Life, Interrupted

“Oh, God, Roxy,” he murmured against my hair.

I agreed. We were doomed, broken, and hurting, but for now, at least, we were no longer alone.

(Roxanne’s POV)

I sighed wearily. I was about to pull away from his warm embrace when he spoke.

“Did you want to know why?” His voice was soft and fragile, like it might shatter if one responded too harshly.

“Only if you want me to,” I said; I did want to know, but it was obviously something very personal. None of this—whatever “this” was—would end well if we were forced into sharing things we weren’t comfortable with.

He seemed to think hard for a while. I was about to let it go when he told me, “Yeah; I think I do.”

I was patient, knowing he’d continue in his own time. His hand stroked my back while he mentally prepared himself.

“Okay. Lemme see, here. . . well, I guess most of my ‘problems’—” he said the words in such a way that I knew they weren’t his own—“first really started in high school. I—”

“Wait, how old are you?” I asked, pulling back a little. He actually laughed a little at that; it was a tired laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

“Don’t worry, I’m not some creeper. Creepy, maybe, but not a creeper,” he assured me.

I laughed a little in response.

“And I’m twenty-two. I go to art school,” he informed me. “So anyway, like I said, I was always sort of ‘weird,’ never as happy or carefree as the other kids, I guess.” He seemed bitter about this somehow. “But the major issues started in high school. I had depression—I still do—and. . . Life sucked.

“People hated on me ‘cause I dressed different, and didn’t wear football jerseys or want to date the head cheerleader. Or anyone, for that matter.” He grimaced. “Well, there was someone.” He trailed off; I could imagine his gaze drifting off, losing focus.

Yeah, I knew he was too good to be single. “Yeah?” I prompted.

He sighed again, and finally released me, leading me back over to the couch by the hand. He sat, and pulled me down next to him.

“There was one girl. I really liked her. We were actually friends, we hung out all the time,” he admitted. His tone was wistful. “One day, though, she got a boyfriend, of course. Now before you jump to conclusions,” he cautioned me. Well, the story was somewhat predictable, so far. He continued, “It didn’t end badly because she got a boyfriend. It was because she got him as a boyfriend.” Gerard’s hazel eyes were staring, or more like burning a hole in, some distant, unfortunate object somewhere behind my left shoulder. “Motherfucker was fucking quarterback of the football team; or asshole of the century.

“He was treating her bad, and, to me, it was obvious. Fuck, it was probably obvious to everyone; I must have just been the only one who cared.”

Shit. I had a feeling I knew where this was going.

“He. . .” he paused, swallowing and taking a deep breath. “He used to hit her. . . If she looked at guy, he’d punch her. If she didn’t kiss back when he practically fucking molested her in front of his friends, he’d laugh, and then when they were alone he’d yell at her, and kick her and beat her. God. . .” he had to stop for a moment as he sniffed.

I realized that, once again, my eyes were wet. Was our whole relationship going to be built of tears and sorrow?

“God, I, I think he u-used to r-rape her, too. . .” Gerard was flat-out crying now.

I squeezed his hand, interlacing our fingers. “It’s okay, Gerard. It’s. . .” I’d been going to say, ‘it’s over now,’ but then I realized something. ‘He used to hit her,’ he’d said. Used to.

“Gerard, can you tell me what happened? Do you want to?” I asked him, trying to keep my expression calm and comforting.

“Ugh, Roxy. . . It was all my fault. . . H-he found out that she was f-friends with me. . . and he, he didn’t. . . didn’t like it,” again, tears were streaming down Gerard’s porcelain cheeks.

I couldn’t help but reach out to brush away the glistening drops of moisture, my fingers lingering on his sharp cheekbones and chiseled jaw line. “We can stop if you want, Gee,” I tried to reassure him.

But there was no stopping him now. “H-he must have beat her horribly, s-so I assumed that that was why she wasn’t in school the next day. If I’d known. . .” he had to stop again, looking down as still more tears fell.

“But. . . but I didn’t know. . . So I-I waited till after school to go to her house, y’know, t-to check on her. But. . .”

“Hey, Gee, seriously, we don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” I insisted, my hand moving to his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

“N-no, no, I want to. I need to. I-I’ve never told anyone the whole story b-b’fore,” he sniffled.

“Okay,” I said quietly.

“S-so I got to her house, and I knocked, but she didn’t answer. S-so I just went in, ‘cause we were friends, and I was w-worried about her right? It’s what f-friends do, right?” He looked up at me again, desperate for reassurance.

“Of course Gee, you did the right thing,” I assured him, but I was worried now. What could have shaken him to the point where he doubted that he was being a good friend?

“Okay. . . Thanks, Roxy. . . Anyway, s-so I went in the house, and I was walking around, callin’ her name, but she wasn’t answering me. At first I thought she just wasn’t home, b-but I wanted to make sure first, y’know? So I looked all the rooms, in her bedroom, and then I saw that the bathroom door was closed.” His stuttered speech broke off suddenly, as he shuddered uncontrollably.

“Hey, Gee, shh, it’s okay,” I said frantically, wrapping my arms around him again, hoping to provide some sort of comfort.

“A-and sh-she was in there. The first thing I saw was the red stuff. It was so bright,” he murmured, “Everything was so bright, covered in that reddish stuff. At first I didn’t even realize it was b-blood, I thought she must’ve spilled somethin’ in there or something. I didn’t really get it until I saw the razor blades on the counter and the. . . the gashes. . . on her w-wrists.”

I was crying, too, now. How pathetic. I just cry at everything in life, now don’t I? Whatever. Fuck life.

“I. . . I’m so sorry, Gerard,” I muttered against his warm shoulder, my tears soaking into his T-shirt.

“S’okay, Rox. S’not your fault I wasn’t good enough to keep her here,” he informed me.

“Oh, no, Gerard. Don’t you go there.” Now this was one thing I couldn’t have Gerard saying.

“W-what?” he asked, obviously confused. “W-what are you talking about?”

I sighed. “This whole, ‘Oh, I wasn’t good enough’ shit. It’s bullshit, Gerard, you hear me? Bullshit. You are more than enough to keep anyone anywhere. Nothing that she did, or ever happened to her was even remotely your fault. So don’t you ever let me hear you talk like that again.” I didn’t mean to sound so angry with him. I just felt so strongly about this.

“Okay,” he mumbled quietly against my hair. “Sorry.”

I sighed again. “No, don’t apologize. I’m sorry. I had no right to get mad at you like that. You just have to understand, that nothing like that is you fault. You can never blame yourself like that. You promise me?” I challenged.

“O-okay. I’ll t-try, Roxy,” he said, pulling back to give me a pained, watery smile.

“Thanks, Gee,” I whispered, and pulled him back to me, wanting to never have to let go.