The Kiss of Vanity Blessed Me With A Spiritual Murder

When Gerard comes over, he has to open the front door for himself. The rest of Ryan's family have fucked off to his aunt’s place or something like that, and Ryan texted him that he would find him in the bathtub.

The Ross’ house is a red-roofed bungalow with small windows; its giant flower garden grows climbing plants across white walls and twirls ivy around the front porch fence. It's off-white and it looks like stone, but it's warmer than that when Gerard holds onto it whilst climbing the steps. The front door is wooden with stained glass ornaments, and Gerard can't say it doesn't feel good to grab its knob.

When he calls Ryan’s name out through the dark hallway, the response is immediate. Ryan's voice is quiet, but still loud enough for Gerard to hear from the other side of the house.

The bathroom is pretty, clad in pale blue wallpaper with crown molding in antique gold; it looks a bit angelic. The window is closed but the sill is not, and the faint light is illuminating the left side of Ryan's face and neck. It looks like a dream, or a fairy tale- a complete opposite of the watered down red gliding across Ryan's back and into the blurry water.

“It didn't feel like a dream,” is the first thing Ryan says. “I guess it wasn’t one, either.”

He looks strangely calm. He's staring into his knees, arms hugging around them almost naturally. He's never really seen Ryan as small until now. (Maybe that has something to do with the fact he is about ten feet taller than Gerard.) People’s size sometimes has more to do with the amount of energy they emit than their actual height: Ryan looks morose, weighed down and more than exhausted.

His knees are blue, fingernails light as they grasp onto his own forearms, leaving crescent marks in the soft-looking skin. All he offers Gerard as a sign that he’s acknowledged his entrance is a twitch of the elbow, stiff and forced. Gerard gets the urge to scratch his wrist.

He takes his jacket off, hanging it on the towel rack, his navy blue shirt fitting in the color palette of the room. He grabs the washcloth and runs it over Ryan’s back, carefully, washing the blood away as the boy winces.

“You can totally smoke in here.” His voice sounds like he hasn't used it in days, rusty and rough at the edges where it got torn while he was forcing his words out. It's so endlessly un-Ryan to talk like that: like all the flowers in the world have withered to dust. “Jam does it all the time. My folks don't give a shit.”

Ryan tells him about the dream, about the way he was chased and tied to a chair, the black room, the eyes- “Eyes that might as well be sunsets, Gerard,” he said, despair dark and strong in his voice. It’s a dream Gerard knows better than anything, the one that’s been haunting him since the first night he spent here, in Redwood. It’s the one that continues, the one that doesn’t let him rest, the one that causes the purple beneath his eyes- but he doesn’t tell that to Ryan.
Gerard is immediately aware of the fact he should keep his distance. He isn’t stupid- all of this happening to Ryan of all people cannot be a coincidence. He knows it's not Ryan’s pain to endure, it’s what makes it so tragic in the first place- the boy that would rather set himself on fire than hurt a fly doesn't deserve this kind of torture. The only connection with the situation is the one Gerard is too selfish to eliminate: Gerard, himself.

At first, he thought they were only nightmares, but no two people can have a nightmare of the same creature that Gerard never thought could exist outside of his own head. It’s just incredibly unlikely, given the fact Gerard’s interests aren't entirely ones of your average teenager. It’s the perfect villain, the monster that makes you fall for its eyes and then tears you to shreds without even showing you the rest of its being. Eyes like sunsets are definitely not something out of the ‘Texas Chainsaw Massacre’, and that’s the only horror movie Ryan has ever watched. It's something Gerard looks for when he opens a horror novel, it's the level of eeriness that used to be so strangely comforting inside a paperback cover.

Too bad nobody told him it's not as comforting outside of it.

*

They’re sitting on Ryan’s couch when Gerard hears it.

They aren't paying attention to the TV, it’s only on to diffuse the thick, sticky silence that's making it hard to breathe. Gerard knows he should keep his distance but he doesn't have it in him to push Ryan away as he leans into his side. His curls smell like vanilla and bad dreams, and he's warm despite the fact he's probably cold inside. It's only then that Gerard realizes how thin Ryan actually is, and how fragile the bone sticking into Gerard’s arm feels. He’s soft regardless and his weight is welcome even though Gerard is one of those people who care about personal space way too much. Ryan looks like he needs it and Gerard would never forgive himself if he screwed up and made it awkward now. Ryan feels small and bitter like antique cups of black coffee on winter mornings, in an oversized Redwood Ghouls jersey and thoughts that probably weigh more than his body does.

“... another report involving the ‘Redwood Industrial Accident’. The incident happened in the earlier hours of the morning on a farm two miles up north from the actual town. The farmer stated that he heard loud banging from the stables, followed by obscene animal screeches. Thinking it was a wolf, he reached the stables only to find all of his cattle ripped into shreds. He was about to search for the beast, but then noticed that there were no animal footprints left in the blood on the floor- the only footprints visible belonged to a human. The farmer also says that the entire area was covered in thick oil tar and that he followed it all the way into the Redwood forest where he lost the trace. The animal control report states that there were no unusual wild animal sightings in the area. It is still unsure how the investigation will unfold, since the officials say that they do not know what to look for in case proceedings.”

Ryan’s eyes look comically wide and bloodshot when Gerard dares to unglue his own from the TV and look at him. “Gerard.”

Every inch of Gerard’s skin is tingling, the hair at the back of his neck risen and itching. His spine is painfully stiff all of a sudden. He gulps down the breath he's been holding. His chest is tight and it hurts, but when Ryan pushes his face into it, the ache is even worse. Gerard runs his fingers over Ryan’s back without thought, still shocked, but he regrets it when the boy shudders in pain. His shakes are like daggers against Gerard, his breathing rapid and anxious on his shirt. “I’m so scared, Gerard.”

It shoots through him, the sound of Ryan’s voice, straight to the nerves because this isn't the first time he's held a skinny, scared boy in his arms like this. Only the other boy is gone, and there is nothing in this world Gerard wants more than to prevent Ryan from living the same fate.
“It’s okay,” Gerard says into his hair. “You’ll be okay.”

He has a feeling Ryan trusts his words as little as he does.

*

An illusion of perfect calm falls upon the town.

It seems as if nobody cares enough to speak about whatever it is that's been going on, but the way people look around when nobody's watching suggests that the fear of the unknown still lies somewhere within their minds. There is nothing more human about people than ignoring a threat until it is directed at them personally- that’s just the way it is. It’s not like Gerard can blame them for something as usual as choosing their battles.

In fact, he finds himself mid-pretend sometimes, too, as if he is left unaffected by the world around him even though he knows better than anyone that it’s what keeps him up at night. It’s like a scent of dread that won’t leave his pillowcase, nor the gasoline stains on the sidewalk downtown that remind him of something else way too much.

Blood is thicker than water, they say- Gerard can confirm when he sees the familiar bags under his mother’s eyes, the same ones that look at him in shades of chocolate and timeless gray through an eternal veil of concern. It’s every day that he has to confirm that he still eats, sleeps, breathes, exists; it's through clouds of Marlboro fumes over the breakfast table, two slices of flavorless toast on hand- but he understands. She has a way of living through the dark times just as he does. (He doesn’t like thinking about why Mikey never seemed to have done the same.)

The leaves have long disappeared from the branches, the smell of fog and chill is the only companion Gerard has on his way to school every morning. There is no breeze at 8 AM and his black coat is so long it might as well be hiding secrets inside its pockets, but Ryan always says it makes him look like the hottest serial killer he’s ever seen. It's hard to picture someone so bright like Ryan surrounded by winter, but even his words are starting to sound frosty at the edges when he speaks. He isn't broken, but he sure is bent- Gerard can tell by the red in his eyes and the shadow underneath them. He and Jamia pretend that they don't notice the way he is starting to skip school more often than usual. Perhaps it's easier to deal with petrifying if you're all alone. Gerard would know, anyway.

It's times like those when Frank comes into his mind. Uninvited, undoubtedly, but there is nothing he can do to stop it. He is the most peculiar and terrifying person Gerard has ever met and yet there's nothing he’s tried to do to move away from him. Frank’s done that for him, hasn’t he, he reminds himself bitterly, washing away the unpleasant taste in his mouth with another cigarette. Maybe Frank is the reason he smokes so much these days, maybe it’s the only reminder he was real and there and not just some weird dream Gerard had on a bad, particularly lonely and pathetic night.

He doesn't really allow himself to think about the kiss. He can't afford to lose himself in a fantasy more than he already has. He has a hard time deciphering his own fears from reality as it is, could've beens and should've beens aren't exactly the types of thoughts that can keep him present and grounded.

Intimacy was never a language Gerard knew how to speak, let alone romance or fairy tales and blushing at the sight of cryptic smiles and butterfly lips. It was always so far away, something that didn’t involve him and in his head, never would. He has never given it that much thought, either, he was always too surrounded by his own little world of sci-fi and angry music and all other things that make reality disappear for a while. He isn't sad, he refuses to say he feels anything at all. It's just that foreign languages were never his thing, but this one he was prepared to learn.

Too bad it has started feeling like he might not have to.

*

It’s a rainy day in early December when Gerard goes grocery shopping with Jamia.
“Jesus Christ,” she sighs, ruffling her hair and picking up a shopping basket from the stack. “Is there such a thing as white Christmas? I hate it when it rains on Christmas. And it always fucking rains on Christmas.”

Gerard laughs, folding his coat over his forearm. He isn't a very festive person, in all honesty, but he cannot say he is immune to the general joy of the season. There is just something about Christmas, the lights and the smells- it makes even Redwood feel alive and breathing despite all the rain. Maybe it's exactly that- perhaps it has something to do with the illusion of purity rain always carries with it wherever it goes. Gerard could use a fresh start or two.

“I've never had a white Christmas before either,” he says, eyeing the paper slip with the shopping list that's hanging from her hand. “Guess it's just a fantasy, really. I'm pretty sure it's not even as amazing as people make it out to be. All that comes to mind when I think about it are soggy, icy clothes and having to shovel that shit out of the driveway every day until I go fucking insane. Besides, it’s a real bitch when there’s ice on the roads.”

Jamia looks at him through her lashes. “Did anyone ever tell you that you're a buzzkill?” Gerard snorts. “No, really, you know that person at the back of the movie theater that figures out the ending of the cartoon mid-movie and spoils it for everyone, making literally every kid there cry? That's you.”

“Jeez, will you stop with the flattering?” Gerard says through an eyeroll. “And for the record, I hate movie theaters. The popcorn is so overpriced and I always somehow get the worst seats.”

“Ha, loser, you need a better strategy,” she says whilst dumping a bag of gingerbread cookies in the basket. She tilts her head to the side for a second. “ Or should I get these in chocolate? Nah, I'll just take both.” She dumps the other bag in there as well, dismissing her digression. “Anyway, last time we went I wore fishnets. Got the best seats in the entire theater.”

Gerard laughs, walking in front of her towards another aisle. “Yeah, alright, I might try that out next time.”

Grocery shopping is one of those mundane things that make you feel good for no real reason. There's something endlessly calming about walking around aisles of random stuff and bathing in the shitty fluorescent lighting: it's a consumerist delight that makes Gerard abandon all thoughts of blood, oil tar and monsters that are constantly spinning around in his head, even if just for half an hour.

Jamia seems to be the town’s golden child, though, every old lady they run into spends at least ten minutes chatting her up. If anything, it’s interesting (and very peculiar) to hear her keep a conversation going without swearing like a sailor. As expected: in the end, Gerard is the one that goes through her mother's list on his own.

The one lady that catches Gerard’s attention is a white-haired woman with huge hazel eyes and soft freckles spread around her wrinkled cheeks. She's carrying a rose gold umbrella and a dark purple cane, dressed in all black and velvet. She smells like musk and lavender when she approaches Jamia, like pricy perfume and homemade shampoo. Her voice is soft, a little gritty, as if she's smoked thousands of cigarettes in her lifetime. (She probably has, if the three packs of reds she bought are anything to go by.) There is something extremely familiar about the way she smiles, but Gerard knows he's never seen her before- something tells him he would remember the encounter if it happened.

“It's wonderful to see you, Jamia! How’s your mother? I have some new books I need to show you, I found them up in the attic. You should come over tomorrow,” she says in that gritty voice, running her fingers through her hair. There is a chunky silver ring on her index finger, the milky pink stone shining almost naturally through the soft strands. It's surreal to see the colors blend like that in such awful lighting. “Who is your friend?”
She is the only person that hadn't asked if he was her boyfriend alongside a suggestive smirk. Gerard appreciates it more than he thought he would.

“Oh, this is Gerard, he's newish in town. Gee, this is Ms. May, she babysat me my entire childhood.”

Gerard pulls his sleeve down before he shakes her hand. He hates it when people look at his scratches. “You're nervous, aren't you?” His face is red by the time he realizes his sleeve pulled up again, but even if she notices, she doesn't mention it. Her smile is small, but reassuring when he looks at her face again. “I know a great herb concoction. Shoos anxiety away like a charm. You should come along with Jamia tomorrow.”

With that, she's gone down the aisle. He's flabbergasted to say the least, but before he says anything, he gets a pointed stare from Jamia. “Huh. She's usually not that straightforward.”

He pulls a face. “Uh… maybe she just sensed what a nutjob I am.”

Jamia smiles. “It takes one to know one, that's for sure.” She strolls towards the checkout line. “Besides, I’m pretty sure she's a witch. Being the only cool slash occult goth lady in town earns you a bad rep around here. Kids were afraid of me because I liked her.”

“Are you sure that it was the only reason?”

That earns Gerard an elbow in the ribs.

*

The reason Gerard’s never encountered Ms. May’s home is because it's settled on the outer edge of town.

It’s practically in the forest- two giant oaks on each side of the tall, thin house. The church and the cemetery are about three minutes away from it, but other than that, Ms. May seems to have no neighbors at all. It explains why Gerard’s never seen her before, as well.

The house itself is all dark stone and black pointed arch windows, the roof sharp with a round chimney. The front door is massive and filled with little arabesque-like carvings, and when they ring the bell- Gerard swears he can hear crows cawing from somewhere.

Ms. May serves Gerard the tea she promised him in the dimly lit living room. It’s in an antique silver cup with purple flowers that match the violet of the dark velvet curtains. It’s strange, it tastes like cinnamon, and a little bit like chamomile- but other than that, he can't identify the flavor. Ms. May tells Jamia to go upstairs to her study and fetch the books she's prepared for her- a cat as white as moonlight enters the living room as Jamia leaves it.

A snow-white cat dances around Gerard’s legs as Ms. May talks about the weather and tea. Gerard strokes the fur on its neck with his thumb and smiles slightly when the cat purrs.

“You like cats,” it doesn't sound like a question, but it probably wasn't meant to, either. The cat climbs into Gerard’s lap and it takes him by surprise, but he recovers as swiftly as it came. “His name is Onegin, and he's a real bitch, to be honest.”

“Onegin?” It's a bit ridiculous, even he has to admit.

“He goes by ‘Eugene’, too,” she says with a wink. Gerard can't help but to laugh at that. “My husband never understood my love for romanticism, so that's how we compromised.”

“Besides,” she continues, “he's a strange cat, I like to think. Even the most hard-shelled of dog people fall for his charm.”

“Your husband, I presume?” Gerard asks, watching Eugene try to find a comfortable position on his thighs. He has dark gray eyes and a black dot on the side of each tear duct, making him look ever-curious, and just a little bit sad.

“No, my nephew, actually,” she says, putting a pair of black, heavily-rimmed glasses on. “Anyways, you're wearing a Bauhaus t-shirt. This means you'll definitely want to know about that time I made out with Peter Murphy, no?”

Gerard almost spits out the last sip of his tea. Eugene is probably scared by the motion, so he jumps off him and disappears somewhere behind the couch. Ms. May looks really pleased with herself.

But then again- so would Gerard if he had the chance to make out with Peter Murphy.

*

Gerard and Jamia leave with a lot of books and a box of tea in Gerard’s deep coat pocket.
It's already been dark out for quite some time when they're sitting on the floor of Gerard’s room. He's got an ashtray now and his lighter still doesn't work properly, even though it's a different one. “We've been kind of ignoring the elephant in the room lately, haven't we?”

Gerard breathes in a large gulp of air. “My life is one big elephant in the room.”

“Poetic,” she snorts. “I was talking about Ryan.”

“He's just having a hard time,” Gerard lies through his teeth. He hates himself for doing it, but he's promised Ryan he’d stay silent for as long as he needs him to. “I know where you're coming from. I'm worried, too.”

Gerard feels as if everything he's saying is just following the manual, rattling the same sentences over and over again until some deity decides to have mercy on him and make them true. Perhaps it would work if he were a little more genuinely optimistic, and not just downright hopeless- but that doesn't even matter, does it? The world works in ridiculous ways and Gerard has long-abandoned the notion that his attitude can make anything better. It's what Mikey’s death has taught him and Ryan's issues are there to confirm it. Nobody has mercy towards the miserable other than nuns and nurses and Gerard doesn't trust either of those. He doesn't need redemption or Prozac- he needs answers.

He just needs to find someone who knows them before it's too late.

Notes

it's been a while. sorry about that. i hope y'all are doing well.