The Blind Artist (Frerard MCR Fanfic)

Edited- Chapter 3

Chapter 3

When home is no longer a permanent fixture you get used to living from place to place. It's not that college didn't supply a dorm, I had a great room with an equally likeable roommate… whenever I saw him. It's just that I didn't enjoy staying in it. I preferred to stay up in a coffee house, or head up to the roof and stare up at the stars. 

It came the day where I was no longer part of college which meant I no longer belonged. I don't know what sucked the most, the realisation that I was just a number in the system or that I officially had nowhere to live. 

It meant that I had a decision to make with my next step. I had applied to different assistant centres for a job but they were less enthusiastic about hiring a graduate. 

So there I was, nervously spinning the advertisement in my hand, coffee in the other, waiting for my public coffee house interview with the help wanted add. I was lost in the grooves of the table, each grain had small layers of varnish flaking off and scratched into the corner of the wood was an array of names, symbols and drawings. I wondered if the marks were to symbolise something, was it a celebration, a fear or a boredom just to make a mark on something. I understood why they did it, the fascination that there are hundreds of tables in the world and each one is completely unique. I had etched my name enough times to realise that everyone wants their moment in the world. To become a part of a story somewhere, for as long as they can, the name will always be etched into the wood. A simple ‘LOLA LOVES JOE'  could be the marking of the beginning of a relationship, years later they would return when they were married and sit at the same table, after that their children would visit and their children’s children would do the same. Well that's how it's supposed to work right? 

“Excuse me, is it Frank?” a voice interrupts my thinking, my hand stills and my head peers up awkwardly. Warm honey coloured eyes peer back at me through black rimmed glasses, a small smile gracing his lips.

“Yes, pleased to meet you, Michael right?” I stand straightening my crumpled shirt and holding my hand out for him to shake. He looks at it like an alien before firmly shaking my hand and guesturing to take a seat.  He looks around as if to check who's in the cafe, showing his thick brown sideburns under his short bleached blonde hair. 

His browns dip as he turns back to me. “It’s Mikey. So I hear you’ve just graduated college.” He says sipping at the coffee cup he had in his hand, I didn't even realize he had a drink, it made me wonder how long I was distracted.

“I have. I just got my degree in caring and assistance. It’s part medical, part social science. I have the whole range of accreditation should you need it.” I inform him, I had been practicing it in my head on repeat just to try get it right. Hopefully he didn't need to see anything as it would give away my trembling hand. 

“So, the position I’m looking for isn’t for me, it’s my brother. It would be live in, you'd get expenses paid for and we have a budget for a little extra money weekly. You will get 2 days off a week of your choosing or 4 evenings a week. He’s pretty introvert and stays mainly in his room, he's creative and you'll find that he plays the artist card all the time. He just needs a mother more than anything, someone to cook and clean for him, take him to appointments. That kind of thing. How's that sound?" As he explains and I nod along trying to take it in. It doesn’t sound like something  I’d been trained to do over the past few years. It was mainly nursing homes or support centres. But the idea of a roof over my head was all I could hope for. My brain wasn't quite working with what to say.

“So what is the issue?” I ask with a raised brow, awkwardly he avoids my eyes for a moment making me think he’s hiding something. Surely he would save money and appoint a house keeper or something?

He composes himself before leaning forward a little and releasing a sigh. “Listen, I’ve never done this interview thing before, as far as I can tell you’re a great guy who’s worked too hard to just throw it all away.” His eyes flicker to my tattooed wrists slightly exposed by my shirt along with a slither of razed raw flesh. It's not a judging look, but it's one of understanding and concern. “My brother is complicated. He has an issue with his vision, he never talks about it. In fact he's a dick sometimes. He needs someone to give him a kick up the ass. I don't want to push you into anything, but it might be best if you meet him for yourself, as far as I’m concerned you have the job if you want it.” 

And at that moment I let out all the air in my lungs and a trace of a smile graces my lips. I did want it. For some reason more than I could ever think of, I wanted it. It’s an excuse just to hold on a little longer, to stop myself going into a slump of depression. Intrigued by this introvert character I find myself nodding.

“Wow, I u-hh, thank you, sure.” I stumble out and catch his extended hand in mine giving it an awkward shake. My hands cold and clammy, the tremble now vanished instead replaced with a new nervousness. What am I getting myself into?

“I think you and Gerard will get on like a house on fire.” He smiles as he stands beckoning me to join him as we leave. 

Gerard. His name makes the corners of my lips turn up. The introverted artist. The blind artist.