Nicotine Laced Confessions

"This is what I am."<

This is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. So instead of doing it, I've been pacing and chain-smoking. But eventually I run out of cigarettes. So I take one of the anti-anxiety pills some nameless producer slipped me under the table. I need to calm my nerves as much as possible.

The phone rings and I answer it. "'Llo?"

"Hey, Mikey." It's Gerard. "I got your messages. What's up?"

"I . . . I need to talk to you. Can you come over?" I'm breathing a little too quickly.

"Mikey," Gerard says as if I'm four, "go get your inhaler."

I roll my eyes, but I grab it off my dresser. Two puffs. "So . . . you coming over?"

"Yeah. Give me fifteen, okay? Shit, the microwave's smoking. Better make that twenty. Bye, Mikey."

"Bye."

Okay. He's coming over. Can't chicken out now. And I don't have anymore cigarettes. So I dig a bag of Hershey's Kisses out of the freezer.

I'm flipping through all the channels on my TV for the third time when Gerard appears in the living room. "You really should lock your door."

"I know, I know." I look at him. "Can I bum a smoke?"

He pulls a cigarette box from his jacket pocket. I don't think I'll be as nervous if I have something to hold onto.

"So," he says after he lights both our cigarettes, "what's going on?" He grabs an ashtray off the entertainment center and sits down next to me after brushing all the candy wrappers onto the floor. "Four messages in half an hour. Where's the fire?"

I laugh nervously, taking a drag off the cigarette. "I . . . I've been kind of seeing a therapist for a couple months now."

Gerard grabs my arm. "You're not cutting are you?" He's all concerned.

"No. Nothing like that." I smile. "Really, Gee. It's not drugs or suicide or anything. But . . . I had some issues. Self-acceptance, I guess."

He nods, still concerned as he presses the cigarette to his lips. "You know you can always talk to me, right?"

"Why do you think I called you? Dr. Krantz thinks . . . she thinks I should tell someone about . . . well, it's not a problem exactly." I sound like I'm five fucking years old.

"Is it that hard?" Gerard asks softly.

"Gee . . . I'm . . . I'm gay." I whisper.

He laughs. Flat out laughs. he slings his arm around my shoulders and squeezes me. "Is that all? God, you had me thinking it was something bad."

"It is bad." I mumble. How could he laugh? How could he say that? "I mean, I kind of always knew, I just kept hoping it would go away if I ignored it. But it didn't, so I stood in front of the mirror and said it. Then I didn't eat for a week."

Gerard's eyes go wide. "That was in June, wasn't it? When you looked really sick and you wouldn't leave the house?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"Mikey, there's nothing wrong with being gay. I don't care if you're gay or straight or if you want to wear a dress. You've got nothing to be ashamed of."

"Really?"

"C'mon, Mikey. You're my little brother. How could you think I'd care?"

"I . . . I didn't think you'd hate me or anything. You're the first person I told besides my shrink, though."

He hugs me. "Well, I think it's great that you can say it. And if anyone says anything to you, just let me know and I'll kill them, okay?"

I laugh. "I love you, Gee."

"Awww. Sorry, Mikey. I'm straight and I'm your brother." he teased. "You dating anyone?" he asks after we break the hug.

"Nope. Single."

"Crushing on anyone?"

"Well, now that you mention it . . . Nope. Not really. Random guy here, random guy there. The occasional one night stand."

He kind of shrugs.

"Gee?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I have another cigarette?"

You are in my blood . . . we can't go anywhere except together.