Passing Looks and Disappointed Faces

[Frank's P.O.V.]

The thoughts coursing through my head somehow triggered the "fight or flight" reflex and I, as usual, embraced the latter choice. I rolled off him, somehow managing to finally separate the sheets from my limbs and vice-versa, stumbling to my feet. He moved none, simply stared at me, paralyzed by my sudden movement. My eyes were opened in a panic, my lips tingling from contact. Was this right? I wasn't sure, despite the euphoric oblivion I felt when I was in his arms. I shook my head to myself, stepping backwards, away from his brilliant hazel eyes.

I couldn't get lost again; I couldn't lose myself because it would be the end of me. I turned around, ran away, leaving him there. And I left my comfort, my safety, my guarantee. I left it all as I raced up the stairs two at a time. I left it and found myself lost then. It was what I had tried to avoid but it was what I had done. I was lost now, lost as I ran down the hallway. I was lost as my feet dragged me to some unknown destination.

I was lost as I stumbled into the living room; lost as I launched myself to the ground when I tripped. I was hopelessly lost, hopelessly broken. I had shattered everything, or so I thought. I had broken what I had received, smashed it without thinking. I sank to brooding, sank to the tears that threatened to engulf me. I sank deeply into nothing, into everything. And I couldn't discern why I had descended into nothing when I had been perfect in his arms.

I brought my hands to my hair, tugging desperately at the strands. And suddenly I knew: I couldn't do this; I couldn't continue living. I was a beast and I had to remind myself of it. When faced with such kindness, such affection as that I received from Gerard, I forgot what I was. But I had to remember; I had to remind myself that I was a creature, a monster. I stood, looking around me. There were ways to fix this. There had to be a way to erase the stain I was leaving on the world, on their lives.

I stood, walking shakily back down into the hallway. There was a destination in my mind, a purpose in my head. If I died, if I finished what he had begun, no one else would have to suffer. And with this thought I walked, the thought breathing confidence into my steps. If I left the world, destroyed my mortal soul, I would remove the mistake that was me. If I destroyed me, I would leave the insults, the hard glares, the frustrations. The passing looks and disappointed faces would be gone and perhaps I could find peace in some other life or whatever awaited me.

I tiptoed into the kitchen, walking towards the sink. There were various utensils but only one caught my attention: the gleaming stainless steel knife at the corner. Taking a deep breath, I picked it up, twirling it in my hands. I could disappear; I could be free. I pressed my finger harshly to the blade and sucked in a deep breath when it pierced my skin. I stopped for a moment, staring, just staring. What was I doing? My breath stilled in my throat as I heard footsteps, heavy and muffled behind me. I whirled around, subconsciously trying to hide the knife behind my back.

I failed at hiding it. It slipped from my limp hands, clattering to the floor. I swallowed hard, staring into bright hazel eyes. "What are you doing here, Frank?" he asked softly, tenderly, his features soft as he walked towards me. I could say nothing in response, the shame at what I had been about to do reflecting itself on my face. I could feel droplets of blood oozing out of the small wound on my finger, warm against my skin. He leaned down, picking up the knife from the ground. He looked from the metal to my face and back again. It slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor once again. And suddenly he was embracing me, pressing me tight against him, his body shaking.

And suddenly I was back in love's tender embrace, back to comfort. I was back in my safety zone, back to my guarantee. I had been found; I was no longer lost. And it was the best feeling to have his warm body against mine, his breath against my neck, his hair falling on my shoulders. But his body shook and I could hear the strangled sobs coming from his soft lips. And I felt shame, guilt. I felt worse than I ever had simply because of my idle contemplations.

He was without consolation, even as I whispered nothings in his ear, even as I assured him that I was fine. I must have struck something deep within him, something that broke him. It hadn't been my intention to harm him; it would never be my intention to cause him harm. The day I did it with all intents and purposes would be the day lightning should strike me in a car and the car should explode and drive me off a cliff. He sniffed, suppressing his sobs to look at me. His hands rose to my cheeks, cupping my face, forcing my gaze to his. Tears streamed down his face, wetting his eyelashes to star points. I felt only disgrace. "I'm sorry, Gee, please. I'm so sorry," and I repeated this, repeated it to the point where the words rolled off my tongue without my own consent.

He shook his head, biting his lip to try to stop a sob from escaping. He took a deep breath, leaning in towards me, pressing his now-salty lips back to mine. I kissed him back feverishly, trying to take away his pain. I wanted him to forget whatever was making him break down; I wanted to make him forget all his sufferings. I wanted him to be happy and whole. He kissed as eagerly as I did, his tears falling to our lips, moistening them. I broke apart, trying to apologize once again. He merely shook his head, rubbing his thumbs over my cheeks, leaning in towards me again.

I suddenly knew that he couldn't stand me breaking away; he couldn't stand it because it made him feel rejection. And I brought my hands to his waist, pulling him towards me. I didn't want to injure him anymore. He ran his tongue over my bottom lip, fiddling with the cool metal of my lip ring. I allowed him access, tears falling now from my eyes and mingling with his. Teardrops spelled out our shattered souls, our broken dreams. They were what made us, what marked us.

He pulled apart this time, panting heavily. I reached up a hand, brushing away his tears with a shaking thumb. He turned his face away, wheezing slightly. Worry pervaded me but I said nothing; stupidly I just stood there. He looked back at me, looking directly into my eyes, searching for something there. I didn't know what he was looking for, didn't know what he wanted. He sighed, pulling my hands off his body, leaning down to pick up the knife. I remained frozen, unable to move. He placed the object in the sink, gripping the edge of the counter tightly, as if he were restraining himself. A slight tremor ran up my spine but again I said nothing.

"Let's go back to bed," he muttered, unable to say anything else. I nodded silently, reaching my arms to him as a child would. He gave me a slight, shaky smile, bringing me into the embrace I needed. What he couldn't realize was that he needed the embrace just as badly as I needed it. We were both in need of something we had thought unattainable. Perhaps we had found something, a trace of what we both needed. Perhaps we were both finally seeing that small glimmer of hope; that small glimmer of something different, something beautiful.

I pulled away for a moment, looking carefully into his shining eyes, brimming over with unshed tears. Deciding to make the move, I leaned forward, pressing my lips softly to his now-closed eyes, his tears brimming over onto my lips, my skin. I ran my tongue over my lips, tasting his salty desperation. He shook his head to himself, it seemed, motioning for me to follow him. I did so without question.

We ended up back in his room, back in the basement. He said nothing, walking to his bed and laying down upon it, motioning for me to join him. I shook my head; it was one thing to kiss him, to hug him, to hold these emotions for him but it was quite another to completely take a plunge and lie in bed with him. He sighed, patting the spot next to him. I chuckled through tears, deciding finally that if I lay in bed with him, it wouldn't make a difference anymore. We had both broken down in front of the other, exposing our very vulnerability; sleeping in the same bed didn't matter.

I clambered in next to him and automatically he draped his arm over me, pulling me close to him so that our faces were mere centimeters apart. I could notice his exhaustion and I realized that we had said virtually nothing in all this time we had been awake. It saddened and empowered me to know how we wore our emotions so boldly on our sleeves. He leaned forwards, placing a small kiss to the tip of my nose, chuckling slightly though a tear shone on his cheek. I giggled as well, making myself comfortable against the soft pillows and cool sheets he had pulled up. I closed my eyes, hoping against hope to make things right again.

I could sense he wasn't asleep, though. I could sense he wasn't completely satisfied. And it hurt to sense it. So I opened my eyes again, looking into his open ones, ready to question him. He said nothing and words failed me completely. So I pulled my hand towards my chest, pressing my bloodied finger against the cloth of the shirt. When I realized what I was doing, I pulled it away, wanting to keep this shirt clean after ruining the rest. "Frank?" he asked softly, his eyes closing against his own will, his voice slurred.

"Yeah?" He took a deep breath, forcing his eyes open with a small smile on his face. But then his eyes closed again, his breaths became shallower. A small smile curved my lips as I realized he had drifted back to sleep. I simply stared, a whirlwind of thoughts spinning through my head. This was strange, unexpected. There was one thing it definitely wasn't, though, and that was clichéd. This was not like any story I had ever heard. Surely I had never read of two strangers who meet each other because of a brother/classmate, one of them a murderer and the other a quirky helper, who end up with an overload of emotion that just happens to make them like each other. No, that seemed quite unique, quite unlikely and completely ours.

I just didn't know how I felt about it. It wasn't normal to be feeling this way after one short day. Then again, maybe it was what I had garnered: we both needed something and found traces of it in the other. My only question was: "What could he possibly need in me?" What could I offer? Was it some emotion? Or was it something else? Was it a tender embrace, a broken mind? What did he need? And the question kept repeating itself, haunting me even as the thoughts began blurring, fading. What did he need? I couldn't find the answer.