I Don't Love You

A Phantom Limb is all that I am Hanging On

December 31.

Six months after Vegas.

Gerard's smile is more natural. His laugh is more easy. For the first time in forever, he looks genuinely happy.

I can't say the same about myself, but I fake a smile anyways, trying to feed off Gerard's enthusiasm.

"You're all dressed up," I realize, waving a hand at the computer, encompassing Gerard's brightly colored New Year's hat. "Are you going out?"

"Yeah!" Gerard beams. "Just a party with some friends. What about you?"

I look down at myself, dressed in old boxers and a stained T-shirt. I shake my head. "No, no. I'm staying in."

When Bob had informed me earlier tonight that he was going out, I almost expected an invitation. But it was no secret that Bob's friends didn't like me; to them, I was some moocher who just shared an apartment with Bob. College kids that only talked to me if they wanted free tickets to the movies.

So here I was, alone on New Year's Eve, spending my night with a box of leftover takeout food.

I decide to change the topic as quickly as possible. "So college friends, huh? Am I keeping you from them? Do you need to go?" I almost hope he says yes, but Gerard just shakes his head.

"No, not yet. I've got time. How have you been?"

I shrug. "Fine."

Gerard frowns. "Liar. Anybody who says they're fine is lying. What's up?"

With a sigh, I snuggle back into the couch cushions. "Nothing." Also a lie. What's wrong? My best friend is out with other people, having the time of his life while I'm stuck in a tiny apartment eating cold leftovers in my underwear. Another year of my life is wasted, vanishing with nothing left to show for it. I hate my job and my life and my lack of peers and I feel like I'm withering away in mediocrity. Just barely getting by and hating every moment of it. "Everything," I groan. "I don't know. I don't wanna talk about me. Tell me about college."

Gerard frowns some more, but doesn't argue. "It's good. It's better than I thought it would be. Like, I knew it would be better than high school, but it's really great."

"Oh yeah?" I grab my cold food and shamelessly stuff a bite into my mouth. "It's like four more years of high school. What's so great about that?"

"But it's not high school," Gerard says, rolling his eyes. "It's better. Sure, there's still homework and classes, but it's so different. There's no one to make me do anything; if I don't want to go to class, I don't have to. I can stay up all night and eat Cheetos and Ramen and nobody fucking cares. And last week, my roommate brought a girl back to our dorm and they actually kicked me out. I got sexiled, Frank!"

"Are you happy about that?"

"Not particularly," Gerard says, shrugging. "But it's the fact that he can do that. Because we're adults. We can do whatever we want. And most of my classes are art-centered; Intro to animation, history of female characters in filmography. Frank, there is an entire class dedicated to shading!"

I laugh. "Wow, you sound like you're really liking it."

"I love it," he sighs. "So much. I'm doing stuff that I like doing. And I'm meeting new people that I have stuff in common with."

"Artsy kids," I muse. "Tell me, Gerard, how many of them are forever stuck in their emo phase?"

Gerard rolls his eyes. "Yeah, art kids," he says. "But... I mean like me in other ways, too." He pauses, a small smile forming. "I met a guy. His name's Ryan."

I sit up straighter on the sofa, taken aback. I smirk at him. "Dude, are you dating?"

"No," Gerard scoffs. "First of all; Ryan has a boyfriend. But... he's asexual."

"And you told him about you?" I ask. "Gerard, that's awesome. I'm proud of you, dude."

"It took some time," He says, waving it off like it's not a big deal. "But when Ryan told me he was, it was easier to tell him about me. And he's got a boyfriend, Brendon. They're really nice. Ryan even told me about this meetup that happens every few months. A group of asexual people in the area get together. Like a support group. Asexuals Anonymous. I'm going with Ryan to the next meetup."

"That's awesome," I grin. "Starting tomorrow, it's a new year. Looks like you're definitely starting something new. I'm happy for you."

"Thanks," Gerard ducks his head, then nods to me. "What about you? New year. What are your resolutions?"

I glance down at the cold takeout in my hand, putting it back on the table. In a way, it feels like the perfect metaphor for my life.

Across the room, there's an empty fishbowl where Goldie used to live. When he died a few weeks ago; I made Bob give him a proper funeral, but couldn't bring myself to throw out the bowl. Another perfect metaphor.

I close my eyes, resting my head back on the couch. I wonder if we have any beer in the fridge. It sounds like good night to drink myself into oblivion.

So this past year hasn't been great. Then again, the past few years have mostly sucked. What's one more year of suckery?

When I finally bring myself to look at the computer again, the image there makes my chest hurt. Gerard looks so happy. There's a glow in his eyes, something that smiles even when his lips aren't. He's doing something with his life, he's enjoying living, being happy. That's what I want.

New year, new me, right? I resolve to stop being such a loser. I resolve to find a job that doesn't make me want to throw myself off Brooklyn Bridge. To find someone new. To be a better me.

But in the end, I shrug. "I don't know," I lie. "I guess I don't have any resolutions."

"You're lying again," Gerard frowns.

"Nope," I tell him. I sink lower into the cushions, crossing my arms. The computer wiggles on my lap, my image moving with it. "Resolutions are stupid. You make a goal for the entire year, but you always abandon it by February, and then by the time New Years rolls around again you feel obligated to make the same stupid resolution you didn't fulfill last year."

"Oh come on," Gerard says. "One thing. That's all I ask, one resolution. What's one thing you want in the new year?"

I bite my cheek. I want that look on his face to be mine, to feel myself smile without the weight of the world dragging me down. "I want to be happy," I admit. "That's what I want."

Gerard smiles again, softly, privately, a moment between just the two of us, and raises a can of Coke to the computer screen in a toast. "To being happy," He says.

I reach for my own drink, raising it with his. "Yeah," I repeat. "To being happy."