Heavy

I had hid my sick addiction from Gerard and Elsa for a three whole weeks. During those weeks, I had spent a lot of time with Gerard, when he wasn't working, and doing my school work. Things had been going smoothly, despite the fact that I had still found the need to scar my skin.

I hadn't come up with a real reason as to why, only that I really liked it. It had been my own sense of relief.
Some people had a smoke and I had cut myself.

It had been getting so routine, too. I would even find myself doing it in Gerard's bathroom. At times I had wished he would come in and catch me and yell at me. I didn't have the guts then to let my secret be known. It was because I never wanted to disappoint Gerard.

I still hadn't told him I loved him. I was a coward. I was afraid of the rejection and repulsion.

I was a sick little being who didn't deserve him. All he had been was amazing to me and how do I repay him? By keeping secrets and mutilating myself.

At times he would kiss me and we'd be so deep in the quiet comfortable atmosphere that I had actually had the nerve to tell him. But just as I opened my mouth I would chicken out. I wished then that he could read my mind.

I didn't even have to wait long, though, for him to catch me. It happened in November; Elsa had gone to church and my parents were somewhere on the map. I left Gerard in the living room while I had gone up to my room to put socks on. It was an obvious lie, but he believed it. At least, I thought he did.

I had sat myself on the edge of my bathtub and got out my trusty razor. I had poked it a few times to knick myself; it only took a few tries. Then, I placed that sharp, slick, silver razor to a fresh slab of skin; my thigh. I had pulled my sweats down and was revealed in just my underwear. I put the razor to my thigh; the pale skin nearly glowed under the judgmental lighting.

I was just about to slice away when the door opened. I hadn't even heard him. I was so deep in my sick perversion.

"October, what the fuck are you doing?" Gerard asks as he rushed towards me.

He takes the razor and throws it near my sink. I look at him with a slack jaw unable to come up with an excuse. He looks at my thigh; all I have is a tiny cut. He took my forearms and forced me to look at him. His features were that of a frightened man; Gerard was frightened.

"October?" He shakes me a bit to knock me from my disbelieved trance.

"What?" I ask in a confused manner.

"Why we're you cutting your thigh? We promised not to do that anymore."

I look at him and open my mouth, "I love it." I tell him.

"You love it? Love what? Cutting yourself?"

I shake my head, "It feels good, Gee. I can't help it. I love watching my blood rush to the surface." I tell him the truth; my sick obsession is now revealed.

Gerard gripped my arms tighter, "I don't care if it feels good, you can hurt yourself! What the fuck am I suppose to do if you're gone?"

I'm confused, "What do you mean if I'm gone?" I ask curiously.

"If you accidentally pressed to hard and the blood came too fast, like before? You'll probably die and I'll be all fucking alone."

I look down, feeling truly ashamed of myself. I then looked up at him, "I'm sorry..." I mean it, "I really am. I'm sorry."

Gerard let me go, "Don't do it anymore, please?"

"I won't, Gee, I promise." 

He stuck his pinkie out, prompting me to smile at him. I wrapped my little finger around his; I immediately abandon any thought of harming myself. Gerard let my finger go with a soft sigh; "I got to clean you up."

"I can do it myself." I say in a soft tone, "You shouldn't have to clean me up all the time."

"But I want to." He gave me a small smile.

"Why?" I ponder the thought; why had he wanted to help me all the time?

"Because," he stood and went to get a tissue and band aids, "No one ever cleaned up my messes. I always wished someone would."

I watch him kneel before me and clean the tiny bit of blood from my thigh and bandage it up; "I'll clean you up."

He looked at me, smiling again, "Hopefully you'll never have to."

He kissed my bandaged thigh, then he kissed my lips. My whole body tingled, I had wanted more of him. I always want more of him.

"Gerard," I touch his hand that was pulling up my sweats, "I have to say something."

I had wanted to tell him that I love him. I had needed to. He had to know that I felt these big, weird an funny emotions for him.

"Yeah, October?" His eyes met mine and I swear, I felt our connection grow. I could tell him this with no problem.

"I...um...I love you." I say it in a slow, shy tone of voice.

Gerard smiles at me, I'm too afraid to look anywhere but his eyes.

"I love you, too." He leant forward and pressed his lips to mine again, "I was afraid you wouldn't ever feel that way about me."

"I do...a lot. I was scared to tell you. I thought that same thing."

He shook his head, "No, October, I've been in love with you for a while now...I think when I first met you."

I blush for some reason. I want to ask why. What was so special about me? But I don't. I don't want to know and I really don't care.

He loves me and that's all I could ever care about.

"You don't think we're getting ahead of ourselves?" I ask, though, to get his idea.

He shakes his head, "Not at all. People fall in love all the time, some for the right reason and some for the wrong. I think we fit in the right, because we're both...messed up."

"I agree immensely." I tell him with a small sigh of relief, "Carol thinks I'm just substituting my love for my parents with you."

"Are you?" He teases.

"No," I slug his shoulder playfully, "I...I really do love you. I think about you all day and I get fluttery butterflies in my stomach...and you're the only one I can talk to." i bit at my lip, hoping I didn't say to much.

"Whoa, you just took the words from my mouth. I feel all that, too."

"Then, we're both good, right?"

He nods, "Yep."

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and I take in account how lucky I am to have him. I bit at my lip again, looking into his eyes; I see nothing but love and admiration.

"I'm a very lucky girl." I say softly.

"And I'm a lucky idiot." He breathed out a short laugh.

"You aren't an idiot." I kissed him quickly, "You're possibly the smartest guy I've ever met."

He smiles widely again, "You're just saying that because you love me." 

I roll my eyes, "I mean it."

"I know," He stood, "I was just joking, babe."

I always get butterflies when he calls me babe. It was the first time he had called me that. I had then become addicted to pet names.

I stood too, "Let's go watch a movie."

"Sounds like a plan. But," He took my hand, "We need to talk about what you did here."

I frowned, "Didn't we do that already?"

He shook his head, "I just don't understand how you can love it."

"It releases pain, you know that."

"Yeah, but you've been feelin' hurt lately?" He gave me a concerned look, he had wanted to hear nothing but the truth.

I shrug, "It's old feelings...I know it's disgusting of me, but I couldn't help it." 

Gerard then wrapped his arms around me, I place my head against his chest, "Remember you pinkie promised me not to do it anymore."

"I plan to keep my promise." I tell him.

He kissed the side of my head, "Thank you."

"Now," I looked up at him, "Let's go watch that movie."

I had pulled Gerard out of my bathroom, out of my room and down the stairs. We had settled in my living room, getting ready to watch Dawn of the Dead. I had leaned my head on his shoulder while he wrapped his arm around my waist.

Once the tape was in and the movie started, I felt Gerard move his hand underneath my shirt. I had squeaked, causing him to look at me, and I at him. We didn't speak, it was like he had read my mind, I wanted him to continue. 

My breathing had become hallow due to nervousness. His hand ran up and down my side, beneath my shirt. He had occasionally touched the material of my hypo-something bra. My skin had eventually rose with goosebumps and my mind wondered to dirty thoughts. I remember I had wanted him to touch me further south.

That's when I sat up a bit and boldly took his hand, removed it from my waist and placed it on my lap. His hand had cupped my thigh over my sweats and squeezed. He had rubbed it up and down, inching closer up my inner thigh. 

I look up at him, with my mouth open just slightly, and my breathing heavy. Slowly, his hand touched my middle, beneath my sweats. I tugged at my lip and kept my eyes, his eyes met mine, too.

I had wanted to tell him I wanted him, but then, the front door creaked open.