Purging Nightmare

The day was definitely not normal.

No matter where I walked in the school, I was given the strangest looks. People treated me like I was an animal in a cage at the zoo. They stared at me and gave me judging looks, their eyes running up and down my body as if they had x-ray vision. Gerard was right. The rumor did get around, and I wasn't about to let it affect me. If I did, then Justin and Abraham would know that it was true, and would taunt me for it. I wasn't prepared to come in contact with them, either.

I stayed on high alert all day. I avoided bathrooms, the art room, and any random open rooms that screamed "danger." My paranoia was obnoxious, completely overdone, but I needed to protect myself. I was still sore and taking painkillers for my previous beating.

By the time the day came to an end, I'd heard a couple of slurs about being an emo freak and the most attention and stares I'd ever gotten in my entire life. It made my skin crawl. I sat down outside again in front of the school on the bench. Clouds were covering the sun and the breeze made it cooler and not as unbearably hot in my sweatshirt and jeans. I set my backpack aside and pulled out my iPod, plugging in the headphones and turning up my music. I didn't want to hear anyone's comments, nor did I want to pay attention to any more of the stares.

The day had been crappy, on top of that, because some of my teachers were being douchebags about me being gone for so long. They almost didn't want to give me the work because we were so close to the end of the school year. But if I didn't get the work, then I wouldn't be able to pass the classes. What the fuck was their problem? I had so many piles of homework I thought I probably wouldn't be able to finish them all in the first place. There were at least 6 assignments per class, and since I had 8 classes, that just completely killed me. Plus there was new homework that week. I wasn't going to sleep that night.

The stress was slowly becoming too much and I was tapping my foot anxiously as I waited for my mother. Just like last week. Or two weeks ago? I couldn't remember.

I peered up to check the parking lot just as my mom pulled up to the school. I pulled out my headphones. The surprise was probably evident on my face as I made it over, because when I sat down in the car, she immediately went on the defense.

"What? You think I wouldn't come?"

I didn't say anything back as I hugged my large and heavy backpack to my chest and let her drive home in silence. The radio was turned down low and I let my ears feebly try to strain and hear what it was playing to no avail. When she parked in our driveway, she waited for me to get out, before driving off in the other direction. She had a late shift at work. Again.

Stepping inside, I let my backpack drop to the floor by the couch. I went upstairs and rummaged through my room for my pack of cigarettes and lighter. Once I found them in the bedside drawer, I went outside into the back and let Pepper out to play with her toys and go to the bathroom as I smoked for the time being. When the nicotine first entered my lungs, I sighed in relief at how good it made me feel. My anxiety wasn't completely gone, but it was definitely dulled down to a more manageable level. People at school knew about me, and I had to take extra precaution so that no one would see proof.

I finished off the first cigarette and stubbed it out as Pepper came over with a ball. Throwing it across the lawn, I took the time that she spent running after it to light up another cigarette. The lawn needed a trim. The grass was getting longer and some of the weeds in the flower beds were getting too big. I blew out a small cloud of smoke and sighed. Mom would never do it, and no one else lived there. Maybe I'd take a day out and actually clean up the fucking lawn.

Pepper came running again and I threw the ball for her. The cigarette was waning down again and I stubbed it out once I was finished. I threw all my cigarettes into a water bottle that I hid so my mom didn't know of my little habits. The bottle was filled with water for safety reasons, and that water was a disgusting tarry black color. I set the bottle back into its hiding spot and took Pepper back inside, where she went for her bowl and took a drink of water as I did the same with a cup.

My hands were shaking and I was antsy to get up into the bathroom, but the kitchen sink bothered me tremendously. It was filled with dishes and random bullshit that needed cleaning. I sighed and did the dirty work, cleaning out the dishwasher and filling it back up with dirty dishes. When it was full, I turned it back on before heading upstairs.

I slipped into the bathroom and locked the door. I kept my bathroom clean at all times, in case of days like this, but being gone all week meant that it had possibly accumulated some dust and my mother had used it for her own purposes. I took ten minutes to clean it out, wipe everything down, and make every metal object as fresh and shiny as it could get. The smell of lemons and other cleaning products filled the small space, so I opened the door to ventilate before closing it up again. I had a first aid kit hidden in one of the drawers. Pulling it out, I settled down on the floor of the bathroom. The first aid kit was locked up. I fished my keys out of my pocket and unlocked it.

There were various items inside. A long, thin fabric tarp, some needles and bandages, a few wraps of gauze, rubbing alcohol, and a tiny, wrapped up box. I slipped the box out of the kit along with the tarp and the rubbing alcohol. I set the alcohol and box on the counter as I stood and spread the sheet onto the floor. It was a very bright bleach white. Sitting back down, I grabbed the box and rubbing alcohol. The box took a few moments to unwrap and with my shaking fingers, it was even harder. Once I pulled the lid off, two shiny razor blades stared up at me tauntingly. They were clean and very polished.

I was paranoid about diseases. I was honestly paranoid about a lot of things. Disease and small critters living in the house. Suffocation, people knowing my secrets, people staring at me and judging me. I guess I had a lot of issues that didn't involve PTSD and anxiety. Because of my paranoia, however, I had to keep my environment completely clean. Every single thing had to be spotless.

I set the box of razors aside as I unbuckles my pants and pulled them down, throwing them over and onto the ground. I left my boxers on and peered down at my legs. They were a pasty pale color since I never exposed them to the sun, except for my calves. I was very methodical with my addiction: I couldn't go any lower than just a few inches above my knees. If I went any lower, people would notice cuts on my legs if I wore shorts and they rode up in the slightest. I also didn't hurt myself directly on my lower wrist, either. I gave them a slight amount of room, to where my sleeves could ride up just slightly and not expose my secrets.

I had been doing this too long to not have a system.

I took the rubbing alcohol and pulled some toilet paper down from the roll. Wrapping it around my hand, I poured some of the rubbing alcohol on the thick set of paper and gently rubbed along my thighs. They were clean and without any new cuts. The older ones had been stitched up, and the stitches had been removed in the hospital because they healed well. They believed it was remarkable I didn't get infected, but I knew why. I was clean and meticulous.

I scanned over my thighs for places, for areas that were itching the most, and found what I was looking for. The blades came next, and I picked one up and looked over it again. I rubbed it down with the alcohol to double check the cleanliness and my heartbeat quickened as I lowered it to my leg. My hands were shaking. I breathed slowly and pressed the edge of the blade against my skin. My body protested, my mind screaming "no" at me. It hurt. My body didn't like pain. But my mind craved it.

The sharp blade pierced through my skin like through butter. I didn't make it deep, I hadn't done it in a while and wasn't prepared for that much blood. My breathing hitched as the pain jolted through my body. I pulled the blade back and watched as blood pooled at the cut area. I dabbed it down with the alcohol covered toilet paper and didn't bat an eyelash. There was a slight uncomfortable sting, but it was fine. The pain made me breath deeper and slower. I felt light headed, in the good way.

I lowered my hand to slip another cut into my skin when my ringtone went off and scared the hell out of me. I jumped and dropped the blade onto the white fabric covering the ground. It stained a bright red and I stared blankly as my thigh started to drip blood down onto the floor, the small drops making a 'plip' noise in my head.

But the ringtone wouldn't stop.

I shifted over and grabbed my pants, pulling out my phone and picking it up.

"Hello?" My voice was cautious, questioning. Whoever dared disturb my process made him slightly pissed off.

"Honey?"

My mom? I stared blankly at the wall in shock.

"I'm sorry I've been so distant. I wanted to make it up to you."

What do I say?

"Make it up to me?" I asked slowly.

"Yeah. Why don't I take you out to dinner tonight and we can talk?"

I looked up at the ceiling and sighed. "Okay."

"Where do you wanna go?" Her question continued to stall me and I grew antsier and antsier by the second.

"Anywhere. Surprise me."

"Okay sweetie. I love you, you know that?" She asked me, and I nodded.

"Yeah... yeah. I love you too. Bye."

She hung up the phone first and I sighed. Okay. Okay. My stress level pitched up and I tried to breath. She wanted to have dinner with me. This would be the first time she focused on me entirely in over a year. What the hell snapped her out of it?

I scooted back over to the blade and picked it up, cleaning it meticulously and in a frenzied paranoia. The small tarp was covered in droplets of blood and I quickly cleaned off my leg before placing a few more slices into my thigh. The pain shocked my skin and made me shiver, but I sighed out as I relaxed. My hands were shaking. I wasn't sure how long I sat there, but when I was ready to put another small slice into my skin, the doorbell rang and Pepper started to bark like a maniac.

"Fuck," I swore under my breath and scrambled to press gauze over my cuts. I tapped some down with medical tape, my hands shaking badly as I slipped back into my pants and locked the bathroom door as I ran out quickly. My hand had excess blood on it, but I hid it as I opened the door. Was my mom back that early?

I was shocked at who I saw.

"Gerard?" I blurted the name out and he smiled sheepishly at me. Why did everyone feel the need to interrupt me? "What're you doing here?"

"You said you'd be there for me, right?"

"What?" I was flabbergasted. He bit his lip.

"Remember when I said I trusted you? And how you said you'd be there for me when I needed someone?" he asked it quietly and I nodded.

"Yeah, I remember--oh. Oh, is there something wrong? Are you okay?" I stumbled over my words. He let out a short breath and I quickly moved to the side to let him in. My thigh was throbbing badly as the rough material of my jeans rubbed against the gauze. Fuck. I was thankful that I didn't take off my sweatshirt.

Gerard stepped inside and I closed the door. He comforted Pepper's barking like he had last time and he looked at me. There were circles under his eyes and he looked very tired. I rubbed my hand on my jeans, trying to get rid of the blood.

"What happened? I mean... you were here yesterday, what could happen in the passing of a day?" I felt so stupid asking. He smiled sadly and sat down on the couch. I placed myself across from him on the coffee table, in a strategic way where my leg didn't hurt.

"I went home... everything was going good, you know? I wanted to draw," he stopped and looked up at my face. I felt like he was studying me, pinpointing each and every feature. "And then... I dunno. Then my mom just..." He looked like he was going to break down.

"Hey, shh. Shh." I reached out my hand and set it on his shoulder. "Don't cry, shh."

Gerard choked up and leaned into my touch, slumping his head downward. A small sob escape between his lips. I could tell he'd been holding it in the entire way here. I slipped forward and wrapped my arms around his head, pressing him to my chest. He wrapped his arms around me and held me close as I stroked my fingers through his hair to comfort him. I had no idea what was going on, but it had to be horrible if he was about to break down to me. We'd barely even spoken three days and he was already here, crying on my shoulder. It broke my heart to see him like this.

"My grandma died."

I flinched when Gerard managed to blubber out three simple words. I hugged him tighter. What could I say? 'I'm so sorry?' But Gerard would be hearing that from now until forever, 'I'm so sorry she died, she was a great woman, she will be greatly missed.' I couldn't just bring that upon him already. So I simply held him close and continued to let him cry against me, hoping it would make him feel better.

Time seem to pass slowly, and by the time he was finished, I was ready to collapse onto my knees. My leg hurt. I pulled back when he sniffed and pushed me back. He rubbed at his eyes and cleared his throat.

"I-I'm sorry," he said and I shook my head.

"Don't be. You needed it," I responded.

"She was just... so important to Mikey and I. She really was."

"I understand. My grandpa is my inspiration for music."

Gerard simply nodded and held onto my sweatshirt tightly. I let him be and rubbed at his hair. He didn't seem to mind the more intimate touches of my fingers through his hair. It made my heart flutter, touching him like that. Something so simple but so deep anyway.

"I dunno what to do, Frank," Gerard said desperately and looked up at me. He grabbed my hand and I swallowed hard.

"What do you mean?"

"How do I cope with this? I... I can't cope with this, this is too much. It hurts too bad, Frank." Gerard was practically babbling.

"Hey, hey. Shh. No, quiet. Listen." I tilted his chin so he could look at me and he stopped. "I know it hurts. I know. I mean, I don't understand how exactly you feel, but I do know it hurts to lose someone you love. But you want to keep living for them. You want to make them proud and happy for you."

Gerard sniffed and rubbed at his face. He huffed softly and nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah." He didn't seem convinced, but it was enough. "Hey, do you have a bathroom I can use? Upstairs, right?"

I froze over and quickly redirected him.

"I'm cleaning that one, which is why I took forever getting downstairs. You should use the one downstairs."

He nodded simply and found the one downstairs down one of the hallways. I collapsed down on the couch and rubbed at my forehead. I was emotionally drained. Needed a cigarette. Needed more pain. It was all way too much, and I was being selfish by thinking so, because this was Gerard having issues. Not me.

Although I had just come from the hospital and had a day full of insults and stares, I still wanted Gerard to be happier than me. And he wasn't.

He just wasn't.

As much as I wanted to blame myself for not being able to make him better, I had to convince myself it wasn't my fault. I rubbed at my forehead and looked up at him as he walked back into the room. His hands were shaking and he looked significantly paler but I put it up to his sadness. Gerard sat back down next to me.

"Do you want to stay over maybe? Stay away from family for a little while?" I asked, and he shook his head.

"No... we have to go out there today. Plan the funeral and..." He shook his head, unable to continue. I nodded in understanding.

"Right. Okay. You gonna be okay going home alone?"

"Well, if you come with, you'd have to walk back home."

"I'm willing to do that for you."

"How come?" His question had me looking up at him. How come?

"Because I care about you."

"Why?" He sounded like me.

"I dunno, I trust you."

Gerard smiled and shook his head, rubbing at his eye.

"Straight back to the trust thing, right? No matter how much you trust someone, they always end up stabbing you in the back. I trusted my grandma to be my rock, and then she died."

I stared at him in shock. "Hey. Don't be like that. She didn't die on purpose."

He shook his head and crossed his arms.

"C'mon Gerard. She didn't do it as a personal vendetta," I said softly, as not to provoke him. It was upsetting enough to make him mad.

"No, she didn't. But most people do. Trust fucking sucks." Gerard sunk into my couch.

"It does suck. It sucks really bad. But we trust each other, right? I promise I won't hurt you," I admitted to him. He seemed skeptical.

"How can you be so sure? How can you promise that?"

"Because I'm not the type of person to do that," I said as a lame attempt to make myself legitimate. Gerard sighed and pulled his legs up to his chest, leaning his chin against his knees.

"You know what's funny?" He asked me, and I watched him questioningly. "I do trust and believe you, anyway. And hope that you keep your promise."

I felt warm all the way through my chest. It gave me butterflies. God, Gerard was trusting me with so much. I smiled at him and gave his arm a squeeze.

"I won't let you down, okay?"

Gerard gave me a small smile and leaned in but stopped, pulling back. My heart nearly skipped a beat as he stood and nodded. "Thank you."

He turned to the door and stepped back out, leaving me sat in shock on the couch. Dear god.

Had he almost kissed me?