The black alarm clock with the red glowing digits blinked first, sending red rays of light clattering off the pulled shade, illuminating my room with each continued blink. Then it began to beep, in time with the flashes, pulling me from my deep slumber. I had actually slept decently last night, unlike the usual tossing and turning. I hit the stop button and from my upright position in bed, eyed the clothes on my floor. The room was a wreck, not that I planned on cleaning any time soon. My mom was walking around in the kitchen, getting ready to leave. Not to work though, no she’d be clubbing until midnight most likely, then she’d come home perpetually wasted and so the cycle would wind in a continuous circle.
Standing, slowly, at first to avoid the awful head rushes I got in the morning. Everything would go black, my head would feel as though it were being repeatedly smashed on a concrete patio, and sometimes, I’d faint and fall. I had to be careful. I picked up a black shirt, it had the Misfits across the front. I looked at my black jeans I had slept in. Not bothering to change them, I slipped on my Vans that sat by my bedroom door, the only thing sure to be in its right place.
I flipped the light switch to search for my black and red studded belt, it was half under my dresser, looping it through my jeans, I flipped the light back off and leaned against the cool door. It was white, but I’d covered it a few posters. I took odd pleasure in the dark of my bedroom-my solitude. I heard my mom’s heavy, careless footsteps come towards the door and I froze from instinct, waiting for her to break, bust open into a screaming, cussing fit of blaming her troubles on her only son. She banged on my door twice, like she was upper-cutting someone trying to mug her.
“Get up!” She yelled. The footsteps moved back down the hall, the door to the apartment opened and closed. I walked over to my dresser, the only thing it held was underwear, hidden beneath them a lighter and pack of cigarettes. I’d stolen from Mom, she just thought some guy she’d brought home had taken them. I put the cigarette in my mouth and lit it, hiding both the lighter and pack away again. I sighed and ventured into my now vacant house. It was early yet, but I was walking to school, so I grabbed my backpack and let out a puff of smoke as I grabbed my house key and left the small apartment behind.
- - -
First period Science was a drag. I decided I wasn’t feeling school today, and when the bell rang, shrilling out over the large school full of people I didn’t know, and didn’t care to get to know, I walked out the front doors, undetected, under the radar, nobody cared. As always.
“Skipping?” A voice said from the picnic tables to my left, I kept my head down and pleaded it not to be Josh. I didn’t feel like eating dirt today.
“I’m talking to you.” It spoke again, the picnic table creaked as the person stood. Footsteps slapped the pavement, I stopped walking and stared at my Vans.
“What do you want?” I mumbled, the person’s identity still unknown to me.
“I want to know why you’re skipping.” The voice said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Don’t want to be here. Can I go know?” I snapped, I just wanted to leave, was that really so difficult to understand?
“I’m Gerard, by the way, you can call me Gee.” He said, a hand appeared in front of my vision, did he want me to shake it?
“I won’t bite,” he said as I took his hand in mine, “hard.” He added, nudging me from behind. I let out a nervous laugh and turned to face the mystery student. He was gorgeous. His hair was brown and long, flopping into his face. It looked like it was recovering from a recent black dye job.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” He joked, walking down the sidewalk in front of me. I watched him walk, until he turned around and said,
“Are you coming?” I ran to catch up.
“I’m Frank.” I told him, he just nodded, pulling a lighter and pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, placing the cancerous stick in his mouth and lighting it so elegantly, as if he were born with the skill. I found myself staring, inhaling the second hand smoke. He caught my glance and handed it to me.
“Here. You look like you could use it.” I didn’t hesitate.
It tasted different, like nicotine and like Gerard. His lips had been there. I told myself, my hands growing shaky. What the hell? I handed it back and he laughed.
“Am I making you uncomfortable, Frank?” He asked, dragging out my one syllable name, brushing up against me.
“Uh-I,” I faltered, “shit.”
“Are you dead?” He asked suddenly, stopping all movement and stamping out the cigarette with his foot.
“Do I look dead to you?” I asked him, standing to face him.
“Frank, I think you know what I mean.” Was all he said before he kissed me.
