Homophobia Is Gay Just Like Frerard

I stood up and helped my weeping best friend up too. He silently sobbed. He staggered to the stairs. I told him he’d better crawl up. He was far too wasted. I flowed slowly; I was drunk too. I got him to go to the bathroom. There he sat on the floor and lent against the bathtub.

I stormed back down stairs and picked up a cushion. Throwing it hard at Gerard.

“Fuck off!” he shouted.

“I heard you say all those things. The whispers. ‘Frankie, I love you!’ now get your ass up there now. Because I have a hurt and confused little boy crying his eyes out in the bathroom.” I said.

“I’m no good for him,” He sobbed. I walked over to him in three strides and helped him up. We walked and stumbled up the stairs. I was way to drunk to be the sober one. We got into the bathroom. Gerard fell next to Frank, tears streamed down his face. His head rested in Frank’s lap. I looked at the two crying boys. Leaving them I went and ‘died’ on my bed. I had no idea Dad was so horrid to Gee. I knew there was tension, but not like that. Tears streamed down my face as I fell asleep.

I dreamt of nothing. Just that black. Peaceful. I was woken by Gerard and Frank walking in. Frank’s lip was bloody and Gerard was tear-stained. They sat down next to me.

“Sorry you had to see that,” he whispered stroking my hair.

“No, I’m sorry. I had no idea Dad was like that,” I sat up. And hugged them both.

“Dad just doesn’t like me being gay, so kinda shouts at me. I guess he got annoyed when I shouted back. It’s fine though. Words will never hurt me.”