Of All The Broken People

Sound Is The Difference Between Pain And Agony

I HAD ISOLATED myself securely in the maintenance closet, completly drained of any lingering desire I might have had to attend class. I knew it was just a piece of technology - a material thing - but I couldn't help feeling totally broken up over my crushed mp3. Because to me, it was more than music. Comfort had poured out of those earbuds and into my soul. It was my only nondestructive relief, and now Bert had ripped it away from me.

I sniffled pathetically and rubbed violently at the wetness pooled beneath my chin from all the waterworks. I was sick of stowing myself away in the darkness to cry, and yet with each and every time I could feel myself growing more accustomed to it, and that scared me.

I didn't want to live this way anymore.

. . .

THE WALK HOME was desolate and silent. I ached desperatly for the tragically beautiful notes of my music, making each second of silence even more deafening. I stuffed both my hands into my sweatshirt pockets, running my left thumb over the uneven screen of my crushed music player. The sharp bite of the jagged glass pressing into my tender skin was soothing, to say the least. I knew that finding pleasure in pain was abnormal, masochistic, and rather morbid, but I was no normal person, and sometimes physical pain was the only way to block out the overpowering mental pain. When my mind grew too dark, I needed that sting - craved it even.

"Hey! You, wait!"

Frank.

Was he following me home? What kind of weird- Suddenly it clicked: the freshly bought house across from me, Frank's arrival at Belleville High. The overly enthusiastic emo who had stepped in for me earlier was my new neighbor. I didn't know whether to be relieved or crushed over that.

"Wait!" Frank called again. I could hear the desperate slapping of sneakers against concrete as he fought to catch up to me. I threw my hood up and ducked my head low, pretending not to hear him. The racket behind me died down, and the yelling stopped, so I assumed he had either taken the hint or given up. I wasn't expecting a jarring impact from behind.

I staggered forward, shoulders scrunching up in pain. A swell of heat rushed to the front of my head and I sucked in a shaky breath, vision going awry.

"Oh . . ." Frank gasped, coming up alongside me. "I didn't mean to . . . Aw shit, I didn't mean to throw it that hard." My eyes narrowed.

"Throw, what?" I snapped, straightening my spine and tossing him one of my infamous death glares. Frank shrank back, face reddening. I was taller than him by a good four inches, and I was much more built than he was. To him, I was intimidating, no doubt.

"Uh . . ." Meekly, Frank held up a dog-eared paper back copy of Alice In Wonderland that looked to be years old. I sneered down at him. "What the fuck is wrong with you, huh? I -"

Calm down, Gerard.

I sighed and resumed my usual slumped, lazy posture. This kid had stuck his neck out for me, and no matter how much I hated social interaction, I needed to respect him for that. "Don't - don't worry about it, okay, Frank?"

"I'm - I am so so sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"Zip it," I cut in. Then, softening, "It's alright, really. Stop talking about it." Frank nodded sharply, downcast green eyes shifting to the ground. "Uh, you kinda forgot these earlier . . ." he muttered, producing a set of blue Skullcandy earbuds from the pocket of his leather jacket. I accepted them wordlessly, tucking the useless things into my bag. Maybe I'd give them to my younger brother, Mikey, when I got home. He'd said something a few weeks ago about needing new earbuds, he'd appreciate them.

Terse moments filled up and overflowed with silence. I felt fine, but Frank's discomfort was rolling off him in restless waves.

"Y'know, I should get going," I announced suddenly. Why put poor, awkward Frank through any more social discomfort than necessary? I tightened my bag straps and stepped off the sidewalk to cross the road.

"Wait!"

I glanced over my shoulder at Frank, who was tugging anxiously at the threading of his skeleton gloves, eyes darting every which way. "I never . . . I never got your name."

I considered what consequences could possibly come from giving Frank my name. Once he had that, all the vile things he had no doubt heard about the infamous fag Gerard Way today would forever be connected to me. He would associate my face with the disgusting words rooted in hatred. He wouldn't dare step within five feet of me in Belleville High's hallways if he knew. Hell, he wouldn't be standing here right now if he knew who I was.

Why, I still don't know, but somehow my tongue rolled the words and my lips parted and my voicebox projected them from my mouth. "Gerard Way. My name is Gerard Way."

His lips parted, a silent little 'O' of realization, and I thought, This is it. This is the last I'll hear from Frank. But then, unexpectedly, he cracked a grin, a spectacular grin that nearly gave me a heart attack. "I don't think they've got it right, Gerard," he said to me. "They're not right about you at all."

My whole body went slack and my bag fell off my shoulder and into the road with a hefty thud. Could I allow myself to believe he meant those words? Was it even possible that he did? I searched his face, desperate to find the lie, but coming up with nothing. Curse that open expression and those honest marble-green eyes.

"Your bag's lying in the road, Gerard," Frank pointed out. It was so oddly refreshing to hear someone call me by my name. I was so accustomed to being refered to by the insults dished out by McCracken's posse that I didn't realize how much I missed hearing that. How hard I missed hearing my name roll across someone else's tongue.

Next I knew Frank was in the road beside me, collecting my bag off the asphault and slinging it over his shoulder. Coupled with the weight of his own messenger bag, he looked awkard, and I wondered how the hell someone so small had scared off Bert fucking McCracken.

"Maybe you could come hang at my house a bit," Frank offered. He pointed to the big Victorian house across from mine. "I live right there. My mom could give you a ride home after, no biggie." I swear to god my eyes were about to pop out of my head and roll into the sewer grate. Was he on drugs? I stared into those honest orbs, free of glassy, hazy defects and concluded drugs were not involved in this brazen and clearly uncalculated invite. Befriending me would obliterate Frank's social life in Belleville before he even got the chance to have one. But, looking into that open face - a calm sea - I think that Frank already knew that. And more importantly, I don't think he cared.

"Oh, uh . . ." I gestured behind me to the shabby duplex I called home. "I live right there, so I could just walk." Frank's eyes bugged in absolute delight. "You live across from me!" He exclaimed obviously. Another dashing smile lit his face, threatening to blind me. I became suddenly self conscious of my perpetually coffee stained teeth, and I made a mental note not to open my mouth too much.

"So, y'know, about my offer?" He gazed up at me expectantly. He had toned down the smile a few watts, but it was still one of the most dazzling smiles I've ever seen. Frank was persistent, impulsive, and rather lacking in the social interaction department, but the boy sure could grin. Realizing I hadn't spoken in several minutes, I cleared my throat and forcibly broke into a very small, ghost-of-a-smirk. "You know what, Frank, I think that would be lovely."

"Great!" Frank chirped, already guiding me off in the direction of the looming Victorian house. Oh, Gerard, my consiousness shook it's head disappointedly. What are you getting yourself into? My heart nearly broke in half thinking about what I had just done. My stone cold, smashed, beaten, mauled, twisted little heart hurt for Frank, because I knew what I had just done. I had done the worst possible thing I could ever inflict upon someone else - I had become their friend. And unfortunately for him, I was going to be the only friend he would make here in Belleville. Because once you established ties with me, that was it. No more social life, no more respect, no more privacy. I had seen it happen before, once, to someone with a heart too big for their chest - just like Frank. They had just wanted to help me, and they  got hell for it. Frank would be no different.

I was going to be the death of this kid.