Fight Fire with Fire (Frerard)

1. Tortured Eyes and Burning Skies

Do you ever get the feeling that haunts you at 2am, when you know you should be sleeping? The feeling that pulls on your heartstrings, allowing the sweat-covered sheets of your bed to engulf you in a spiral of depression and PTSD? The type of feeling that makes your body tremble and your throat close. You try to calm yourself but that's near impossible when your vision is blurred with flashbacks to memories you'd kill to forget.

Currently, that is me. Sitting by the toilet, trying to catch my breath. My nightmares have gotten bad again. No, not bad, worse. This was by far one of the worst nightmares I've ever experienced. So bad, I ended up here, throwing up bile and blood.

Want to know the worst part of the mess in my brain? The fact that I have to hide it from my parents. They would freak if they knew why I stay awake shaking. They know none of the story, and neither do you; naturally, that's very comforting to know.

I wipe my mouth with a bit of scrunched up toilet paper, before looking down at the bile coated porcelain. Tears prickle my eyes as I shakily stand, flushing the toilet. With one glance in the mirror, I decide I look worse than a corpse. My eyebags are dark, my skin is pale, and my hands don't seem to stop shaking.

"G-God, p-p-please..." I trail off, not really knowing what I am pleading for.

There is just too much in my life that I need a miracle for. Where do I start?

When I get to my bed, I collapse onto it, not bothering to cover my wilting body as I push my face deep into the pillow. That's when the breakdown flushes through my body.

Thankfully, the pillow silences the sobs as I grip the sheets beneath me. Why me? Why did it happen to me? I was innocent. I was good. I went to church every Sunday, did daily prayers. I even dog-sat for old Mrs. Benson across the road a few times.

So why, God, why did it happen? That's the only answer I need!

Was it my looks? Did I look weak? Easily led?

WHY?!

My head spins as I drench the pillow in terrified tears.

I hate Sunday's.

-

The sun is shining but don't let it fool you, it isn't a good thing. It means more people will be out and about, ready to soak up the wonderful gospel.

I sit in the front row. Pews are so dang uncomfortable, might I add!

"Hey Gerard!" I turn, seeing Wendy, a volunteer at the church.

I give a small smile. No one can know the darkness behind my eyes. No one.

"How has your weekend been? Gotten up to much?"

My mouth wanted to spew out the truth, 'Fabulous. I spent Friday night cleaning up the aftermath of bullies at school, and the whole of Saturday here, helping dad with chores for the church. Oh, not to mention, the crazy meltdown after yet another sleepless, nightmare filled night.'

"Great. Just helping dad with chores, I guess. How was yours?" I give a generous fake smile as she nods.

I know what you're thinking, wow – pathetic!

You are right. Why am I such a loser?

Before she could reply, my mom elbows me, signaling I better turn around or my ass will be sorry.

I turn, seeing my dad, one of the local priest's, standing before us. He smiles, wearing a robe and holding a leather bible.

"Welcome to church on this fine Sunday!" Dad says, causing people to stand and cheer.

I stand with my mom, clapping.

Now, don't get confused – I actually don't mind church. I have no issue with church. I have an issue, however, with how fake I have to be in front of everyone.

Around this area of Belleville, everyone knows each other. I find that both comforting, and horrible. Don't ask why. I honestly don't think I have time to state all the reasons for that statement.

As I sit, listening to dad or as other know him, Father Way, preach, my eyes begin to scan the front row to my right. All the 'important' people sit at the front. My mom and I get front row seats because, well, it's pretty clear why.

Suddenly, as if someone had just tipped icy water over my naked body, chills go down my spine. I forget how to breathe, and I feel lightheaded as I notice a pair of dark and evil eyes tearing my flesh off.

He smirks. He's nowhere near me, but everywhere I go I feel him.

Can he feel me?

Why can't I just forget him?

I want to shed my skin to remove the thick dirt that's staining my body. How dare he sit with a bible in his filthy hands.

These tortured eyes, they see right through him. He is the devil himself. I can 1000% guarantee. But still he keeps me captive and makes me feel like I deserved it. 

Every damn bit of it.

I know God say's not to hate anyone, but oh my, the hatred I feel for him honestly scares me.

When he winks at me, I begin choking on air. Mom nudges me, offering her bottle of water and a smirk. This is far from amusing. I almost want to throw the water at her and scream how serious this situation is. Disregarding what I almost want to do, I take the water with shaking hands.

I try not to spill the water, swallowing the silky liquid as memories begin to tear through my vision.

"Swallow it slut! Now!"

With tears streaming down my red face, I swallow the filth. God, help me!

As soon as that memory began playing, I unintentionally begin choking on the water. Can I do anything right? I feel people's eyes burn holes into me as I cough, not processing the fact that the water that was once in my mouth, is now all down the front of me.

When I regain control of my breathing, I look around, feeling my cheeks heat up. How embarrassing!

"You okay buddy?" I hear dad's voice through the mic.

I look up at the stage. Wow. Great job Gerard, you seriously stopped the church service because your dumb ass was choking. Well done!

I nod, biting my lip and shakily looking around me. That's when I notice Father John walking over to us. Please don't come talk to me!

"You okay Gerard?" He kneels down in front of me.

I wish I could have spat the water out all over him instead of my nice church outfit. Nonetheless, I nod. I just want the vile man to leave before more flashbacks make me choke again.

"Want to come to my office? I have spare clothes in there. You're welcome to use them." He smiles, looking from me to mom.

I notice dad has continued the service. Mom smiles at me, "Thank you Father. Gerard, off you go."

Anger fills me but I cant let her know. What is there to be angry about? I am fine. Nothing wrong. Nooo. Completely f-

"Gerard?" Mom's voice tears through my thoughts as I nod, shakily getting up.

I turn, handing the water bottle and my pride to mom. 

Please don't make me go with him...please, God!