Brick by Boring Brick

What’s the best fucking way to forget about pain and memories? Drinking. And that’s exactly what I did, after I left that school, right after my outburst; I couldn’t care less if I’d skip a whole day of classes or not, I couldn’t deal with all of that. And I was pretty sure my parents wouldn’t care, either, so, I was out of trouble; there was only thing I had to do, and that was not, by any means, related to school.

After I walked for quite some miles, I finally arrived; I watched the black metal gates as I took a deep breath, dreading the path I was about to take. I slowly make my way inside, my heavy feet making a loud noise as it trudged through the grass, drowning attention to me when I didn’t want to; I could feel some pairs of eyes on me, but I wasn’t gonna look away, afraid that I could trip over my own feet and fall.

I had one bottle of vodka in my hand, knowing I’d need that to keep me sane when I finally got to my destination, and it was the only thing that kept me from smashing my body onto the floor when I arrived; I looked at the cold stone in front of me, the name that it held there haunting me once again.

Elena Way

Sitting in front of the grave stone of my grandma, tears pecked at my eyes again, hurting them a little bit, but still making it possible for me to see; I could still watch the lid of the bottle fall onto the ground once I opened it, but I didn’t bother to grab it. Instead, I took a sip of that poisoning drink that brought me alive, tasting it like it was the last time I’d do it; maybe it would be, I don’t know.

I looked at the tombstone once again, inhaling deeply so I could gather the right words to speak; my grandma deserved the best words I knew, but she also deserved all my humbleness and honesty.

“Hi, Grandma” I said, a sad tone filling my voice; I took another sip of the vodka, not drinking too much so I would have for my whole ‘session’ at my Grandma’s grave. “I know you never liked it when I drank, nana, but you also know it’s the only thing that keeps me safe, now” I continued, closing my eyes so I could feel her presence right beside me; the slow warm breeze that flew by me was just like my Grandma’s caress every time I went to her, complaining about my problems. “Frankie is dying” I stated, yet more tears falling from my face as I said so. “He’s got cancer, Grannie.”

From that point on, I told my Grandma all about Frankie’s cancer, and how we had had some fun rolling down the hill together, just two days before, and how he kept pushing me to be closer to real Frank; remembering I hadn’t told her everything about real Frank, I started rambling about how mean he is to me, but how my lovely dream boy doesn’t seem to mind.

To be honest, I was rather enthusiastic when I was talking to my Grandma, my emotions taking the best of me as I did so, and I kinda forgot to drink my vodka; I’d take a sip once in a while, but, when I had finished the loner conversation that I had every week on that same spot, half of the vodka was still in the bottle. I looked around, and a few persons were looking at me disapprovingly, but I was already tipsy enough to simply ignore them; I told my Grandma a few last words, and then I got out of the cemetery, the bottle of half-drank vodka still in my hand.

I started walking towards my house, knowing it wouldn’t exactly be a home, but still helplessly hoping my parents would take notice of me; thinking about them made me want to drink a little more, so I could forget about the whole thing that they never cared about me. As I took the bottle to my mouth, a sudden strong wind flew by and I, with my lazy hands, let the bottle fall to the ground, its contents spilling all over my shoes and on the dirty floor of the street; such a waste!

“Who gives a fuck?” I ended up whispering to myself, not really caring about the broken bottle anymore; I just kept on walking, wanting to go to my comfortable sleep at my uncomfortable bed, so I could dream of my beautiful dream boyfriend… if he was still alive.

As I thought of the possibility that my Frankie could be dying any minute, I rushed through the lonely road I was walking, knowing that I was fairly close to my house, but not close enough to my baby-boy; I started tumbling the road, tipsy and already tired, not caring for the people that passed through me… Well, in fact, I was only able to see one person pass through me, and I didn’t even care about him, although he was crying; real Frank ran by me as I made my way home, tears falling from his eyes as he continued on his fast pace, looking like he was running away from something.

As I arrived the highway of my so-called house, I saw my little brother standing in the door frame, looking puzzled at me; I smiled a drunk smile at him, and he only looked more confused.

“What’s up, Mikey-dikey?” I asked, the alcohol getting the best of my senses as I walked past him directly to the staircase that led to my room; he followed me like a little puppy, and I didn’t know if he was doing it because he didn’t want me to fall down the stairs, or if he had something to say to me.

“Gee, we need to talk” he said, as we were descending the staircase, him holding onto my shirt so I wouldn’t fall; I questioned myself why he seemed so serious when I was having the most funny joke inside myself, but I didn’t find an answer, so, I decided I should lighten the mood a bit.

“Mikey, you know what’s better at holding something to a wall than a dig?” I asked him, smiling already as I thought of the answer; I had already got to the last floor of the house we lived in, so, I turned around to look at him, and saw him biting his lip in curiosity.

“Hum… super-glue?” He asked, one eyebrow rising as he thought about the question I had just asked him; he seemed to have forgotten about the previous topic on our ‘conversation’, which pleased me.

“Nope; two digs!” I said, cracking myself at that joke; Mikey didn’t seem so amused, though, but I couldn’t stop laughing as I thought over and over again about that little joke.

“Yeah, very funny Gerard” he said, pretending to be laughing a bit so I wouldn’t feel very bad; he looked over at me, the little faked smile he had on his face disappearing right away. “You’re too drunk for this talk, now, but as soon as you wake up, no matter how bad your head might hurt, you’ll fucking listening to me.”

I ignored my brother as I tumbled to my bed; I briefly noticed my sketch book opened on top of my desk, but I didn’t care. I was so sleepy I could just fall asleep in the middle of my room, if I didn’t reach my bed in time. Luckily, though, I fell on top of it right before I fell asleep.

I was, once again, on top of the hill Frankie liked to roll down; this time, I wasn’t alone, like my last dream, which pleased me. Frankie was right beside me, smiling weakly at me.

I could see that he was becoming weaker as the days went by, and I could even see that he was trying very hard to hide the pain that was consuming him as he was standing there, and I didn’t like that; I’d prefer if he was asleep on my arms than standing there, looking tired and dying.

“Hi, baby” he said, smiling a little bit wider at me; I didn’t return the smile, though, and it instantly made his smile fade. “What’s up, honey?” He asked, his eyes showing his confusion towards my serious face.

“Come here, Frankie” I asked, sitting down on the flat part of the top of the hill; he instantly sat down next to me, his eyes searching my face for any signs of madness, or anything. “I’m not mad at you, love; I just think you look too tired to be standing up” I clarified him, which made him shot me a little smile, and then snuggle against me as I lied on my back, looking at the sky.

“So, how are things going with Frank, Gee?” He asked, surprising me as he approached that subject so… lightly. Didn’t he know real Frank treated me like crap?

“Frankie, he treats me like I’m just scum; it’s like I’ve hurt him, or something! I don’t even know what I did to him so he would hate me” I told him, looking at his beautiful eyes; I couldn’t help but wonder how many colors they held inside as I scrutinized the beauty in them.

“It’s not your fault, Gee” Frankie replied, a grimace placing on his features as he told me so. “He’s being influenced by another guy to get away from you” he continued, as I widened my eyes at him, surprised.

“What? How do you even know that?” I asked, confused as to how my Frankie knew so much about real Frankie; had they ever met?

“I… I used to date that guy.” He replied, and I went into a state of shock that impeded me from responding to that. “Long before we met, Gee-bear… One day, though, we broke up because he couldn’t wait for me to be ready for him, and that was it. We both moved on, but I know that he’s the one clouding Frank’s mind to think you’re a horrible monster.”

The information took some time to sink in, but it eventually did; I was pop-eyed, to say the least. Everything that Frankie had just told me was slowly starting to make sense, inside of my head; the way he seemed to help me in a second, and then go totally cold towards my tears… but there was one little thing that was bothering me more than that, though, and it had nothing to do with real Frank.

“Who’s the guy?” I asked, looking directly in my Frankie’s eyes; he looked away from me, though, which made me suspicious. “Who’s the guy, Frankie?” I asked once again, this time a little more demanding; he looked back at me, biting his lower lip as he did so, and then shaking his head. “Why won’t you tell me, baby?” I asked, softer; he stopped biting his lip, and I took that as a sign that he was going to answer me, but I was wrong.

“It’s not important, Gee” he said, and I semi-closed my eyelids at him, my suspicions coming back up again; was it someone I knew? Mikey, perhaps?

“Is it Mikey?” I asked, afraid of his answer; maybe that was why he wanted to talk to me when I woke up…

“No! Christ, no!” Frankie laughed, lightening the atmosphere a little bit; I still wanted to know who the guy was, though.

“Then, who is him?” I insisted, this time earning as a response a sweet kiss on the lips; I could taste Frankie’s lips were chapped, but I didn’t give it much attention, or I would start crying.

He was getting worse, and there was nothing I could do to help him get better.