Troubles

Donna keeps giggling at herself. She poured wine into her water glass and haven't stopped giggling since. They've obviously had too much to drink; both Donna and Donald. I'm not complaining, though, because their drunkenness makes it possible for Mikey and I to keep filling our glasses with punch. Gerard has had his share too, but he doesn't find it as amusing as Mikey does; he doesn't find it as exciting as I do, either.
In fact, Gerard doesn't seem amused or excited at all. He seems down. I guess that's my fault.

“Frank,” Mikey says, leaning in close to me. He's definitely more drunk than me. Right now, it's funny as hell, but I just hope to fuck he won't roll over and puke in my face during the night.
Maybe I should take the bed.
“This is the best Thanksgiving ever.” Mikey is smiling drunkenly and happily, and out of pure reaction, I smile that way too. The weird thing is that my smile stays plastered on my face while my mind is somewhere completely different.

My best Thanksgiving is the last one I had with my mom, dad and grandma. We weren't happy then, but we were together, and for 24 hours, we got by without being angry with each other; without yelling; without tears. We were a family: for the last, and perhaps first, time.

Mikey has gone back to emptying his cup of punch, so I get up out of my chair and walk towards the bathroom. I don't think I have to pee. Oh, wait, I do. But that's not why I got up and walked down the hall. I got up because I wanted to. I just wanted to get away.

I spot the bathroom door just as it opens. Gerard appears, and I automatically stop and just stare at him. His head is hung low as he walks down the hallway. He stops. He doesn't lift his head, but I can tell that he's staring at my feet: he knows I'm right here, but he won't even look me in the eye.

And it hurts. It hurts to be rejected by him. I thought he was my friend; one of my best friends. I thought I could trust him. I told him I was homeless. I told him that I was confused. I told him that I didn't know how I feel, and then all he does it turn it all around and focus on himself. He hurt me by being so selfish.
Why is he hurting me?

“Why are you doing this to me, Gerard?” I ask in a low voice. He still doesn't look up, and that hurts more.

“Doing what?” he asks through clenched teeth. Why is he so mad at me? What did I do? All I did was tell him the truth; I can't feel! I can't trust people! And then, when I finally think that I can, he goes and betrays me like that and makes it all about him. I can't feel just because he wants me to, and I especially can't when I can't even trust him.

“Forcing me to like you,” I say weakly, feeling a clench in my gut. I feel exposed. I feel cut open and vulnerable.

“I'm not forcing you to do anything. I'm only trying to get you to give me a clear answer: yes or no,” he says harshly. I frown in anger.

“But I don't know!”

“Listen, I don't wanna play this game,” he says, annoyed, and walks past me. I turn around after him.

“What game?” I ask his back. He keeps walking, so I walk after him.
“I'm not-”

Gerard suddenly turns around and presses a hand against my chest, which makes me shut up. He pushes me backwards, and it isn't until he closes the door that I realize we're in Mikey's room. When he turns around, facing me, I take a step back, bumping my heel against the futon.

“You're playing with my feelings. You're playing this stupid game, where you keep looking at me like a lost puppy, but every time I try and help you, you fuck with me. You bite me,” he says slowly as he keeps his jaw clenched. His eyes are red; maybe from anger; maybe from misery.

Even though I'm angry; even though he's the one pressuring me and I'm the one feeling 'bitten', as he puts it, I still feel like I should apologies. I feel like part of this is my fault, and I know it. But still, I don't feel responsible.

“But I just don't know if I can trust you. I don't know how I feel,” I say, begging him to understand.

“Bullshit.”

“It's true!” Why won't he just understand? Why can't he see this from my side?

“You already know how you feel,” he whispers angrily. He rolls his eyes, before he looks me in the eye and snarls at me:
“You're just too much of a chicken to figure it out.”

“No, I-”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, you're so annoying!” I yell, finally just snapping. This is it! I can't take him pressuring me anymore!
“When things don't go your way, you'll find a way to change things so they do!”

“What?” he asks, shaking his head. You stupid...

“You want everything to be yours. You can't just accept that it doesn't always turn out in your favor. God dammit, fuck!” I scream, tugging at my hair once before I look him in the eye again.
“You make me so fucking angry sometimes! Sometimes, all it takes is one little glance your way, and I feel like I'm about to explode!”

“Oh, really?” he interrupts. Shut up!

“Yes! You make my fucking stomach churn with hate! I hate the way you act as if you own the world and everyone in it. Your so-called confidence is so nauseating that I sometimes feel like I'm gonna puke when I'm around you. And when I don't feel like puking, I just wanna scream my head off and run away.”

“You're in love.”

“I hate you!” I scream as loud as I can, shutting him up – but only briefly.

“No.”

“For fuck's sake, Gerard! This is one thing you can't control! You can't just change the way I feel!”

“You said you've never been in love.” He just won't shut up!

“Yeah! You finally get that?”

“Well, that's what it feels like.” I'm about to yell at him again, but I stop myself. I gasp for breath, feeling as if steam is coming out of my nostrils, and just stare at him, confused and furious.
“Your stomach hurts. You feel nauseous and dizzy and all you want is to run away and avoid those awkward feelings, but at the same time, you just wanna stay and scream at that one person that you fucking love them!”

He stops talking, and this long silence stretches out between us. It's as if there's suddenly a lot more air between us; it feels as if we're further away from each other. I don't feel smothered anymore. I don't feel like he's holding me down, forcing me to like him or he won't let go.

I finally feel like I can take a breath.
All that's between us now are our heavy breaths. We just stand there and stare at each other. It's like there are no words left, just a hell of a lot of breathing and catching the breaths we've just spend on screaming at each other.

Is he right? What if he's right? Does that mean I was wrong; or does it mean that I was right all along; I just didn't know it? I may have just misunderstood myself; my own feelings.
I guess the real question isn't who's right or wrong, but whether or not I trust him.

I swallow. My dry throat seems to glue together as I swallow down nothing. My mouth is completely dry: all the water in my body seemingly having rushed to my hands, making them wet and clammy.

I step forward, and just as I see the surprise in Gerard's eyes, I realize there wasn't as much space between us as I thought. I press my lips again his, bending my neck all the way back to keep our lips connected as I step closer to him. When I feel his chest against mine, I stop and move my lips softly.

And then, he moves his. He slowly opens and closes his mouth to the same rhythm as mine, and I start feeling lightheaded. I close my eyes, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness as our lips stay linked. The touch is so light, and yet, my heart is pounding so hard. My pulse is going crazy and I can't feel my legs.

I regretfully pull away, lowering my head so that my mouth is now only mere millimeters away from Gerard's neck.

“I need to sit down,” I say out loud – louder than I thought I could – and take a step back. I stumble over the futon, stepping up on it and dropping down on Mikey's bed clumsily. I sit completely still, staring down at the floor in shock. I can't even lift my head to look at Gerard.
Maybe that's what he was doing before.

My head is spinning and I don't even notice Gerard moving until he sits down next to me on the bed. He sits close. I like it. I feel safe. I feel warm.
I feel.

My hand tickles, and when I look down, I see that Gerard's hand is covering mine. I smile, feeling my heart pound once; pound hard.

And finally, I look up. I only catch a glimpse of the happiness reflected in his eyes, before he leans forward and connects our lips again.

I move my hand up – the hand under Gerard's – and spread my fingers, so that when Gerard's hand falls off of mine, his fingers fall in between mine. I squeeze his hand.

I feel so safe. I've always felt safe around him. I've never been scared around him.
I trust him. I really do. And I think-

“Boys!” Donald calls. I hear footsteps coming to an abrupt halt, but I don't feel scared, even when Gerard pulls away from me, leaving my lips cold and exposed.

I open my eyes at the same time as I turn my head. I still feel dizzy, but I can easily see the shock on Donald's face as he just stares at Gerard. Out of the corner of my eye, I can tell Gerard is staring right back.

“Dad,” he whispers. I can hear the shock in Gerard's voice, as well as the sadness. This probably isn't the way he planned to tell his dad, but of course it's the way it went down. Things never happen the way we want them to happen; they never go as expected.

“I'm too drunk to deal with this,” Donald suddenly says, turning and walking away from the doorway. I can hear him dragging his feet down the hall slowly, while Gerard's breath keeps getting faster and faster. I look over at him and see that his eyes are blood red, both inside and around them. He's just staring at the spot on the floor where his dad stood. His face is slowly contorting more and more. He looks so sad.

I squeeze his hand once more, before I let go and get up. I walk out of the room and down the hall, reaching the living room just as Donald says:

“Donna, our son is homosexual.”
He almost sounds amused; as if he had expected it. He throws himself onto the couch and smiles. He's smiling.

“Which one?” Donna asks, sounding amused as well, but instead of smiling, she looks confused at Mikey. Mikey looks confused when he sees me in the doorway.

Without saying a word or giving Mikey any look that could indicate anything, I turn around and walk back to his room.