That Boy's Not Right In The Brain
Part the Eighteenth
If I hadn't watched it once, I had a million times before; in fustration I turned the tv off and had a long bath. When I got out, I put on a pair of bright pink, outrageously fluffy socks, baggy black pyjama pants and a white skinny tank top with a metal mulisha skull on the front and I pulled my hair back into a loose bun. Make-up less and tired I plodded downstairs turning all the lights in the rooms off, making a mug of tea in the kitchen along the way. The only light now was coming from upstairs, casting a dim yellow glow over the lower level of my house. My house was big, and being alone in the dark never made me feel comfortable, so a combination of the two was nerve-wracking to say the least. I shook off thought of thinking I heard someone coughing outside, and started to walk upstairs to my beloved bed. I didn't get that far, a loud banging on my front door scared the shit out of me so much, I managed to drop my mug of tea, it bounced back down carpeted stairs, covering them in tea, and shattered upon impact with the tiled ground. The banging didn't stop, and against my scared judgement, I gingerly walked down the stairs, side-stepped any pieces of shattered ceramic and opened the door with a shocking start.
"Lou! What was that noise? Did something happen?" a concerned looking Frank asked, he was wearing a tight blue shirt, torn pants and his hair messily strewn across his face. I slammed the door back in his face, part in anger about yesterday, part because I looked a wreck. Taking deep breaths and comtemplating what to do, I noticed that he hadn't tried knocking on the door any more and sighed in relief that I wouldn't have to deal with him as he'd taken the hint. I looked down at the mess I had made with the mug and growled to myself. Carefully, I started picking it up.
"God-damned-mug-shattering-into-a-million-tiny-fucking-pieces-because-of-that-bastard-with-his-tight-shirt-and-his-hair-and-piercings-"
"I'm not a bastard!" a voice said from behind me, shocking me, for the second time in five minutes. I slipped forward and put my hand out to stop me falling and got a chunk of mug in the palm of my hand.
"Fuck!" I shouted, standing up gripping my hand. "How the fuck did you get in my house?!" I shouted, in a ridiculously, high pitched voice.
"The back door.. It was open." he smiled, before frowning, "Are, are you okay?" he said advancing towards me. I backed away.
"No I'm not fucking okay! You've broken into my house! Get out!" I yelled, still gripping my hand tightly. I glanced down at it and noticed it was bleeding. Great.
"Uh, you're hands bleeding pretty bad. You should probably, uh.. fuck this is my fault. I'm so sorry." he said pulling the hair on his head. He was strangely adorable when he was freaking out.
"No, it's ok.. It's my fault, I should have locked the back door.." I said semi-sarcasticaly. "I need to clean this up," I said shaking my head and crouching back down to pick up the pieces.
"Here, I'll do it." he said crouching opposite me, mimicking my actions.
"No it's fine, I can do it."
"No it's my fault, I'll do it."
"No really," I said, beginning to get impatient. If he protested one more time I would go insane, I thought to myself.
"Lou, let me fucking pick it up it's my fau-" I couldn't stop myself, before he could finish or I could think, I slapped him across the face - with my ingured hand. He looked at me in as much shock as I was looking at him, and it took a moment before I said anything.
"I-I said I could do it.." I trailed off as I stood up and walked into the kitchen, holding my left hand out infront of me, and holding my right hand to my head. There was no reason to slap him because he was trying to help, I argued with myself. But all the built up anger from all these years seemed to surge through my body as my hand dragged across his face sharply. I turned the cold tap on and stuck my hand underneath, wincing in pain as the sharpness seered up my arm.
"Where's your garbage bin?" his calm voice asked from behind me. Without turning around, I pointed to the large silver canister, otherwise known as the bin, standing prodominently next to the large fridge. I heard the lid open, and the sound of the pieces of the mug slide into it, falling on the day's trash inside. With my fingers I attempted to pull the chunk of ceramic, but whimped out as it stang a lot by just touching it lightly. I felt him standing behind me, looking over my shoulder and into the sink. His scent caught my nose as it always did when he was around, it was a comforting smell and I tried to savour it when I could. "That looks like it hurts." he noted. Not wanting to add insult to ingury, I just nodded my head and kept concentrated on how I would get it out. "Can I see?" he said, one of his hands gently touching my side and the other my arm. I turned around, holding my hand out for him to inspect, and kept focused on anything but him. His fingers gingerly ran over the skin of my hand, they were rough and calloused but soft to the touch. I raised my eyes and looked at his face, his eyes were currently inspecting my hand so it wasn't akward. I hadn't been this close to Frank for a very, very long time, he'd changed so much since then. Especially in his face; it wasn't as pudgy as it used to be, it was more refined and his cheek bones were more sculpted. He had slight stubble on his chin and upper lip and he had shaped his eyebrows. "I hate to tell you this, but I'm just gunna have to yank it the fuck out." he said, his eyes darting up to mine. A split second of looking into his, and I averted mine quickly and pulled my hand away, taking only a step back as the kitchen worktop prevented me from going any further.
"No, it'll hurt." I said nervously. He giggled, it was so cute.
"No shit it'll hurt dumbass, but it'll get infected and your hand will swell up and then it'll have to be amputated if I don't pull it out. I'll be gentle, I promise." I glared at him in fear for a second, then it struck me that he wasn't going to try and maim me, that he was actually being sincere in wanting to help. He obviously noted the softening of my face, as he held out his hand, taking a step closer, narrowing the gap between us. "Give me your hand." I squirmed pathetically, not looking forward to the impeeding pain, "Give it to me, please?" he smiled. I lifted my hand and he took it in his, "Thank you." I loved, to an extent, that he was saying please and thank you to me, in a strange way it gave me a sense of satisfaction. He stroked his fingers over my hand and took a deep breath, "Ready?"
"No.."
"Good." he grinned. And with that he, as gently as possible, pulled it swiftly from my hand, and it didn't really hurt at all, it just stang, a lot. I gasped in slight agony and chewed my lip in discomfort as he wrapped a bandage around my hand. "Better?"
"Yeah.. thanks.." I said just above a whisper. He was so close, and I was now feeling that horrible nervousness that made my mouth dry and my head buzz.
"I'm sorry I broke in." he smiled.
"I'm sorry I slapped you."
"Yeah, that did kind of hurt a bit." he said touching his cheek, which, really did look bruised.
"Well it's not as it you didn't deserve it you jerk." I said turning around and turning the kettle on, to make another cup of tea.
"What are you talking about? I was just trying to help!"
"It's not about just then, it's about yesterday Frank; when you let that bitch Kerry start on us." I shouted, turning back around to Frank.
"I didn't let her start!"
"But you didn't stop her! Look, I know we're not friends, but Gerard! You're his best friend, and you let her say what she did to him without so much as a word in repremand or defense? That's low.. and I get that your not exactly the nicest person in the world, but that really, is.. more low then I'd expect of even you Frank.." I said with obvious sadness, and disapointment in my voice.
"Lou! What was that noise? Did something happen?" a concerned looking Frank asked, he was wearing a tight blue shirt, torn pants and his hair messily strewn across his face. I slammed the door back in his face, part in anger about yesterday, part because I looked a wreck. Taking deep breaths and comtemplating what to do, I noticed that he hadn't tried knocking on the door any more and sighed in relief that I wouldn't have to deal with him as he'd taken the hint. I looked down at the mess I had made with the mug and growled to myself. Carefully, I started picking it up.
"God-damned-mug-shattering-into-a-million-tiny-fucking-pieces-because-of-that-bastard-with-his-tight-shirt-and-his-hair-and-piercings-"
"I'm not a bastard!" a voice said from behind me, shocking me, for the second time in five minutes. I slipped forward and put my hand out to stop me falling and got a chunk of mug in the palm of my hand.
"Fuck!" I shouted, standing up gripping my hand. "How the fuck did you get in my house?!" I shouted, in a ridiculously, high pitched voice.
"The back door.. It was open." he smiled, before frowning, "Are, are you okay?" he said advancing towards me. I backed away.
"No I'm not fucking okay! You've broken into my house! Get out!" I yelled, still gripping my hand tightly. I glanced down at it and noticed it was bleeding. Great.
"Uh, you're hands bleeding pretty bad. You should probably, uh.. fuck this is my fault. I'm so sorry." he said pulling the hair on his head. He was strangely adorable when he was freaking out.
"No, it's ok.. It's my fault, I should have locked the back door.." I said semi-sarcasticaly. "I need to clean this up," I said shaking my head and crouching back down to pick up the pieces.
"Here, I'll do it." he said crouching opposite me, mimicking my actions.
"No it's fine, I can do it."
"No it's my fault, I'll do it."
"No really," I said, beginning to get impatient. If he protested one more time I would go insane, I thought to myself.
"Lou, let me fucking pick it up it's my fau-" I couldn't stop myself, before he could finish or I could think, I slapped him across the face - with my ingured hand. He looked at me in as much shock as I was looking at him, and it took a moment before I said anything.
"I-I said I could do it.." I trailed off as I stood up and walked into the kitchen, holding my left hand out infront of me, and holding my right hand to my head. There was no reason to slap him because he was trying to help, I argued with myself. But all the built up anger from all these years seemed to surge through my body as my hand dragged across his face sharply. I turned the cold tap on and stuck my hand underneath, wincing in pain as the sharpness seered up my arm.
"Where's your garbage bin?" his calm voice asked from behind me. Without turning around, I pointed to the large silver canister, otherwise known as the bin, standing prodominently next to the large fridge. I heard the lid open, and the sound of the pieces of the mug slide into it, falling on the day's trash inside. With my fingers I attempted to pull the chunk of ceramic, but whimped out as it stang a lot by just touching it lightly. I felt him standing behind me, looking over my shoulder and into the sink. His scent caught my nose as it always did when he was around, it was a comforting smell and I tried to savour it when I could. "That looks like it hurts." he noted. Not wanting to add insult to ingury, I just nodded my head and kept concentrated on how I would get it out. "Can I see?" he said, one of his hands gently touching my side and the other my arm. I turned around, holding my hand out for him to inspect, and kept focused on anything but him. His fingers gingerly ran over the skin of my hand, they were rough and calloused but soft to the touch. I raised my eyes and looked at his face, his eyes were currently inspecting my hand so it wasn't akward. I hadn't been this close to Frank for a very, very long time, he'd changed so much since then. Especially in his face; it wasn't as pudgy as it used to be, it was more refined and his cheek bones were more sculpted. He had slight stubble on his chin and upper lip and he had shaped his eyebrows. "I hate to tell you this, but I'm just gunna have to yank it the fuck out." he said, his eyes darting up to mine. A split second of looking into his, and I averted mine quickly and pulled my hand away, taking only a step back as the kitchen worktop prevented me from going any further.
"No, it'll hurt." I said nervously. He giggled, it was so cute.
"No shit it'll hurt dumbass, but it'll get infected and your hand will swell up and then it'll have to be amputated if I don't pull it out. I'll be gentle, I promise." I glared at him in fear for a second, then it struck me that he wasn't going to try and maim me, that he was actually being sincere in wanting to help. He obviously noted the softening of my face, as he held out his hand, taking a step closer, narrowing the gap between us. "Give me your hand." I squirmed pathetically, not looking forward to the impeeding pain, "Give it to me, please?" he smiled. I lifted my hand and he took it in his, "Thank you." I loved, to an extent, that he was saying please and thank you to me, in a strange way it gave me a sense of satisfaction. He stroked his fingers over my hand and took a deep breath, "Ready?"
"No.."
"Good." he grinned. And with that he, as gently as possible, pulled it swiftly from my hand, and it didn't really hurt at all, it just stang, a lot. I gasped in slight agony and chewed my lip in discomfort as he wrapped a bandage around my hand. "Better?"
"Yeah.. thanks.." I said just above a whisper. He was so close, and I was now feeling that horrible nervousness that made my mouth dry and my head buzz.
"I'm sorry I broke in." he smiled.
"I'm sorry I slapped you."
"Yeah, that did kind of hurt a bit." he said touching his cheek, which, really did look bruised.
"Well it's not as it you didn't deserve it you jerk." I said turning around and turning the kettle on, to make another cup of tea.
"What are you talking about? I was just trying to help!"
"It's not about just then, it's about yesterday Frank; when you let that bitch Kerry start on us." I shouted, turning back around to Frank.
"I didn't let her start!"
"But you didn't stop her! Look, I know we're not friends, but Gerard! You're his best friend, and you let her say what she did to him without so much as a word in repremand or defense? That's low.. and I get that your not exactly the nicest person in the world, but that really, is.. more low then I'd expect of even you Frank.." I said with obvious sadness, and disapointment in my voice.