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

His room was as you mildly remember it all those weeks ago. You sat in it alone, not waiting or wondering if it was okay to sit on his bed, but doing so anyway. If he didn’t want you there, then you would know with one word or look. He told you to just go on upstairs while he “got something ready” downstairs.

You knew every single room of this house, and where everything was, but you only knew them and remembered them when they were in Ceana’s house. Now that you were in his house, the only place you knew of upstairs was his room. And he knew it too, that’s why he told you to go up there and wait.

You looked around the room again. The boxes that were stacked in the corner before are no longer there, the contents now in plain sight or hidden away. His desk now held scattered papers, some had drawings on them of random, nameless people. Others had sketches done in fading charcoal with a few lines written into the sides of the margins. Some were merely poems, done randomly and aloof or painstakingly agonized over. You recognized the way that, even in the margins of the poems there were sketches of random figures or symbols of the different meanings. You recognized the artistic clutter that hovered over that desk, and smiled lightly to yourself at it.

The rest of the room was a teenager’s room. The messily made bed, the random objects and clothing spilling out from underneath it, the dresser with everything imaginable piled up on top of it, everything screamed the age of the inhabitant of this room. You looked at the chipping of the paint in the corners of the walls and ceiling where you remembered it being. All the imperfections and impurities of the room had been covered up, well…almost all.

You turn and look at the corner, eyeing the frame through hesitant eyes. Instead of walking up to the frame and kneeling down to inspect it, you find yourself sliding open the closet door and looking inside. You saw several jackets and sweaters hanging up, something looking like a suit in a bag hung up and pressed up against the wall, looking as if it has never been used. But you just noticed all of that in a passing. The first thing your eyes landed on was the large hole placed at the very back of the closet, slightly obscured by the clothes and objects piled within. It was at the very back, smashed and mangled, still broken in at the edges. You could see where you repeatedly drove your foot in until you hit something solid enough that it hurt. It didn’t look as if he had attempted to cover it up and fix it in any type of way.

You step back and turn to look at the frame, squinting and spotting your vain attempts to scratch the wording out in your fury. You kneel down in next to the wall, running your fingers over the grooves, just as you had done before.

“Whenever I look at this I’m gonna think of you. No matter where you are. Alright Kay?” she says, putting down the kitchen knife and stepping away from the wall.

You stood there, in shock and awe at your names now carved into the side. You knew that it would be there forever, and that whenever the two of you came home, it would be your secret. Only the two of you will ever know that’s there.

“Hey.” His voice speaks softly from behind you, causing you to snap your head back around surprised.

You automatically stand in his presence, now stepping away from the edging as he looks around you to see what you were looking at. You see his eyes land on the carving in the corner and he smirks a bit.

“Oh that.” He sets a plate down on his desk and walks over, putting his hands in his pockets while looking at it. “That was here before we even moved in. There used to be a whole bunch more. There were writings all over, and all the other edgings were torn to shit. It looked as if someone had a really big fight in this room, either that or they just wanted to destroy it.” Gerard says, taking his hands out of his pockets and walking over to the closet.

He opens the door wide enough and stands back, letting you see inside and view the hole that you already knew was there. “It looks like someone kicked this hole in here.” He closes the door again and turns around, putting his hands back into his pants pockets for no reason.

“My dad replaced the edging and re-painted the walls before we started to move our stuff in. I guess he didn’t bother to check the closet…and he must not have seen that one.” He jabs a thumb back at the edging now behind him as you sit once again on his bed, pretending to be mildly interested in his story.

So he knows. You think to yourself. You feel once again as if he was invading your privacy, and looking into the deepest secrets of your life. You felt exposed and clutched your arms to your chest. You begin to panic a little, remembering how you were always so comforted when you came to this room before. The little drawings and etchings done into the wood offered you comfort, and reminded you of the times when there was some happiness in your life. Those things seemed to hold the rest of your childhood with them, and they were done by kids thinking that they would be there forever.

You look over to the corner of his room. On the wall, done in crayon you had drawn a small picture for your cousin. She didn’t mind. She even asked you to do the whole wall later. She used to tell you that you were going to be a great artist, and that you were going to “go places”. That’s what the carving was for. It was so that she could remember you when you were long gone. Who knew that she would be the one to go first.

You look back at the carving in the corner, thinking back on the wording, thinking back on your emotions then. The large heart was to show that she loved you, and your names in the middle, held together with a feeble plus sign was to show that it would be just the two of you, forever. Now it haunted you. Her voice haunted you day and night, further driving in the point that you thought you had gone mad long ago. You still wished that you had succeeded in destroying that little piece along with the rest of the room, that way maybe her voice would go away. You didn’t want it there, and you didn’t want him looking at it and possibly discovering that it was you.

“I don’t mind them there.”

His voice snaps you out of your head for the millionth time, and you look up at him confused.

“The hole is okay, you could store stuff in it. And the carving…it sorta gives this room a little more personality than all the others. It makes me feel like this room has something a little more special about it. I like it.” He smiles at you, and you give him a small twitch of your lip in return.

He turns and walks back over to his desk with his head down. He reaches down and picks up a small plate with two sandwiches on it. He comes back over to you and sits down next to you, balancing the plate on his lap.

“I-, I didn’t know if you were hungry, but I made you a sandwich.” He says, turning up to look at you.

You look down at the plate, thinking is that what he was “getting ready” downstairs?.

“It’s grilled cheese.” He says with a smile. “I don’t know how to make anything else so we’re in luck.”

You feel something flood through you. You think it might have been flattery or something of the sort, because when you looked up at him, you could feel yourself starting to believe his false compassions once again. His smile rested on his face and he looked up at you expectantly, causing a blush to color your cheeks and for you to turn away.

He actually thought of you.

An involuntary shudder steals through your body, and it’s only then that you realize how cold you actually felt. Your sweater was soaked and plastered to your body, weighing you down as you sat in warmth, but basked in the cold.

You see Gerard stand up suddenly, picking up the plate and placing it where he was sitting before. You look up at him and see a look of concentration on his face as he stares at you.

“Lemme see your sweater.” He says, standing there, holding out his hand.

You look up at him, wondering what he would want it for but still not ready to protest. After no reaction or reply, you simply unzip your sweater and pull your arms out. You hand it to him, feeling slightly exposed and shivering at the sudden change in temperature.

He takes it, slinging it over his arm and suddenly taking off his jacket as well. He turns, beginning to walk out but saying “I’m gong to go put these in the dryer.”

You sit there, thinking about what had just happened. You clutch your arms and grip your elbows, them being bare and exposed. You wore a short sleeved shirt today, it being the first thing you grabbed and you never thinking that you were going to ever take off your sweater in front of anyone else. You looked down, and spotted no bruises on your arms, thankfully they were all still hidden by the material in your sleeve or fading away unnoticeably.

You notice that your shirt was mildly wet from the rain, but not too bad. It was only on your shoulders that it was wet, but it was still enough to make you feel colder than before. His room wasn’t that warm, but it was nice enough to not be suffocating. You rubbed your arms and sat still on his bed, not knowing what else to do but look around.

His footsteps can be heard as he comes up the stairs. You sit and wait for him to come back, doing nothing but listening to the harsh rain splatter against the window pain behind the curtains. The sound alone makes you shiver and rub your arms again as he steps through the doorway speaking.

“My parents left me a note. I guess they went grocery shopping and took Mikey with them. They should be back in an hour or so.”

You sat there, not really needing this information, but feeling comfort in knowing that you won’t be there when they return. You didn’t want for Gerard to get in trouble just because of you. You simply nod your head and stare blankly at the wall.

“Aren’t you gonna eat something?” Gerard asks.

You look up at him and he’s once again holding the plate with the grilled cheese sandwiches in them. He smiles tentatively at you, as if he’s encouraging you. Then you realized He’s telling you to eat.

Just do what he says, and nothing will go wrong. You think, reaching out and grabbing one of the sandwiches with your right arm, using your left to clutch your empty stomach.

You actually did feel pretty hungry. The school’s food was getting greasier and greasier. Today you didn’t want to eat the cheese pizza they handed you for fear of having a heart attack minutes after consuming it.

You smell the cheese melted in the middle, and the warmth of the bread in your hand makes you shiver lightly again, but not as much as before. It seems you were warming up. You take a hesitant bite, not looking up to see if he was watching you, just because you didn’t want to feel anymore exposed than before. He sits down next to you and takes his sandwich off the plate, setting the plate back down on the floor as you chew.

It tastes good.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice him repeatedly looking over at you as you ate. You tried to ignore it, but after a while, you noticed he was out right staring at you. You had only eaten a little over half of your sandwich, and you wondered what it was that you were doing wrong. You swallow the bit you had in your mouth and look up at him.

His expression confused you. He looked worried as he sat there, not taking his eyes off your face. He was doing the same thing he did before. Every time he was fighting with himself to say something to you, he always scanned your face restlessly. That’s exactly what he was doing now as he repeatedly ran his eyes over your nose, lips and cheeks. You turn away, feeling a horrible blush color your cheeks. You felt utterly uncomfortable, just sitting there and having him look at you like that.

“Ken.” You hear him say, his tone shaky and nervous.

You look up at him. He had another serious and stern look on his face and you wondered what it was that you had done wrong.

“Don’t hurt yourself.”