Tiptoe Through the True Bits

“Elise.”

His voice sent a shiver up my spine, but I tried not to let it show. Instead, I let out a sigh and turned to face my cousin standing arrogantly in my bedroom doorway. He had his arms folded and a smug grin on his chubby little face that I just wanted to slap right off of him. I could barely bring myself to look at him without hatred fizzling in my stomach, but I raised my eyebrows anyway and allowed myself to meet his gaze. I just knew he had something terrible to say to me.

“My mom wanted me to tell you that you’re not welcome in our house anymore,” he spoke slowly. I watched his poisonous little tongue dance behind his pointy teeth as he articulated each syllable, almost wanting to laugh at this attempt to upset me.

It was almost as if he believed I wanted to be here. Like I was here through choice, just to ruin his perfect life. I’m sure he saw me as a threat to his family, for some reason or another.

My response to him was to raise my eyebrows further and let my top lip curve into a sneer. This infuriated him greatly. Excellent.

“I know you think you’re so good because your parents are dead,” he snarled. “But this is still my house, and I think it’s time you start doing what I say.”

If I was a weaker person, I’d have grabbed him by the throat and held him up against the wall until I saw the blood and the life drain from his face, waiting for him to stop kicking and go limp and lifeless in my hands. But in reality, I was aware that charges would definitely be pressed against me and that would ruin any chance of getting into a good college. Plus, I’m really just not the murderous type.

So instead, I shook my head and forced a faint smile of mild amusement and got to my feet, shoving my phone into the pocket of my hoodie and grabbing my keys. He didn’t move from the doorway, holding out his arm so that I couldn’t pass him.

“What’s the password?” he whispered fiendishly, licking his lips.

I gave him a mild laugh of despair and barged right into him, knocking his arm backwards as he fell to the floor, clutching at the air and screaming for his mother like a fucking toddler. On my way down the stairs, I passed Fran, looking startled as she rushed to his side, giving me an incredulous glare which I just shrugged off with another sickly-sweet smile as I bounded down the last of the stairs and out of the front door.

The thought of spending another second in the house with that monster was unbearable, so I climbed into my car and drove towards the only place where I knew I would be welcome.

The sky that evening was a deep grey and there was an ominous rumble in the air that made me feel quite tense. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been terrified of thunderstorms. Most people are. There is just something so dark and solemn about flashes of light through the sky; millions of volts at a time crashing into the earth, with a crack of noise loud enough to wake the dead.

And yes, I know I am technically an adult and yes, I know that this is a natural process caused by building air pressure, but this knowledge does little to calm me. Really I have little excuse for this juvenile phobia.

In the seventeen minutes it took me to drive from my aunt’s house to Gerard’s house, the sky turned to almost black, and the rain began to pour down in large, dense drops, splashing unceremoniously off the windscreen as my wipers frantically attempted to keep up. The noise of water against the glass was similar to that of gunshots; being a Jersey girl I knew the sound all too well. I bit my lip and involuntarily let a little squeak of emotion bubble out of me and then I focussed just on making it to Gerard’s house.

Jamie’s words were still ringing in my ears. I know you think you’re so good because your parents are dead. How can a thirteen year old be so full of hatred and concentrated evil? Nothing had ever happened in his life to make him a bad person; no abuse, or divorce, or death. He was just fucking spoilt. His parents allowed him to think that he had precedence over every other living thing and he was growing up to be just plain nasty. He was a bully.

He needed to be put in his place.

As I pulled up outside Gerard’s house, the weather was showing no signs of ceasing, and I sat in my car for a while, just staring up at the house as I gathered the energy to make my mad dash from car to porch, through the rain and the thunder and the lightning. The rain was so violent that I could barely make out anything around me, all of it concealed through a layer of haze and distorted by reflections on the water drops. I watched it for a while. It was quite soothing, until I saw a bright flash illuminate the sky, followed all-too-quickly by a loud rumble that shook the car.

I decided that the time was now, so desperately flung open the car door, slammed it to a shut behind me without taking the time to lock it (there was nothing worth stealing anyway) and ran like hell towards Gerard’s front door. Of course, I was soaked to the collarbone almost immediately, and as I rapped on the door I was very aware that I might as well have taken a long stroll in the rain, for I was no better off for rushing. My clothes were sticking to every curve on my body and my hair was dripping from the ends and droplets fell off my eyelashes, reinforcing my decision to avoid makeup for the day.

It was Gerard himself who opened the door to greet me, his expression an equal mixture of confusion and concern upon seeing me. Confusion because it had been only three hours since I had left this house and I had never come by in the evening before, and concern because I was soaked through and shivering, and possibly because I had a panicked expression on my face, deeply and nervously anticipating the next thunderbolt. Quickly though, these expressions were replaced with a smile.

“What did you do, swim here?” he grinned, stepping aside to let me in as I shot him a half-hearted glare and folded my arms in a vain attempt to conceal my frozen nipples through my thin shirt.

I heard a shuffling from the kitchen and the harmonious tones of Mrs Way as she chattered in the direction of her son. “Gerard, who was at the-” She paused upon seeing my sodden, shivering form, and gasped a little. “Goodness me, Elise, you’re soaking!” she exclaimed, rushing over to me and pressing the back of her hand to my forehead. “Are you okay, dear? You’re ever so cold, I’m going to get you in the shower immediately before you catch a fever.”

I thought she was being a tad overdramatic, considering I had been exposed to the rain for all of twelve seconds, but I soon found myself being handed towels and pushed upstairs and into the bathroom, with Gerard under strict instructions to show me how to use the shower.

“So basically,” he grinned, glancing over at my saturated form again, “it’s a little stiff, so you have to be kind of rough with it.” He leant across me, hand gripping the dial for the shower, and I shuddered a little as this movement brought his face extremely close to mine. He remained there for a while, just staring at me intently, freezing me into stillness as I longed for him to reach up and kiss me.

Take me! I wanted to scream. I’m yours!

But, after a second, he cleared his throat and stood up straight again, casting his eyes towards the ground and scratching the back of his head. “Um, I’ll just go get you some dry clothes,” he muttered, turning on his heel and exiting the room, leaving me staring at the spot he had been standing in.

My general thoughts were of confusion and frustration, wanting more than anything just to tell him how I felt and for him to say he felt exactly the same. Obviously, this wasn’t going to happen, so I sighed and sat down on the closed toilet lid, waiting for his return, cursing the position I was in.

A couple of minutes later he came back into the bathroom with a pile of folded clothes for me. “I didn’t know what to give you, so I just got you a T-shirt and some boxers,” he told me, placing the pile on the floor next to my towels. “Is that okay?”

I smiled up and him and nodded, hoping that he couldn’t tell that I was internally freaking out about being hopelessly in love with him. Although, how could he know that? It’s not like I’m an open book or anything.

He flashed me another grin and left the room, this time pulling the door to a shut behind him, and I slowly headed over to pull across the lock, pausing for a long time before peeling my clothes away from my cold, damp skin and twisting the dial on the shower, roughly like I had been told to, relieved to find it splutter immediately into life.

Once under the hot water, I could happily have stayed there forever, enjoying the pulsation and the rhythm of it as it cleansed me. Showers are always so calming to me; just imagining everything being washed away down the drain. Thoughts, feelings, all the crap that we collect during the day, on our skin and in our mind, can simply be rinsed off. Nothing is permanent. Everything can become clean again. I liked this thought very much.

Gerard had given me an Iron Maiden T-shirt to change into that he himself had been wearing last week, and it smelt like summer air and, of course, almonds. It was a little baggy, as were the grey boxers I had been given, but I was grateful just for the consideration and it felt strangely sexual to be in Gerard’s underwear. Perhaps not in the most desirable way, but nonetheless I allowed myself a cheeky grin before opening the bathroom door and heading downstairs with my towels.

“Oh, you look much better, my love,” Donna beamed as I entered the kitchen, taking my towels and my wet clothes from me. “I’ll get these washed for you. Gerard’s down in his room.”

I gave her a warm smile and surprised myself with an overwhelming desire to hug her, which I succumbed to. This woman was kind and warm, accepting me with open arms into her house and her family and her life. I figured the least I could do was to let her know that everything was appreciated.

She seemed a little taken aback but soon softened, stroking my head with her warm hand. “You’re a lovely girl, Elise,” she breathed, grinning widely at me as we parted. I think she knew exactly what I meant: thank you.

I gave her another coy smile, a little embarrassed at my sudden and uncharacteristic embrace, and shuffled off towards Gerard’s bedroom, heart thumping wildly in my chest as I anticipated his reaction to my appearance in his clothes.

Somewhere deep down, I always thought Gerard secretly felt the same about me as I did about him. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking, but every now and then I would notice him sneak a glance at me as we played video games, or something, and there was somewhat of a wistful expression on his face. And sometimes he would give me this smile that I had never seen anybody else use before, and it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

For a short while as I descended the stairs, I don’t think he noticed my presence. He was huddled over his desk, with his back to me, and seemed to be drawing. I cleared my throat nervously and he spun around, cheeks flushed.

“You scared the shit out me,” he sighed, putting down his pencil. “Always sneaking around, you are.”

I rolled my eyes a little and bounced gingerly down the last couple of stairs, making my way over to his bed.

Over the past couple of days, the temperature had fallen from Indian summer to Jersey autumn, and I felt a little exposed and chilly in my threadbare clothes, so I toyed with the idea of snuggling under the covers. The connotations of this were a little alarming, but I decided that I was just too cold for airs and graces, so delicately lifted Gerard’s duvet and slotted myself inside, almost gasping at the comfort of his bed as I pulled the covers around my face, head poking out like a baby wrapped in linen.

“Comfortable?” he chuckled, and I felt a weight at the end of the bed, indicating that he had come to sit with me.

I nodded ferociously, awash with contentedness and comfort and exhaustion. I was sure that if I had closed my eyes, I would be asleep in seconds.

“Well, I am so glad,” he replied, and I felt the weight shift until he was behind me, and I turned around to face him. His hazel eyes were level with mine and I felt a dipping sensation in my stomach like when you’re on a rollercoaster, about to descend the highest peak, and I couldn’t bring myself to look away.

These moments were becoming increasingly frequent in our daily lives, and I’m not sure why. But whenever Gerard’s eyes met mine, I found it absolutely impossible to look away, and we ended up just staring at each other for extended periods of time, in a way which made my stomach knot and my toes curl, both with discomfort and desire. This was the other reason that I had my suspicions that perhaps Gerard considered me more than just a friend.

Nothing had ever become of this before.

But this time, it felt different. It felt like anything was possible.

Suddenly, the room was lit up for a fraction of a second and I found myself jumping closer towards Gerard, clutching desperately at the folds of his shirt as I instinctively buried my head in his chest, waiting four, five, six seconds for the thunder to crash around us, closing my eyes as I breathed him in, almost possessed. I needed so badly for somebody to comfort me. He was all I had now.

After the rumbling had ceased, I didn’t move from my position against him for several seconds, and he knew it. He stroked my hair therapeutically and I felt him sigh, sending a shiver down my spine.

“You’re afraid of the thunder?” he asked softly, and I found myself slowly nodding against him before composing myself and pulling away, slightly embarrassed at my outburst of emotion. The look on his face told me that he didn’t mind. He was giving me a small smile, but I got the feeling that he was deep in thought.

The silence that passed after that was only slightly awkward, because I think we both felt the tension that was rising between us. I can’t describe it any better than through use of metaphor. It was as if during the past week, cool air from him had been mingling slowly with hot air from me, and pretty soon I was sure that the pressure was going to rise to a level at which the thunderstorm would begin, with a quick flash in the air and a low crash around us. This storm would be the moment that our inhibitions and sense would give way to the tension that had been building since the first time I laid eyes on Gerard Way.

But I was not afraid of this storm. I was highly anticipating it.

“You’re so beautiful,” Gerard finally whispered, raising a hand to touch my cheek.

I closed my eyes and felt shockwaves spread all over my body at the feeling of his skin on mine, and my breathing became very shallow and quick. When I opened my eyes again, he was still looking at me, and his hand was still on my face.

Slowly, in the culmination of all of the feelings I had ever felt towards Gerard, I saw his face looming closer to mine, and I closed my eyes again, and then I felt soft lips on mine, barely even kissing me; just grazing our mouths together and then pulling away. My skin was tingling and blood was rushing to parts of me that I was never even aware of before, and I could hear my own breathing ringing in my ears.

All too soon, he was pulling away from me, and I had to open my eyes. “Fuck,” he muttered, casting his own gaze downwards. “I’m really sorry, El, I just-”

I cut through his words with a bold an ostentatious move, completely covering his lips with mine, my hands running through his soft, dark hair as he eventually retaliated. In the back of my mind I was vaguely aware of another flash of lightning and a low roar from outside, but I was so absorbed in Gerard Way that I barely even acknowledged it, and I certainly wasn’t scared of it anymore. It was difficult to think of anything else other than the way Gerard’s hands were running up and down my back, and how soft his hair was as I ran my fingers through it, and the way his tongue expertly snaked into my mouth, caressing my own in a way which made my very being ache with longing for him.

I can think of a million metaphors to describe how Gerard felt to me at that moment. He was the Jack Skellington to my Sally Stitches. The Ross to my Rachel. The Jerry Macguire to my Dorothy Boyd.

You complete me.

It was over far too quickly, and Gerard was resting his forehead on mine and grinning up at me mischievously. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while now,” he told me in a low voice, his hand searching underneath the covers for mine, briefly grazing against the bare skin of my thigh underneath the boxer shorts I was wearing.

I bit my lip and flushed hot red, nodding a little in a way which I hoped came across as me too.