Not Just A Fantasy (Angel)

Glass, Tears, and Blood

WARNING: This chapter contains self-harm.

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     Frank had ran that day. He had ran to the mountains, all the way to the tip of one of them. Then, purely on instinct and adrenaline, he decided to sleep there. He found a cave without evidence of an animal living there and blocked the entrance. He was feeling reckless. If he died there, no one would care. No one would know. He curled up, pulling a blanket from his backpack, and fell asleep.

*     *     *

     Gerard had spent the day in his room. He was waiting, hoping for his angel to come. He read and did his homework, avoiding his screaming parents, spending the entire day with his earphones plugged in his ears to drown out his parents. But he didn't come. Maybe he's never seen my house, Gerard thought. Maybe he has no idea what I meant. He went to sleep that night with a pit in his stomach. He probably shouldn't have put his hopes in the boy so high. The boy had things to do, which were probably better than visiting Gerard. 

     The next day, half asleep, he shuffled out the door, for once not getting hit. He had never done that before, and so Gerard went to school unusually happy, even though he knew he would receive torture at school. 

     Everything was fine until lunch. He was pushed into a locker once, but that was all. But lunch was when the bomb dropped. 

*     *     *

     Frank had just woken up, and was finishing breakfast when a knife seemed to bury itself in his brain. He immediately kneeled over, letting out a silent scream as white hot pain buried into him. He stood up, the pain fading away, but he was no longer in control of his body. And he ran, crashing through bushes, swerving by trees, down the slope, desperately. He knew something bad was going to happen, somehow. And he ran. 

*     *     *

     Gerard had gotten his lunch, which was unusual for him, but he hadn't eaten yesterday in an effort to avoid his parents, so he was starving. He sat down at an empty table, alone. His classmates were yelling, throwing food, ignoring Gerard, which he was fine about. But then Andy walked up to him, and silenced the crowds. 

     "You finally eating, faggot?" He yelled, and his gang fanned out, surrounding Gerard, but everyone could still see him, and everyone was looking. Andy walked closer, his thumb hooking onto the neckline of Gerard's sweater, and Gerard started trembling. 

     "You look hot. Why don't you cool off?" He hissed, and lifted the limp Gerard up to standing on the lunch table. All eyes were on him. Andy then took out a pair of scissors. Gerard knew what was coming, and started to shake more. Edging back, he tried to run but a smirking CC grabbed him and plopped him back on the table. With a clean slice, Andy cut his sweater in half, so his bare chest was showing. 

     And the world could see Gerard's chest, pale with the dark bruises, his ribs showing, everything that Gerard tried so hard to hide. This was his life. This was what he suffered through daily, but no one knew. Now they did. They knew everything. Gerard started to cry, trying to pull the ruined pieces of his shirt to his chest to cover himself, but everyone had already seen. Andy guffawed, and forced the ruined shirt open again. Gerard searched the crowds with red eyes. They were stunned for a second, and then turned to whisper to each other, the crueler ones laughing. Gerard's eyes filled with tears again, and, like a tribal wave, disgust washed over him. For himself. For what he was. Someone that people stared at, that people laughed at, someone that had no one. No one cared about him. He was no one. 

     Gerard fled, crying. He was no one. He was nothing. 

     He ran, out of school, and just kept running, like he could escape himself. And he almost did. But then he had to stop. And his disgusting self caught up with him, and he stood there, bare chest heaving, crying like he had never done before, rage and hurt and darkness crashing into him. Making a fist, he walked to a window of an abandoned building, driving hate into his fist, making the glass shatter. He was gone. He was nothing. The shards shattered over the ground, little pieces. They had points, Gerard noticed. Sharp points. He picked one up, feeling the coolness of the glass, and nothing else. He was no one. No one cared about him. He turned the shard over and over in his pale fingers, until the sharp point faced his pale, unmarked wrist. He touched the glass to his skin. He was disgusting. He pressed the glass to his skin, and a bead of blood well up. It was beautiful, Gerard thought. Pure. He pressed a little deeper, and more blood spilled onto the ground, turning his fast-falling tears to red. He felt the pain. But it was good pain, he thought distantly. He deserved this. He was ugly. He was repulsive. No one loved him. And he pressed a little deeper. 

*     *     *

     Frank's breath came in gasps, his ghost felt like sandpaper, but he ran on. He entered the city and kept running, hysteria clouding his gaze. Something bad was going to happen. Something bad. 

*     *     *

     Gerard watched the blood circle his small wrist, drip down, and he pressed a little deeper, until he knew that it was deep enough. He was no one. He was ugly. He started to drag the bloody shard across his wrist. 

*     *     *

     Frank had no idea where he was going, he hadn't been to this part of the city. It was full of abandoned buildings. It was deserted. And then he saw Gerard. The boy was kneeling in a circle of shattered glass, sobbing, a glass shard in his hand, his wrist facing the sky. Blood. There was blood. And as Frank ran to him, horrified, he opened his mouth and spoke. 

     "No!" He screamed, his voice hoarse and unused. Gerard looked up, surprised, and that gave Frank enough time to run over to him and snatch the glass out of his hand. 

     Gerard started to cry harder. "No," he choked. "No, I'm ugly. No one likes me. I deserve to die. Please let me die." But Frank wrapped his arms around Gerard, trapping his arms, but the boy started to thrash. 

     "No! Let me die! I'm no one! I'm a nobody! I want to die!" The boy screamed, his voice full of desperation. 

     "I'm nobody!" He screamed, over and over, but Frank just held him tighter, tears trickling down his cheeks, his heart jumping. 

     "Let me die! Let me die!" Gerard wailed, but Frank didn't move. The bullied boy shrieked until his voice gave out, writhed until his muscles betrayed his clouded mind, and then he just cried, heartbrokenly, full of a lifetime of pain, and so did Frank.

And so the two boys knelt, embracing each other in a circle of blood and tears and glass, surrounded by deserted buildings and broken walls, in their own world full of heartbreak and pain and hate.