Care For Me Not, I'll Hurt You Too Much

You finally look at him and stare, blank and expressionless. After all, how else could you look at him? You didn’t know him well enough to judge what your look would do to him, and how he could react.

Wait, what are you thinking?

He wasn’t your father. He wasn’t.

He didn’t treat you like your father did. But how long before he started?

He cared about you like your father didn’t. How do you know he cares?

He’s trying to help you, while your dad is brining you back down. He shouldn’t help you though.

You try to push those thoughts away, but you really didn’t know what to do. They linger in the back of your mind as impending questions that you don’t want to consider and ask. If you think about them, he may see right through you. He may get upset again, and that was one of the last things you want.

You turn away again and stare at the dark corner on the other side of the room, the one just on the other side of the window. That was the one corner that you wished was covered with paint, with boxes, with a dresser, with books, with anything. Just as long as you didn’t see the scribbling in the frame, and just as long as you could tell yourself that he didn’t see it either.

“Uh, Ken?” His voice snaps you out of your daze.

The mental images of her face flood away from your mind quickly. You were just about ready to fall back into that horrible pit of memories. You can already feel reality come circling back into your senses, but that wasn’t as comforting as it would have seen. You were still in this damn house, in this same damn room. The house seemed to be haunting you more than the voices and nightmares were.

You look back up at him, half dazed and unsuspecting. A horrible memory jumps its way into your mind at that moment. It was one when you were just starting out on the path you were on. It was over five or six years ago now since it happened, but it was relatively the same situation. You were sitting on the couch in the living room…waiting for daddy crying. Only when he got home, instead of comforting you like you thought he would, and telling you it’ll be alright. He hit you. He dragged his palm quickly through the air until you felt it whelp against your face. You didn’t know what to do. How could you? You just turned eleven. You were vulnerable. You were hurt. But that was nothing compared to how you were doing now. After five or six years—you couldn’t remember which, it had been so long that you just stopped counting—you were just as vulnerable, and sitting in front of someone else…waiting to see what will happen with them.

“Why don’t you just lie down?” he takes a tentative step forward and extends his hand. Unexpectedly, you flinch almost violently.

He jumps back at your reaction, immediately retracting his hand. You can see something on his face again, but you look down at your lap again before you can tell exactly what it is. Hurt.

You immediately feel ashamed. You shouldn’t have reacted like that, he just told you to lay down.

“No, I need to go home.” You say, keeping your tone as low as you head.

“Well, you can stay here, it won’t matter to me.” You look up and see Gerard shrug, as if it cleared what just happened. You noticed an extra strain or meaning in his voice that you pretend not to notice.

Of course it will matter, you’re inhis bed.

You’re in his bed.

Shit.

You immediately begin a panic and look around the room frantically, searching out any item in any part of the room to look at. You don’t know why, but you felt that you just couldn’t look at him. Feelings of utter embarrassment and shame flood through you. But there was another feeling. You couldn’t find a right word to describe it. The only word that came to your head was dirty. You didn’t like it. Just the word alone made you feel as if you were used.

You knew deep down that he wouldn’t do anything like that, but you just felt like you needed to be sure. You couldn’t just let something like this go for some reason. All of a sudden you felt like you didn’t know him at all and you just woke up in the bed of a stranger. The fact that he was only in a t-shirt, pajama bottoms, and socks put you a little on edge. Thank God you only had your shoes off, which he was still holding.

You felt ashamed and disgusted with yourself for just laying in his bed like you did before. The knowledge that you willingly snuggled down deeper into the covers didn’t help your thoughts either. You felt completely stupid for not noticing that this wasn’t your house, and that this wasn’t your bed before hand. You should have noticed something.

You hang your head and sigh after realizing something. This was the only place you’ve ever felt at home. The feelings of being home were just so strong you didn’t think anything of it.

“Is something wrong?” Gerard asks, causing you to glance up at him. You immediately look away though, you couldn’t stare at him. Not when you felt like this.

“Wher-…where were you laying?” You can feel your ears burn behind your hair as you hang your head down again and practically press your chin against your chest in frustration, wanting to break your own jaw.

“Wha- Oh, shit.” You can hear surprise in his voice at first, but then it quickly changes and carries humor.

“I was lying in Mikey’s room.” Just hearing his tone—and the slight chuckle that he must have failed at suppressing—lightened your mood. It was only a little bit, but it was enough to take away some of the shame and embarrassment you felt. You just went on to another topic.

“He didn’t mind?” You ask.

It wasn’t until now that you realized that there was a possibility of someone seeing you. After all, who would miss someone carrying someone else back? This worried you and brought more anxiety back so that you were antsy for his answer.

What if someone saw? You worried.

You may not talk to anyone but him, but they could still have seen you like that. Then they would start talking about it. Then they would start asking him questions about it….

You were a burden.

“No…he-.”

You didn’t really let him finish, immediately firing off with questions again. “Your parents didn’t mind? They didn’t worry did they?” Did anyone see?

“They didn’t see. They took Mikey up to visit my grandma and were gone when I brought you back.” Gerard states calmly, not really seeming to notice the panic or stress in your voice.

“I’m sorry.” You say, trying to at least show some emotion other than worry in your voice now, hoping that he’ll accept your apology and notice that you were trying to apologize for whatever ridicule you may cause him later on in life.

“No, it’s alright. We have school tomorrow and you’re pretty light.” He didn’t notice.

“No-,”—you changed the subject—“I need to go.”

You start to pull yourself further off the bed and look at him expectantly for your shoes.

“You can stay, it really won’t matter to me.” He says. You look at him, and his eyes are almost as convincing as the honesty you detect in his voice. But you really need to leave.

“No, I really need to go home.” You make yourself hold his gaze, just to be a little more convincing and a little less pathetic…at least in your eyes.

You half expected him to tell you to stay again, but he just turned his head and spoke.

“I’ll walk you home.”

Shit.

“No, you don’t have to…it’s late.” You say, helplessly trying to show reason in him staying.

“Exactly why I should walk you back, is it far?” He had that determination in his voice again.

The thought of you being “discovered” frazzled your nerves and sent your heart pounding. If he found out where you lived, then he might decide to drop in one day and find you passed out in the living room…or at least getting there. Then your dad would get even more upset. He was more adjusted to the isolation than you were…and you were pretty damn adjusted.

You just couldn’t fathom having Gerard any closer to your house…any closer to your father. You didn’t want to be the cause for any more suffering or pain on his part. Plus, if he found out what happened next door then he might tell someone. Your dad will go to jail, and then you’ll be alone again. You knew you’d be alone because after that everyone would just avoid you. In the movies they always show that whenever people are abused and they come clean, people flock on them and worry. But that’s not reality. You know what will happen if someone finds out. They’ll all just think you’re stupid and pitiful for having this done to you for the past six-ish years. They’ll avoid you and nothing will be better, only worse.

“No, but” He doesn’t let you finish.

“I’ll just go get ready then.” He says while handing you your shoes. He walks out the door before you can protest.

You don’t know how long it took him to get ready. Because as soon as you were alone and had your shoes on, you left without saying another word.

He just couldn’t find out…at least not yet.