Love Like Summer
Boy Next Door
Gerard awoke around three-fourteen. He didn’t pop up from where he slept, like in movies where the character is having a dream that always ends up coming true. But he had broken out in a cold sweat, he realized, as he slowly sat up. Knees up t his chest, he ran his fingers through his damp hair, then hiding his face in his hands, trying desperately to calm himself. He’d had another one of those dreams – another haunting nightmare, like he were a veteran from World War II, waking in the night, terrified of history repeating itself. Gerard loathed his mother for the things she had made him do in the past, just so they could survive after their father had died.
“She won’t touch you.” Gerard told himself in a soft, yet stern voice, the way he had so many times before. “No one will ever touch you again.” How he hated his mother so. All the things he had to do, all of those demented men he had to please, just to fill the void they demanded to be filled – just to make a few bucks,
It had started the week after his tenth birthday, when his mother had first woke him up at such a late hour he thought his brother had died too. His father had been dead for a month on that day, the day she gripped his wrist so tightly his eyes watered, her nails leaving indents. Gerard sighed loudly, hugging his knees closer, his eyes closed, as he remembered the last time – the day before he moved out, Mikey by his side. It had been the day after his eighteenth birthday, a day he would never forget.
A tear ran down his cheek as he smiled, biting his lip. “She can’t touch you…never again.” He said softly, still recalling those frightful nights. He didn’t deserve it; he knew he didn’t, and that no other boy did either.
A scream, the painfully familiar sound of being hit, flesh against flesh, the inaudible shouting to take it like a good boy. Gerard shut his eyes tighter and covered his ears, trying to block out the memory. He fought to urge to scream, he refused to let his tears fall one more time.
But something was wrong. All those sounds, they weren’t coming from his mind, or those painful memories, but from the apartment next door. Gerard narrowed his eyes towards the door, and stood up, grabbing his ripped and blood-stained hoodie in the process.
It had to be stopped.
Gerard pounded on the door, and then tried opening it himself. “Go away, it’s late!” The man inside yelled, accompanied by a muffled whimper. Gerard’s hands former into his, anger growing inside of him. Taking a step back, he kicked the door open and rushed in, pulling it shut behind him. He was sure his ribs would hate him in the morning, but there were more important things to attend to.
The man – older, forty at the youngest – who owned the voice didn’t stop his actions when Gerard came in, but the boy beneath him looked, then tried to hide his face, swearing under his breath. The man turned to look to see what had caused such a racket, only to find Gerard stalking into the bedroom. “What th-“
“Get out of him!” Gerard yelled. He grabbed the man by the shoulder and threw him against the wall, trying not to further injure himself. The man hit his head and blacked out, leaving Gerard alone with the victim. “Hey kid, you o-“
Gerard stopped. The boy, still hiding his face, had picked up his clothes from the floor, rushing to pull his boxers on with his badly shaking hands. When Gerard had spoken, the boy had looked up at him, with crying, bright hazel eyes, thickly outlined in black.
“Frank?!”
“She won’t touch you.” Gerard told himself in a soft, yet stern voice, the way he had so many times before. “No one will ever touch you again.” How he hated his mother so. All the things he had to do, all of those demented men he had to please, just to fill the void they demanded to be filled – just to make a few bucks,
It had started the week after his tenth birthday, when his mother had first woke him up at such a late hour he thought his brother had died too. His father had been dead for a month on that day, the day she gripped his wrist so tightly his eyes watered, her nails leaving indents. Gerard sighed loudly, hugging his knees closer, his eyes closed, as he remembered the last time – the day before he moved out, Mikey by his side. It had been the day after his eighteenth birthday, a day he would never forget.
A tear ran down his cheek as he smiled, biting his lip. “She can’t touch you…never again.” He said softly, still recalling those frightful nights. He didn’t deserve it; he knew he didn’t, and that no other boy did either.
A scream, the painfully familiar sound of being hit, flesh against flesh, the inaudible shouting to take it like a good boy. Gerard shut his eyes tighter and covered his ears, trying to block out the memory. He fought to urge to scream, he refused to let his tears fall one more time.
But something was wrong. All those sounds, they weren’t coming from his mind, or those painful memories, but from the apartment next door. Gerard narrowed his eyes towards the door, and stood up, grabbing his ripped and blood-stained hoodie in the process.
It had to be stopped.
Gerard pounded on the door, and then tried opening it himself. “Go away, it’s late!” The man inside yelled, accompanied by a muffled whimper. Gerard’s hands former into his, anger growing inside of him. Taking a step back, he kicked the door open and rushed in, pulling it shut behind him. He was sure his ribs would hate him in the morning, but there were more important things to attend to.
The man – older, forty at the youngest – who owned the voice didn’t stop his actions when Gerard came in, but the boy beneath him looked, then tried to hide his face, swearing under his breath. The man turned to look to see what had caused such a racket, only to find Gerard stalking into the bedroom. “What th-“
“Get out of him!” Gerard yelled. He grabbed the man by the shoulder and threw him against the wall, trying not to further injure himself. The man hit his head and blacked out, leaving Gerard alone with the victim. “Hey kid, you o-“
Gerard stopped. The boy, still hiding his face, had picked up his clothes from the floor, rushing to pull his boxers on with his badly shaking hands. When Gerard had spoken, the boy had looked up at him, with crying, bright hazel eyes, thickly outlined in black.
“Frank?!”