I like to believe there are five general types of people in the world. Good people who do bad things. Bad people who do good things. Good people who do good things and bad people who do bad things. And then there’s bad people who are convinced they’re doing good things. I hope I fit into one of the first to categories.
I think just because you do one bad thing makes you a bad person. In fact doing one bad thing, if you are a good person, makes you want to do more good things to counter act it.
I was sitting in an alley when Ray saw me a month ago. I was just getting used to being homeless. Three days on the streets of “no man’s land”. He asked me if I’m living on the streets again, I said yes. He didn’t ask why or what happened to the whole being in a gang, just offered me a place to live, over the river in New York with him and his roommate. “You can get a job and pay rent as soon as you do, yea?”
Of course I fucking jumped at the idea of somewhere warmer. Ray’s roommate is a used car salesman from New York, Bob Bryar. It is a fucking small world.
So that’s how I end up in another Walmart. Till work, as if I needed more reminding of my past. I’m nearly twenty years of age and have had to completely delete my past from everyone except myself.
“Your total is thirteen fifty five,” I say in a drab voice. The guy’s eyes are wild and his entire bag full of food consists of Oreos. Thirteen fifty five dollars spent on Oreos, the guy is definitely high.
He fumbles around and hands me twenty dollars before stumbling out the door. Next to the till is Ray, after shopping for our dinner tonight. “Quiche for later?” he chirps happily.
“Yea sure,” I’ve been eating a million times better thanks to Ray.
“Also, I was talking to Gerard earlier,” I freeze midscan. “He told me they’re moving across the road. Over here.” I stare down at the Nutella jar I have yet to scan. “I’m just letting you know.”
I nod, forcing myself to scan the remaining items. “That’s forty two thirty,” I mumble.
Quiche is delicious that night. Bob goes out to his brother’s and Ray goes off somewhere too. I really hate being alone. Sometimes when my brain realises it’s alone it begins to tell me the Boss or Stan is around, just watching. Sometimes, worse still, I see Gerard. Just sitting near me, or smiling, or crying, or freaking out.
I sit on the old couch and flick through the channels. I find a zombie movie and sit stiffly as I watch the gore. I hate the way I see his face everywhere. I have no fucking idea what’s real anymore.
That’s why when I hear the doorbell ring I hesitate, not sure if it’s actually ringing. When I finally decide its probably real I’m so shaky and nervous I think that I may throw up on whoever is outside. I look out through the peephole and see Gerard.
I fall against the door murmuring, it’s not him, it couldn’t be him. I’m almost in tears by the time I pluck up the courage to look out again. It’s not Gerard.
“Hello, Mr. Toro?” the delivery guy asks when I answer the door.
“Uh no,” I choke, “he’s not here at the moment…”
“Ah,” he looks crestfallen, “this is his address though, right.” I nod. “Do you live here…” I nod, “Will you sign for him?”
I sign the delivery forms and take in the big FRAGILE box. I don’t know where I should put it. “You can just give it to me,” something behind me says, “I love it when you give it to me.” I freeze. “Don’t be rude Frank,” his voice purrs. Suddenly he’s in front of me. I drop the box on the armchair in front of me. It clinks but I don’t think it breaks.
“Come on Frank,” the boss says grinning yellow teeth. I start to walk backwards shaking my head.
“You’re not real. You’re dead! Fucking dead!” I choke out, still walking backwards.
“I can still hurt you though,” he smiles. I’m pressed back up against the wall now.
“You can’t you’re six feet under the ground miles away!” I punch full force into his jaw.
He topples over and lands in a heap. He then begins sobbing. His head lifts and I see Gerard crying, tears smudging his eyeliner. “Why?” he says. “Why?” he says again, almost wailing. “I’m sorry,” I stutter, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I run from him on the ground and into my bedroom. I lock the door and shove a chair under it. I jump into my bed and wrap my blanket around me, rocking side to side close to suffocation, for about an hour before I either fall asleep or pass out.

“You need to get this checked out,” Ray says after he found me cowering in the bathroom murmuring “I’m so sorry” constantly this morning.
Bob nods and grumbles, “Seriously Frank, this is fucking terrible.”
“Yea, I know. I should get seen to, but with what and for what. I’ve only got five years to go anyway.” They stare at me, mouth open.
“A fortune teller told me I’d be lucky to have a decade,” I say poking my pancake, “When I was fifteen.”
“Frank, you can’t not get help because you believe you’ll be dead in five years!” Ray says incredulously. Bob nods in reinforcement. “That’s insane!”
“Maybe,” I muse. “I’ve never been sane though,” I try to walk away then.
“Frank.”
“Ray.” I walk out the door. I like Ray and Bob, like I really do, but this kind of life is not what I’m made for. The whole average Joe job is killing me and I’ve got too many tattoos to be employed anywhere else. This stupid paranoia isn’t helping either. It would probably be much better to just leave Ray and Bob to live a good normal life, but then again I don’t want to sleep on the streets and starve, again.
I don’t need to in work for four hours so I think I’ll see if I can walk to Central Park. In all my life I’ve never been.
I stand at the cross roads as cars zoom past. Just as they begin to slow I see Shanty. I shake my head, still her. I rub my eyes, still her. I slap myself, still her. “Excuse me ma’am, is that girl over there wearing a purple jumper?” I ask a pregnant woman who just walked up next to me, waiting to cross. I try say it as calmly as I can manage.
“The girl with the blonde hair?” she says in a thick New York accent. I nod. “Yea she is darling’.”
The lights go green and she begins to cross the road. I start walking and I see Shanty’s eyebrows raise. “Frank?” She gasps. I keep walking, “Frank.” She says louder, turning in the middle of the road and jogging back after me. “Fuck, what? We all think your dead!”
“I am dead, Shanty,” I say now safely across the road yet I feel in more danger than being in the centre of New York traffic. “I am dead to MG.”
“What? That doesn’t make sense…” she looks scared. “You know once you join something like MG you’re never safe again. You can’t leave, Frank.” Her voice is urgent and hushed but there’s all traces of how young she is.
“I know. I was in another but my past caught up so…” I smile meekly and walk off as fast as I can without looking suspicious. I don’t look back but I can feel her watch me go.
The park is packed with tourists, teenagers and people high off what I can tell to be mainly pills. I wonder how many have gotten them from one of my former gangs.
One girl approaches me when I’m looking at a sculpture, “You with Venom,” she asks hushed. She’s thin with hollow cheeks and eye sockets. Like a girl who could be conventionally pretty but got way too into heroin.
I shake my head, “But you’re friends with Ryan Seaman? I think I’ve seen you with him.”
“Yea I was,” her words sting.
“Do you know where he’s gone? I can’t find anyone else from Venom and I’m going crazy!” She smiles to soften it but her eyes are wild and her voice harsh.
“He was shot,” my own words stab me. “Yea eh see if you can find this guy,” I show her a picture of Ronnie, “he was also a friend of Ryan’s.”
She nods looking only a little bit shocked at Ryan’s death. I guess someone in a gang getting shot isn’t a big deal. A guy the government never knew existed, ceasing to exist.
I walk out of the park quickly then and take the longer way to work, avoiding anywhere I think I could possibly find people from my past life. A dangerous past, one full of fucking death and hangovers, but a past I am nevertheless itching to get back to.

Notes

I'm beginning to find this fic really hard to write :/ I'm sorry if you could tell.
I had a definite ending at first but now I have two other ideas... One (the original) is possibly better but like impossible to execute. One idea is cheesy and the other is unlikely af but i don't know... Sorry cx ill try decide by the next chapter xD I'm running out of time :L

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