Nobodies

Somehow, word got out about me going to a psych ward for 24 hours. Honestly, the hospital staff aren’t supposed to tell anyone, and my mom has a pretty big mouth, so I wouldn’t be surprised if she told everyone.
But after being in a psych ward, and when kids find out, it doesn’t make them any nicer to you. The girls were really kind, actually, but sort of in a condescending, trying too hard way. They even sat with me at lunch, saying things like,
“Oh you poor thing.”
And “How was the treatment?”
And of course, “Gerard, you’re crazy, right? Can you explain this to me….”
Frank, along with Jamia, just mimicked them behind their backs the entire time, and those two girls never found out why I was laughing so hard at their questions.
The boys, on the other hand, aren’t so innocent. I get called “psycho”, “freak”, and “creep” more than I can count. Not only that, but I’m unlucky enough to run into Shane during break period, which we have outside. He bumps into me on purpose, nearly bringing me to the ground.
“So, I heard you finally went crazy, Way,” he sneers.
I can feel myself redden. I know that it’s useless to fight against him, so I decide to take the begging route. “I have to go.”
“I have to go,” Shane repeats in a high voice, mocking me. Other kids start to watch or laugh, and I just blush more.
“Tell me, what’s it like to be a 90 pound psychopath?” Shane snickers. “I’m just dying to know.”
“I’m really not in the mood for this,” I growl, pushing past him.
He catches me around the waist, hurling me back into my position. “I wasn’t done with you, freak!”
“You know what, fuck you!” I shout.
Shane’s eyes narrow, and his hands clench into fists. He slugs me in the stomach, and I find myself doubling over.
He elbows me sharply in the back, between my shoulder blades, and I go down to my knees. He kicks me in the jaw, sending me to the concrete.
He kneels next to me, squeezing my cheeks between one of his massive hands. “Don’t give me anymore trouble, little girl.”
“Hey!” Frank barks. He runs towards Shane, flinging himself at the towering boy. He actually manages to bring him to the ground, and once Frank’s on top of him, he’s a blur of fists and obscenities.
“Frank!” I exclaim. I stand, grabbing Frank by the shoulders and attempting to pull him off of Shane. I finally manage to grab beneath his armpits and lift him off of Shane, who stands, his nose bloodied.
“You’re fucking dead, Iero! Just watch!” Shane shouts. He kicks over a nearby trashcan, causing trash to fly across the pavement. He storms inside, his big feet stomping loudly.
“Frank! He’s going to kill you, you know that, right?” I question.
Frank smiles at me crookedly. He steps on top of my feet to lift himself high enough to kiss me. “I know. I don’t care.”
The next day proves to be even worse than the previous day. Shane somehow manages to pit the football guys against us. Even though the season’s long over, they still wear their letter jackets.
They corner Frank, Jamia and I at lunch, sitting at our table, two standing behind us to assure we don’t run away.
“Hey, faggots,” one of them says.
“Leave them alone!” Jamia insists.
“Oh, I like this one!” a boy exclaims. He reaches around and grabs Jamia’s boob, to see her go red and squeak.
“Get the fuck off of her!” Frank demands, shoving the larger boy. He kicks him hard in the shin and punches him in the jaw in the flash of an eye.
“Jamia, are you okay?” I ask, grabbing her arm.
She nods, her face still crimson. I can see tears beginning to well in her eyes, and I fucking lose it.
I join Frank, curb stomping the kid while Frank kicks him in the side. His buddies drag us away, and haul us to a vacant locker room.
One of them slams me against a locker, punching me in the nose. My knees give, but he pulls me to my feet by the collar of my shirt, nailing me again in the gut. His friend joins in, him holding me upright while the other continues to hit me. I don’t even bothering to remember where, because everywhere hurts.
I see Jamia come in, watch her get picked up by some other guy and carried away. I see Frank on the ground, a huddle of boys surrounding him and kicking him in the ribs and stomach.
I feel faint when the boys finally stop, realizing,
“Shit, he’s fucking losing it! Let’s go!”
They grab their friends on their way out, and Jamia is put down as the jocks retreat.
I manage to walk over to Frank, and collapse next to him.
Jamia hurries over, worrying, “Are you guys okay? Come on, let’s get you to the nurse.”
“Fuck that!” Frank protests. He presses his elbow against the floor, attempting to stand, but falls back onto his stomach.
“You guys are fucking covered in blood, you need to see a nurse,” Jamia insists.
I shake my head, agreeing, “Frank’s right. Last thing we want is the school being involved, I know from experience; they don’t do shit other than send you to counseling.”
“Did you… was that from me?” Frank questions, voice soft.
I feel a lump in the back of my throat, because the experience came from when I had tried to tell on Frank and his friends bullying me in eighth grade. “Yeah.”
“Well, you can’t stay in class like this. Gerard, we’re going to your house. I’ll drive,” Jamia orders. She helps us to our feet and assists us in limping down the hallway and slipping out of the school before lunch ends.

Notes

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