Vacant Eyes & Butterflies(Frerard)

Chapter 3-The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 3

The Kids Aren't Alright

"It's not okay." Pete began, drawing in a shaky breath.

It was day two of Christmas break, and Pete and I were crammed in my un- kept, diminutive excuse for a bedroom. He sat at the edge of my bed trying to distance himself, while I sat cross legged in the middle of my bed. The comforter was twisted into a huge ball off to the far left corner in my room. I was also starting to get the feeling back in my face where Gerard hit me.

My mom was panicking when I arrived home last night, and immediately took me to the walk in clinic. It was nothing serious; my mother just worried way too much for her own good. My right upper cheek was bruised; reds, pinks, blues, purples and an off yellow-green all somehow faded in together to create the mark that Gerard left. The colours were blotchy and vibrant, and I wasn't mad, or upset. Seeing the mark made me think of him and his terrible smoking habits, and the way he breathed out the nicotine. It reminded me of how he'd go to the cemetery to draw. Anything Gerard did seemed to relate back to art, which yes, included beating me up. It was almost as if he took sponge and just dabbed the colours on my face, and soon enough, like anything it'd fade away. But for now, I was with Pete, desperately trying to figure out why he was upset.

"Frank," He slowly turned his body to me. "Remember I told you how I was moving? Today's  my last day here. And I'm scared, I mean I'm happy that we're moving back to my hometown but I wont have anyone there to really talk to."

"It'll be okay. We can phone whenever you want, plus we can skype too, you'll still have me, Pete. I'm not going anywhere.

Pete nodded and wiped his tears away on the sleeve of his sweater, then laid back onto my unmade bed.

"So is this it?" I asked, leaning against my headboard. "I mean, it's almost midnight. You probably have to go back home and get ready for tomorrow."

"Yeah I guess so." He slowly said, not even bothering to look at me; his eyes were fixated on my celling and all the little bumps and ridges.

"You know what?" He slowly said.

"What?"

 He sadly smiled to himself.  "I'd do everything again,Frank. You know that right? And even though it doesn't seem like it at the best or worst of times, you're my best friend and maybe things will be alright."

I said nothing.

And for the longest time he didn't either.

"Please don't isolate yourself like you did when Mikey died though." I turned to look at him, he genuinely looked concerned. He reminded me a lot of my mother sometimes; he worried about me too much for his own good. I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself without the help of anyone else.

"Anyway," he sighed. "Who was that guy you were talking to the other day at school?"

"Uhm. I don't know." I lied, really hoping that Pete would drop it. Gerard was my secret now. 

"Frank."

"What?"

"Who was he?" Pete met my eyes, a smirk graced across his lips in a suggestive manner, while waggling his eyebrows. Pete knew that I was bisexual, he was actually the only one, other than my parents who I came out to, who was actually okay with it.

I remember coming out to my parents when I was 14. My mom was more okay with it than my dad was though. He was worried what all his friends would think for "having a fag for a son." He completely disowned me, and for the longest time it bothered me, but I stopped caring when my parents divorced and my dad left us for his perfect new family. In my eyes, he was dead to me. I didn't want anything to do with my father, and I don't think my mother did either, which was why I sometimes referred to her as a widow. I found comfort in believing that my father was dead, which was fucked, and really made no sense, but neither did I. If I were to look back on photos of our family before we fell apart, I'd rather keep the good ones with him as a child and forget about everything that came afterwards. I was okay with him being dead, even if it wasn't real.