FicWad

“They’re so high and… girly and expressive. I hate that.”

“It’s sexy. I like your eyebrows; they give you character. I wish I looked like you, Frank.”

“Why, though?”

“You’re so different. Like, you really stand out. Your skin is gorgeous, you have this look – I don’t know what it is, and then you always look good in whatever you wear, too,” he said softly. “Honestly, if I could be anyone else, it would be you.” Then he whispered, “I think you’re perfect.”

“Alright, then, let’s switch bodies because I want to be you.”

He shook his head. “Frankie, I don’t get why you say all that shit about yourself. You probably look in the mirror too much and your reflection gets distorted. That can happen, did you know that?”

“No,” I sulked.

“How often do you look at yourself?”

“All the time.”

“Well, don’t! Or, next time, focus on something good. You have to like something about yourself.”

I paused, rolled my eyes and said, “Uh, I don’t.”

“You look at yourself right now and you fucking tell me one thing you like.”

I stared long and hard into the mirror and could come up with one thing that I truly liked about the reflected image.

“I like the boy standing behind me.”

He whipped me around again and glared at me. “Frank, you fucking like something about yourself right now or I’ll knock you out.”

I felt a little lightheaded from being tossed around like that, but my eyes widened in fear and shock as I turned around to inspect myself immediately. I looked up and down. What did I like? I liked my pants. I liked my whole outfit, actually. “I like what I’m wearing.”

“Okay… that’s a start. And what does your outfit do for you?”

“What is this, fucking Fashion 101?”

“Frank,” he said, through gritted teeth. “The dark colours bring out your eyes,” he said, dropping his voice low again. “Your lovely, wide, perfect, pretty fucking eyes.”

I let my line of vision trail down my entire body, looking at the clothes I had on more carefully. “I’m tubby,” I said, crossing my arms over my stomach. This was like a fucking addiction to me. I couldn’t get away from it; I kept going on and on, getting so caught up in insulting myself. The bad things were the only things I could see – I really never see anything I like about myself, no matter what I’m wearing or how fucking straight my hair is. I did this all the time, looking in the mirror and making note of all the things I hated about myself, only now someone was witnessing it.

He stuck his hand up under my arms and rubbed my fleshy stomach in a delicate manner. “You’re cute.”

Okay, that was fucking it. I couldn’t take this anymore. I turned around, out of his grasp and slapped him. “Just shut up already, fucking shut up.”

He looked back at me, stunned, then grabbed me and hurled me onto the floor. I gasped in lungfuls of air as it was knocked out of me momentarily.

“I’m sorry!” I said quickly, as he straddled my stomach and stared down at me. I was breathing erratically, wondering what the hell he was going to say or do next, and gazed up at him.

He leaned down and looked at my lips, then back to my eyes; mine wide in fright, his fiery and severe. “Why did you just do that?” he whispered. “Why’d you hit me?”

“Because I want you to stop saying things like that to me,” I whispered, my eyes darting from his right to his left and back again. Our words were falling out and bouncing right off each other’s mouths, we were so close. His tendrils of hair were brushing against my skin, giving me an excited but scared feeling.

“Things like what? Giving you fucking compliments? I want you to stop fucking shooting yourself down all the time!” He glared at me, and bounced slightly on top of me.

At first it wasn’t so bad, but then I really started to feel his weight sink into me. I imagined my internal organs all being squished together into my tailbone as the tissue of my stomach was compressed further into them.

“Stop – please… don’t…” I breathed, running out of oxygen.

“Please don't what? You think I’m going to hurt you back?”

“I don’t know… I can’t breathe! My insides… hurt…”

“Don’t slap me. I don’t like that. Now,” he said, still whispering right onto my lips, “Let’s go sit on your fucking bed again, and pretend this never happened. Because obviously you just don’t fucking get it.”

“Oh…”

He stood up, allowing my lungs to expand properly again, but there was a dull ache in my middle. I rubbed at it a bit to ease the pain off. Still lying on the floor, I looked up at him helplessly. He grabbed my hands and pulled me up. I stood there in front of him stupidly, my chest and stomach feeling sore, as I waited for him to make a move. That was so scary.

“Gerard, I thought you were going to hit me,” I croaked, my voice disappearing as I started crying just one more time. Do these tears ever stop falling? Really, I found it hard to believe that there was enough water in my body to fuel my eyes like that. It never seemed to fucking stop.

I was very embarrassed and ashamed of myself for continually losing my cool in front of him. He rubbed my arm and came closer to me. I looked up at him, hoping that my tears would just evaporate into the air or slide back into my eyelids, but I kept thinking about what I’d done to him. I felt terrible. I reached a fingertip to his cheek, the one that I’d contaminated with my filthy hand. His skin was burning and a little red.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my bottom lip quivering. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hit you. I’m sorry…”

“Shh,” he said, still rubbing my arm. “Listen, it’s okay. I’m sorry I made you do that. Don’t cry.” He hugged me again, and kissed the top of my head. “You need some self-confidence, kid.”

I closed my eyes and waited until I’d stopped crying and said, “Okay I’m done. I’m sorry.”

We went back to my bed and sat down.

“I always cry.”

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “We all need to cry, sometimes. I cry, too.” He came closer to me and hugged me again, and rubbed my back. “It’s okay.”

“But I always cry in front of you. I ruin everything.”

“That’s okay, I know you just want me to touch you like this.”

I pulled back and gave him a playful glare. He’s joking around. What he doesn’t realize is that even though that’s not why I ended up crying, I do want him to hold me.

I looked down and he gazed all around my room. His eyes fell upon my stereo and he jumped up suddenly, making me look at him questionably.

“Oh my God, guess what I brought?” His eyes were all big and he’d swung into one of those scary moods yet again.

“What?” I sniffed, the bits and pieces of my little pout still wearing off.

“Something I’d like you to hear.”

He went over to my CD player and pulled out a disc from his messenger bag. He dropped it in the tray, then hit the play button and joined me back on my bed. A slow, very sad- sounding, orchestrated melody began to play. I had no idea what it was. The guy started singing and I still didn’t recognize it.

“Gerard, what is this?”

He smiled at me and said, “Just wait, you’ll see.”

After a few more lines, the tune became familiar.

“It’s that song…” I whispered, marveled at how thoughtful he was. It was Tonight, Tonight; the song he’d sung for me at the park.

He looked over at me and smiled again, then turned to face the speakers. I did the same, focusing on the words and remembering how good I felt about myself when I’d been lying in his lap contentedly. I smiled to myself and listened to the music, feeling better. I took a deep breath and paid close attention to the lyrics. My insides were twisting around, wishing I could fall into his lap again and have him sing to me. Maybe I should pretend to fall asleep.

He sang along with the last lines, Believe in me as I believe in you, tonight, and turned to me, waiting for commentary.

I clapped appreciatively. “I really love that song.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he said with a smile. “I thought I’d surprise you with it, because I know you said you wanted to hear it.”

I love you. “You’re nice.”

“I know.”

“Don’t go to New York,” I said, suddenly.

He looked up at me with narrowed eyes. “Frankie, I have to.”

“Why? Are you going to school there in the fall? I don’t get why you have to be there… Can’t you just come live with me?”

“I’m not going to school yet. I just… need to get out of my house, out of this town. And start my own life.”

“But that’s like, two months away. We only have two months together… and then you’re gonna be gone… and I’m scared,” I whispered, almost ashamed to admit that to him.

“Don’t be scared… you’ll meet plenty of other friends and stuff, Frankie. Come on.”

“But Gerard… you’re the only friend I have. You’re the only friend I want to have. And you’re leaving me behind…” I cast my gaze downward, mad at myself for whining again to him and sounding like a prissy little bitch because I couldn't have it my way.

“Oh, Frankie, don’t say things like that… what is this all about?”

I fucking love you and I don’t want you to leave me! I love you, I love you, goddamnit!

He scruffed up my hair and I looked up at him. He sounded tired and I bet he was; fucking sick and tired of me complaining to him about everything all the time. “Frankie, don’t do this. It’s not going to be that bad.”

“Yes, it will be. You’re like my therapist and without you here I’m going to go nuts.” I was hyperventilating by this point, so worked up and letting everything pour out at once. “I’m going to lose it, I swear to God. And we only have like two months left!”

He pulled me into him with his arms around my back. I didn’t return the embrace. I sat limply as he squeezed me, just wishing that I could freeze this moment in time and live in it for the rest of my life. Then he put his lips right to my ear and said, “Then we’d better fucking enjoy it, while I’m still here.”
Chapter 7
He was right. I needed someone. I needed someone to cling to; someone to talk to and spend time with.

I didn’t get why he was so adamant about helping me – all of my other friends gave up after they took the fucking hint that I didn’t like them anymore. There were a few reasons why, one being that I was becoming increasingly and ridiculously self-conscious; another was they would sit there and say shit about everyone, even each other, like girls would do. "Matt's a fucking pussy; he's all talk." "River's a cocksucker. He got with Jada on Friday night; I'm gonna kick his ass." I wondered what they said about me when I wasn’t there, and that was the main reason I’d backed away. I’d rather be alone than have my friends betray me. They wanted to drink and party and be typical, terrorising teenagers, and I had different interests. I would rather have been lonely and sad.

I realized Gerard hadn’t given up yet because I hadn’t been giving him those negative signals. Even though I trusted him, I was just waiting for him to prove to me that he was just the same as everyone else.

There’s no way anyone cares that much about being someone’s friend. Especially with someone like me – like, really – all I ever did was cry in front of him, or complain about something. Why would he want to hang out with a person like that?

It was almost as though he really wanted me to feel better because every time I was sad, he would hug me, and give me comforting words. He was genuinely nice. People like him were rare. Yes, I was going to enjoy it while he was still in Cherry Hill. I was going to fucking hang onto him and take as much as I could because I needed to feel loved. It was necessary for my survival.

I needed someone to show me that there was more to life than dying or wishing I were dead. I wanted to live. I needed to experience things in life to prove that I was alive. I didn’t know what those things were, but I knew that he could show me.

He made me laugh when I was sad. He made me smile when I was miserable. Last night when he’d held me, I'd stopped crying and had felt his breath puffing against my hair as he'd tried to make me laugh. He’d said, “Frankie, I’m not wearing any underwear right now, so you’re gonna have to get off my dick, soon.” I’d begun giggling uncontrollably in post-blue giddiness. He wrinkled his nose and laughed with me, which only made me laugh harder because it sounded almost baby-like; high-pitched and rough.

I didn’t even know what the fuck was wrong with me. I did not understand why I always suffered from the feeling of impending disaster. There were no past experiences in my life that would lead up to it. I wasn’t abused or anything, so I didn’t know what else could cause the despair I so often lost sleep over. I'd considered asking my mom to take me to a therapist, but I'd thought it over and realized that I didn't want to speak to a stranger, nor did I wish to be that financial burden on my mom. We had it tough as it was.

I’d been moping around my house all day, half-dreaming that Gerard was with me, because I felt like I was melting away into oblivion and I needed someone to save me. It were as though my body was rotting. The walls and furniture were blending together in an indiscernible blur; everything was dissolving before my eyes and I was disappearing with it all.

I had nothing to do all day. I’d barely eaten. I spent all morning and afternoon sitting on my bed, remembering everything that had happened the night before.

I’d walked over to stand in front of my mirror, as he’d made me do the night before. I'd watched my reflection with curious eyes, imagining he was standing behind me and pointing out features that he liked. He'd told me I had pretty eyes. He'd said my fat stomach was cute. I had a little button nose, according to him. He would rather look like me than himself, because he'd said he thought I was perfect.

I may not have shown it, but when he told me nice things, I absorbed his words like a dying sponge so I could rehydrate and spring back to life. My life craved meaning. I replayed his words in my mind over and over, trying to convince myself that I wasn’t as appalling as I thought I was. But I couldn’t believe any of it, unless he was in front of me shoving it down my throat.

All day, I’d walked around like a mindless robot, playing music to stimulate my mind, but it didn’t work. Fictional horror stories didn’t cut it. TV, napping, and staring at walls did not fucking help.

I was so lonely in my house that I couldn’t take it. My mom hadn’t been home, but I was used to it because we rarely saw each other, anyway. We had no pets to keep me occupied, no fantastic movies to watch apart from the small collection I owned, but I’d seen them a million and four times and they wouldn't sufficiently relieve my pining. Nothing would be able to distract me anymore; I needed to hear someone breathing beside me. I needed to wake up to someone tangling his legs in mine.

The silence of the house was about to swallow me whole, just as my fluid remains gathered into a small pile on the cheap, linoleum floor. That dwelling of mine was so familiar that it had begun to drive me to insanity. I had lived there all of my life in that two bedroom, split-level condominium.

We hadn’t painted the walls. My room was still the same dark green it was when I was five. The kitchen, cramped bathroom, and dining room were all as beige as they’d been on moving day. My parents never bothered to redecorate. Now that my Dad was gone, it was definitely out of the question. We had no extra income, so we needed to save the money to go towards groceries, or energy.

Up and down the stairs numerous times, the only purpose served was the possibility I would be thinner by the next time I saw Gerard. There was never anything worth my time on television, or on the radio. I’d played all my CDs to the point that they were worn so thin the laser would drill right through them the next time I turned on my stereo. I’d lost interest in reading. Preparing a meal for myself took too much energy and time, even if all I wanted to do was pass it until Monday came. I felt like a blob, monotonously maneuvering throughout my house from room to room.

I could have gone outside, but that would have required walking around in the possible presence of others. No matter how dangerously I bordered on the line of lunacy, I refused to walk outside. It would not suffice; would not fulfill the hunger.

I desperately needed him to tell me it was okay. I needed to spend more time with him – I was about to lose my mind. I needed his care and kind words. I needed his presence. There could be no substitutions; nothing would even come close. I’d just seen him last night, but now I needed to see him tonight.

Hoping against hope he’d be home and not aimlessly driving around, I picked up my phone and eagerly dialed his number. I can not believe I have the courage to be doing this right now. My fingers shook so hard I could barely dial the proper digits. Insecurities plagued me as I heard it ringing on the other end. What if he was busy? What if he was sick of seeing me everyday and wanted a break? What if…

“Hello?”

“Hi, is Gerard home?” I asked shyly.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah… Gerard?” Who did I think I was? I couldn’t do this shit.

“Yeah, it’s me. How are you? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Are you doing anything right now?” I asked, biting my lip.

“Just fuckin’ around, why?”

“Um, nevermind. It’s okay.”

I had to forget about it and just hang up the phone. I couldn’t go through with it. It was the biggest chance I’d ever taken in my life. It was so risky, bold, and so unlike me.

“No, what is it? Tell me!”

I shut my eyes tightly as if his rejection would appear in front of me. "Can you come over?”

“Right now?”

“Yes, please.” I half-hoped he would recognize the desperation in my voice, but at the same time, I didn’t want him to think I was annoying or possessive.

“Please? Aw, Frankie, you don’t have to say 'please'. I’ll be over soon, okay? I just need to have a shower.”

“Okay, bye,” I said quickly, getting ready to hang up. Almost there…

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, cautiously.

Goddamnit! Just let me go before I have a heart murmur!

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine! I just wanna hang out.” I need you right now.

“Alright… see you soon, then.”




The first thing he did when he walked in the door was take off his shoes and stare at my head for a few long seconds.

“What,” I muttered, self-conscious.

“You didn’t straighten your hair today.”

I froze. I stared at him with realization. I had forgotten to make myself presentable for him. Instinctively I reached my hands up to my head and felt around, confirming it was true. It was. I’d spent my entire day thinking and wandering around trying to entertain myself, and had been so distracted that I hadn’t remembered the most important part of my routine.

I threw my hoody over my head, attempting to cover the mess up. He stepped closer to me and pulled it right back off.

“I like it like that,” he said. “You don’t really need pin-straight hair, you know. Actually,” he went on, examining my tresses in detail, “it looks much better when you don’t straighten it.”

“Oh… really?” I asked, surprised.

“Yeah.”

There he goes with that sexy voice again.

“Thank you,” I mumbled.

I was about to suggest going to my room or something when he asked, “Do you like South Park?”

“Wow. Actually, I do. I love that show. Why?”

“I have the seasons on DVD,” he stated, holding it up in his hands with a great smile. “Wanna watch some with me?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Are you hungry?” I asked, eyeballing the fresh bag of Oreos on the counter.

“For what?”

“Cookies. We need a snack,” I said, grabbing the package without a second thought.

He giggled at me; one of those happy-baby laughs, and I led him into the living room, smirking to myself.

“Aren’t we going upstairs?” he asked.

I gave him a curious look. “You want to?”

“Yeah.”

I took his DVDs from him and selected a disc, then joined him on my bed. He sat to my left, outstretched just as he was the night before. He leaned his head on the wooden headboard and the small of his back was resting against my pillow.

I sat beside him, but not too close. Placing the bag between us, I ripped it open and eagerly pulled out the tray. I took one and stuffed my mouth with it, then mumbled at him to take some. He shook his head at me, grinning, and took one.

The show had started; the theme song was already over, and I heard dialogue, but I kept my eyes fixed on him. He was looking down at the cookie in his hand, as he gripped both edges and carefully twisted them apart from each other. He observed each one, before selecting the side with more icing and bringing it up to his mouth.

I had stopped chewing completely; worried I might miss something by my obnoxious crunching.

His eyes reverted to the television as he stuck out a plump, cherry-pink tongue and licked delicately at the white frosting. I saw a small amount rub off on the tip and disappear into his mouth, then he sucked on it for a few seconds. The one half of his Oreo was now shining, the brown more of a black, some of the white missing from the middle. I resumed chewing, slowly, when I saw his jaw move up and down while he tossed the flavour around in his mouth. He swallowed, and went in for more, bringing it to his lips once again. His tongue darted out shyly and he turned his head to me suddenly, cookie still placed at his mouth.

Fuck.

“Thanks for making me feel better yesterday,” I said, eventfully thinking fast to cover up.

“Yahwahcum,” he said, biting hard into the black biscuit with hungry, sharp teeth, eyes on me.

In order to get the attention away from myself, I turned to face the television. I loved this show, but I couldn’t focus no matter how intently I listened to the humorous dialogue, nor how bright the colours of the animation.

I wanted to see Gerard again. I leaned back and shifted so I could have a better view without being blatantly obvious.

Gerard hadn’t turned back to me yet; he was just watching the episode, occasionally smiling at jokes being made. I wanted to hear his cute little laugh again; it made me grin self-consciously and bite my lip when he let it out.

There was something about that boy, something that intrigued me, yet made me uncomfortable. I couldn’t tell what my true feelings were for him. I was pretty sure I was in love with him, but I wondered, if this is love, then why am I so nervous all the time? He made me fumble over my words and second-guess myself. I had never been one to hone much confidence, but around him, I was always worried about looking as best I could. His charming smile made my stomach seize. I wanted his spider-like fingers to run over my skin, just to see what it felt like.

As I sat there watching, I wanted to touch. I wanted to feel real things, a real person. I wanted to kiss him and feel fireworks… but would there be fireworks with Gerard? How would I know if there were fireworks? Would colourful sparks explode, casting the golden glow of love upon us?

I want to find out right now. I’m pretty sure fireworks mean love. So if I felt them, would he feel them too? If I felt them, would that mean he loved me back?

I wanted to make a move on him but I was too scared of rejection. I knew I’d be sorry later, but at that moment I was afraid and not much could be done about it. But whatever. I could just play it safe and it was sure to be okay, if there was no danger.

The scent of fresh shampoo floated over to me from his damp hair. I knew he’d showered before he came over, and now I could smell the soap on him. It didn’t have a distinct scent of a certain fruit or flavour; it just smelled clean, and manly… like his deodorant. I wanted to lean closer and nuzzle into him, and draw in his familiar fragrance. That night, the only difference was that he didn’t smell like tobacco. It was pure, fresh, out-of-the-shower particles teasing my senses.

I watched the shadows on the walls. They were moving, ever-changing and interesting. We hadn’t turned the lights on. The phosphorus of the screen danced wickedly around my walls, the ones I’d been watching all day. They seemed so bland throughout daytime but now it was dark, and they were decorated with lively shapes and forms. I wasn’t watching the TV. I was, ironically enough, now entranced by the blues on the stockade.

I still can’t believe I’m in love with the weird guy from the clock. I didn’t know why I hadn’t seen him before; I guessed because I sat at quite a distance from him at lunch everyday and therefore never noticed anything about him, apart from being rather scary.

A crinkling of plastic led my eyes to his hand, found snagging another Oreo. I followed his lead and took one as well, stuffing it into my mouth impatiently. He, on the other hand, continued to unwind the sandwich apart and sweep up the icing with a sure lick. His tongue twisted around in a full circle, cleaning up whatever he’d left behind the first time in a clock-like fashion.

I was aching for it.

I wanted to lean across the cushions and feed him the sugary paste from my fingers. I wanted to lick the lingering bits from his lips. Instead, I settled for taking one more cookie, but this time I would do it right. I gripped the edges and tried to break them apart but the damn thing just broke off into crumbs, falling in my lap.

“Shit!” I called out.

He looked at me, and swallowed his last bite. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to eat this fucking thing the right way.”

“You can’t do that?” he asked in disbelief.

“No… can you?” I answered, as though I hadn’t been watching him the entire time.

“Yeah, want me to show you?”

“Yes, please.”

He took another from the package and moved over closer to me. “Now watch,” he instructed, the pads of his fingers resting on the ribbed edgings. He looked to my eyes first, to make sure I was paying attention, and then focused on the small circular treat in his hands. “So you grab it like this…” He pushed down a bit, as he turned the two halves. “Then you just twist carefully and – VOILA!” They came apart easily. He held them out for me to look at, as though he were selling a product on some fucking commercial. “And then, you eat it.”

Swiftly, a piece was raised to my parted lips, and nudged gently at them to open up. A heat shot through my chest and back, straight down to my legs. His scent was even stronger now, overpowering.

“Here, Frankie,” he murmured. “Take it.”

I stuck my tongue out, tasting the icing timidly as he held it upright to my mouth, then looked at him quickly as I swallowed it. He was getting awfully close... His smell…

“Now bite the chocolate,” he directed, turning the cookie over.

He held it out flat to my lips and prodded, forcing me to open up. I leaned my head closer to it and took a small bite, feeling ashamed when more of it crumbled into my lap.

“Doesn’t it taste better that way?” he asked, sitting back.

I nodded vigorously, reaching for one more. “I want to try it now,” I said, almost as if asking his permission. I tried copying what he’d done, but he flipped out.

“No, no, no – you’re doing it all wrong! You’re not twisting properly. You have to go like this…” He took it from me, our hands briefly touching. It made my breathing hitch slightly; it made me excited. It was barely any contact – he’d hugged me, held me, he’d even kissed me on the lips, once – but this was something I’d never felt before. I wondered if those were the fireworks you felt when you kissed someone you loved. I doubted it. For one, we weren’t kissing, and two, he wasn’t making a move on me. He was only teaching me how to eat a fucking cookie.

He placed the separated halves in my hands. I kept my eye on him as he looked down at them, then took my hands and clapped them together. The pieces fell into my lap, but I hardly cared anymore because he was holding my hands.

He was holding my fucking hands.

“Oh, that didn’t work very well…” he said to himself.

Still looking down, he let go of me and grabbed the halves from my lap, making me tense up everywhere. His hands were too close… Soon the feeling slid away, his actions becoming more attention grabbing as he concentrated on sticking the parts back collectively. He squished them roughly into one, as if to prove a point.

“They should stay together,” he stated, placing the reconstructed item in my hand. “They taste better like that, anyway. You get all the flavours at once.”

I raised my eyebrows in bewilderment and began to nibble away.

“They’re meant to be as one; they’re made that way. They should definitely be together,” he whispered. “Don’t ever change how you eat an Oreo.” He smiled tenderly.

His words stirred a buzzing within me.

He was still about a foot away from me, so close that I could see every last detail of his face. His lips were chapped, the small creases in them enhanced by the thin, dried layer of white skin. His cheekbones sat high, positioned perfectly beneath his eyes, giving him the wide-faced appearance I wished I had.

I almost would have sworn he was wearing make-up, too – his eyelashes were curled slightly and thick, setting a nice frame for his brilliant, bright eyes. His pupils were large, expanded black circles, like that of a feline. I noticed something I hadn’t seen before as I looked closer. Under his right eye was a small blotch of pink skin, like an injury. He looked so soft, and delicate, but now I had discovered a flaw to his fair complexion.

“What’s that?” I asked, fascinated by it. Had he been struck with something?

“What’s what?” he countered, his breath smelling strongly of our snack as it hit my nose.

“That,” I answered, moving a finger up to touch it. “The little mark right there, under your eye. What’s it from?”

“Oh, that. It’s just a broken blood vessel,” he told me, watching my finger from the corner of his vision.

I ran the pad of my thumb over it lightly, hoping I wasn’t causing him any discomfort. I was just so enthralled by it, I couldn’t control myself. I knew I shouldn’t have been touching him. My fingers were dirty and I was hideous and I had no right tainting a beauty like him.

“Does it hurt when I touch it?” I whispered, still rubbing as gently as I could. As soon as my thumb brushed over it, the skin would whiten and the mark would disappear, but soon after, the blood rushed back and it bloomed like a tiny flower on his cheek. Wow, he even has the ability to turn a blemish into something wonderful.

He laughed softly, meeting my eyes. “No, it doesn’t hurt.”

I removed my hand, finally realizing my common sense was still intact, and looked down. His face was very soft when I touched it, just as I hoped and pictured it to be. I turned my thumb over, foolishly wondering if it had left a stain. Obviously it hadn’t. I thought back to last night when we were on my bed, and he’d touched my lip. I’d felt the unfamiliar pressure there, long after the fact, like he hadn’t really removed himself.

He was getting under my skin; that was for sure. I wanted it that way. I wanted everything about him etched under my hide, so that I could be beautiful just like he was, and I could wear my casing proudly.

But that wasn’t the only reason.

I was entranced by him. He was so captivating, and it made me ache just thinking about it. He was becoming a part of me; I was more attached to this crush than any other I’d gone through. Everything he said to me dissolved into my skin and stayed there, making me twitch with anxiety whenever I was near him.

“Oh my God,” he announced suddenly. “Do not tell me we just ate all those ourselves.”

I looked at the plastic tray and sure enough, less than half of the product remained.

“You fatty,” he said, poking my belly.

I flinched, jumping back from his outstretched digit. My flesh felt like it was immediately bruising. His finger had been sharp and forceful, hurting me. I put a hand to my side, and began massaging gently to will off the ache. It seemed like he was still jabbing me, the feeling so intense. I crossed my free arm over the other, attempting to hide my chubby stomach from him. I looked away, ashamed. He was right about my needing someone and now he was right about my being fat.

I felt his hand on my arm.

“Hey, I’m just kidding. I ate most of them.”

“I’m sorry I ate so much; I was just really hungry. I didn’t eat today.” I felt like I had to justify myself, to make an excuse for my actions. I’d been such a pig, and that was disgusting. Seeing as how I was overweight, I shouldn’t have let myself indulge like that, because it was a disgusting sight.

“Frankie! You don’t have to fucking say you’re sorry for eating! It’s your house, too. Do what you want. I don’t care.”

I looked at him, now ridden with guilt. “I’m sorry.”

“Frankie, stop saying you're sorry all the time! You’re not fat, either. I know that’s what you’re thinking.”

I kept my mouth shut, scared I’d make another mistake.

We viewed one more episode, and I was able to concentrate this time. There was no food to distract us; I’d put the cookies back on the counter. I’d also turned the lights on when I came back upstairs.

It was almost nine o’clock, and he said he should get going home. I walked him to my door, and looked outside to his car, where it sat patiently in the driveway, waiting for him. He bent down and put on his shoes. When he stood up again, his hair fell all over his face. He swung it out of his eyes and reached his arms out to me. I stood still, awaiting his next move, until he stepped forward and wrapped them around me. My arms tensed at my sides in self-depreciation as he pressed against me.

“You can touch me, you know,” he said, his chin digging into my shoulder. “I don’t have a disease.”

“Oh, sorry,” I said quickly, returning the hug. My face was soon in his neck; he was so big and warm and I didn’t want to let go. It was what I’d been daydreaming about the entire time he’d been over.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, babe. Take care of yourself.”

“You smell good,” I breathed.

“Well, thank you,” he answered, pulling back. He pursed his lips, trying not to smile. He looked at his feet briefly, then glanced back up to me. “Get some sleep tonight, okay?”

I nodded at him, despite knowing full well I wouldn’t be sleeping at all.

His car drove off, away from me. I cursed myself for not taking any chances, even though I knew I wouldn’t do it if the opportunity were to arise again. Maybe if I pushed myself a little harder, if I were more daring, then maybe my life wouldn’t be such a waste of space and energy. Maybe tomorrow I’ll take a chance when I see him at school. But I knew I wouldn’t. School made me even more ill at ease because there were so many people around, and it always felt like someone was watching me.

Oh god… I’m going to see him again tomorrow. But I must get off to bed now, out of the window, because his car is long gone. It was long gone about ten minutes ago.

As I lay down that night, I cuddled up to where he’d been resting and wished he were still beside me.

He made me happy when we hung out. He was funny and we talked about important things; I liked connecting with him. It was nice having someone else know what was going on, even though I could never explain my feelings properly. I wasn't even sure I understood them myself.

But after he’d left, I felt empty and lonely again. He was back home, I was lying in bed, and it was nighttime; dark, and I couldn’t sleep. I clung to the sheets and pillow he’d been using, inhaling the faint scent he’d left behind on my bedding. It smelled like clean laundry and light cologne.

I imagined he was still lying with his legs outstretched and his back against my headboard. I positioned myself on my stomach, pretending my arms were under my pillow, my face on his belly and my body on his legs. I closed my eyes and envisioned Gerard stroking my hair and making me feel peaceful, having the special power to put me to sleep.

But I couldn’t fall asleep, because images of us like that made my stomach churn, so much to the point that I began feeling sick, like I needed to vomit. It kept me awake because my heart would not compose its frantic beating. My quickening pulse was causing my entire body to vibrate rapidly, so fast that my muscles tensed and my eyes shot awake again. I felt oddly hot, but icy at the same time.

Oh no, please... no… not this…

I ran to the bathroom and knelt in front of the toilet. I lifted the lid and threw up violently into the ceramic bowl heaving, corrosive acid eating at my throat and behind my teeth. That was the first time. It was spittle and dry heaves for the last two episodes, leaving me shaking and in cold sweats.

I flushed my mess away then sat back, trying to catch my breath. My oral and nasal cavities were burning with fury and I needed to brush my teeth.

He is scaring me too much; it has never been this bad before.

Once I’d brushed and rinsed my mouth no less than four times, I wiped my face with a tissue and wandered back to my room. Though most of the shakes had been taken care of, I still was feeling quite unsettled.

I shouldn’t have been wishing for my best friend and I to spend some time in my bed, resting together. But, no matter how many times I told myself I didn’t have a chance, I couldn’t help but wish he would just come back and lie with me.

I didn’t know how long I lay there, hopelessly clenching my blankets in my hands to release some of the tension coursing through me. I imagined my depression and ache flowing out from within me to the tips of my fingers and out into the material. And it was gone; it was all in my covers, and it wasn’t my problem anymore.

Then, like an electric current through my sheets, it spread as though it were an outbreak. The blanket smothered my entire body, forcing its momentarily held feelings of mine right back into me. Fuck. All I wanted, more than anything in the world, was to cling to something other than those unresponsive layers of bedspread. They’d never kept me warm, anyway.

I didn’t know how to tell him I needed him. I was crying out, but my voice was lost in empty soundwaves. I was pretty sure he knew that anyway, though – especially after what he’d told me a few nights ago.

But I think you need someone, as well.

I guessed I would settle for telephone calls and evenings spent at the park. That wasn’t so bad…

I’d had my fix of him for the day; now I needed to fall into a deep slumber. It was all over and I was by myself again, back to staring at walls, and anxiously awaiting the next day. He gave me a reason to wake up every morning, even if all I had to look forward to was seeing him.

I closed my eyes one final time and rolled over again, willing my brain to relax and shut down for the night. I wanted to be a little more alert and attentive for the next morning, and maybe a little more energetic and happier. But of course, when you’re trying to fall asleep, it never fucking works.
Chapter 8
Even though it was near the middle of spring, the sky was always fucking grey. After it had been confirmed that Gerard was leaving town without me, I started thinking it was a sign of the prolonged emptiness that my life would return to once he had left.

The sun was supposed to come out after a long, dark winter, and shine. There was supposed to be hope and new life. But not there. Not in Cherry Hill. Even as we sat on our hill together, out of routine, I could not help but gaze at the sky and think of how disappointing my situation always was.

Like the sky, it would always be grey and dismal and never-fucking-ending. The sky was like a constant, nagging fucking reminder that I was going to be alone again.

“Fee? Whatcha looking at?” he called out into the silence.

“Fee? What’s fee?” I asked, curious, as I turned to him.

“Your new nickname.”

“Why? What’s it mean?”

“Well, it’s just short for Frankie. I think it suits you… you’re so short anyway,” he said with a grin.

“Hey, shut up.” Oh, he is making nicknames for me.

He sat with his legs spread and his hand resting loosely by his groin. He looked at me with an open-mouthed smile, just enough to see the bottoms of his teeth.

“What?” I asked, as he watched me. What the fuck.

My eyes flitted to the small mark beneath his eye, the one I’d discovered only a few days ago. I had spent a lot of time thinking about that little blotch. I’d become so intrigued by it. He wasn’t as perfect as I’d thought he was. It was a blemish, something that made him imperfect, and seem all that more attainable.

He shook his head slightly, keeping his mouth open as if he were about to say something. “What are you looking at up there?” he asked, leaning back to look up at the sky.

“There’s nothing there…”

“Then what were you looking at?”

I returned my gaze upward as well, looking into the oblivion as I had been a few moments ago. “The nothingness. I think it’s like my life. Everything is so ongoing and fucking grey and dark and there’s no way out of this vacuum,” I answered.

He turned to me with raised eyebrows. “Wow, Fee, be a poet.”

“Can you please not call me that?” I asked, biting my lip.

“Why not?”

“It’s weird. I like Frankie,” I muttered.

“Oh… well, alright. Sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“Okay.”

I was in one of my moods. I didn’t feel like crying, or yelling, or even laughing. I felt nothing. I was empty, just staring blankly at everything. All of my senses were intact and working; I could detect the faint hint of a damp spring, I was able to see the sky that reminded me so much of myself, and I could feel the soft ground beneath me. The basics were all there, but it was one of those days when I was so desultory toward everything that, regardless of what was available to me on the outside, the inside was left vacant and neglected.

I should have been happier, because I was spending my otherwise useless time with Gerard, but the giant dome hovering above me was sucking the life out of me. Normally, I would feel quite sad. But that night, it felt like everything inside of me had vanished, and all that was left was my heavy skin and heavy skeleton.

Occasionally I would have days like that, where I'd always speak in monotone and come off as arrogant toward anyone listening.

“The air smells like wet leaves,” I observed, with no enthusiasm.

He sniffed, and agreed slowly, “Yeah… it does...” Then he gave me weird look.

“It smells like life. Things are alive right now,” I explained.

He laughed. "You're so gothhh."

“No, you’re Goth, Gerard. You’re the one with black clothes and scary hair and vampire fucking teeth.”

He smiled and opened his mouth really wide. “I like to biiite!"

I kept my eyes on him, keeping still. I had no motivation to move. He crawled over and knelt beside me, getting a firm grip on my shoulders.

“I like your teeth,” I said quietly, observing them closely as he continued to grin cheekily. “I think they’re cute.”

But you’re so scary.

He did not release me. I looked past him; I was in tune with the realization that he was holding me and was quite close to my face, but I could not look him in the eye. He was inching nearer… Oh my God, he’s going to kiss me… I waited for it, as he stayed on his knees and squeezed my shoulders briefly. I saw his dark head of hair dip down, and the next thing I knew, he was clamping down on my neck. I let out a shocked cry, not expecting him to do that at all.

He pulled away and giggled at me. “I told you, when we first met. I’m a biter.”

“I remember,” I whispered. Fuck, do that again. The small piece of skin he’d bitten was burning, aching, and I was pretty sure there was going to be a mark. I silently hoped that one would leave a permanent wound. I wanted to display it to the world. I wanted to show off my relationship. I looked at him apprehensively, to see him looking toward the sky again.

“Do you ever think there’s something else out there?” he asked. “In space?”

“Like living creatures?”

“Yeah… I mean, there are billions of galaxies… there’s no way we’re the only life form,” he stated. There were slight creases on the bridges of his nose from squinting upward; also under his eyes.