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About Literature / Hobbyist YolaFemale/Mexico Groups :iconbob-bryar-fans: Bob-Bryar-Fans
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I'm sorry for not editing it the same day it happened and taking so long on leaving you with that last idea, but, y'know, as no one really commented or read or anything, I found it useless to update on the news about the guitar as it didn't really matter, but now I apologize for not telling none of you two what happened after that and that it's okay. I'm sorry!

You see, there're these two friends I've grown intimate with these previous years, Ivan and Ila. More with him than her. And without too much deepening on the story and such, both of them were the ones that saw me when I just broke down in tears when they were taking away my guitar. And so they tried to keep me company and such.
The following day, the shock had been replaced by a total down. Like when you party and dance and all or get on the stage and when you walk off it, and after you talk about the whole thing and laugh with your friends, then there's a sudden down that goes REALLY down and you feel exhausted.
So yeah, kinda like that, mixed with some sadness. Due to outside reasons, they were to send us back home after my first two classes. So Ivan asked me to walk him to the bathroom and there I go.
And so before getting there, there's Ila blocking the hallway and smiling, and Ivan just turns me around roughly and hugs me. Then turns me around again kinda roughly.

And there's Ila with a handmade sign of a drawn guitar, two or three little messages, and in big letters "Because we don't want to see a wingless angel".
And so Ivan takes a guitar out of fucking nowhere.


It was no gift. It's Ivan's guitar, I played it a couple of times and he always keeps it in school. But that day when I left home with nothing in hands but my passport money, he took the guitar, asked my guitar teacher which strings I liked the most and took the guitar home. He bought me the strings, he took his (HIS) study and/or free time just to clean the guitar until it looked like new, and so did Ila take her time just to make that sign. 
And so, he lent me his guitar, not just as in "kay, take it and play, then give it back", but in this sense of "Take it home, take it anywhere, use it, play it, and it's ALL yours until you can afford yours".

Dang shit I love these guys.
This school has taught me, in a hundred percent, what friendship is, I think, fo corny and gay it sounds.
It's just, ohman. 

Even if it's a lent guitar, THIS is a gift. :heart:

When Maria, my first guitar, got broken, my ex gifted me his.

He's asked for me to give it back.

At first we both agreed on me giving it away at least when I was done with school (believe it or not, guitar is obligatory, and my most important subject on it, as it's a high school that prepares you for art universities and I'm in the music specific, and even more specific, on guitar area). But he went a bit nuts at some point of the conversation and yesterday nigh (wednesday) he asked for me to give it to him today (thursday).

He doesn't want to see me, so I had to give it to a friend of his (who is re-coursing third year in my classroom), who would give it to him later.



I couldn't sleep much last night, and kept on crying. They were taking it from me. My guitar. My little baby. My classical guitar, my source of work and passion and my needed material thing to be happy and angry and sad and excited and anxious and everything I wanted with a crescendo or an allegretto or even with just the Zelda theme. 

I took it in its case (also a gift from him), and another case he gave me because it was much more comfortable than the one I had. 

I was sad the entire day, angry, upset. Kept walking around, ignoring friends, pretending I didn't hear the Hey, Wait's, or What's Up's, and left on recess to a garden of a museum nearby (but not enough for my classmates to be around) and played it a last time.

Then went back, finished classes, and then that one friend had to leave, so I told him to pick up the stuff. He said that André told him to give me the strings. I smiled, already crying, and said I had nowhere and no way I could give them any use anymore, so it was okay. I bought and changed the strings just the same day André asked for the guitar. 200 pesos to the trash.

That one friend went back in the classroom (I was outside, sat on a table they keep on the hallway for no reason, with a friend at a side), and then came back with both cases, gave me an apology through the glance he put away immediately, and so he walked away.


I think that's how a mother feels when she's witnessing how they're taking their son away for his death sentence. 
I think that's how a father feels when he's seeing his daughter finally leaving home after finding her own house.
I think that's how a sibling feels when they've come to the house to take their most beloved sibling away for a life-long jail sentence.

I'm sorry if it feels overdramatic to you, but that's how it feels to me.

I don't have another guitar, and I can't afford one, and there's nowhere I can get money from besides what I get for my school days.

What am I supposed to do with no guitar, even if just for some months or a year or years? Sit there? Is he thinking I'll just not play guitar like it's nothing?

He made it into a music university, and he and his friends think that if you're not in a music university, you're NO WAY and in any shape or sense a musician.

Only because they're in a school like that, they think and KNOW that they are the only ones that can be sensible to music, that we people that don't study there don't feel it like they do, don't know it like they do, and they KNOW people who don't study are not musicians in any way.

That was his reason; as I'm not a musician, according to him, he didn't want to let the guitar be with someone who wouldn't give it its rightful necessities and priorities.
Do I need to join that university for him to realize there's passion on what I do?
Do I need a fucking dimploma to have passion?
School GIVES me passion?

His way of thinking is idiotic. If you're passionate about something, then you're passionate about it, and leaving it or being taken from it can hurt as deeply as losing part of your essence, as losing part of your soul. If you're in a school where you develop what you're passionate about, then that's good. But it's more due to the necessitie of the certificate than the passion itself.
Because passion is born, not learned or created.

You don't need to create passion for something, it comes on its own.
You don't need someone telling you how to Passion for something.
You don't need a classroom to develop your passion.

But as I'm not in a music university like him, I'm not a musician, I'm not passionate, guitar and music are my "second plan", I can't do "real" music, and definitely, it won't hurt me to not have guitar and to not play it.

Excuse me if I'm wrong, but that, to me, is a very asshole-y way of thinking.

I'm deeply, terribly, hurtfully brokenheart for the loss of my guitar.

I know it's just a guitar and that I can buy any other guitar out there, but...thing is, the cheap ones EVERYONE can get aren't real good for classical. And I've grown passionate of classical. And the ones that work real well for that are...not as cheap. I can't afford one, not in a couple of months. I've got no other way of getting one. Sure, a friend could lend me his,'s this sentimental, emotional part of the thing, that it simply is not mine. It's not my guitar. I'm playing a guitar, I'm not playing the guitar. 

A guitar is like a friend. Someone can introduce you one of their friends and hang out every now and then, but he is NOT your friend. He's a friend's friend. And you have no connection with this person, no bond, and definitely no trust as if it would be about a real friend.

Oh god.


It feels like taking the emotivity from an actor.
Like taking any kind of material from a visual artist.
Like taking every pen and paper and every computer from an author.

It's like taking a ballerina's feet away.


Chapter 48: Give me a Meow!

“Don’t mind my opinion, but I like you better with short hair”

Gerard smiled kindly to his friend Jake as they walked together to their next class. The black haired guy passed a hand through his longish-short hair and felt a bit bald from being used to girly-long hairstyle. He had received his friends’ compliments like the “I want to cheer Gerard up so I’ll say something nice” they really were, and even though Jake’s was surely out of the same idea, he could not help it but feel sincerely good with those words coming from that specific guy. Maybe it was not the words but the way he used them what made Jake a real gentleman with whatever he said, even when he cursed.

“You think?” Gerard asked as he stopped messing with his own hair, and his blue eyed friend nodded with a happy look on his face. “It doesn’t feel as bad, I guess”
“You look way better, if I may say” Jake said as they stopped at Gerard’s locker for the little guy to pick some stuff from there. It was until they had stopped walking and as they talked that Jake really noticed what had gone unseen for him for god-knows-how-long; Gerard was almost his height now. When they first met, the top of the black haired one’s head reached his chin, and it had gone up to midway his nose. “Or maybe it’s just puberty finally catching up with you”

Gerard gave a little laugh as he was done with the locker’s password and opened the little metal door.
“Puberty?” he questioned and slightly shook his head, still smiling. “I’m still a body-hairless skinny midget with soprano voice, if you haven’t noticed”
“I had no need to know whether there was hair in your privates or not, but thank you for the sick mental image” Jake joked with him, and both laughed as the smaller guy punched his friend’s arm innocently and continued with his stuff and books.
“Like you don’t want it, pussycat” the pale guy joked back with half a smile, and his friend raised his eyebrows.
“Has the guy who wears tails and whiskers and meows his singing called me a pussycat?” Jake questioned with a fake offended gesture of the hand and face, and the other just pushed him friendly again while closing his locker, giggling.

“Hey, losers! What’cha doing?” they heard a deeper voice call from a side, and both turned to see as Lance put down a nerdish kid who went away running. The jock, on his part, merely laughed lowly and looked at the tenth graders. Gerard rolled the eyes and stared away.
“Not much, Lance” Jake replied with a kind smile, before putting a hand on the shoulder of his friend. “Come on, Gee, we’ve got to-”
“You better not touch the little guy, dude” Lance interrupted and made them turn to look at him again, now standing closer to them. “Don’t you know he’s Billie Joe’s?”
“Listen, Lance” Jake called after Gerard had let out an angered sigh, something that, in all honesty, pretty much surprised the brown haired guy; his friend was not the kind to get angry. He used to get so scared and sad when any bully was nearby, and now he showed nothing but mere anger he tried to control. “Gay or not, boyfriends or not, whatever. Stop making stories up and pairing people”

“Why? Are you jealous?” Lance dared with a sly smile as he poked Jake’s chest with one of his giant fingers. Gerard, having that hand near, thought of a big bread with fat sausages. Gross.
“Can you fucking stop it already?” Jake dared to ask with a glare to the taller guy. “You’re disgusting; if you’re so bored with your life, go learn croquet instead of messing with other people’s lives” Gerard raised the eyebrows at his friend. Few had been the encounters he had seen Jake had had with Lance, but none of these times had he looked offended or scared of the big guy, like he knew exactly how to deal with him. “I thought mom kept it clear”
“Hey, no mentioning of good ol’ lady, okay?” Lance said, and hid some kind of anxiety behind another of his sly smiles. “What? Are you telling them again if I touch him?”

As he said that, he put a finger on top of Gerard’s head without even needing to look at him. The pale guy closed the eyes, and felt for a second the need to punch the guy in the eye, but he did not really dare to move at all. Jake, on his part, shrugged with half a smile.
“I might do” he dared, and Lance only let out a laugh, but he put his finger away of the black haired guy. He gave Jake a look for quite some moments, and then chuckle again.
“You ain’t doing it, right?” he asked with his present grin as he lightly shook the head.
“Then stop it, man” Jake shrugged, and Gerard suddenly felt out of place. He felt like he was watching two friends, or two enemies…two…friendly enemies, or whatever, that know each other for a lifetime talking, and not just two guys that barely see each other at school.

“You’re an idiot” Lance said with a bit of a hypocrite smile. Then he looked down at the black haired guy and waved like a lady saying hello to a puppy. “Bye bye, Gerard” but the tenth grader offered no answer other than raising an eyebrow. Lance gave a small wink to Lance, and still grinning, he started walking away. As he rounded the corner, the cheerleaders appeared out of nowhere squeaking and squealing for him not to miss that day’s basketball game. Jake sighed as he watched, and Gerard look at him.
“You sure know how to deal with him, don’t you?” he asked in his usual (or what used to be usual and was now from-time-to-time) shy voice. His brown haired friend turned to look at him. “How do you do it?”

Jake let out a laugh. Then, he wrapped his arm around his friend’s shoulder, and started walking away with him.
“Oh, dude!” he exclaimed. “It’s all quite a story” and even though he said that, he did not really recall on the details or anything, and he carried on in his life just normally. Gerard was curious at first, but then he merely forgot about it, and thought that Jake would tell him one day or another.


The day was almost over, and Gerard had grown sick of how much propaganda the basketball game seemed to have. What was the big deal? It was not like it was to be a championship, or finals, or anything. It was not even against another school. It was just a random, friendly game between the basketball team and the substitutes of the main players and a few guys that joined in their free time. Gerard could really not wait until it was time for him to close his goddamn locker and hurry in his way home. How sick he was of hearing propaganda for the game.

Besides, he had to make sure to get home early because he had his evening free; Billie would spent it with his friends, and so that left Gerard with all the time in the world to think…think as much as he needed and wanted to, and not just think of any stupidity. It was February, and the month was hurrying quite a bit. And it was almost midway through it.
That meant Billie’s birthday was very, very close.

He had been thinking, almost since the moment they became boyfriends, on what would a proper gift be. He had thought during random occasions those few months, and had some good ideas. But now that his birthday seemed closer than never before in his life, everything sounded absurd. Even what sounded good, sounded stupid. He had done quite a list in his head, and once landing back on reality, he realized that it was everything too many stuff that were too expensive, stuff that was too stupid, stuff that was not even possible or real at all, or details that he thought people could find stupid. He had heard that love made you stupid, but now that everything he did and thought about sounded stupid, even the smart things, he really found the sense of those words.

And just as he thought about that certain little young teenager, he heard as Billie placed a hand on the locker besides his loudly on purpose. Gerard could not help to roll the eyes and smile widely; there he was with one of his usual greetings that started with a very stupid pick-up line or something like that. He sighed and closed his locker to see what Billie had come up with this time, and raised an eyebrow in expectation. The taller guy had a pair of sunglasses on, and a stupid look on his face of a faked, clichéd bad, sensual guy.
“Hey, baby” he greeted with a faked deep voice, which always made Gerard giggle. People were so used to Billie greeting him like that, that they started ignoring them. It had been a smart technique, if Gerard had to admit; to actually make explicit their relationship as a joke, so that people would think there was no way they were a couple. Dumbasses, Gerard thought. Billie gave a grin, and took softly his sunglasses. “Mind if I send your photographs to NASA?”

He stood correctly again, but only to do a stupid turn over his own heels, and then point at Gerard with both index fingers.
“Because I think you’re a star” and so he took off his sunglasses quickly to give him style…except he had another pair underneath. His intention had been to do so with three pair of sunglasses, but taking away the first pair so roughly moved the other two pairs. He struggled a bit with taking away the second pair, but he almost dropped them along the third, so he went stupid with the glasses and did a jugglery show for Gerard, who had laughed hard enough with the actually smart but still dumb pick-up line, and was, incredibly, losing his breath out of how much he was laughing in the moment. Some people turned to look at the once-in-a-lifetime event of seeing him laughing like that, and Billie could not help it but blush in embarrassment and be totally infected of Gerard’s contagious laughter.

Both of them laughed for quite a while, and after some good moments like that, they eventually calmed down. They shared a few words of the scene Billie had just done, laughed a bit more, commented a few things, and they ended up losing quite a time at the hallway.
“Hey, it’s…alright, I still have one class left, and then I’m going home with the guys, y’know” he said as he checked his phone to see the hour. Gerard nodded happily; even though Billie referred to it as a ‘class’, both of them knew he meant his time at the school’s piano. He wanted to be a musician, and despite him going for the commercial, punk-rock way, he still thought and said that ‘he needed practice even if not an academic musician; commercial musicians don’t grown skills out of having a pretty face’. So he took it quite seriously, and spent from one to two, or even more, hours in that classroom just to practice. Classes, however, were over. “You’re going straight home now, right?”

“Yeah” Gerard nodded again, and then shrugged. “Might as well have Jake coming over, but only for a little while”
“Ah” Billie faked an offended gesture as he looked away, pouting like a jealous girl in tantrum “So you think he’s more handsome than me”
“BeeJ” Gerard called in a laugh, and the older guy laughed along him. He stayed quiet some moments to wait for Gerard’s reply, but he got none. Oh, well. Billie shrugged and stroked Gerard’s hair.
“So I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, okay?” he recalled, and Gerard nodded once again. He winked an eye to the smaller guy, and the tenth grader could almost hear him say through one glance ‘don’t forget, you forgot to ask me for your pen so you’ll have to come back look for me at the lonely music classroom, and we can properly say goodbye, okay?’

“Tomorrow” Gerard winked back as a sign that said he knew what he meant, like every day, and nodded again. “Alright”
“See ya” Billie said as he waved a hand at him. Gerard waved as well, held the strap of his backpack, and both gave each other a last look before they took different ways on the hallway. They kept walking without looking back not to make it too obvious, and soon enough, Gerard rounded a corner, putting himself out of Billie’s sight range.

He walked through some more hallways and heard the bell ring. He soon reached the hallway that leaded straight to the front doors, so he just kept going at a normal speed. He bumped into a few people in his way, totally careless. It was almost routine, or necessity, or every day need to be walked into for not being seen, just like it was to tie a shoelace or open a locker. Before he really got to be close to the doors, he heard some slippery sport shoes hurrying in the hallway, stopping, and hurrying again. And then, before he really reacted, two pairs of fragile hands held him, one pair per arm, and started dragging him back onto his steps.
“Wha-?” was all the sound he was able to do as he tried not to fall down, walking backwards, and being prisoner of…two girls!? He stared at them in shock. He could have been normally okay if it had been two jocks or bullies, he was used to it. But having two girls kidnapping him was not normal, and he did not know whether they were less or more mortal than the guys.

He stared at them as they hurried, almost running, somewhere else. The girls had the blue and white uniform for the school’s colors. Their outfit was the “sexy” one despite it being winter and an inside game; it was usually during summer stuff and outside games for football that they wore that one style, the rest of the year they used to wear the long-sleeved one, or the sleeveless dress. This, however, counted with a pair of sport shoes, a very short skirt, and one of those blouses or shirts or whatever they were that showed the tummy and the waistline, but stayed long-sleeved. One of the girls, a black girl of very curly hair, had her hair combed in two side tails, while the blond on the other side wore a ponytail.

“What the hell are you doing!?” Gerard asked, suddenly feeling as pathetic as scared. Those girls, with the ponytails and the pompoms they held felt way much more mortal than Lance and his friends holding a pair of scissors, for an odd reason the tenth grader could not explain. “If you want me to watch the fucking game-”
“It’s not about the game, you silly!” one of the girls said with her annoying baby voice. Gerard could not help it but think of his comics; the pretty blond girl of ponytail that forced a baby voice was never a good sign. Oh god, he could be saying goodbye to his entrails.
“Then I don’t want to-”
Everyone must see!” the other girl said cheerfully as they rounded a hallway. “We’ve got a surprise prepared!”

“Well, I don’t want to-” Gerard tried to say again, but he let out a elp as he almost fell down on another curve in the way. “I don’t want to be there, I mean, I don’t even-”
“Hush, pretty boy” the girl of the annoying voice called along a giggle, and then they stopped. “We’re here!” she cheered and, before Gerard could struggle and break free, she opened the doors to the basketball pitch. Loud cheering came from the inside, as people partied there and talked together and everything. The band improvised a bit as everyone in there were in the wait for the game to begin or something. It sounded like a mess, like a party. And Gerard despised parties. “Let’s get going!”

Gerard could not really complain and just let himself being dragged by one of the girls while the other went jumping somewhere else with the rest of the team. Gerard could notice people glancing at him. He guessed they were wondering what a creep like him could be doing in a place like that. It was almost like he could not be there by the mere fact of not wanting to be there, or like he was seen badly enough in school along his group of friends he simply could not be standing there, in the territory of the “normal” people. He wondered why in the world there was a need for everyone to receive the oh so called Surprise. While not knowing what to think or what to do, he was dragged by the middle of the bleachers, where he thought they would go up the stairs for her to find him a seat. Instead, she let go of him there, with Gerard standing in front of the stairs but in the pitch; at its edge and out of the needed rectangle to play, but still in between the pitch and all of the audience.

He could not feel more observed in any other place, and just as he was going to go look for a seat or something and end with that nightmare as soon as possible, the cheerleader stopped him by gripping him from the wrist again.
“Oh, no, you stay here” she told him and winked an eye at him. Gerard shook lightly the head, not understanding, and as his lips barely moved to ask what was happening, the whole team of the cheerleaders appeared on the pitch. People loudly, very loudly, clapped and cheered for them. Gerard covered his ears and stared away. He wanted to ask the girl what the deal was, but she went to her place in between the other eleven girls. They were soon in position, and who seemed to be the leader, a girl of golden hair and green eyes, stood to the front, in the middle.

“Hello, everybody!” she greeted like a TV announcer, greeting everyone, and the multitude replied like they were the celebrities of the moment. Gerard hissed again, and he tried to go away again but there was a guy nearby that stopped him and shook his head, like it would be a terrible idea to just go. Gerard dared him with the stare, and the guy stopped him again when he tried to leave. “Are you excited for the game?” she asked and people replied with loud roars of cheers. Gerard rolled the eyes, totally hating the sport air and essence, and struggled again to go away, but the same guy kept him still in his place. “We are too! We’re extra cheerful today! And you know what makes it better? We’ve got a whole new routine!”

“What the hell are you doing?” Gerard questioned the guy that held him there. Apparently, he was some kind of helper to the cheerleaders, or the male one of the team, or maybe one of the basketball guy’s substitutes, or the water dude. He offered no reply and the black haired furrowed his eyebrows while looking at him, as the cheerleaders continued their conversation with the crowed. “Let me go!”
“They told me to keep you here” the guy said with a shrug, and Gerard could not help but feel he really had no idea what was happening either.
“They told you to…” he started repeating in a whisper, staring at him with confusion. For all he knew, the cheerleaders were not the kindest people around, in this sense of them laughing at what the bullies or jocks did to get their attention or whatever. Inside, his red alert of danger was about to ring inside of him when it was too later.

“We caught two purring kittens, who’ve been keeping it a secret, in the love nest” the leader of the girls said with an over-dramatic romantic expression, and people gossiped and cheered about it. Gerard, hearing that, felt as his heart skipped a beat. They could not be talking about…? But…How could they…? When had they…? “And the ‘straaaaight’ new kid tried to fool of us” and she overdid an offended expression and pose again. People booed loudly. “And, here, we don’t like to be lied at, do we?” she asked and people started booing and yelling No. She grinned and nodded. “That’s what we’re here for! To speak the truth we all want”
“For fuck’s sake, I-” Gerard started muttering as his whole body tickled, now taking it for sure this had been nothing but a mere attack against him. Before really reacting, the leader of the girls called for music to start.
“And here you have him!” she yelled happily and pointed at Gerard. The crowd all turned to look at him. Some just gossiped between themselves, some others booed, and others started laughing.

Gerard looked around the crowd for a moment. There was that Charlotte girl gossiping with her friends, and the football team, to make it the best. There were many twelfth and eleventh graders, and only a few from tenth grade, some of who were his classmates. Before he could really look for a familiar, friendly face that could do something and help him, the music turned louder.

The cheerleaders, grinning and pretty like always, started singing as they danced.
Heyo! Gerard!
I heard you’ve got it bad!

Fucking fantastic, Gerard thought; not only were they putting him in shame and embarrassment, they also actually composed a whole song for him.

Heyo, Gerard,
They say you’re really sad!
, and so their dace motioned them as if they were crying.

I saw you, I told you,
You like it all inside!
, and as they sang that, the dance was about turning on a side and humping the air. People loudly cheered and went ‘Ooooh, hoh, hoh!’ like retarded.

No boobs, no girls,
They say you like ‘em swirls!
they sang as they gripped their breasts, caressed their own bodies, and then swirled their heads around. Gerard’s cheeks turned red and he stayed static as he watched the whole thing, the choreography and the pompoms flying around, focused on the lyrics.

Whatever made you think you could get a sexy guy?
If luck, a rat would get your fuck!

Without doubt, they were talking about Billie. They had caught them somewhere, some when. His inside shrank for a moment at the insults, and he started praying for the torture not to last too much, or for the principal to appear or something. His lips trembled lightly like he tried to say something, but before anything, his worst nightmare started; they started tagging his reality.

You’re tiny,
You’re ugly,
You’re always oh so whiney!

A creep,
A weirdo,
What happened to your hairdo?

So yucky,
Too ugly for cosmetics!

You’re nerdy,
You’re dumb,
You’re an unwanted gum!

Gerard was sure that cheerleaders were not born to be poets, but without a single doubt, the words they chose made him think so for a moment. The tags all and one by one crossed his chest like swords, one after the other, each one fighting against the previous one to pierce deeper in his heart. He was not sure of how they could, in a few words, made him bring back to life, more alive than he had felt for days by now, how much of a truth that was; how every word they gave him fitted him so perfectly fine he simply could not deny it.

He felt his eyes itching, but he could really not react or move from his place, like he had been casted a spell from which he could not feel the legs or arms or his own voice drowned somewhere in the knot of his throat.

The cheerleaders did not stop there, and the music and their singing, happy voices continued.

I’m sexy,
I’m hot,
I’m everything you’re not!
, and there they were again, with the exact words that caused Gerard’s inside to shrink again. And…well, they were right after all.

I’m popular,
I’m cool,
I make all the guys drool!
and the worst of everything was that the crowd cheered and clapped to the beat. Many people laughed, but he did not feel guts enough to stare around and see whether that was majority or minority the ones that insulted him from the bleachers, that added more tags and names, that yelled words at him, that laughed loudly at him.

He stayed still just watching the whole thing with crystal-like eyes, and he blinked a bit when the choreography of the cheerleaders ended up with them pointing at him, hips swinging, evil grins on their faces, and still motioning according to what they said.

Haven’t you realized you’re his dirty little secret?
Haven’t you realized he’s too ashamed to admit it?

And that could have as well been the last hit needed to entirely end with him. He knew that both him and Billie had accorded to keep it a secret, and he knew that the twelfth grader really had affection for him, but he had considered the whole time that Billie could as well be ashamed of him, of their relationship. The fact that he was happy with Gerard did not mean he had to be exactly proud of it and him either. Maybe he really was that and just that; Billie’s dirty little secret. Maybe he actually was as nerdish and dumb to Billie like he was to the rest of school and humankind, nothing to be actually proud of.

Heyo, Gerard!
Bats for the other team,
Heyo, Gerard,
Likes it full of cream!
, just how long were they planning to make the fucking song last? Gerard’s head had slowly and eventually been going down as it lasted, as well as his shoulders. There was no way this made him any angry. It just filled him of sadness. Not only was he having those stupid tags, names and ideas back in the head after blocking them away for some days, stronger than before, but he was also been exposed to most of the high school. If he had felt vulnerable when Lance saw his scars, this was far beyond comparison.

The whole crowd still cheered and laughed loudly. The cheerleaders looked like reaching the end of the song, and their dances continued.
Heyo, Gerard,
Why do you exist?
, and asked that, Gerard heard a good part of the crowd, even if not majority, gasping or merely shutting up. That question made him close the eyes and feel as the swords in his heart set themselves on fire, piercing deeper until they had fully crossed the fragile organ inside of him.
The times he had asked himself that…all the times he had spent hours crying finding no answer…
All the stupid things he had done and failed or not finished properly because of that question…

Heyo, Gerard,
Go and cut your wrists!

And with that, at the same time the music stopped along their choreography, which last steps were to simulate they slid their forearms, Gerard’s tummy moved as if someone physical had punched him in the stomach, his eyes snapped open, and he flinched in his place. And just at the same time, most of the people shut up so suddenly the cheerleaders could not keep the pose and started staring around with their smiles gone.

Gerard could not see it, but he could hear it. People had stayed quiet. The laughter and tagging actually stopped. There were people who gasped, some others that muttered one curse to themselves, and more than simply stayed quiet. Gerard, on his part, kept the eyes wide open staring at nowhere on the floor. His whole body trembled slightly. His heart had been, if not broken, at least tortured and now suffered the real pain of it; during the torture, one is under so much adrenaline the pain is somewhat bearable. After the adrenaline’s gone, only then is when one has no way of escaping or coating the pain. His soul pleaded for him to run away in that moment, but his mind stayed still just like his body. Escaping, what for? To run away from…that? There was no need to escape from there. All they had done was to sing him his truth and give him actual suggestions. He was not escaping from lies, or attacks. It was his truth, and for faster he ran from it, it would never really be left behind. He found it useless to just run away.

He stood there, in total silence and shocked. He wanted to start crying, but he knew that it would just cause more troubles. He had to stay neutral; if he fought the tears back, they would notice he was trying not to cry. If he cried, well…no, that was no option. So he just stayed like that, still and quiet, with the eyes covered in non-moving tears. Seconds and seconds passed by, and people gossiped between themselves. He really did not pay attention to anything they could or not have been saying. The cheerleaders looked around, as if trying to find the reason that made them shut up so out of the blue, fearing the principal or a teacher walked in and heard them, but there were students and students alone in that place.

“What?” one of the cheerleaders asked the audience, who either stayed deadly quiet or gossiped. “What?” she insisted. “It was a prank! We’re not serious”
“Yeah, what’s the big deal?” another cheerleader asked, crossing her arms over her chest. It all had been fun and lots of laughter like they had planned until those few last paragraphs.
“You guys know that could be some triggering shit?” somebody in the audience called, and Gerard flinched lightly to that. He did not dare on looking over his shoulder, and he stayed slightly shrugged in a ball at the edge of crying, ashamed and looking at the floor. The fact that it had been a stranger who called that and not one of his friends to the rescue felt…strange. But it did not feel bad. In any sense.

“Yeah, that’s sick” someone from other side apart of the audience called among the almost full silence, while some others still gossiped.  Gerard stayed quiet and vulnerable in his place, and did not know whether that was part of the prank or not. He kept a sigh in the chest.
“Come on, it was a prank!” somebody else in the audience called, and he was shushed by more people raising the voice to disagree with him.
“Yeah, but there are limits, you know?” another guy called from somewhere else in the crowd, and everybody got lost in that moment.

They did not know whether they should take it easy again and just shrug it off and laugh again and keep on with the party before the friendly game, or argue between themselves and fight, or just leave. Many did not know whether the cheerleaders had or not gone too far with their prank, and the confusion forced everybody to stay completely neutral, and the gossiping started quieting by people still not knowing how to react at all. After some moments, there was full silence. Gerard, on his part, only felt worse by such silence and him being the protagonist of it. He kept the head down and his eyes never let go of the huge load of tears they carried. He trembled lightly in his place. He had not cared a single bit for what was going on; what haunted him were all those lyrics and words dedicated to him while everybody laughed and tagged him.

Tiny, ugly, he was the opposite to what they were…and they were wanted, loved, admired. Billie had had girlfriends with bodies like theirs, with grins like theirs, maybe even with the popularity they had. It could as well be the heaviest prank on earth, to have the twelfth grader faking a relationship. No, that could not be. Billie liked him. Billie loved him. He closed his eyes tight to focus and insist on those thoughts to kill away the negative ones, but the dark side of his mind was growing uncontrollably. He had been able to keep it calm in a corner inside of his head, but the event had been so triggering for him, that all the darkness at the corner broke the walls and the door and drowned everything it found in its way until reaching the top and still continue growing, wanting to break through Gerard’s skull.

As he fought not to cry right in there, there was only one sound in among the terribly crushing silence of the basketball pitch. Footsteps echoed like it was an empty classroom of wooden floor. People did not really start gossiping again, and they did not do a single sound. Gerard did hear, however, some of the cheerleaders gasping and getting away of whoever the hell had come through the other door and was not crossing the pitch slowly, as if wanting to make it extremely dramatic on purpose. Gerard did not dare on looking up. If he did, the girls would notice the tears in his eyes and face. He shrugged more his small shoulders and he tried to swallow, but decided not to at the last second, knowing the knot in his throat would make him gag if he did.

The slow and steady, totally firm and completely imposing footsteps got closer, crossing the pitch and going through the cheerleaders, which, Gerard did not see, maybe made themselves at a side without needing a single word or a look. The slow steps continued some more, and only when they were too close, Gerard closed the eyes. A pair of tears rolled down his face, and another pair fell directly to the floor as he kept the head down, like he wanted his chest to eat his face. The steps stopped very close to him, maybe a bit too much not to be invading privacy. The tenth grader kept the eyes closed and the eyebrows furrowed as he tried to fight back the tears and mentally tortured himself for not having controller the previous pairs.

While everything and everyone stayed in silence, Gerard felt a hand on top of his head. He started creating and sewing in his head all the ideas and things he had to say that would not get him in more troubles with the cheerleaders, or the jocks, or anyone else in school, but would not put him in more embarrassment either, something credible and logic for the principal to understand, even if he did not. He tried to come up with something to tell to Mr. Benson, but even if he had had something to say, he could not really open the mouth and say something without breaking down in there. He waited for the principal to say something to the audience of the cheerleaders, but instead, the hand stroked his hair softly.

Gerard opened the eyes and lost his breath in a gasp. Another shy tear escaped him as his heart stopped almost for too long to be healthy. Then, he snapped his head up.

Billie was not happy.

There was a slight but still obvious and noticeable frown marking his expression. He showed no sadness or worry. If anything, there was mere anger. Or hatred. Or something like that. Something poisonous that burnt in calm but still big dark flames in his eyes. Gerard looked at him eye widened and much more pale than the usual. The twelfth grader was not supposed to…he did not have to have seen. He had…it was not…Gerard tried to say something, but his lips moved dumbly without leaving a single sound. Billie put his hand away of the tenth grader and just looked at him with the same anger than before. His little raven haired tenth grader could not take his eyes off him, terrified.

“…I-…” was all that Gerard managed to say, but the knot in his throat made it impossible for him to continue speaking. Billie did not take his angered face off him, and his frown never moved an inch. Billie moved the hands again, and at the first millimeter of movement, Gerard flinched, in an unexpected fear of being physically attacked by Billie. The twelfth grader, however, only moved his hands up as he got even closer to the tenth grader, and leaned down.

Gerard did not have time or strength enough to ask him what he was doing. Billie merely wrapped his arms around the tenth grader’s small waist like a father about to pick their son up for them to get a closer look of something. And, just like that, once Billie had rounded his torso with his arms, he pulled Gerard off the ground, with the tenth grader wrapping his arms around the twelfth grader’s head as a reflex. He groaned lightly in response of the unexpected action, and felt as Billie took a pair of steps ahead, without needing to see (as Gerard was blocking his sight), and then stopped in front of the first step of the bleachers, which was much more small than the rest and worked only as a “Hey, look out, the steps start here”. It was a pair of inches tall.

Once there, Billie put the tenth grader down. There, on the first, useless step, the tenth grader was an inch taller than the twelfth grader. Once the other had put him down and had let go, Gerard opened the eyes again and looked down at his…at Billie. It hurt to think of the word ‘boyfriend’, so he tried not to let it into his head.
“Billie?” he called lowly in a scared whisper that almost pleaded for the other to take him in arms and magically disappear or make everyone forget. “What…?” as he started formulating the question, the twelfth grader put an index on his lips, forcing him in a very soft and gentle way to shut himself up. Gerard stayed quiet, trembling. Billie put his finger away.
And then he moved his hand.

He rested it on Gerard’s pale, slightly damp cheek.

The tenth grader continued trembling as he felt the soft touch of the guitarist’s hand on his face, and soon enough, his other hand found its way up onto the other cheek as well. Gerard looked at him petrified and in complete terror, but his mind found the needed peace not to suffer a commotion in the emeralds the other’s irises hid. Billie’s eyes sparkled like the precious gems they were made of, and they traveled onto the little guy’s face for a few seconds. Still holding Gerard’s face, and as it all happened in less than a minute, literally,  from the moment he had picked the guy up, Billie closed the sixty exact seconds with one last thing for a while.

He stood on his tiptoes, brought Gerard’s face closer, and closed the eyes.

The voices of everyone in the pitch exploded in a too massively loud mass of sounds, at the same time Billie pressed his lips to Gerard’s.

Mature Content

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Starting the story with “It was a cold night…” would have been a dramatic way to put it.

But this was California during summer. There was no way this could be a cold night. I was born and raised here all of my life, so I was used to this kind of weather. Therefore, I could recall this was a fresh night, something that in most of the rest of the USA would have been “a hell of a night, I couldn’t sleep, it was so hot, oh my god”. It was fresh to me. But I was cold. I was always cold. So I did not find it weird to be dressed in black tight jeans, a shirt, and a jacket. I did not sweat. I could not sweat.

The shore was always peaceful at nights. Well, I had always heard creepy stories of murders by the shore. But like the rest of the world, I always heard stories of crimes in every imaginable place, and I had never witnessed none. None besides mine, if I had to make it clear. Or maybe I had never really witnessed one of those creepy scenes people and newspapers talked about because I was busy in the murder scene when it happened, and I simply had no idea those stories were that and not outside stuff. Maybe I had been the protagonist to urban legends and newspapers’ headlines and had no idea. Despite being an animal, I was pretty dumb, distracted…quite innocent, if that word can be possible in a creature like me.

I walked alone down the road careless if someone saw me or not. It was not like many people decided to take a look of the dark streets at two in two in the morning, and if there were some guys or girls outside or awake, there was always half a chance they were drunk enough not to care or to forget. And even if not, people would just think I was a man who lost a bit of sanity and is walking alone at that hour of the night…or maybe a properly dressed tramp man, unable to fall asleep out of hunger or stress…or maybe just drunk. Maybe I was just walking home to them. Maybe, to them, I just lost my car keys or I had a fight with my girlfriend, and had to go home alone at two in the morning, with the hands in the pockets of my jacket, and the head slightly down with the head either too full of thoughts or too hollow from them.

I looked at both sides and found nothing but buildings and benches. The sea behind me caressed the sand of the shore with caution, like a first-time lover passing their hand upon their darling’s back and neck. The sound of the oh so tiny but constant waves worked as a lullaby for those that lived nearby, and their respirations went along the sounds of the water; soft, unconscious, lost, like they were floating. I could hear a couple of people snoring in their houses and departments; some were loud like a dead-asleep bear, and some barely made a sound an average person could notice. Somewhere, a couple spent the night not sleeping; I could hear the muffled sounds of them trying to be quiet not to wake the cousin sleeping in the couch, the almost unnoticeable squeak of the mattress, the heavy but forced-to-silence breathings…but the cousin heard nothing.

A mosquito passed by somewhere near somebody’s ear and caused them to groan and roll on their beds. A cat landed silently in the alleyway some steps behind me and made its way somewhere else. I could smell a lot of sweat…the salt of the ocean attacked my ear and left its flavor in my tongue, undesirable, yucky. There was the smell of someone cooking a midnight-dinner or something. There was the smell of popcorns in one of the houses, where hours ago, the family spent the while after-dinner and before bedtime watching movies or comedy TV programs. I contained the breath for the rest of the walk. California had always been my home, but the extreme weather, the great number of people in there (there were tourists the whole time, even during fucking winter), the absurdly huge number of sweat drops that came from each person every fucking night, and everything had me in a very, very difficult time and a huge struggle for me to live comfortable, or live at all. Had not always been like that.

But I simply could not leave this place…not quite yet.

I hurried a bit more on my way. Stopped for a second and looked at both sides to make sure no one was looking, or around. I looked at some windows to make sure there were no eyes on me, and paid attention to my nose and ear. Knowing for sure there was no troubles, I speeded up as fast as I could, and I reached my destination in a matter of a blink. I stopped in front of the house I had been looking for, and the same house I stopped at every single night ever since I disappeared. I looked up at the same window I looked at every time I visited, and I stayed there, frozen. I blinked once and kept my eyes glued in that rectangular shape. I opened my nostrils, and the desired essence made its way shyly through them. I awaited some moments and sighed like I would have done months ago.

After staying there a bit more of a while, I looked around to make sure there was no one there. Once I was sure, I looked up at the window of the second floor, and I jumped towards its direction with a few steps as my impulse. Taking a grip of the head of the window and resting my feet on the wall, I took a look of the inside. The window, after some days, had been closed every night, and there was a small fan inside to keep the room fresh. I held the head of the window with a hand, kept a knee on the windowsill, and pressed my back to the wall, with my other hand against it as well for an extra grip. I let out a sigh again and closed my eyes. I licked my lips for a moment and focused on not losing control. Once I felt prepared, I got closer again and, as silently as a cat lands on its paws, I opened the window with my longish and bony fingers. As I did, the smell attacked me like it had jumped straight onto my face.

My eyelids fluttered in ecstasy and my body shivered with pleasure. It was incredibly delicious to my nose. I could almost feel it in my lips, running down my throat, slipping down my chin from the animalistic way of taking it all at once. I tried to control myself again and had to take some moments before calming down and opening my eyes again. I blinked to stay still, and once I was sure I had kept it static, I moved. Very quickly and with movements as soft as a feather, as agile as a ninja, and with the grace of a feline, I made my way inside, landing on my toes and hands in a puma-like pose, like the animal I was. My eyes, seeing through the darkness that did not exist for my pupils, travelled around the place more out of protocol than really looking for something else than what I went there for. I was like an animal in the middle of hunting, hiding in the grass while the gazelle sleeps.

I slowly made my way up properly on my feet, changing from the feline-like attacker to just a standing twenty year old man in the middle of someone else’s bedroom at two in the morning. I stayed there just doing nothing. A clock somewhere in the kitchen made a clichéd “Tick-tock” second by second. Not really paying attention to counting the seconds and just hearing the go by, I stayed still. That was when I decided to look slightly to my left. And there I found it. My reason of the midnight walking and early visits to the same house every night. The reason I had not done something stupid to end with the suffering. The person that had been keeping me alive during my death. The person I once loved, and the person I still loved.
The person who used to love me.
And probably did not love me anymore.

Maybe he now hated me. For everything. Maybe he hated me for dumb and past fights every couple goes by during a relationship. Maybe he hated me for disappearing. Or hated me for appearing at his house when I appeared in the world again. Or hated me for the mystery and weird things after I arrived. Or hated me for not explaining.
Maybe he just hated me for disappearing again.

I stood there just watching him. His rebellious brown hair (that stayed half-blonde from the last time he dyed it), always soft looking, no matter whether he had taken a shower or not before going to bed. His strong, naked arms…his strong longs, resting like a pair of unanimated logs. His nude toes and feet…his nude knees. His red shorts. His…his…his naked torso. His nude, slightly and moderately built up torso. The slightly noticeable pack of abs. The…slightly, slightly and unnoticeable for the human eye sweat that covered his chest. His strong shoulders. The steady movement of…and the way his skin…and…oh god, his torso was so greatly done. Maybe Michael Angelo came from the dead to trace the lines of his body.

And the pretty face that suffered of dark times and anger and worry. And sadness. Deep sadness. Sadness like he had probably never faced before. Sadness that did not really fit his pretty features, and his high cheekbones, or the slightly parted lips which trembled with every breath he took in. And his pretty eyes…why, my dear, would you keep them close when I had come every night to see their ocean-like texture and color? Why could I not admire them again for more than mere seconds in which he rolled onto his side, or half-awoke for a second? Why could not they look at me and be able to smile through a glance, instead of fearing and shutting tight again, like not seeing the demon would send him away or make him unreal?

As I watched him, minutes passed by and I lost my notion of time to really recall how much time passed. Like the thing I was, I spent considerable minutes standing there, lost in my head but never losing one single nanosecond of my night admiration. I had memorized every single bit of him, from head to feet. I had memorized where the few birthmarks were. I had memorized every single line, every wrinkle, everything. With the hours I spent during all the days I spent of all the weeks I had spent watching him until the sun came up, I had memorized the number of pores of his skin, and how many body hairs he had, one by one, even the ones that were unseen by the human naked eyed. I had memorized his average of breaths per night. I had memorized his manias while sleeping, every turn he gave, the hour which was the heaviest for his sleep, how much it lasted.

After a while of watching him, which I could not recall on seconds or minutes but have learned from experience could have as well been two hours, I blinked since my arrival. And since I made my way inside, I allowed myself to breathe again. And when I did, I closed my eyes and the shiver of ecstasy travelled down my spine again. I hissed very quietly and involuntarily at the smell, and felt my saliva overpopulating my mouth. Like the animal I was, I could not control it when a small trial of saliva escaped me and rolled from my lower lip down my chin, and my respiration became heavier. My whole body tickled of anxiety and necessity, and my soul screamed of desire as the smell filled my nostrils and the inside of my body and mind. Without even caring on the saliva on my chin, I opened my eyes again and looked at him.

I licked my sharp, long and white fangs like that would push them away into my gums.

My breathing became heavy and shaky, but quiet enough not to bother his sleep. Not much. I took in another breath of his essence and adored of it, drooled for the smell of his skin, of his being, of his blood. I could hear every drop that ran through his veins, see every pump on his neck and wrists, hear his calm heartbeat. I, as the masochist I had grown into with my nocturnal visits, allowed myself to taking in more breaths just to smell him. It was not the smell of any sweat, of any skin, of any kind of blood. It all belonged to him. And that made all his smells as desirable as the man himself was.

After some moments, I started taking some steps closer. His mother, sleeping in a room on the first floor, could not have heard. My precious boy, however, rolled and groaned, prepared to wake up. It had not been in my intentions being quiet, but I did not intend to wake him on purpose either. I simply walked, like I would have done in all days to cross the room and get to him. As his eyelids fluttered a bit, ready to wake up, I heard as his heart skipped a beat for a second, only to speed up like a bullet or a scared bunny inside his chest. At the same time, a small moan sounded in his throat as he moved in his dozed state, and his cheeks turned slightly red in the darkness. I apologized mentally but kept walking until I was at his side, standing nearby the bed, watching him.

It was not my intention that my mere presence forced him naturally into the doze state. It was…a natural reaction from…a human.

Unable to wake up unless I either went away or shook him awake, my gorgeous young man stayed still on the bed, like one that carries nightmares in the head. I stayed there, watching him. Only then, I raised a hand upon him, without blinking or taking away my stare on his beautiful face. I moved my hand down again, close to him, and stopped eventually and slowly until I was at a few inches from the skin of his forehead. I trembled like a pathetic human kid, and I lowered my hand a bit more until my fingertips barely ghosted his face. Once there and as my breathing went heavier, like his, I started moving my hand onto all of him; it slowly, oh so very slowly and in complete terror of god-knows-what, it caressed his forehead and cheeks. It enjoyed especially of the cheeks for a while, before moving down to caress his jaw, find the chin, and go back up to find his mouth. I caressed it softly, and traveled through the lips with my fingertips.

I closed my eyes and the touch of his mouth on my fingers brought memories and fantasies back into my head like flashes. I could remember that same mouth falling onto mine; I could recall which millimeter of his lips touched me and carried my essence with them. I could feel, and literally feel with only the memories, as those pair of lips travelled down my neck; how they left trails of kisses all over my face; I could still feel reminiscences of kissed-away tears; I could recall every occasion they touched me, or my ears, or my nose, or my mouth, or whatever. I put my hand away and opened my eyes not to keep calling into my head those hurtful images, and stared at him. He was still forced naturally into an uncomfortable sleep. And I, selfish, took advantage to keep touching him.

As my hand traveled down his body and skipped the neck not to feel the temptation of the jugular, more and more thoughts created a tornado inside my head. I was not sure what to use my time for; thinking of him, thinking of the past us, thinking of the present us, of my regrets, on fantasies of what could he be thinking…it was too much for one single animal like me to really cope with, and still, I stayed calm as I caressed his chest with my fingertips, lovingly, agonizingly in love. As I stared at him, my eyes filled of water and could not help but feel incredibly hopeless. And incredibly angry at myself and the world. Maybe if I had never known him, he would not have been suffering as much. And, therefore, so would not I.

Maybe he did hate me for that first hello. Maybe he wanted to yell at me that, if I had to say goodbye that way, I should have never said hello in the first place. I was not sure of his feelings and thoughts, but it crossed my mind to think he was regretting deeply all of our story. And I could not blame him; the more one loves, the more one tends to suffer with this kind of unexpected situation. How could we have known? How could we have known three long years of romance, love, laughter, sex, cuddling, rock, booze, fun, and bonds would have ended up like that, in a non-fulfilled tragedy?

He had been my boyfriend all those years, I recalled mentally as if not to forget what one simply could not let go, not even in a hundred years. Had been the best human being to exist in my existence. Had saved me metaphorically and literally of many things. Had taught me a hundred of things. Had been my clichéd romance of any other average teenage boy…or young adult, or whatever you are between seventeen and twenty. And I had loved him like I had never done, and like I would never do again. I loved him more than yesterday, and a little less than tomorrow, I thought every single day of my life since I knew for sure it was him. We had done so many things together, had lived so many experiences together, had been so together our lives felt empty if we did not have the other. There was no Me without Him, and there was not Him without Me. Physically, we could be apart…and still, he carried with himself a part of me, and I carried part of him. We had grown into the perfect romance; the one that is correctly balanced. That did not love in excess, and did not lack of love; that was jealous enough, but never possessive. That could be physically apart, and still love like we were cuddled up together.

And they had unfairly taken him away of me in one fucking night.

After thinking of what we had been, I climbed onto his bed, straddling his hips and sitting on them, staring down at him with the innocence that was taken from me weeks ago, when they took him and Us away. I stared at his pretty face, still suffering from doze and nightmares or whatnot. But I did not get off him. I stayed there, sat on him, and my fingers caressed his chest and collar bones again. There, in that same place, where and how I was sat, I had been countless times. Of course there were the sexual times where we could go like this…it was his second favorite. I smiled with a bigger sadness than the still present joy memories caused in me. I had no idea how wrong it was to think that kind of stuff in that moment. One thinks what one thinks, and once thought, that’s okay. It’s not like that was sin or inhuman, or like it was the only thing I liked of him during our relationship and lives.

But there were as well the times I had been like that only to tickle him. He was the most ticklish man on earth. And I had been there to attack him to death with a pillow, even though I was always thrown away magically and ended up with him on top, sat on my ass, and tickling my soles while I could not really move from under him. Once, the oh so gross dude licked my sole with the mere purpose of grossing me out and tickle me to death. I let out a little chuckle thinking of that. He was a complete disaster. And I loved him like that. Also, I had been there, sat like that, to provoke him, whether it was in a sexual or seductive or a playful way, it did not matter. I had also been sat there when, only once, we got in this huge, tremendous, and still dark for my memories, fight. I was so angry I managed to tackle him down, straddle him like that, and give him one, two punches on the face, and as I was preparing the third, I noticed my pain of hurting him was bigger than the pain whatever we fought about was, and I could just mutter curses, tell him I hated him, and cry on him, cry in a way that was enough for him to know I was lying out of being blinded by anger, and that I was in pain and needed of him.

I cleaned a bit of my tears in the present, and I kept looking at him. Maybe I should have never entered his life. If I had not, disappearing would have had no effect on him. He would have had a pretty girl or a cute guy lying at his side in what used to be our apartment, oblivious to this kind of crimes and this kind of monsters. Would have had been happy. Much more. I moved my hand up to him and caressed the wrinkles of his forehead. He did not have them before. He would not have gotten them if it had not been for me.

Once night, I disappeared. We had not had any fight, we had not gone anywhere. I simply went out to leave a thing to a friend she had lent me. Had a nice conversation, a bit of dessert, then went out. It was not even freaking midnight or something creepy. It was eight p.m. Eight. I was on my way home, as I had not taken the car and had been too idiot and forgot money for public transport, when out of fucking nowhere, there was this strange and odd pale dude staring at me. He greeted me, and I carried on my way, only greeting with my eyebrows. He gave no good vibe, and I had no intentions to deal with robbers or whatever. Before I could tell, he had somehow gripped me from the arm and, in less to what I could blink, I was somewhere entirely different, deep in a forgotten alleyway, and he had crushed me against the wall. Now that it was but a memory, it was all so deeply cliché I started thinking this was a stupid novel or movie very badly written.

Had had a senseless fight with that thing way stronger than me, and who I had no chances against. Ended up badly hurt, covered in my own blood, and forcefully swallowing somebody else’s blood during my agony. And then I died. And then I did not really die. It was a pathetic and badly written TV program for teenage fan-girls. When I woke up, the first thing I did, once I got recovered enough and conscious, I started walking with shock and many struggles. Thank God I was nearby my house, because I had forgotten I was entirely covered of blood, and people were looking at me as I walked with the grace of a drunken man. I called for my apartment’s number, and I pathetically whimpered for Mike to come open the gate for me.

Like it was okay to go with him, covered in liters of my own blood, pale, with fangs, getting literally burnt by the sun, after two weeks being disappeared.

I had been a total idiot. Maybe if I had thought first, I would have been smart enough to know it would shock or traumatize him. He was more sensible than a three year old girls seeing her bunny pet dying. And after two weeks of me leaving no sign of going anywhere, of course he had to have had been so sensible that just seeing me with a purple eye would have caused a huge shock in him. And I arrived like that. I could have had gone to my mother’s house, discretely enter through the back door, take a shower, change my clothes, do something not to look…like that. But no, all I did was to arrive traumatized, scared, almost shitting in my own pants, whimpering for Mike to come open the fucking gate. Like he needed a bigger shock. Like he needed such image that would haunt him to his death day.

As I thought of that, I caressed the bags under his eyes. I sniffled a bit, and I went down towards him. Lying down at his side, I cuddled up to him, and caused shivers in him at my icy contact, and Goosebumps. I rested my head on his shoulder and breathed against his neck, with one of my hands resting on top of his heart. I nuzzled at him like a needy kitty, and I closed the eyes, pretending I could sleep, pretending I was back in our apartment, sleeping at his side. I did not need this kind of life. It sucked. I could not eat food, could not drink water or booze or soda, I could not go out in the day, I could not even fucking sleep. It was a total nightmare. I needed my old life. I needed and wanted to spend my days bored watching TV. I wanted to laugh at fucking comedies and cheesy stuff. I wanted to cuddle with him just like this.

And I tried to carry on with my life just like that. After coming back home, once cleaned, helped out through the emotional shock, visited by family and friends, and settled back to normality, I tried to carry on like it had been a bad experience of crime. I knew in my head I had been attacked, badly hurt, and dropped there in the alleyway. I was still almost sure I had been forced to swallow somebody else’s blood; then again, that could have had been one of those weird fetishes of criminals and psychos. Thing is, how could I not wake up in two weeks? Perhaps some drug? Maybe it had not been blood, that thing I was forced to swallow during my state of dying, but some kind of drug that left me dead in appearance during those days. I had no idea. Whatever. All I had present was that I had been victim of a crime, and that was it.

Until days passed by and I realized, only after days, that I had not eaten since the day. And I had no single desire of touching a single bit of food. It all grossed me out. I had not drank anything, either. And I had no intentions of getting a glass of water. And I had not been able to sleep. And I did not feel bad or sick at all. I just felt thirsty. But when I tried to drink water, I spat it back. It was horrible, terrible in my mouth. Mike had gone through hell, back and forth, and kept suffering firstly due to what had happened to me, and secondly, because he noticed my new habits of leaving my habits. He tried for me to eat and drink, but no matter how much I tried, I kept spitting it back. It was like…like what I thought could have had been trying to eat poo. It did not feel right or natural or correct. And of course, it tasted like shit. No pun intended.

How was I to know I had been turned into this? It was a fairytale and a urban legend, of course I did not believe in this kind of stuff. Therefore, it did not even remotely cross my mind to think I was that. Not even with the fangs, not even with the way I got literally burnt if the sunlight touched me, not even with the paleness. Nothing really made it clear, of course it would never cross my mind. I was a twenty-twenty first century man…maybe I would have thought so if I had been alive during the seventeen century, but for God’s sake, it was a kid’s tale to me. I had no idea. Nobody could really blame me for not knowing, nobody could blame me for not really knowing there were new instincts in me to control.
How was I to know they were to blind me?

It had not been my fault to not know that what I really needed to eat was…well, that. It was not my fault not knowing I was thirsty of blood. There was no way one could blame me for not knowing. Maybe if the stranger had waited for me to wake up and then fucking explain I had died and I worked different now, maybe it would have been fucking easier. But, oh no, I could cope fine with it, I would wake up aware that in plain twenty first century I was a monster that drank blood. Oh, yes. Very obvious. It had not been my fault suffering of thirst; I tried to drink water, after all. I actually tried to do something. How was I to know that I needed that alternative?
How was I to know I would lose control when I visited my sister and she accidentally cut her finger with a paper sheet?

I had been visiting her as well. She only spent a few days in the hospital, recovering from the blood loss and the shock, and now continued with her life. Except she lived with the eternal idea that her little brother attacked her. Gripped her throat with inhuman strength, licked the blood of her injury, and ended up biting her wrist to get more of what I had tasted. I did not even remember shit of that day, I just knew it happened. It was obvious to know when I was hit out of my hypnotized state when one of my brothers hit me in the head with a pan, and distracted me enough to see I was hurting my sister and I had been drinking her blood. They got away of me and tried to scare me away like I was a monster. Like I was not the baby brother they all saw in the crib, and learning to walk, and learning to speak. I put my hands up, and they kept trying to scare me away. I was terrified. I had blood in my mouth and down my chin, but I was way much more horrified than they looked and were. I could smell my own terror, easily ten times bigger than theirs.

Not able to do a single sound and trembling, I merely tried to escape. I broke the door in the way. Broke part of a wall. Stupidly and tremblingly asked them not to tell mom, like we were kids again and I had accidentally broken an expensive jar or something. Ran away. Went home, fell into Mike’s arms. Told him I was scared. Scared him with the blood on my lips and face. Flinched when he hugged me. Got away when I realized I was still hungry, and that his blood was particularly attractive to my new senses. Tried to get away of him, and had him getting closer saying it was okay, that it could be a consequences of the shock, that it was all psychological. Saw his jugular pumping. Screamed for him to get away. Him trying to shush me and calm me down, totally ignorant to the truth of my fear. Had him thinking I was mad in the head after the “bad experience” I went through.

Had him trying to help me. Had him ignoring me when I said I did not want to hurt him. Had him taking my face carefully. And then, I had him pinned against the wall, with his throat in my hand, and his feet some inches above the floor. With one of my new, stupidly grown fingernails, I cut his throat, and I laughed quietly and like a demon as I got closer and pressed my mouth to the injury. Whispered a few, dark things to him and kept drinking. Had him whispering my name. Got sent back to reality. Dropped him. Helped him clean the injury, taking care of it…luckily, it was not big enough for him to die out of bleeding, so he only needed to keep something pressed to it. I stayed there with him, helped him. Had him asking me what the hell I was.

That night, he tucked himself in bed, fearful on not knowing if he wanted or not that I joined him soon. I spent a while in the living room, just thinking on what I had done to the people I loved. And I realized, like in any other clichéd vampire story, that I was a danger to them. So I, both in imitation to those clichéd movies and books and in a real choice, ran away. I disappeared once again, leaving no sign. This time, it lasted more than just two weeks.

Mike suffered another shock out of it. He left to his mother’s house again, needing help, and had lived there for these weeks. Thought he probably had paid more attention to me, should have taken greater care of me, and so I would have had been alright. And if I had been alright, I would not have had escaped. And then maybe everything would be alright.
I caressed his strong chest and sighed, still lying at his side. Poor innocent soul…not knowing that there was no answer for our situation but the goodbye. Thinking it was all a psychological effect in me that was turning me into a murderer psycho as well. Unable to see that the fairytales are true, blind to my canines, blind to what I had turned into.

After spending a while like that, I nuzzled closer again, and I sighed. Vampire or not, monster or not, a blind animal that hurts family and friends for the sake of eating or not, I was hopelessly in love. I hugged him, and got closer to his ear. After a while, it was always easy to ignore his blood; I was still very human inside, and got carried away by my thoughts and my affection for him to really care on how good it smelled. It seemed like the more you desired someone, the tastier their blood smells to your nose. As if you wanted, liked and loved so much, you desired them entirely, until desiring their lives. And desiring their lives could as well be translated to literally taking it from them. Horrific. I loved him too much, enough to know that could happen easily. And I loved him enough, enough to get away of him before that would happen.

I cried a bit, in complete silence, and pressed my lips close to his ear.
“I love you”, I whispered to him quietly and with all my affection drawn into that shy whisper. I placed my hand on his cheek and sniffled. “I love you too much to leave…and enough to do it” my shaky voice told him, not really knowing whether it would get to him as a dream, as a reality, or would simply disappear before getting into his ear. “I…will leave. I just don’t know when…”
I hugged him tighter and spent some more moments just crying. After some moments, I moved up to get a look of his face, and I caressed it softly with one of my icy eyes.
“…this is unfair” I whispered, not knowing if I talked to him or to myself. “…I’ve come every night for the past eight weeks just to watch you…and you wake up shocked in fear, or screaming. I give you nightmares only by standing close to you…I don’t let you fully rest, but I don’t let you wake up either. And I know it all…and…a-and I still don’t care…”

I sniffled and caressed his face a bit more, removing some of his brown hair from his forehead, and watching him with the eyes that I hoped still kept some of humanity in me.
“…I still come and do all of that to you…only because I want to look at you” I whimpered. “Because I want to admire you…like I did not do when alive. When I did not think I could lose you, because we had all our lives ahead” I chuckled and rolled my wet eyes as I said that. “…they took me from you” I whispered. “…and you’re suffering thinking something really bad happened to me out there, thinking you’ve lost me forever, and I…” I groaned. “How can I let you know I’m here for you, but cannot be close to you? What am I supposed to do now? Follow the script of those stupid movies and be your distant guard, or just fucking go away and stop causing troubles, or fucking stand in the sun until I die while already dead?”

I groaned in anger and dropped more and more tears like a little child. And like a kid, I cleaned them away with the sleeve of my jacket, which fitted me a bit too big since I had lost weight since that alleyway thing.
This was fucking stupid, I had never liked drama.

I frowned and slapped him hard enough for a human.
“Mike” I called while still frowning and slapped him again. His eyelids fluttered a bit, and he groaned as I slapped him again. He blinked a couple of times and woke up. He was lost the first seconds as he tried to know what was happening, and muttered a couple of senseless questions as he came back to a woken up state. I looked him like a kid in tantrum; face slightly red from crying, tears in my eyes, and still frowning like a lion cub trying to look scary. “Fucking wake up, you, loser”
“Wha-“ he recalled and blinked and then opened his eyes wide open like dishes. He gasped. “Bil-!” but before he could scream anything, I put my hands on his mouth to shut him. He looked down at my hands, with the eyes still wide open, then back at me, my hands, and then back at me. He looked so much in shock he turned as white as me, but I did not care and just let myself go.

“This is fucking bullshit” I told him. “You fucking know what I did to my sister, you fucking lived the same. You see these fangs, you see them?” I asked him and then I showed him my teeth, licking one of my canines, and then the other. “And I just came into your room through the window, I jumped here from the outside; proof enough? Is it enough? What am I? A fucking fairytale vampire” I explained in a matter of a few seconds, still frowning. “That settled down and understood, let’s go onto the rest; I ran away because I was scared of myself, I thought that if I disappeared, then none of the ones I love would be in danger” I told him quickly, and he raised his eyebrows. I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I’ve watched too many fucking movies”

I shook my head and blinked back some tears, like crying made me less of a man.
“But, you know what? This is fucking bullshit” I continued. “If you love something, you don’t let it go like a fucking plastic bag in a tornado. You let it go if it wants to go, but if it’s because ‘there’s no other answer’, then you’re a fucking pathetic excuse of a failed romance; if something’s broken, you go and fucking fix it, you don’t drop it there and run away thinking that if you stay you will only break it more” I growled. “I mean, of course, you may hurt it away accidentally, but it’s not your intention, and you’re not dumb enough to break it; so you go and fix it properly this time and-”

He took a grip of my wrists, making me shut up in the middle of my rambling. Even though I was a heck lot stronger than the stronger human on earth, I still let him take my hands away of his mouth. He put them away softly and slowly, never taking his eyes off mine. I stared down in shame and embarrassment. How could I appear like that after weeks of tragically disappearing? If this was one of those movies, I would suck as the protagonist. I did not add drama to anything, and now that I had done, I ruined it getting angry and waking him up. I had no regrets, though. I hated going dramatic, and for me, there was always an answer, so this had to have one too.

I felt as he cupped my face in his hands, and I forced myself to look up at him again.
“…I’m sorry” I whispered to him, and he just stared at me like I was an angel or God himself. He tried to say something but his lips barely really moved. And back to comparing my life to a corny movie, I guessed this was the moment when an emotional piano or string quartet theme started playing. Maybe it was called the “Mike and Billie theme”. Or something cheesy like “Night love”, or “Nocturnal Encounter”. Or whatever. Maybe one day I could compose that. Back on my present, he looked at me for moments and moments. Eventually and slowly, as the sun started appearing somewhere in the horizon, a tiny smile fearfully appeared on his face, unsure on whether he was awake or just another of his terrible “nightmares” in which I appeared only for him to wake up and find himself alone.

I dropped another tears that fell directly on his thumb, as he was still holding my cold face. I sniffled as he looked at me like I was a life savior or something. He caressed my cheeks, and his smile was much more evident now, along a new sparkle of joy in his eyes.
“…Billie” he whispered so lowly no one else but me could have heard him. I tried to smile, but it hurt in my entrails to have heard him once again calling my name, and looking again at those wonderful blue eyes, when I had been at nothing of leaving him far, far away and never look for him again. God, I had to really be psycho to want to get away of him. And hearing him hurt for a moment. I curled slightly as a reaction to my stomach shrugging, and I bit down on my lower lip not to break out crying again.

Noticing I was on the edge of a breakdown, he sat up properly and, careless of everything, he simply threw his arms around of me and pressed me to him with such a strength even I, with my own strength, groaned a bit. In his arms, once again safe in his arms, I felt much safer than I could have ever felt; I needed no super speed or super strength, or incredible sight and ear and nose, I needed no ability to jump and run and hurt…that was stupid. That could offer protection, but what really made me feel in home and as protected as if I was in the safest bunker of the moon rounded by all of the world’s armies, was to be in his arms. I returned the hug and buried my face in his shoulder like a kid in need of his mom, and I started crying.

I gripped his clothes and cried to him, trembling in his arms. I had expected for things to go the other way around; that he would be the one breaking down and needy of my arms. Turned out that, just like when I was human, I was the needy one that cried while he was satisfied enough with just knowing I was alive and there, with him, hugged to him. We spent moments like that, and I just pressed him closer to me.
“…don’t ever let me go again, you idiot” I whimpered to him. “…I’m…kinda dumb sometimes…”
“You’re dumb all the time…” he replied and hugged me tighter as well. I could almost see his smile and the few tears he dropped as well. He laughed quietly in a sigh, and I just kept crying in his arms. “…don’t ever run away like that, my BeeJ…”
“I was scared…” I sobbed to him, and he nuzzled at the side of my head with his.

“No matter how scared you get…” he whispered to me. “No matter how you and your body work now…don’t run away, you idiot, because I still love you” he finished. At his words, I merely stayed quiet. I felt like a teenager who just tried to escape home but came back running knowing it had been a stupid idea and was not being spoiled. “We’ll work things out…maybe not the way we want, but you don’t have to disappear, you heard me?” and after a few seconds, he forced to break the hug, only so that we could stare at each other again, with him cupping my face once more. He smiled in among his quiet tears. “…listen, BeeJ, baby…I know this is going to be the cheesiest thing ever, maybe I’ve watched too many movies too, but…” he widened his smile and the warmth behind it. “…from you leaving forever to keep me safe, or staying and ‘putting me in great danger’...I’d rather take the risk”

I smiled at him, but he only got more and more tears to drown my gaze until I could not see him from behind them. I sniffled and sobbed more, and he just cleaned my cheeks.
“If being happy was easy, everyone would be, don’t you think?” he asked me, and I just chuckled as I cried.
“…you’re the best idiot I know” I whispered to him, and I looked up at him. “…thank you”
“Come here, Mr. Vampire” he whispered tenderly, and I had to admit I was surprised from how calm and happy he was. I smiled and cleaned my tears before resting my forearms on his shoulders. I got closer to him, and we both closed our eyes as our noses and foreheads met. We stayed like that some moments, and he sighed. “…I missed you”

Getting closer and being guided by his hand which held carefully my chin, I leaned in closer and I let my lips melt into his, both of us being careful of my teeth.

I was an idiot if I wanted to leave him. Despite what I was turned into, his kiss brought life to me, and a beat to my heart. Being dead, I felt alive when I had his arms around me, his eyes on me, and his presence linked to mine. I was not dead.
Dead I would have been if I had lived the rest of my existence without him. That was, as I had considered, the worst way of dying.
Bike - Night Creature
"I wanted to conclude my story with something cheesy and corny, but there’s a question rounding my head since the beginning; isn’t that necrophilia? I mean, I’m dead."

I wanted to finish with that but I thought it could ruin the mood for some of you. :lmao:

Anyway, have you ever written a story, but more than writing it, it turns out as it has to turn out?
Like, it exist and has a certain form, so you don't create it, you just found it, or unburied it or however you want to see it. Yeah, that happened.

I thought of this tragic, sad, dramatic story, and the ending turned out like that. I could not go against the nature of the story, it did what it wanted. :shrug:

So this is inspired as I've been reading a book trilogy "Gothic Doll", "Gothic Soul", and "Gothic Fate", from a mexican author, Lorena Amkie, (I don't know if the books made it overseas), that speaks about a vampire and her struggles with this kind of stuff. Except she did not slap her boyfriend awake. :lmao:

So yeah! I hope you enjoy. :dummy:

Chapter 47: Part 2 - Blue Eyed Cat

It was unbelievable.

Gerard’s long hair was gone. It had been there, and in one second, it suddenly was not there anymore. It was that stupid and quick. It was there one moment, and in a blink, it was gone. Easy like that. Kind of like a murder; there is a whole living person standing there, and there are million and one stories behind them, a billion moments of memories behind the pupils, it’s a person that came out of a man’s balls, won a race among billions of others, took nine months to develop, grew up, got sick, got happy, got hurt, went to school, studied, lived, breathed, stargazed, cried, laughed, danced, sang, got embarrassed, lied, jumped, loved…and in a blink, from a moment to the other, it’s all merely gone. Like all those years, moments, seconds, like all the effort and stories behind it were totally worthless and useless. And never coming back. And nobody cares. Just like that.

Maybe he was exaggerating with comparing his hair to a whole human life, but for a moment, it was impossible not to make the comparison. It was more than just his long hair to which he had gotten used. It meant a whole thing to him, some which he had not even unburied until he could freely talk for hours about the subject with Billie once they had some intimacy.
His hair, being long, gave him some kind of freedom. Gerard had never really felt too attached to the masculinity he was conventionally asked for; he was not attracted to sports, or rude things, or fighting other guys. That did not mean either he felt attracted to play with dolls and paint his fingernails pink. He knew himself a guy, but that did not stop him from liking his looks with some eye-liner on, feel attracted to some ‘girly’ things, and even get the idea every now and then to randomly dress up like a girl just to see how people would react.

It was not that he wanted to become a girl; he was just a guy with no conventional and stereotyped manly interests. Just like the cases of girls that do not like to cook and wear dresses and prefer hanging with guys, play baseball, be rude, and still know themselves girls and still wear make-up or heels. Thing was, society was so much in the belief that women were so underrated and supported them to extremes, that they forgot about men in the process and even underrated them almost like in a desperate effort of making things get in balance; therefore, boys sometimes had more troubles accepting their sexuality than girls. If it was about a girl “You go, girl! Nobody can tell you who to be, rock those pants!”, but if it was about a guy, “How can he go out wearing a skirt, he’s a guy!”


His hair gave him some comfort on his looks, some way. Not too associated with the manly side, the long hair made him feel kind of…and, blushing when the word hit him in the head, the first thing Gerard thought was ‘pretty’. He did not want to comb his hair with ponytails and side-tails and buns, no. He just liked it long. He liked how it felt. Still a guy, but with something conventionally accepted for girls. It made him feel…a bit, a bit secure on his looks. Even though, he had to admit, it was very annoying; long hair was a mess. A plain disaster. Too much for him to control. In a way, he felt much more free without it. The difference was like this; long hair made him feel pretty, but short hair made him feel comfortable. And from pretty to comfortable…bye to beauty.

But, his hair was not only a matter of his sexuality. It also meant his great effort as an actor. It was just a vague, clichéd school play. But he had not taken it like just a vague, clichéd school play; he took it like many should, like it had to be seen. Like a play, like a piece of art, like entertainment, something that needed to be treated with dignity. He would have worked as hard for the vague, clichéd school play as he would have done with some Shakespeare in an Italian theatre. After all, it was not the circumstances what gives something a value but what it really is. If it had been a shitty play, then he would have done a shitty work. But it was something with a good (even if clichéd) plot, with real-like characters with some great psychological analysis, something someone took months or years to create, all the effort and passion to write down, and who worked with all they had to make it work. And for such great work, Gerard was giving a great work. One gives what one receives.

The hair was a representation that he took Mrs. Collins seriously, despite all her random attacks of weirdness. Because she was a great director. She could not be in great theatres, or in every movie screen, but she gave her best in the best place she had taken and chose; her role as a teacher. And Gerard took her seriously as someone to work with. The hair had been some kind of his proof that he worked hard enough for the play and for her that he did what an actor of a big, globalized thing would have done.
The hair was Lily.

The hair also was, and what hurt Gerard the most, kind of like a representation of what had brought him and Billie together, in a metaphorical way. That was because the hair was Lily. But he would not have had been Lily if Mrs. Collins had not brought him to the play. And if Mrs. Collins had not brought him to the play, then Billie would not have had to be somewhat forced (in a good way) to spend time with Gerard, both in theatre class and in their personal lessons. It was being forced in the same class and play what brought them to being around in the same space in the same times, which was what somewhat forced them to talk and get in touch with one another. And that was what had brought them to become friends. And it was being friends what brought them to become intimate. And it was being intimate what brought them together as a couple.

And the only one that witnessed the whole process had been the hair. Not their shadows, which left in rainy days and darkness. Not their clothes, which changed day by day (because even wearing the same shirt the same week, you don’t wear it every single day every single second). Not their eyes, as irises are never the same, more in a spiritual and/or emotional than a physical one. The hair. It had always been there.
And it was gone.

The hair had been there when they first said Hi, at the cafeteria, when Lance had been picking with Gerard when Billie arrived to put things in order. The hair had been there when Gerard spied him playing the piano, when Lance made him stumble at the stairs and Billie received him, when they acknowledged each other as theatre partners and the protagonists, when they talked and laughed together, when Billie took him to his house after Gerard had saved a kitten, when Gerard had cried to him, when Billie had looked at him with those emeralds of his, when they had fake-kissed, when they had practiced together for dancing, for singing, for acting, when they had done music together, when they had fallen in love, when they had kissed, confessed, gotten together, held hands, slept in the same bed, argued, cried, hugged….and all of that, all of what the hair had with itself, was gone.

Gerard talked about all of that and more to Billie in the intimacy of his house. Well, ‘talked’ was one verb. He had talked about it, but had also stormed, raged, cried, sobbed, ranted, rambled, and all that was possible. In a way, Billie was happy that Gerard had so much trust in him he talked about what he was feeling and thought, and even got in other subjects which he found in the way of his words before going back to the main subject. Gerard had also endlessly stormed and sobbed talking about Lance, Leonard, the rest of those guys, and about some kind of hatred towards them. Billie merely listened to him, nodded every now and then, hugged him when needed, and spoiled him with a nickname and some words every now and then, as Gerard carried on.

It was a bit surprising at first that Gerard did not even mind the presence of his friend Bob in there as well, like he did not even exist at all.

Going out of classes, Billie and Gerard met by the doors and, like usual, the gang and Billie walked the same direction. Later on, they would have to take different paths, except for Ray, Gerard and Billie. Sometimes, the only one parting different ways was Frank, as Bob adored to spend his time at Ray’s like it was his own home. It somewhat was; Billie found his case very similar to his and Mike’s. Bob was…well, his life worked quite different to the average or conventionally (or humanly) ‘good’ or ‘normal’, so being under the roof of his house did not exactly make him the happiest or something, to put it some way. Therefore, his heart claimed for his family to really live in the blood of his intimate friends, and even thought Frank was very intimate to him, he was much more used to spend it at Ray’s. Just like Mike, Billie thought.

The guy was in a very similar situation, and his heart claimed for his family to really live in the blood of the Armstrong family, and in Tré as well. And even thought he was very intimate to Tré and Jason, he looked for Billie’s house. It was like Gerard and his gang were the tenth-grade mini version of them. The black haired guy that sings, the hyper and short guy, the one that uses to carry the guitar everywhere, and the wise one that tends to be the quietest. Even though Bob was a heck, million, zillion times quieter than Mike was. Mike spoke like a normal person; thing was that the rest of his friends talked a million times more than the average (with that hyperactive-like attitude from Billie and Tré, and the constant replies from Jason). But on the tenth-grade version of the gang, they all spoke what was average and even less than that (except for Frank), and Bob was the extremely quiet one.

As they walked, all of them already updated on what the hell had happened to Gerard’s hair, Billie came up with the subject of what he had earlier said about giving shape to his short hair. It had been cut just like someone cuts a piece of raw meat; randomly and carelessly. So it had no head or feet, not properly.
“But, y’know, Gee…I-I…” Billie chuckled with embarrassment as he caressed Gerard’s shortish-long hair. “…I have no idea how to properly cut hair, and, y’know, I’m scared I’ll fuck it up”

“I could do it” Bob offered, and Billie was sure it had to be like the fifth sentence he had heard the blond guy say in all those months of knowing him and sometimes hanging with him (due to hanging with Gerard). Everyone turned to look at him, quite surprised, eyebrows furrowed or arched, and confusion in the eyes. Bob did not show a single hint of emotion or amusement as he kept walking, looking at Billie and Gerard, who could not take their eyes off him. The blond one looked ahead not to crash with anything, but his friends kept looking at him. Understanding the surprise from everyone, he sighed and shrugged. “I…my aunt cuts hair real well, and I spent a lot of time with her during childhood, so…” and even though he really did not tend to show much emotions, Gerard was sure a very shy soft of red painted his cheeks. He cleared his throat before continuing “…I just know what I do with scissors and a human head with hair, okay?”

“I just hope it’s not murder” Frank joked and broke the tension, even though Gerard still blinked in surprise after the little laugh. Wow. Bob, the rough one, the strongest of the group, the tallest, the scariest one that had scared children away by growling like a dog when they won’t shut up, the quietest guy, and one of the two of their group of friends whose sexuality did not seem to go other way than straight (ha!), being a passionate for hairstyling. He had not said it that way, but it was quite obvious for Gerard, for the way he had talked, gotten slightly nervous, put his gaze away, and blushed. And even though he knew jobs and passions and liking did not have to be related to gender and sexuality, he almost snapped at Bob, in a joke, something like “Ha! Who’s the girl now!?”, but he was not much of a joke guy.

And so, Billie and Gerard went with Bob to the smallest one’s house to get a proper haircut. They did not need a chair or too many stuff; Gerard merely sat down on the floor of the living room, after placing some papers on the floor (for the hair to land there), and some plastic for Gerard’s shoulders, a water sprayer, a comb, and a pair of scissors. Bob mentioned, as he gathered the stuff, that he knew they wanted to talk, so they could go ahead; he was a deaf and mute tombstone. Billie seemed unsure at first, but Gerard thanked him and took the opportunity so his boyfriend went with it; Gerard knew Bob much better than he did, so he trusted it was okay to just go ahead and talk like the blond one was not there.

Gerard was sure of something; it was totally okay. Bob was the kind of guys who were loyal to the pores of the bones and the deepest of the soul. It was not a necessity of being loyal and brave and die for his friends; it was more his instinct of hating everything and everyone that he saw no single sense on getting in troubles or go drama on things, and he saw no sense on not being loyal to a friend. If he chose his friends and if they chose him, then he had no reason to go against them. And if he got tired of the relationship, or found it unhealthy, or something, he merely left. What was the big deal? Why could not everyone just do it instead of going drama and create problems? Eh, that was Bob. So, of course, he was not much of a gossip guy, not even about important stuff that was not celebrities and shit.

Bob was strange. And the fact that it was Gerard who said it really did make him strange. He was silent, and he had to be the most comprehensive, sympathetic person in the whole world, even more than Billie himself. He could listen to something very intimate from someone, and never judge, or do weird faces, or say anything about it. And he said nothing on it, sometimes not even to the person he listened to themselves. He really was a deaf and mute tombstone. His thoughts were: ‘that what they tell me, it’s theirs. It’s not mine. I’ve got no power over that stuff, I don’t own it. I have no right to judge it, to change it, to criticize it. If they want and need an opinion, I’ll give it to them. Then again, that what they tell me, it’s totally theirs. I’ve got no right to go around telling it to anyone else. I’ve got no right to speak about it like it’s mine, even if only with the person themselves. If they want to talk about it, then they’ll give me permission to speak about it. Before that, I have no right to take it like it’s an easy matter, because even if it is from my perspective, maybe it’s the heaviest issue for their perspective; and as they are the owners of that what they told me, their perspective is the right one. Not mine.’

The guy was either too wise or too weird, and Gerard found both as something great. He would not really be surprised the day Bob would stop at the doorframe and ask for his permission to be let in, three times, before walking in. He was as creepy as he was the most comfortable person to be around with. Maybe not the most outgoing or friendly or loving, but definitely, the most sympathetic and loyal friend. Gerard sometimes felt bad he had to be so cold and with a stone heart like that; he was so much of an amazing, wise, affective person, that it almost physically hurt to know people thought he was heartless and got away of him only due to his serious looks.

Gerard had gone on and on as Bob cut his hair about all that had been previously mentioned, and even when Bob was done, he continued. The blond guy did his job like it was the only thing that existed, and as the couple talked, he cut hair, cleaned his neck and shoulders, cleaned the floor, and entirely cleaned up whatever mess had been left, and as the pale guy was still talking, he still sat down at a respectful distance to listen. He was also in the belief that an idea had to be heard whole; he had a mania for finishing things (like not pausing or changing a song until it was over once it’s begun).

Before he started with Gerard’s hair, Bob had been aided by his classmate’s brother. He had gone around looking for the sprayer while the couple got comfortable and started talking but, before he could reach it from the place Gerard had signaled him, he stopped when he entered the kitchen and, standing there, with a cat on his head, the little brown haired kid looked at him with a bit of panic in the eyes. Bob looked discretely at the sides only with the eyes like making sure no one else was around to attack him (him, Bob, or him, Gerard’s brother…? He really was not sure, as it came as an instinct), and looked at the little guy again. The cat meowed, and Bob excused himself as he, slowly and carefully, leaned down to open one of the cupboard’s doors.
“What happened to his hair?” he heard little Mikey whisper.

Bob turned to look at him and blinked. The little guy looked a bit awkward, standing in the kitchen like nothing, with the knees facing each other, and the cat on his head, swinging its tail. But Bob, like the time he met little Mikey, could not see him other way rather than cute. The guy was twelve, a total sweetheart, and a cat-lover…how could he not be adorable even for a grown man’s eyes, and therefore, for a serious fifteen year old?
“Some jerk cut it” Bob replied quietly, even though Gerard and Billie were too busy talking to pay attention to whatever was going on at the kitchen. “Still, I don’t think it’s in me to talk to you about it…it’s Gerard’s, so I feel kind of nosy talking about it…” he said that but, as he finished, he looked again at the brown haired guy and those big, pretty eyes behind the pair of glasses that only magnified the eyeballs. Bob stared away and felt a bit bad, like he had screamed at the guy. “…then again, you’re his brother, so…” he shrugged, and after some moments in silence, he sighed. “Anyway, if you want I can tell you in other moment, but I wouldn’t ask Gerard if I were you…you know, just, not to keep the whole thing rolling in his head over and over”

“You talk too much” Mikey pointed out, and when Bob turned to look at him expecting some disgust or mockery, he found a sweet smile on the little kid’s face, like he had found that fact like something good, or like something cute. The fact that a twelve year old pointed at him that he had talked too much for his average surprised him. And the fact that a twelve year old smiled like he had found him cute made him feel embarrassed. He did not reply. “You’re the quietest person I’ve known, but if kind of feels you feel comfortable right now; like you feel free to speak what you tend to keep for yourself”

The quietest person he had known? Comfortable in that moment? Speak what he tended to keep for himself? What was this guy, a spy? A harasser? Bob felt a bit creeped out; it was like little Mikey knew it all, could read minds and feelings, and the future, and like he could control what happened. Like it was a book and he was the author including himself in the story, or like he was god and took some vacation time on earth without losing control over everything, or something. Yet again, he did not reply. But he could not deny one thing; indeed, without noticing, he felt free and comfortable in that moment. He was not sure of why, he simply felt that way. Maybe it was the house. Or the kitchen itself. Or Gerard. Or-

“I’ve got the sprayer” little Mikey said once again knowing it all forehand, smiling and shyly offering the thing to the older guy. Bob doubted for some moments; for a second, he felt like he was standing before a much older person, with a wisdom further humanly known, and with the noblest heart ever, which held the purest intentions of all. “I…sorry, I use it to chide Maya, sometimes” he said, and only then did Bob notice the scratches on his face and hands. Noticing Bob noticed, little Mikey blushed slightly and stared away. “…she offers a good fight”

The blond one could not help it. He did not even think about it, or realized after it was done. He merely gave half a smile and chuckled. It had been small, but it had been a little laugh that was born with sincerity. And he liked how that felt. He took some steps closer to the twelve year old and accepted the sprayer. He smiled at him and little Mike returned the smile. They stared at each other for some moments, and Bob realized; this guy was the biggest bless in Gerard’s life. He sure had a treasure of a human being as a brother. This guy was the kind of person that knew what they did, and always did things for others, careless of what would be the effect on them.
And the reason of the peace and calm that gave him freedom to speak without even realizing came from this guy.

Ray had once mentioned that little Mikey was the most comfortable person to have around, but he could not explain why; it was not exactly hanging with him, it was not what he had to say, it was not what he did. One merely felt strangely good when Mikey was around. Bob saw it like little Mikey was some kind of thing that, if present in a room, fills the air of an aroma and an atmosphere of entire peace, like humankind never knew war, hatred, or anger. You did not really need to stare at that thing, or talk to it, or have it in hands to just receive what it had to offer.

Bob’s eyes moved up to the cat that still rested on Mikey’s head, and gave another tiny laugh.
“Hey, you” he greeted and moved a hand up carefully. Maya hissed at first, but then she let the tenth grader scratch her right behind the left ear. “Stop offering a good fight…” and caused a small laugh in Mikey, which made him grin. “You know, he knows what he’s doing. So you should listen to him” he said but did not dare to move the gaze down and see whatever expression Mikey could or could not be showing in that moment. He merely scratched the cat a bit more until she started purring, and looked at Mikey only to thank him. Then he returned to the living room with the talking couple, and started his job.

In the end, Gerard’s hair ended up in a very ordered mess. It was not that Bob had not done it right; indeed, he did an excellent job further what Billie had firstly expected from him. Thing was, Gerard did not want a manly haircut. He wanted it, and quoting, “kinda like Jake’s”. Which meant it was longish-short, and messed up on purpose. The difference was that Jake’s hair was a mess because he cut his hair once every certain time, then let it grow with no sense or direction or shape, woke up in the mornings, and went to school just like that. Gerard’s hair, on his part, was a mess in which one did not feel uncomfortable; it gave this idea that every lock was where it had to be, where it belonged, like the mess was meant to be like that. He could wake up in the morning then leave to school like that, and still make his hair look like it was combed, while you looked at Jake and realized at first hand he woke up like that.

Gerard looked at himself in the mirror once he was done talking with Billie, and even though he had been talking about how and why it broke him to have his hair gone, he could not help the surprise of his new look. Billie smiled warmly when he saw the way Gerard looked at himself; he could not accept it fully, but inside, the tenth grader was admiring the job done with his hair. And one could not blame him; he looked hot.
When that thought got to him, Billie looked at both sides like someone had read his mind.

“Wow…” Gerard let out as he continued looking at himself. It was not so bad. Indeed, it was not bad in any way. He had to admit he preferred short hair when it was about comfort, and now that he realized, he also liked the look of it. Long hair made him feel pretty, but short hair made him feel…free, in some way. At least, that specific haircut made him feel like he was expressing some rebelliousness he did not dare to express through actions or words. It was strange. Even though the liking for his new haircut did really not fix the loss of the sentimental value of the long hair and all the troubles about the play, in the moment, Gerard did not care much as he did not think much about it due to being a bit lost on admiring his new hairstyle. “…Bob, it’s…wow, I don’t know what you did, but I love it”

“You look fine” Bob complimented, and both Billie and Gerard turned to look at him with a smile each one; the fact that he was trying to make explicit the sweetness and affection he roughly used to block away, even if only through a compliment, made them feel a bit moved inside; he really did have a big heart, and he cared a lot for Gerard, more than they knew…it was not his fault having such a hard time really showing it everyday, and now that he did it, they knew it had to be a big effort to him, but something he could do for the sake of healing Gerard’s sad heart. “I like you better with short hair”
“Yo” Billie called comically faking to be offended and aggressive against Bob, who blushed for a moment and widened slightly the eyes.
“Wha-” then his brain finally processed the joke and he chuckled. “You’re an idiot”

Billie laughed as an answer. He turned to look at Gerard, who turned to look at him as well. They shared a gaze that told a million things in among the silence, and as Bob smiled very slightly at the obvious affective connection between the two, the sound of a crash upstairs interrupted, followed by some awkwardly amusing yells from Gerard’s brother.
“Oh, god, Maya, get off my face! Get off my-ah! Ah!” he kept yelling and more stuff kept falling to the floor. The couple downstairs laughed, and Bob merely sighed. Surely, he was laughing inside.
“I think I’ll go see what’s up” he said as both an excuse to leave the couple alone and to really go check what had happened, and so he left the living room to head upstairs, where the fight kept going on.

Once left alone, Billie and Gerard shared an unbreakable gaze. For a moment, the tenth grader lost his breath and felt hypnotized. It was impossible for him to take the eyes off Billie’s, and he mechanically, like under a spell, got closer to him until they were chest-to-chest, still gazing in the depths of their pupils. Gerard thought, for a second, that maybe that was exactly how it felt when a vampire controlled you; the attraction was unbelievably strong, and it was literally impossible to stare away, and his feet moved on their own when they went to Billie like he had ordered it with the mind. The twelfth grader moved a hand up and caressed Gerard’s new hairstyle, both of them ignoring the noise upstairs, and the cat with amazing fighting skills murdering a pair of teenagers.

They looked at each other as Billie caressed Gerard’s hair.
“…you’re beautiful” Billie whispered to him, and the tenth grader could feel the other’s breath on his mouth. “I know what you’d said to that, so let me talk; I don’t care if you don’t think you’re beautiful I don’t care if you think people don’t think you’re beautiful. I’m not saying everyone, including you, see you as something beautiful. I’m saying that you’re beautiful to me” he explained with sweetness but an entire security and seriousness that made Gerard put the stare down, still feeling quite sad. “And the world’s a subjective thing. So if you’re beautiful to me, then in my world, you’re beautiful to everyone. And shut up”

For a reply, Gerard merely chuckled, bittersweet. He kept the stare down, but his toes helped him up to get closer to Billie’s height. He looked up, and only then did the twelfth grader found the other’s hazel eyes drowned in tears. He had cried a lot during their talking and ranting, but every time he started to cry again felt like the first time Billie ever saw him breaking down, and every time, his heart exploded in a mess of pain for seeing such cute thing suffering.
“…it’s going to be hard” Gerard whispered to him. “I’ll still take days to get used to this…and to get over it…” he admitted and his head went down again. After some moments in silence, he shrugged lightly and his voice broke. “…I can’t help but be deeply sad about it, you know?” Billie nodded, and he slowly and carefully placed his hands on Gerard’s waist. The tenth grader’s small hands had been resting on the other’s chest since who knows when. “…it’s hard”

“I know” Billie replied in a soft whisper as he stared down at his boyfriend. Gerard looked up after some moments, and gave a weak smile as a pair of tears rolled down his face.
“…thank you, BeeJ” he said with the threat of his voice breaking in any second. “…I feel…safe now” and so did the twelfth grader nodded. He knew exactly what Gerard meant with that, and both stayed in silence like they had mentioned somebody’s death. Once after the silence had been enough, the youngest of the two sighed again. “…thank you”
“That’s okay” Billie whispered, and moved his hands up to cup Gerard’s face. He brought it up as he leaned down and kissed him. Their lips slipped in between one another and met again in a soft fight that felt more like a dance, and after some moments, they broke apart. Billie got closer and kissed his boyfriend’s cheek, before whispering in his ear, “I’m here for you…”

Gerard hugged him tightly like a child who just lost his dog. Billie returned the hug, tightly.

He spent the rest of his afternoon with the poor little thing crying rage and raging sadness in his arms, and a cat fight upstairs.
Chapter 47: Part 1- Gotcha, Love Cats!

“Yo, Billie Joe”

The black haired young male stopped looking around as well as his steps through the hallway of school to look down at a short freshman who walked up to him. Billie smiled lightly the guy as he got closer, but the guy did not really return the smile or anything.
“Frankie” Billie greeted, but before he could ask anything or do anything, the younger and, strangely for Billie, shorter guy questioned him.
“Do you know what’s up with Gerard?” the tenth grader asked looking quite worried like one who does not find their son but tries not to panic just so soon, playing a bit with his lip-ring using the tip of his tongue. “He like, completely ignored me when I tried to say Hi” Billie’s smile faded as he listened. Just the guy he was looking for. “He was made a total beast for what it looked, and he just walked away ignoring everything and everyone”

“Gerard?” Billie questioned with disbelief, and the kid in front of him nodded. “My Gerard?” he questioned again, and Frank nodded eagerly once again. “Why was he angry?”
“I don’t know, I thought you’d of know or something” Frank shrugged and shook lightly the head. Billie stared at him with the eyebrows furrowed. He thought for a bit, and for harder he tried, he could not come up with anything that could be logical. The little guy looked so okay in the morning, what could have made him angry in the matter of one period? Billie was about to ask for more stuff to come up with an answer, but Frank won the word once again. “And, well, I don’t know if it had something to do with his mood, but…” Frank sighed lightly, scratching the back of his head, looking a bit uncomfortable. “…I think his hair was shorter”

Billie raised both eyebrows and stared at Frank in disbelief. He stayed quiet, remembering just how important his haircut was to Gerard himself, and the whole play. But mainly to Gerard. After some moments, Billie shook his head in confusion again.
“That can’t be, why would he…?” he muttered, but stopped talking to himself and just tried to focus on what the hell was happening. He wondered for a few moments, and then placed a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Where did he go to?”
“I don’t know, he was first rushing out of class, and he just kept walking through the hallway, we were in English at classroom 101” Frank shrugged once again. “I tried to catch up with him, but he hurried made a beast”
“…okay, he shouldn’t be so far away” Billie muttered more to himself than to the guy himself. “Thanks, Frankie, I’ll go look for him”

“Good luck, Billie” the tenth grader said with a small smile, and after the older guy had stroked his hair, Billie broke out jogging through the hallways seeking for his boyfriend anywhere, somewhere. He kept going and jogging through school for a bit, stopping once to ask for him and getting directed somewhere, to ask again and be directed somewhere else. Even though he was looking for a surely messed up Gerard, Billie did not feel under pressure and certainly not under panic like he had felt the first times he missed the tenth grader somewhere and somebody brought news on him getting in a bad time, or the probability of being in one. Billie did not really feel panicked this time. Like he had gotten used or something.

After asking once more, he was directed to the football field. He smiled and thanked and hurried there. The fastest way from where he stood at was across the basketball pitch. Even though it was not as popular as the football team, there was actually a basketball one as well. Physical Education classes, after all, were mostly taken in that one specific pitch. Billie remembered this one time a kid in ninth year kept picking on him because he was the shortest of class and told him he would not get to the top of the rope, and Billie, instead of crying and going to hide behind his always lanky friend Mike, actually went all the way up in almost a record time. He also remembered to have had been reported for having flicked off at this one kid while saying obscenities. Eh. He had never really…been the favorite to rules and such.

Billie crossed the silent and almost empty pitch in his way oblivious to everything and just headed to the door at the back. Once opening it, he blinked quickly a couple of times while using his hand for his eyes to hide under its shadow against the light of the sun that peered through delicate and thin grey clouds of winter. He waited a few seconds there, and then headed outside with firm steps. Once he had reached the football field, he stared around with curious and expecting eyes trying to locate his special little guy, but he was not on the bleachers and certainly not in the field. Billie stood in the middle of it and kept looking around a bit too innocent-looking. At first there was nothing, but then he caught it; movement behind some bleachers. And he knew about only one person with hair as black as that one.

Billie hurried his way over there and rounded the bleachers, stopping for a moment to make sure it was the little guy he was looking for. Feeling all fuzzy inside by realizing it was Gerard, just like he was a newbie fallen-in-love guy looking at his life-long crush in a beautiful outfit, Billie could not help the happiness of just seeing him as he reached closer for the tenth grader who, knelt down on the ground, groaned and mumbled stuff as he looked down at something. Billie’s excitement faded a bit as he got closer, and soon the worry hit him in the head; just a glance at the guy made him forget entirely why he was there in the first place. Getting closer, Billie stopped for a moment and, as he was about to open his mouth for a tiny first word, he stopped and his breath got cut at the same time his heart skipped a beat. He realized.

At first sight he did not really recall it nor did he pay attention; all of Gerard was always dressed in black almost like he was a freaking vampire, from neck to feet, and in the cold days, his gloves were dark as well. So his hair, being just as black, used to get confused with his clothes as it fell onto his back, and therefore he had not noticed before. But…after all, Frank had not hallucinated or anything. It was true. It was as true as any other true and obvious fact that there could be. It was…it was real. Gerard had done it. He had…it had changed.

Gerard’s hair was short.

Billie stayed still for some moments, and swallowed. After some seconds, he got closer and heard Gerard muttering obscenities; he really did not recall another time when Gerard could curse like that. The twelfth grader approached him more and leaned down as he did.
“Gerard?” he called quietly. His boyfriend looked over his shoulder like he was caught committing a crime. Billie stayed frozen for a few moments; Gerard looked a bit…out of place. Like he had turned into a different person just from last time they saw each other; into a more…fucked up person. After just a few moments of the surprise, Gerard closed the eyes and sighed with anger as he put his head down, cursing again. “Gee? What’s wrong?” the older one insisted carefully as he took another step closer and got on his knees behind Gerard. “What happened?” and he could not really help the obvious. “And what happened to your hair?”

“Ow, fuck” Gerard muttered once again and did not turn to look at the other. He just stayed like that, down on his knees facing the other side. “Just…oh, goddammit”
“What is it, Gee?” Billie asked once again, and he moved a bit to a side to get a better look of the younger guy. After he had moved and got a clearer sight of his boyfriend, he gasped and widened his eyes. “What happened to your arm?”
“I just…” Gerard stopped in a snap, like he had been about to explode but was able to control himself just in time but was struggling with it. He held a piece of cloth against his right forearm, where a bloodstain was visible. Billie stayed quiet, not knowing where to stare, and therefore having his eyes moving from Gerard’s face down to his arm and so on and on. He waited some moments until getting a real response. “I was, I just…fuck, I was just going through the fucking school and there was this…fucking…shitty piece of-“ he growled before continuing, “I mean, I just wanted to walk at a side of the goddamn wall, I had no fucking idea there was a shitty-ass nail coming from it like it’s fucking okay and normal, like, who’s fantastic idea was it to-?“

“Gee, it’s okay, it’s okay” Billie shushed him as his boyfriend started rambling. “Thing is, why are you so angry, sweetheart? I doubt it’s got to do with the lost nail on the wall”
“I’m not angry, I just-” Gerard half-exploded again before hissing and closing his eyes. He took in a deep breath and tried to calm down. Billie just stared at him; he was not used to Gerard’s new anger explosions. He was so used to see him so fragile and crying the whole time that he was a bit lost with his state anger. “I just, it’s just, for fuck’s sake, why can’t the world leave me alone? I don’t want freaking rainbows and shitty happiness, I just am sick of all this bullshit and-”
“Gerard, my love” Billie recalled, placing a hand on Gerard’s cold cheek. At first the tenth grader refused any contact and tried to stare away, but Billie did not move his hand away. “…do I have to guess it was someone’s fault?”

Gerard did not reply. A frown was drawn on his face, but he seemed to really be trying to calm down, leaning in a bit closer to Billie’s hand. After some seconds like that, Billie sighed and stared away. He closed the eyes and counted to ten in his head; one day, he really was going to chop Lance’s head off.
“Listen, my Gee” Billie called softly, moving again to sit in front of his boyfriend, taking his hand and putting it away so that he could hold the little piece of cloth in his place. Gerard hissed lightly at the new pressure, and insisted on not making eye contact. “You can’t let your emotions be controlled by othe-”
“I know” Gerard hissed as he interrupted, in a new explosion he almost immediately tried to control. “I know, I just; it’s driving me crazy, Billie, this is ridiculous” he exclaimed lowly. “Like, I understand if someone wants to beat the shit out of me, that’s what bullies do, but the hair? The hair!?” he growled and did a fist with so much strength his knuckles turned white like snow and Billie feared he would hurt himself with the fingernails, which was probably happening anyway. “For fuck’s sake, from all the bad things he could do to me, he had to specifically, only, just aim for my hair!? It’s ridiculous! It’s like, oh god”

And he kept growling and cursing. Billie could only stare at the other with worry, furrowing the eyebrows. God, to make Gerard get out of control like this…sure, he was not breaking windows and burning down somebody else’s house, but this was totally out of his usual self.
“I swear the world’s got a special aim on me, God’s fucking with me on purpose” Gerard growled, then looked up like he could see Jesus Christ from there. “What’s your damn problem, you, old man!? What did I do to you!?”
“Gerard, sweetie” Billie called. The other’s frown did not soft down nor did he turn to look at the twelfth grader. The older male was about to say it was only his hair, that it could have been worse. The problem was that doing that would only make Gerard feel misunderstood, weird, and not heard at all. And so, Billie knew why his hair was such a big deal. So, glad that he thought about it all in a snap right in that moment before he could say or do any stupid thing, Billie just got a bit closer, without letting go of the small cloth. “Tell me what you’re feeling”

“Well” Gerard snapped, not roughly like he was angry but like he had been impressed and did not even realize himself. After a small pause, he continued, shaking lightly his head. “Dumb. Sad. And angry” he hissed at the end of those previous words, then waited some moments in silence again before continuing. “More than anything, I feel anger. I feel…so damn angry” he muttered. “It feels like…liquid fire under the skin…behind my eyes, under my cheeks, and mostly, burning in my chest like it’s never done before” Billie listened carefully, and despite how bad he started feeling, how worried and upset he had started to get over seeing and knowing his boyfriend in such state of mind, the twelfth grader could not help it but stare at him with worried warmth, and smile for a moment, very lightly; even when angry, even when sad, even when distracted…Gerard was so poetic, so sensible, and with such great touch of an artist that he was plain beautiful. Even angry, he was entirely beautiful.

They stayed some moments in silence. After a while, Gerard’s frown faded and turned into a sadder expression, with the gaze lost in nowhere and somewhere at the same time. It was like the sudden rush of anger had exited his system as he expressed it calmly, accepting it. But it was also the same fact of accepting such unknown new sensation what caused his brain to collapse for a moment, giving him this new state of confusion in which he had to take some moments to process the information before continuing. And now that he was done processing that, the wave of sadness finally got to him.
“…I mean…” he gave away in a whisper, much, way much more calm than before. Billie turned the cloth to keep cleaning the blood away, while Gerard just talked almost only to himself. “…from all the pranks he could have thought about…he thought specifically on cutting my hair” he let out like it had been a total surprise, which it had somehow been. He blinked a few times, and Billie just watched him, waiting for him to continue. “…he thought, specifically, on cutting my hair”, the tenth grader repeated, in awe.

Billie discretely looked at a side when he thought he had caught movement somewhere nearby, but there was no silhouette or person or another living thing around that were not them, so he returned his full attention to his boyfriend. He had not even noticed Billie’s small moment of distraction. He was still a bit lost, like he was taking a bit too long processing.
“…it’s…I needed it for the next The Cat Duet presentation” Gerard whispered, now not showing any sign of anger, like it had never been there, but mere sadness. “…I…it’s…it’s not gonna grow back as long for June” Billie looked away and focused on the cloth on his boyfriend’s arm, even though he really did no find it any interesting at all. “…it’s…it’s gone…I’d have to wear a wig…I’d…I…Lily lost her essence” Billie nodded; it was a very weird way of putting it, but he understood. Any other person, and many actors, would just go Nah and get the wig, and carry on like that. But Gerard was much more different than those “many actors” and “any other persons” that Billie had ever known about in his whole life; Gerard did not take it as “I’ll dress up and act”, he took it as “I’ll let this character talk through me”. Of course the hair was a special matter.

And even if it was not only because his work as an actor had gone down the drain now that his character lost an important detail of their looks, Billie knew that Gerard was not as dramatic as for letting that take over his emotional life and kill him. No, he knew it was something else.
“…it’s, somehow, kind of a representation of what brought us together, BeeJ” Gerard whispered a bit lower this time, and if Billie had been previously scared by so much anger trapped in him, now there was no sign of it, like that little bit of conversation had taken it away in the air, and now only a sad face remained. “…and…it’s gone” as he said that, he finally looked up at the other, with tearful and shiny eyes. Billie felt inside as his entrails calmed down; there he was. The Gerard he knew. The same innocent, fragile and sad expression that was the Gerard he knew. Not the angry one, but this one. The cute and frail one that needed a hug.”…and it’s gone” he repeated.

“Oh, Gerard” Billie whispered as he moved a hand up to caress his boyfriend’s hair and cheek, getting closer to nuzzle at his head, before kissing his face. “It’s okay” he said lowly, closing the eyes and still focusing on just rubbing his face against the other’s head like a mom cat to her beloved kitten. “It’s okay, my Gee…” he insisted, and when he heard the first sniff-like sound, he let go of the cloth he had kept pressed against the tenth grader’s arm and held his face instead, making him look up for their gazes to meet, but Gerard’s eyes stayed down and away, in shame and embarrassment, with the eyes full to the limit of tears. “My baby…” Billie almost pouted the calling, and the first tears rolled down Gerard’s face, which he cleaned away with the thumbs. “I know it meant a lot to you…and I’m not telling you it’s dumb to cry over it because it’s not”

Gerard’s lower lip quivered and he let go of more tears at those words. If he had noticed something about the ridiculously fast speed in which Billie won his trust, that was that it was because the twelfth grader knew how to listen. When someone has a problem and they want to vent it out, people tend to say it’s okay, give a million advices over it, and do everything for you not to cry. Thing is, you didn’t need all those advices. You just wanted to say you felt sad. You never wanted an answer. Them giving away advices or saying it’s okay or asking for you not to cry feels like they don’t fully understand the shock the hit has left on you, and if something makes a human feel sadder or angrier, that’s to not feel understood.

Billie, on his part, listened all that he had to listen, then hugged you and cuddled the pain away, and kept telling you it was fine to cry, and that he was there with you. Of course he sometimes tried to give away advices, but he was never too quick on it, and he definitely never said “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad” with stuff. Gerard had not noticed it with something like that, but he was sure that if he ever got sad over a broken pencil, Billie would look at him the same way than now, would get as worried as now, and would cuddle him and listen to him like he had lost his grandparents or something. Indeed, Gerard had the feeling that he had found that certain one in a thousand; the one that understood that it’s not stupid if it’s making you feel bad.

“My GeeGee…” Billie purred with sadness as he wrapped his arms around the smaller guy, who kept the head down, buried in the crook of Billie’s neck, and sobbed only once, quietly. The older guy kept him tight in arms, pressing him close to himself. Billie had really not noticed, but now that he had, out of curiosity, compared the tiny Gerard he hugged back in the days when the tenth grader was bullied in an alleyway for protecting a kitten to the one who cried right there in his arms, his little boyfriend had gotten…well, his shoulders were a bit wider. He did not feel like a rag doll in his arms anymore, but rather like a…like a kid. Still making him overprotect Gerard, but not like he was a weak kitten; more like a healthy cat. Not a kitten anymore, but still being small and needy.

“Shit…” Gerard muttered under his breath and dropped another pair of tears. Billie kept him tight in the embrace, even though the tenth grader did not break down like he used to, and stayed much more calm and quiet than before. Yet again, he still could not contain the tears and the spontaneous sobbing. After some more moments like that, Gerard was who took the initiative to break apart, but as he did, he kept a tight grip with his fragile (but not as tiny as they used to be) fists on Billie’s jacket, by the chest. He looked up at his boyfriend with crystal-like eyes and a pair of tears on his face. “…that means I can’t be Lily anymore” just as Billie let out a small sigh and tried to convince him otherwise, Gerard continued. “I can’t just go with a wig, it kills the damn character…I-I mean I could have worn it here in school, but we’re presenting for damn New Jersey Performing Arts Center, I can’t just go with a wig! That’s pathetic!” he exclaimed, then went back to bury his face in Billie’s neck, back to tears. “I don’t care if we make it to their stage, I just wanted to be on stage with you…” he whimpered.

Billie furrowed the eyebrows staring down at him, keeping the arms around the tenth grader and caressing his hair.
“I-I…I wanted to have fun with the guys, and spend my stage time with you, because it’s theatre and I love it, a-and it’s you and I love y-you, and…” he groaned but sobbed as he kept going, like he was not sure of how he had to feel at all in that moment, struggling a bit with what he did and said. “…a-and I still could go like that, but I’d ruin the play for my fucking wish of doing the play with you…” he sobbed before continuing. “I-I mean…th-the play is…the play is the reason we’re together, and you’re the best fucking thing that has ever happened in my pathetic excuse of a life, wh-why can’t I freaking enjoy of the only thing that keeps me a-alive for once?”
“Gerard, sweetie” Billie called. “You’re thinking too much on ‘What if’s’ and future stuff that isn’t here just yet” he whispered. “I know it’s hurting you due to all that carries, but, listen…” as he said that, he broke away from the hug and kept the hands on Gerard’s shoulders, focused on keeping their gazes together in an unbreakable connection from which no one and nothing could distract them. “No matter how long your hair is, it’s not taking your hard-work and talent away” he whispered, looking serious rather than happy. “No matter how long it is, you’re beautiful to me” he smiled, and Gerard’s face hinted a soft shade of pink as he cleaned away a tear. After some moments in silence, Billie widened his smile. “And I’m talking about the hair”

“Ah!” Gerard exclaimed like it had been disgusting, but his body and face betrayed his expression as he started giving away a soft, quiet and broken laugh. Billie chuckled with him and looked at his boyfriend, and how cute he looked when he laughed like that, even if he was cleaning a few tears as he did. Once Gerard was done with the quiet but honest laugh, he kept the eyes down but a small smile on his face from the previous joke. Billie sighed and caressed his hair once again, leaning in closer to press a small kiss to the tenth grader’s forehead.
“Listen here, pie head” Billie called, still smiling, as he broke apart. “This is what we’re gonna do; you go back to classes, do your stuff, you won’t think about this, and then we’re going home” once said that, the twelfth grader stared slightly away and blushed. For a moment, Gerard had the sensation that he had gotten a bit nervous, like he had said something he should not have had. “I-I mean, your house…and there, you’ll tell me all that you feel and think, and then you’ll sit down at your living room, and I’ll give shape to that wonderful hair of yours” he winked an eye to the other. “You’ll see how you’ll rock that short hair like a bad-ass”

Gerard took a bit of a while. He sniffed again, even though he was not crying anymore. He rubbed the back of his hand on his face to clean away what remained of tears, and after some more moments, he nodded. He knew that Billie was interested on all that Gerard had to say about how he felt and what he thought, and that he probably had much more to cry, but the tenth grader also knew that Billie worried so that Gerard would do great at school. It could be a bit hypocrite, seeing as Billie skipped classes and tended to fail almost everything, but he still worried for Gerard to do the opposite. It was quite bittersweet when Gerard noticed that Billie wanted the best for him; that he wanted for Gerard to not be like him. That was the reason he worried so much over Gerard doing bad stuff, when he did them himself. Was that wrong? Gerard did not know what to think.

Still, he knew that Billie wanted him to have the mind clear for what was left of the day for him to focus on school. That was why it was some kind of “First focus on this, then we’ll really talk like we want”. And, in all honesty, he did not mind.

“That’s my man” Billie whispered with a warm smile as he yet again stroked the other’s hair, making him give away one of his adorable smiles. Then, Billie cupped his face in his hands and leaned in closer. Closing the eyes softly, he pecked Gerard’s slightly-harsh lips and stayed there some seconds before breaking apart. Gerard’s heart had raced at first due to them kissing in school, but then he remembered he was under the bleachers during class time, so it was okay. He smiled to Billie with sincerity when the older guy broke apart, and he could not help a tiny tear once again. Billie smiled at him and cleaned it with his thumb.
“You’re amazing” Gerard whispered with all the affection he had inside, and Billie needed no other thing to feel it in his heart. “Thank you…”

“The best for the best” Billie whispered back as he got closer again to Skimo-kiss him, before resting their foreheads together. After some seconds like that, he gave a last forehead kiss to his boyfriend, before he stood up softly not to stunt Gerard with the sudden change. Once on his feet, he offered his hands to the other and helped him up. “Let’s go…we’re in class, y’know?”
“Ah, I knew there was something missing” Gerard smiled at him.
“Class?” Billie asked as he took his hand and walked with him a few steps before they both let go of each other as they got out of the space under the bleachers.
“Nah” Gerard shook softly his head.

“Then what was missing?” Billie questioned as they kept going away.
“You hadn’t said ‘You know’ in a while” the tenth grader answered, and Billie left behind a bit of a laugh. “I was getting worried”
“You’re a dummy…”

Their voices got lost as they headed straight to the nearest building to get back to the warm inside of school and their respective classes. Soon enough, they were out of sight and there was no sound of their voices nearby the football bleachers, where one of the cheerleaders sat quickly after being knelt on one of the steps for her feet not to be seen from underneath the seats, putting a hand to her mouth and squealing while whimpering.
“Oh my god!” she squealed as quietly as she could, with her feet drumming like a mad rabbit and her fists shaking, smiling like a retard and blushing. Unable to speak, she let emotions and shock control her squealing for some more moments, before she tried to stay still as she took out her phone. She opened one of the applications of messages through internet, looked for the multi-conversation named “Team”, and started spamming them with emoticons and expressions, before sending four different photographs of the couple she had discovered just a while ago.

She laughed a bit as the squealing kept going, before picking up her stuff to get back to school. Thank God she had followed Billie from the basketball pitch, she thought. What one could find without even looking for it!
“I can’t wait for Charlotte to know!”


Gerard passed the rest of the day with the urge to run away back home and hide in there. His hair was a total mess, a shapeless disaster. It was not that it had been wrongly cut on purpose, but just snapping the scissors once did not really work. There were longer and shorter locks that went everywhere but a logical place. Somewhat, he was an asymmetric piece of art; you could not help to look at it, but something about it just did not feel entirely correct.

Everywhere he passed by, people gossiped or asked. He was at nothing to stop, turn on his heels, throw the arms up and yell “Oh my god, I’m an invisible, isolated ghost, and you people decide to notice me just to gossip and judge!? What the fuck?”, but he merely decided to keep on walking, with the head down and the fists done. He was not sure whether he was angry or sad, he merely knew he was upset and that people were total idiots. God, he wanted no sympathy or sincerity. He just wanted some damn peace.

Some people laughed by thinking he had gotten a haircut to feel included; “like, poor little thing, thinks he’s cooler with short hair”. Screw them. Screw them all. He had lost something intimate, and they gossiped and laughed, and pointed, and whatever. It was not like he asked to be noticed only when bad shit happened to him. The swirly back then, the bathroom beatings, and now this. Brilliant. Wonderful.

His friends were a very human thing as well each one, so Gerard understood that they, too, asked him what the hell had happened to his hair. He knew it was not their fault, anyone else would have asked it. Billie did. And if he were someone else, he would have done so too. So he understood in some way, and he calmed down before exploding at all, and promised to explain later.

He tried to pay attention, but his mind always went back to whatever subject he wanted to think about, always related on the hair and all he had lost with it. He sometimes woke up from his thoughts and tried to focus again on classes, because he knew that Billie was trying real hard for Gerard to really do better. It was not that Billie worried too much on his notes; it was not the notes themselves, but the fact that he knew that the lower they were, the lower Gerard’s self-esteem could go, even if not directly. And he also knew it was a strong reason for Gerard’s parents to strongly believe he really did need that psychologist, so the better his notes, the better they’d think Gerard was, and so, the better they would understand he needed no psychological help.

It was during a break that Gerard and the gang could gather around, Jake included, and so he talked about it. Even though all showed negative reactions out of anger towards Lance and his friends, it was Jake who showed some kind of deeper frustration. It was a bit strange; almost like the whole thing was personal, or something like that. Gerard had explained what had exactly happened, and a very tiny sum up of how he felt (angry, frustrated, quite down in the dumps to be honest), and rambled a bit about how important it was for the play they were repeating in front of important people from New Jersey’s art school.

His friends had tried to not leave him alone a single moment, due to all the people turning to look at him, giggle, or merely point. Even though Gerard was grateful for Ray telling him to ignore people, Frank flicking off at whoever giggled behind them, and Jake taking him somewhere else if someone pointed, Gerard could not help it but to smile when he was left with Bob sometimes because, more than doing any of what the rest of their friends did, Bob merely glared and people just shut up and walked away. And if they were brave enough to ignore the blond’s icy blue eyes that almost said you were getting torture if you laughed or said a single thing about Gerard’s new haircut, he could always go with his alternative. It made Gerard giggle every time, not because of the action itself, but by the reaction from people when Bob turned around and growled at them like an animal The worst of the whole thing (but best, and exactly what made Gerard giggle) was that people did not get creeped out or laughed at the sudden growling on their faces; instead, they ran away and even yelped.

Somehow, his friends made it easier for him to survive during that day, and mainly, to be distracted from the whole subject of the morning’s accident, which was exactly what he needed, at least until he could get home and be alone with Billie to talk about the whole thing, fully.

During the rest of the day, he could almost swear there were girls following him. And if he was hallucinating right, they were all from twelfth year. At first he thought it was just an idea of his; since Lance cut his hair and he went back to classes, he felt like everybody was looking at him when it was probably just his paranoia and stress. But all in all, he was sure that, many times, when he looked over his shoulders, there were two or three different girls each time hiding behind something or turning away, like they were spying on him or following his steps or something. Gerard gave them a cold look every now and then once it had become too obvious they were harassing him, and he had luck enough one of those times to have Bob with him during the way to his following class. Gerard could not help the laughter when the girl squealed and ran away like she had seen freaking Slenderman when Bob growled at her right on the face.

After a few times seeing that, it was almost totally certain that he was not merely hallucinating. A specific group of girls were following him, or watching him at least. The problem was, what could the reason be? Because he doubted highly it could be due to his hair. It did cause some polemic issues among people, and they did start noticing him only to judge and stuff, but it was not like they were going mad on it, or like it had caused panic at all. There was no reason for a specific group of people to just follow him around out of the blue. For a moment, he thought it could or not have to do with the fact that he and Billie had carelessly kissed in school. But then again, they had been left alone at the football field, under the bleachers, when everybody was meant to be in class. It was something out of the list.

Billie found him every now and then during the breaks between classes, and talked with him, comforted him without going too far for Gerard not to break down in there, and sometimes walked him to his next class. It was only when he was with either Billie or Bob that Gerard noticed no girls nearby following him or staring at him more than the normal. And after two or three breaks between classes, they merely disappeared, like they all had gathered the information they needed and had now hid in their cave to share what they found each one, and prepare an evil plan. Or maybe Gerard had watched too much TV and had read too many comic books, and was merely paranoid out of the fact that people had looked at him. It was not like he had done something to start hate in a group of girls.

Gerard had been getting some stuff from his locker and leaving some other things in there when a teacher called for Frank, who was the only one of his group of friends he was with at the moment. The small guy with a lip ring rolled his eyes when he heard the voice behind him, and signaled Gerard for forgiveness, and said he would not take long. The pale guy smiled at him, told him it was okay, and that he would wait there. Frank turned around and had to go with the teacher, who surely had only negative stuff to chide him about or whatever, he was not sure. Any or other way, when a teacher called him, it did not really use to be for something productive or good at all. Gerard stared at him going away, before sighing. He continued with the duty on his locker, when he heard a whistle in a calling way. He ignored it by thinking it was not for him, until he heard his name,

“Yo! Swirly-head Gerry!” Gerard sighed and closed the eyes at the sound of that voice. He swore that if it had been Lance and not his friend Leonard who called for him, he would have taken the fork the guy next to him was using to eat his bowl of fruit and would have gone straight to them, pinned Lance down some or other way, and stab him repeatedly in the eyes with the fork. He kept the eyes closed and his teeth clenched as he tried not to let his anger turn him into a total animal blinded by anger, and after some moments, he looked at his left side, glaring. There stood Leonard, and Daniel and Benjamin giggling like idiotic hyenas, surely already updated on the news of what the two jocks had done to the tenth grader early in the morning. “Nice haircut!”

Gerard’s teeth clenched so hard he feared to break his jaw. He felt an impossible heat inside his chest, and for a moment he felt like his blood was charged with hot gun powder. For a moment he thought of returning the words with something heavy, or at least go with flicking them off. He was not much the kind of guy to defend himself or stand up for protection and defense, but he had gotten sick and tired of letting anyone and everyone abuse of him. He needed a reply, but he was not strong enough to give one. The best he could give, and which came out  naturally, without him even needing to think on all of that, was a deeply sarcastic smile with a whispered “Thank you”, showing up a palm like a sign of gratefulness. The jocks laughed more and joked a bit more between themselves and went away. Gerard shook his head and softly but not so softly slammed his head on his now-closed locker, with a heavy sigh. God, he wanted to destroy something.

While Frank was getting back to him, the cheerleaders passed by screaming and yelling, singing and dancing for people not to forget that, finishing classes the next day, there was a basketball game. They motivated people not to miss it, that there would be a huge surprise for everyone, and that the game was going to be amazing, and also, that they had practiced a whole new routine with a whole new song written by themselves. They insisted on not missing the game, and went away singing for the school’s sport teams’ anthem thing, leaving straight to another hallways to cause the same fuss and disaster. Gerard rolled the eyes. Like he was interested in sports at all. And just copying his thoughts, Frank appeared at his side.
“Geez, cheerleaders” he whined, smiling. “I’m not amazed of a whore that sings. I’ll be amazed when it’s a girl that rocks Master of Puppets, goes sexy, and still gives herself to respect”

“Like I care about sports” Gerard whined as a reply, half-smiling and getting to Frank’s side as both started walking to their next class.
“Like I care about sluts” Frank joked back.
“Like I care about girls at all” Gerard joked and his was definitely the last one, as Frank started laughing and could not really win against that. Both of them liked how easy Gerard could talk and joke about his sexuality with his group of friends; even though he was scared of people finding out (as he had it bad enough being known as ‘straight’ for people to bring even more problems to him if they knew), he felt entirely free of joking about it with his friends. He was so free on the subject he even used ‘gay’ to insult them; it was not like it was an insult, and he knew it, but he liked to joke and mess around with the guys.

Entering their following class, they kept joking via paper texts. That, of course, until they were spotted and sent to the principal. Gerard had not really counted it, but he was sure he had not visited the principal’s office so many times in so little time before in his life.


I'm sorry for not editing it the same day it happened and taking so long on leaving you with that last idea, but, y'know, as no one really commented or read or anything, I found it useless to update on the news about the guitar as it didn't really matter, but now I apologize for not telling none of you two what happened after that and that it's okay. I'm sorry!

You see, there're these two friends I've grown intimate with these previous years, Ivan and Ila. More with him than her. And without too much deepening on the story and such, both of them were the ones that saw me when I just broke down in tears when they were taking away my guitar. And so they tried to keep me company and such.
The following day, the shock had been replaced by a total down. Like when you party and dance and all or get on the stage and when you walk off it, and after you talk about the whole thing and laugh with your friends, then there's a sudden down that goes REALLY down and you feel exhausted.
So yeah, kinda like that, mixed with some sadness. Due to outside reasons, they were to send us back home after my first two classes. So Ivan asked me to walk him to the bathroom and there I go.
And so before getting there, there's Ila blocking the hallway and smiling, and Ivan just turns me around roughly and hugs me. Then turns me around again kinda roughly.

And there's Ila with a handmade sign of a drawn guitar, two or three little messages, and in big letters "Because we don't want to see a wingless angel".
And so Ivan takes a guitar out of fucking nowhere.


It was no gift. It's Ivan's guitar, I played it a couple of times and he always keeps it in school. But that day when I left home with nothing in hands but my passport money, he took the guitar, asked my guitar teacher which strings I liked the most and took the guitar home. He bought me the strings, he took his (HIS) study and/or free time just to clean the guitar until it looked like new, and so did Ila take her time just to make that sign. 
And so, he lent me his guitar, not just as in "kay, take it and play, then give it back", but in this sense of "Take it home, take it anywhere, use it, play it, and it's ALL yours until you can afford yours".

Dang shit I love these guys.
This school has taught me, in a hundred percent, what friendship is, I think, fo corny and gay it sounds.
It's just, ohman. 

Even if it's a lent guitar, THIS is a gift. :heart:

When Maria, my first guitar, got broken, my ex gifted me his.

He's asked for me to give it back.

At first we both agreed on me giving it away at least when I was done with school (believe it or not, guitar is obligatory, and my most important subject on it, as it's a high school that prepares you for art universities and I'm in the music specific, and even more specific, on guitar area). But he went a bit nuts at some point of the conversation and yesterday nigh (wednesday) he asked for me to give it to him today (thursday).

He doesn't want to see me, so I had to give it to a friend of his (who is re-coursing third year in my classroom), who would give it to him later.



I couldn't sleep much last night, and kept on crying. They were taking it from me. My guitar. My little baby. My classical guitar, my source of work and passion and my needed material thing to be happy and angry and sad and excited and anxious and everything I wanted with a crescendo or an allegretto or even with just the Zelda theme. 

I took it in its case (also a gift from him), and another case he gave me because it was much more comfortable than the one I had. 

I was sad the entire day, angry, upset. Kept walking around, ignoring friends, pretending I didn't hear the Hey, Wait's, or What's Up's, and left on recess to a garden of a museum nearby (but not enough for my classmates to be around) and played it a last time.

Then went back, finished classes, and then that one friend had to leave, so I told him to pick up the stuff. He said that André told him to give me the strings. I smiled, already crying, and said I had nowhere and no way I could give them any use anymore, so it was okay. I bought and changed the strings just the same day André asked for the guitar. 200 pesos to the trash.

That one friend went back in the classroom (I was outside, sat on a table they keep on the hallway for no reason, with a friend at a side), and then came back with both cases, gave me an apology through the glance he put away immediately, and so he walked away.


I think that's how a mother feels when she's witnessing how they're taking their son away for his death sentence. 
I think that's how a father feels when he's seeing his daughter finally leaving home after finding her own house.
I think that's how a sibling feels when they've come to the house to take their most beloved sibling away for a life-long jail sentence.

I'm sorry if it feels overdramatic to you, but that's how it feels to me.

I don't have another guitar, and I can't afford one, and there's nowhere I can get money from besides what I get for my school days.

What am I supposed to do with no guitar, even if just for some months or a year or years? Sit there? Is he thinking I'll just not play guitar like it's nothing?

He made it into a music university, and he and his friends think that if you're not in a music university, you're NO WAY and in any shape or sense a musician.

Only because they're in a school like that, they think and KNOW that they are the only ones that can be sensible to music, that we people that don't study there don't feel it like they do, don't know it like they do, and they KNOW people who don't study are not musicians in any way.

That was his reason; as I'm not a musician, according to him, he didn't want to let the guitar be with someone who wouldn't give it its rightful necessities and priorities.
Do I need to join that university for him to realize there's passion on what I do?
Do I need a fucking dimploma to have passion?
School GIVES me passion?

His way of thinking is idiotic. If you're passionate about something, then you're passionate about it, and leaving it or being taken from it can hurt as deeply as losing part of your essence, as losing part of your soul. If you're in a school where you develop what you're passionate about, then that's good. But it's more due to the necessitie of the certificate than the passion itself.
Because passion is born, not learned or created.

You don't need to create passion for something, it comes on its own.
You don't need someone telling you how to Passion for something.
You don't need a classroom to develop your passion.

But as I'm not in a music university like him, I'm not a musician, I'm not passionate, guitar and music are my "second plan", I can't do "real" music, and definitely, it won't hurt me to not have guitar and to not play it.

Excuse me if I'm wrong, but that, to me, is a very asshole-y way of thinking.

I'm deeply, terribly, hurtfully brokenheart for the loss of my guitar.

I know it's just a guitar and that I can buy any other guitar out there, but...thing is, the cheap ones EVERYONE can get aren't real good for classical. And I've grown passionate of classical. And the ones that work real well for that are...not as cheap. I can't afford one, not in a couple of months. I've got no other way of getting one. Sure, a friend could lend me his,'s this sentimental, emotional part of the thing, that it simply is not mine. It's not my guitar. I'm playing a guitar, I'm not playing the guitar. 

A guitar is like a friend. Someone can introduce you one of their friends and hang out every now and then, but he is NOT your friend. He's a friend's friend. And you have no connection with this person, no bond, and definitely no trust as if it would be about a real friend.

Oh god.


It feels like taking the emotivity from an actor.
Like taking any kind of material from a visual artist.
Like taking every pen and paper and every computer from an author.

It's like taking a ballerina's feet away.


Idunno09's Profile Picture
Artist | Hobbyist | Literature
Hello :aww:

Here's a bit about me:

:bulletblack: Eighteen.
:bulletblack: Pansexual.
:bulletblack: Short.
:bulletblack: Amateur author
:bulletblack: Student of music.

My real birthday is January 11. Not January 23.

But if you come here in 23 to wish me a happy birthday, I don't mind. It's a mistake I did when I joined deviantArt.

Requests are always opened: feel free to ask!
Feedback is really appreciated too :aww:

:bulletred: My friends here in devA :bulletred:

My first friends: :iconsisterofgrace::iconmotleyprincess::iconpoisonkiss13666::iconburningsun95::iconmiharumatsuo::iconnattie-bug::iconcanadian-muffin::iconcivicusdreamer:
My Taco friend: :iconcacuga:
My (internet) big sister: :iconllamasaysquack:
My Billierard Buddy::icon2d-kiryu:
My Bike buddy: :iconsalty-runner:
A really unique person: :iconpampd:
Seems to be that I'm married: :icongirlofhearts:
My grandkid (on the internet): :iconmissmusicchanel:

I guess that's me. If you want to know anything else (Which I highly doubt) feel free to ask :meow:

Current Residence: Mexico
Favourite genre of music: Alternative / Punk/ Rock
Personal Quote: "I'd rather perish beside a friend, than go on without them"

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2D-Kiryu Featured By Owner Edited Jun 21, 2015  Student Digital Artist
Hey Yola, what's up?

Is everything alright there? I'm kinda worried about you.

Idunno09 Featured By Owner Jun 29, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
I'm so, so sorry I worried you, my buddy. Really, I'm sorry :saddummy:

Everything's marching on, going perfectly fine now. It's okay. Thank you for worrying :huggle:

What about you?
2D-Kiryu Featured By Owner Jun 30, 2015  Student Digital Artist
I'm fine. Just a bit lonely, worried & stressed out. My anxiety is taking a toll on me during work and I'm just... Feeling a bit lost right now...

I'm really glad that you're all right. I was really worried about you because... Reading your journals makes me feel like I just wish that I was there for you whenever something bad happens. I just really wanted to make sure that you're okay.
( ; n ;)
Idunno09 Featured By Owner Jun 30, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Why so? Are customers still being mean? Have you talked about it with anyone? Why not a break form your work? It doesn't feel healthy to me :(
(1 Reply)
vintage-lightning Featured By Owner Apr 19, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Hello friend! I am a lot older since I last talked to you and likem..I seriously want to return the favor for the two requests you did for me..I know they were requests but I would very much like to return the favor now that I feel like I can..

I don't write on here anymore but you can find my stuff on wattpad as Alpha-Blue-Narwhal I hope you van get back to me
Idunno09 Featured By Owner Apr 23, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Hey! How have you been?

Ah, and don't worry about that, really. I took requests because I adored to work on it, not because I wanted it as job or an obligation or something. So no need to give anything in return, I did it with pleasure! :happybounce:
vintage-lightning Featured By Owner May 9, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
noooo I wanna write something for you~! and ive been better...just missing the good old days on here....
Idunno09 Featured By Owner May 15, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Heh, then I guess any fic you'd want to gift me is okay :blushes:
pampd Featured By Owner Feb 6, 2015  Student Digital Artist
Hey dude guess who's decided to come and give a random nice hug? :icondragonglomp::icondragonhug: Hope everything's cool and good on your side of the planet. c:
Idunno09 Featured By Owner Feb 7, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
My, you're so sweet, cheered up my day :tighthug:
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