High School Is the Least of Our Worries.

Frank.

Day after day passes, with virtually no contact with Gerard at all. I hate how fucking cowardly I am. I just left Gerard there and went off with Brad without any second thoughts! How the fuck can I do that to someone I love?!

My old circle of friends have accepted me back, Brad is acting like nothing ever happened and Coach has let me back on the team. He said it was all a stupid misunderstanding even though he saw what Gerard and I did with his own two eyes.

Life is mundane and boring without Gerard in it, but I’m far too fucking proud to go up to him and say how fucking sorry I am. People have gone back to leaving him alone, we’re yesterday’s news now and hardly anyone mentions it, apart from the occasional whisper of ‘didn’t he fuck that Gerard kid’ and ‘is that the fag one?’

Gerard sits alone at lunch times and he looks so lonely, so fucking miserable and I hate the fact that I’m the one making him miserable. I want nothing more than to ditch my so called ‘friends’ and go and sit with him.

I think about him all the time, every fucking minute of every fucking day is devoted to him and I hope he knows that. Although I can’t help the fact that he probably doesn’t. He probably thinks I hate him now. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

And right now I’m sitting at the lunch table, surrounded by Brad, Courtney, Alexa and Tammy; Courtney’s friends, and the rest of the football team.

I pick at the grey slop they try to pass off as food while looking at Gerard, even from here, I can see fresh scars on his wrists and once again, I feel my heart crack.

Gerard picks up his tray and goes over to the bin, dumping his uneaten sandwich in it and walking out the door.

Beside me, I hear Brad whisper to his friend Paul, Paul then grins and whispers to his friend Max, they then all stand up together and head out of the room.

My eyes widen and I watch them leave. Oh shit what do I do, do I follow them and protect Gerard then get the shit beaten out of me? Or do I stay here while the love of my life gets beaten to a bloody pulp just outside?

What to do?

Without another thought I stand up, heading for the cafeteria door.

Gerard.

I stab at my food blankly, fighting back tears like I have done every single day since that day in the classroom. I want to badly to forget about it, to find a place in my heart that regrets doing it... but you can’t regret something that you’ve wished for your whole life. I could never, ever wish to never have met Frank; I know that even if I had never met him before, or experienced all that I have experienced now, I still would have felt that something was terribly missing. A huge chunk of my heart would be missing from my chest, the hole gaping but invisible to me.

I sigh and pull my hoodie sleeves over the new scars on my arms, too ashamed to look at them. I haven’t cut since I’ve started liking Frank... the void in my life had been filled and I was content. Happy. Oh, who am I kidding?! I was fucking ecstatic! I didn’t have wealth, popularity, incredibly good looks; but I had Frank. He’s all I everneeded need.

I sigh as I steal a glance over at Frank’s table. His friends are all laughing at something trivial, and most likely bitchy, but he’s just sitting there, pretending to give the odd chuckle or smile. I roll my eyes bitterly and look down at my food again, stabbing my sandwich in frustration. Why the fuck did he leave with them? Am I not good enough for him? Doesn’t he... love me?

Obviously not.

I feel a tear trickle its way down my face and I wipe it away quickly, not wanting to give those bastards on Frank’s table the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I feel the urge again and I stand up quickly, not strong enough to even try to resist. I chuck my sandwich in the bin with a clutter and nearly run out of the room, my heart beating fast.

I race to the locker rooms, never stopping to hear the footsteps behind me or the stifled chortles from Brad and his goons behind me. I quickly snap out my penknife and slice open a section of my wrist that hasn’t been touched yet; it was hard enough trying to find a part that hasn’t been slit.

I sigh as the blood drips out and my worries seem to slip away... for a moment. I hold the penknife up to my throat and look in the mirror, contemplating who would care if I really did slit my throat right now. My mom would probably be overjoyed, as well as Brad and his minions. Mikey would be fine... eventually. He’s young... he’ll get over it. It’s not like I’ve been the most loving big brother anyway.

My breath catches in my throat as I think of the one person who might have cared, once. Frank. Would he care if I died right here, right now? I fight back tears as I look at the reflection of the knife against my throat. Frank...

“Do it,” a menacing voice whispers and I spin around. Brad and a couple of the other football jerks are standing there, smirking. I slowly lower the knife and turn away from them, hiding my pained face.

“Go on, Gerard,” he whispers and I can tell he’s enjoying this. “Who would care if you died?” My thoughts exactly.

“In fact...” Brad growls, and the two jocks either side of him mould their hands into hard fists and I see them come slowly towards me. My eyes widen and I take a step back, the bruises from last time still evident.

But Frank, where will you be this time?