These Words Are My Heart and Soul

For some strange reason, I woke up on the armchair in front of the TV, which was still on. MTV was playing, and some stupidly urban song was thumping through my non-alcohol related headache. I groaned and sat up, sighing satisfied as my back clicked.

“You always looked so cute when you were asleep.”

My blood ran cold and my head whipped round as a familiar voice whispered to me. All I could see in the dark of the room were his eyes, glowing in the light of the TV. They were a convincing warm hazel, and were just so pretty.

I fiddled with my fingers and looked at the floor nervously. Opening my mouth to say something, I realized my mind was blank. I didn’t know what to say to him.

“Babe…” he whispered, coming over and kneeling in front of me.

“You don’t get to call me that.”

There was no other way to reply. I’d always hated being called that by him. Frank did it sometimes, but I never let him see what it did to me inside. And he called me honey or sweetie most of the time anyway, and his kisses made up for anything he did that still hurt.

At this loss of words, I stood up in an attempt to walk away. But he got up with me, attempting to pull me into a hug. With a sudden preempt surge of energy, I shoved him away and walked off, jamming my hands in my pockets, bobbing my head slightly to the Nirvana song that had just come on MTV.

“Rynnie…”

I stopped.

My mom had called me that, and back when he was nice, Gerard had started calling me it. It had always made me happy, knowing that someone cared enough to have a private nickname.

I broke down, collapsing on my kneecaps and crying loudly. Cariad had gone to her foster-parents to say happy thanksgiving and to try escape the “eerie feeling I can’t shake from this house”, and Frank was visiting his own parents.

Gerard came over and wrapped an arm round my shoulders, asking what was wrong and making little circles on my back to try calm me down. I flopped forward and stopped sobbing, just letting the tears flow down my scrunched up cheeks and onto my arms.

“Mommy used to call me that… and it still hurts…”

“How? Where is your mom, I haven’t seen her lately.”

I screwed my face up harder and sobbed a little, trying not to cry; crying only ever made things worse.

“She’s… she’s… not with us, anymore… she killed herself, a few years ago…”

He gasped and I sat up, looking at him. His face melted into beautiful sympathy and he hugged me. I sobbed loudly into his shoulder, totally forgetting who he was, what he’d done and why I hated him.

“Don’t cry, I’m here now, I’ll always be here…”

I nodded into his shoulder as he brushed my hair round my shoulder and stroked it. He made me feel so loved and so incredibly special. I didn’t even mind when he pecked the top of my head chastely and so nervously.

And all of a sudden, just in that moment of solace, I didn’t know what pain was.

***
“Take it off…”

“O-Okay…”

I did what he said removed my shirt. He smiled and kissed at my neck, twirling his fingers in my hair. I admit, I felt a bit scared, like he was taking a backwards step, back to what he used to be; but he just kissed my cheek, smiled at me and took my hand in his as he drew with his other.

This made me smile. He took off his own shirt. Well, it was warm in his room. Gerard’s pale thin arm wrapped round my waist and pulled me close to him. I grinned happily as he kissed the side of my head.

“I love you, babe.”

“I love you too.”

His hand slipped into the back of my jeans slightly, and my smile faltered, but he just smiled warmly at me. I grinned nervously back, and watched him draw. He was drawing us together; I know because he’d drawn our faces first.

But the drawing grew out and we were naked, our faces morphed into bliss and pleasure. Our dignity was hidden by the end of the page, and my innocence spared barely by the way my arm was. His fingers, on the paper, were running through my red hair, softly, as his caricature thumb caressed my blushing cheek.

My breath was stricken by the amazing resemblance, but I felt slightly exposed by the drawing. It was good and everything, and showed the purity and beauty he seemed to see in me and our relationship, but that’s not how I felt about his activities.

He titled it.

‘Our Chemical Romance.’
***