In a Hail of Bullets

The Moth

I was drunk.

Tipsy drunk, stumbling drunk, so drunk I couldn’t even stand up like a normal person without falling over on my ass, giggling like a 13-year old girl.

The weird thing was, tonight I didn’t even remember how or where I got wasted. I just woke up with a raging headache on the side of the street somewhere.

I laughed shakily. That bad, huh?

A bum across the street glared at me. I shrugged and flipped him off.

Seriously, where the hell was I anyway? I stood up, using a garbage can as support, and rubbed my eyes warily, trying to get a sense of my surroundings. I looked up and realized I was on the corner of Stuart St. and Telegraph Ave. 36 blocks from my house.

Fuck.

Well, I had to get home. I didn’t want Mikey waking up and finding out I’d started drinking again. He’d never let me go out again if he saw me like this. I started walking on wobbly legs, stumbling every so often.

The road looked like something from a horror movie, all smoke and darkness. The only light came from a flickering street lamp with moths fluttering around it and burning themselves to a crisp. The air was cold and misty, which was weird, since it was only September. I hugged my arms around myself and walked towards home, wallowing in my own thoughts.

“Boo.”

“Ah!”

I was so surprised that I turned on my heel and promptly fell gracefully onto the sidewalk.

God damn, Gerard. The light flickered as the boy who’d scared me ran over and kneeled next to me.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you or something? Are you okay?”

I peered up at him. For some reason, the first thing that popped up in my foggy mind was that he looked like a puppy. Weird thoughts, I know. But this wasn’t exactly my greatest moment either. The boy took my wrist and attempted to haul me off the ground (which didn’t work.)

I shrugged him off. “Yeah, thanks.” I felt like I had to vomit. I forced myself off the sidewalk and sat down on a bench, cradling my head in my hands.

The boy leaned against a tree, quietly watching me with his head tilted to the left. “So, what are you doing out here, in the wee hours of the morning, anyway?”

I lifted my head from my hands for a split second, checking my phone for the time. 3:30 am? The fuck? “Oh, just taking a walk. I couldn’t sleep,” I lied. The boy looked skeptical, but didn’t say anything.

I cleared my throat. “Hey, I haven’t seen you around. Are you new here?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I just moved here two days ago. I’m Frank.” I couldn’t help but notice his tattoos, swirling around his arms in a waterfall of colors and words. He caught me trying to read one and raised an eyebrow, confused.

“Um...” I searched my head for an excuse that didn’t sound too weird/perverted. “I like your tattoos.”

Frank beamed, and I temporarily forgot my name.

He really was like a puppy. An adorable, cute punk puppy. With tattoos. And a lip ring.

I shook myself out of it. “I’m Gerard.”

The wind blew again, ruffling Frank’s hair and making him shiver. I rubbed my bare arms, wishing I had brought a jacket.

“Are you okay? You should get home soon.”

Frank shuffled his feet. “Yeah, well, my parents kicked me out of the house for a while.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and tugged the corners of his mouth down.

It must have been the wind, but I could have sworn I heard him mutter, “Guess they don’t like fags, huh?”

I opened my mouth to say, “Wow, sorry, man, but I gotta go,” but what came out instead was, “You wanna crash at my place for the night?”

Frank’s face lit up again. “Really?”

No, no, no, what am I going to tell Mikey? That I picked up some guy on the street after I was drunk? “Yeah, sure.”

Before I knew it, Frank was hugging me and doing a little dance for joy, bouncing up and down on the pavement. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!”

I never knew he was that excited.

I stood there awkwardly like a stick for a while before Frank detached his arms from around me. He grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, it’s just that this is the first time anyone’s ever tried to help me out.”

My brain was going a million miles an hour, conflicting thoughts running through my head.

Wait, this isn’t the first time his parents have kicked him out?

How could anyone not help Frank out? He’s just so innocent and cute and...

Ohmygod, Mikey is going to kill me.

I shoved everything out of my head. I’d deal with it later.

The street lamp flickered. Frank and I looked up as the lightbulbs sputtered and went dark.

I held out a hand, and Frank took it.

“Well, come on, let’s get you home.”