Troubles

I slowly walk down the hall, considering if I should actually go down to Gerard. I still haven't come to a conclusion as to whether I like him or not. Well, I like him, but I don't know if I...love him, I guess.

I reach the kitchen, but no one is here. Donna and Donald went to church. They've been gone for 10 minutes. They told Mikey that if he didn't have his Spanish homework done by the time they got home, he wouldn't get any dessert. Apparently, they get dessert on Sundays after dinner. I don't think I've ever gotten one.

I sigh, turn and open the door to the basement. I walk down the steps casually and slowly. I did my homework in English. I told Donna I did it after school, but the fact is that I've always done my homework during classes. Papers are a bit harder. Sometimes, I go to the library and do them. Sometimes I just do them at the homeless shelter. Obviously, I always hand in hand-written papers, assignments and essays.

Once, we had a computer class at school. It was just one lesson that taught us how to use a computer, and while Mikey talked with me during the whole lesson because he already knew everything, I talked with Mikey the whole lesson because I was too confused to understand what the teacher was talking about – and Mikey distracted me.

I reach Gerard's door and knock before I open it. Gerard is sitting on his bed, his back against the wall and a sketchbook in his lap. He's got his iPod in his ears, but he hears or sees me despite all that. I smile and wave. He pulls the earplugs out of his ears.

“Hi,” he says happily, with an undertone of curiosity. I walk closer the bed and dare myself to feel more at home in Gerard's room and sit on his bed, facing him. My smile falters a bit when I realize I have nothing but that to talk with him about, and I start feeling awkward. I look down at the sheets and play with a crease.
“Where's Mikey?” Gerard asks hesitantly. I glance up at him.

“He had homework.”
Gerard snorts.

“He always does things last minute.”
I smile at that. The tension in the room eases a bit and I dare to look up and into his eyes. He's smiling.

We smile at each other for a few seconds, before it starts getting a little awkward. I grin quietly and look down again. I swallow lightly.

“How are you?” Gerard asks suddenly, and though I'm confused for a second, a second later, I know what he means. Because he changed the subject – the subject we never even got to – I decide that I should be honest with him.

“Relieved,” I say and shrug lightly. I bite my lip and push my hair behind my ear.
“I guess,” I add. It's a stupid thing; being relieved over your mother being dead. But at least now I know she's not avoiding me. She left me, but maybe not on purpose. At least now I know where she is.

In heaven, I hope.

I never actually believed in heaven. Or hell. But right now, I just want my mom to be somewhere good; somewhere she can rest in peace and perhaps watch over me and guide me through life.

I choke out a sob from my tight throat. Gerard must have predicted the outcome of his question, because when I sob a second time, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest. He starts kissing my head, while he whispers things I can't hear because of my sobs, cries and building pressure in my head from all the tears that try to escape.

It takes a while, but when my tears start slowing down and I start breathing more regularly, Gerard kisses my cheek.

“Please, talk to me?” he asks pleadingly. I can tell by his voice that he's having a hard time seeing me being this upset. He really does care about me.

“M-” I start, but I have to swallow before I can continue:
“My dad left...3 years ago. My mom,” I pause, take a deep breath; readying myself to tell Gerard what I've never told anyone.
“My mom tried to support us, but she couldn't. We lost the house after a year. We tried to stick together, but... Shit happened.” A lot of shit. Shit I don't wanna remember.
“I saw her at the shelter a few months ago. 3 months ago. She didn't see me.” Gerard kisses my head for a long time.

“I eat breakfasts at the shelter. Dinners at the soup kitchen if I get there in time. If I can't get a bed at the shelter, I sleep on the street. I once slept in a trashcan, just because it was warm.” I laugh lightly. It seems fake, even to me, but it's just to get rid of the tension.
“Luckily, the day after I had gym for first period. People thought I was weird for taking a shower before class, but I just couldn't go another minute feeling that dirty.” I keep a small smile on my face. It's nothing Gerard can see, but it helps me tell him all of this.

“Another place that's warm is the record store in Newark. It's not big or fancy or anything, but the guitars there are beautiful. Especially one.” I dream myself away for a second.
“She's so gorgeous. She's white with golden strings and she hangs far up on the wall, because she's so special.” My smile fades a bit.
“At one point, she was the only thing I lived for. She was the only thing that made any sense in my life.” Something wet lands on my cheeks, and I know what it is before I raise my head to look up at Gerard. His eyes are blood red and soaking wet.

“Don't cry,” I say, knowing my words have no meaning, because he's already crying. I reach up and cup his wet cheek.
“It's not your fault. I chose not to tell you. You couldn't have known.” I wrap both my arms around his neck and pull him into a hug.

“I just wish I had known, though. All the money I made you give to charity. All the places we took you, when you couldn't afford it. All the- All the times you slept on the street,” he chokes out.

Still with my arms wrapped around him, I crawl further onto the bed and lie down. It takes a lot of movement, but soon we're cuddling in each others warm embrace, and it's then that I get the guts to tell him what I think; how I feel:

“I think I like you,” I whisper. Gerard tugs me in closer, and at the same time, he seems to relax more.
“I'm not sure, but right now,” I swallow, “I think so.”