Drowning Lessons

Ch. 3- Don't I Look Pretty Walking Down The Street

"From what I've witnessed today, he seems like an ass.  But he's pretty.  He's not just cute, mom.  He's pretty!" I say, smiling and my mom laughs.

"Pretty, huh? Like woman pretty or..?" She laughs.

"No! He's prettier than any girl I've laid eyes on! Granted girls aren't really my type, but you get the point." I reply, setting my fork down.

"I see.  So, anything else?" Mom replies, getting up and putting the plates in the sink.

"Well, he told me that if I wanted to be ok and keep my sanity that I'd have to stay away from him.  But I doubt that's gonna happen.  I don't want to stay away from him.  I don't understand why everyone is so scared of him.  I just want to be friends.  He needs a friend.  We  could get to know each other and become friends and maybe something more later down the road and then we could- crap, I'm rambling again, ain't I?" I finish.

My mom nods, smiling yet again.

"Sorry.  It's just, I don't know.  Something about him is just so addicting, and its not the smell of cigarettes that lingers on him.  He's an ass, but its almost as if I can see past that, and see the sweet, soft side of him.  I don't know.  This is confusing me." I say and my mom comes back to the table.

"It's gonna be ok, sweetie.  Just give the boy some time.  He'll come to his senses." She reassures me.

"What if he doesn't like me?  What if he doesn't even want to be friends? What if all we'll ever be is friends?  What if he just gets tired and drops me one day? Then what?! And what if he does like me, but then he finds out about me?  What if he's only in it for the- never mind, but there's so many 'What If's' running through my head right now." I say, starting to panic.

I feel light headed and I can feel my breathing speed up then slow down then speed back up.

"Frank. Frank honey.  Breathe. Relax. Shut your eyes and breathe. You're going to be just fine.  Don't let the questions bother you.  Don't let him stress you out.  Try not to think about it." Mom tells me, patting my hand.

"I think you've forgotten about me and how I am in my head.  I can't just forget something.  I can't let it not worry me.  When I get a thought, I think about it until something replaces that.  I can't just drop it.  As much as I wish I could, I just can't. And that kills me." I say, shaking and feeling a few tears slip out.

"Frank honey, I know.  I'm sorry I said that.  But I promise you, you're going to be ok.  Keep in mind there's other fish in the sea.  There will come another boy and you'll completely forget about Gerard." She tells me.

"I don't fucking want to!  God!  He's all I want right now! Hell, I get that he pushed me away and probably will never like me let alone love me, but he's kinda like me in a way.  He didn't say much, but I could feel it mom.  I could feel it.  Normal people don't just feel when someone is like them.  They might be able to sense it, but not actually feel it.  I have a tingling sensation when I'm near him, and that's only happened when I was in the institution and I was friends with some girl who was like me, she actually thought like me, mom.  We actually connected.  I knew I wasn't alone.  And I'm still not.  He's like me, mom." I say, my temper rising, the shakes multiplying.

"Frank Anthony.  Calm down.  Look at me.  Look at me.  Breathe.  You'll be ok." Mom says again.

"Yeah, that's what you said the day it happened." I say before storming off.

--

--

Grabbing my wallet that contains my 'ID,' I run out and make my way to the gas station.  Walking inside, I check to see if they have the brand of eyeliner I use.  Sighing as I see the don't, I make my way to the counter.

"Pack of Marlboro's please." I tell the young lady.   She gives me a weird look and I'm almost scared she isn't going to get them, as if she knows I'm only 17.

She reluctantly gets the pack of cancer sticks from behind her as I pull out my ID.  She nods and tells me the price.

"$2.75 please." She says and I give her the money, thanking her and walking out. "Wait." She says as I reach the door.

I pause.  "I'm not stupid.  I know what a fake ID feels like.  I used to have one myself.  You're a lucky boy.  I don't do this often.  But go enjoy the nicotine.  And don't light yourself on fire." She says, smiling and tracing one of her tattoos.

"T-thanks.  Have a nice night." I tell her, then running out of the store.

"Hey pretty boy." Says an all too familiar voice.  I just keep running, well technically walking considering my pace.

"Just gonna ignore me? But why?  Such a pretty boy.  Talk to me.  It's been to long."  The voice says, clearly behind me.

"What the fuck do you want?" I say, stopping in my tracks at the use of the phrase 'such a pretty boy.'

"Oh Frankie, don't act like that."

"No.  I'll act however I want, Bob." I reply, cringing as I say his name.

"If you say so sweetie.  But its been so long, what three, four years now?" He continues.

"Nearly five." I reply.

"Right, right." He says, nodding his head.  "Do you hate me?" He suddenly asks.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Answer the question." He snaps.

"I'm not fond of you by any means, I don't really hate you.  It's just an intense disliking." I say, giggling like a schoolgirl.

"But why?  I didn't do anything.  You're the one that did it.  If anything, I'm the one that should be hating or 'strongly disliking' you." He replies.

"You made me do it.  It's not my fault I was in such a rough patch.  You took advantage of me.  You used my troubles as your excuse.  Thanks to you, I spent two and a half years in that place.  All because you thought it'd be great to use my 'illness' as an excuse then blame me completely.  It was your idea in thee first place!" I say, starting to shake a bit.

"You're the fucker that followed through with it!" He snaps, crossing his arms.

"Of course I did! I wasn't completely sober! And not to mention I wasn't exactly in the right state of mind!" I yell, shaking harder, hands now balled into fists at my sides.

"Whatever you say, Iero. Whatever you say. But that doesn't make you any less guilty than me." Bob says before walking away.

Knowing he can't hear me, but not caring, I mumble, "At least you didn't spend nearly three years thinking you were some sort of psychopath.  You weren't locked in an institution. Nope. You were free.  You were fucking free."

So yeahh...I'm liking this a lot better now! Hope y'all are too.even tho I have like what, 10 reads at the most...whatever.  Hope you had a great day and I hope you have a Frantastic Friday. 

Anyways....

Toxic Fighter signing off,

Until next time, my friends