The tile floor had become my favorite view of the world. Through it, I could clearly see the influence of man on the earth, yet I didn't have to see man himself. That was really what I wanted to avoid - human interaction. I figured that I had had enough of it in the past week; I had participated in life a great deal, and it had gotten me nowhere. I was still stuck in the fifth ring of hell in New Jersey.

If all of this mingling with the human race did anything for me, it made my life considerably more confusing and ultimately much much worse. Take, for example, my newly formed friendship with the tile floor of Bellville High School - it was a shitty excuse for companionship, and it made me out to be a sorry sap. I would never admit that I was, in fact, a sad and sorry person, though, and I certainly didn't want the floor to reveal my secret.

This past week I have smoked more cigarettes and drank more alcohol than I normally would have. I'm talking exponential differences here, people. Truth be told, I couldn't get through a day without them, not since Friday night. Granted, it was only Wednesday and the streak hadn't been going on for too long now, but it was still a beginning to a deplorable trend.

If I didn't have some sort of substance eating away at my body, I was liable to be consumed by a vast abyss of anxiety and worry, over nothing in particular. I couldn't sleep without being drunk, I couldn't wake up without a couple of cigarettes, and I couldn't make it through the day without being scared shitless of what was coming next for me.

It was incongruous of me to feel this flood of contradicting emotions, and more so, to pay so much mind to them; however, it was also incongruous of Frank Iero to be playing such a conspicuous part in my life. He was, as far as I could tell, the reason that I was feeling this way, whatever way that was.

I still hadn't figured out what I was so afraid of, but I was afraid. And that was all that there was to it. That was all that there needed to be, for the time being. I wasn't quite prepared to confront my fears anyway, so I guess it worked out nicely.

There was a part of me that wanted to define everything that was happening in and around me - to give it a name and articulate its origin and purpose and destiny. But the other part of me, perhaps the "punk" part of me, didn't want to know anything at all. Either way, I figured I wouldn't get my answer until my mind started complying with heart, which only really happens in works of fictions.

Perhaps I was afraid of Officer Bryar's threat. Perhaps I was afraid of Frank's friends. Perhaps I was afraid of Frank - Lord knows in how many ways. Perhaps I was afraid of Bob. Or perhaps I was afraid of myself.

I was sure that I was terrified of Mr. Burns' English class, and watching the hallway tile give way to the smaller classroom tile nearly sent me into a panic death spin. I desperately wanted to not be afraid anymore, but I figured I would have to know what I was afraid of in order to conquer it. Which leaves me right back where I started.

As soon as I crossed that Wednesday morning threshold I felt some extraneous force pulling my body back across it. The funny thing was that I didn't even fight the person who was pulling me back down the beaten path, I didn't even look to see who it was, I just hung my head and walked backward with them.

It was almost as if I had lost all will to be defiant, and to stand up for myself, because there wasn't much for to to stand up for. I didn't have much substance or worth, and the world knew it, so why should I fight another potential beating? Who was I trying to kid by putting up this punk rock facade? I was sure everyone could see right through it, right through to the scared little pansy that didn't mean too much to the world.

The creaking of the bathroom doors leaked the needed information to me - of course I was going to get beat up, this was Frank and his goons' favorite spot to torment me.

"Listen, Way," Frank said, spilling me around so that I could finally look at him. His bruise, I noticed, looked much worse than it did yesterday. "What happened yesterday morning, didn't happen."

"But - uh - it did." Frank's hazel eyes darkened.

"No it -"

"Look, Frank," I cut him off. I had never actually referred to him by his first name before; it felt soft and personal, and uncomfortable. "I don't have a problem keeping it to myself, but I refuse to pretend, or to let you pretend that it didn't happen."

"Fine. Whatever." Frank set his lips into a thin line, and the gay part of me found it hopelessly attractive. The quarterback and I stared at each other for some time. Things had changed between yesterday's stare down and this one - things had definitely changed. The air was thick, but this time not with my tears or his odd concern. It was thick with something else, something much scarier - too bad I'm not good at discerning what I'm afraid of.

I wanted to know what was happening inside of Frank's mind; to know if he felt the same terrific thickness; however, he cut the contact abruptly and stormed out the door before I could even consider inquiring about the air. I waited a good fifteen seconds before I trailed after him, walking into the English classroom for the second time that morning.

After the bell had chimed, much to everyone's disappointment, Mr. Burns assigned "quiet work". The lanky, young teacher handed out a worksheet packet to everyone except for me, not that I minded, he was probably just being spiteful.

A shadow flooded onto my desk, prompting me to look up and directly into the English major's eyes. Fucking great. I looked at Bob, who gave me a sympathetic shrug, before I followed Burns out of the room just as he had indicated.

"I just want to tell you that it's alright." The elder man began, turning on his heel to face me.

"What's alright?" I was genuinely unsure.

"Everything." Wow, what a helpful dude. He could have been talking about a whole plethora of things, seeing as how so much had been going off track in my life very recently.

"Uhm, thanks." My voice trailed up on the 's' to make it sound more like a question, because I wasn't sure what I was thanking him for exactly. This man, did have me pegged. I could just tell that he understood parts of me that I didn't even know existed.

The conversation left me with a bubbling feeling in my stomach, but at the same time a hint of relief, one that I could definitely feel in my lungs. He understood, therefore he didn't judge, nor did he want to press the matter - whatever it was - any further. And when I returned to my seat a minute or so after he had left me in the dim hallway, there was a warm copy of the worksheet packet sitting neatly amongst my notebook and sketchbook. Mr. Burns wasn't so bad, I guess. But unfortunately I'm not impressed with anyone or anything.

I found it funny that this entire span of six days seemed to consist of this classroom and my own house. The most consequential events seemed to have happened in those two locations, leaving the rest of the places I went slightly blurred around the edges of my memory.

Frank didn't sit in front of me that morning. Frank didn't sneer at me that morning. And Frank didn't talk to his friends that morning. Frank simply sat there, staring at the packet with dead, glass eyes.

Notes

Chapter title - Sink to the Beat by Cursive

Just a warning, this note is going to be really long - I have a lot that I need to say.

First and foremost, thank you all so much for your fantastic comments. I'm sorry that I haven't been replying to them all individually, and I will make sure I start to. You are all so fantastic people and I really do love you. (should have warned you about sentimentality, too). I realize that it may seem stupid how much I care about you all, but it's real for me, because people like you are the reason that I want to write. I want people to like what I do and I want people to understand what I do, and I feel like you all do that to a good extent (I mean, it's frerard). To clarify, writing helps me a lot in numerous ways, so I do it primarily for myself; however, when people enjoy it, it makes me feel just that much better.

You guys are the most inspiring people, and your comments are so gracious and kind. And I certainly don't deserve all of the nice things you say about my writing. The reason I updated so quickly is because you guys are so fucking kind to me. It honestly made me tear up to read your comments.

Thank you, and I love you all very very much.

xoBunny.