License to Love
My Way Home
Without thinking, I picked up my phone and called his number. I was so hopelessly hopeful at that point, actually thinking he might answer.
What was he thinking when he wrote that note? He is good for me. He was there for me whenever I needed him, and he made me feel so much better every time I felt upset. How is that bad for me?
His phone went straight to voice mail.
’’Uh, hey, this is Gerard, sorry I can’t take your call. Just leave a message or something…’’
The tone sounded, and I just stood there in silence. What was I supposed to say?
‘’G-g-gerard…’’ I choked. ‘’I n-n-need you…’’
**
‘’He what!?’’ Charlie bellowed, the anger apparent in his voice.
‘’He… he left me, okay? So right now I’m alone, and I need to come back to your place for a bit just to get some stuff…’’ I explained.
‘’Uh… okay.’’
‘’Well, are Mum and Dad home?’’ I asked curiously.
‘’Nah… But Dad should be home soon.’’
‘’Okay, well, I’ll see you soon.’’
And with that, I hung up.
I walked quickly into my room, and dug out a small backpack from under the bed. Then I stuffed it with my phone, iPod and my art-book. I tried to avoid looking at the wall in here; photos of Gerard and I covered them. I shivered, and goose bumps appeared on my tan skin. Deciding I didn’t want to get sick, I opened the door of the large wardrobe, in search of a hoodie. But the scent of Gerard now clung to my clothes, and I slammed the door, falling to the ground once more.
**
My knees ached from walking to my former household, and I was thankful I finally arrived. I walked over to the side of the house, making sure my bag was secured onto my back. Then, I climbed up the tall tree that was almost as tall as my house; shivering with every movement I made. I had always hated heights.
I reached the top of the tree, and unwrapped one of my arms from the branches, and leaned over so I was next to my bedroom window. Quickly, I slid the window open and climbed into my dusty, stuffy room.
It still looked the same. Posters of bands like The Beatles and David Bowie covered the walls – as did Gerard’s art. Tears came to my eyes as I examined the many pictures of his that were stuck to my walls. My favourite was next to my bed. It was a drawing of Gerard and I, sitting on trampoline; our smiles so very big and bright. I ran my finger over the lines, wishing that things were still like that.
What was he thinking when he wrote that note? He is good for me. He was there for me whenever I needed him, and he made me feel so much better every time I felt upset. How is that bad for me?
His phone went straight to voice mail.
’’Uh, hey, this is Gerard, sorry I can’t take your call. Just leave a message or something…’’
The tone sounded, and I just stood there in silence. What was I supposed to say?
‘’G-g-gerard…’’ I choked. ‘’I n-n-need you…’’
**
‘’He what!?’’ Charlie bellowed, the anger apparent in his voice.
‘’He… he left me, okay? So right now I’m alone, and I need to come back to your place for a bit just to get some stuff…’’ I explained.
‘’Uh… okay.’’
‘’Well, are Mum and Dad home?’’ I asked curiously.
‘’Nah… But Dad should be home soon.’’
‘’Okay, well, I’ll see you soon.’’
And with that, I hung up.
I walked quickly into my room, and dug out a small backpack from under the bed. Then I stuffed it with my phone, iPod and my art-book. I tried to avoid looking at the wall in here; photos of Gerard and I covered them. I shivered, and goose bumps appeared on my tan skin. Deciding I didn’t want to get sick, I opened the door of the large wardrobe, in search of a hoodie. But the scent of Gerard now clung to my clothes, and I slammed the door, falling to the ground once more.
**
My knees ached from walking to my former household, and I was thankful I finally arrived. I walked over to the side of the house, making sure my bag was secured onto my back. Then, I climbed up the tall tree that was almost as tall as my house; shivering with every movement I made. I had always hated heights.
I reached the top of the tree, and unwrapped one of my arms from the branches, and leaned over so I was next to my bedroom window. Quickly, I slid the window open and climbed into my dusty, stuffy room.
It still looked the same. Posters of bands like The Beatles and David Bowie covered the walls – as did Gerard’s art. Tears came to my eyes as I examined the many pictures of his that were stuck to my walls. My favourite was next to my bed. It was a drawing of Gerard and I, sitting on trampoline; our smiles so very big and bright. I ran my finger over the lines, wishing that things were still like that.