Outlaws

On the handle was a crimson, smudged fingerprint that lay there, guilty. For Gerard's sake, I couldn't leave it there like that. Hell, whose to say I wasn't blameable? Frantically, as the skeptic I was, I thouroughly scrubbed away the sins. Silently back to our room, I tripped over my own klutzy feet. Now was not the time. I stood poised like a mime, until everything was clear. I stood a shadow at the dark door. What would I say? What was there to say? There was barely any evidence to back the accusation up. I just hoped Gerard would be honest with me. I can't exactly prove so otherwise. Just a feeling. Besides, what if he did say yes? I'm not gonna monitor him like an extra parent. He doesn't need that. And I certaintly didn't want him doing this. It's my mistake; I shouldn't have done that in front of him. I didn't even know what I was thinking. Or I should've made something up. Building up endurance or maybe if I moved, I'd bleed more. Gerard's different: he has a purpose. He makes up most of the lyrics and he's always the leader, the agressive dominant. And I the the passive submissive. Until this time.
"G-G-Gerard?" I whispered as I gingerly walked toward him, shutting the door behind me. No response followed. Absolute darkness made his figure invisible, so I couldn't tell if he was sleeping. I turned on the nightlight that was plugged in the two and a half feet seperating our beds.
"What?" He seemed calm.
"I need to talk to you." So much for that.
"How important is it?"
"How important's your health?" Slight astonishment heated his body and there was a flutter of his heart.
"I know, Gerard."
"About what?" He said defensively.
I sighed. "If you can't tell me then you can't tell anyone in the world, and you've said so in the past. You're the only person I've known and loved. I care about you more than any brother out there, just ask them. Do you know much I care about you? No. I coudn't even begin to describe what I feel for you. What we have is special. Barely any brothers get along, understand eachother, even try to. Don't stop now."
He was thinking it over, and I didn't need the extra sense to tell you that.
"Alright, Gerard, you don't have to talk. Just tell me one thing. Does this have to do with what happened on the playground?"
Gerard's breathing quickened. He managed to stutter out, "K-kind o-of."
"'Kay, good. We've made progress." I said in an unsarcastic voice.
"I just want to know how long you've cut and why. I'll be here for you. Anytime."
He kept his position of curled up, facing away from me and partially hidden by the covers. My head was rested on one knee, while the other leg was on the bed, curled up. Tiny, muffled sobs came from under the covers.
There I sat, trying to think. Was it for the same reasons? How long had he been doing it? Was he doing anything else behind my back? Did this mean I had to tell him about my cutting? It was only fair. But so hard. I was being hard on him, he had the right to be hard on me as well. Ten of minutes passed as I battled out my problem.
I heard a more audiable sniff as Gerard's head poke out of the covers.
"I'm ready," he said, as if I was going to beat him up. When had I become the hunter and he become the target?