Chill Out.

“Laugh,” he says, “it’s funny.”

“No it’s not,” I grumble, snuggling further into the soft rug I have wrapped carefully around my body.

“It is so, admit it,” he presses on, still laughing. His lopsided smile makes me want to hit him, to wipe it off his gorgeous features until he feels as hopeless and shitty as I do.

“I’m going to smack you if you don’t shut the fuck up,” I growl, glaring at him from beneath my fringe of brown.

“But Frank! It’s funny.”

“It might be to you but it certainly isn’t to me, alright? Get that through your thick skull.” My eyes narrow just a little bit more and I’m sure my voice is really starting to show just how frustrated and shitty I am.

“You need to lighten up a little,” Gerard mocks me in a teasing tone, much like an amused mother would do to her whinging toddler. It only frustrates me further.

“Lighten up?! Yeah, fucking totally, you ass.” I’m ready to spring at him, whether it’s fucking cold or not. I would have a long time ago if it wasn’t absolutely freezing.

We’re sitting on the roof of my Dad’s land cruiser, freezing our asses off at four in the morning. I’m not exactly taking kindly to the idea of releasing the blanket that’s bringing me at least a little bit of warmth. I can almost feel the little icicles of snot starting to take form in my nostrils, like in the movie Ice Age.

“It’s not too bad,” Gerard mutters. I can still hear a smile in his voice though. He’s such an arrogant motherfucker, he is. “You just have to look at the funny side of things.”

“Funny side of things,” I repeat, pretending to contemplate. “Well, let’s see. We’re sitting in the middle of, oh I know! – fucking no where on the side of the road. We have next to no gas, only two blankets, it’s the middle of winter, we’re locked out of the car because you lost the keys down the ditch when we went to piss and we have no cell service. That’s totally funny. I’m in stitches at the hilarity of our extremely fortunate situation.”

“When you put it like that it isn’t funny.”

I watch as Gerard unfolds his legs and crosses them the other way, causing the car roof to bend beneath his weight and readjust noisily.

“It isn’t funny no matter how you say it,” I say tiredly, sniffling my nose so snot doesn’t drip down and definitely form into little icicles.

“Frank, just shut up. It’s funny, end of,” Gerard chuckles. How he can still find our situation funny is beyond me. His thought process must operate on an entirely different level to the normal human being’s. Why I am in a relationship with the guy is also not too clear at the moment.

I mention this. “Why am I dating someone who is certifiably insane?”

“Because you need someone to balance out your pessimistic and skewed perception on life,” he answers without a beat, as if he knew I was going to question that particular subject.

“You don’t think normally,” I mutter, trying to ignore the cold.

“I don’t like the restrictions our society puts on normality,” he quips.

“How do you come out with that shit?” I clasp the blanket around me tighter, frustrated that Gerard has his pulled lazily and disjointedly around only his waist.

“I take psychology, remember? I also have the attention span to actually take in and understand the lessons,” he replies, looking over at me with a cheeky little grin.

“What’s that meant to mean?” I sigh. I’m sick of his game already. I’m too cold and tired to actually get fired up at him like I usually would. He manages to be the only person that can anger me to a borderline violent, raging asshole with only one sentence. God knows why the hell I’m with him. No one else understands it either, so it’s not just me.

“Just that I believe you could – and should – apply yourself more.”

“I’m fine doing what I’m doing, Gee,” I sigh, letting it roll smoothly into a wide yawn.

“But you’re not happy,” he presses, not letting go of the conversation he and I have had constantly for a good four months.

“You can’t say that. I am happy,” I say emotionlessly. I’m just way too tired to put any emotion into what I’m saying, I can’t even be frustrated anymore like I was just a moment ago. I just want to go to sleep.

“You are not,” Gerard says quietly. “I can tell.”

“No you ca –”

I’m cut off by Gerard putting his arms around me and pulling me towards him. “Lie down and get comfortable.” I do as he says and lean against him, shivering slightly from the exposure moving around has created. Arms are then promptly wrapped around my shoulders, and a lullaby is being sung softly into my ear.

I fight down yet another yawn but I don’t succeed and it rips my mouth open with a long and tired sigh. Then, I’m asleep, basking in an enjoyable feeling of unconsciousness and nothing.

When I wake, Gerard’s body is cold. I poke and prod at him but he doesn’t move. I’m not particularly worried though because he’s a heavy sleeper. I roll over and I’m immediately aware of dawn and how much noise is being made by my movement, it splits and tears through the silence of the early morning.

Sliding off the car, I hit the ground with a thud. It’s only then that I realise how cold I am, that my fingers are tinged blue and feel slow and numb. There’s ice on the car windows, snow on the ground and a little in my hair. I also need to piss.

So I walk into the distance a little and relieve myself. The small sliver of sunlight is hardly warming me and my surroundings at all, making me wish for a warm house and fire. My mind is still lethargic from sleep and my legs feel sluggish and stiff. In fact, my whole body feels like that.

When I reach the car again, I remember that I felt warmer last night. It was only when I got out from underneath the blankets that I really felt it.

Then, somewhere, a ball falls into place. Something clicks.

I had two blankets on me last night. That meant that Gerard had none. My eyes dart to the roof of the car and I can see Gerard’s body. My heart is thumping against my ribs, threatening to crack and splinter every one of them. My whole body erupts into tremors and I feel like I want to throw up.

But I don’t. I slowly make my way up onto the bonnet of the car and onto the roof, hardly even noticing the ice that clings to my hands and knees. When I reach the roof, I kneel next to Gerard and poke him softly. Then I poke him again, harder. I keep going until I’m almost pushing his body off the side of the car.

“Gerard, wake the hell up!” I shout, fear taking me in its sharp grasp.

But he doesn’t. His lips are blue, there’s frost in his hair that contrasts greatly against the blackness of it and his skin is pale and ice cold. This time I do throw up, leaning over Gerard’s body and over the side of the car. As I look up from emptying the contents of my stomach, I see a house with smoke coming out of the chimney just seven hundred metres away.

I continue throwing up.