Kill me or make me feel alive
So I kiss goodbye to every little ounce of pain, light a cigarette and wish the world away
Frank’s POV
The morning mist, surrounding the town’s different shaped, too-many buildings is still lingering in the air, waiting for the long-forgotten sun to shine through the thick dark clouds that it is currently hiding behind. I still have some time before sunrise, time to find prey.
I despise it, you see. Isn’t it ridiculous I’m still not used to doing it? Isn’t it pathetic I hate doing it? Can’t I just stop existing, stop the agony? But I can’t, of course. And the funny thing is, it should be simple, at least for me. Ironically, it is not.
Dying was such an easy thing to accomplish back in the days when I was still alive. A bullet, or a knife. A simple step on the edge of a sharp cliff. Death waited for me on every corner, really. Watching me with hollow eyes and whispering my name. The tuberculosis woman that lived in the house next to ours. The thick rope that someone had tied their little boat to the dock with- it would be a great rope to hang myself with, it would not break. The deep river that seemed like it awakened every time I walked by, calling me with the words ‘Jump, Frank.’
Now, it’s harder, so much harder. And do you know what makes it even harder than it already is? Gerard. I can’t leave him now, after I vowed to him and to myself I won’t. I can’t leave him so weak and desperate. He needs me and I have to stay for him. I can’t go on a second sleepless road…
---
I find a man, looking like he is in his mid-thirties, walking down the foggy street and swaying visibly through the thick mist. I can smell the scent of cheap alcohol lingering on him even from here. His feet slightly drag on the sidewalk and I can tell I won’t need to use any of the strength I possess to get what I want from him. Hunger driving me towards, I rapidly appear just behind him, gripping his throat with long fingers. He doesn’t seem to react much, though, and for a moment I think he’ll fall asleep. I don’t feel any sympathy towards individuals like him, he’s just the regular boring person, it wouldn’t be a great loss when his time comes and he dies.
See, this is one of the things I really despise about people- most of them are just too forgettable, when you see them on the street, they don’t exactly shine bright, nor they look extraordinary. They’re just…average. Looking like dull, faceless shadows with no distinctive futures, neither on the outside, nor on the inside. Most of them are just not worth remembering at all.
My teeth bury mercilessly into his throat, making a small sound of pain escape from him. I never release my grip on his trachea, for I cannot be sure if he is going to put up a fight. I drink as much as I can before it kills him, and he faints either from the lack of air, or the blood loss.
However, he’s alive and perfectly fine, of course. There isn’t even any chance he is going to be scarred mentally after he wakes up, for he will still have hangover, and alcohol tends to make people forget about things… and it is a surprise not that so many of them find comfort in a cheap glass of vodka, whiskey or other kind of sweet but poisonous drug.
I look up at the grey skies after I dump his numb body in an alley. The sun will be up soon. Very soon.
---
Gerard’s POV
When I wake up, the other side of the bed is depressingly empty, and it feels like something is missing. Like a picture, a half-painted one.
Then everything comes back to me, the sensation worse than a bucket of cold water over your head in the morning. My sadness takes over, deafening every other thing in my head completely. All the demons, hiding in my soul, come to life, like something or someone had pushed them away for a while and now they’re back in order to get me and make me sink.
I start breathing quite damn heavily, like someone’s chasing me and I’m running. But no, I know it’s just me. Just me and my demons that I can’t fight. I know I can’t fight them. I start thinking about every single thing that’s not right in my life with each ragged breath I take.
Inhale.
‘My hero is dead.’
Exhale.
Inhale.
‘Frank’s not here, he’s sick of me.’
Exhale.
Inhale.
‘Even my own parents hate my guts and I am a disgrace to our family.’
Exhale.
Inhale.
‘I look absolutely unsightly and no one would ever think I am pretty.’
Exhale.
Inhale.
‘My so-called “art” is absolutely shitty and I will never get as good as I want to.’
Exhale.
Inhale.
‘I’m just a stupid faggot and I deserve to die slowly.’
Exhale.
Inhale.
‘My baby brother doesn’t need me, I’m so weak.’
Exhale.
Inhale.
‘My life’s horrible and I can’t escape it.’
Exhale.
Inhale.
‘I always fuck up, no matter what.’
Exhale.
“STOP”, I yell while shaking uncontrollably and breathing heavily, the tears forming in my eyes, running down my stupid face, and falling on Frank’s satin sheets.
“I… can’t- I can’t fucking take t-this”, I sob, pounding my clenched fists on my head and pulling at my hair desperately.
‘Stop being such a wimp, Gerard, and calm the fuck down’ my mind is telling me but I’m not listening as I continue hyperventilating like crazy and sobbing into his fancy looking bed sheets. My gaze moves around the room in search of something that might calm me down and it falls on the armchair. Suddenly, an image comes to me. An image of Frank’s beautiful tiny sleeping figure curled up on the armchair, for my comfort’s sake. His lips are parted slightly and his face is the usual pale color. His hand rests lifelessly on the armrest and next to the armchair is a little wooden coffee table, a pack of cigarettes lying on it open and empty. And that’s it! Cigarettes. I climb off his bed clumsily in order to find what I need.
---
Frank’s POV
It looks like luck is on my side today, since it’s already day and sun is still hiding behind some dark clouds, making the dusty, polluted New Jersey’s streets look even uglier, the random people walking along them even more miserable and if you think about it, it seems like it’s the end of the world. Though, I fear it is not.
I quickly find my way home, expecting Gerard to be still in bed. When I walk into the bedroom, however, he is sitting in the armchair, smoking a pack of cigarettes, red Marlboros, if I have to be precise. These should be mine.
His eyes are closed and he’s inhaling the cancer stick deeply, seeming to enjoy it quite a lot. His head goes backwards, and he exhales the smoke, his neck perfectly exposed to me, pale and tempting. I bite my lip, and I feel my fang piercing the thin skin on my bottom lip but I couldn’t care less. I look away guiltily, then gulp.
“Hello…”, I manage to say. His eyes snap open and he looks startled. Then they get wide and he stutters “O-oh. I’m- I’m sorry, I just…”, I silence him with a hand gesture.
“It’s no problem. I just didn’t know you smoke”, I say, but it sounds more like a question.
“Well, um…yeah, I-I guess I kind of do…sometimes. Not all the time. You know…”, he looks around awkwardly.
“So, where did you find them? I didn’t even know I had them, to be honest.”, I laugh quietly.
“Oh, they were at the top shelf in the kitchen”, he says, this time calmer.
“Understandable. Why I didn’t know they were there, I mean…look at me”, I gesture to my body, pointing out my height, blaming it. I’ve always hated the fact that I’m so short. It is ridiculous for a vampire to be this funny-sized, absolute shame. But I guess it was meant to be, since both my parents were on the short side. However, I remember my father never seemed to mind it. “I have no idea how I even put them there in the first place. I probably threw them.”
“Oh well, I think it’s cute”, he says, putting the cigarette in the ashtray and straightens a little.
“What is cute?”
“I-I… I don’t- it doesn’t matter, really”, he looks down at his hands, hiding behind sleeves in his lap.
“No, tell me”, I insist.
“Um, w-well”, he hesitates for a moment, “t-that you’re, um, you know, um short… it’s um, kind of, err, it’s kind of cute”, I swear I can see roses blooming right on his cheeks.
“Oh. Thank you then, very nice of you. Though, I must say, it’s a disadvantage to be this short”, I say smoothly, while on the inside, I just want to hug him because he is being too damn adorable.
“So…is there a reason you started smoking?”, I ask after some time.
“How did you-…um, yes, I-I kind of smoke when I’m angry or sad mostly a-and the first time I did, it was, um, after some kids in school called me fat and useless. They did that a lot a-actually, but that day, it just became too much to handle…so I s-sort of smoked the pain away, like I did today, if th-that makes any sense…”, he says and I immediately regret asking. I don’t show it, though. Before I have the chance to say something, he speaks.
“Mom called”, he says quietly.
“And what did she told you?”
“Grandma’s funeral’s today. At 10.”
“Okay, we have some time.”, then I add “What do you want for breakfast?”
“Wait, “we”?”, he looks at me weirdly.
“Well, of course, we! You are not going to your grandmother’s funeral alone”, I say in a-matter-of-fact tone and he smiles. Then he gets up and wraps his arms around my middle.
“Thank you, Frank”, he breathes and I just love the sensation of my name being spoken by him, slipping from his lips. His perfect lips…
I’m not leaving him alone, of course. Especially since he doesn’t get along with his family. He just needs someone to be there for him, a shoulder to cry on, and I’m willing to be that ‘someone’. My thoughts are interrupted when he lets go of me and just sits down on the edge of my bed.
“So…breakfast?”
“I’m starving”, I nod and smile at him, then go out of the room in order to prepare some decent breakfast for him.
The morning mist, surrounding the town’s different shaped, too-many buildings is still lingering in the air, waiting for the long-forgotten sun to shine through the thick dark clouds that it is currently hiding behind. I still have some time before sunrise, time to find prey.
I despise it, you see. Isn’t it ridiculous I’m still not used to doing it? Isn’t it pathetic I hate doing it? Can’t I just stop existing, stop the agony? But I can’t, of course. And the funny thing is, it should be simple, at least for me. Ironically, it is not.
Dying was such an easy thing to accomplish back in the days when I was still alive. A bullet, or a knife. A simple step on the edge of a sharp cliff. Death waited for me on every corner, really. Watching me with hollow eyes and whispering my name. The tuberculosis woman that lived in the house next to ours. The thick rope that someone had tied their little boat to the dock with- it would be a great rope to hang myself with, it would not break. The deep river that seemed like it awakened every time I walked by, calling me with the words ‘Jump, Frank.’
Now, it’s harder, so much harder. And do you know what makes it even harder than it already is? Gerard. I can’t leave him now, after I vowed to him and to myself I won’t. I can’t leave him so weak and desperate. He needs me and I have to stay for him. I can’t go on a second sleepless road…
---
I find a man, looking like he is in his mid-thirties, walking down the foggy street and swaying visibly through the thick mist. I can smell the scent of cheap alcohol lingering on him even from here. His feet slightly drag on the sidewalk and I can tell I won’t need to use any of the strength I possess to get what I want from him. Hunger driving me towards, I rapidly appear just behind him, gripping his throat with long fingers. He doesn’t seem to react much, though, and for a moment I think he’ll fall asleep. I don’t feel any sympathy towards individuals like him, he’s just the regular boring person, it wouldn’t be a great loss when his time comes and he dies.
See, this is one of the things I really despise about people- most of them are just too forgettable, when you see them on the street, they don’t exactly shine bright, nor they look extraordinary. They’re just…average. Looking like dull, faceless shadows with no distinctive futures, neither on the outside, nor on the inside. Most of them are just not worth remembering at all.
My teeth bury mercilessly into his throat, making a small sound of pain escape from him. I never release my grip on his trachea, for I cannot be sure if he is going to put up a fight. I drink as much as I can before it kills him, and he faints either from the lack of air, or the blood loss.
However, he’s alive and perfectly fine, of course. There isn’t even any chance he is going to be scarred mentally after he wakes up, for he will still have hangover, and alcohol tends to make people forget about things… and it is a surprise not that so many of them find comfort in a cheap glass of vodka, whiskey or other kind of sweet but poisonous drug.
I look up at the grey skies after I dump his numb body in an alley. The sun will be up soon. Very soon.
---
Gerard’s POV
When I wake up, the other side of the bed is depressingly empty, and it feels like something is missing. Like a picture, a half-painted one.
Then everything comes back to me, the sensation worse than a bucket of cold water over your head in the morning. My sadness takes over, deafening every other thing in my head completely. All the demons, hiding in my soul, come to life, like something or someone had pushed them away for a while and now they’re back in order to get me and make me sink.
I start breathing quite damn heavily, like someone’s chasing me and I’m running. But no, I know it’s just me. Just me and my demons that I can’t fight. I know I can’t fight them. I start thinking about every single thing that’s not right in my life with each ragged breath I take.
Inhale.
‘My hero is dead.’
Exhale.
Inhale.
‘Frank’s not here, he’s sick of me.’
Exhale.
Inhale.
‘Even my own parents hate my guts and I am a disgrace to our family.’
Exhale.
Inhale.
‘I look absolutely unsightly and no one would ever think I am pretty.’
Exhale.
Inhale.
‘My so-called “art” is absolutely shitty and I will never get as good as I want to.’
Exhale.
Inhale.
‘I’m just a stupid faggot and I deserve to die slowly.’
Exhale.
Inhale.
‘My baby brother doesn’t need me, I’m so weak.’
Exhale.
Inhale.
‘My life’s horrible and I can’t escape it.’
Exhale.
Inhale.
‘I always fuck up, no matter what.’
Exhale.
“STOP”, I yell while shaking uncontrollably and breathing heavily, the tears forming in my eyes, running down my stupid face, and falling on Frank’s satin sheets.
“I… can’t- I can’t fucking take t-this”, I sob, pounding my clenched fists on my head and pulling at my hair desperately.
‘Stop being such a wimp, Gerard, and calm the fuck down’ my mind is telling me but I’m not listening as I continue hyperventilating like crazy and sobbing into his fancy looking bed sheets. My gaze moves around the room in search of something that might calm me down and it falls on the armchair. Suddenly, an image comes to me. An image of Frank’s beautiful tiny sleeping figure curled up on the armchair, for my comfort’s sake. His lips are parted slightly and his face is the usual pale color. His hand rests lifelessly on the armrest and next to the armchair is a little wooden coffee table, a pack of cigarettes lying on it open and empty. And that’s it! Cigarettes. I climb off his bed clumsily in order to find what I need.
---
Frank’s POV
It looks like luck is on my side today, since it’s already day and sun is still hiding behind some dark clouds, making the dusty, polluted New Jersey’s streets look even uglier, the random people walking along them even more miserable and if you think about it, it seems like it’s the end of the world. Though, I fear it is not.
I quickly find my way home, expecting Gerard to be still in bed. When I walk into the bedroom, however, he is sitting in the armchair, smoking a pack of cigarettes, red Marlboros, if I have to be precise. These should be mine.
His eyes are closed and he’s inhaling the cancer stick deeply, seeming to enjoy it quite a lot. His head goes backwards, and he exhales the smoke, his neck perfectly exposed to me, pale and tempting. I bite my lip, and I feel my fang piercing the thin skin on my bottom lip but I couldn’t care less. I look away guiltily, then gulp.
“Hello…”, I manage to say. His eyes snap open and he looks startled. Then they get wide and he stutters “O-oh. I’m- I’m sorry, I just…”, I silence him with a hand gesture.
“It’s no problem. I just didn’t know you smoke”, I say, but it sounds more like a question.
“Well, um…yeah, I-I guess I kind of do…sometimes. Not all the time. You know…”, he looks around awkwardly.
“So, where did you find them? I didn’t even know I had them, to be honest.”, I laugh quietly.
“Oh, they were at the top shelf in the kitchen”, he says, this time calmer.
“Understandable. Why I didn’t know they were there, I mean…look at me”, I gesture to my body, pointing out my height, blaming it. I’ve always hated the fact that I’m so short. It is ridiculous for a vampire to be this funny-sized, absolute shame. But I guess it was meant to be, since both my parents were on the short side. However, I remember my father never seemed to mind it. “I have no idea how I even put them there in the first place. I probably threw them.”
“Oh well, I think it’s cute”, he says, putting the cigarette in the ashtray and straightens a little.
“What is cute?”
“I-I… I don’t- it doesn’t matter, really”, he looks down at his hands, hiding behind sleeves in his lap.
“No, tell me”, I insist.
“Um, w-well”, he hesitates for a moment, “t-that you’re, um, you know, um short… it’s um, kind of, err, it’s kind of cute”, I swear I can see roses blooming right on his cheeks.
“Oh. Thank you then, very nice of you. Though, I must say, it’s a disadvantage to be this short”, I say smoothly, while on the inside, I just want to hug him because he is being too damn adorable.
“So…is there a reason you started smoking?”, I ask after some time.
“How did you-…um, yes, I-I kind of smoke when I’m angry or sad mostly a-and the first time I did, it was, um, after some kids in school called me fat and useless. They did that a lot a-actually, but that day, it just became too much to handle…so I s-sort of smoked the pain away, like I did today, if th-that makes any sense…”, he says and I immediately regret asking. I don’t show it, though. Before I have the chance to say something, he speaks.
“Mom called”, he says quietly.
“And what did she told you?”
“Grandma’s funeral’s today. At 10.”
“Okay, we have some time.”, then I add “What do you want for breakfast?”
“Wait, “we”?”, he looks at me weirdly.
“Well, of course, we! You are not going to your grandmother’s funeral alone”, I say in a-matter-of-fact tone and he smiles. Then he gets up and wraps his arms around my middle.
“Thank you, Frank”, he breathes and I just love the sensation of my name being spoken by him, slipping from his lips. His perfect lips…
I’m not leaving him alone, of course. Especially since he doesn’t get along with his family. He just needs someone to be there for him, a shoulder to cry on, and I’m willing to be that ‘someone’. My thoughts are interrupted when he lets go of me and just sits down on the edge of my bed.
“So…breakfast?”
“I’m starving”, I nod and smile at him, then go out of the room in order to prepare some decent breakfast for him.
Notes
So guys, I’m really sorry for the long wait, but I’ve been having a lot on my mind lately. It’s been a bad week, to say the least. Things with mother are getting worse, school feels like a prison so far, and my panic attacks during/after every fight are getting worse and worse (which also makes me feel like I’m going insane) and I’m only hoping I won’t have one at school, in front of everybody. But here it is a filler chapter I’m not very pleased with. I know the switch from one POV to another is annoying and I'll try to solve the problem in the following chapters.The next one should be up tomorrow.All of your comments/ messages really touched me, guys. I can’t even describe how much all of you help me every day, I re-read them every time I get sad or angry and I just want you to know that your support means the world to me.
Love, zombie--
xxxx
I just started reading this today and I just wanted to say that it's amazing. :)
9/7/14