Fight Fire with Fire (Frerard)

19. Real Eyes, Realize, Real Lies

To say Frank looked miserable would be an understatement. 

He was fucking drowning in his sorrows.

"Gerard I-." A freshly lit cigarette sit's loosely between chapped lips as his voice break's off into a silent plead for the right words to come to mind.

My eyes are locked on the grass beneath us, as we sit in the backyard, hiding from the world. Maybe it's the fact that I feel so hollow, or maybe it's the way my mind is deteriorating, but I can't help but feel this sick sense of darkness. Like a voice in my head won't let me peacefully live. It want's me dead.

I want me dead.

I need to get away from my mind. Away from the toxic endeavour to find meaning in my life. My useless fucking life.

Sadness swirls around our corpse-like bodies, as I clear my closing throat.

"Where did you get the cigarette from?" I ask.

He looks down at the cancer stick in his hand, before locking eyes with my shaking body. To be honest, smelling the smoke is causing my body to fucking crave the chemicals.

I find it quite intriguing, the relationship between a smoker and their cigarettes. It's amazing how one's body can crave such disgusting chemicals. I guess you could call it a chemical romance.

My chemical romance.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying smoking is good in any way! I have, however, formed some sort of relationship with the cancer sticks. I have formed a chemical romance of some sort.

I don't know, maybe the thought of calling a smokers addiction to chemicals a romance is weird. Oh well, it's just an idea, I guess.

I don't look at him, but I can feel his dark eyes watching my every move, as I play with a blade of grass.

My hands shake and I'm not sure if it's because I am cold, my body is in pain from being brutally fucked, or if they are shaking from the constant anxiety that courses through my bony body. Probably a mix of all three.

"I had an unopened pack from a few days ago. I was kind of expecting them to find out about me smoking and taking my pack."

I nod, still staring that the grass as if it were on fire.

"Here." He mumbles, cigarette in his mouth.

I look over at his hands, holding a cigarette and a lighter.

"Thanks." I mumble, taking it and instantly feeling relieved as I light it and suck in the wonderful chemicals.

My eyes still don't meet his, as I watch the smoke dance in the wind. I just can't bring myself to look at the eyes that betrayed me.

He fucking ratted me out to my parents! What person that 'loves' you does that? It's all bullshit.

This life is fucking bullshit.

I hear a sigh from beside me, pulling me from my devouring thoughts.

"I'm sorry. I just...sorry." His voice trembles slightly.

Maybe he too, is cold.

I shrug, looking up at the star filled sky. They burn bright.

I wish I could burn.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." I lie.

My body is tired, and my mind isn't in the right place to discuss the whole situation that happened earlier. I just cant even begin to describe the mess in my head, let alone talk about it to someone who 'loves' me.