Everyone Learns Faster On Fire

“AH! FUCK!” Frank gasped as he accidentally poured boiling hot water from the kettle over his hand, rather than in the cup beside it. He stepped away from the counter in shock, flinging his arm out to the side and taking the cup with it. The china cup shattered all over the stone floor, pieces hiding themselves under the table and even flying as far as the hallway through the open door.

Gerard came running in, wondering what had happened. “Frank! Are you okay?”

The younger man stood nursing his scalded hand, watching the effected area of skin getting redder and redder by the second. He hissed when Gerard touched it.

“What did you do?” Gerard asked, leading him over to the sink to run his hand under some cold water.

“I fucking poured steaming hot water over my hand, that’s what!” Frank moaned. “I’m such an idiot!”

Gerard turned the water on and watched it spill over the burn. “No you’re not.” He said. “You’re just a little jumpy. Just relax, baby. Remember, no one’s going to get you while I’m around.”

It was true. Frank had stayed over Gerard’s house the previous evening and had been extremely anxious. He kept thinking that this Steve guy was going to get him while he slept. He had to get Gerard to check in a room before he entered it just in case this guy was hiding in the shadows, ready to pounce. He had already dropped a carton of milk out of the fridge last night when he heard the wind rattle against the window, and now he had a broken cup and a burnt hand to add to the fatalities.

Gerard turned the water off and inspected the injury further. “It’s nothing to worry about. It’ll probably just blister and feel a little sore….you okay?”

Frank was staring at the shards of china on the floor. “Look, I’ve done it again! I‘ll get you a new cup.”

He remembered the time a few months ago when the fire broke out in Gerard’s bedroom and he had dropped the coffee on the carpet. There was nothing to stain now, but he had still ruined something.

“Don’t worry!” Gerard said, resting a consoling hand on his shoulder. “It’s your cup too now, remember? And this is our house. Not mine. You’ve got nothing to worry about! It’s only a cup, there‘s about twenty in the cupboard!”

Even over an hour later, Frank was still thinking about how he had an inability to do anything right with his shaking hands. He wondered how they were going to do their next task if he couldn’t even managed to hold a kettle correctly.
They were in Gerard’s car, on the way back to Frank’s apartment. Gerard had decided that it would probably be best if he moved in with him right now, seeing as this Steve guy was up to something involving Frank. They had no idea whether he had managed to get a spare key from Jamia or something, which made it potentially dangerous for them to be living in that apartment. Gerard would help him grab some clothes and essential belongings from his apartment and then they would return to pick up the rest of the stuff and finish redecorating at a later date. Gerard hated the way their plans kept changing. When would they ever be able to settle down and start planning their wedding?

They stopped at a red light about five minutes away from their destination and Gerard turned to the man in the passenger seat. Frank had been silent for most of the journey and Gerard wondered if he was okay.

“How’s your hand?”

“ ‘s alright.” Frank replied, looking out of the window. “Still a bit sore, but I’ll live.”

The lights changed to green and Gerard had his hands on the wheel again. “You don’t feel sick, do you? You look a little pale.”

Frank muttered an almost inaudible “I’m okay” but Gerard knew that something was up. He guessed he was probably just nervous about returning home, wondering if he had got a similar letter, he supposed.

A few minutes later, Gerard turned into Frank’s street and searched for a space to park. Frank lived on one of the main roads in the area, and it was always difficult to get a parking space without having to go around the corner into another street. Today was no exception. The street was packed with cars and vans, and Gerard didn’t really want to park somewhere else seeing as they had a lot to carry.

“I’ll have to park here.” Gerard sighed, steering over to a space in the no-parking zone. “You’ll just have to pick up as much stuff as you can manage by yourself. I’ll have to stay in the car in case someone tries to give me a ticket.”

Frank nodded and unclasped his seatbelt. “Okay. I’ll be five minutes tops.”

“Wait!” Gerard grabbed his arm as he was getting out of the car. “Remember, I’m right down here if you need me. If you really can’t manage all of the stuff you need by yourself, then we’ll just come back tomorrow.”

Frank nodded, closed the door and jogged over the road to the apartment block. He could feel the jeans he borrowed from Gerard, which were slightly too large, slipping down as he ran. He tucked his t-shirt into his jeans like old men do, not giving two hoots about what he looked like.

He passed Mrs Crabbe’s door with caution, praying that she would not surface. The last thing he needed was her to be looking down her long, bony nose at him. But luckily the hall was silent. The only sound he could hear was the echo of his footsteps as he climbed the staircase to the second floor.
He knew something wasn’t right when his front door came into view. It was a Tuesday, meaning that the fortnightly local newspaper would’ve been put on his doorstep by Mr Jones from upstairs yesterday. The newspaper was nowhere to be seen, and Mr Jones never forgot. He worked for the newspaper and was a generous man, always keen to give out free copies to everyone he knew.
Putting that out of his mind, Frank unlocked the door and stepped inside. The smell of paint stung his nose and he was reminded of the half painted bedroom he had started on yesterday. It was a warm day, and he expected the heat to hit him as he entered, but it was surprisingly cool. He could hear the dull whirring noise of the air-conditioning unit in the living room, and he figured that he must’ve forgotten to turn it off when he left.
He walked straight ahead into the bedroom. A light breeze from the open window was rustling the curtains, and he remembered that he left it open to air out the smell of the paint. He stepped over to the window and shut it, thinking it a miracle that nobody had climbed inside and burgled his stuff in this part of town.
He found the rucksack he usually took on tour and pulled out a couple of hoodies, some t-shirts, a few pairs of jeans and a jacket from the wardrobe, thinking that they would probably tide him over for a week. He then proceeded to fill the remainder of the bag with underwear and socks.

There was a shuffling behind him.

Frank tried to turn his head to see what was going on, but he only managed to turn it a quarter of the way around. A fist collided with his jaw and his head whipped back, smashing in to the wardrobe. He felt multiple sharp blows to the stomach and he doubled over, screaming in pain.
A figure was advancing on him again, carrying something small and shiny. Frank heart skipped a beat. This guy had a knife.

“Get on the floor Iero!” A gruff male voice commanded. “Don’t you dare say a fucking word!”

It was too late. He couldn’t do anything if he tried. The darkness was calling, and Frank felt himself plunging into black oblivion.