I Drew You Once in Art Class

Ninety-Four

Bert McCracken was having a rough day.

He'd been staying on Jepha's couch for about two months now, and it was pretty fucking horrible.

Jepha lived in a small, musty little apartment on the 5th floor of an ancient complex, which smelled like weed and mildew.

Jepha's roommates were certainly not his biggest fans and made it abundantly clear that they didn't want him there.

Bert found he liked to spend most of his time on the little iron balcony outside, which was so old and rickety he was surprised it hadn't brought him down and put him out of his misery by now.

He inhaled on the cigarette between his pointer and middle finger, and blew out, watching the smoke curl into the dusky, icy sky as he leaned on the cold, metal railing.

His phone (a tiny, crunchy one from 2007, if you must know) buzzed. Sticking the cigarette in his mouth, he held it to his face.

Gerard: do you wanna go to a dumb thing at my school with me? Just as like friends. Frank blocked me so i take it he doesn't want to anymore

Bert: so i'm the backup?

Gerard: no!

Gerard: sorta

Bert: its fine. I'll take what i can get. Whats the thing?

Gerard: school dance

Bert: fuck no

Gerard: please! You already agreed to it! no turning back

Bert: fine. Only cause i like you.

Gerard: psh good to know someone does

Gerard must have had a rough couple of days too: his texting style was off.
Bert clicked the off button. God, it was painful, being just-friends with someone you were completely in love with. Especially not being able to tell them.

But he knew he'd just upset Gerard and probably ruin their fragile, recently re-developed friendship if he fessed up, so he stayed quiet.

His bare arms stung a little. It probably wasn't the best idea to wear a sleeveless shirt in December, but he was an adult: who was going to stop him?

Exhaling, he stubbed the cigarette out on the iron and flicked it into the ally below. Some homeless guy was down there, asleep. Bert fished a dollar out of his pocket and threw it down. If that guy didn't find it, someone would.

They'd probably use it to buy heroin or something, but that wasn't really Bert's problem. He walked inside, where Jepha and his roommates were gathered on the couch, which unfortunately was Bert's bed, playing some video game.

"How long do you guys think you'll be here tonight?" He asked, just wanting to go to sleep.

"Um, last I checked, it's our house," said one of the roommates, whose name Bert hadn't bothered to learn. "You're just staying here. For free, I might add."

"Lay off him, dude," said Jepha, his eyes on the screen. "He's looking for a job and you know it."

"Whatever. I don't know how much longer we'll be on the couch, man."

Bert sighed and went back outside, shutting the glass door behind him. He cupped his hand near his face and lit another cancer-stick, blowing out into the sky, his eyes fixed on the moon hung high in the purpley-black ink, wondering how in fuck's name he ended up like this.