The next day at school, Jamia and I are in art. We’re sitting quietly, each of us painting. My tongue just bridges out over my lip, my brows furrowed in concentration.
“So… yesterday,” Jamia begins.
I gaze over at her, resting my paintbrush tip on the paper. “Yeah?”
“You said Frank told you about his dad,” she continues. She places her paintbrush down, stringing a hand through her dark hair as she asks, “What exactly does that mean?”
I sigh as I set my own paintbrush down, running my hands up and down my thighs nervously. “See, the thing is….” I lower my voice, leaning in close to Jamia’s ear. “Frank’s been going through this for a long time I think, and he’s only told me, who used to be his best friend, just a couple of days ago.”
“You used to be his best friend?!” Jamia hisses in disbelief.
I nod. “Yeah. Best of the best.”
“Boy, you’ve got to update me more often,” Jamia responds.
“I know, sorry,” I apologize. “About his dad…. He’s been, abusing Frank.”
Jamia squints. “Like… raping him?”
“I don’t think so,” I reply. “Hitting him, for sure.”
Jamia falls back in her chair, slouching. For someone normally so chipper and enthusiastic, it’s pretty heart wrenching to see her look like she’s about to cry. She looks deflated, her shoulders slumped and head hung slightly. A single tear drops down her face, and she wipes her eye.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I comfort.
“No it’s not,” she whispers, her voice hoarse. She sobs quietly, adding, “Why? Why would he do that?”
“I- I don’t know,” I answer. Wow Gerard, you’re such great help in situations like these.
“It’s just…..” Jamia sniffles, proceeding, “Is that why he was such a dick to you? Because he was just so exposed to it… it… it was the only logical thing for him to do and-and he’s probably just so angry and… and it’s….” Jamia hangs her head even further, admitting, “It’s not his fault he was like that. And I was a bitch to him for it, even after you guys made up.”
I hug her, even though it’s the middle of a class and the teacher may be looking. I don’t care. All I care about is the fact that my best girlfriend Jamia is crying her eyes out and I better do all that I can to make it stop. I pet her hair, like I do to calm Frank down when he’s upset. “It’s okay,” I coax. “You were just being a good friend to me; you didn’t know. It’s nobody’s fault, alright?”
Jamia pushes me away, so I keep my distance, allowing her to wipe her eyes and pull her hair from her face, which was plastered in strands to her cheeks, the tears acting as an adhesive. She takes a deep breath before weeping more, bobbing her head as she assures,
“I’m fine, I really am. I’m just…” she chuckles, adding, “It’s been a Hell of a trip for you and Frank, huh?”
I smile, agreeing, “It really has.”
“So, when did his dad start this?” Jamia questions.
“I really don’t know,” I confess. “He didn’t tell me that much about it; and I could tell that, at least at the time, he really didn’t want to talk about it.”
“Maybe you should get to know your boyfriend’s past a little better,” Jamia suggests. She places a hand on my forearm, adding, “Even if it hurts.”
“Hurts him?” I mutter. I really don’t like the thought of my little Frankie being hurt.
“Hurts both of you,” Jamia answers, her voice ice.
I decide to wait to talk to Frank about it until after school. I expect there to be tears, from him, myself, or the both of us. Whichever way, I don’t want either of us to be breaking down and then have to hurry to class. It’s also Friday, so I’m hoping Frank will be able to spend the night at my house, or have me over at his.
Frank comes to my locker after the final bell, wrapping his arms around me sweetly. He plants a kiss on the cheek, greeting, “Hey, babe. How was your day?”
“Good,” I answer, pulling on my coat. I grab my back pack as I counter, “Yours?”
“It was fine,” Frank replies. He presses his lips against my neck just below my jaw, nibbling gently.
“Frank, not here,” I remind, pushing him away.
Frank pouts. “But I wanna jerk you off.”
“Jesus Christ, lower your voice!” I exclaim.
Frank giggles, and then takes my hand, leading me outside to his car. He skips slightly as he’s anxious to get out of the cold; he’s only wearing a hoodie, and it’s about 20 degrees outside. In the car, he lights up a cigarette, holding it in between tightly pressed lips.
I throw my bag into the back of his car, placing one of my feet up onto the dashboard.
I glance over at my boyfriend, to notice that he’s staring at my crotch shamelessly. He takes the cigarette between his fingers, lifting it from his mouth to blow out a cloud of smoke. I turn beat red almost immediately, slapping hand clumsily over the area.
Frank chuckles, telling, “You know, for having like no dick hair,” he nods as he compliments, “You’re pretty well hung.”
I’m so embarrassed that I could curl into a ball right there on his passenger seat and die.
Frank takes my hand, starting up the car. “Don’t be embarrassed, sweetie.” He pulls out of the parking lot, and we go over to his house.
When we get there, we immediately go up to his bedroom. We sit on his bed, and I ask straight away before any sexual distractions arise,
“So… what exactly does your dad do to you?” I take open hand and kiss the center of his palm, then curling his fingers into a fist. I squeeze his hand comfortingly. “When did he start?”
Frank looks taken aback. “Um, he… uh…. He’s never raped me, honest. It’s just, um… hitting, and kicking, and a lot more emotional abuse….” He starts to cry, tears streaking down his cheeks as he proceeds to inform, “He’s always done it, but it didn’t get real bad till eighth grade.”
“How’d it get worse?” I coax. I smooth out his hair.
“It was just verbal abuse when I was younger, and maybe being hit a couple times a year, but he never actually beat me until I was fourteen, because…. Because that’s when my grades starting going down cause I had depression and I…..” Frank snivels, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I tried to kill myself in ninth grade and…. And it didn’t work……”
“How’d you do it?” I question softly.
“I took a bunch of pills but…. All that did was get me in bed for a week with the worst stomach cramps imaginable,” Frank answers. He suddenly hugs me, clutching onto me for dear life.
“Frankie… I didn’t realize you were hurting so bad,” I admit. “I mean, you were picking on me and… you seemed fine.”
Frank shrugs his shoulders, letting them fall back into their regular position lazily. “I just….. I was really fucked up.” Frank wipes his eyes, snuggling closer to me, his arms around my waist and his head crooked up into my armpit. “But not anymore. I really, really love you, Gerard. And I need you way more than you need me.”
I think about my self-harm scars, and respond, “That is so not true.”
Frank sniffles before crawling into my lap, gripping the front of my tee shirt as he cries into it. I cradle him, slinging my arms around his huddled up little body. I rock him back and forth until he’s done crying, and we end up in our underwear, cuddling beneath his blankets.

Notes

Thanks so much for reading! Awesome comments, by the way, I'm glad you guys like it!

My blog- www.haruka-loves-rin.tumblr.com