Nobodies

I limp slightly on my walk to school. I neglected to take pain killers or anything, so all throughout the walk my cuts burn and sting with each step.
Frank pulls up behind me in his pickup, so I start to run, trying to ignore the searing pain in my side. I make it to the school, but Frank tails me, chasing me all the way up until the third floor, where he catches up and tackles me. He again pulls me into an adjacent bathroom, my fingernails clawing desperately against the floor.
Upon closer inspection, Frank’s face is in even worse shape than yesterday. He seems just as strong however, as he pins me to the floor. He kneels on top of me, my wrists in his hands.
“This really isn’t funny anymore, Gerard!” Frank yells. He has that same crazed, wounded look in his eye.
He actually called me Gerard. Not faggot, little girl, not even dyke. Something must really be wrong.
“What isn’t?!” I reply. I love Frank, but I’m getting tired of him screaming at me when I don’t even know what’s going on.
“Making up rumors that I’m gay!” Frank retorts.
“There’s rumors about that?” I question softly.
Frank looks like he’s about to cry. He shakes his head, banging my hands against the ground as he shouts, “Shut up! Just stop talking!”
He stands, kicking me in the ribs. From the cool sensation in my side, I can tell that my cuts have been opened.
“Frank, you know you can talk to me about anything,” I remind.
“Fuck you!” Frank spits before storming out.
I walk up to the mirror, lifting my shirt to assess the damage. Blood is soaking through the gauze, and there’s some bruises forming around it. I put some paper towels over the spots with blood sopping though, ripping off a piece of the medical tape to make sure that the paper towels stay in play. I secure it before leaving, flapping my shirt back down as I step out into the hall. I run directly into Jamia, who is taken off her feet by me.
I apologize over and over as I help her up. She brushes herself off, replying,
“No biggie. How was your piss?”
“Actually, Frank dragged me in there,” I admit.
“What’d that little asshole want?” Jamia scoffs. I shoot her a disapproving look, reminding her that I kind of really love him. She bows her head and mumbles a sorry.
“It’s okay,” I mutter. “Did you know someone made up a rumor that he’s gay?”
Jamia knits her brows. “Is that why he got beat up?”
I thought his parents had done it, but the idea of some punk ass kids beating him up actually makes a lot more sense. Sadly, it wouldn’t be the first time a student here was attacked for their sexual preference. It’s a huge reason why I don’t reveal the fact to I’m gay except when I have to, for instance, when Jamia was coming onto me.
I nod, informing, “I think so. And he looks even worse than yesterday.”
“Do you really think that?” Jamia whispers.
“What?”
“That…. You know… he’s gay? That would explain why he uses the term ‘dyke’ so much. Maybe he’s just trying to cover his tracks?” Jamia suggests.
“I…. I don’t know,” I lie. Actually, I’m pretty sure that Frank is straight. Straight as a horse, which isn’t great for me, who is, on one hand, gay as a kookaburra, and, on the other hand, horribly in love with him.
“I think he is,” Jamia tells. “He’s so infatuated with you. I actually think he might like you.”
“If he liked me, then why would he beat my ass left and right and accuse me of starting a shitty rumor about him?” I question.
Jamia shrugs, responding, “I dunno. It was just a thought.”
I see Frank sitting outside after school. He looks like he’s been crying. He’s sitting in the front seat of his truck, and appears to be listening to music by the way his head’s nodding. He has… is that a cigarette? It is! He has a cigarette between his lips, and sweet Lord does he look hot twirling it in his fingers.
I decide to take my chances, because he really looks like he’s hurting. I knock on the window. Frank jumps, and then glowers at me. He rolls down the window, letting cigarette smoke pour out as he stops the music, which I recognized as Fall Out Boy’s “What A Catch, Donnie”.
“What do you want?” he grumbles.
“I… I want to know if you’re okay,” I answer.
Frank glares at me, his wide hazel eyes glazed over with tears. “Do I look okay?”
“No,” I mutter, kicking up some dirt from the ground.
Frank scoffs. “Well, I am.”
“Frank, I’m sorry about all you’re going through,” I share. I shoot him my sympathetic look, to which he snorts and digs through his car, pulling out a bottle of beer.
I back up with shock as he takes off the top and takes a long swig, shuddering from the effect of the alcohol.
“What? Never seen a sixteen year old chain smoke and drink?” Frank jokes.
“I….” I respond. I can’t find words. I don’t know if I want to be mad, scared, or worried for him.
“So, Gerard,” Frank begins. He flicks his cigarette out the window, and it narrowly misses my shoulder. He grins crookedly, and unlocks his car with a beep, asking,
“Do you want to talk about this or what?”
I bite my lip, contemplating. I choose to help the poor kid; maybe all he needs is someone to talk to. I climb into the passenger seat, grateful that he’s actually being nice to me and inviting me into his world.
Frank dips his fingers into his coat pocket, pulling out a packet of cigarettes. He smacks the top against his palm until one is out in his hand. He puts it away, and places the cigarette between his lips. He searches himself for his lighter, and then asks me,
“Got a light?”
I pull out my lighter, which I got from my old school friend Alex.
Frank smiles that lopsided grin as I light it for him, saying,
“So you’re not a goody two shoes after all.”
I laugh, and Frank beams over at me. “Buckle up; I don’t want to get a ticket.”
I do as I’m told, and we pull out of the school parking lot, heading towards God knows where.

Notes

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