My knuckles were bruised and bloody, I can't believe I had done this shit. Again and again, time and time. I don't know why it happens so often. I'm just some stupid punk kid looking for vengeance.
I was supposed to stay at Gerard's. He'll probably kill me if he notices I'm done. Ugh, god, what he'd do if he knew I'd left? Would he respect that I'd gotten out in the first place, or would he be happy I'm back?
I cant go home, they'd just yell at me all night and be me to leave. But Gerard.. but my parents.. it felt like I was spinning in a circle, making my headache worse. Making the dim street light look fuzzy and dull. It felt like my feet were moving back and forth trying to decide where to go.
No.
I sat down on the sidewalk, trying to regain myself and trying to decide, but it only seemed to make my head throb more. My hands hurt terribly, the open scars stung and were probably going to get infected this time.
I know what would happen. I know. My plan -I'll wait here, two blocks from Gerard's, waiting for him to drive by, looking for me. He'll go out, won't he?
No. He won't. Not this time.
I pulled up my knees, crossing my arms on top of them and resting my head. I sniffled, regretting just what I'd done. Ugh, why am I like this? I hate myself. So much.
But I have to do something this time. I already knew my parents wouldn't come looking for me. And now, Gerard wouldn't be. I stood up, looking down the streets.
Regretting to have not turned to my parents, I walk back to Gerard's at a rushed pace, my breathing getting quicker and air getting more tense with every step. Head pounding, heart throbbing. I just needed to be quiet..
I slowly got in through the front door, using the key under the mat and hearing the soft creak. I slid my shoes off, careful not to step close to anything. I was quiet, but my hands were aching and covered in blue and purple hues.
I shut the door behind me, almost forgetting about it. I started to walk up the stairs until a light turned on in the front room, suddenly illuminating my path. fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! Run up the stairs! Duck! [a/n: ohmygod] Do anything, just something!
But I turned around slowly coming face-to-face with Gerard. His angered expression made me feel more timid and low than my own parents. His disapproval and disappointed faces were worse than theirs -they felt worse. They hurt so much. I didn't feel like a big shot punk, i felt small.
"I-I'm sorry-"
"What do you think you're doing?" He interrupted, arms crossed boldly against his muscular chest. He didn't move, he didn't say anything much at all at these times anyway. His voice stayed the same, he always tried to never raise his voice at me.
I stayed quiet, letting him slowly walk forward. I shoved my hands behind my back and gulped, instantly knowing that was a wrong move by catching the squint of his eyes. He was tired.
"Let me see your hands," he commanded calmly, staring at me. I shook my head slowly and he sighed, grabbing my shoulder as he led me up the stairs. "Go to the bathroom." I didn't complain about the pain in my shoulder, even with his gentleness.
I pulled my hands out, nervously biting at the skin at my fingers, only making my scars stretch and hurt more.
"Stop that," Gerard muttered, pulling my hands down, voice getting more stern. I knew I shouldnt have came back here. He's tired, he doesn't want me here right now. He stood infront of me, grabbing my thighs and hoisting me onto the counter, making small noises excape my mouth. "Not so tough now, are you?" He asked roughly.
I nodded timidly, looking down.
"Because I'm the one who has to take care of you every time. Every time you disobey me and do this stupid shit, I'm the lucky one that gets to take care of it."
I looked down, hands in my lap and picking at the calloused skin, feeling his intense stare at me. With those same hard hazel eyes. The eyes he only has when he's angry at me.
"Say you're sorry."
"I'm s-sorry," I mumbled quietly.
"Jesus Christ, Frank, you look like shit," he muttered, pushing back my bangs and taking in my dirty forehead. "Get in the bath, I have to do something-"
"What?"
"Start yourself a bath," he said softly, staring at me intensely. "I'll be right back."
I nodded, still unsure of what he had to do. He turned, walking back downstairs. I hoped off the counter, starting the tub to a warm temperature. I stripped out of my clothes, starting to sink my blistered feet into the tub, along with my sore legs and bruised knees. My hips hurt once they collided against the bottom, no matter how slowly, they smarted and were more cut up than I thought them to be. Gerard probably hates me so much.
He walked back in, getting supplies out of the closet.
"Gerard, I'm sorry," I said softly, resting my head on the edge, staring up at him.
"Do you always need me to take care of you?"
"Yes," I answered quietly as he bent down infront of the tub and grabbed a loofa.
"You can do this yourself," he stated, staring at me patiently with deep hazel eyes.
"No, Gerard, everything hurts," I whined desperately, tugging at his hands.
"You're just my poor little baby then," He teased. "And you never listen to me, do you?" He tugged on my hair and I whimpered, trying to get a steady grip. "Do you?"
"N-No," I answered quietly as he let go of my hair, leaving my body to wrack with subtle shakes as I leaned my head against the edge. "I'm sorry," I rasped out weakly. "Please." I wanted to hug him, i wanted to kiss his cheek, i wanted to cuddle with him and just.. be normal. I wanted to scream "i love you".
He got the loofa wet in the water and rubbed body wash over it. He steadily grabbed my shoulder and rubbed the loofa in a comforting manner over my neck and chest. I groaned, leaning back and gasped the few times he would hit a specific bruise or a moment that the soap got into a scar. But he ignored my persistence and washed it away. He was mostly quiet, making small noises at times when he had to reach further or pull me around.
"I can't believe you," he mumbled, washing off my limbs and going to grab the shampoo that I knew would feel so good when he was rubbing it in my hair.
"Believe what?"
He stared at me in disbelief with that angered expression he usually carried in his top five facial emotions. It always hinted with disappointment. Only toward me, though.
"Jesus Christ, Frank," he muttered, shaking his head. "I specifically told you to stay in the house." He started running his fingers through my hair, getting the moisturizer deep in my scalp. "Do you ever listen to me? No," he answered, pulling my hair harshly.
"Gerard, please, that hurts."
"And who's fault is that?"
"Mine, mine... it's always my fault, it's never yours," I said hopefully, glancing up at him. "It never has been."
"It's my fault that I can't take care of you good enough," he mumbled, pausing his motions, taking a deep sigh. Giving that old, tired man look. I think it's me that gives him grey hairs, even though he's says it's his nieces and nephews. It's my fault he's aging faster.
"No, no," I rambled, shaking my head. I leaned my head into his once again gentle hands that only cared about me. The hands that only touched and loved me. "Its my fault -I'm always wanting to start shit. For fuck sake, I'd probably start a fight with someone just because they insulted a dog. I'm sorry." I looked up at him, his gaze downward and some what angry. "Gerard.. I-I'm sorry," I added, leaning into him, wanting him to look up.
"I know you are," he simply answered, washing off his hands and changing it to conditioner. I grunted when my hip hit the surface of the tub, pain erupting quickly back through my sensitive nerves.
He quietly massaged my head soothingly and was suprisingly sensitive. You rarely catch him in a good mood, which is usually my fault, but once he is -it's the best feeling ever.
The feeling was erupting through my chest, making my insides feel warm and I got the sudden urge to-
"I love you," I said clearly, yet quietly. Eagerly looking up at him for any type of response. But nothing, just nothing and it was like my heart had crashed and burned. I leaned my head sideways, placing a soft kiss to his wrist, but he continued what he was doing.
At last, he was running water over my hair and my eyes were squinted shut. I couldn't ignore the sting in my hands from the water and soap combination sinking into my open wounds for so long.
He helped me out, and wrapped a towel around me tightly, fluffing around with my hair and letting me wipe off my eyes with the fabric of his shirt. Were we just wasting time?
He handed me clothes and I got dressed as he got out bandages and medicine for my ugly looking scars. There's barely anything I don't think we could do about the bruises -and they were the worst.
I felt pathetic letting Gerard hoist me up on the counter. Sure I was small and kinda frail, but sometimes he just treats like me like a baby. I can't help the small noises and whines I make when I get aggravated or aren't getting enough attention.
He took my hand in his, inspecting my knuckles and tore back a certain piece of flesh that nearly made me cry and scream as I jolted my hand out of his grasp.
"Don't do that," I mumbled, holding my hand close to my chest.
"Do you want it to get infected? I don't have to do this," he warned, raising his voice.
I sighed, staring at him, but letting him grab my hand once more as he pulling back certain scars. I winced, small whimpers leaving my scratchy throat. I mustered up to pulling him closer and wrapping my legs around his, hesitantly resting my head on his chest as he continued to look over my hands. I felt cold medicine and small bandages, but my other hand was much too bad, and for that he just bandaged it up.
He was trying to get away, but I wouldn't let him.
"Frank," he growled.
"You never said it back," I whispered quietly, almost to where you couldn't hear it, but I was hoping he did.
"I don't need to."
He crawled out of my legs and I looked down at my covered hands and wiped at my eyes, seriously trying to ignore the pang in my heart and the tears springing to my eyes.
"You're being so mean," I stated louder than I would have liked, bravely looking at him through my blurry vision. "Why..." I rambled. "It's like you don't care at all. And you always do. always, always, always."
"Frank," He said lowly, coming closer and grabbed my sides. "Frankie, you know that's not true. I care about you, Sweetie."
His sudden warm words were melting my insides, but I still didn't feel happy with what he had done. He was rubbing his hands up and down my sides, trying to make me relax. The fact that he didn't say it back was still knawing away at my heart.
"You're my Baby, my Sweetheart, my little Frankie. I love you, Frank, I love you so much. I don't show it all the time, because you usually make me angry."
"And I'm sorry! I'm sorry I can't be your perfect soul mate, I'm just fucked up," I whined, tears streaming down my cheeks, finding it hard to take in anything Gerard was saying.
"You're perfectly fine in my opinion," he mumbled, rubbing the small of my back. "And that's all that matters. Yes, you're a gigantic pain in the ass, but at the end of the day, I find it too hard to hate you." He rubbed my arms, hoisting them up and he picked me up, carrying me toward our bedroom. "My sweet Frankie." He smiled at me, wiping away my tears as he let me rest my head in his neck. "You just need to relax." He softly ran his fingers through my hair, whimpers soft and now comforting in the silent house. I felt tired, but I still wanted to talk to him.
"I love you," I whispered hoarsly, pulling my face back a bit.
"Shh, go to sleep, Frankie," He hushed, slowly rocking us and rubbing my back.
"G-Gerard, I'm sorry, I love you. I didn't mean those things-"
"Sweetie, it's okay, just rest."
"Can we talk tomorrow?"
"There's no need to, Frankie," He replied blatantly, like everything that's happened means absolutely nothing.
"Mmm, Gerard-"
"You're getting grouchy, Frank," he replied, holding my smaller frame close to him. I rubbed patterns on his back with my fingers, starting to rub his shoulders. I leaned back to look at him. His slight scruff, messy hair and tired eyes.
I rested my hands on his cheeks, rubbing his thumbs on his cheekbones, and then his temples. I tangled my fingers in his black, grey hair, humming to myself. I took in his forehead creases, small wrinkles under his eyes. He wasnt super old, but I always admired his experiences and how intelligent he was.
"What is it?" He asked.
I smiled, looking down at him.
"You look old, and.. just old. But you're still pretty. And i love you, for taking care of me, and other things," I mumbled, placing a swift kiss to his cheek before resting back in his neck, wrapping my arms back around him. I felt myself become heavy and more exhausted as he continued to rub my back. My eyelids were heavy and I think I fell asleep. But I remember Gerard kissing my forehead before he layed my down in bed.
×
a/n: if this seems rushed and there are errors, I finished this in one night, its 2:30am. I had to update something besides my rant book before i imploded. I'll be updating my other books -soon hopefully- to any of you who read them as well.
sorry, I've been having a hell of a time.
-xo,gee