I'm Not Okay (I Promise) • Geetrick

19

---Gerard---

Patrick's lips linger on mine, and it takes me a moment to process what's happening. A moment that passes far too soon. A moment that feels like a snap of his fingers. Time is fast forwarding like a DVD player because the next thing I know, he's gone, running down the road and out of sight towards his house. Or I presume so at least. He looks scared in his light gray hoodie and denim jeans. His worn out shoes slamming down on the concrete, moving as fast as they can in fear. He's not hesitating in running away, he just goes and doesn't stop. He turns a corner out of my gaze, and I crave him again. Just to look at his body one last time.

That was... Beautiful... I can taste him on my lips, the taste of honey and oh God it's tasty. I find myself craving more than just the sight of him but his lips and his touch and his warm breath on my neck and... I crave him. Much more than I did before. I want him. I want to feel him and see him, all of him... I want to kiss him again. I want to kiss every inch of him and taste that addictive taste. He's worse than nicotine, and I've only had one taste. I feel my pants getting tight at the thought of it all. His fingers traveling lightly against my sensitive skin, tracing circles into my thighs, then pressing me against a wall and saying everything he knows will make me hard. Oh god... Oh god if he did that... But compare that to the fact he actually kissed me. With his lips on mine. And then it all comes down on me, it's crashing, but it's no wave.

Patrick Stumph kissed me. That shy, timid boy in the back of the room. That beautiful boy with a troubled past. That boy whose only escape is with music and razor blades. That boy with no friends. That lonely, self-conscious boy who probably couldn't love if he tried. He kissed me. Me of all people! Does he love me...? Does he really love me or was it spur of the moment? I sure as hell know I love him. I want to kiss those beautiful lips and run my fingers through his blond hair.

The sensation of his lips on mine is still there as a constant buzzing, the way they moved against mine for just a split second, clinging onto my bottom lip, almost sucking and then leaving me empty as he got up and ran. I'm propped up on my elbows, taking it all in. I can't get that thought out of my mind. Patrick Stumph kissed me! Patrick Martin Stumph actually kissed me!

And then my mind begins to ground. Is he coming back? Does he think I don't love him? Of course, he does, I haven't told him anything, and until I do, he's going to be confused. He's going to hate himself. He might pick up the blade tonight...

That thought hurts. That thought hurts a lot. Patrick locked in his room, his earbuds blasting Green Day or Blink-182 or The Offspring into his ears as he slices a blade down his wrist and sobs. Because he thinks I don't return the emotion.

***

I shut the door behind myself, the white wood making a loud slamming sound but I don't care I need to talk to Patrick. I'm such a fucking retard. I need to tell him everything, and I need him to know the truth. I need to tell him I'm in love. I need to tell him what he does to me. I need to ask him the one question that's been on my mind since the day I met him. I take my phone from my back pocket, my fingers getting stuck which only quickens my movements more as adrenaline courses through my veins. I'm trying my best to ignore the tent in my pants as I lean against the wall, sweat clinging to my face from the jog home.

Gerard: Hey, Patrick

I wait a little bit, and he doesn't reply, I assume he's probably asleep, it is 8:00 PM and we were out all day... Maybe I should text him anyways so he can wake up to it... I don't know... He just needs to know before he does something he'll regret.

Gerard: I need to tell you the truth. I'm so sorry I've been holding back but...

Gerard: I love you. I'm in love with you, and I've loved you ever since I met you. I was so scared that you didn't love me back and I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'm so fucking sorry that I'm like this. But I wanted to know if you maybe want to get together? Would that be alright? I mean I understand if you don't want to. It was kind of spur of the moment...

Gerard: I loved it, though... The kiss... It was nice and... I want to do it again... I really want to... I'm so sorry... I'm such a creep...

I'm talking to an empty room, maybe I can try again tomorrow morning. If... He's not getting hurt... Oh god...

Gerard: Goodnight, Sugar, sleep well.

I sigh as I throw my phone into the bed and pull off my hoodie, throwing it over the chair beside my desk. The black fabric piling over various other jackets I have. Some leather, some just soft material, some button up, some zip up. I mean, I was called a jacket slut for a reason in my last school. I continue to undress, throwing my shirt in my clothes hamper. It's a Get Up Kids shirt. I haven't listened to them for a while... Maybe I should. I don't know.

I really just want to listen to 21 Guns on repeat all day and sit next to Patrick again on the city block. Or just lay in bed with him, even as just friends. I need to know he's alright. I need to know that he'll be okay...

Damn, I'm exhausted. I can barely keep my eyes open as I throw my jeans into the hamper as well and being thankful they weren't skinny, or I would be about ten times more uncomfortable. I fall into bed, pulling the blanket up over myself and... actually feeling kind of lonely. Patrick isn't here... I want Patrick to be here... I want him to know that I want to be his boyfriend... I want to get together with him...

I find myself drifting off to sleep, but the only dreams that accompany me are of lonely nights on the block at years past. Watching the stars pass over the sky, long after everyone's left, so everyone else just thinks I'm poor and homeless.

***

"Gerard."

"Gerard, hey, do you see the pictures? In the frame?"

My eyes open and we're on the city block, the sun high above us, the sound of The Black Parade playing through the buildings. The familiar song, "Welcome to the Black Parade." I don't know who wrote it. I only know that they always play it. Flutes and clarinets with melody, trumpets with countermelody...

"Do you see the pictures?" Dad asks, his finger pointing to the five soldiers in a row, three of them holding frames.

I nod, watching them intently.

"What are they?" Mikey asks beside me, innocence and curiosity in his gentle voice.

Dad chuckles and adjusts me on his lap, "Those are people who have been very, very brave. Some of them had to fight cancer, some of them had to fight in the US Army..."

"Just like you?" Mikey interrupts.

"Yes, just like me." Dad smiles.

"Are you in there, Dad?" I speak, the soldiers past us. The frames are hidden from my sight, and I want to follow them, but I know he'd only get upset if I did.

"Well, no, I'm not." Dad says, "Yes, I was brave when I fought. Yes, I did fight, and though I don't have cancer, I could still be on there."

"Why aren't you?" Mikey asks.

Dad smiles gently, "Those people on the frames, well, they're not with us anymore. They passed away after a long, long time of fighting and being brave."

"Are you going to be in that frame, Daddy?" Mikey asks, his eyebrows furrowed in worry.

Dad swallows and nods, "it should be a long time before I'm on there but someday, I will. You just gotta promise me to be brave and everything will be okay, all right?"

"I promise."

"I promise, too, Daddy!"