Anorex-a-Gogo

So school goes by torturously. And by torturously I mean like medieval. Slow and awkward. Mikey won't stop smirking at me, and he keeps making a heart out of his fingers whenever we pass each other in the hall. I actually came into the same bathroom where he was taking a piss, and he didn't stop singing, "Frankie loves Gerard," until after he'd washed his hands and left.

But the real torture is when I force myself to drop by Mr. Stokes's room. This is the most painful of all.

It takes me seven minutes to actually gather the courage to knock on his door. When I do, he calls for me to come on in. And when he sees that it's me...he doesn't yell. He doesn't scream. Doesn't give me a detention for being a complete bastard. No, he just grins.

"Hey, Frankie," he greets me, as if we're best buddies, "What's up?"

I nervously take a seat, chewing on my lip ring. Bad habit. "Um, I just...." This is horribly, much harder than I'd thought. My throat feels all clogged, my mouth feels ten sizes too big. Awkward. "I wanted to say I'm sorry. For, you know, yelling and stuff. Yesterday."

He just grins. "Don't be sorry, Frankie. Don't you realize what you did yesterday?" he asks excitedly. He stands up so quickly that a bunch of papers fall from his desk. I bend over to pick them up, but he waves my hand away and leaves them on the dirty yellow linoleum.

"You stood up for yourself! You voiced your opinion. Frankie, you didn't let me off the hook when I was wrong."

I'm thinking, what the fuck? Where is the teacher who should be sending me up to the principle's office for being fucking disrespectful? Where is the punishment? And on what planet have I landed on so recently that's just turned everything upside-down and backwards for me?

"That takes guts, man. That takes bravery to stand up and finally tell someone they're wrong. Don't ever let anyone push you down or tell you that you're worthless, Frank. Even if it's someone with authority," Stokes rushes on, slapping me on the back with camaraderie. As if we're in this together. Teacher and student, in more ways than one.

Maybe it's because I'm so in shock right now that my brain's completely scrambled and addled, but I actually smile up at him. Then I'm shaking his hand and I'm saying, "See you in class, Mr. Stokes," and I'm even feeling a little proud of myself.

I've got guts. I'm brave. I wish I could tell Gerard.

But I can't tell Gerard. Because Gerard is in New York. And I might be falling for Gerard. But I can't tell Gerard.

I can't tell Gerard. I can't tell Gerard.

* * *

Commitment. That's a big fucking word. When was the last time I committed myself to anything at all?

I think my Mom got me two goldfish when I was about four or five years old. The bigger one was black, not gold, and it ate the smaller yellow fish the very first night we had them. I remember being scared that the big fish would eat me too because I was so small. Especially as a kid. Ironically enough, I think it ended up starving to death because I forgot to feed it.

I can't even commit myself to a damn fish. So how am I supposed to be with Gerard?

And I don't mean just be with him like he drops by randomly at school and my house. I mean to really be with him, as in having a relationship. As in commitment.

How do I even know Gerard wants a relationship with me?

Because he called.

I remember last night he was messing around with my cell phone as I tried to do some of the homework that had built up. Programming his number in, taking pictures of himself. Taking pictures of me.

So tonight, at 2: fucking 26 in the morning, my cell phone starts flashing and having a goddamn seizure on my nightstand. I jolt awake, blurry and disoriented as my heart attempts an escape from my chest cavity. Reality hitting me, I blindly reach out and grope for the intrusive piece of technology.

What I see are the words Gee Way dancing across the screen above a picture of Gerard's penis. "What the fuck, man?" I mumble to myself before flipping open the lid.

" 'Lo?" I mumble, covering up a yawn with one hand.

"You awake, Frankie?" Gerard asks.

Maybe I was dead. Or in a coma. Because suddenly, every nerve in every blood cell in my body catches fire and I feel alive, alive, alive and living. His voice, a little bit raspy from the dozens of cigarettes he smokes each day, is like a shot of pure adrenaline straight into my veins.

"Kinda," I mumble, but it sounds more like "Kffgingh," from where half my face is pressed into my pillow.

He chuckles. "Guess not then. I can't sleep."

I roll onto my back and stretch leisurely, one hand pressing the phone to my ear as the other moves behind my head. "You gave me an aneurysm," I point out. And my heart is still racing, though I'm not sure if it's because of my phone scaring the shit out of me, or just because I get to hear his voice again.

"You won't believe what I have to tell you."

I'm too tired to make a sarcastic comment, so I simply yawn and say, "Kay."

"So I'm in the hotel, right? And I'm trying to get some sleep, but I had way too much coffee on the drive down. And then suddenly, there's a crash and some woman groans, "Oh, Baby!" I swear to God, Frankie, the people in the room next to me have been fucking like animals for like, two hours straight. It's like a fucking porno! I can't even hear my own thoughts."

"Serious?"

"Completely. And this art convention is a joke. Art," he scoffs, "Yeah, right. My ass is art."

I laugh and take a moment to fully appreciate just how much I miss him. And how glad I'll be when he gets back. Then I proceed to tell him about what happened with Mr. Stokes, from the first day he began practically stalking me this year, to today when he was proud of me for bitching him out.

Gerard is quiet, and I can almost hear him thinking. "You know when I saw you in the bathroom last Friday?" he finally quietly asks.

"Mmmhhmm," I murmur without a thought.

"Why were you doing that?"

"Doing what?"

Then I realize that he's talking about finding me puking up the sandwich Stokes gave me. I could probably puke right now.

"You know...why were you throwing up, Frankie? Were you sick or something?"

What he doesn't know is that I am sick. I might be the sickest person he knows, and he doesn't even know it. He doesn't even know half of my secrets.

I think he realizes that I probably won't answer him. "I just don't know what makes you do things like that. What do you see that I can't see?"

We are consumed by the awkwardest of awkward silences. The king of all awkward silences.

Just then in the background is a loud, moaning, "Oooooh, yeah!", courtesy of the couple fucking in Gerard's hotel.

Just like that, the tension is broken and we both start to laugh. And once we start, we just can't stop. His low chuckles and my hiccuping giggles fuel my laughter and his, and I feel a bit like I did on Tuesday, when I couldn't stop laughing at those guys who were beating me shitless. We laugh because sex is the funniest thing when you're just not having it. We laugh because it's the only thing we can do when he's so far away. We laugh because it makes this phone call not-so-serious, and we're kind of a not-so-serious couple.

But we are a couple. Two people who are attracted for some reason or another, or maybe even no real reason at all. Based on chemistry and endorphins and the chemicals that make us feel for a certain person. That's all we are. A purely chemical couple.

When the laughter dies down, I wipe at my tired eyes and sigh. "I wish I was there."

"I wish you were here too, Frankie."

I realize that I'm too emotionally open when I'm sleepy, and I start picking my mind for a reason to back out of this conversation before I reveal anything particularly dangerous and deep.

"I'm not going to keep you up. I just wanted to hear your voice. So get some sleep, alright? I"ll be back by tomorrow night." He pauses. "Or tonight, I guess, since it's almost 3 in the morning."

"Kay," I yawn, curling back up to my pillow that I wish was Gerard and the blankets I wish were Gerard and the sheets that I wish were Gerard.

"Goodnight, Frankie."

"Night, Gee Gee."

I swear I can almost hear his smile all the way in New York as he disconnects the line and static plays back at me like an empty lullaby. I'd rather hear Gerard's lullaby. And I think, Well, as long as I'm wishing, I wish that Gerard were here right now.

In a matter of seconds my wish comes true as I drift back into sleep that brings me a dream of Gerard crawling out of my cell phone just to sing me to sleep.