Chapter 1
It’s almost done….
Gerard hunched further over his picture, his bangs falling in front of his eyes, but he could still see well enough. The girl in black and white, with the sad blue eyes, came to life before his eyes. He watched every little feature grow more realistic, almost photogenic, hair so well drawn it looked as silky as Gerard imagined it to be. Only occasionally, he’d look up at his muse, Emmanuelle, the most beautiful girl Gerard had ever seen, the girl everybody ignored, the girl with the sweetest smile, but the saddest eyes. She was changing, though, slowly, becoming something of Gerard’s own imagination, something he could make and bend, turn her into something that belonged to him.
This was why he loved drawing.
This was, by far, the best drawing Gerard had ever done. It had taken nearly two weeks, but slowly, it became real. Slowly, he brought the picture, his picture, to life. He brushed his hair back, leaning down to blow away some of the pencil dust. The pencil had grown dull and, reluctantly, Gerard paused to sharpen it.
In the beginning, Gerard was nervous about the picture. As he had begun to draw the girl, he realized she didn’t look pretty anymore. Her nose was too thin, her cheeks too pinched, her eyes too hollow. But it came to his realization that putting her together, she was a stunningly beautiful creature. His favorite part of the picture was the girl’s hand over her face, brushing back the light hair, where Gerard drew several long, crisp cuts, some old some new. Nobody would be able to see Emmanuelle’s scars, but Gerard noticed them right away. He had stopped, only thinking “Why would she do that? She doesn’t seem like the type…”
“Maybe a cat scratched her. Yeah, that’s probably it. She probably got it from playing with her kitty.”
But he always knew the truth that Emmanuelle was so upset with herself that she would turn against herself. That she would cause harm to a beautiful body. It reminded Gerard of the poem:
She could paint a lovely picture
But the story had a twist
The paint brush was a razor
And the canvas was her wrist.
He shook his head quickly, trying to force the thought out of his mind. He was still in class, he was still supposed to be paying attention, but he let his eyes go back to the drawing. Gerard smiled softly to himself.
“What’s up, fag?” Someone asked. Out of nowhere, a hand shoved Gerard’s head down. He hit the desk with a bang but quickly recovered long enough to see who it was. It was Mathew, like it always was, with his other friends. Gerard glared at them.
“Aw, can’t you talk to us?” Someone else chimed in.
“Yeah, what’s the matter?”
“What are you doing?”
Another one, Jay, leaned over and yanked the picture out of Gerard’s hands. Gerard jumped up.
“Give that back!” He yelled. He reached for it, but someone else yanked him back, holding him tightly behind. Jay studied the picture for a moment and grinned.
“Nice job, fag. But I think it’s missing something.”
“Yeah, I have to agree.” Mathew said. Gerard struggled to get out of the guy’s grip, but he just held him tighter, practically choking him. Gerard had no choice but to watch as Mathew took out his lighter, letting the flame dance for a moment before setting the edge of the picture on fire.
“Fuck!” Gerard forced himself out and grabbed the picture, batting the flame out as quickly as possible, but it was useless- all his hard work disappeared the page ruined. All around him, he could hear the class laughing. He was so angry he could barely breathe, let alone speak, and the laughter just fueled it. He ran to Mathew, grabbing his shirt and raising a fist as he managed to say “You fucking-‘
Jay grabbed Gerard quickly, yanking him back. Gerard tried to shove his way out, but Jay pulled out a switch blade, pressing it against Gerard’s neck as Gerard tried to struggle out. He suddenly felt hot, very hot, his forehead breaking out into sweat, yet he shivered. Tommy, another guy, asked tauntingly “What are you gonna do, emo fag?”
Gerard didn’t say anything. He felt scared which just made everything worse. I can handle this. Don’t say anything, don’t do anything, they won’t do anything, He kept thinking over and over again.
Just then, the bell rang. Jay shoved Gerard forward, Gerard stumbling into the desk, as everyone left, their laughter floating down the halls. He gripped the edge of the desk tightly, gritting his teeth as he fought to keep down the scream that was working its way up his throat. Finally, he sank down to the ground, pressing his face against the cool legs of the chair, as he tried his best to calm himself down, forcing his pulse to slow down and his breathe to become calm and regular.
Gerard cut his last class, and instead hid in a closet in the basement, in the part of the school nobody would bother to look for him at. The place that everyone ignored felt like home to Gerard. He could just sit there in the dark, damp room, thinking about anything, until he felt brave enough to leave again. He could forget about everything, forget about school, forget about home, just for once stay in the peaceful silence, where nobody hit him, nobody yelled at him. Where nobody could make him feel worthless, where nobody could ever hurt him. He could just forget about it all, and listen to the stories in his head.
But as Gerard left school that day, he could hear a car following him, voices calling for him to stop, chat, as if they were all old friends. Gerard focused on moving ahead, but the car halted, and the people filed out- Mathew, Jay, Joey, Tyler, and several others that Gerard didn’t know, but they all seemed to know him. When Gerard finally turned around to face them, he got punched in the mouth, making him fall back.
If it was any other day, if Gerard had been smart enough to bring his fucking knife with him, he could have fought back, maybe even won. But it wasn’t. Everyone was shoving him back and forth, punching and kicking as he tried desperately to get away, but the group circled around him completely. Before long, it ended with Gerard on the ground, as everyone kicked him in the stomach, the ribs, and the face, with one thought playing in his mind, over and over again: “What should I do? Should I try and fight back? Should I try to get away? Should I just curl up and hope that they stop?”