Memories

As I stood, watching in horror, the figure sat on my bed turned to look at me. Memories from that night flooded me, and yet I couldn't react. I went through everything I could do other than break down pleading, but my choices weren't exactly vast.

I could grab the phone off my bedside table- I thought, before mentally slapping myself on the forehead. This person was sat on my bed, next to my bedside table.

I could run to mom's room, was another thought that I quickly processed, but my legs refused to co-operate, and this person was no doubt faster than me. I was horrendously uncoordinated to say the least.

What if I screamed? No, I had no idea what this person was capable of, and if my mom got involved- I couldn't bare to think about what could happen to her.

I opened my mouth, forcing noise to come out of it- a mere squeak came out, and stopped almost as soon as I saw the person move. They reached out, their long arm and spidery fingers a black outline as they touched something across from them, causing my breathing to hitch suddenly and I felt myself cave inward, my arms wrapping innocently around my own torso.

The lamp by the side of my bed clicked on suddenly, illuminating my small, childlike room with a bright glow and I saw the person's arm retreat to its place on my bed. I stared at Gerard, mouth agape, and my unblinking eyes wide with shock.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I snapped annoyance clear in my words.

He hushed me, standing quickly and swiftly moving across the room towards me. "You'll wake your mom up," he whispered.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I repeated, quieter now, but the same meaning of my words remained. "How long have you been here?"

"Not long," he insisted. "I just needed to talk to you."

My expression softened, and I spoke less agitated. "We just spoke, remember?"

I saw Gerard's eyes flicker down to my scuffed, wooden floorboards and his lips twitched up into a slight smile. I noticed a blush forming on his cheeks as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. I remained silent when he glanced back up at me.

"Actually, I wanted to make sure you were okay," he told me. "And I also wanted to ask something."

I stared at him, confused. Nodding my head slightly, I waited for him to speak again. When he didn't, I folded my arms over my bare chest, suddenly feeling very exposed by the fact that I was wrapped in a towel.

"I'm okay," I stated, awkwardly shuffling around my room to find some pajamas. Pulling some batman bottoms on under the towel and throwing it onto my bed, I turned to look at Gerard who was absently staring out the window. I waited.

"Are you sure?" He asked me, not even bothering to glance at me. I nodded, even though he couldn't see me.

He turned to look at me, the blush and his shy smile returning. "Good."

"So, is that all you wanted? I don't mean to sound rude but it's late," I muttered, glancing at the alarm clock my mom had replaced.

"You're talking," he told me suddenly, and I froze. What? "I mean, you refused to talk to me- to Mikey or my mom; now you're talking. What's up with that?"

"I- I..." I stuttered, my heart starting to race in my chest. "You...wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

I stared at him, not wanting to explain myself. I shook my head. "I can't."

"Sure you can," Gerard whispered, taking a step towards me.

"Gerard, please will you leave?" I said a little too harshly. His footsteps ceased and he froze, hurt flashing over his features before he nodded slowly, blinking a few times.

As he turned to leave, I felt a pang of guilt in my chest and my stomach tied in knots.

"Wait," I whispered, almost regretting my words. He turned curiously. I stepped over to him and awkwardly hugged him. For a few seconds, it was one sided, with me wrapping myself limply around him, his arms at his side still. When it registered that I was waiting to be hugged back, he brought his arms around me and returned the embrace until I started to panic; my breathing speeding up. He pulled away, furrowing his brows at me as I gave him a weak smile.

"Bye," I whispered, and he turned towards the window.

I shut the window after he was on the ground, watching him walk safely across the street, and locked it, pulling my curtains closed. Scrambling into bed, I pulled the covers right over me. I was shivering, but I knew it wasn't from lack of heat. My heart was beating slightly faster than usual, and my palms were sweaty. What was all that about?

I lay there, thoughts and memories swirling around my head and seeming to find ways to keep me up for most of the night. Lying on my back, I heaved a tired sigh and ran a hand through my hair messily. Letting my arm fall limp above my head, I closed my eyes and wished for the darkness to overcome me until morning.

Eventually, I did manage to find sleep, only it was filled with the torturous memories from that night, and I woke a few minutes before my alarm. My body wouldn't stay still. Although I was awake, I felt as though I was still in the nightmare. I could see him hovering on top of me, and my arms were pinned. I wriggled and fought to free my arms, but it was no use. A hand was over my mouth, preventing any gasps of help to be called for, and I couldn't steady my breathing.

The bleep of my alarm startled me, and he vanished almost as sudden as he appeared, leaving me with a twisted vision in my head. Quickly, I clasped a hand over my mouth, my heart racing as I fumbled with the covers stuck to my sweaty skin. A strange vomiting sensation seemed to erupt its way through the bottom of my stomach and had me almost heaving in the darkness of my own bedroom and I still hadn't turned off my alarm.

My bedroom door opened then, and my mom stopped in the doorway, watching me. When she realized, she was by my side in an instant, rubbing soothing circles on my back and humming soothing words as she reached out for the small bin beside my bed. She held it under my chin, and I hurled the contents of my stomach up into it. It wasn't much; I'd only eaten merely a handful of popcorn in the past few days.

“You're not going to school,” she stated, and I nodded. I regretted it, as suddenly the room seemed to be spinning and my eyes couldn't focus themselves on my mom who was standing in front of me, a concerned look on her features. “Get back to sleep, I’ll take the day off work to look after you,” she smiled.

“No,” I frowned. “Don't do that for me. You've already been threatened with the sack.”

“Eh, don't worry about it. The job’s shit anyway,” she shrugged, a small laugh escaping her lips.

I didn't understand my mom. She hated her job, sure, but she was always joking about quitting, or getting sacked, when really, we needed the money. We were struggling to pay bills, keep the fridge stocked, or even get hot water. Yet she didn't seem to mind as long as I was okay. I’d never understand; I'm never going to be okay. She’s wasting her time.

I smiled anyway, and she nodded, kissing the top of my head before exiting my room and pulling out her phone. I could hear her talking to her boss. I knew he wouldn't be happy with it.

“Yes,” she said. “Frank’s ill.”

There was a pause.

“No, but-“

There was another pause.

“Now, hold on a minute. It wasn't at all his fault what happened to him.”

There it was. He was bringing him into it again. My mom’s boss was my stepdad’s best friend.

I felt another wave of nausea and I hunched my back as I brought the bin to my chin once again, but I couldn't make anything come out. In a few seconds, my mom entered my room again. Her worry lines were more noticeable.

“Are you finished?” She asked me. I deliberated a few seconds, waiting for the nausea to pass, and I nodded.

Taking the bin from my hands, she told me she would wash it out and that I should get some sleep. It was then that I realized how tired I actually was, and how little sleep I’d gotten the previous night. But did I really want sleep? I wanted to rest, sure, but sleeping was out of the question. I wasn't allowing myself to be tortured again.

I slowly let myself fall backwards, closing my eyes as soon as my head hit the pillow. She hummed a soft song as she walked out, closing the door. I heard the latch click, and my eyes opened again. I was going to have to keep myself awake.

-

This was the seventh time my phone had ringed in the past half hour. I presumed school was over now. For the past six hours, I had managed to keep my eyes open and my brain occupied. I did everything from practicing guitar to jacking off. Of course, I left the last one until my mom had gone to the shop for some milk. Then I got a cold shower, trying to snap myself out of my thoughts and keep myself awake for a little while longer.

Lying on cool, wooden floor of my bedroom, the cold was stinging my bare back. I’d been here for the past half hour, simultaneously ignoring the ringing of my phone that was across the room, somewhere under the tangled mess of blankets and sheets.

“Frank, honey, are you going to answer that?” My mom poked her head round the door and flashed me a concerned look.

“I don't know where it is,” I sighed, stretching my arms and reaching one out towards my bed. “It’s somewhere over there.”

She smirked slightly, making her way over in that direction and stepping over me. “You know, just because you're ill doesn't mean you get to be lazy.”

“I've done quite a lot with my day, I'll have you know,” I replied, poking my tongue out when she wasn't looking.

“Is that so?” She was pulling the blankets from my bed, the shrill of my ringtone echoing louder and louder until it was by my ear. I recoiled, the noise startling me. She chuckled as I took it, and I shooed her out of the room when I saw who the caller ID was. She obliged, and scurried out, closing the door behind her.

“Hello?” I sighed, holding the small device to my ear. I still hadn't moved from the middle of my floor.

“Frank? Jesus, where were you today?”

“I’m ill,” I told him. “And I didn't sleep well.”

“Oh. Don’t you know?” His words were hushed.

“Know what?” I questioned. I was suddenly interested in this conversation.

“I swear I didn't tell anyone. I promise on my fucking goldfish. I don’t know how everybody knows.”

“Slow down. What does everybody know?” My voice was panicky and I felt my palms getting sweatier against the cold floor.

“They know.”

“What the fuck do they know?!” I yelled, and I heard my mom drop something downstairs.

“Frank. They fucking know."

Notes