"You're fucking retarded, you know that, right?"

I opened the front door and let Gerard collapse onto the couch with a soft 'oof'. I stood over him and stretched my pained back, getting all the kinks out and feeling like an old person for a terrifying second.

"Booze. AND weed. On school property. It's taken me years to earn that privilege. You can't just go straight to being cross-faded on your second day."

Gerard curled into a ball on the couch, reaching for the blanket crumpled up on the floor among pizza crumbs.

"You have to pay your dues, start tiny. Some vodka in a water bottle. Beer in a soda can. After you've mastered that, then you can start bringing hash." I knew I was talking to myself. Gerard was basically asleep, his body rising up and down with each breath.

I couldn't make up my mind. I was angry that he would be so stupid and do this, and I was sad, knowing he did this for a reason. He was escaping his mind for a reason. My shoulders softened up and I switched back to a calmer voice while Gerard buried his face in a pillow.

"I'll get you some soup." Gerard mumbled incoherent sounds as an answer. As soon as I entered the kitchen, I let out a huge breath and sat down on the floor. I propped my head up against the cabinet doors and looked up. If those jackasses were right, and there was an invisible man staring down at me, I had a feeling he was laughing.

My hands were still shaking and my breathing hadn't quite evened out yet, but Gerard was waiting for some soup. I got up and found the Top Ramen collection in the pantry and put a pot on the stove.

It took Gerard 10 minutes being in Frank's house to finally realize that he was indeed, in Frank's house. He had still been half unconscnious on the walk here, and had just fallen back asleep once he hit the couch.

But he woke up and found some Ramen in a bowl with a spoon sitting on the table in front of him. Next to the soup was a bucket and a tiny post it note covered in untidy choppy letters.

In case the Ramen decides to come back up. -Frank

Gerard hoped he wouldn't need it. His stomach was empty and raw, begging for something to fill it that wasn't alcohol or pot smoke.

He reached for the soup and sat up, his feet up on the coffee table, taking small sips and letting the warmth slide down his throat and heat up his insides. Mmmmm

Then he noticed another note on the table, right under where the soup had been sitting. He learned forward and read.

I'll be back after my last period. Around 2. And then in all caps, underlined several times, STAY.

It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go. His mind was still groggy, though. He could barely remember how he got here. Let's see.

Gerard had wanted to get away for a second. He had gone back around the parking lot to where the dumpsters were, and he had hung around there for about 10 minutes. And that was all he could remember. Next thing he knew, he was on Frank's couch drinking soup.

He did remember Frank letting Gerard into his house, though. It was a short hazy memory of Frank letting go of Gerard, who flopped down and closed his eyes again while Frank said something and went into the kitchen. That was all he could get out of his tired brain.

He took another spoonful of soup, and when he took the utensil off his tongue, he realized how terrible his breath smelled.

Gerard heaved his body up, groaning and taking the blanket with him, wrapping it around his shoulders and wandering around looking for a bathroom.

It didn't take long to find Frank's bedroom. A menacing Henry Rollins was plastered up on the door, staring at Gerard in his miniature athletic shorts and thick legs. Frank liked Black Flag?

Gerard opened the door and smelled teenage boy at first impact. Sweat and dirt and cigarettes and beer and pot all breathing in and out through the poster-covered walls. Gerard recognized almost all of the bands, his heart swelling when he saw the autographed vinyl of News Of The World lying next to a record player.

The floor was littered with clothing, underwear and socks, cigarette butts scattered around and tiny black stains in the ceilings from smoke damage.

Gerard saw a door in the corner of the bedroom that was open ajar and hopefully contained a sink and toothpaste. He stepped carefully over the rumpled boxers issues of Fangoria to get to the assumed-bathroom and opened the door.

He caught a look in the mirror and cringed. His hair was disheveled and sticking up in all different directions, held up by grease and sweat. Gerard's eyes were droopy and one of them was dark and swollen. Shit, Frank had probably seen it. Hopefully Frank wasn't the type to ask questions because Gerard did not want to have to explain the origins of the wound to anyone at all ever. It would only make things worse.

And that's when Gerard remembered.

"FUCK!" He thought out loud as he bolted out of the bathroom, trampling on Frank's belongings and back into the living room to check the clock.

1:56.

shit shit shit Gerard had to be back in the woods by atleast 2:30. Usually he got there by 2, to make sure she was still happy and full. But now he was going to be late and she would be pissed and fuck up everything.

But Frank had told him to stay. Specific instructions. And he would be here any second now, right?

Gerard bit his lip and felt panic rising in his throat as he imagined the dissaproval he was going to be greeted with in about half an hour when he finally arrived in the woods.

So Gerard decided that Frank would survive without him, and raced to the front door, wiggling on the door handle only to find out it was locked. From the outside.

The panic was getting worse now, settling in his lungs and constricting them to crushed soda cans ready to be recycled and molded into something else.

He would have to stay here and wait, and find some kind of apology to give her. Frank had paper somewhere here, right?

There was a printer and computer sitting in the corner of the living room, stocked with white paper and a cup full of writing utensils that Gerard stuck his hands into and found a pencil, sharpened and ready.

He sat down in the chair and felt anxious tears rising in his eyes while he drew her again. Her strong jaw and angular nose, the curves in her cheeks and lips, making them full and adding the fangs, jagged and curled in a smile. Her hair fell down in waves, like she always liked him to draw it. He scratched it in black, adding stray strands crossing her face and tumbling down her shoulders.

And the eyes. The eyes always came last. Deep and disturbing, her irises big and her lashes delicate, sitting below dark brows that were angled, accompaning the smile to create a smirk. A pretty seductive smirk, he had to admit.

He folded the paper carefully and tucked it in the pocket of his jeans.

It was three minutes past two and Frank still wasn't here.

Gerard was chewing his lip so hard he tasted blood and salt. The ramen was still sitting on the table, lukewarm now but still edible. Gerard sat on the couch and chugged it down, praying for his stomach to accept it happilly and distribute the energy to his aching muscles.

Four minutes past two.

Gerard put the dish in the sink and returned to Frank's bathroom to find bitter mouthwash and deodorant.

He smoothed his hair down in the mirror, wondering if Frank had any concealer to hide his black eye. Gerard really was a wreck. He didn't think that he could drink himself to sleep that easily, he had never gotten to that point of intoxication. He had to admit, for the portion of it that he was still awake, it had been nice. His thoughts quieted and confused, wandering down corridors and emptying the chambers of Gerard's brain, letting him breathe for the first time in a while.

Now that he was relatively sober, the thoughts were returning, running back into the small crowded rooms and chattering loud and obnoxiously. They put him down. Negetive comments towards his appearance, his personality, his life.

"You look fucking horrible."

Gerard at first thought the words came from his head, but then suddenly realized that the voice was too clear, too human. He turned around and jumped at the sight of Frank looming in the doorway, his hand on the door and an amused expression on his face.

"The bucket is still clean. So I assume you feel better."

Gerard nodded and then felt his cheeks redden at being caught in Frank's bedroom, which judging by its appearance, had not been expecting guests.

"What time is it?" Gerard blurted.

"Almost ten after," Frank replied cooly, backing away and letting Gerard follow him back into the living room.

"I have to leave," Gerard said softly, his fingers knotting together and his eyes scanning the floor anxiously while Frank went into the kitchen and grabbed a beer.

"So soon? You just puked your guts out behind a dumpster. You should probably stay. My parents won't be here for hours." He took a sip of the alcohol and let out a loud sigh of satisfaction.

"No, like I really need to leave. To do something."

"Oh," Frank put his beer down and wiped the moisture from the bottle off his hands and onto his jeans. He clearly did not recognize the severity of the situation, which made anger rise in Gerard's chest and out his mouth in short bitter words.

"You shouldn't have locked me in." Gerard's voice was dark and a lot more bitchy then he had invisioned.

Frank's face fell as he watched Gerard walk towards the front door which jerked open and into the daylight.

"I didn't want you to leave and get yourself in more trouble," Frank replied from the opposide side of the room, his voice barely carrying to Gerard's cotton filled ears.

Gerard didn't say anything. He closed the door behind him and began his pathetic sprint to the woods, not looking back.

His feet smacked on the pavement for a few blocks before he gave up and just began walking at a fast pace. He walked atleast six blocks before the voices in his head poked at him and whispering in his ear that he had forgotten something.

He realized that he had forgotten to tell Frank thank you; a concern that remained in Gerard's mind for the remainder of the day.