Passing Looks and Disappointed Faces
More Than a Feeling
[Frank's P.O.V.]
Frankly, I was desperate to get the presence besides me to leave. It made everything feel, actually feel, ten times worse than it had been. I shook my head, trying to hide it within my arms, trying to hide this disgusting display of emotion I did not have. "You okay, Frank?" the voice asked again.
"Fuck off," I muttered, wrapping my arms tightly around my legs now, pressing my forehead against my knees. I heard a sigh above me but I ignored it, trying to focus all my mental power on completely obliterating the fit I was having; I was starting to become quite annoyed, even bored, by it. It was strange; I am so fucking strange. And suddenly the figure beside me kneeled down, tucking a few locks of hair behind my ear.
"Your food is ready, so you know. You can eat at any time."
"I'm not hungry," I said in quite a frustrated manner, raising my head from my knees. "Besides, Mikey, do you really think I care about the food right now?"
"But what's wrong? Damn it, I feel like I'm out of the loop here. You and Gee have this fan-fucking-tastic relationship and I still have no idea what happened. You know this is my house too and I'd really like to know why you're staying here..." He trailed off, pulling at a strand of straight honey-brown hair hanging in his face. Shaking his head, opening his eyes wider, he pushed back the glasses so they weren't nearly falling off his nose, looking intently at me. I guess he was expecting me to explain everything just like that. And why would I? Though I guess I had done so with Gerard but he was a special case; at least, that's what I stuck with.
"Just, please leave me alone right now," I sighed, bringing my face back in the safety between my outstretched arms. He sighed and I was almost certain that he rolled his eyes as he stood, walking away. He was probably cursing me for remaining quiet and for refusing the food he had heated up for me. Quietly, I continued weeping, hoping that doing so would wear out the tears. And, thankfully, after a minute or two of continuous sobs that wracked my body, I was able to stop. Sighing in relief, I wiped at the stray tears, pushing my hair back from my forehead.
I gave another sigh, leaning my head back against the wall, looking blankly up at the ceiling, noting the texture the paint had created. After a while of increasing boredom, I stood, brushing off the seat of my pants out of habit. I shook my head, brushing back the locks of hair that insisted on falling in my face. Usually I didn't mind them in my face but for some strange reason I did now. I entered the kitchen, ignoring my twisted thoughts, noting the plate laden with mashed potatoes and vegetables still steaming on the counter. Mikey's back was turned which gave me an opportunity to grab the plate-and the fork resting on it-and rush away without him noticing.
Breathing relief, I walked away, twirling the fork between my fingers. Truthfully, I still wasn't hungry but I was leaving an option open in case I did. I poked cautiously at a green pepper before shrugging; it seemed good enough. Still, I didn't want to eat just yet. I at least wanted to get down into the basement before I began my meal. Perhaps Gerard would be there and I wouldn't have to be alone or in Mikey's oppressive presence. Now, I don't have anything against the boy; I just would rather not be around his questioning look as I ate; it took away from the little appetite I had.
"Hey Frank," I was greeted as I walked down the stairs. I smiled softly, setting the fork on the plate.
"Hello Gerard," I muttered back, looking up from the floor to see his smiling face. But then it morphed, his lips dropping, his brow furrowing. He shook his head to himself, ruffling the towel over his hair slowly.
"Were you crying?" he asked curiously, rubbing the towel over his hair a little more vigorously now. I shook my head in denial, walking to a chair and sitting down, lowering my gaze to my plate. My cheeks were sticky with tear tracks and it felt weird to move my mouth for the same reason. My eyes were probably bloodshot and my hands were shaking slightly but still, I would not admit to having cried. Boys don't cry, simple as that.
"No," I whispered but I betrayed myself. My hand reached up to my face, rubbing at the dry tears that marked my skin. It seemed they're tangible, hopelessly visible to the naked eye. And he could see it all. It frightened me to feel that my every emotion was on my sleeve; to feel that he could see my every flaw. I didn't want him to see all this; to realize just how weak I really was. He moved closer, his pace slow and languid across the cluttered floor of his room.
And then he was in front of me, his hands on either side of my face. It was warmth-comfort-to have his thumbs rubbing softly against my skin, moving over the stains of tear tracks. Stains...Stains of the greatest magnitude. Stains of emotions, of vulnerability. They were my stains, my mistakes playing themselves out as physical manifestations of everything I felt, everything I did. And he wiped them away gently, wiped away the tears that kept falling. He didn't question them, didn't ask the reason for my silent tears. He simply brushed them away with a gentle hand.
I'm a monster. He doesn't see the same way I do. And then I was whispering it, over and over again under my breath. "I'm a monster. I'm a fucking monster." And still he said nothing, wiping away the ever-faster onslaught of tears. He didn't question it still but gave me a sad smile, shaking his head in disagreement.
"You're an angel. A fucking angel," he whispered, countering me, still rubbing his thumb gently over my skin. I shook my head, closing my eyes; I couldn't handle the lie he was whispering me. It saddened me even further because I knew what he was saying was false; it couldn't possibly be true. And he was speaking a lie straight to my face, trying to make me believe the same fairytale I could never buy. "Look at me," he then whispered, tilting my face upwards. Reluctantly I opened my stinging eyes, looking into his sorrowful face. This was my fault. I'm an animal.
"You're not a monster. None of this is your fault; you've got to remember that. We should just go down to the police station now before it becomes too late. Do you want that, Frank? Do you want the time to pass so that your words become lies to their ears? I can't hide you, Frankie, because you did nothing wrong." I shook my head, closing my eyes again.
"Lies," I whispered viciously, wrenching my face away from his warm hands. I stood abruptly, accidentally knocking the plate, fork and all, to the carpeted floor. And looking upon it, seeing the mess I created now, just made the tears fall faster. They dripped off my chin, staining me again. And again I was a monster, my tears the color of the blood that dripped off his still body. But he didn't see them that way. He only saw clear tears, innocent tears, falling off a guiltless boy. I turned to walk away; I had overstayed my welcome.
Suddenly, I felt a hand on my wrist, wrenching me back into open arms. I succumbed to the warmth and comfort and to my rapid tears. He hushed me softly, rubbing his hands over my back. Even through the clothes that separated us, I could feel his warmth and the texture of his digits. My tears stopped flowing but I couldn't bring myself to pull away again; I simply couldn't. And he didn't push me away either but pulled me closer still, pressing his hand to the back of my head and to the small of my back. And I wrapped my arms around his neck, needing to feel this warmth and safety.
"You're beautiful," he whispered into my hair, blowing at the strands with the soft breaths he took. And I shook my head in denial. He sighed, ruffling my hair further but said nothing; he probably realized that arguing with me was pointless. It saddened me to have him realize that. And suddenly he lowered his hands to the back of my knees using his strength to lift me from the floor.
Surprised and slightly frightened, I tightened my arms around his neck, pulling my head back to look into his face. He smirked, moving my legs around his waist. I cocked my head to the side and he grinned, bringing his face closer to mine. Our noses were touching just barely now and his hazel eyes twinkled in front of mine. I tightened my legs around his waist gingerly, afraid to fall and afraid to hurt him. Assuring himself that I was secure, he trailed his hands gently upwards until he reached my waist. And then he wrapped his arms around my back, securing my body against his. I cocked an eyebrow but he simply widened his smile, his eyes traveling down my face.
Subconsciously, I began to lower my eyelids, looking down at his soft, parted lips. And he was bringing his face closer to mine, tilting it to the side. The sides of our noses were touching, our eyelashes nearly brushing each other's skin, his lips hovering over mine, our breath mingling. I could feel his smile as he neared his lips closer to mine, pressing them against mine. I nearly smiled as well before I just completely lost myself, allowing my eyes to slide shut. I could do nothing other than revel in the soft taste of his lips, the warmth of his skin against mine.
The tears had completely dissipated and I could only be pulled into ecstasy by the feeling sending shock waves down my spine. My skin tingled from the contact and I could only feel again. My hands softly stroked the curling hairs at the nape of his neck, still damp from his shower. He was so very blind to everything, to my very character but God; I didn't want to give up those sweet kisses.
I looked out this morning and the sun was gone
Turned on some music to start my day
I lost myself in a familiar song
I closed my eyes and I slipped away
It's more than a feeling (more than a feeling)
When I hear that old song they used to play (more than a feeling)
I begin dreaming (more than a feeling)
'Till I see Marianne walk away
Oh, it's definitely more than a feeling to have his body pressed against mine and hear his soft words ringing in my ears. I just had to tweak the song a bit but still, I couldn't help hear it in my mind as I continued kissing him, our skin brushing ever so slightly. In my mind I could see fireworks, see their bright colors against an ink-black sky. And it was perfect.
Frankly, I was desperate to get the presence besides me to leave. It made everything feel, actually feel, ten times worse than it had been. I shook my head, trying to hide it within my arms, trying to hide this disgusting display of emotion I did not have. "You okay, Frank?" the voice asked again.
"Fuck off," I muttered, wrapping my arms tightly around my legs now, pressing my forehead against my knees. I heard a sigh above me but I ignored it, trying to focus all my mental power on completely obliterating the fit I was having; I was starting to become quite annoyed, even bored, by it. It was strange; I am so fucking strange. And suddenly the figure beside me kneeled down, tucking a few locks of hair behind my ear.
"Your food is ready, so you know. You can eat at any time."
"I'm not hungry," I said in quite a frustrated manner, raising my head from my knees. "Besides, Mikey, do you really think I care about the food right now?"
"But what's wrong? Damn it, I feel like I'm out of the loop here. You and Gee have this fan-fucking-tastic relationship and I still have no idea what happened. You know this is my house too and I'd really like to know why you're staying here..." He trailed off, pulling at a strand of straight honey-brown hair hanging in his face. Shaking his head, opening his eyes wider, he pushed back the glasses so they weren't nearly falling off his nose, looking intently at me. I guess he was expecting me to explain everything just like that. And why would I? Though I guess I had done so with Gerard but he was a special case; at least, that's what I stuck with.
"Just, please leave me alone right now," I sighed, bringing my face back in the safety between my outstretched arms. He sighed and I was almost certain that he rolled his eyes as he stood, walking away. He was probably cursing me for remaining quiet and for refusing the food he had heated up for me. Quietly, I continued weeping, hoping that doing so would wear out the tears. And, thankfully, after a minute or two of continuous sobs that wracked my body, I was able to stop. Sighing in relief, I wiped at the stray tears, pushing my hair back from my forehead.
I gave another sigh, leaning my head back against the wall, looking blankly up at the ceiling, noting the texture the paint had created. After a while of increasing boredom, I stood, brushing off the seat of my pants out of habit. I shook my head, brushing back the locks of hair that insisted on falling in my face. Usually I didn't mind them in my face but for some strange reason I did now. I entered the kitchen, ignoring my twisted thoughts, noting the plate laden with mashed potatoes and vegetables still steaming on the counter. Mikey's back was turned which gave me an opportunity to grab the plate-and the fork resting on it-and rush away without him noticing.
Breathing relief, I walked away, twirling the fork between my fingers. Truthfully, I still wasn't hungry but I was leaving an option open in case I did. I poked cautiously at a green pepper before shrugging; it seemed good enough. Still, I didn't want to eat just yet. I at least wanted to get down into the basement before I began my meal. Perhaps Gerard would be there and I wouldn't have to be alone or in Mikey's oppressive presence. Now, I don't have anything against the boy; I just would rather not be around his questioning look as I ate; it took away from the little appetite I had.
"Hey Frank," I was greeted as I walked down the stairs. I smiled softly, setting the fork on the plate.
"Hello Gerard," I muttered back, looking up from the floor to see his smiling face. But then it morphed, his lips dropping, his brow furrowing. He shook his head to himself, ruffling the towel over his hair slowly.
"Were you crying?" he asked curiously, rubbing the towel over his hair a little more vigorously now. I shook my head in denial, walking to a chair and sitting down, lowering my gaze to my plate. My cheeks were sticky with tear tracks and it felt weird to move my mouth for the same reason. My eyes were probably bloodshot and my hands were shaking slightly but still, I would not admit to having cried. Boys don't cry, simple as that.
"No," I whispered but I betrayed myself. My hand reached up to my face, rubbing at the dry tears that marked my skin. It seemed they're tangible, hopelessly visible to the naked eye. And he could see it all. It frightened me to feel that my every emotion was on my sleeve; to feel that he could see my every flaw. I didn't want him to see all this; to realize just how weak I really was. He moved closer, his pace slow and languid across the cluttered floor of his room.
And then he was in front of me, his hands on either side of my face. It was warmth-comfort-to have his thumbs rubbing softly against my skin, moving over the stains of tear tracks. Stains...Stains of the greatest magnitude. Stains of emotions, of vulnerability. They were my stains, my mistakes playing themselves out as physical manifestations of everything I felt, everything I did. And he wiped them away gently, wiped away the tears that kept falling. He didn't question them, didn't ask the reason for my silent tears. He simply brushed them away with a gentle hand.
I'm a monster. He doesn't see the same way I do. And then I was whispering it, over and over again under my breath. "I'm a monster. I'm a fucking monster." And still he said nothing, wiping away the ever-faster onslaught of tears. He didn't question it still but gave me a sad smile, shaking his head in disagreement.
"You're an angel. A fucking angel," he whispered, countering me, still rubbing his thumb gently over my skin. I shook my head, closing my eyes; I couldn't handle the lie he was whispering me. It saddened me even further because I knew what he was saying was false; it couldn't possibly be true. And he was speaking a lie straight to my face, trying to make me believe the same fairytale I could never buy. "Look at me," he then whispered, tilting my face upwards. Reluctantly I opened my stinging eyes, looking into his sorrowful face. This was my fault. I'm an animal.
"You're not a monster. None of this is your fault; you've got to remember that. We should just go down to the police station now before it becomes too late. Do you want that, Frank? Do you want the time to pass so that your words become lies to their ears? I can't hide you, Frankie, because you did nothing wrong." I shook my head, closing my eyes again.
"Lies," I whispered viciously, wrenching my face away from his warm hands. I stood abruptly, accidentally knocking the plate, fork and all, to the carpeted floor. And looking upon it, seeing the mess I created now, just made the tears fall faster. They dripped off my chin, staining me again. And again I was a monster, my tears the color of the blood that dripped off his still body. But he didn't see them that way. He only saw clear tears, innocent tears, falling off a guiltless boy. I turned to walk away; I had overstayed my welcome.
Suddenly, I felt a hand on my wrist, wrenching me back into open arms. I succumbed to the warmth and comfort and to my rapid tears. He hushed me softly, rubbing his hands over my back. Even through the clothes that separated us, I could feel his warmth and the texture of his digits. My tears stopped flowing but I couldn't bring myself to pull away again; I simply couldn't. And he didn't push me away either but pulled me closer still, pressing his hand to the back of my head and to the small of my back. And I wrapped my arms around his neck, needing to feel this warmth and safety.
"You're beautiful," he whispered into my hair, blowing at the strands with the soft breaths he took. And I shook my head in denial. He sighed, ruffling my hair further but said nothing; he probably realized that arguing with me was pointless. It saddened me to have him realize that. And suddenly he lowered his hands to the back of my knees using his strength to lift me from the floor.
Surprised and slightly frightened, I tightened my arms around his neck, pulling my head back to look into his face. He smirked, moving my legs around his waist. I cocked my head to the side and he grinned, bringing his face closer to mine. Our noses were touching just barely now and his hazel eyes twinkled in front of mine. I tightened my legs around his waist gingerly, afraid to fall and afraid to hurt him. Assuring himself that I was secure, he trailed his hands gently upwards until he reached my waist. And then he wrapped his arms around my back, securing my body against his. I cocked an eyebrow but he simply widened his smile, his eyes traveling down my face.
Subconsciously, I began to lower my eyelids, looking down at his soft, parted lips. And he was bringing his face closer to mine, tilting it to the side. The sides of our noses were touching, our eyelashes nearly brushing each other's skin, his lips hovering over mine, our breath mingling. I could feel his smile as he neared his lips closer to mine, pressing them against mine. I nearly smiled as well before I just completely lost myself, allowing my eyes to slide shut. I could do nothing other than revel in the soft taste of his lips, the warmth of his skin against mine.
The tears had completely dissipated and I could only be pulled into ecstasy by the feeling sending shock waves down my spine. My skin tingled from the contact and I could only feel again. My hands softly stroked the curling hairs at the nape of his neck, still damp from his shower. He was so very blind to everything, to my very character but God; I didn't want to give up those sweet kisses.
I looked out this morning and the sun was gone
Turned on some music to start my day
I lost myself in a familiar song
I closed my eyes and I slipped away
It's more than a feeling (more than a feeling)
When I hear that old song they used to play (more than a feeling)
I begin dreaming (more than a feeling)
'Till I see Marianne walk away
Oh, it's definitely more than a feeling to have his body pressed against mine and hear his soft words ringing in my ears. I just had to tweak the song a bit but still, I couldn't help hear it in my mind as I continued kissing him, our skin brushing ever so slightly. In my mind I could see fireworks, see their bright colors against an ink-black sky. And it was perfect.