Chalk Outline

8: Get Out Alive

It was horrible. His head ached with a piercing pain that wouldn't go away. The sun had risen hours ago, footsteps had sounded above his head hours ago, letting him know they were awake. They thought he was still asleep, he just couldn't face any of them while conscious. The black haired boy was feeling absolutely awful for what he had done. He'd gone back on his promise and allowed himself to be taken a hold of by alcohol - something he wasn't proud of in any way. Guilt was weighing down on him like bricks stacked up, every breath adding to the pile.

Sighing deeply, Gerard rolled on to his side, watching his hand fall limply in front of him, his head resting on his arm. He couldn't remember much of last night, but he knew it was terrible because the stinging in his eyes, the burning in his head and throat already gave him a good idea. Bert had been involved either way, that was evident.

Rubbing his tired eyes with the palms of his hands, Gerard slowly got to his feet, pushing himself up and away from the bed as he stumbled across the floor to the small adjoining bathroom the basement had. It saved him the trouble of going upstairs. For that he was grateful. The last thing he wanted to do was look Frank right in his gorgeous, hazel eyes with the words he couldn't bare to speak.

Leaning on the door frame for support, the singer trudged over to the sink. Turning the tap on, he bent down to splash water in his face. To wake him up, he made sure it was freezing so it made him more aware of what was going on. The feeling of being half there and half gone was starting to grow annoying really fast. Luckily, the water was indeed freezing and it startled him a little. Before he left, he switched the tap back off and gripped the sides of the sink, staring off in to space for a few minutes.

Sucking in a deep breath, Gerard raised his head to look at himself in the mirror. No one could call him healthy anymore. He knew that for a fact as he examined his reflection in the mirror with great concentration. It had been ages since he had properly looked at himself in the mirror. And what he saw, was a sorry sight to see. Frowning, the black haired boy noted the dark rings around his eyes, the cuts on his dry, cracked lips, the marks on neck and the grease in his hair. It was all disappointing. Shaking his head, Gerard turned away, walking back over to his bed and collapsing side ways on to it, landing awkwardly on his side, hurting his bruises in the process. He'd forgotten he possessed them.

To calm his nerves and numb his brain even further, he reached in to his pocket, digging out his cigarettes - the cancer sticks that helped him relax.

To some extent.

Gerard groaned in frustration when he couldn't find his lighter. It was the only one he had, which even surprised him. He was so concentrated on that at that moment, he never heard someone enter, or the creak of the door as they stepped in. "Looking for something?" The asked, receiving a quiet gasp from Gerard, who froze in place, his back to Frank, head down and eyes closed briefly. Slowly, the singer nodded, shifting in his place to face Frank, the one who smirked a little as he held up the lighter in his hands.

"C-can I have it?" He asked, outstretching his hand hesitantly, which was shaking, something he didn't seem to notice. But Frank did. He always did. He tried to make sure he never missed when something was wrong. In fact, he could see Gerard's whole body was shaking. Maybe he was just cold, the basement was the least heated place in the house and Gerard only had his shirt on. The jacket he usually wore was on the bed beside him. The red tie he always wore was hanging loosely around his neck.

Sighing, Frank shook his head, "no, you can't. It's confiscated... For now." He stated, earning a hint of a glare from Gerard, who remained quiet, keeping his mouth shut and eyes averted from his friend. Frank sat on the bed, cross legged, gesturing for the singer to sit next to him. Which he did, somewhat reluctantly.