Stuck (Frerard)

Morning- Chapter 5

I wake with nausea and a slight headache. Not too bad of a headache because I'm still really drunk. What a great way to start a morning. I groan and decide I can't get up. I don't want to get up anyway. I can just lay here on the uncomfortable kitchen tile until I get the courage to stand up.

*4 hours later*

I wake up for the second time, which is weird for me. I usually am never able to fall asleep after waking up. Of course, when I'm drunk things are different.

I open one eye, but can't see because of my dark locks over my face. I would move my hair out of the way, but I can't really move my arm. I don't know if it's because I'm drunk, or if it's because I'm emotionally drained. Probably both. With what little strength I have, I roll onto my back from my left side. I face the microwave and see that it's 4:47. Almost the time when that kid would usually get beat up. I think I actually feel bad for him. But that's because it's a human emotion, okay? Normal humans feel bad for other people that are getting hurt. 

I kind of want to check up on him, if he comes by this way again. What day of the week is it? Yesterday was Monday, so it's Tuesday. I don't really keep track anymore, although I try. I have no reason to. I guess I'll try to catch him if I can. Hopefully I don't come off as creepy. I just know how hard it is to get beat up almost everyday. 

I slowly peel my back off the floor, using my elbows to support me, groaning all the way up. 

I'm too hungover and drunk for this shit

Standing is always a struggle. Even when I'm not drunk, it just seems that everything is so overwhelming and I can't always balance. Small things too, such as a car horn or other people in the complex walking, it's just too much. 

My back is sore from being on the tile in such an awkward position for so long. I should probably change my clothes. I passed out in my dark grey jeans and old dark green tee shirt. Walking, no, wobbling back to my room, I pull on some black skinny jeans, a black sweatshirt, and my leather jacket. I don't even know if he's gonna be there, so I don't put an effort into my looks. 

Glancing at my alarm clock, I see it's 4:57. It took me 10 minutes just to get dressed. Wow, good job Gerard. I slowly walk back to the kitchen, make some fresh coffee, and sip it near the window with a view of where that kid and the bullies would be. I almost finish my mug before I see it. The kid running as fast as he can, but not fast enough. Poor guy is too short to outrun the tall and athletic bullies. I slam my mug down, and rush down to the main floor. I take the stairs because the elevator is actually slower. I don't even look at the person at the desk this time. They are probably staring at me. I don't care. 

I speedwalk to the alleyway again. It's the same scene as yesterday. The kid is on the ground in pain while being kicked. As soon as I'm seen, everyone rushes off. I don't even have to say anything. I walk over to the kid and crouch down to help him up. 

Me, being the awkward Gerard I am, asks, "You alright?" in a soft voice.

The kid stands up, wincing and holding his ribs. I hand him his backpack that fell to the ground. He takes it and pulls the straps over his shoulders. That's when I'm able to notice his appearance better. He has a shaved head except for long black bangs in the front. On his pale lips are a lip ring too. He has a soft and pale face that's mostly covered by his hair. The kid is wearing tight black jeans and a black shirt that read "The Used". I smiled on the inside, but not the outside. I don't wanna look creepy, I just wanna help this poor kid. 

"Uh, yeah" he says as he rubs his ribs. I suddenly feel like an idiot. 

"So, what's your name? I notice you get beat up here a lot," I try to break the awkward moment. Maybe it isn't awkward and I just think it is. 

He smiled a bit and responded with, "Frank, and thanks for shooing them." he looked down.

"I'm Gerard, and no problem. Why do they beat you up so often?" 

Frank bites his lip. 

"Because I'm-"

I look into his eyes, trying to catch his attention. 

"I'm, well-"

He mutters something softly at the ground. I can't hear what it is.

"Hmm?" 

"I'm gay," Frank answers. I suddenly feel butterflies. Why though? Just because another person is gay doesn't mean you're gonna be boyfriends. No, I don't even want a boyfriend. I don't need one. They're a waste of time. You're probably not even gonna see him again after this.

He looks embarrassed and uncomfortable. I wonder why he shared that with me. I definitely don't just tell anyone I'm gay.

"It's okay, I am too," 

Frank looks into my eyes with confusion, as if I were about to say "Just kidding!" I didn't though, because it's true. I am gay. And now a random kid knows it. I guess he has no reason to tell anyone else and make fun of me for it, so I shouldn't be so scared. 

"You..."

I just look at him, waiting for him to finish his sentence. He doesn't though, he just turns and jogs away. Did I mess up? Should I never have told him about my sexuality? It's too late now anyway. I screwed up. 

I'm about to walk away when I notice he left something on the ground. A notebook that had 'Frnk Iero' scribbled over the bright red cover in sharpie. I would've given it to him, honestly, and I'm not a nosy person, but I picked up the book and walked with it back to my room. I swear I'm going to give it back to him the next time I see him. Tomorrow. But for now, I'll keep it on my dining room table. 

I sit down on one of the chairs and hold the book in my hands. I won't open it. That's really nosy and disrespectful. I won't. 

Ok, maybe just the first few pages, but that's it.

I set down it down on the table, scoot in my chair closer, then carefully flip open the cover. The first page read: PROPERTY OF FRANK IERO. DO NOT READ. PRIVATE!!!

Must be a diary. How cute. I fully ignore the warning and go to the next page. This is what it reads:

Frank Iero, age 16, August 2, 2018. 

I only have this shitty journal because my therapist said it would be "good for expressing my emotions" or some shit. I hate this. Its a fucking diary. I feel like a fucking high school girl with a crush on some boy that writes down all her feelings. I wish I didn't have to do this. How do I even start with this? I guess I'll introduce myself. I'm Frank Anthony Thomas Iero Jr. I'm your classic emo kid. I also happen to be gay, and I get bullied for it all the time. It's not my fault that guys are so fucking hot and girls are weird and gross. It's just the way that I am. 

I smile at his amount of swear words. I flip to the last page

So much for not being nosy

The date read September 22, yesterday. This is what it reads:

Frank Iero, September 22, 2018

So there was this dude and he got rid of the bullies. He's actually super cute, I hope he's my age. I totally wish I could have talked to him, but I'm too weird for that and I had school. I wonder if he'll be there again tomorrow. I doubt it though. Maybe I'll pretend to not be able to outrun the bullies again and I'll see if he comes. It's a bit too hopeful, I know, but why not? I know he's probably straight, but I don't care. He could be a person that doesn't hate me at least. I'm getting way to hopeful. Why am I like this?

I smirked at the word straight.

Me? Straight? Not a chance.

I close the book and push it out of my way. I need to think. So, this kid is gay, my age, and likes me too. Wow. That's kind of a lot. I guess that since he likes me, I like him too. I'll be more friendly, knowing he doesn't hate me. I'll strike up a conversation with him when I give his journal back to him. Ok, tomorrow I'll do that.

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