Purging Nightmare

Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

It hurt. It hurt so badly. My fingers were trembling as I clawed at it, clawed at him as he defiled my body. Pain erupted from every corner of my skin, leaving me breathless. The dull ache echoed in my brain and my heart broke. Nails, teeth, the curling of toes and fingers. Metal dug into my flesh and a hand wrapped around my neck, squeezing tightly.

Oh fuck.

The pain was agonizing. Tears sprung into my eyes and a weeped. There was sorrow, anger, solitude. Repulsion swarmed into my veins and ran my blood cold.

Defiled. Worthless. Useless.

Daybreak. My skin ached as it burned in the hot sun. My eyes were sensitive, I could barely see, but a hand came down and smacked me hard across the face. My cheek stung from the impact and I stumbled down to the ground, scrapping my knee raw on the cement.

I don't dare cry. Not in front of him.

Fuck.

Someone was shaking me. My shoulders jerked forward and my head snapped to the side at the last shake and my hands flung out, gripping tightly onto the arms of a thin stranger. My breathing was heavy and labored, my face soaked in tears and my body in a cold sweat. The room was pitch dark and I had no idea where I was.

"Frank?"

The voice sounded familiar in my distant brain and I slowly put two and two together.

Gerard. I was at Gerard's house. It was just one of my nightmares.

I let myself breathe for a little while longer and sighed when I was finally finished panicking. Gerard's hands loosened on me, feeling me relax, and I let go of his arms in the slightest.

"Was it the storm?" His question was to gentle. I smiled sadly into the dark, thanking god he couldn't see me.

"Yeah, it was the storm," I lied. I rubbed at my face to get rid of the tears and sniffled.

"You gonna be okay?"

Gerard's voice was so genuine. It automatically made me feel better.

"Yeah..." I trailed off, and cleared my throat. "Yeah, I'll be okay. I might need new clothes, I kind of... sweat through these."

He stood from the small futon he'd set up for me earlier that night and walked across the bedroom to his dresser. I listened as he shuffled around and grabbed new clothes, climbing back onto the futon to set them down for me. Sitting up, I picked up the clothes and paused to stare at him.

"Oh, right," he said, and climbed off of my bed. I listened to him settle down before stripping down and changing into the new clothes. I tucked myself back into the hoodie for my own safety reasons in the morning, and set the drenched clothes down next to the futon. Laying back down, and crawled under the sheets to warm myself up again. A silence settled on us in the room, and I was the first to break it.

"I'm sorry I woke you."

"Shh," Gerard whispered, and I was sure he was going back to sleep, until I felt the futon shift again. I was going to ask him if everything was okay when I felt a large set of headphones slip onto my ears. Before he played any music, he leaned in close to speak to me.

"It'll distract you from the storm. I have some symphony music, it's very lulling... Good night." He turned on the iPod and slipped back into his own bed, leaving me to my own thoughts as a soft violin solo started off the beginning to a piece.

Stop giving me so much hope, it hurts.

***

Sunday passed by quickly. I fucking hated leaving Gerard's house after we ate breakfast. His mom made some of the best scrambled eggs on the fucking planet. My mom tended to stay away from the kitchen most days, so I was forced to cook for myself. Everyone elses food was much better. I had to say good bye early when Gerard said he had a few errands to run with his brother, and so he took me and dropped me off at my house in his car.

I had stepped inside and right away knew the house was empty.

That was when the day started to fly by fast. I did chores, cooked myself a shitty lunch, spent some time playing music, and was flat out shocked when I'd forgotten to take off Gerard's clothes and give them back to him. My clothes were probably still in his bathroom somewhere.

I smoked a couple of times in the night. The sky was clear and the air was much chillier. I took off my hoodie because of the freedom I felt in my back yard, and I sat down in the grass with my packet of cigarettes and a small blanket underneath me to keep me warm. I let my dog run around the fenced yard as I lit up a cigarette and started smoking. The gentle wisps of smoke floated around in the air, obscuring my vision ever so often. If I could paint, this would be a moment I wanted to display onto a canvas. The inky black sky shone with a couple of stars. A few of the brighter ones twinkled down at me, the others stayed a nice whitish blue. The moon was a crescent and it smiled down at planet earth. The night was so peaceful.

After my first cigarette, my dog scampered over to me and settled down in my lap. She was a small Maltese named Peppers, and she was practically my best friend. As I prepped my next cigarette, she started to gently lick along some of the scarred skin on my arms. I paused. There was never any true meaning in it. I knew there wasn't. But she did it often, as if she understood. I felt my heart crack as I played with her ear and gave her a small kiss on the head.

"Hey, girl," I murmured against her fur, and took the second cigarette between my lips. We stayed that way until I was finished and made my way back inside with her.

...And then came the dreaded Monday.

Waking up at 6 in the morning really wasn't my way of starting off a wonderful day. The morning routine was simple: shower, get dressed, eat, brush my teeth, prep my backpack, and leave. I hadn't done any of my homework that weekend, but I could care less. I walked the half hour to school, since my mom wouldn't wake up no matter how hard I shook her, and I made it into the building ten minutes before school started. I had my Misfits hoodie partially zipped and my skinny jeans hugging my legs all the way down to my converse. I'd done the smart thing of putting on bandages over some of the more painful cuts on my legs so my jeans wouldn't kill me throughout the day.

The hallways were bustling with people. Teachers regulated the flow of traffic at the stairs to keep them areas clean and organized. I made to go upstairs when I was caught by the school counselor, Mrs. Banter.

During my sophomore year, I came to see her almost every day. It was during my mom's "caring too much" phase, where she thought everything I did made me depressed. She signed me up to talk to the school counselor every day as a precaution. I wasn't necessarily apposed, but I never felt like I had a problem until Mrs. Banter seemed to dig shit up for me and made me realize all the fucked up things I had going on.

Such as my lack of memory surrounding certain portions of my life.

She stopped me as I made for the stairs and I plastered on a smile. I liked her, really, but I wasn't in the mood. It was 7:14 on a Monday, for crying out loud.

"Hey, Frank," she said, her bright red lips glistening in the glow of the lights.

"Hi." My voice was timid.

"I haven't heard from you all of this year. Is everything going better?"

Apart from the cutting getting worse and my nightmares increasing...

"Yeah, everything's going just fine."

"Oh, that's great to hear. Stop by any time if you need to talk, okay?" She said warmly, and smiled at me again.

"Of course."

Mrs. Banter nodded and walked up the stairs first, giving a few hi's to other students who responded rather enthusiastically. She was a slightly plump women. Her hair was styled in the most perfect bob and her make-up was practically flawless. She also had one of the nicest personalities among the staff. I really did like her a lot. But, again, the morning on a Monday really was the worst time to talk to me.

Apart from the encounter with my counselor, the rest of the day was average. A few slurs were thrown at me in classes, a couple in the hallways, but they were always from the same people. Abraham and Justin. They were the unstoppable duo. Abraham was a football player. He towered at around 6'2" with the build of a fully developed brown bear. Justin was on the opposite side of the spectrum. He was a straight A student with an IQ of 140, if it was possible. He was tall, thin, and quite handsome. The problem was his anger management issues and his streak of being able to pin people down and beat the shit out of them.

The previous year they targeted a poor boy named Russel, who ended up moving because his parents grew sick of him coming home with bruises. That year, they picked me. The school loser.

The rude and insulting name calling I could handle, but when it grew physical, I really dreaded existing. That day they decided to be extra mean. I was leaving my history class during passing period, making my way past the art room so I could slip into the math room, when a large hand gripped onto my backpack and dragged me full force into the classroom. The familiar smell of paint and wood drifted into my nose. The door was slammed shut and my face was pressed roughly against the wood of one of the art room tables. I struggled and grabbed onto the side of it, trying to push myself off, but Abraham was stronger.

"Now, now..." Justin's voice filtered into my ear to my right, but my head was turned the wrong way so I couldn't see him. "Look who we have here? The school faggot came to play?"

I struggled again and Abraham pulled on my arm, making me yelp when pain screamed at me to stop moving.

"You should probably stop struggling before Abe breaks your arm," Justin said, a hint of malice in his voice. I heard the tapping of his shoes come around the table so he was in my line of sight. "Did you notice how we left you alone last week?"

I didn't say anything. My anxiety was driving my crazy and my hands were twitching.

"I'm sure you did. Abe had something to do with his parents. But now that we're free, I guess we can have fun with our favorite little queer, right?" He leaned in and grabbed my face, squeezing my cheeks. "Aweh we missed you, didn't we?" He pulled back just as I was about to spit in his face.

Abraham tugged me back, my arm twisting uncomfortably and making me bend my back so it wouldn't burn as bad. I made a small noise of pain and my arms shuddered. Justin had an x-acto knife. He grabbed a small bottle of paint set aside on a table and twirled the knife between his fingers.

"'Non-Toxic,'" he read off of the bottle, and poked a small hole into the side. "I think we should test this out."

I scrambled slightly and hissed when Abraham's hand twisted and gave me an Indian burn. My fresh cuts were screaming. My eyes pricked with unshed tears.

"Fuck you," I spat at him. Justin smirked and slipped closer, grabbing my face between his fingers.

"Open wide..." He strung out the word and squeeze my cheeks, but I kept my teeth clenched tightly. He jerked my jaw a bit more violently and I squeeze my eyes shut, whining and my lips parted just slightly. Justin shoved the bottle against my teeth and squeeze. The vile taste of paint gushed its way into my mouth. It seeped past my teeth and made me sputter and cough, opening my mouth wider as he forced the tube further in and squeeze again. Abraham's hand tightened, a shot of pain burning through my body, and I practically screeched and gargled on paint. I could feel my face burning hot as a retching feeling took over my stomach and I heaved.

Before I knew it, I was dropped down low, my arms held above my head, as I puked all over the art room floor. My small morning breakfast and a good amount of paint came down right next to the table, my body struggling and dry heaving a few times after. My eyes were teary and my nose burned, the acid making my throat sore. Fuck. Fuck, that hurt so badly. Without warning, a fist landed its way against my nose and I was let go, dropped down onto the floor.

"You're fucking sick, man," Abraham spoke up finally, and I heard a peel of laughter as they prepared to do more damage. But the door swung up.

I didn't dare look up at the intruder into their antics, but the name calling, the horrible slews, the painful kicks and the paint... everything seemed to stop. There was a voice yelling, and a couple of voices responding, before people shuffled and the door slammed again. I stayed in my place, feeling more broken then I ever have. My cheeks were burning bright with embarrassment and I was sure I was bleeding from my nose, on top of the burning sensation in my throat and the terrible taste of vomit and paint in my mouth.

There was a gentle hand on my shoulder and someone sat me up, dusting off my aem from all of the woodchips and whatever else littering the floor. I dared to open my eyes to look at who it was, and was stunned to see Gerard sitting in front of me and looking into my eyes with this piercing hazel orbs. I couldn't breathe.

"Jesus christ, Frank," he said, and quickly pulled me up to my feet and sat me down on the table. "What'd they do to you?"

I didn't know how to respond. He rushed away from me and came back with a cup of water. Gerard picked up my hand and forced me to take it into my mine, bringing it to my mouth where I held it and drank feverishly. The taste didn't vanish from my mouth, but the water definitely helped. I didn't respond further as he took the liberty of cleaning up my mess. I felt horrible watching him do it, but I was so out of it. My nose had bled down my face and stained the collar of my shirt, but it didn't quite matter to me as much as the embarrassment did.

Gerard had caught me getting my ass kicked.

When the other teen was finished with the clean up, he dragged me over to the sink and started washing off my face with some paper towels. He grabbed me another glass of water once all of the blood was gone, and settled me back down. Gerard crossed his arms as he watched me, and waited. Waited for me to speak.

My nose was bruised, my face ached, and my wrists were probably bleeding against my hoodie.

"I... they got me. Made me swallow paint. I puked, and then he punched me..." I coughed and covered my mouth. God, it all hurt.

"That's awful," Gerard breathed, his shoulders slumped slightly. He looked genuinely upset.

"It's okay. I deal with it all the time, it's fine."

"No, it's not fine."

I watched him quietly. There was so much determination in his voice. I looked up at the clock and realized class had started half an hour ago.

"Shouldn't you be in class...?" I asked, to change the subject, and he rolled his eyes.

"I came back here to grab my portfolio for my design class, but then I caught that."

"Oh." I didn't know what else to say.

"Seriously, no one deserves shit like that, we have to tell the principle."

I shuddered at the thought.

"No, don't."

"Why?"

"Because," I retorted dumbly and pouted.

"Frank, no one deserves this type of bulling."

"I dunno." It was my typical response when I didn't want to get into something, or when I didn't think he was right. 'I dunno.'

"You can't seriously believe that you deserve this."

We made eye contact. His eyes burned with a passion I'd never seen in him before. I swallowed hard and my fingers twitched nervously. I needed a cigarette--or my razor.

"Sometimes, I really do," I said. The answer was wrong to him. He slumped and looked absolutely defeated. I watched him and felt pained. Do something. Do anything. Please.

No. No, that was just false hope. Leave. Don't do anything.

He moved forward, and I expected him to walk out of the room entirely. But instead, he wrapped his arms around me. I was pressed into his chest and I could hear his heart beating ever so slightly against my ear. The sound was lulling and I squeezed my eyes shut, leaning into his touch. I moved a hand up and wrapped it around his thin frame. My heart was palpitating rapidly and I felt genuinely sick again.

"No. No you don't."