Stockholm Syndrome (Frerard)

10: Blue and Yellow

Media: McCracken

The phone was ringing. It was ringing and I was trying to sleep and Gerard wasn't even in the room to answer it. Why'd he have to leave his cellphone in the living room? Why did I have to have no knowledge about cellphones? I just wanted to turn it the fuck off. Why was this person calling so much anyways? Whatever it was it must've been important. It wasn't even 10 in the morning yet, surely it could wait- ugh.

I sat up and grabbed the small device off the coffee table, kicking off the thin blanket I had aquired since my first night here and walked to Gerard's room. The door was closed, so I sighed and raised my hand to knock on the door.

It opened moments later, and a sleepy disheveled looking Gerard stood there, confused. His hair was a mess and he literally looked like a day old corpse but somehow he still looked good. I held out his phone, which was still ringing, and he looked at it with disgust showing that he was not in the mood to deal with whoever was calling.

"Who is it?" I asked, as he took the phone out of my hand and stared at it.

"McCracken." He groaned, before answering the call finally and holding the phone up to his ear.

"What do you want now?" He asked, then squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temple, seemingly disapproving of whatever this guy had said.
"It hasn't even been a week.
Yes, I'm sure he's dead.
...Well fuck, what am I supposed to do about that? Call the police and tell them he's dead? Of course he's still labeled as a missing person.
...How the fuck are they supposed to find a body that's buried 6 feet deep in the middle of a fucking forest.
...You're a fucking moron, he's dead, stop calling me.
...Fuck's sakes. Why do you care anyways. Even if he was with me it's still doing the same damage to his dad.
...No I'm not saying he's- you know what? I don't have time for this, fuck right off, goodbye." He hung up and looked at me with the most annoyed expression. "Fucking idiot."

"Well, he's not wrong-"

"Even if I did kill you he'd be asking the same dumb questions. I don't even know why he's so fuckin stuck on it. Whether you're dead or missing, your dad still doesn't have you."

"Probably 'cause he paid you a lot of money to kill me and he doesn't wanna get ripped off," I paused. "And taking me away from my dad isn't gonna do shit to him, he never cared about me."

"If he didn't care he wouldn't be looking for you. Don't be so dramatic, it doesn't suit you." He had bluntly stated, and walked past me to get to the kitchen.

"If he cared about me he wouldn't be a drug dealer, he'd get an actual job and maybe pay attention to me every once in a while." I defended, following him into the kitchen with furrowed eyebrows and a now pissy mood. He didn't know anything about me.

"That's loving someone, not caring about someone. Don't get ahead of yourself there, buddy"

"Well there, he didn't love me. Taking me away from him is pointless. I could go back, he'd probably hug me for the first time in my life and then go off with his drug buddies and do coke for three days without a word." I was just getting angry now. I didn't have any business telling him any of this but it was just spewing out of my mouth and I couldn't shut it for the life of me. I guess I just didn't get enough sleep.

"I don't know why you're getting into this so aggressively, I'm not arguing with you. We've all got shit and I didn't ask for yours." He said in a monotonous voice.

"Wow, ok, for a second there I thought maybe you cared about me but I guess not cause you're a fucking psychopath, right?" I spat back, shoving my hands in my pocket and leaning my back against the wall. I don't know if it was our rude awakenings that were making us so irritable, but i went from slightly annoyed to fucking pissed in seconds and he looked like he was ready to kill someone. Which, he probably was anyways.