Troubles

“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?” I don't know what to answer. We haven't been lying here asking each other questions, so the fact that Gerard suddenly broke the silence with one is odd in itself, but Gerard has been acting odd throughout the day. He's been sorta withdrawn and seemingly lost in his own thoughts all day. I guess his question has been one of the things on his mind.

It's a hard question. I've never really thought about going anywhere specific. If I ever wanted to go, then it was just away from here. Not that I wanna get away from here now, though. I like holding him like this and playing with his hair and tickling his face and neck.

I guess Gerard's aloof mood is somewhat connected to how cuddly he was when we got to his room. He asked me to come home with him, even though I thought he wanted to be alone, considering his mood. When we got to his house, he asked me if I wanted to go to his room; I did. Mikey didn't come along, and I think Gerard appreciated that, because he didn't waste any time in hugging me and asking me to hold him.

I'm worried, but I can't help but feel careless right now.

When he first cuddled up against me, I was stiff and briefly unresponsive, but, when I played with a lock of his hair and he hummed and when I touched his cheek and he sighed, I loosened up.

I like the way he cuddles closer to me every time I tickle his neck – it makes me relax, because even though I know I should worry about him, I just somehow know that what I'm doing right now is helping is as much as a serious talk would.

So I won't ask him what's wrong; not jut yet; not while we're like this.

“I don't know,” I finally answer, tracing a fingertip along the curves of his ear. The hand he's got on my stomach draws a circle on my t-shirt, before it goes still again.

Really, I don't wanna answer his question at all, because even if I could go anywhere in the world, I'd put it off for another day.

But I guess Gerard wanna be somewhere else. By the way he's lying close to me, I think he feels the same way I do – not wanting to go right now – but the fact that he asked me makes me think that maybe he's trying to tell me what's going on with him.

“How about you?” I ask, a relaxed tone in my voice so he won't feel pressured or obligated to give me an actual answer – I didn't give him one.

He sighs lightly, and I let my fingers entangle in his hair again. His hand draws another circle.

“A meadow.” He hugs me tighter, wrapping the hand he had on my stomach around my side briefly to draw me closer, before he lets go and returns the hand to my stomach. With my free hand, I grab onto his and let my fingers slide in between his.
“Somewhere quiet,” he adds. His hand is limp in mine and I play with his fingers like I did his hair just a minute ago, and despite the dim light and the sideways angle, I still spot the scar. It's a scar I've never noticed before, and as I take a light hold of Gerard's thumb and his wrist twists, I get to see it more clearly.

It's barely a scar: it's a wound. It's healing, but it's fresh.

A straight, dark-red line is running across his wrist.

“Where no one can find me.” My lips start to tremble as I keep staring at the wound. Gerard lets go of my hand and wrap his around my waist again, but the sight of the cut is imprinted in my memory.

I feel like yelling and screaming, mainly at him. How could he do that? Why did he do that to himself?

I never thought of him as capable of self-harm. He's such a positive person. He's always so happy and open that I sometimes get sick of it.

I wrap my arms around him and he hums against my chest in approval. All I want to do is be careless again, but the image of Gerard, crying, with a knife in his wrist has me so worried that I fear I might throw up soon.

I suddenly feel lonely and scared, and I can't explain why.

Gerard moves around on me, different movements than before, and suddenly he heaves himself up and leans his torso on my elbow.

“You okay?” He's frowning at me, a mix of confusion, worry, hurt and fear in his eyes.

“Yeah,” I answer quickly, my voice weak. My throat hurts.

“You're tense. Are you uncomfortable?” He seems to be pulling away from me as he asks, so I quickly put a hand on his arm and stroke it softly.

“No,” I whine.

“I can stop lying here, if you want.”

“No. I like you on me,” I say quickly, the realization of what I said hitting me immediately after the words have left my mouth.

Gerard giggles. I smile widely and feel my shoulders relax, not really knowing when they'd tensed up – but most certainly why.

With a cute smile on his smile, Gerard lies down on me again and cuddles against me like before, only this time he initiates the hand-holding.

I can't help but to do what I did before to see his scar better. It's like a self-masochistic peep-show, just for me. I don't wanna see the scar – if that is the only one at all – but it still draws me in, as if I can't get enough of its morbidity.

I untangle my fingers from his and pretend to stroke his arm comfortingly up and down, but it's partially just a way to get his sleeve to ride up and show me more of his arm.

When I spot another scar, I stop everything I'm doing and look up at the ceiling.

Gerard moves around again, but this time he stays on me.

“What are you thinking about?” He can obviously sense that something's up. I, myself, can feel the tension I'm creating.

“Nothing,” I say. To my surprise, my voice sounds normal and calm, though that's far from how I feel right now. I'm scared – for him, for me, for Mikey and for his parents. What are they all gonna think if they found out? What if he kills himself – bleeds out – how are they gonna feel? What if he never stops? What if it only gets worse?

What about me?

“Would-” I stop myself, realizing the question is too vague to ask, but still, I want to – I have to. I need to help him, but I need him to talk to me first.

Gerard tilts his head back and looks up at me.

“You would tell me if anything was wrong, right?” I'm frowning at him. I feel like breaking down and crying hysterically and yelling at him, but I need him to talk to me.

“Of course,” he answers, confused.

All I can do is nod. I can't tell him I've seen his secret, because it's not mine – it's his, so he needs to tell me, not the other way around.

“Why? Are you okay?” His confusion turns to worry.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” I say, my voice crackling and quivering. I'm not fine. I'm far from fine. My... my boyfriend is hurting himself.

Boyfriend.

“You're my boyfriend, right?” I ask. I'm not sure why I'm changing the subject all of the sudden, but I just feel like I need to know – right now. Maybe it's because I just need to focus on something else. Or maybe it's because I need to know if I have any reason or right to help him.

He smiles.

“Yeah,” he answers simply, crawling up my torso to reach my lips with his own. I kiss him softly, despite the fact that he's trying to make it more rough, and soon, I win. The kiss is soft and light and long, just our lips brushing against one another and nothing more. And it calms me a bit – because it tells me that I have the right to butt in and make Gerard happy.