When Angels Cry Blood.
The Kids Are All ***ed Up.
Gerard’s POV
I tapped my pencil anxiously against the hardwood table and yawned. Mikey walked in, grabbed a cookie from the jar and stared at me.
“Yes?” I asked him, shooting him a bewildered glance.
“I heard you come in late last night.” He declared, taking a huge bite out of the cookie and chewing slowly.
“So what?” I shrugged, chewing on my nails.
“I’m telling.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” I started, “Why would you tell on me anyway?”
“I don’t like you much.” He responded, finishing off the cookie and wiping his hands on his khaki pants. He looked like Mom’s little dress up doll. At least I changed out of my creepy uniform once I got home from school. He went for another cookie.
“Thanks.” I mumbled wearily, returning my focus to my homework.
“I know you we’re with Frank.” He said slyly.
“So what?” I repeated.
“Dad does not want you with the slaves.”
“He doesn’t deserve to be a slave.”
“Of course he does, stupid.”
I could feel the anger boiling inside of me. I went back to my homework and tried to keep him off my mind.
“He’s just a stupid, little, short, obnoxious slave,” Mikey sing-songed.
My eye twitched.
“A stupid slave that everyone hates,” He was skipping around the table, crumbs falling from his mouth and clinging to the fabric of his collared shirt.
“No one loves slaves but stupid Gerard who loves stupid Frank,”
I jumped up so fast the chair tumbled backwards and connected with the linoleum floor, sending a cracking sound throughout the entire downstairs. He backed up slowly.
“Sorry,” He said softly. Bull. Shit.
I grabbed him by the front of the shirt, “You better be.”
He squirmed and fidgeted and looked close to tears. Was I that intimidating? I doubt it; he just wants me to turn him loose so he can go cry to ‘daddy’.
“What is going on in here?” His voice boomed. I disconnected my grip on Mikey and spun around. What perfect timing he has.
“What the hell are you doing Gerard?”
Before I could even choke out an answer, Mikey whined, “He hit me, daddy.”
My eyes widened in fear and fury.
“Liar,” I hissed through clenched teeth.
“You’re the liar,” Dad snapped harshly, glaring daggers at me, “I saw you threaten and grab him. Go upstairs. You’re a disgrace to this family.”
That didn’t sting at all; not a bit.
“You’re the disgrace.” I mumbled bravely. His hand came down hard across my face and my head exploded. I could taste a metallic liquid as I ran my tongue along my teeth and gum. He nearly put the teeth right through my lip. No matter how much it pains me to admit it, that actually hurt… a hell of a lot.
Now I was close to tears. Okay, fine, I actually was crying, but only because my lip wouldn’t stop bleeding. I didn’t like blood. I was always afraid I’d loose too much.
Mikey smiled, took a third cookie, and left the room feeling pretty proud of himself.
My dad followed suit, only he took an apple instead, and retreated to his room.
I dragged my weary form towards the Formica counter top and laid my throbbing head against it. The natural coldness from the counter mixed with the heat radiating from my head and eased the pain. I figured maybe it would do the same for my cut lip. I placed it gently against the counter. It didn’t help one bit. All I did was stain the cabinet with my blood. Mom came downstairs, saw the mess I made, and just walked away. I could hear muffled screams from the other room. I just stood there and cried, not because I ruined my mom’s kitchen, but because it wouldn’t stop bleeding. I am one fucked up individual
I tapped my pencil anxiously against the hardwood table and yawned. Mikey walked in, grabbed a cookie from the jar and stared at me.
“Yes?” I asked him, shooting him a bewildered glance.
“I heard you come in late last night.” He declared, taking a huge bite out of the cookie and chewing slowly.
“So what?” I shrugged, chewing on my nails.
“I’m telling.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” I started, “Why would you tell on me anyway?”
“I don’t like you much.” He responded, finishing off the cookie and wiping his hands on his khaki pants. He looked like Mom’s little dress up doll. At least I changed out of my creepy uniform once I got home from school. He went for another cookie.
“Thanks.” I mumbled wearily, returning my focus to my homework.
“I know you we’re with Frank.” He said slyly.
“So what?” I repeated.
“Dad does not want you with the slaves.”
“He doesn’t deserve to be a slave.”
“Of course he does, stupid.”
I could feel the anger boiling inside of me. I went back to my homework and tried to keep him off my mind.
“He’s just a stupid, little, short, obnoxious slave,” Mikey sing-songed.
My eye twitched.
“A stupid slave that everyone hates,” He was skipping around the table, crumbs falling from his mouth and clinging to the fabric of his collared shirt.
“No one loves slaves but stupid Gerard who loves stupid Frank,”
I jumped up so fast the chair tumbled backwards and connected with the linoleum floor, sending a cracking sound throughout the entire downstairs. He backed up slowly.
“Sorry,” He said softly. Bull. Shit.
I grabbed him by the front of the shirt, “You better be.”
He squirmed and fidgeted and looked close to tears. Was I that intimidating? I doubt it; he just wants me to turn him loose so he can go cry to ‘daddy’.
“What is going on in here?” His voice boomed. I disconnected my grip on Mikey and spun around. What perfect timing he has.
“What the hell are you doing Gerard?”
Before I could even choke out an answer, Mikey whined, “He hit me, daddy.”
My eyes widened in fear and fury.
“Liar,” I hissed through clenched teeth.
“You’re the liar,” Dad snapped harshly, glaring daggers at me, “I saw you threaten and grab him. Go upstairs. You’re a disgrace to this family.”
That didn’t sting at all; not a bit.
“You’re the disgrace.” I mumbled bravely. His hand came down hard across my face and my head exploded. I could taste a metallic liquid as I ran my tongue along my teeth and gum. He nearly put the teeth right through my lip. No matter how much it pains me to admit it, that actually hurt… a hell of a lot.
Now I was close to tears. Okay, fine, I actually was crying, but only because my lip wouldn’t stop bleeding. I didn’t like blood. I was always afraid I’d loose too much.
Mikey smiled, took a third cookie, and left the room feeling pretty proud of himself.
My dad followed suit, only he took an apple instead, and retreated to his room.
I dragged my weary form towards the Formica counter top and laid my throbbing head against it. The natural coldness from the counter mixed with the heat radiating from my head and eased the pain. I figured maybe it would do the same for my cut lip. I placed it gently against the counter. It didn’t help one bit. All I did was stain the cabinet with my blood. Mom came downstairs, saw the mess I made, and just walked away. I could hear muffled screams from the other room. I just stood there and cried, not because I ruined my mom’s kitchen, but because it wouldn’t stop bleeding. I am one fucked up individual