Skin and Bones

We’re lying on Gerard’s bed. He didn’t exactly offer for me to join him, but when I was seated on the futon and he was crawling into his own bed, he looked kinda lonely. Also, from the conversation between him and his mom, I knew he wanted me to.
So after he’d settled in his lonely bed, I quietly walked across the room and crawled underneath the covers. Gerard welcomed me with open arms and a soft kiss.
I can hear his heartbeat. My head is lying on his shoulder, but I can still hear it. Sometimes it sounds like it beats twice; sometimes not at all.

“Are you awake?” he whispers – his chest falling as he exhales his question.
We haven’t lain here for very long, but I guess it would’ve been enough time to fall asleep.

I lift my head and kiss his clothed shoulder, before I look up at him.
He’s just staring up at the ceiling. He looks deep in thought, yet also like he’s not thinking at all and is just staring. His eyes seem unfocused. His hair is flowing out in every direction on the small pillow.

“I think there’s something I should tell you.” His lips look so delicate as they barely move during his hushed sentence. His gaze falls onto the sheets on top of him. His eyelashes almost touch his cheek, but they can’t reach.
Instead, I do.
I run the back of my hand over his milky-white cheek, and I see him slightly lean into my touch.

“What?” I ask, before I settle my hand on the chest – my fingers gently tracing invisible patterns on his delicate throat.

“While you were in the shower,” he says, but then pauses. About a million images run through my mind. Did he look through my stuff? Did he peek? Did he jerk off? Did he run away, but come back before I got out?
“I had a drink.” He swallows – his Adam’s apple jumping up and poking my fingers. That wasn’t one of my images.

He looks ashamed. I really wish he didn’t. I want him to trust me and trust that I won’t judge him or hurt him.

“About a year ago, I started hanging out with the wrong crowd,” he says, before he pauses again. I don’t mind it. I know how hard it is to tell your life to someone. I keep tracing my fingers over his fragile skin – trying to comfort him.
“They were drinking, so I quickly picked up the habit.” With every word, his skin seems to become paler – thinner.
“After a few months, I was drinking every day. Even during school hours.” My traces become lighter.
“I didn’t know it back then, but.” He sighs deeply and I can almost see his breath. It’s like the room has become colder, and I don’t know why.
“I couldn’t stop.” His skin is like ice to me. It’s not cold, just…clear.
“When I drank, I felt happy. When I sobered up, I felt-“ he stops suddenly. My finger freezes in its movement. I don’t want him to melt away.
“It got so bad that I felt suicidal when I was sober.” His breathing is uneven. His chest is moving out of rhythm. He’s nervous and I don’t blame him.
“I woke up each morning to a drink. It was the first thing I did every morning. I just wanted to avoid the,” he takes a deep breath and exhales, “feelings.” Slowly – carefully – I start caressing his soft skin. It seems safer now – stronger.
“What I didn’t realize, was that the alcohol caused the feelings.” I look up at his eyes. He’s staring at the ceiling again.

He looks strong.

“When I found out, I still couldn’t stop. The feelings were too strong.” Suddenly he turns his head and I instinctively jerk my head away from him, but his soft eyes make me relax.

He stares into my eyes with no expression at all. He doesn’t even look sad – no tears in his eyes and no muscles tense.

“When I h-hit on you, I was drunk.” There’s a flash of embarrassment in his eyes – the way they quickly leave mine – but it quickly disappears again.
“When we actually got t-together, I slowly…forgot.” This time the flash of embarrassment is no flash – it stays in the way just a few muscle around his eyes tense.
“I forgot to drink. It was like I didn’t need to when I wa-“ he stops and closes his eyes. My own skin and heart seem to melt when I see him blush.
“It sounds so fucking lame. Just go back to sleep.” He rolls his face away from me, but I stop him halfway. I feel kinda awkward – weird, actually. I want him to look at me.
But he doesn’t. His eyes are still closed.

I’m about to say something, but I don’t know what. I don’t know whether to thank him or apologies to him. I mean, he basically just told me that I’m part of the reason why he’s not drinking anymore – or not as much – but at the same time, I haven’t stopped my…addiction. I didn’t eat dinner. I haven’t eaten…in a long time. He tried to help me, but I haven’t…let myself be helped.

“What’s wrong?” My eyes snap up and look into his dark ones. He looks concerned and sad.
It’s my time to be embarrassed.

I suddenly feel so tired. Like this new emotion is weighing me down – taxing my strength. I stifle a yawn – taking in a deep breath to prevent it – before I just softly graze my lips over his.
“Do you wanna talk about this tomorrow?” Gerard asks with a smile on his face. When I look up at him, he softly strokes his thumb over my cheek and lips. My heart freezes and melts – all at once.
“Just sleep.” His hand falls back down behind me where it was before, before he leans his head on top of mine.
I lay my head back on his shoulder – his head following – and try to relax. I’m so tired, but there’s still one thing that’s nagging me.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as an attempt to rid the nag. It seems to work.