Save Me From My Self Destruction. (Frerard)

Chapter 7- The Lines.

The Lines. -

I thought about the consequences constantly, my harsh words coming to my mind every time I saw his face. I could just imagine Kristin's pink cheeks as Mikey handed her that flower. Every time the image came through my mind I could feel my blood run cold as my heart began to hurt.

Mikey was never one to really ask questions as a kid. Of course there was the expected "Gee, where's mommy and daddy?" Or "why do those kids have mommies and daddies and I don't?" When Mikey was 4 he asked that. I was 8 then, and I didn't know the exact reason or motive for our parents departure. So, I said what made sense to an 8 year old little boy. "They didn't love us anymore, but its okay, Mikey. You'll always have me."

I stared at my emptying pack of cigarettes. I knew I should get more from Zack, but I honestly had no motivation. I would smoke each death stick until I would run out or die. And honestly, I'm not sure which one I would rather prefer.

"Gerard, open the door." A helper, Adam, said through the door. I groaned and shuffled over to the door. I debated just acting like I was asleep but decided to open the door anyway.

Adam slowly stepped into my room, looking around sympathetically. I watched him as he eyed the pack of cigarettes on my bed side table. He sighed, "I'm not going to tell." I shrugged, I really didn't care if he did or not. I could always get more. Adam sat on the end of my bed, leaning over to open my window, airing out the smoke ridden room.

"He likes her a lot, you know." Adam said after an extended period of silence. I didn't respond, I just took a seat on the floor, my usual spot. "He's going to grow up, Gerard, whether you like it or not." Adam was beginning to get frustrated towards me. I glared at him, practically burning holes into his skull with my eyes. "Get out." I demanded in a harsh tone. "Maybe you should try growing up too, Gerard. He loves her."

I'm 16, I feel like I've done enough growing up. I parented my younger brother my whole life. I taught him, he listened. But now that he's 12 everyone thinks it's suddenly possible for him to fall in love. It's completely ridiculous and impossible.

I gritted my teeth, stuck a cigarette between my lips, flung the rest of them in my pocket, and left. I didn't inform anyone, I just trudged my way down the sidewalk towards Zack's usual hangout spot, ready to refill my habits needs.

I smirked when I saw Zack leaning against the worn brick building. He held a tightly rolled blunt between his own lips, breathing in the harsh drug. For a minute I just watched him exhale the toxic smoke, but then I remembered my own needs.
"Gerard," he spoke first, with his own smirk plastered on his face. Except his was a high smirk. Zack reached into his front pocket, throwing a fresh pack of cigarettes at me.

I felt the cool, clean, plastic wrapping between my fingers before looking back up. I then noticed the people lingering in the background, sucking on their own blunts. I eyed the wrapped up happy drug suspiciously and curiously. I knew Zack smoked weed, it was a habit he took up to release him of stress.

"Hey kid," a dirty blonde haired guy said in my direction, "why don't you try?" He gestured to an extra blunt in his hand. I didn't have to think twice before refusing his offer. I was addicted to cigarettes, not weed. "Nah," I shrugged, but then, he threw the blunt at me anyway. "Just in case." He smirked, going back to his own blunt.

I held the blunt in my hand, studying it. Then, I just shoved it into my front pocket of my jeans. "Thanks," I said to the guy, who just shrugged like giving out free weed was no big deal to him. "And thanks, Zack, you're a life saver."

"Anytime, Gerard. Tell Mikey I said hi, okay?" I made a mental note to do so. You see, a while back I told Mikey that Zack was just an old friend. But Mikey obviously doesn't know that Zack deals me free cigarettes, or in the past, alcohol. Now, a blunt that I claim to be useless.

I walked to the cemetery, not wanting to even be near the foster facility. I craved nicotine and isolation. I wanted to feel that peace again, I wanted to be surrounded by the spirits of the dead. The same leave and spirits as my time visiting with Frank.

I let out a heavy and relieved sigh when I reached the black iron gates. I could see all the head stones and just feel the peace and relief enter me already. I quickly pushed open the gates, hearing them make their shrieking 'creek' noise loudly.

I made my way down the dirt covered path, humming to myself. I found a silent spot behind a secluded grave. The grave was marked "Elizabeth Grace." It was an old grave, birth date back to 1979, poor Elizabeth died in 1983.

"I wonder how you passed," I thought aloud. I didn't expect a response or anything, of course. Elizabeth was 4 when she died. Her life was just taken from her. "We're not so different, you and I." I pulled a cigarette out of the almost gone pack before opening the new one. "We both died at 4, you know? I'm just able to breathe physically. Haven't been privileged enough to earn my grave yet." I've taken up leaning my head on her grave, comforting her soul. My eyes were closed as I relaxed with my cigarette hanging between my lips.

"Now, why would you say that?" The sudden voice startled me, no, scared me. My eyes shot open, it was Frank. Of course it was him, who else would go cemetery searching? No one, that's who. I made brief eye contact with him as I watched him sit across from me.

I released the smoke from my lungs, thinking of an acceptable answer. "Fancy seeing you here, Frank." I smiled, ignoring his original question. I could see the curiosity lingering in his eyes. I waited for him to restate the question, but the moment never came.

Frank eyed the cigarette in my hands, biting his lip each time I took a drag. I could tell he was fighting a mental war. "Gerard," he started, "do you think, maybe, I could have one?"

I rose my eyebrows, reaching into one of the packs, pulling out a single cigarette. I've never shared my cigarettes before, I've never had anyone in my life to share them with. So as I looked from the cigarette back to Frank I couldn't help but internally smile.

I handed Frank the cigarette, watching him place it between his lips. He then leaned forward, straight towards me, silently asking for a light. I dug my lighter out of my pocket and ignited the end of his cigarette. He leaned back into his regular position, taking a small drag from his own cigarette.

And then, I wondered if this was his first cigarette. But my question was answered when he started coughing after his first drag. It wasn't a hideous or an outrageous cough. It was small, like he was hiding his virginity, smoking wise. It was his cigarette virginity.

I've been smoking since my early teen years. I don't remember when, exactly. However, I do remember that the first time, I thought it was fucking disgusting. I coughed and wheezed, but then I got addicted to the way it felt. How it was destroying my lungs, slowly. It was love at first drag.

But Frank, I could see it in his eyes. He wasn't disgusted or even addicted. He made smoking an art, each drag he took was like a gentle stroke of a freshly dipped paint brush on a clean canvas. Frank made me believe that forever, love, art, beautiful and joyful things actually existed. And all it took was one longing look at him as he took another drag of a poisonous drug that could slowly kill him.

"Why?" I asked the question that was locked away in the back of my mind. He looked up from the smoke that escaped from his mouth with every breath. "I'm tired of living inside the lines." And answer so simple, an answer that demanded deeper thought. "What do you mean?" I searched his eyes for further explanation. "I'll answer that if you tell me what you meant by you haven't been privileged enough to earn a grave." He took another drag of his cigarette, the cherry glowing brighter. "Maybe some day." I answered with a smirk, earning one back from him as well.

"Can I have another cigarette?"

A/N- this chapter has so much to do with the plot, I love it. I wrote this in a notebook I carry around school with me. So, dudes, what do you think so far?