The Smell of Pure Fear

Chapter One: You Aren’t Alone

I stepped over my father's drunken body, hoping not to wake him up. I sprinted to my room, swinging my overnight back onto my bed before burrowing my head in my pillows. I was so tired of coming home to this, to a life of misery. My father stayed out late 5 nights a week. The remaining 2 nights would be used to sleep off his never-ending hangover. For the past 3 and a half years I've basically had to be the parent. Well, since my mom left my dad for her cute doctor client. Ever since then my dad has been drinking himself to death, among many other things. I didn't talk to my mother anymore, I refused to. I blamed her for breaking up our family and for making dad turn into the person he is now.

It would be much safer to live with my mom but even if I wanted to live with her, she wouldn't let me. She made that very clear when she left, she wanted to have alone time with Ronnie. I'd learned to practically hate my mother. She never had truly loved me. When she got pregnant with me, it was all an accident, a really big mistake. My mother wanted to just be rid of me but my father wouldn't allow that. He wanted me, look how good that did. Now instead of doing what every other 20 year old should, I have to take care of my dad.

I had been stuck in the same town for three years, when my mom left my father. Actually, I was born and raised in Dublin, Ireland. Now we were in the middle of New York City. As expected, it wasn't a very nice town. Drugs were in every house, shootings every other night, and so much more. I would get away from it though. Of course, sitting here taking care of my father and cleaning up his dirty work wouldn't help me get away. I would fulfill my dreams. Whatever they were.

When I was 16 I loved music. I taught myself how to play my dad's acoustic guitar when he was out at night, remembering to put it up in time and exactly where it had been left. These days though I love drawing. Art was my talent. I was taking the next step though. My classes started Monday morning at the School of Visual Arts. That would be the beginning of my new life. That would give me enough strength to get out. If only I truly knew...

MONDAY MORNING:

I scurried my way through the halls of my house, not wanting to be late for my first day of college. I set out some french toast for my dad. Only kissing him on the cheek before sprinting to the door and stepping out. My feet carried me to the bus. Although my house was only about 30-45 minutes walking distance from the school. I didn't have time to walk today, I was already running too late for my own liking.

The bus only took about 5 minutes to get to the school. My steps echoed in my ears, this was it. I looked up and saw the big concrete building and my nerves started to get the best of me. I walked into the double doors and made my way to my first class, photography. Much to my disappointment most of the seats were taken. My classmates had all gotten there early to claim there seats for the rest of the year. It was just like high school. My intentions on getting here early were to find a seat in the near back where I could be alone. My eyes trailed around the class, recognizing many of the students to be preps. Then my eyes fail to the back of the class, a grin replaced the grimace that had taken it's place on my lips. A man with raven black hair was huddled over a drawing book. I decided that he would be my best choice.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” My voice trailed off, saying as little as I had to. I tried to hide my Celtic accent, with much success. I was beginning to get very well at hiding my accent, all I had to do was not say more than a sentence or else I lost all my concentration. His head moved up to look at me and I saw his face for the first time. His hazel eyes had the brightest golden hues but there was a lot of trouble behind them. Those hazel eyes held something in them that reminded me of looking into my fathers, pure addiction. The difference was that his still held compassion and longing. My fathers only hate.

His voice was silky smooth, “Sure. Go ahead.” Then he went back to drawing. Through the entire class his focus was on his drawing. I tried to take a peak at it but he quickly covered it. We were both silent for the remainder of class. First days are always boring. The teachers don't ever do anything. All you do is learn about your other classmates and what the teachers will be expecting from you.

As soon as the bell rang I left class hoping I would get to class early enough to get a good seat. I sat at the back of the class and observed the people walking in. Raven boy didn't show. Mr. Monroe talked in a monotone and was ridiculously boring. This class would most definitely be the hardest to get through. I sang lyrics in my mind the entire class period.

I was looking forward to my next class though: cartooning. That's why I enrolled in art school. I wanted to be a cartoonist. I really loved comic books. I could sit down and read them for HOURS or better yet, days. I stepped foot into the classroom and took my seat toward the back. The guy from photography entered the room shortly after I had sat down. He took the the seat next to me.

This time he didn't bother to get his comic out. He looked directly at me, causing me to to remove my gaze from the front of the classroom to staring intently at the man. “Can I help you?” I asked, sarcasm wreaking from my voice.

“Hm, in reality probably not. I just wanted to say I'm sorry if I sounded kind of hostel earlier. I was focused on something.” His voice sounded even smoother than before, I may even call it beautiful. I took notice on his first statement though, it gave me proof to my observation from his eyes. He was without a doubt, troubled.

“Yeah, what were you drawing anyway?” I knew we would be having a longer conversation than only a sentence so I let my accent escape from my tongue.

“Now, I can't hardly tell you that,” he mused. He acted as if he had not heard my accent at all.

“Fine. My name is Darcy.  And you are?”

“Gerard. May I ask why you are talking to me at all?” I knew what he was trying to do. He wanted to scare me off. He was acting just like I usually would have. The rudeness in his voice was fake; most people would fall for it but I wouldn't.

Oh, what the hell. “Do you mind me talking to you? I just figured it would be easier on both of us to not be complete loners for the entire year. But tell me if I was mistaken. Sorry to waste your time.”

“I don't mind at all. I'm sorry if I came across rude.” I knew Gerard was beginning to crack.

“I know what it feels like to believe you're in things alone. Just know you aren't.” I took my gaze off of him and looked down at the table. I knew he would ask what I meant. I had no intentions on responding. Much to my luck, class started before he could say anything. I felt his eyes on me the entire class period but I refused to give him a response no matter how much I was dying to look at him and scream, 'What is your problem?' I knew that wouldn't be too nice. Who knows, maybe we would end up being friends. Eh, not likely. Actually, what the hell? No we wouldn't.

Something I had learned over the years, never trust anybody enough to let them hurt you.