His Grandmother's Rosary.
interesting but perverse.
“Frank Anthony Iero!” a loud voice – Gerard’s – echoed through the bus.
“What?” I was bored, and I didn’t really care, whatever it was that was so important, so my voice sounded apathetic.
“Do you know how upset my brother is?” he ranted. I wanted to completely tune him out, but I couldn’t. My mind wasn’t letting me. Ugh. “He thinks he’s lost his best friend – you – because of this stupid fucking argument!”
He ripped back my bunk curtain, and the invasion of privacy didn’t annoy me as much as it would have if it were anyone else. It was just Gerard; it was just something Gerard did. He took other people’s things without asking, but no one really cared.
I wanted to shout back; I wanted to say, ‘damn right he has, the cheeky little shit’. But I couldn’t. I could feel my anger melting away when he spoke to me. His voice was smooth, even though he was screaming at me.
His eyes were sad, worried for his baby brother. Mind you, he was worse than my mom for worrying, so there was nothing new there. His mouth was set in a frown, with his forehead crinkling up too. His thin nose was scrunching up at the bridge, where it was narrowest.
It wasn’t normal to be taking in your friend’s faces like this. I was going into too much detail; to a normal person, ‘he was frowning’, would suffice. But no, of course not, not for me. This is twisted. This is sick.
I’m obsessed with him, God damn it. Wouldn’t it just be so wrong if I really were in love with him, like Mikey said? And then I was arguing with him for nothing.
“Honestly, Frank, you can be such a bastard when you want to.” he snapped me out of my trance with his harsh words. I didn’t like them. They were wrong. They shouldn’t be rolling off his tongue with such fluency that he might mean them. “Do you know what he’s done?”
“No, I don’t.”
“He’s gone and fucking cut himself, Frank.” he was hurting, I could see that. I wanted to hug him, I wanted to soothe him; but how could I, when I was the root cause of his problem? “He doesn’t know I know, he thinks he’s all smart and he’s hidden it well. But there’s blood in the bathroom, and there’s blood on his shirt sleeve.”
“Gee,” I started, stunned out of my reverie. “I’m sorry Gee, I really am–”
“Don’t fucking tell me! Tell him, Iero,” he snarled. And I knew that I didn’t want him to hate me. I longed for him to like me.
This was interesting.
“What?” I was bored, and I didn’t really care, whatever it was that was so important, so my voice sounded apathetic.
“Do you know how upset my brother is?” he ranted. I wanted to completely tune him out, but I couldn’t. My mind wasn’t letting me. Ugh. “He thinks he’s lost his best friend – you – because of this stupid fucking argument!”
He ripped back my bunk curtain, and the invasion of privacy didn’t annoy me as much as it would have if it were anyone else. It was just Gerard; it was just something Gerard did. He took other people’s things without asking, but no one really cared.
I wanted to shout back; I wanted to say, ‘damn right he has, the cheeky little shit’. But I couldn’t. I could feel my anger melting away when he spoke to me. His voice was smooth, even though he was screaming at me.
His eyes were sad, worried for his baby brother. Mind you, he was worse than my mom for worrying, so there was nothing new there. His mouth was set in a frown, with his forehead crinkling up too. His thin nose was scrunching up at the bridge, where it was narrowest.
It wasn’t normal to be taking in your friend’s faces like this. I was going into too much detail; to a normal person, ‘he was frowning’, would suffice. But no, of course not, not for me. This is twisted. This is sick.
I’m obsessed with him, God damn it. Wouldn’t it just be so wrong if I really were in love with him, like Mikey said? And then I was arguing with him for nothing.
“Honestly, Frank, you can be such a bastard when you want to.” he snapped me out of my trance with his harsh words. I didn’t like them. They were wrong. They shouldn’t be rolling off his tongue with such fluency that he might mean them. “Do you know what he’s done?”
“No, I don’t.”
“He’s gone and fucking cut himself, Frank.” he was hurting, I could see that. I wanted to hug him, I wanted to soothe him; but how could I, when I was the root cause of his problem? “He doesn’t know I know, he thinks he’s all smart and he’s hidden it well. But there’s blood in the bathroom, and there’s blood on his shirt sleeve.”
“Gee,” I started, stunned out of my reverie. “I’m sorry Gee, I really am–”
“Don’t fucking tell me! Tell him, Iero,” he snarled. And I knew that I didn’t want him to hate me. I longed for him to like me.
This was interesting.
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