Troubles

Since Mikey still hadn't pleased Donna with his homework and was told to eat his dinner in silence in his room, Gerard and I got to eat ours in his room. We weren't told to be quiet, but still, we kept the music at a relatively low level as we sat on the floor and ate.

To begin with, it was pretty cozy and kinda reminded me of the innocent sleepovers Mikey and I had as kids, but after 5 minutes of not talking and just watching each other eat and trying to smile at the same time, it's begun to get a bit awkward. Not as awkward as waiting for Donna to scoop food onto our plates while it felt like she knew what Gerard and I had just done a few hours earlier, but staring at the guy you just did that with and not saying a word while you're staring has begun to get uncomfortably awkward.

I'm kinda full already, so I eat slower. I look down at the vegetables and push them around a bit as I try to remember the last time I was hungry. I used to try and remember the last time I felt truly full, but now, it's harder to remember when I last felt hungry.

“Don't you like veal?” Gerard asks. I lift my eyes from my fork and look him in the eyes while I lift my head up more and more. He looks timid and insecure; as if he's afraid he might have just insulted me. I smile apologetically and glance down at the plate.

“Not really,” I answer shyly, smiling at him.

Gerard breaks eye contact with me, but I see a shy smile appear on his lips and reach his eyes just before he looks away. He pushes the still large amount of green and red around on his plate.

“Oh, do you want it?” I ask suddenly, realizing he might be hungry for more meat. I'll never be hungry for it, though. Just the word 'veal' makes my stomach churn a little.

“Sure,” he says and pushes his plate closer to me.
“Do you want my veg?”

I just nod and put my piece of meat on his plate, before I take his colored food.

Wow. That was a bit dirty. 'My piece of meat'. I grin inwardly.

“What?” Gerard asks, laughing a bit. I look up at his grinning face and realize that I'm grinning myself. I look away shyly and shake my head. Gerard snorts a laugh and I hick-up a laugh. It sounds cute when he snorts.

Our laughs slowly dies down and we go back to eating wordlessly, but this time, it's slightly less awkward. Knowing I can make him smile just by grinning relaxes me and makes me eat a little faster.

“Do you like any meat?” Gerard suddenly asks out of nowhere while I stare at him. He lifts his gaze to meet mine, and I look away briefly.

“I try to avoid it,” I say, shrugging lightly and trying to make it sound less insistent. I can eat meat and I do if I have to, but I don't really want to eat it.
“I don't like eating animals,” I add in a low voice. Gerard nods understandingly and puts down his knife, still holding a fork that's holding the last piece of meat on his plate. I try not to stare at it for too long; not wanting to deter him from eating it. I don't want him to stop doing something, just because I don't do it.

“What about eggs and,” he starts, hesitating as he obviously thinks, “and other things like that? Like milk?” he asks and I smile at the curious look in his eyes. He seems genuinely interested in me.

“I don't like eating eggs, but milk is okay.” I add a nod, and my smile grows when his does. And I actually feel relieved when he puts the last piece of meat in his mouth and chews as he leans backwards against his bed. I lean my elbows on my knees and watch as Gerard's hands settle on his stomach and his fingers intertwine.
“Full?” I ask a bit amused. He smiles at me briefly, before he swallows down his last bite and nods.

“You?” he asks quickly, and I nod back.

The moment reminds me of earlier when we kept copying each other, but it's comforting and it makes me feel as if we're close and that he cares, so I don't mind it at all.

“Can I ask you something?” Gerard knots his eyebrows and tilts his head to the side. He looks curious, but also cautious. I glance down at his hands briefly, before I nod and look into his eyes as I hold my breath. I know his question isn't going to be simple.
“Do you really have a grandmother in Newark?” His voice is low, but it doesn't make the question any easier to answer. Technically, I do have a grandmother there, but she isn't alive like I told him a few weeks ago. I look down into my own lap and sigh. We've technically been dating for barely even 24 hours and I already have to admit to him that I've been dishonest with him.

“No,” I say in a voice that's lower than his was.
“My dad's parents died before I was born.” I shrug, not caring about that side of my family at all anymore.
“My grandma died a little over a year ago.” I swallow at the realization of when exactly: “A year and one month before my mom did,” I whisper. There's a cold chill that runs down my spine and makes me shiver. A tear is on the edge of my right eye and blurs up half of my vision as I stare at my thumb rubbing against the palm of my other hand.

I feel as if I should be regretting something and as if I should feel guilty or sorry for them dying, but why? How could I possibly be to blame for old age and... Murder? Suicide? Involuntary manslaughter? I don't even know what killed my mom. I don't even know if she's been buried and where.

“Are you okay?” Gerard asks and places a hand in my open palm, stopping my thumb and calming me briefly. I nod and take a deep breath through my nose to clear up my eyes and stop myself from crying. I know crying in front of Gerard isn't shameful or anything like that, but I still don't wanna ruin right now – right now is cute and it's relaxing and...confidential. It's just us.

I look up at Gerard to see him looking concerned. His eyes are a little red and his face is flushed. All the blood rushing to his head suddenly reminds me of what Mikey said; about Gerard having thrown up blood. He said it was nothing, but then Gerard didn't wanna see me and didn't talk to me after that, so...

“Can I ask you something?” I ask back, my voice low as before. I don't even have to talk very loud right now, because we're sitting so close that he can probably hear every breath I exhale.

But then, he pulls away a bit and removes his hand from mine. I can tell he's getting defensive. He's not about to yell at me, but he has this vacant expression on his face that I can only interpret as him slowly building up a wall to defend himself.

He opens his mouth, but he doesn't say anything. His eyes scan the room behind me. It's as if it's hard for him to find the words to explain what happened, and I don't think I can really understand that. I just told him I lied; what could be worse than that? Is the truth harder for him?

“I drank too much,” he finally squeezes out, not looking at me as he does. His eyes are locked on something in the corner of the room, but I don't care what.

The hand he took out of mine is back in mine as soon as I look down at it, and I caress it to make sure that it stays in my own hand that I grabbed it with.
He sighs heavily.

“I had promised Mikey not to do it again, but he didn't know about the old bottles under the floor board in my closet.”

I frown a bit, not quite getting what he's talking about.

“I used to be addicted,” he says simply and shrugs his shoulders, as if that part of his story was the easiest bit. He used to be addicted to alcohol. Why haven't I ever noticed?
“I just felt really down and then one thing led to another, and I drank. Too much. So, yeah.”
He looks me right in the eye after that last statement, and the coldness in his makes the concern in mine even stronger. I swallow down nothing. My throat is dry as a desert.

“When did it start?” I don't ever remember him being drunk. He's never acted drunk, or even depressed. He hasn't always been happy, but he's always been positive and smiling, or at least just okay. I've never seen him being upset or angry or anything. He's always just been...Gerard.

“Dunno,” he says and shrugs.
“Mikey found out about a year ago.” A whole year? And more, even. Why didn't I notice?
“I stopped soon after that, but yeah.” His smile is weak and I can tell he's aware of the fact that he's not fooling me. I can tell he's upset about it, but also that he doesn't wanna take it too seriously – because that makes it too real.

I know just how he feels. It's not the admitting part that's hard, but more the living-with-it part. I've never been addicted to anything, but the carelessness in his voice reminds me of how I felt about being homeless: the less you care about it, the less real it is to you.

I nod and simply look down at his hand as I make small circles and hearts in the palm of it.

“I'm sorry for not noticing,” I mumble out, not sure whether I actually want him to hear me or not.

“What?” I guess he didn't hear me. I can't help but feel a little disappointed – not in him, but in me. I wanted him to hear me. I did. So, I should've talked louder.
“Hey,” he says and lowers his head down to catch my eyes. I lift my head as he does. He's smiling comfortingly.
“I didn't notice you were homeless; you didn't notice I was an alcoholic. How about we just say we're even?”

I smile and nod.