currently unemployed piece of shit that used to be good at writing. I like: self-deprecating humor, cats, concept of self-expression through destruction.
I am on AO3 as wendell_borton.
Fuck AI.
Gerard's night out brings some unexpected surprises in the morning...
Notes:
Hope you'll like the chapter! I'm currently listening to The Used s/t album on repeat, I guess it partially influenced this chapter, too.
Let me know your thoughts on this or any previous chapter in the comments. Feedback is very much appreciated and keeps me motivated in writing. Thank youu <3.
Light was shining directly on my face. It was warm and nice. I kept my eyes closed, realizing I am not alone. No, I felt someone’s arms wrapped around my chest. They were warm, as well. Who is it? My head was throbbing with pain, blood pulsating in my temples. But warmth of the other body felt so nice I kept still, enjoying the moment. Maybe it is Frank...My mind was completelly blank, thoughts colliding slowly and randomly like billiard balls.
Skin. Tattoed skin. Heart beat. Black hair… He held me by my wrists as we fucked. He did the thing that I hate. He intertwined his fingers with mine, as if it was more than random hookup, as if it meant something. As if I meant something. I remembered his soft moaning and trembled, almost made myself horny again. Fuck. Definitelly stranger.
Did he put the light on? Did he saw...I opened my eyes in panic. I had my t-shirt and underwear on. Maybe I managed to keep it on. Or I dressed myself after, before we fell into drug induced coma. On the other hand, does it really matter if he saw? It’s not like we’ll get married. I reckoned we won’t see each other again.
Vodka. Club. I was in some club yesterday. We did coke together. We talked. I gave him head in the hallway. Then...basement. We kissed for a long time. I remembered how his hands felt on my skin as he slid down towards my belt and unzipped my jeans. I remembered receding towards his bed. Flexing and moving of his lean abdominal muscles under my palms as he towered above me, as pace of his movements became faster, as I lost myself inside the orgasm he gave me. I loved him with my whole soul in that moment.
I lifted my arms carefully to my face. There were dark finger-prints on my wrists, marring the straight lines of faded scars. Some lines were very thin, some lines were wide and bulging slightly. He felt them. At one point I used to wear long sleeves and refused to undress in front of my one-night-stands unless it was complete darkness in the room. Then I once had sex after taking Oxy and didn’t care. I didn’t really remember anything other than I let go of all control. I didn’t care if I’ll live or die, if I’ll wake up the next day…
„Why did you do it?“ I heard muffled raspy voice and jumped.
„Fuck, you startled me,“ I said.
„Sorry.“
„It’s ok.“
His body moved closer to mine, he hugged me tighter. His bare chest pressed against my back, his morning wood poking me into my thigh.
„You know, I usually don’t stay until morning. I don’t mean to be rude, just...tell me if I should get the fuck out.“
„Alright,“ he laughed and embraced me even closer. „I’ll let you know. You always this detached after hookup?”
I gulped loudly. “Yes.”
“And I bet you always try to switch the conversation to different topic if you feel uncomfortable.”
“Everybody does that. I think,” I said, uncertain.
“Some weirdos just straight-up answer. Disgusting, isn’t it...”
I took a deep breath and started to free myself from his embrace, as gently as possible. I slowly sat up, carefully in case I’d suddenly need to vomit. Once i knew I’m fine, I grabbed my pants from the ground and hastily put them on in an attempt to hide another area marred by scars on my thighs. I moved too fast and felt nauseating feeling, so I rested my head on my hands and rubbed my eyes.
“Fuck.”
After a while I turned around to look at him. He watched me curiously, as if he watched some morbid or violent display of animal behavior in ZOO. He looked gorgeous in the morning light, even with the dark circles under his eyes, arms clasped behind his head. I made mental note of bruises and patch on his left elbow socket. As I watched him, now, in the day light, I realized...He’s young. He’s too young.
“How old are you?” I asked, more sharply than I wanted. It sounded like command more than anything. He started to laugh.
“Old enough, ok? I’m long past the age of consent in state of New York, if that’s what concerns you.”
“Are you old enough to drink?”
“Well, we did coke yesterday, so what’t that compared to little bit of booze...”
“Are you?” I insisted.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Sure. Almost...I’m 20, ok?”
Great. 5 years age gap. I felt like some kind of creep immediately. Still, I couldn’t stop acting like asshole. I knew this day is already wasted and I’ll spend it either throwing up or sleeping and I was pissed at myself.
“I should go.”
“You know, you told me yesterday you don’t feel like main character of your own story. I know what you mean. I’m never anybody’s first choice, either. But acting like prick won’t make it better,” he said, staring absently into the ceiling, his hands still crossed.
“You’re right. Sorry,” I said. Silence between us stretched.
“Would you like some coffee?” he asked after a while.
...
We climbed stairs from the basement on to the hall. Our clothes still laid there, scattered on the ground. I thought about what we did there, excitement run through me like an electric shock. And shortly after that guilty feeling that poked me right into stomach.
“Bert, I need you to piss in the cup.” Out of room I assumed is kitchen rushed forward resolutely guy with light, almost white hair and eyebrow piercing, tall and thin. His expression was tense, almost angry. He stared at Bert, didn’t in any way show that he registered my presence.
“Morning, Quinn,” said Bert. Only now I realized I didn’t know his name.
“Quit it. Mum and dad are freaking out, they saw the clothes earlier, I told them you have some girl over...”
Bert laughed bitterly. “Yeah, I bet you did.”
Quinn crossed his arms in defensive pose and snapped at him: “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just that you already have practice in that, from your own experience, don’t you,” mumbled Bert. Fuck. Is anyone in this god-damned city even straight, I thought. Quinn decided to let the comment be.
“Piss in the cup, Bert. You know the rules, mum and dad have this Nancy Reagan approach, they'll kick you out if they find out and I won't be able to do anything about it and...” he sighed heavily.
“I want you to be clean. Please.” He looked so desperate. The look in his eyes, the exhaustion. It reminded me of my mother when she took care of her ill brother. He had cancer. Her eyes through that time were like two long, deep tunnels filled with pain, fear and hopelessness.
“Uhm...I can vouch for him. We just had some drinks and then went in here,” I began quietly.
“Who the fuck are you?” Quinn snapped at me, for a change. I wasn’t sure how to answer that question, either. He burned through me with his eyes full of pain.
“I’m Gerard. Bert was sober when we met, he wasn’t high. I can recognize that. My father was an addict.” None of that was lie.
“Oh, really. Why should I believe you?”
“Well, why would I lie to you?”
Quinn scanned me thoroughly and then turned to Bert. I couldn't say whether he believed me or not.
“What were you drinking?”
“Just a couple of beers.”
“You know damn well you’re not supposed to drink any alcohol as a hard drugs use...”
“Hey, how am I supposed to survive that, Quinn? It was just couple of beers, I wasn’t shitfaced,” interrupted Bert quickly his words.
“I don’t know, maybe you shouldn’t have started taking in the first place! Fuck!” exclaimed Quinn in visible frustration. Then he checked his watch and sighed: “I need to go to work. We'll talk later, Bert. See ya.” He stormed around us, took dark jacket from hanger, car keys and slammed the door behind him.
Chapter 12: I only make out in front of people when I’m high, I swear.
Summary:
Gerard, after meeting this very nice and generous guy in the club, decides to go to his house and...think about baroque statues.
Notes:
This is first smut I've ever written and published and I did so with hangover, so be easy on me. And don't judge me!
Also, if you liked this or any previous chapter, let me know in the comments! Feedback is very much appreciated and keeps me motivated! <3
He tasted nice. Menthol cigarettes, vodka. I could smell his deodorant, probably Old spice. All the standard masculinity smells that I liked. He was good kisser, I realized joyfully. His tongue sliding on my tongue, our saliva and leftover flavours of drinks mixing together. He was gentler than I expected, softly circling over my tongue. Who needs that? Not me, certainly. I fenced his lower lip with my teeth and bit him. He winced a little and then smiled.
“Oh boy, you drive me insane,” he whispered into my ear. The music was blaring and I felt adrenaline coursing through my body, I felt crackling electricity in my body. I felt alive. The only way I knew. Through dangerous hanky-panky with lethal drugs and strange men.
“Let’s go to my place?” he said. We could fuck here. I already did that a few times. Locked in toilet cabin with unnamed stranger. We would make each other cum and part our ways as if nothing happened. Sometimes it was fine, sometimes it was exactly what I craved. Other times I felt worse after, as if I was dirty, smeared by such cruelty, that surgical cut through intimity and simple fucking. It was nice when somebody took me home with him. Stray cat in need of human touch, starved for connection.
“Let’s go,” I said and didn’t even ask where he lives, whether it’s far from here. I finished my drink and we headed out outside.
It started to rain . My man put his hood on and lit up a cigarette with certain effort, snuggling in his leather jacket. We headed towards subway. It was fuckin’ cold, we were both shaking when we finally reached subway platform. A few people here and there. Mostly drunk.
“C’mere,” he said and pulled me closer by my hoodie. His lips were moist with rain and I felt his rock-hard cock poking me into thigh through wet denim. I only make out in front of people when I’m high, I swear. (Side note, that would be great song title.) He cupped my face in his hands, sweeping my wet hair away from my face. I couldn’t help it and silently moaned. Fuck. We need to get to wherever he lives as soon as possible or I’ll fuckin desecrate him in nearest phone booth or something. We did get on the overcrowded subway, me holding on to the handrail and him holding on to me, his hand slipping under my hoodie and curiously wandering around my body. Only my upper body, luckily. I could see my reflection in his blue eyes, his pupils still large like two black holes trying to suck me inside. We were watching each other like two hawks, getting ready to tear each other apart. I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t wait for the moment we’ll be finally alone. His hand painfully digged into flesh on my back, I imagined red almost bloody scratches on my spine. I let out small whine. He smiled. My gaze fell from his lips to his wildly pulsating neck vein, framed by wet black hair. The guy who’s gonna fuck me was soaking me in with his stare, hungrily.
We finally reached the intended destination and stepped outside to the downpour. Rain made us go even faster, lightning struck somewhere near. I couldn’t remember the last time there was thunderstorm in the middle of the night.
We stopped in front of small house, he unlocked the door and we stepped inside. He frantically tossed his keys on a wardrobe and they slid down immediatelly, which none of us actually registered, me tearing off his leather jacket of him and him undressing my damp hoodie and throwing it on the floor. He pushed my body against wall and held my wrists in his hands. We were kissing for a long time, our breaths became faster and faster, intervowen with occasional moans and whimpers. His fingers trailing my hands found the scars. I felt it, his momentary hesitation as he stopped the movement. I broke away from him, pushed him against the opposite wall, undressed his shirt of him. He had piercing in one nipple and tattoo on left side of his ribcage. I trailed my fingers on the ink, on his ribs, down towards his sticking out hipbones and dark pubic hair. His nakedness reminded me of Frank, leaving my bathroom with wet hair, dressed in my Iron maiden shirt. His tattooed arm, later that night touching my hand, the same electricity I felt now...I pressed my lips on his pulsating neck vein, feeling his pulse and hot blood underneath on my tongue, pressed my hand on his wildly beating heart. My heart was wildly fluttering in my own chest, like a bird trapped in a cage, desperatelly trying to be free again. I leaned closer towards his ear and whispered: “I wanna fuck you so badly,” to which he answered with soft moan, his lower lip shivering. I started to unbuckle his belt, his hips desperatelly pushing against mine, our hard cocks begging for some space. I was ready to fuck him right there, under the stairs, without any knowledge if there’s anyone else in the house, his behaviour indicating it’s perfectly safe and ok.
I managed to unbuckle the belt, unzip his pants, finally freeing his penis with beautifully bulging vein. “Uhhh fuuck,” he managed to gasp out as I started to slowly rub him, taking tremendous pleasure in watching his reactions. His quivering lower lip made my heart ache, along with my own fully erected cock. His head tilted back, lips parted, reminded me of Ecstasy of saint Theresa, perfectly mirroring her own orgasm. I knealt down and devoured him whole, to the root of his penis, listening to his rapid breathing, looking up to his face as if he was my personal God and this was my way of saint communion. I supported him with my hands, as I took in his shivering body, his moaning full of profanities, I took him in wholy, I took him in, in a way nobody was willing to take me in. He grabed fistfull of my hair as I changed tempo of the movement, sensing him being close to the edge, close to God or whatever deity. I clutched his hipbones as if it was only material thing binding me to this planet. His movements became in sync with mine, he was gasping for air as if he was drowning. He's gonna cum soon, I thought and sped up, thrusting his hips and pelvis toward me, almost choking on him. Choking on his pleasure, on a sight of his half naked body, I agresivelly enfolded him by my tongue, stroking him in a series of short movements that always ended my lover’s beautiful suffering (and in blocked neck on my side). He thrusted his hips for the last time and came inside my mouth with loud moan that made my cock twitch. His face was glistening with sweat and grimace of his pleasure and joy stayed on while his dick was spasming inside my mouth, while I swalowed everything. As I licked of the last drops and let go of him, he collapsed to the ground, exhausted. I noticed dark imprints on his hip bones in places where I was holding him, wandering whether they’ll later color in and become bruises. I secretelly hoped they will. I hoped he will remember me every time he’ll jerk off, shower or go piss and see the bruises, until they disappear.
“Oh fuck,” he muttered and pulled me closer, tasting himself on my lips and tongue. Then he stood up and picked me up by hand, as well, and we finally descended the staircase.
I heard Frank’s receeding footsteps, Hambone mumbling something on the opposite side of flat and Frank answering: “Yep, fine.” followed by noisy door slam. My hands were shaking again and I felt anger coursing through my body, my throat tight as if I swalowed ball of yarn.
It is happening again.
I stood up and looked outside on darkening city. Street lamps were friendly blinking behind unwashed windows. Autumn had driven me insane for most of my life. My 13 year old self wandered around town aimlessly, Shithole of my childhood and adolescence filled with alcoholic old men and pearl-clutching older women, bullies and assholes. There was nowhere to hide except for nearby forests I knew like my own shoes. I’d get lost inside them, listening to black metal, getting high occasionally. It wasn’t safe to be home and it wasn’t safe to be out in the open, so I haunted local woods with my presence...As if I was back there, between spruces and pines. I could almost smell the scent of those tall trees around, hissing of pine needles under my feet...I would visit quite often one particular tree, tall, with branches widelly spread like arms of loving mother...My hands were still shaking like hell, I realized, and my anger didn’t go away. I wanted to scream.
“Fuck,” I said under my breath as I put on dark hoodie, coat and stormed outside the flat.
...
I walked a few blocks in a fast pace, trying to mute the whole circus in my brain. I had Frank’s shocked or frightened face still in my memory. Was he scared of me in that moment? It reminded me of my dad, yelling at me, his limbs shaking with anger...that thought made me sick to my stomach. For a moment, I saw myself towering above Frank, his face bloody and battered, his blood on knuckles of my hands...I shivered with disgust.
I lit myself cigarette and run through crossroads seconds before traffic lights turned red. Crowds of people made me even more anxious, so I turned left and walked through narrow street, away from noisy centre. Eventually I stopped at some bar/club between flower shop and drug store. I heard music as I descended stairs. There was plenty of young people, all dressed up in their rave clothes or revealing dresses. I could’t care less about my own outfit and sat down at the bar, ordered item that would make me shit-faced as soon as possible. The usual for me. It is happening again.
I couldn’t be in my head anymore. I couldn’t stand it. I had to break myself. I had to remove myself from my body, just for a little while, just so I can catch my breath. I gulped my vodka with Redbull, and ordered another one. Barman raised his eyebrows and handed me another vodka. I paid and get lost between nameless bodies of strangers.
It was illusion for my brain. I knew it was. I was trying to fool myself that I am not alone, that all those people feel similar feelings, that they, too, are desperatelly trying to get away from their demons. Drinking, smoking, feeling presence of another body, anything to stop the pain. I stood in the background, letting the loud music and lights consume me. Devour me. But Frank’s face still lingered in my mind. His big, brown-green eyes filled with...what even was it? Was it fear? Disappointment? Anger? Frustration? All of that? I was right. I should’ve been more scared of moving in. Just like usual, when something really matters to me. When I don’t want to fuck it up. And I always fuck it up in the end.
“You’re right. Why am I telling you this?”
I thought about the emphasis he put on the “you”. Of all the people, why was he telling me all that? I felt myself slipping away again, back, back in the past.
“Having fun, are we?” said guy standing next to me. All I could see were brief glimpses of his face when stroboscope lit up the place a little. He had some drink in his hand, as well, long hair below his shoulders with color streaks in it and dark clothes. Alcohol in my bloodstream made me more sociable, as usual. Liquid connections. It has always been like that. Illusion of affinity with another human being, with anyone. Pushing away people that really matter to chase brief connections in the dark that will evaporate first thing in the morning.
“You have no idea,” I said, drinking the rest of my vodka.
“You seem quite sad to me,” he added. His voice was raspy, husky, as if he smoked pack of cigarettes since he was 9. I liked that. I wish I had that kind of voice.
“I guess I am sad, then,” I scoffed. If I had a penny for every time someone told me that...
“Would you like something for cheering up?” he asked with curious look.
“What, like a candy? Lollipop with chewing gum inside? Now I should probably ask whether you’re cop, but you wouldn’t tell me anyway, would you?”
“I like you. You’re funny. And sad. Weird combo, like crying clown.”
“So do you have something or not?”
He beckoned at me to follow him to toilets. Most of people were sitting at the bar or dancing. I could see him better now, in sharp fluorescent lights. He had blue eyes underlined by black eye-liner and few tattoos on his arms. He stepped into cabin and closed the door behind us. Then he knealt down, pulled out small sachet with white powder, razor blade and short straw, doing two lines of cocaine on toilet lid. He snorted the first and then handed me the straw. I knealt next to him and did the second line.
I watched his enlarged pupils inside blue irises and knew damn well my own eyes look the same. My heart rate went up and I felt myself sweating and after few seconds came the desired feeling, the high I chased ever since I was small kid: as if everything clicked in its place. I smiled and he smiled back at me.
“Not sad anymore?”
“Nah.”
“That’s good.”
We sat there, on a dirty ground and I felt so happy. I haven’t felt this good since...since the moment in my bed, with Frank next to me. When I felt like I had some secret light burning inside. Jesus. Just a glitch, fleeting moment...if only I could believe that. If only I could fool myself by that.
I got up and extended hand to my drug Santa and new best friend. We left the crapper (I noticed dirty look from some guy washing his hands and couldn’t care less) and bought us both another vodka. As I was walking towards him with the drinks, I noticed short black hair and tattooed arms of man walking in front of me. My heart skipped a beat, which isn’t that weird when you’re high on cocaine, and for a moment I had urge to grab his hand in crazy assumption I just bumped into Frank. Then the guy turned from another side and I realized it’s somebody else.
“You come here often?” asked my dealer guy.
“Only when I fuck things up.”
“No way! Same as me! What are the odds?” he laughed and lifted the drink to his lips. “So what did you do?”
“Well...I’ve had enough. It's always the same. It keeps on happening, again and again and I’m fed up with it." "Sounds familiar. Go on, then," he encouraged me to continue. I wouldn't tell him shit if I was sober. If I was sober, I wouldn't tell single soul anything. I took a deep breath and continued: "Do you ever feel like...you’re just a spare person in everybody else’s story? Like you’re not even the sidekick, you’re just secondary or maybe even tertiary character. Because I do. Every fuckin time. Every time I meet someone...I mean every time I make new friend, I end up being their quiet friend. The friend that keep all their secrets...I dunno...I am never anybody’s first choice...” I took a sip of my vodka. I couldn’t help it, it all came flooding and I couldn’t stop it. My high and drunk mind was switching between what happened with Frank and another story, from another time. I felt like I was watching movie and I had to tell him, I had to tell him everything, right now, even though I didn’t even know his name.
I rambled on: “I knew...this girl. It was like ten years ago, back when I lived with my parents. She was...she was my best friend. I liked her a lot. I liked spending time with her, we were playing DnD and writing this comic together. It was called...Red menace, I think? Well, anyway. I liked her and everything was cool. But then she realized I had crush on her. And then she started dating this guy. And since I was her friend, she’d tell me all about it, you know. And I felt happy for her, but at the same time, it was like torture. She described to me how they kissed and fucked and where and how many times. She told me it’s the chosen one, she loves him, yada, yada...And it feels like stab in the stomach. It feels like...You’re never gonna be the one. For anyone...She told it to everyone, that I had a crush on her. That’s how they knew...”
Suddenly, it made sense. I was running in circles, chasing anyone I couldn’t have. Every fuckin time. I was back in the forest, us together again...Ten years ago. Back there, I was so happy and so scared I’m gonna lose...
The guy watched me attentively and then said: “The girl...It was actually boy, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. It was a boy,” I said. Wow. I know how to party, don’t I?
“Well, you are my first choice tonight, darling. If it makes you feel any better,” he said and caressed my face, then slid his hand behind my ear and on a back of my neck, moving closer to kiss me. I opened my mouth and let him kiss me, kissed him back with all the anger I had inside, grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer agressivelly, happy to let go of any thoughts that remained in my high brain.
Notes: Hope you liked the chapter!
Let me know in the comments your thoughts, thank you in advance <3. Feedback is very much appreciated and keeps me motivated in writing.
Stream of water gently washed away remaining layers of stress of me. I was getting clean as I stood under shower and drops of water trickled down from my hair. My overgrown hair, I realized. Time was passing and for now, I felt like active participant in it. For once in my life, I felt like I am moving somewhere...good, maybe.
It’s been 3 days. 3 days since I moved in with Frank and his friends. Once I collected my belongings and did some paperwork, I kicked the door open and left my flat behind. My safe haven, even through the general shittiness of it. With huge bag filled with my stuff on one shoulder and guitar case on the other, I managed to not fall on old lady that was sitting on a seat directly in front of me and angrily watching me as I fluttered on one hand every time crowded subway made sudden movement. I was stuck between man in suit and group of highschoolers and couldn’t be happier once I reached my station.
“Hello. Are you door-to-door pot seller? Because if you are, we are not interested, y’know...” said guy with short hair sticking in various directions and light brown eyes that appeared moment I rang the doorbell.
“...What?” I managed to say.
“Do you have pots and pans in that huge bag?” he said suspiciously. “We know your spiel, Mister, we are watching Teleshopping religiously on some rare occasions when we partake in pot of our own and you should be ashamed, you and the whole multi-level marketing bullshit.”
“...Ok. Is Frank here?”
“I’m not authorized to answer that question, sorry, pal.”
“Hambone! For fuck’s sake, shut the fuck up.” I felt unbelievable relief when I saw Frank hurrying behind the guy. “Hi, I’m sorry, Gerard, come in,” he said and then turned to the Hambone guy. “I told you Gerard will come today, didn’t I?”
“Oppsie. Jeez, apologies, mum!” he rolled his eyes and closed the door behind me.
“So you’re the new flatmate? Cool! I’m Hambone,” he shook my hand.
“Gerard. Wow, that’s interesting name, I bet there’s cool story behind it.”
“Oh yeah. My parents were craaazy,” he chuckled. I darted glance towards Frank who just shook his head and mumbled: “Not today.”
I unpacked my things in my new temporary home. As I sat on my bed and watched street lamps outside lit up, I felt weirdly comfortable feeling I haven’t felt in a while. Strange.
After that I went to kitchen, where Frank was cooking.
“I hope you don’t mind pasta,” said Frank with kitchen cloth over his shoulder.
“Yeah, since it’s about only thing Frank ever cooks,” said Hambone and took a sip of beer can. Frank pointed at him with spoon that he used for stirring salt in boiling water.
“You’re walking on thin ice, Hambone, I swear to God. Go and buy yourself Happy Meal if you don’t like my cooking.”
“Yuck.”
“Besides, I have to keep alive my heritage, my Italian roots, ok?”
“Whatever,” said Hambone.
“Uhm...Thank you, Frank. I’m gonna cook and shop come groceries tommorrow...” I started, but Frank just waved his hand, interrupting me.
“Don’t worry about it and make yourself at home. I owe you, remember?”
“Hang on, how do you know each other, again?” asked Hambone over beer can. I glanced at Frank who blushed a little. Didn’t he spill his beans as soon as he left my flat after that weird evening? Wasn’t his friends worried about him? They had to be, surely. Surely after they saw his battered face, bruises...Why wouldn’t he tell them? What the fuck...?
“It’s a long story, long and quite boring, actually.” Sure, anything but boring, I would say, darting helpless gaze towards Frank. He stirred cooking pasta again and then he said: “Book store.”
“Yeah. Book store,” I nodded.
“You know the book club I attended? Gerard had quite cool opinions and initiated me in Mark Fisher’s work, Ursula Le Guin and anarchist stuff.”
“Oh, really?” Hambone looked at me, impressed.
“Yup,” I nodded again, trying my best not-surprised-this-isn't-brand-new-information-at-all look I could muster.
“Yeah. Gerard’s real nerd when it comes to books. And comics.”
“Awesome. I love comics!” declared Hambone. Frank gave me look that clearly said to take the steering wheele from here so I started to talk with Hambone about various comic series, but my mind stayed fixated on the thought. Frank lied about me, about how we met. I glanced every once in a while towards him, but he turned his back at us, fully immersed in cooking process. What dirty secrets are you fuckin’ hiding, Frank?
We ate our dinner together. It was amazing. To no avail, I tried to remember the last time I ate with other people. At the table. Hot, propper meal. It's been ages ago. Frank didn’t turn down my offer of cleaning the dishes after, at least. He disappeared after the dinner and Hambone proceeded to play some video game.
In the next few days I saw Frank only seldom. Life continued in its cycle, I went to work, home, buy some groceries in the evening. It's been 3 days. I still couldn’t let go of the thought that Frank probably didn’t tell his own friends he was attacked in the subway.
...
I stepped out of the shower and put some clothes on. Jeans, white t-shirt. My hair was still wet and I was always sloppy when it came to drying them. Water was dripping on me clothes, I didn’t really care. I stepped into my room and sat down on the bed, putting on clean socks. Each of them had slightly different shade and I didn’t care either. Then I heard hesitant knock on my door.
“Yeah?”
Frank slowly entered my room and closed door behind him.
“Hi.”
“You didn’t tell them...” I really wanted to start the conversation in some normal way, I really wanted to, but I hanged on this for several days now and it was slowly driving me insane. I wiped away drop of water that was sliding down my neck. “Why didn’t you tell them?”
“Gerard, look...Hambone and Shaun are my friends from kindergarten. They know me my whole life, yet...there are certain things they don’t need to know.”
“Such as...?”
“Such as me being beaten on a subway.”
“Um...Because...?!” I continued annoyed and incredulously.
“Because I’m not fuckin interested in another lecture from them, ok? Just...don’t bring it up in front of them.”
“But...It was self-defense, you were just defending...”
Frank crossed the small space between us and sat next to me on the bed. He placed his hands on my shoulders and said in pleading voice: “For the love of God, don’t. Bring. It. Up. K?”
Then he sighed, put down his hands and looked on the floor.
“But they know you are...not straight, right?”
“They do. I came out to them around the time it was the worst with my dad. They understood. Helped me. They even covered for me on some occasions when my dad drove around in his car, looking for me...Meanwhile, I was hiding in their garage, getting high. Or making out with someone somewhere...But once you leave the Shithole of your hometown, everything changes. World is suddenly bigger, suddenly there is plenty of space even for you. Even for such a scum like me. There was place the whole time for me, waiting. And I always knew. I always clung to that. And once you discover there was this special place where you belong, there’s no point in hiding anymore. You can finally be your whole you. Without compromises, without guilt, without some dickhead beating you for that. And that, I assume...is the thing they won’t ever understand. I won’t crawl back to whatever grey normie expectation they have for me. I don’t care if I’m too much, too obvious, too flashy, too loud. I don’t fuckin’ care.”
There was a moment of silence.
“This wasn’t the first time this happened, was it?”
He shook his head. “High school bullies grow up, too. Even the special place has its own bullies, creeping in the shadows...I don’t fuckin’ care. So be it. It won’t stop me from wearing eye shadows, lipstick and fuckin’ feather boa if I feel like it. And if I end up with a few broken ribs and coughing up blood, so be it. But I won’t fuckin listen to those well-intentioned advice from my own fuckin’ friends that could be summarized in a simple ‘I told you so’. Because they’ll never get it.”
“So you told them...What? You fell down the stairs?”
“That’s what I should’ve used!” he slapped his palm on his knee. “I told them I bumped into street lamp. Shitfaced.”
There was another moment of silence.
“Your socks don’t match,” he remarked.
“Yeah, I know.”
I watched as another drop of water fell from my hair. This one fell down on my leg and was now soaking up into denim.
“I saw you the day before on the subway,” he added. Quietly. Watching the floor carefully.
“Likewise,” I heard myself responding, fully aware of sweat that suddenly appeared on my palms, so I quickly remarked: “With some girl.”
“Yeah, Jamia.”
“So, is she...your girlfriend?” I asked, hypnotizing another drop of water on my denim leg.
“Well, she’s...It’s complicated. I love her. She’s my best friend. We have sort of on-again, off-again type of thing...She’s amazing, but at the end of the day, I know she wants the white picket fence fantasy with three kids and a dog. And I’m afraid...that maybe I can’t be the person she wants me to be. Who she needs me to be. It's this massive end goal...This huge obligation that dangles above me like sword of Damocles...I’m scared that I will disappoint her. But I love her. I really do. She's the most amazing girl I know.”
“Why are you telling me this? I mean...we don’t even know each other. So why the fuck are you telling me this?” I felt nauseating feeling. Drop of water on my jeans dried completelly, I couldn’t see it anymore. Rage and anger I was carrying inside who know how long was now spilling out. Emotion I desperatelly tried to supress was climbing out of my throat. From the day I met him, I knew...I knew he’ll be my gravedigger. I let myself be swept by some crazy idea that was never real in the first place, just another illusion, another pipe dream, another castle in the air...the burning candle that I carried inside my ribcage since the night we shared my bed suddenly burnt out. I almost choked on the smoke soaring up in spirals.
"Whoa, Gerard, I'm sorry, man, I didn't meant..." he started to apologize with confused expression on his face. He didn't even know what was he apologizing for.
“Why did you even want me here? Am I supposed to be your confidant, soak up all your fuckin’ secrets and intrigues, be your blow up doll for whenever you need? What do you even want from me? WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS?!” I screamed, startling Frank visibly, startling even myself. It wasn’t enough, so I jumped to my feet and flipped over chair standing near by. Frank was now on his feet as well, looking at me with fear in his eyes. He stared at the overturned chair for a while, then he peeled his eyes of it and stared at me. He approached me, stared at me for a long while, with the same hard expression in his eyes just like back on the roof. It was expression full of defiance. We were now standing so close to each other, our noses almost touching.
“You’re right. Why am I telling you this?” he said quietly, his tone of voice menacing. Then he walked out of my room, slamming the door behind him.
I was sitting on my bed, holding my Nokia in one hand and piece of paper in the other and hated every passing minute. It has been a few days since Frank left the note in my flat, yet I couldn’t bring myself to calling him.
As if I had a choice. I didn’t, really. They gave us such a short notice that I had barely time to go through newspaper and circle some of the horible flat ads that I saw there. Overpriced, very small, sharing the same bed with another guy that worked night shifts. Didn’t discourage me and I kept on searched for something, anything during lunch times. Anything, as long as I won’t have to call him.
The thing is, I wanted to see him again. Sure. But I hated being someone in need. I always took care of myself...but as I said, I had no choice.
Sleeping Beauty,
call me once you wake up.
I think I might help you with your housing situation.
XO Frank
“Fuck, I hate this,” I sighed. Then I finally pressed Frank’s number on the phone and squeezed green key.
“Hi, this is Frank Iero,” I heard nervous and familiar voice.
I swalowed hard. “Hi, it’s Gerard? From the subway...”
“That must’ve been a long sleep.”
“Well...My mum used to say ‘Do things properly or not at all’, y’know.” What the fuck is this nonsense, I asked myself.
“I bet she did. So, we are looking for a new roommate. We live in this huge flat with ridiculous rent and one of the guys decided to fuck off to Italy all of sudden and leave us behind like a bunch of dildoes, so...we need someone. Would you be interested?”
“Fuck yeah,” I said, trying not to sound completely desperate.
“Cool. Maybe we could meet tommorrow? To check the apartment and, you know...”
“Sure, I’ll be there. Around six?”
“Yeah, I can make that work.”
“Great, thank you, Frank.”
“No worries. See you tommorrow, then.”
“Sure, see you.”
...
I rang doorbell and hid my sweating hands inside my coat. I was standing in front of brick house with several floors. Most of people who live there are probably students, I assumed. College was only few block away from here. Frank appeared moment later in Minor threat shirt and ripped jeans. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked pale and sick, his hair disheveled. He smilled and that made me smile in return.
“Hiya, come in.”
“Hi, Frank.”
We climbed flight of stairs and after Frank unlocked the door, we stepped inside spacious room that served as common room, I assumed. There was big couch and several non-matching arm-chairs, big stereo with speakers and piles of CDs on a floor. 2 guitars, bass and keyboard stand in the corner of the room and lot of effects with shitload of cables laid on old carpet that slightly reeked of cigarette smoke and spilled beer. Some CD was playing, it was ambient and gloomy. On diy pallet table was scattered few books and magazines, I noticed few weed plants hidden between basil in flowerpot on a windowsill. Kitchen was clean, small but sufficient, separated by counter that served as some kind of bar. Flat consisted of 4 separate bedrooms. Frank led me to the bedroom that would be mine. Clean, white-painted, small and cozy room with wooden floor and big window that lead outside and onto fire escape stairs.
“This is amazing,” I said. “When can I move in here?”
“Well, rent is a smidge higher, but other than that...” Frank looked around. “Oh, almost forgot to show you bathroom.”
After that, Frank gave me form where I put my information, whether I had some pet (I said no), whether I smoke (I lied and said no) and told me he’ll contact landlord.
“I’ll drop a good word on your behalf and hopefully he’ll be cool with you moving in. He’s quite reasonable, and I know you’re decent human being, Gerard. It should be ok,” said Frank, sitting on a bar chair next to the counter. I noticed every chair had diferent size and upholstering, as if Frank and his friends were stealing random chairs from local bars. Then again, with Frank, it wouldn’t be that surprising.
“Frank, you have no idea how much this means to me,” I said from the couch where I finished filling in the papers.
“Come on. It’s mutual aid, basically.” Frank slid down from the chair and opened fridge. “Beer?” he asked. I hesitated a little. Sure, I could use a beer, as always. Beer meant liquid relaxation, another way to calm myself down, numb myself. I don’t usually drink with other people around, though. Not anymore.
“Sure, why not,” I said and caught a beer can Frank tossed at me. As I turned around can in my fingers, feeling droplets and cold tin on my skin, Frank sat back and opened his beer can.
“I haven’t been outside a lot lately. Still kinda paranoid that something might happen, you know?” he said slowly and hesitantly after a while. I opened the beer and took a big sip. Imediatelly I felt more at ease.
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I was really anxious the first few days on my commute to work. But I think we would be busted by now if someone reported us back then.”
“I’m more concerned with the attackers, to be honest. It's not that I’m scared, just knowing they could suddenly appear...Ok, maybe I’m a little bit scared. I know the town is big and the odds of meeting them again are low, but...Dunno. Sorry, I just wanted to...You were there, so I knew you’d understand.” He rubbed his eyes and looked down on the beer can he was holding with tired expression.
“How long has it been since you left the flat?” I asked.
“I’m not sure...Few days. I called to work, said I have explosive diarrhea. That’s bulletproof excuse, never failed me. Ever since that...incident, I feel really bad. Like, something ruptured. I don’t know how to explain it.”
I knew exactly what he meant. “Every violent encounter is...destabilizing I think. Especially if you grew up in it. At least I have it like that. I see something brutal and it always brings along all the shit from my past, it comes in flooding like tsunami. It buries me, all the feelings from the past. But...It’s just that. Just memories I have inside my bones, that I can’t un-live. Whatever happened, happened. I was different person back then. I wasn’t sure how I’ll survive until eventually, I emerged on the other side. Eventually, I have to pick up the pieces and kind of just...emerge, you know?”
Only CD kept on playing in the silence. I took another sip of the beer. Suddenly I realized Frank has been locked in his flat in this acute state for days and my heart sunk. If only I called him sooner...shit, I’m such an asshole.
“Frank, can I do something for you? There are crisis centres and such...”
“No, I’m ok, really. I just need a few days to process it all...Fuck, you shouldn’t see me like this. Sorry.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because I don’t like it,” Frank said willfully and gulped a big swig of beer. Then he wiped his mouth and asked: “How are you holding up, anyway?”
I wasn’t thinking about it, I realized. My mind was preoccupied with my housing problem, work and cop-related stress. I was sure I’m gonna crash out in near future once the pressure is of and I’ll have a space for it. It happened to me a few times before.
“I’m good. Fine. Don’t worry about me, ok?”
My can was almost empty.
“Let’s take a walk, Frank.”
I could see annoyed expression on his face immediatelly. “Gerard, I’ll be alright, you don’t have to nurse me.”
“Jeez, it's not about you, Frank, I just want to see local comic shops and gig venues. I’m lost here without you, y’know?” He rolled his eyes and threw crumpled beer can in the bin.
“Fine, I’ll go with you. Dickhead.” I smiled.
...
Frank put on black hoodie and moments later we stumbled outside. His skin looked almost translucent in the autumn sun light. It was beautiful evening, sun started to dip below the horizont and skies were crimson red and orange. I lit up cigarette and gave one to Frank. I felt taste of beer in my mouth still. We slowly headed towards university campus.
“So you’re comic freak, huh?” said Frank after a while, once he seemed calmer but still annoyed.
“I guess so. I draw and illustrate and comics are my creative outlet. I love it.”
“I see. Do you work as a comic illustrator, then?”
“Unfortunatelly no. I’d love to, but no. I have an office job. Corporate stuff. E-mails. Client calls. Multitasking.”
“Do you like it?” he asked. I stopped in my tracks. “Jesus, Frank. Look at me, do I strike you as a person that could like an office job?” I spread my arms wide as to make Frank really evaluate me. He pressed his finger to his lips in thinking gesture and checked me out, my old blue sneakers, jeans, long black coat and striped scarf that didn’t match with any other item.
“You strike me as someone who derives fashion sense from the Fourth Doctor,” he noded his head as he kept staring at my outfit.
“Exactly. Also, fuck you.”
We kept on walking in silence. He finished his cigarette, put it out on trash can and tossed it inside. “Well, you should try to apply for a job as illustrator. Move on, if there’s no future for you in your office job.”
“Well, it pays my rent, so there’s that. Also, you haven’t seen anything I draw, maybe I’m hopeless and you wouldn’t like my stuff.”
“Surely not. I can see you’re an artsy type. I can feel it from you, the same vibe I have.”
“Oh? What’s your field?” I asked curiously.
“Uh, mainly...thrashing myself on the floor while torturing Pansy. My guitar, I mean.” I remembered all the instruments back in the flat. Of course.
“Abyssus abyssum invocat,” I mumbled and smiled to myself.
“Huh?”
“Nothing, it’s just this phrase. One abyss calls another. It’s...Nevermind. So are you good? Can I come to a gig?”
“Sure, once we force some event manager to put us on. In the meantime, you can come to a rehearsal if you want to. Sometimes we rehearse in the living room with the instruments turned way down, so it’s no fun, really.”
“I assume you don’t aspire to become office rat with no future, then?”
“Nah. And neither do you. Your body just didn’t realize it yet,” he said with flirty wink and left me a few steps behind him, hands in pockets of his hoodie, breathing in fresh evening air. He came up to a bench and sat down. Street lamps above our heads lit up.
“Really nice day for a walk,” he said dreamily, grinning into thickenning darkness around us.
I tossed my cigarette stub in a bin and sat next to him. As I looked on his face, I noticed his bruises were turning green as blood clot was dissolving under his skin. His lip still looked battered. I had irresistible urge to reach out to touch his face, trace my fingers around the wounds, inspect them. Make them disappear, somehow. His lip tissue looked so raw, it would definitelly hurt if someone tried to kiss him. The person’d had to be really gentle, only brush their lips against his, as if they’d take a moth in their palm, trying not to wipe away the pixie dust of the wings...
I lowered my gaze and felt myself blushing. Aside from work colleagues, I don’t spend time with people. Hang out. It usually left me exhausted. But with him, it was different. Almost effortless.
“So where the hell is the comic shop?” I asked with grin.
“Fuck if I know,” he said carelessly with his eyes closed, still breathing in deep the autumn air. “We’ll find it another time.”
“Alright. I rely on you, though,” I said, delighted that he feels better momentarily.
...
We headed back to his home after a while. As he walked up stairs to the front door, he turned around with little smile. “Thank you, Gerard.”
“Anytime,” I replied from sidewalk, watching him unlock the door.
“We’ll be in touch, alright?”
“Right. See you.”
He waved at me and I saw his small figure disappear inside the house. I decided to walk. As I watched falling leaves collapsing on the pavement, I felt lightheaded and weirdly...peaceful. After a while, I realized I’m smiling. Shit. That’s odd.
I thought what would it mean if I could really move in. It would be great, right? I thought about the room that could be my new home. I imagined drinking coffee and smoking on a balcony outside, seeing Frank every day...What would that be like? I wanted to see him again, I realized. I wanted to see him daily. I wanted to talk to him. On the other hand, living in the same house, in the same flat felt overwhelming. I wasn’t ready to give up my loner lifestyle, was I? Fuck it. I’m fed up with being alone all the time. I can live with other people. I can do it...right? I silently growled in frustration. Why do I have to soil anything good that happens to me with all this doubt and bullshit?
You know why, something deeper inside me replied.
Oh, yeah. That. I almost forgot.
...
A few days later I got call from Frank. I was sitting on a bench outside during my lunch pause. I picked up the phone with my sweaty hands.
“Hi, Frank?”
“Pack your bags, baby. He gave you green-light.”
“Fuck. Really?”
“Yup.” He sounded so cheerful it made my heart skip a beat.
“Awesome. Ok. Ok, uhm...When can I move my stuff over? “
“From next Monday anytime is ok. Do you need help with your things?”
“No, I’ll be fine. I don’t have a lots of stuff.”
There was a small pause, I didn’t know what to say. It was all happening so quickly. Maybe too quickly. Definitelly too quickly. My head was spinning.
“I’ll come on Monday, then,” I said eventually.
“Ok, Gerard. See you on Monday, fellow inmate.”
“Yup, see ya.”
I hung up and put the phone away. I didn’t realize it until that moment: my hands were shaky as fuck. I was scared. I was scared like I haven’t been in a long time.
I laid completelly still on my left side, arms crossed over my chest, listening to Frank’s breathing. I couldn’t tell whether he already fell asleep or lays there just as awake as me. How long has it been since the last time I shared bed with someone? I was the one who usually slept over, in strange and unknown environment of stranger’s bedroom. It was uncomfortable and possibly dangerous, sure. But at the same time, I liked the feeling of breaking into someone’s life, crashing the intimacy of their space, being intruder under their blankets and bedsheets, strange element that doesn’t belong. I went through their bathroom cabinets, looking for pills, uppers, downers, anything. I checked their books on bookshelves, trying to assess what kind of person are they. It was little game I played just to pass the time, waiting for dawn when I would sneak out without single word, never seeing them again. That is, in cases when I wasn’t black-out drunk.
Feeling heaviness of another body on the matress next to me made me nervous and...sad, actually. As most of things in my life, I managed to spoil even physical intimacy, turned it into another way of self-mutilation. Feeding inner monster with self-hate over heinous crimes of flesh. I was drunk every time. Every time I let anyone touch me, I would be out of my mind, plastered. I knew I fell asleep on some occasions, so I had no idea what happened...No, don’t even go there. Shut up, you idiot. Shut the hell up.
Frank next to me murmured something and rolled over. I listened. His breathing was regular and calming. I heard fighting cats outside, sound of bins tumbling down in the alley. I slowly turned on my back and looked on Frank. I could barely see shapes and outlines in the dark, but he would slightly lurch and twitch every once in a while and mumble something. What was he dreaming about? His violent dad, punching him? Was he back in his childhood home, scared shitless, without any escape or any way out? I knew I was. Sometimes I came back in my dreams just to be hunted and chased around house by my dad with a knife or an axe like in fuckin’ Shining. Here’s Johnny! I hated that movie. I had recuring nightmares after I saw it for the first time when I was like 12. My dad would be turning into Jack Nicholson and back into my dad, cradling me in his arms just to drop me on the floor and punch me moments later. I wonder what would Freud say. Probably some bullshit about shadow self and that I’m fucked.
Or was he dreaming of pointing the gun to his old man’s head and finally pulling the trigger? Or his mum pleading and begging his dad to let her go? In a world of fucked up men, it seems so easy to become prisoner, no matter whether you’re just a little kid or another grown up. They would weave their webs of manipulation and control and you wouldn’t even realize how trapped you are.
Or was it something completely different? He might as well dream of his friend. Or a lover. Whatever.
Frank twitched again and moved his body closer. Our forearms were now laying side by side, touching. I looked up on the ceiling. Shit. The coldness I felt was now melted away by some weird warm feeling inside my chest. Like I had something to latch onto, something that could shine through the darkness and general shitness of my soul, even if for a moment. Something that was just mine, just my inner burning candle that nobody else knew about. It was nice. It was beautiful illusion I could immerse myself in for a while. But yeah, just an illusion.
I turned around, breaking the contact with his skin, severing the momentary connection only I knew about. Can’t do this. I can’t stay here.
I got up and went to bathroom. Opened cabinet and took out few Valium pills, swallowed them without water. Then I curled on the bottom of bathtub, waiting for the pills to kick in. After a while, I felt myself calming down and drifting away, as if I turned water tap on and let the bath fill up, let the stream of water take me away, down the drain and into underground canals of the city. I let the anxiety drown in artificial euphoria in my brain, smiling.
...
I woke up really late the next day. Sun was shining through narrow window directly on my face. I felt drowsy and numb, it took me a while before I remembered why the fuck am I lying in the bathtub. Once I remembered, I climbed out and headed to my bed to see if Frank is still there.
He was gone. Iron maiden t-shirt and pants neatly folded on the top of made bed. I sighed and sat down, checking what time is it. Almost lunch time. Fuck.
I went to kitchen, hoping I could fix myself coffee, but I still didn’t buy new can. Disappointed I came back to living room and noticed sheet of paper on the table.
There was an address and phone number written in messy but readable handwriting. The note under that said:
Sleeping Beauty,
call me once you wake up.
I think I might help you with your housing situation.
Gerard slightly spirals when he realizes how isolated he is and how difficult it is for him to share space with someone else due to trauma. He also realizes how sick he is of being alone.
I am not hugger, physical-contact type of guy. We never hugged in my family. Maybe that was part of the problem, lack of physical contact, something to make the other person feel like they matter, their existence means something. I developed resentment towards those kinds of families over the time, the happy, orderly (probably Christian) family that looks like from 50’s commercial for so called “American dream”. I hated them with burning passion, I hated how artificial and alien they seemed to me. Some kids had this type of background, back in elementary school. Love of their parents almost dripped out of their pores, those helicopter middle-class parents that would anxiously monitor where their kids are and when are they coming home, making sure their beloved children are occupied at all times with football or cheerleading, so they wouldn’t fall in with some “wrong gang”, outcasts, junkies and nerds. I was all of the above.
I am all of the above.
What the fuck am I doing.
My brain was wrapped in weed haze, it felt like my skull was filled with sweet cotton candy. I let my guards down. It felt so strange, yet somehow nice and easy. My arms were wrapped around Frank’s angular shoulders. I wouldn’t dare to hug him properly, though, rest my head on his shoulder, that seemed too much. It also meant that my face was now inches from his, our heads almost pressed together by our temples. So strange. To be so close to someone I barely knew. His shoulders were slightly shaking. I thought icy wind caused it and as I was getting ready to let go of him and face consequences of my action, his right hand shot up and tightly squeezed my arm, still wrapped around him. Don't stop, said the gesture. I complied.
We held each other for a long time, two messed-up people who temporarily found solace in someone else. It felt like we reached end of the world, there was nothing else around the edge of roof, only darkness. We had nowhere else to go, no place to run away to. I realized how tired I am, again. It felt like fuckin predestination, as if we were always meant to end up up here, on this faded piece of property, and it felt like he knew it, too. Somehow.
Or drugs made me imagine things again. That seems more like it.
His arm slid down my arm as he eventually let go of me.
“Sorry. This is weirdest day of my life,” he mumbeled while wiping his teary eyes.
“Tell me about it.”
I let the silence stretch between us, not sure what to say. I felt like I should share my part of story to make the score even. I wanted to, really. I wanted to let him know about angry, booze-emanating father and his clenched fist always ready to punch. I wanted to let him know about mother trapped with me inside house full of bitterness and guilt and illness. I wanted to let him know about my escapes, real and in my imagination, with pills or pain. I even wanted to tell him about darkest nights of my life, spent wandering around town, looking for temporary fix, desperatelly searching for another fucked-up person in this cold universe that could be my safe harbour for the night. That I could fuck the pain away with. That became just another part of my self-destruction in the end.
Well, Frank maybe doesn’t need to know this. He doesn’t need to know anything, really. Even though we share this ‘dysfunctional family’ bond, he still belongs in the real world. There’s still time for him. He will eventually heal, get better. Get through all the darkness. He will find himself someone stable, healthy, reliable. Sober. Some nice, presentable girl with stable and healthy family. And that’s how he’ll pull himself out of the mud, that’s how he’ll become respectable member of society.
I am already in too deep. Already walking fields in Afterlife. Too old to change, to snap out of this. Genetically fucked up, made to repeat father’s destiny. Hopefully there won’t be anyone I could damage as much as he damaged me, because I couldn’t live with the guilt, with myself.
No. Frank doesn’t need to know anything. We won’t get out of this, anyway. And even if we managed to get out of this somehow, I won’t let him know. Our way will part, I’ll tell him to take care and that’ll be it. Just a blip, glitch on this roller-coaster of hell. Just grotesque story to tell to your friends. I’ll be just a nobody he once met.
What was I thinking? How could I help someone when I can’t even help myself?
I got chills all over my body and suddenly felt sick.
Frank was resting his head on a concrete wall behind us with his eyes closed. I watched him carefully and realized he fell asleep. He must’ve been completely exhausted. Bruises on his face all colourfull. I snuggled in my hoodie, trying to make myself feel warmer, but the cold was coming from within. Weed already left my bloodstream, time came back to its natural flow. How long was it since we left the flat? I quietly got up and sneaked toward roof edge, carefully checking street below.
Police car was gone.
I checked the street from every angle I could from the rooftop, but the car was gone. House felt completely calm, no sign of disorder or anything out of ordinary. Homeless man was sifting through garbage in a bin and middle-aged woman with several paper bags crossing street. Group of drunk teenagers appeared moment later.
The car was real, right? We both saw it, I thought. Then I remembered the couple that argued quite often. Someone called police on them a few times, when it looked like things got out of hand. Was that possible cause of cops visit today? Was I so paranoid that I didn't even realize it has nothing to do with me? With us?
I came back to where we were sitting and crouched in front of Frank. He was completely calm, his chest slowly rising with every breath. I was amazed again that he fell asleep against hard wall. Cold feeling grabbed my guts as I placed my hand on his shoulder and gently shook him.
“Frank? Wake up.”
He anxiously jumped, clearly disoriented. I squeezed his shoulder a little bit.
“Whatshappenin?” he mumbled.
“You fell asleep. We’re on the roof above my flat.”
I waited a while and then added: “The car is gone, it seems. We can go back.”
“Oh, really? What happened?”
“I’m not sure, but hopefully we are safe now. I didn’t see any patrols around...” I said.
“Well, that’s cool. Amazing.”
“Yeah, it is,” I mumbeled, tight knot in my guts tightening. We spiraled stairs and came back into my flat. No marks of cops anywhere.
“So...Can I still stay here overnight, Gerard? I don’t wanna add you problems and I’ll be gone tommorrow, I swear.”
“Yep,” I said quietly.
Frank gave me a curious look. “You sure it is ok for you?”
“It is, Frank. Here’s some clean clothes, bathroom’s there in case you wanna shower.” I handed him my old Iron maiden t-shirt and pyjama pants. Frank looked at me again and then disappeared in bathroom. I sighed and sat down on my bed.
...
Frank came back after a while. Water was lightly dripping from his hair and I noticed tattoos on his bare arms. He lightly tucked on corner of the t-shirt.
“Youd don’t strike me as an Iron maiden fan, to be honest.”
“Really? Why?”
“Dunno, being all artsy and knowing Beat generation...You seem like the Bowie or good old Crass type of fan...Or Social distortion, Rage against the machines, Deftones...The stuff I like,” he looked at me with weird expression in his eyes.
“Maiden and Bowie aren’t mutually exclusive, are they? Sometimes it’s glam rock and sometimes it’s punk. Sometimes even ABBA will do.”
“You’re joking! Which record from ABBA?”
I hesitated before answering: “The winner takes it all.”
“OK. Yeah, that one is good, I can see that,” he chuckled.
I went to shower and let water wash away panic and fear of this day. Smell of weed from my hair, sweat and remaining blood. I started to feel relaxed and extremelly sleepy.
After I came back, silence stretched between us.
“So...” I gestured towards clean bedding that I changed while he was in shower. “You can crash here. Good night.”
“And you’ll sleep in the hallway? Back up on the roof?”
“No...On the floor. Or in the bathtub,” I added when I saw Frank’s expression. “Don’t worry about me, this is my flat and I can sleep on the kitchen counter if I want to.”
“Ridiculous,” he climbed on the bed and tapped the place next to him. “Get in here immediately, Mother Teresa.” I didn’t move an inch.
“Now! Gerard, I’m not gonna fall asleep knowing you have to lay in dirty-ass bathtub. I mean, no offense, but you won’t.”
“And I can’t sleep in the same bed with you, I just can’t.”
“Why? Because I’m bi? Wow. Fuck you.”
“No! Because I can’t. I just...can’t.”
“Hey, I don’t mind your raging morning wood or snoring. I don’t care. Just get in so I can have clean conscience and get some sleep.”
There was silence. Frank pushed again: “I’m sleeping on the floor, then!”
“Oh fuck!” I eventually caved in and laid down next to him.
“There! Are you happy now?” I asked with rage in my voice.
“Yep. Good night.”
“Fuck off,” I said and smiled when I saw that Frank is laughing.
It was as clear as day Frank can’t go anywhere and there wasn’t anywhere to hide in my flat. If cops will go door-to-door and make house search, there is no way to hide Frank. We saw cops enter our building, there was only one last place to go.
“Fuck. Ok, let’s go.”
“Where?!”
“Where the fuck do you think we are going? To welcome them? Take everything you have with you.”
Moments later I was locking the door and walking towards fire escape staircase, Frank walking few steps behind me. Once we were behind closed doors we started to running as fast as we could.
An icy wind blew on the roof. I went there a few times when I couldn’t fall asleep and run out of ideas on how to pass the time. I didn’t like walking on the city streets at night, too afraid I could stumble upon familiar place I’d visit through dark times. Building roof offered solitude, the murmur of traffic and limited view.
“This is a bad idea,” Frank started as soon as he stepped a foot on the roof.
“Do you have something better up your sleeve?”
“Sure. I’ll go downstairs and turn myself in. I already caused you enough trouble.”
“That won’t help anyone. The attackers will testify there was another guy, there’s probably CCTV record as well. I am already in too deep.”
I looked over the edge of the roof. Police car parked in front of the entrance just like minutes ago. Panic was squeezing my neck.
“Let’s just…wait and see.”
“Ok, great. And what if they’ll decide to check the roof?”
I took the lock and key and locked us from the outside. That was all I could do. Frank grabbed his head. ”We’re fucked.”
I sat down on a ground and took in a sip of night air. I felt autumn in my mouth, burning pile of wood from homeless colony nearby, stench of motor oil, something spicy and nice. Frank’s scent, I realized. It was kind of aquatic and herbal like clove. I didn’t realize I felt that. I was exhausted, I realized as I rested my head on a cold wall.
“Come here, please,” I said to Frank. Frank was carefully examining the roof and possible escapes, but now he slid down next to me. Wind was wildly rustling his hair.
“I could really use some weed now,” I said carelessly. It just slipped out of me. Frank gave me significant look and started to rummage in his bag, after few moments took out tobbaco, rolling papers, shredder and a bag of weed. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
“Uhm…what’s the saying? Go big or go home? It should be: Go big, go home, go to jail. My purpose in life doesn’t have anything to do with going big and I can’t really go home, so…” he licked half-rolled joint in his hands from center to left and then to right. His weed had almost purple inflorescence and pungent citrusy smell. I inhaled deeply and grinned.
“Gun possession without permit isn’t enough, now we also have possession of drugs,” I noted.
His lighter flicked with sparkles and lighted up joint. Frank took a deep drag and handed it over to me. “Now distribution as well.” I laughed bitterly and inhaled the sweet smoke. I smoked weed many times but it never made me feel this light-headed after the first hit. Strong batch.
I couldn’t be more grateful.
“So…are you?” I asked with left-over shyness that wasn’t evaporated by the weed.
“Drug distributor? Obviously,” he gestured with joint in his hand. I chuckled.
“Or on a run with a bag of money? Or mass murderer? Or faggot?”
I closed my eyes tightly.
They way he pronounced the last word spoke volumes. They way all of us pronounce our insults, words that don’t belong to us but we are branded with them, we feel them on our foreheads like scarlet letters, burnt deep into flesh, they feel weird, inappropriate in our mouths and yet describe and encapsule what others want to see, what others only see.
“I don’t even know what does that mean. I fucked both, boys and girls. I like both, boys and girls and yet…”
“So that’s why…”
He let out stream of smoke. “This whole situation…It really makes one think, doesn’t it?” he smiled almost madly. “You just happen to open bag of weed on a roof locked out from outside and all of sudden you really want to tell your life story to complete stranger.”
“You don’t have to…”
“Oh no, no no no no no. I mean, it is over for me, probably. For you. So why not? What’s the point. What’s the deal.” His elbows resting on his knees, he gave his shoes a long, focused look.
“My father was violent. It started with my mum when I was just a kid. I could hear what he did to her through bedroom door. He wasn’t even drunk, he was just…cruel. Sadist. I would try and defend her, but…what can you do when you are fuckin’ seven?”
His hands were shaking, he took another drag of weed.
“It was only matter of time, really. He started to be more controlling at first. School grades, sport, all that jazz. Just so he can humiliate me and repeat to me over and over again how useless I am. Then he added physical punishments to the mix. Mother was glad that he shifted focus on someone else…”
His eyes were wide open and full of painful memories.
“The final straw came when I was 18. I couldn’t take it anymore. I went to my friend, his dad is gun whacko, house full of rifles, complete nutjob. I wanted him to lend me gun, his dad won’t even notice. I don’t even know…It doesn’t matter. That’s when he found out I am dating this guy. I went home. And there he was standing in the living room, holding this belt with iron buckle. I had the gun in my bag. He started bashing me, completelly out of his mind. Then he throws away the belt and starts to beat me with his hands. Mother starts to yell. He slaps her. I grabbed my bag and started to unzip it…and then I run away. I just run and run, didn’t look back even once. Because I knew if I managed to unzip the bag, I would kill him. I just knew it. So…Yeah.”
He sighed.
“After that, I lived with my friends. Found myself part-time job, moved around a lot. Still, I was too paranoid he will find me so I moved here. But I still carry the gun around everywhere I go.”
A long pause stretched between us.
“Wow. I don’t know what to say. I am sorry.”
“Yeah yeah. Everyone says that. Weirdly always during weed-smoking interlude between metro fight and hiding from cops.”
His scent was mixing wih smell of weed, combination I would put into jar and sell as a perfume if I could. His story brought some of dark memories back to me, but I fell differently this time. I felt like I was sharing the darkness with other human being. His big eyes were glistening with tears. I reached my arms and squeezed his hand.
He looked up from his shoes, with hard expression in his eyes. Moment later it melted away and tears flew over edge. Before I realized it, I was holding him in my arms, hugging his bony frame as close as possible.
As the adrenaline wore off, the pain began to show. I felt first my jaw and then more and more of the half of my face where I had taken a punch. But I didn't care. The pain was familiar, something I could feel, and endure. Physical pain was my companion, a mistress for the long, endless nights that promised no awakening at the end. Hours stretching from dusk until the first morning rays glistening on the snow. Physical pain was like booze, like pills, like any substance that could suppress the inner Inferno I had carried within me for the past ten years. Or had it lasted even longer?
Even Hell can get comfy once you've settled in.
What could the kid with the glitter on his face know about this? The kid whose laughter sounded like a wind chime, who probably hands out soup to the homeless in his free time? Judging by the gun, something, maybe? Or was I just wishing so hard for someone in my life to be even remotely as dysfunctional and fucked-up as I was?
Now he was sitting across from me, his clothes covered in blood, his face swollen, and a smile that was as amiable as pack of puppies. I had too many questions for this unknown Frank guy, yet all of them felt weirdly unrelevant. I didn’t care about pain nor rational questions any other human being would start asking. All I knew was that I felt good with him, sitting in this shithole of apartment, beaten up and potentially wanted by cops.
How fucked up.
I decided to take a look at my own injuries and headed to the bathroom. Bruise started to form on my own face as well, swollen mess. Knucles of my hands looked similar. I never punched anyone, not even school bullies who beat me most of days back in middle school. Not even those who deserved it. Not even...
“Thank you.” Frank was standing in door-frame, slightly leaning on it with his elbow still holding gauze on his eye.
“I realized I didn’t thank you. Most of people would just stare, ‘not my bussiness’ or ‘someone else will help’ mentality in their heads, but not you...”
I smirked slightly. “Well, yeah, I am just such a good Samaritan. Pure, neurodivergent soul.”
I looked at his expression riddled with guilt and continued: “I would do it again, just so we’re clear.”
“But why?” he asked incredulously, lowering the hand with gauze now.
“I guess...I just know how much it sucks when you’re all alone. Or when you think you’re alone and no one helps you. When you have to fight all by yourself. I dunno, fuckin’ hate those dicks that are ready to attack anyone who looks just a little out of norm, who is just a little bit different...”
I abruptly stopped at those words. He had frickin eye shadow on, that’s it. Calm yourself down, Gerard. You saw him with girl the first time, just because those homophobic dickheads called him whatever doesn’t mean he is gay. Just because you wish...
I had to shake my head to scare away last thoughts, all tangled up and confused.
“I had my portion of bullying. It sucks. But what really made me feel hopeless was this thing that happened a few years ago. I had this part-time job in shopping centre and was carrying some boxes outside. It was winter and naturally I slipped on a frozen surface, my feet just slipped and I fell on my head. There were some people around, but no one even stopped to check if I’m alright. They just stared and then continued in their journey. Just kept on walking. I was laying there, trying to catch my breath. In that moment I just rested my head on the ground. I just stayed there for a while, boxes scattered around. I don’t know how long, I just felt like...Then I started to get up slowly and realized I had concussion. I threw up and went back to tell my boss I need to go to hospital. He drove me there and I thought...if only one person stopped and asked if I was alright. It sounds stupid, but I remember thinking in my concussed head that I want to be that person for someone else. That one guy who’ll ask if you’re ok and who gives a shit whether you die or not. And accidently it was you this time.”
He was slightly nodding his head, arms crossed on his chest, frowning. “Well, I am glad it was me.” His expression changed, it was now little less pensive.
“What bussiness you had carrying some boxes outside?” he asked slowly.
“Oh my God, forget it.” I rolled my eyes as I saw his smile in the mirror.
“I am sorry, Gerard.”
“What bussiness you have carrying a gun around?” I asked now agresivelly and turned around to face him. “Are you on a run with bag of money or what?”
His face went pale as he turned around to exit bathroom. “None of your bussiness.”
“What?! Hold on...” I made a few quick steps to reach him. I caught his shoulder but he sharply freed himself from my grip. He positioned himself near window and cautiously looked outside.
“I need to know, Frank. I fuckin’ hate guns. Now I have one in my flat and don’t feel super cool about it.”
“You knew I had gun when you invited me in,” he argued. That was true.
“Yes, I did. I was panicking. You could damn-well be mass murderer, of what I know.”
That pissed him off.
“You think? Do I give off Jeffrey Dahmer vibes, huh? Do I get myself into fucked–up situations just to see who will come and rescue me to kill them afterwards? I will be out of your hair as soon as possible, don’t worry.”
He started to pick up his stuff and in that moment I heard police siren.
I jumped next to him to scan street below us. Red and blue lights flashing on walls of buildings standing around. The car slowly drove through street and then stopped in front of our building’s entrance. Two cops stepped out of the vehicle and went inside.
