Fight Fire with Fire (Frerard)

2. Here Comes the Fire-Starter

It's now 8pm and to say I got what I was expecting would be an understatement.

"Mmm. You look good like that." He groaned, coming closer to my naked body.

Where's the spare clothes?

I lay on my bed, exhausted from this morning. No one suspected anything which was good. For everyone else, it would've been about 15 minutes, but to me it was more like 15 hours.

15 hours of torture, all thanks to that stupid man.

The wind rustles the leaves as I stare out the window. What's the point of all this? The days seem to merge into one big, long hellish lifetime, and I can't make it stop. I can't make any of this stop. The voices, the memories, the nightmares; why won't they stop?

"Gerard, come downstairs please!" I hear mom call from the end of the stairs.

I haul my tired body up, remembering that today is the damn day. Oh lord...

With a clearing of my throat, I descend down the stairs and into the lounge room where mom and dad stand, showing welcoming faces to the wonderful kid we are fostering, and the woman who is from the fostering agency.

"Gerard, this is Frank. Frank, Gerard." Dad smiles, introducing us.

I offer a fake but polite smile and he too, returns the gesture.

"Donald is one of the priest's at the local church." The woman in a formal outfit offer's the unwanted information.

Frank nods, looking down with an unreadable expression, "Great."

My eyebrows furrow as I watch him. He is trouble. Nothing short of trouble, as I thought he would be.

"Well Donna, Donald, there are a few things to discuss. How about we go somewhere more private?" The grey-haired woman smiles at my parents.

Her hair is like wire and it seems frail, much like her body actually. Frail I mean. She is in her 60's for sure.

"Gerard, please show Frank to his bedroom. I'll call you both for dinner soon." Mom smiles as I nod, flicking my mocha eyes to his.

He stands, holding a suitcase and an asshole expression. I turn, beginning to walk up the stairs, deciding he will follow if he wants.

Sure enough, as I swing the door open to my - our bedroom, Frank hit's the top of the stairs.

"Uh, that's your bed. That's your area of the closet and...yeah. Um, the bathroom is here." I point around the room, while swinging open the door connecting to the en suite.

Frank is silent as he processes what I said. I move to my bed after shutting the door, finding relief in not standing up anymore. My body is so sore.

I watch Frank drop his bag and suitcase to the end of his bed, before taking a seat on the springy bed. He play's with the zip of his black jacket, looking around the room in silence.

My eyes flick to the sun, squinting and regretting my decision as I look down, seeing black dots in my vision. Why do I do this to myself? I bring my hands to my eyes, rubbing them in hopes that my eyes will go back to normal.

'Oh, thank god' I think as I blink, seeing my eyes are back to normal.

I make a mental note not to look at the damn sun so often.

Frank's rough voice tore through the thick silence as I look to him.

"So..." He says awkwardly.

"So..." I copy, not really knowing what to say.

I watch as he fishes through his pockets, smiling to himself when he pulls out a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a small bag of white powder.