Status: Completed
High School Is the Least of Our Worries.
Chapter 29
Happy Birthday Frankie!!!
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Gerard.
Iron Maiden blares out of my beaten up stereo, dying every so often as I headbang at random places. I’m in a really good mood. I keep looking at my picture. It looks so alive. It’s almost like a smaller, quieter Frank is with me, draped in greyscale.
It's the tearing sound of love-notes
Drowning out the gray stained …
Ah fuck. I suck at poetry. I screw it up and chuck it in the bin, already overflowing with disfigured paper scrawled with messy handwriting or unfinished doodles. I lean my head on my hand again and sigh, looking at the drawing. Fuck he looks so hot.
Looking with glazed eyes at my drawn Frank combined with the immense noise of my CD, I didn’t hear anyone storm up the stairs and slam my door open. I jump and quickly slide the picture in my draw; no-one can see that.
I swivel around and start at the sight of my mom. She never comes into my room. Her eyes are wide but her body’s near to collapsing as she looks daggers at me. I draw back, knowing what my mom can do when she’s angry.
“Gerard you complete fuck-up, turn this shit down!” she yells and I immediately stop the song. The silence turns cold as she glares at me, wearing me down.
“Why the fuck are you up here all the time, alone?” she snarls.
Because I can’t bring anyone over here.
“Answer me you fucking fag!” She leers close, too close, and I can smell the alcohol on her breath.
I can’t have them around because of you.
Suddenly her hand draws back, and faster than I ever thought possible, her hand collides with my cheek and I stumble backwards, whimpering in pain.
“You are fucking weak,” she taunts, and turns towards my desk.
“What’s this?” she snarls, holding up my sketchbook, my life collected in one book of drawings.
“No!” I whisper, petrified that she’d look at it. She didn’t. It was worse.
With one evil smile, she starts to rip it up, pages shredding into millions of pieces before my eyes. All that I am was in that book.
“No! NO!” I scream, my eyes stinging with tears, her cackles echoing around my room as she goes out my room, slamming the door behind her.
I kneel down and try to salvage the shreds, trying in vain to recollect them. It’s impossible. I feel my tears racing down my cheeks, coming in tidal waves, and I did nothing to stop it.
Mikey.
I hear screaming and sobs, cackling and whimpers then silence. I hear mum stop down the stairs and the door slamming. Silence.
I sigh and shake my head, standing up from my desk, my physics homework could wait.
I creep down the corridor and place my ear against the chipped wood of his bedroom door. I hear tiny sobs echoing and whimpers of what sounds like ‘Frankie’. Who’s Frankie?
I knock on his door gently. “Gee,” I call out before slowly opening the door, revealing him sitting on the floor, desperately trying to place bits of paper back together.
“What did she do?” I ask gently, sitting down next to him on the stained carpet.
“S-she tore up my sketchbook” He whispers as he runs his fingers over ripped pieces of paper.
“Three years of memories gone,” He says softly, wiping his eyes.
I pull him into a hug, I know how important that book was to him, it was his way of venting his anger and sadness.
“I-I hate her,” He stammers against my shoulder and I stroke his hair softly.
“Everythings gonna get better… I promise,” I whisper and he nods into my shoulder. His tears making a wet patch on my t-shirt.
Hasn’t mum caused him enough pain. She’s called him a fuck up every day of his life for the last three years. Why can’t she just leave him alone?
Gerard.
I really love Mikey. His warm embrace calmed me, and I tried to believe that everything would be alright. But when he left, trusting me to get better, I just couldn’t. That scrapbook meant everything to me. Now I have nothing to show for my life. Mom’s right. I am a fuck-up.
I shudder and wipe my eyes. Why can’t anything be simple?
Mikey’s warm embrace had disappeared. I wouldn’t see Frank until tomorrow, at 10. We were meeting at the lake, then going back to mine to do that fucking project. We haven’t done anything on it since before the first time we kissed. That seems like a lifetime ago.
I walk unsteadily downstairs into the kitchen, going to get a glass of water to clear my head. Then I stopped dead. My eyes flickered to that blessed bottle, my heart beating rapidly. No. I told myself furiously. I can’t give into it again.
But the glass just stood there, unmoving, taunting me, begging me to drink. The temptation was too much. I battle ferociously with my insides until I can stand it no longer. I snatch the full bottle and down nearly half of it, my head ceasing its incessant throbbing immediately. I sigh with relief. I stumble back upstairs, with a stupid smile on my face, succumbing to the overwhelming pleasure. The hurt is gone without a trace.
I down the rest in one, nearly falling over as the vodka burns my throat and swirls around my head. But I know one thing; I’ll have a good night sleep tonight.
Frank.
I wake up the next morning with a grin on my face. The prospect of spending a whole day with Gerard without anyone interrupting us seemed like heaven. I climb out of bed, looking out the window, it’s a glorious sunny autumn morning. This only adds to my good mood. I shower quickly and get dressed, pulling on a misfits t-shirt that I never dared to wear when I was at school, I think Gerard will appreciate it.
Mom wasn’t in the kitchen when I got downstairs, probably still asleep, lazy bitch. I pour myself some fruitloops and orange juice. Sitting at the kitchen table and just grinning. Every thought coming back to Gerard in some way or another.
I check the clock on the wall, it reads 9.30AM, excellent, just enough time to brush my hair and to drive to the lake for 10.00.
When I’m ready I skip – yes skip out the door, unlocking my car door and jumping inside, turning on the Misfits, Astro Zombies comes blaring through and I sing along as I pull out the driveway.
It’s the perfect day for a day by the lake, not to cold and not to warm, sun blazing and orange and bronze leaves crunching under your feet. Perfect.
I pull up to the clearing, my eyes darting around for Gerard, a frown etches on my face as I can’t find him. I turn off the engine and climb out, pocketing my keys.
“Gerard!” I call out curiously, wondering if he was about to jump out from behind a tree or something.
“Gee you here?!” No answer. I check my watch, reading 10.05, he’s probably just a little late.
I settle down underneath a tree, taking in the scenery and waiting for the sound of tyres on leaves, signalling Gerard’s arrival.
I leave the park two hours later. Alone.
---------------------
Gerard.
Iron Maiden blares out of my beaten up stereo, dying every so often as I headbang at random places. I’m in a really good mood. I keep looking at my picture. It looks so alive. It’s almost like a smaller, quieter Frank is with me, draped in greyscale.
It's the tearing sound of love-notes
Drowning out the gray stained …
Ah fuck. I suck at poetry. I screw it up and chuck it in the bin, already overflowing with disfigured paper scrawled with messy handwriting or unfinished doodles. I lean my head on my hand again and sigh, looking at the drawing. Fuck he looks so hot.
Looking with glazed eyes at my drawn Frank combined with the immense noise of my CD, I didn’t hear anyone storm up the stairs and slam my door open. I jump and quickly slide the picture in my draw; no-one can see that.
I swivel around and start at the sight of my mom. She never comes into my room. Her eyes are wide but her body’s near to collapsing as she looks daggers at me. I draw back, knowing what my mom can do when she’s angry.
“Gerard you complete fuck-up, turn this shit down!” she yells and I immediately stop the song. The silence turns cold as she glares at me, wearing me down.
“Why the fuck are you up here all the time, alone?” she snarls.
Because I can’t bring anyone over here.
“Answer me you fucking fag!” She leers close, too close, and I can smell the alcohol on her breath.
I can’t have them around because of you.
Suddenly her hand draws back, and faster than I ever thought possible, her hand collides with my cheek and I stumble backwards, whimpering in pain.
“You are fucking weak,” she taunts, and turns towards my desk.
“What’s this?” she snarls, holding up my sketchbook, my life collected in one book of drawings.
“No!” I whisper, petrified that she’d look at it. She didn’t. It was worse.
With one evil smile, she starts to rip it up, pages shredding into millions of pieces before my eyes. All that I am was in that book.
“No! NO!” I scream, my eyes stinging with tears, her cackles echoing around my room as she goes out my room, slamming the door behind her.
I kneel down and try to salvage the shreds, trying in vain to recollect them. It’s impossible. I feel my tears racing down my cheeks, coming in tidal waves, and I did nothing to stop it.
Mikey.
I hear screaming and sobs, cackling and whimpers then silence. I hear mum stop down the stairs and the door slamming. Silence.
I sigh and shake my head, standing up from my desk, my physics homework could wait.
I creep down the corridor and place my ear against the chipped wood of his bedroom door. I hear tiny sobs echoing and whimpers of what sounds like ‘Frankie’. Who’s Frankie?
I knock on his door gently. “Gee,” I call out before slowly opening the door, revealing him sitting on the floor, desperately trying to place bits of paper back together.
“What did she do?” I ask gently, sitting down next to him on the stained carpet.
“S-she tore up my sketchbook” He whispers as he runs his fingers over ripped pieces of paper.
“Three years of memories gone,” He says softly, wiping his eyes.
I pull him into a hug, I know how important that book was to him, it was his way of venting his anger and sadness.
“I-I hate her,” He stammers against my shoulder and I stroke his hair softly.
“Everythings gonna get better… I promise,” I whisper and he nods into my shoulder. His tears making a wet patch on my t-shirt.
Hasn’t mum caused him enough pain. She’s called him a fuck up every day of his life for the last three years. Why can’t she just leave him alone?
Gerard.
I really love Mikey. His warm embrace calmed me, and I tried to believe that everything would be alright. But when he left, trusting me to get better, I just couldn’t. That scrapbook meant everything to me. Now I have nothing to show for my life. Mom’s right. I am a fuck-up.
I shudder and wipe my eyes. Why can’t anything be simple?
Mikey’s warm embrace had disappeared. I wouldn’t see Frank until tomorrow, at 10. We were meeting at the lake, then going back to mine to do that fucking project. We haven’t done anything on it since before the first time we kissed. That seems like a lifetime ago.
I walk unsteadily downstairs into the kitchen, going to get a glass of water to clear my head. Then I stopped dead. My eyes flickered to that blessed bottle, my heart beating rapidly. No. I told myself furiously. I can’t give into it again.
But the glass just stood there, unmoving, taunting me, begging me to drink. The temptation was too much. I battle ferociously with my insides until I can stand it no longer. I snatch the full bottle and down nearly half of it, my head ceasing its incessant throbbing immediately. I sigh with relief. I stumble back upstairs, with a stupid smile on my face, succumbing to the overwhelming pleasure. The hurt is gone without a trace.
I down the rest in one, nearly falling over as the vodka burns my throat and swirls around my head. But I know one thing; I’ll have a good night sleep tonight.
Frank.
I wake up the next morning with a grin on my face. The prospect of spending a whole day with Gerard without anyone interrupting us seemed like heaven. I climb out of bed, looking out the window, it’s a glorious sunny autumn morning. This only adds to my good mood. I shower quickly and get dressed, pulling on a misfits t-shirt that I never dared to wear when I was at school, I think Gerard will appreciate it.
Mom wasn’t in the kitchen when I got downstairs, probably still asleep, lazy bitch. I pour myself some fruitloops and orange juice. Sitting at the kitchen table and just grinning. Every thought coming back to Gerard in some way or another.
I check the clock on the wall, it reads 9.30AM, excellent, just enough time to brush my hair and to drive to the lake for 10.00.
When I’m ready I skip – yes skip out the door, unlocking my car door and jumping inside, turning on the Misfits, Astro Zombies comes blaring through and I sing along as I pull out the driveway.
It’s the perfect day for a day by the lake, not to cold and not to warm, sun blazing and orange and bronze leaves crunching under your feet. Perfect.
I pull up to the clearing, my eyes darting around for Gerard, a frown etches on my face as I can’t find him. I turn off the engine and climb out, pocketing my keys.
“Gerard!” I call out curiously, wondering if he was about to jump out from behind a tree or something.
“Gee you here?!” No answer. I check my watch, reading 10.05, he’s probably just a little late.
I settle down underneath a tree, taking in the scenery and waiting for the sound of tyres on leaves, signalling Gerard’s arrival.
I leave the park two hours later. Alone.