declared.

“Oh, good. Eat up,” my mom told him happily, eager that I had a friend over for a meal of hers.

This hadn’t happened in a few years. It was a special occasion – for me, but for her, as well – and she was going to savour it. I felt sorry for her sometimes. I wondered what it would be like to have a strange kid living in your house, who barely talked to you or anyone else.

Throughout the meal, she kept asking Gerard all those annoying questions parents ask when they’re trying to get to know your friends, such as, “Where do you live?” or, “How’s school going?”, but he answered politely with a nice little smile on his perfect fucking face. My mom gave me this look that said Frankie, I approve. And I gave her a look that said Mom, fuck off. We’re not dating.

The strawberry-rhubarb pie was good. I took dainty little bites so as not to get any on my face but Gerard wolfed it down and he didn’t make a mess at all. How is it that I try so hard to impress him and it doesn’t seem to be working, but he’s just off the walls and manages to stay perfect?

Gerard and I did nothing more than exchange a few, quick glances while we ate. My mom was doing most of the talking, anyway – I just listened and watched – but we hadn’t said anything to each other. I was kind of glad he wasn’t starting any conversations with me, though, because I hate talking to someone while I’m trying to eat. Words get muffled and lost in a mouthful of food, and I’m always afraid something is in my teeth. So by keeping my mouth shut to chew the whole time, no one would ever see some hideous piece of green lettuce I didn't know about. I’m smart like that.

Once we’d finished, he took all his own dishes to the sink and rinsed them off, and thanked my mom courteously for dinner. He was being quite the gentleman. It wasn't like I needed him to make a good impact on her, or anything – it wasn’t like I was bringing him home for our first date – it was all on his part. I could tell my mom was quite impressed. She smiled at me again before we headed back upstairs to my room.

Everything was going okay. I was scared when he’d first arrived, but now, everything was smooth-sailing.

We sat on my bed, legs crossed and leaning against the headboard in the dark while the small television played some show that I wasn’t paying attention to. I was trying to come up with something clever to say. My mind was blank, but I wanted to impress him. It had been about half an hour since we finished supper. I’d been thinking for the last twenty minutes – neither of us had said a thing to each other – and I still hadn’t thought of anything. The problem was that I had no personality.

When you have no life, you have nothing to talk about.

So, Gerard… you know what I learned in class yesterday? No, that wouldn’t work, because I hadn’t learned anything. I didn’t pay attention - I’d been daydreaming about him all day, as usual.

Hey, Gerard, I noticed you like… well how the fuck would I finish that sentence?

Gerard… I was wondering if you’d be interested in maybe getting it on? I know I said I didn’t want to before, but the sun is setting and I’m feeling sexy. ‘Cause, you know, you’re really hot and… But no, he wouldn’t want to do that at all because I was absolutely repulsive. Besides, just before dinner I’d been freaking out about it! I don’t think I would actually have sex with him anyway, if the chance came up, because I’d be so scared. And what the hell was wrong with me? Why was I even contemplating doing that with him? Oh God...

So, Gerard… I have this joke. No, I didn’t know jokes. I didn’t care for jokes. No one shared them with me and I wasn’t a very exuberant person to begin with.

Then I got that creepy tingling feeling you get when you know someone is watching you. I turned to him slowly, seeing his flickering eyes on me. Fuck, he’s doing it again.

I didn’t like it when he stared at me like that, because I felt like he was analyzing me under a microscope and I felt even uglier. I wanted to hide.

“Hi,” I said quietly; stupidly. Well, so much for my fucking brainwaves. That’ll woo him for sure. “Why do you look at me like that?” I asked, hanging my head.

“You’re so pretty…” he whispered, suddenly, making me freeze.

My eyes cast down to his hand, which was rising towards my face. He brushed the middle of my top lip with his index finger and let it fall down to my bottom. I stopped breathing. Holy fuck, am I imagining this? Did he just say I’m fucking pretty? And touch me like that?

“I’m not pretty. I’m ugly.” No, you asshole! Now is the chance to say something like that back to him! Now it sounds like you’re begging for compliments or some shit. Way to blow it. Good fucking one.

He shook his head slowly, focusing his gaze on where he had just felt me, as if he’d painted a mark there. Oh, but he did.

I looked at him, hating that I had to face him. I wished I could have just thrown a blanket over my head or something because I didn’t want him to realize how unattractive I was, especially up close.

“No. I think you’re very pretty,” he said tenderly. “Can I take you home with me?” He giggled and tucked a small piece of hair behind his ear, still watching me.

“Could you please not look at me like that?”

“Why don’t you want people to look at you? Honestly. What’s the real reason?”

“You wanna know? Fine. I’m hideous. It makes me feel worse when people look. I’m alright on my own, because I don’t have to worry about impressing anyone. And when you look at me, of all people, it’s worse because you stare and you can see everything that’s wrong with me. I know what people say about me.”

“What do they say?” he asked, leaning his head toward me.

“They say ‘Ew, he’s ugly’.”

His mouth hung open a little. “Frankie, no.” He got up off my bed and said, “Come here. I want to show you something.”

“No. I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about this again. I’m sorry. No,” I protested, regretting I had brought up something about myself again.

“Fucking come here,” he hissed, grabbing my arm and pulling me to my feet. “You just shut the fuck up,” he said, as he led me over to my full-length mirror, which stood propped against the wall. He stood so close behind me I could feel him against my body and he wrapped his hands around my upper arms. “Now look at yourself.”

With no enthusiasm whatsoever, I gazed at my reflection. I did not want to do this. “What,” I said under my breath.

“What do you see?” he asked, his voice buzzing in the back of my hair.

“A boy.”

“And what about that boy?”

“His eyes are uneven and he is ugly.”

“Your eyes are uneven? Is that all you see? I don’t see that.”

“They are. They’re too close together, too.”

“Frankie, come on… if I looked like you, I’d be fucking parading around all the time. You’re really, really good-looking.”

“No, Gerard,” I began, getting frustrated. “You don’t understand. Like, I look at myself and all I see is… I don’t even know how to describe it.”

I couldn’t see anything appealing about what I was looking at. Especially with him right behind me, in the same image as I was, I felt even less than inadequate. I hated that he was doing this to me, thrusting me in front of my mirror and forcing me to look at myself. I wanted to scream and kick and smash the goddamn glass into tiny shards on the floor. I hated this. I was starting to cry, hating myself more and more.

“Gerard, can we not do this, please? I hate it. You’re making me feel so bad…” I asked, through choked sobs. “I don’t want to look…”

He grabbed my shoulders and said, “Now, look at your lips. They’re getting all red and swollen; that’s sexy. Do you like that?”

“Yes,” I muttered, guiltily.

“Look at your eyes again, how they shine.”

“I’m fucking crying. Am I only good to look at when I cry?”

“No.” He spun me around and looked deep into me, making me fearful. “You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Fuck you,” I spat, wiping the tears off my cheeks with an angry hand. How many times had I cried in front of him now? It was every fucking day. I wished I were stronger.

“Maybe.” He turned me around to face that torture yet again. He pulled my hands away from my face and held my arms down. “Now look at your cute little button nose.”

“Stop it,” I said, trying not to grin. I looked at his face in the glass and saw him giving a crooked smirk. I felt good for a split second when our eyes met.

“Good, you’re smiling.”

I pulled my eyes away from him and looked back to my own, which brought me back down. “My eyebrows,” I said solemnly.

“What about them?”