High School Is the Least of Our Worries.

Gerard.

I force back the tears as I drive almost blindly down the road. Shit. Am I ever going to see him again?

I sigh. I kind of expected him to put up more of a fight. I thought he believed in our friendship, what we had. Us. I guess he still wasn’t ready to put his personal problems aside for me. He still had to do what is expected of him, instead of what he wanted. Or, what I think he wants. I love him; why can’t he fucking see that?

Running my hands through my greasy hair, I let out a groan. I don’t have time to go home and take a shower. I drive straight to school, rubbing my swollen eyes and stopping in the school parking lot, taking out my eyeliner and applying it in the car mirror. I look like shit.

I wince as I feel a sharp rap against the window. It’s a couple of the huge wrestling jocks, pressing their leering faces up against the glass.

“Hey, faggot! Where’s your boyfriend?” They snigger, punching each other on the arm as if to congratulate themselves for doing such a good fucking job. Motherfuckers. What the hell did they mean, my boyfriend? They fucking know I’m always alone in school.

I squint into the mirror. My eyes are satisfyingly coated in black. It’ll have to do. I slide out of the car, punching the door as I slam it shut. Why the hell does everything have to go wrong? I swing my backpack over my shoulder and saunter into school, expecting everyone to avoid my gaze and ignore me as usual. However, I’m mildly shocked and embarrassed to realise that everyone’s looking at me.

My eyes drop to the floor as I try to block out the snide comments. “Oi, faggot, is he a good fuck?” “Did you have fun last night with your new piece of ass?” “We don’t want faggot trash like you in our school. Go back to wherever the fuck you came from.”

I shudder and walk faster, trying to shield my tear-stained face from the jeering crowd.

They know. How do they know? What’s going on?

Frank.

I sit on the cream leather couch in our sitting room. Mom sitting in the chair opposite me.

“Care to tell me what the hells going on?” She says, her eyes never leaving mine.

“How much did you see?” I ask, dropping my gaze to the floor; hiding my flushing face.

“I saw enough,” She replies icily. I hear her stand up, her shoes making a clip-clop noise on the marble floor.

“Why were you… doing what you were doing, it’s disgusting.”

“Does it really matter?” I mumble softly, playing with a loose end on Gerard’s hoodie sleeve.

“Of course it fucking matters!” She yells. “You’re not gay! You have a fucking girlfriend for Christ sake!”

“Actually, I don’t,” I say, finally looking up at her. “I broke up with her a few days ago.”

She stares at me in disbelief, her face distorting, her botox injected skin stretching over her cheek bones, her mouth gaping. She walks closer to me before gripping hold of Gerard’s hoodie by the collar. I glare into her cold blue eyes and try to break free of her grasp, she grips tighter before raising her hand and slapping me hard across the cheek, my head whipping back with the force. I raise my hand and touch the burning skin, not saying a word.

“Are you a faggot Frank? Like your ‘friend’ Jared or whatever he’s called!” She screams, her face turning red with anger.

“His names Gerard and so what if I am gay! Why do you fucking care?” I cry.

“Because you’re my son!”

“And don’t call him a fucking faggot either, he may be gay but he doesn’t deserve to be called a faggot.”

“I’ll call him whatever the fuck I want to!” She yells.

“You fucking heartless bitch; I love him!” I scream.

The room goes silent.

I love him…

Gerard.

I feel my eyeliner being smudged as I wipe my eyes, but I don’t care. All I care about is how they found out. If they even did. It’s not like they were talking specifically about me and Frank. They could just be saying it generally, finding another way to torture me.

I sigh. I’m just being paranoid. But then why are they now paying attention to me, when they never have before?

Hurrying to my locker, I quickly open it and get out my stuff. I had to go the long way to avoid the painful stares and jeers of the blurred faces surrounding me. I close my locker forcefully and jump at the sight of Courtney. She’s grinning widely, almost manically as she leans against the lockers.

“Hey, Geraaaard.” She draws out my name so that it rolls on her tongue. I look at her hesitantly and run my hands through my hair, looking down. She’s never paid much attention to me.

“Hi,” I mutter. “What do you want?”

“Don’t be like that GeeGee,” she coos, her voice painfully fake. Something was wrong. “How’s your suspension been?”

I shrug. “Okay.”

She gives me a sceptical look. “Oh c’mon, I wanna know how Frankie is.”

I look at her. “What?”

“It’s common knowledge that you’ve been fucking him. It’s all over school.”

I try to keep cool, but my head is spinning. “But I-…no, I never…I…” I turn around and run, trying to be as far away from her as possible.

I run into the bathroom. I know what I must do. I get out my penknife and draw a practise line slowly on my arm. The white mark fades as quickly as it came. I get ready, but then I stop dead.

There, outside the window, is Frank. God, he’s so beautiful. The light catches on his hair and makes it almost shine. His clothes hang casually off his body and his lightly tanned skin compliments his eyes. Even his face is beautiful to me. Then I realise something’s wrong. It’s contorted into despair and anger.

I see Coach Patterson talking to him. Frank’s face gets redder and redder, and he looks like he’s about to punch him. Suddenly, he runs out of the schoolyard, and round the corner, towards the parking lot, eventually blocked from sight as he disappears behind the tall, grey buildings.

Frank.

I run away from Coach Patterson, I run as fast as I can, past the school buildings back towards the parking lot. Tears are streaming down my face and I’m breathing heavily, chest heaving with exhaustion.

Everyone knows. They know.

They know I’m a fag.

Coach Patterson kicked me off the team because I’m a fag. Said he can’t have a fag on the team, it’s bad for image reasons.

I’m going to be a social outcast. Like Gerard.

Gerard.

I love him, I really do, I’ve never felt this way about anyone before in my life, let alone a boy.

I clamber into my car, and grip the steering wheel with my shaky hands. Tears coming faster and faster.

Nothing can fix this.

I turn on the engine and swerve out the school parking lot, driving blindly back to my house. Mom won’t be home, she’s probably at the gym or having some lettuce leaves with her filthy stinking rich friends.

My car pulls into the drive and I stop the engine, climbing out quickly, leaving my bag in the back seat.

I start running again, past the perfectly trimmed hedges and rose bushes, freshly cut grass and elaborate water features. I reach the edge of our garden, looking back at the house before venturing into the woods.

I run for ages, still sobbing, a branch ripping at my pants leg, my shoes covered in mud and fuck knows what else. In my blur of tears I miss a slight ridge in the earth and trip over it, sending me sprawling to the ground, mud covering my white shirt. I let out a cry and give up, I drag myself up and collapse against the nearest tree.

Save me Gerard… you’re the only one that can save me now.