Not Just A Fantasy (Angel)

Almost

     Frank could only watch, and it killed him. He had known this boy for barely more than a day and yet he felt responsible for the bullied boy. He wanted to show him the world wasn't all about bullies and slaps and haters. He wanted to show him there was more to this world. But this was where it might end. They might die. But Frank didn't want to die. There was still more he wanted to do- more he wanted to achieve. But he could do nothing. He could do nothing for the beautiful boy in front of him. To other people, he might not have been perfect. He was pale and skinny, his small shoulders slumped in defeat, and bruises could be seen blossoming everywhere skin showed. But he was perfect, to Frank. He wanted Gerard to live. He wanted him to be happy.
      And then Frank felt something. It wasn't gentle or beautiful- no, it was fierce and hot and as much as he hated it, he relished the power, because he'd never felt powerful before. He had took what he got, what he found, but was never in control. But seeing that glittering knife tap on the boys chest, and ever so slowly pierce Gerard's skin, the world slowed down. He felt like he was outside his body, watching himself elbow the man who was holding him in the ribs, shake off the mans grip, and run up to the leader, bringing his knee up to hit him in the groin, and saw him grab the knife. He saw himself pointed the knife at the leader, and he watched in horror as the knife started to whistle, driven through the air toward the neck of the leader, and, gasping, he saw himself shift his arm so the knife struck the brick next to the leader. He saw himself whirl around, grab the stunned Gerard by the wrist, and pull him in the direction of his house. He saw himself disappear into the shadows with the boy. He saw his pounding feet, his rasping breath, and when Gerard couldn't run anymore, he saw himself pick him up, and keep running, like he wanted to somehow escape what he had just almost done. But there was no escaping that.
 
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      Gerard felt the boys hand on his wrist. It was warmer, softer than the leaders hands, but he was appalled by what his angel had done. He had seen the way the boy's eyes had looked so angry, so filled with uncontrolled rage. He saw the fire in his eyes. He had seen that before. Jinxx's eyes, as the bat descended. His dad's eyes as he blocked the hallway late at night, the bottle grasped in his hand, his thick finger pointed at Gerard's nose. The leader's eyes just now, the knife spinning in between his nimble fingers, a crooked smile on his face. It was the look to someone with power. It was someone who liked it. It was those kinds of people that Gerard had spent his life running from, and now, his feet told him to run after a person with that rage in his eyes, and the capability in his heart to almost kill someone.
     He knew that the boy had saved them. He knew that. And he knew that there really wasn't another way to escape. He knew that the boy just wanted to protect him. But he couldn't help feeling scared of the boy in front of him. Disgusted, even. But he tried to muffle that part of him, because this boy had saved him, three times now. He had shown he had good intentions. Besides, it wasn't like he had another person to protect him.
      But Gerard also liked the boy. He liked his smile, he liked the graceful way he moved. He liked the innocence that the boy had in him, but also that determined part of him. The one that wanted to live. The one that wanted to prove himself. It reminded him of that memory that he fought so hard to keep. Of that boy, on the street, with the dirty clothes, the pale skin, the skinny arms. The boy that had been alone, but he looked so strong. He wished he could find that boy. Maybe he would help him. Maybe he could save Gerard.
 
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     Frank finally stopped running as he walked toward his house at the edge of the city. At first, he had heard footsteps running after him, and shouts, but he had soon lost them. He entered the broken-down shop and laid Gerard on the makeshift bed, retreating to the furthest corner. He was shaking. He didn't know he could do that. He didn't know he could almost kill someone. He wanted to get away from Gerard. He wanted to protect the boy, and as much as he felt compelled to be close to the bullied boy, he didn't trust himself. He didn't want to hurt the boy, and so he put as much space between himself and the vulnerable boy that the shop allowed.
 
     Gerard looked scared. He kept looking around- at the stocks of food Frank piled in a corner, at the tarps covering the olds in the roof and walls, at the home that Frank had lived in, created. But he didn't look at Frank. He was probably scared of him. Frank had turned into one of those bullies that tormented Frank. He had gone from being his ally, his friend, his protector, to someone that was just as bad as the rest. And however much Frank wanted to fix it, he didn't know how to.
 
     So the two boys, both wrestling with one thought that was about the same incident, but vastly different in each of their minds, didn't speak another word as the darkness descended, as the street lamps could be seen flicking on, as the windows in homes, each with people that had a million different problems, a million different stories, began to be lit with light, bringing the people inside closer in their own little world, that made them closer of each other in a way that they didn't even notice.
 
     But in that little shop, there was no light. No comforting fire, no lamp to set shadows on the walls. Nothing but darkness.