If I'm So Wrong, How Can You Listen All Night Long? [Frerard]

Chapter 3

"Bob, this is my friend Gerard."

I glare at Ray for introducing me as his friend. We may be closer to each other than anyone else... but we are most definitely NOT friends.

Ray's friend, and our host for this evening - God that sounds posh - is actually less lame then I had imagined him. He has long(ish) blonde hair, and a fringe that hangs down over his eyes. His face is friendly enough now, a big grin spread over it at the sight of Ray. But most importantly, he's wearing a Misfits t-shirt, much similar to the one I have at home.

The party is not in a field, as I thought it would be, but in Bob's rather big house. Ray told me on the way here (he insisted on picking me up, for God's sake Ray I'm not three) that Bob's parents are on holiday and don't care what he does whilst they're away, as long as everything is normal when they get back.

"I think everyone's here now so I'll walk in with you guys," Bob turns to me and smiles. "No adult behaviour okay Gerard?"

I laugh. "Who would wanna do anything with me?" Besides my hand.

"You kidding? You're hot - not that I'm gay, but as friend to friend-"

"We're not friend's," I mutter, but he continues.

"-you're really attractive." He winks at me.

"Stop it."

"I'm sorry?"

"Stop lying to me..." We've all stopped walking now. I'm glaring at Bob, who's just looking really confused and hurt; serves him right, the fucking idiot. And Ray's just standing to the side, looking down at his feet, probably wishing he'd never invited me to this stupid place. Me too Ray, me too.

"Why would I-"

"YOU ARE LYING," I scream at him, causing others to glance up in our direction. "NOTHING ABOUT ME IS ANY GOOD. NOTHING. JUST STAY AWAY FROM ME. YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ME SO WHY ARE YOU EVEN TALKING TO ME. I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHY I'M AT THIS STUPID PARTY. I ONLY CAME BECAUSE I FELT A TINY BIT SORRY FOR SOME KID IN MY CLASS." I gesture to Ray who's starting to back away and looks like he's about to burst into tears. I lower my voice a little. "Right now I could be doing something useful with my time, but no, I can either stay here or walk for three hours til I get home."

I'm now slightly out of breath, everything else has gone silent. I subconsciously run my fingers over the underside of my wrist, before clenching both hands into fists and walking away.

I manage to make it outside the house without anyone following me. Or so I think. I stride past row after row of decent sized houses with neat lawns and expensive cars before finding a solitary bench in a small park.

I drop onto it. I want to cry, but nothing happens. Why did I have to accept Ray's fucking stupid offer. What the fuck was I thinking? I barely lasted five minutes in there. Didn't even have time to grab a drink.

All of a sudden I realise there's someone stood in front of me. A hooded figure. Like in the movies. God I hope I don't get killed... or would it really be a bad thing?

"The fuck do you want?" I ask the stranger, hoping to God he didn't see me trying to cry and that I come across much, much tougher than I am.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay? You were a bit... upset... back at Barry... Bart? Ben...?"

"Bob?"

"Yeah... Bob's house."

"Huh, upset's one word for it." I sigh, moving over so he can sit beside me. "I just freaked out you know. So many people I don't know. And then Bob goes and speaks to me as if we're friends, and starts lying to me and... ugh... I don't even know why I thought going would be a good idea."

The stranger holds out his hand. "I'm Bert."

I take his hand and shake it. "Gerard."

"Well Gerard, I've got something that might make you feel better."

He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a glass bottle of clear liquid: Vodka.

He hands it to me, but I shake my head, leaning away from it as if it is poisonous.

He holds it in front of my face and shakes it a bit. "Come on," he whines. "It'll be fun!"

Unscrewing the cap of the bottle, Bert takes a huge swig. A grin appears on his face and he looks happier than he did a minute ago.

Maybe it won't be so bad.

"Fine," I say, reaching out for the drink and following Bert's lead.

The drink is cold and I shiver a bit at the unfamiliar taste. I don't notice any difference, so I drink some more.

And more.

And more.

Eventually, I've drunk so much that my words are slurring and I don't really know what I'm doing. All I know is that this stuff is good. And that I don't care about anything or anyone else anymore.

A lot of time passes with me and Bert just sat on the bench, drinking and talking, but mostly drinking.

After a while, Bert says to me (in between hiccups): "I have something else for you to try."

He grins pulling out a bag of red pills from the inside of his coat.

"These - these are - fantastic." Hiccup. "You won't remember a thing."

What's the worst that can happen? I think, popping two into my mouth.

And that's the last thing I remember from that night.