A Kiss and I Will Surrender

14

"Frank!" It was Gerard, he doubled over panting when he caught up to me.

I slowed down so he could, I didn't want to talk to him, I didn't want him to see me like this. Now he could see for himself how crazy my family was, how crazy I was. I hated everything about this.

"Frank, are you okay?" No I wasn't fucking okay. I couldn't control my sobs as they escaped my mouth. Finally, I collapsed on the ground in a heap of anger and embarrassment. He sat next to me, his eyes looking away but it was clear he was watching me from the corner of his eye. I was grateful for him looking away, but it didn't make the shame of my current emotional state go away.

"It's gonna be okay," he muttered, I couldn't believe that. It never got better. It had been this way since I was young, there wasn't any escaping it.

"I don't- I can't, I-" I couldn't form a sentence and instead I ended up spilling over the edge and burying my head between my knees. He put an arm around my shoulders cautiously as if I were a glass of water on the edge of a table. He slowly let his hand rub my back, gently circling my spine.

"You're gonna be okay," he repeated, I still didn't believe him, but the way he said it made it seem almost possible. Almost.

His free hand moved towards the ground, where mine was, and he opened his palm, inviting me to take it. I let my hand fall into his and he held it as I sobbed. The embarrassment, anger, and sadness were boiling inside of me and I was a volcano ready to erupt and spew lava all across the dimly lit street.

"Why don't you stay over at my house tonight?" He whispered, I hadn't realized how close his head had been to mine, and although startled at first, I felt comforted in his presence. Comforted by the sound of his voice.

I nodded, my head still buried between my knees and he stood up, sticking out his arm to pull me up with him. We drove in silence back to his house and once we got inside I had finally calmed down.

"You must think I'm such a fucking screw up," I said with a dark chuckle. One of my worst habits was joking about any and all of the bad things in my life.

"We're all screwed up at least a little," he said, he was making a pot of coffee, even though it was practically midnight.

"Not as fucked as me," I mumbled, "I'm a mess."

"So am I," he said like it was a confession.

"Yeah right, you're basically perfect," I wasn't even thinking about what I was saying, it didn't matter anyways, he already knew how fucked in the head I was.

"That's far from the truth," he laughed.

"Yeah right," I turned away, my lips were chapped from crying so much.

"You know," he pulled two mugs out of the cupboard and poured the coffee into them, "I have them too," he paused, "Panic attacks. I know what it's like."

I looked up in disbelief, he had to be joking.

"Yeah," he slid one of the mugs to me along with a packet of sugar, "I've had them since I was a kid."

I didn't know what to say to that. If the roles had been switched I don't think I could have ever admitted to that. I hated myself for it, even though I knew it was out of my control.

"Do you know what triggered it? Was it me?"

I shook my head, "No, no, just.. thoughts," I felt my cheeks heating up, I didn't like talking about all this mental health bullshit. It was annoying enough to have to live with it, why make it worse by talking about it.