You Taught Me Love

The next day (Saturday for those like me with a short memory)

Gerard's P.O.V.

I had to call Krystelle this morning to let her know I wouldn't be able to make it to her wedding on Monday, 'cause I had a funeral to attend to. It sucked. She was disappointed, and so was I. After all, I had helped her choose her dress (a very fine dress, might I add: a strapless ivory gown, beaded with pearls at the waist where the corset ended, laced with pink silk) and couldn't help wanting badly to see her wear it on her big day.

But that wasn't the first thing on my mind today. That place was occupied by Frank, and all the small things he did for me, simply to cheer me up.
For starters, I had woken up to my favorite breakfast, in bed, with delicious coffee and an even more delicious kiss. Then, we had shared a shower and a towel before getting in some of my clean clothes, and I had found flowers waiting for me on the kitchen table. He had stayed by my side the whole day, never complaining about my blue mood, and helping with things that needed to be done around the place. He even put some music to lighten up the day, swinging his hips to the beat in ways that made me laugh, smile or pull his body against mine. Later he found a recipe in my old books and got the right ingredients for us to cook a nice supper together, and we had fun when we did. He didn't say anything about Steve, except for the fact that, if I wanted him to, he would come with me to his funeral, no problem, and that yeah, he really meant it, he wouldn't mind and knew I needed the support.
He had made my day bearable.

* * * * * * *

Monday (No school – there was a holiday or something... whatever – )

Funeral

Steve was a shitty person. But even shitty people don't deserve the kind of funeral he had.
The only people there were a priest, his dumb-ass uncle and the bimbo hanging off him, Mikey, Frank and I. No one wanted to be there, it was obvious, and everyone felt bad for wishing they were somewhere else.
I was the only one who regretted his death, and the only one who shed any tears for him.

“Oh look, Betty,” I heard the uncle – his name was Thomas, but Steve had only every called him Uncle – say to his girlfriend, pointing at me less than subtly. “It's the guy he used to bring everywhere with him. Yeah, yeah, the one he beat up. Let's go talk to him.”

I tried to turn away and hide, but it was useless of course. There was no one to hide behind, no crowd to mix in with. Uncle and Betty walked over to where I was sitting, holding onto my boyfriend's arm, and they etched fake smiles that made my stomach turn in my insides.

“You're Gerard, aren't you?” he asked me, holding out a hand I didn't shake.

“I'm pretty sure I am.”
The hand he had offered me was now being shoved awkwardly in his suit pocket.

“I'm Thomas, Steve's uncle.”

“I know, I met you before. You hated Steve.”

“Well, didn't you?”
I didn't answer.

“Anyway, I see you've moved on,” he said in his annoying voice as he nodded toward Frank. “Good for you. I bet you like being on top for once.” Betty gave him a dirty look, but it didn't stop him.

“I see you've never told your fiance about your affair with another man. Bet you like being on top for once.”
He blushed in panic and his mouth opened and closed for a couple of seconds, before denying everything to his now angry-looking bride-to-be.
That's the thing with Steve. When you're around Steve, you know things. Sometimes you would rather not know the things he tells, but you know nonetheless.
Uncle and his future ex-girlfriend left shortly after, ridding the place of their unnecessary presence, their perfectly combed hair, their pungent perfume and their gnarly ways.

The dull-looking priest, who had finished reciting his speech and the words of the Bible long before my unwanted conversation with Uncle, was noticeably getting impatient for us to leave, as his sighs redoubled in volume.
I thanked my brother for coming and told him that he could go, get in his car and drive away to where he was needed, and asked Frank to wait for me in the BMW, promising I wouldn't be long.

I walked to the open coffin and took one last look at the man laying motionlessly on the white padding. It didn't feel like Steve.
They had put a gray suit on him, clothing that didn't fit him at all and made him look like a stranger to me. He was a jeans-and-t-shirt guy, he would never have worn this ugly striped jacket. His hair was pulled back with a thin coat of gel, that glistened in the neon lights of the parlor. That wasn't like him either.

I thought about what I had to tell him. There was much I could say, but so little that needed to be said, so little that I wanted to say.

“I don't love you,” I told him in my mind, or maybe I whispered it, I'm not sure anymore. “I won't miss you.”
Whether my next action was stupid, wanted or spontaneous is debatable.
However, a loud sound rose in my throat, and a stream of saliva was sent flying with the speed of spit toward the cold body, where I saw it land on Steve's round cheek. It soon started streaming down his golden skin, and I wiped it off with my index thoughtlessly, shivering when I felt just how dead he was.

“But I hope you're happy, wherever you are, and I pray you finally get some rest. Goodbye... Steve.”
I leaned in, and kissed his forehead, with the lightness one uses when one is kissing a corpse.
I got out the picture from my vest and placed it neatly by his side, face up. It was the only memory I wanted him to hang onto.
The last tear I would ever cry for Steve rolled down my face then, and it was gone as quickly as the spit from his cheek.
I didn't look back as I past the priest in silence, nor when I pushed the doors and made my way to the car.

When Frank asked me if I was okay, on the ride home, I answered him honestly. “I don't know.”