He's Not Dead He Only Looks That Way

By fifth period of the next day, Frank’s doubting whether or not he can wait until Friday to end the tormenting. It’s not even lunch and already he has been pushed to the point of tears.
When he gets to lunch with swollen, dry eyes, it’s obvious for anyone to tell he’s upset. Upon sitting down, he’s asked by Gerard, “Frank, what’s the matter?”
“What do you think?” Frank grumbles, lowering his backpack to the floor. “Different guys today, though. Have to appreciate a change of scenery.”
Gerard clicks his tongue, mumbling, “Friday better come soon.”
Frank groans, complaining, “I’m tired of being picked on. I want to go home.”
“I don’t understand why you’re getting the worse end of all this,” Gerard admits. “No one’s laid a finger on me today.”
“It’s because you’re bigger,” Frank replies flatly. “And stronger. They know better.”
“Just get through today, alright?” Gerard advises. “Friday will be here sooner than you think.”
“I hardly doubt that, but I appreciate the effort,” Frank mutters. He lays his head on the lunch table, too unsettled to eat. Gerard rubs his back throughout the period, failing to notice a table of boys staring daggers into Frank’s back.
In the parking lot after school is when things get bad. Frank’s walking to Gerard’s car, making a beeline for the vehicle with his head down, determined to avoid everybody. Unfortunately for him, a group of boys from the grade above him emerge from behind a nearby vehicle, stepping in front of him and stopping him in his tracks.
The parking lot is congested with children, many who stop to observe the scene. A boy with dark eyes leans on the hood of his car, lighting a cigarette. A girl squints into the afternoon sun, and two teens duck behind a pine tree to make out. Frank fails to notice these little details; he’s too worried about the big picture, the fact that these boys are about to beat the snot out of him.
“Hey, faggot,” one of them spits. Frank hardly even knows the kid, and it hits him how much people have really been talking behind his back.
Frank tries to make a run for it and is tackled, bringing him to the gravel. He’s pinned on his belly, and instantly, his mind goes back to that awful first day of school.
He feels a hand by his waistband, and he knows exactly what’s coming next as he’s grabbed by the underwear, which is tugged up his back.
The moment seems to go in slow motion. Frank can hear a boy off to the side protest, “Guys, no!” Another agrees, “He’s a little kid, leave him alone.” This doesn’t stop the bullies, who proceed to laugh and pull until there’s a tear in Frank’s boxers.
“Hey, dickheads!”
Frank turns to see who had said it to have his head slammed against the ground. Again, he knows precisely what’s going on, despite his limited view.
“Get the fuck away from him,” Gerard growls. “I swear to god I’ll tear you limb from limb.”
“You talk a lot of shit, Way,” one of the boys scoff. “Ten bucks says you won’t do shit.”
“I don’t have any money on me,” Gerard spits. “I guess I’m going to have to win, then.” With that, he punches one of the kids square in the jaw, dropping him like a rock. Two of the teens proceed to advance on Gerard, one getting kicked in the crotch and the other being shoved back onto his ass. Gerard delivers a kick to his chest, sending him on his back. Finally, Frank is released, as his attacker moves towards Gerard, decking him in the eye.
Gerard is the one to fall this time, hands clasped over his eye. He begins to cry; Frank can hear his stifling sobs. Frank’s getting up as he sees the teens swarm around Gerard, all kicking him. Frank stands conflicted, unsure of what to do. He wouldn’t be much help even if he tried, but he can’t just stand there and watch.
Clenching his fists, he flings himself at one of the teens, bringing him to the ground, possibly landing on Gerard; Frank doesn’t know; he can’t pay attention. All he sees is white, and the only audio is the dull thudding sound of his knuckles meeting bone.
It’s not long before he comes to, remembers where and who he is. He now realizes that he’d forgotten those things in the first place. Looking up, he sees the three boys, their jaws agape in horror. Looking down, Frank sees that he’s straddling one of his aggressors, who’s been beaten bloody and unconscious. Gazing at his own blood spattered fists; Frank puts two and two together.
Standing solemnly, he helps Gerard to his feet, walking swiftly to the car, his arm wrapped around Gerard.
“Frank,” Gerard sniffles. He wipes his eyes on his sleeve, and then looks at Frank, asking, “What the fuck was that?”
Frank shrugs, admitting, “I can’t really remember what happened.”
Gerard furrows his brows, hopping into the drivers’ seat. “It was kinda scary, you know. Your eyes got all dark and you were just banging his head against the ground. You were swearing the whole time, too.”
“Are you serious? What’d I say?”
Gerard shrugs. “ ‘Fucking cunt, fucking die.’ Something like that. You were pretty repetitive.”
“Jesus Christ,” Frank exhales. “I could use a cigarette right now.”
Gerard, withdrawing a pack from his pocket, asks, “Are you sure? You know what with your respiratory problems and all-”
“I’m fine,” Frank snaps. “Just give me a fucking cigarette.”
Hurt, Gerard pouts, handing his boyfriend a cigarette nonetheless. He lights it for him, and Frank apologizes, “I’m sorry, just… tensions are running high, you know? I’m not mad at you, I’m not.”
“Friday’s two days away,” Gerard reminds. “Just two more days, alright?”
Frank nods, contemplating, how he’s supposed to get there in one piece.

Notes

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