Turn Away (Frerard)

Chapter 1: Stranger

Whoever invented Mondays,

Fuck you.

I crawl out of bed and shiver. Why is it so cold in here? Then I realize I left the window open last night and now there is snow all over my floor.

Great fucking job, Gerard. Nice way to start your morning.

I sigh angrily and walk over to the window and slam it shut, the room warming a bit but not enough to make a difference in my shivering figure. I crawl to the bathroom and turn the shower all the way on hot. Although, when Belleville turns to winter, the hot water makes no difference as if you have it on barely warm. I strip off my sleeping clothes and throw them on the ground by the toilet before stepping into the semi-warm shower and washing my hair and body briskly. 

I step out and pull a towel around me, quickly runnng into my room to find warm clothes, but not before passing my mirror.

I stop in front of it and stare at myself, scars lining my wrists, stomach, and thighs. I count each one, like everyday, and always end up with more than the day before.

Today's total was 63.19 on my stomach, 21 on my thighs, and 23 on my wrist.

Yesterday's total was 57.

This was some kind of sick obsession that many have, but most everyone who develops this gets over it.

I, however, have not.

It started it out with just a single cut, just to see what it was like to extinguish pain with more pain. I hated it ,so I stopped. But then I found a blade again and tried once more, this time the habit sticking. I assumed it would go away in a year, but with more name calling and physical abuse, I continued.

I've been continuing for 3 years now.

Those 63 scars and cuts dont account for the ones I cant see, there a probably more that are barely visible or have basically dissappeared. But each scar tells a story.

One for that one time Jacob Hanson locked me in the locker for 2 hours.

Another for when Eric Artorlo and his gang of douches beat me up in that old abondoned playground.

Every scar has a reason it exists, whether it be abuse, depression, or feeling worthless.

Most of them caused by the last one.

I take a final look at my body and sigh, whatever this lump of meat called Gerard's Body staring back, before I go to my dresser and take out one of my trusty super thick hoodies and baggy black jeans.

I grab my phone and headphones and put them in the hoodie's pocket. I walked upstairs to the kitchen to make myself a coffee and another one for Mikey, that is if he ever woke up and crawled out of that mess of a cave he calls a bedroom. I heard a thump from upstairs, knowing Mikey fell out of his bed again, and I chuckled to myself.

About 20 minutes later, a decent looking, tired-eyed Mikey emerged from upstairs, but his eyes widened as he saw his thermos on the counter. 

"When are mom and dad supposed to be back again?" Mikey asked, taking small sips from his coffee.

"Dunno', I think Friday." I said, walking to the key table and grabbing my keys. "Go get your shit so we can leave." I ran my hand through his hair as I walked by and he growled. I laughed, that always pisses him off.

I wipe some of the snow off of the windshield and wait for Mikey in the car, with the heater on full blast, actually being warm for once.

Mikey finally emerges from the house and climbs in the front seat.

"Took you long enough," I huff playfully.

"Oh shut up," Mikey says as I pull out of the driveway.

About halfway to the school, I spot a kid walking the direction we were heading. He looked about my age, maybe a year younger with tattoos poking out from under his Misfits hoodie (which was fucking rad), his midnight black hair poking out from the blanket of snow it was under.

"Hey kid, you heading to Belleville High?" I shouted from the window. He stopped walking and nodded. 

"Need a ride?" I asked. His eyes gleamed, as his ran to the backseat of the car. He had obviously been walking for a while, as his Misfits Hoodie was covered in snow.

"Thanks man, I'm Frank," The boy says.

"I'm Gerard, that's Mikey," I replied pointing to Mikes. "So,Frank, what grade are you in?" I tried to start a conversation like a nice person.

"I'm a junior," he replied, trying to get rid of some of the snow on his jacket.

"Cool, Mikes is a junior, I'm a senior. That's a badass hoodie too."

"You like the Misfits?"

"Fuck yeah! I have all of their albums man."

Frank's eyes shined, he seemed so genuinely excited he could explode.

Like his life was full of amazing happiness that he could brighten up anybody's day, even mine.

He seemed just happy. 

Unlike me.

***

We pulled into the school's parking lot, earlier than I expected us to be, and Mikey headed towards his first period. 

Frank hesitantly got out of the car.

"First day?" I ask as I lock my car.

"Yeah..." he responded.

"Do you know where you're headed?"

"Not really. My first class is Art in building 2 with Ms.Alora."

"Oh that's my first period, I'll show you around." I walked him into the courtyard and briefly went through the 5 school buildings, telling him where each of his classes were at. He then went to the main office to get his locker number and I waited outside.

He may have seemed happy, but now he looked scared.

As if he would pass out any minute or jump into my arms at the sound of someone popping a bag of Doritos open.

He reminded me of a chihuahua in a thunderstorm, to describe him honestly, shaking and whimpering quietly to himself. 

It was kind of cute actually.

Incase you didn't know, there was a reason people called me "Gerard Gay" and it wasnt just the eyeliner.

Frank came out a few minutes later with a number in his hand.

"231" he read.

"That's right next to the art room. Let's go." I said, briskly walking the 50 feet to the Building 2 doors and stepping inside the heated school. I directed him to his locker and walked down about 5 to my locker, which was a cluttered mess.

But I like my messes.

At least some of them.

I grabbed my sketchbook and art pencils from the locker and shut it, watching Frank pile up the small metal container with his books.

He shut it and looked back at me.

That light behind his eyes had been extinguished.

At least for now.

That's how I started out. School scared me when I moved here and the bullying got worse than it was at the last school.

Then the light behind my eyes was extinguished.

Never to be lit again.