Anorex-a-Gogo

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"Mikey told me you were sick," Gerard says, leaning over the edge of my bed. I can't see his entire upper body because of this, and his voice sounds muffled. He's holding up the sheets and blankets, looking under my bed.

I'm still under the covers, leaning back on my pillows and watching him dig around. I can't imagine what for, there's got to be sixteen years worth of shit down there. "I'm not," I say loud enough for him to hear me down there, "See, perfectly healthy. Fit as a fiddle. A regular spring chicken."

He rummages around a little more and then slides off the edge of the bed, hitting the floor with a dull 'thump'. I don't even want to know what my mom will make of it. His face pops up, red from the blood that had rushed to it when he was hanging over the end of my bed. He's scowling. "I really don't think that's quite what he meant," he replies shortly. Then he goes back to rummaging beneath the bed. "He told me you weren't at school today," he continues, shouting just a little to be heard, "So did you just decide to skip or something?"

"I'm sure you know all about skipping," I mutter.

He lifts his head again, and I chuckle at the look on his face. It's that look that adults give you when you're being a moody, obnoxious teenager and they really just want you to shut the fuck up. "You shouldn't skip. Colleges actually look at those types of things when they're looking at your transcripts and shit," he scolds matter-of-factly.

I can't hold back my snort. "College? I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was talking to my mother."

"Oh ha ha," he mutters, giving me a sarcastic sneer before dropping out of sight again. "But seriously, why didn't you go?"

"I didn't feel up to it."

"Then why did Mikey tell me you were sick?"

"I don't fucking know, why don't you go ask him?" I throw back the covers on my bed, dry by now, and stalk over to my desk, pushing aside papers and shit. I'm looking for my cell phone, just to have something to look for. "Anyway, why did he tell you anything at all about me?"

"Because I told him I kissed you when he got home this afternoon."

I forget why I was even looking for my phone and turn on him. "Why the fuck would you do that?" I cry.

He's halfway beneath my bed, only his legs poking out. Like it's eating him or something. "Well, he asked if I kissed you on Sunday when we were supposedly getting popcorn. I told him, No, of course not, I kissed him yesterday."

I groan and hold onto my desk for support. "What did he say?" I ask weakly. I never really imagined Mikey as the type to give a fuck about who anyone was kissing, but I also don't really know Mikey. For all I know he could be just as homophobic as those dumbfucks at school.

Gerard squirms around, trying to get up from under my bed. "Use protection," he replies with a grin. Then, just as quickly, that grin slips away into a look of horror. "Fuck..." he whispers, dropping what he'd managed to pull from under my bed--a raggedy old teddy bear.

I meet his horror-struck eyes, dread filling my every vein, and then follow his gaze to my torso. My shirtless upper torso. Oops, did I forget the massive fucking gash cut into my skin? Silly me.

What the fuck can I say? Cat scratch? I don't even have a fucking cat.

"Frankie," Gerard murmurs, slowly walking toward me with his hand held out. He almost reminds me of a zombie from some crappy rise-from-the-dead cult film. Pale skin, open mouth, glassy eyes, outstretched hands. I want to eat your brains. I almost laugh, and then I remember I'm screwed, and I want to throw up.

His head snaps up and he pulls his hands away as if I've burned him before he even touched me. When he looks at me again, it's almost frightening. I swear there's a fire raging behind those hazel irises. "Did he do this to you?" he demands, his eyes flickering from the gash to my eyes and then back again.

I chuckle nervously. "N-no, I fell...such a klutz...fell," I mumble lamely. I want to move, put on a shirt or something. What was I thinking, not wearing a shirt? I mean, I'm a total fat ass anyway, why would he want to see my blubber belly? But it's like his eyes have glued my feet to the carpet, my hands and arms to my side.

"What, fell into a fucking can opener?" he shouts. He touches the gash, traces the inflamed skin around it, and when I wince and jerk away from his stinging touch, he looks like he might just cry. I'm so damn sure I can see tears in his eyes. "Fuck, Frank, tell me! Was...was it him?"

"I don't know who you're talking about."

"Your brother!"

"I....I don't know what you're talking about." Why can't I think up a better response?

Then he's looking at me with such a look of disgust on his face that I have to look away so he doesn't see my own tears. "Why can't you fucking just tell me?" he nearly whispers, "Why do you have to hide every damn thing from everyone?"

I chew on my lip ring and I'm so fucking angry with myself. Never...I never want to see him look at me again like he's looking at me right now. Like I'm scum. No better than an annoying, disgusting piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Then his hand is gripping my jaw so tightly it hurts, jerking my face up to look at his. Never...never again.

"Did your brother do this?" he practically snarls, baring his little kid teeth as his palm, warm and bony, presses against the red cut on my stomach. The pressure hurts like hell, but I don't try to move away again.

"No," I lie, and my voice sounds a hundred times calmer than I feel inside. Inside where I'm trembling from the pain of his hands and the fact that I lied and maybe because he's touching me with his warm skin and he's so damn close I can feel his breath on my cheeks. But years of practice reveal nothing of my emotions, and my voice comes out smooth and calm.

I wonder briefly if karma will punish me right away, or if maybe it will keep me hanging. Tease me and taunt me with threats, but never going through with them. Keep me on my toes, always waiting for it to catch up with me, until my head just fucking explodes from the anxiety and wait.

Then he lets go of me and walks back over to my bed. I gasp at the loss of his touch, and I know karma hates me too much to keep me waiting. It would much rather kill me now. By making Gerard hate me too.

Instant karma.

I find I can move again, the trance he held over me breaking with each step he takes away from me. Again, I grasp onto the desk to keep myself steady. I feel like gravity just returned, crushing me with its unexpected weight. My head spins, probably from lack of food.

"Gee..." I whimper, but it's not my voice. I'm too far away to be talking. Did the room stretch or something? And why are the walls spinning? Have they always done that?

Gerard turns back to me, still looking pissed off. This look is gradually replaced by one of worry. "Woah, Frankie, you okay?" he asks, stepping back over to me. Each step rings in my ears. His hands lock around my waist, dragging me over to the bed. I close my eyes as my head hits pillow, and that makes the spinning even worse. It's nauseating. Then I open them and his worried face comes into my direct line of vision, and I focus instead on that.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I reply, a little embarrassed. I have no idea what came over me just then. He can't have had that kind of effect, could he? No, impossible.

One good thing about me nearly passing out in front of Gerard: he's seemingly forgotten about Owen and my gash and hating me. Now he's all mother hen-like, fussing around with me. He presses one hand to my forehead, then the other to his own, then touches mine again.

"Maybe Mikey really was right. You feel a little warm," he says worriedly, pressing both his hands to both of our foreheads, then switching them, then back again. "....I think."

I don't bother telling him that I'm pretty much a walking breeding ground for sickness, and that I normally run a couple degrees higher than what's normal.

"Fuck, I don't know," he mumbles, giving up on trying to compare our temperatures, "I never payed attention in health class. Just, um, rest up, okay?"

I grin weakly. "Will do, Dr. Way."

"Cheeky," he mutters with a sarcastic grin. He pulls his messenger bag over his head and adjusts the strap for a moment before looking down at me. I see his eyes pass over my abdomen again, and I try to casually pull my blankets back up over my chest. He looks sad for a moment before meeting my eyes and giving me a sort of half-hearted smile. "I want to actually see you in one piece one of these days," he jokes meekly.

"Unlikely. I'm a fucking spaz, remember?"

This gets a genuine grin out of him, and I feel loads better just seeing it. "Yeah yeah, how could I forget?" he chuckles. He leans down over me and kisses my forehead, then trails down to my lips. "Then just...stay safe. Can you do that?" he sighs against my cheek.

His eyelashes tickle my temple as he blinks, waiting for my response. "I'll try," I say.

He straightens up and then steps towards the door. He steps on something and looks down to see what it it. Grinning, he bends down and picks the something up. It's the teddy bear he retrieved from under my bed earlier. "Here you go, Pansy," he says, tossing it underhand to me.

I catch it and look at the raggedy brown fur and lopsided bow. I haven't seen this in years, although it used to be my favorite toy when I was a kid. Henry the Bear, I remember with a small smile. I couldn't sleep without him. I've always wondered where the fuck he'd gone to. Who knew he just had to be excavated from the archaeological dig under my bed?

"Be seeing you soon," Gerard mumbles, then winks and disappears from the room. I listen as he clomps down the stairs, thanks Mom for letting him up to see me, then the door shuts with a little bang. Climbing out of bed, I watch him walk quickly down the driveway through the seasonal winter rain to his car. He gets in and takes half a minute before starting the engine. As he speeds down the slick street, I press my nose to the cold glass so I can still see him. When he gets to the corner, he beeps the horn twice and then disappears from my view.

I happily return to my bed and situate the teddy bear on the bedside table. His visit was like waking up from a nightmare to find that you weren't alone after all. It's an elating feeling, and my heart feels so full it could burst. Like I just might burst.