It's Not a Fashion Statement
40
“Oh fuck, shit, no… Bert this isn’t Harry, he’s probably having an allergic reaction or something-“
Bert looks over, suddenly aware of the situation and he looks back up at me as we exchange worried expressions. But before either of us could help him out, he’s stopped moving and is lying still on the stained tiles, pale and lifeless.
I urgently move to find a pulse, but there’s nothing. Nothing at all.
I feel my self start to panic and tear up, this can’t be happening… no way did I kill someone…
I run out of the room as fast as possible, tears streaming down my face as I try to get some air to breath. I have to get out of here.
I bolt out of the door and into the dark neighborhood, running as far away from the dreaded house as possible, running far away from any of those people, running far away from the man I just killed.
I run down the empty streets, as fast as my legs can carry me, tears rolling down my face whilst I try to regulate my breathing.
After running for god knows how long, I finally stop, completely out of breath and unable to continue. I look around, trying to figure out where I have ended up. Tall, drooping trees, with long leafless branches hanging around the stumps, are spread all around me. The mixture of mud, old leaves and twigs squelch under my feet, my rundown converse now soaked in rain and mud.
The moonlight filters between the gaps of the spindly branches, creating an illusion of shadows on the wet forest floor.
I lean against a huge tree stump, holding myself up against its thick frame.
I take a long, big breath in, holding it and exhaling slowly, feeling my heart rate slowly decrease, my shaking calming down.
I slide down into the mud, careless to be even remotely bothered about my jeans getting muddy and uncomfortable, they’re already soaking wet anyway, so what does it matter? I tug my body into my knees and rock slowly, in attempt to calm the sobs escaping my lips.
I watch the rain gently patter and drip from the braches above me, whilst out of the protection of the trees, the water teams down onto the concrete slabs like a hailstorm of bullets.
I watch the little drops of rain bounce up after hitting the ground with such force. Anything to distract me from what just happened.
His pale face, his still body after all the struggling… the needles poked into his pale arms and the way he shook, growing desperate for air. I feel my stomach churn, and before I can prepare myself, a warm stinging syrup rises up my throat and I throw up all over the ground beneath me. My throat stings and burns, my mouth dries with the taste of puke.
My eyes sting from the salty tears that fill them, my head pounding like there’s a tiger stuck inside my skull, growling and trying it’s hardest to get out and be free. My brain is muddled up and my thoughts are all tangled together, words and letters mean nothing to me right now.
I bury my head further into my knees, as if I could disappear if I manage to make myself even smaller. I clench my eyes shut, hoping to fall asleep in the deserted forest and never wake up.
-
“Gerard! Wake the fuck up-“
I groan, rolling over onto cold, hard, concrete.
“What the-“
My voice is raspy and thick of sleep.
“Gee, thank god. Let’s get you cleared up.”
I open my eyes, to be met with mikey worriedly staring down on me, close to my face.
“Why am I on the floor?”
“Do you not remember what happened?”
I shrug; I probably just got drunk and took a nap against a tree, too tired to walk the rest of the way home. I push myself up off the ground, groaning as a pain shoots up my back and my stomach growls.
Mikey pulls me up, as I hobble around on my two feet that are completely uncoordinated.
I scratch my shaggy dark hair and yawn, stretching my arms out and receiving a satisfying click.
I start waking down the damp alley, on my way to my little apartment, mikey supporting my weight with his thin arm wrapped around my shoulder.
He reaches into my pocket, retrieving my key then sliding it into the door and turning it. The door opens to my warm house, the smell of fresh washing drifting to my nose. I went straight to the sofa, crashing down into the pillows.
After a good few hours of watching TV, I drift into comfortable sleep.
The next morning I wake with a growling stomach, reminding me to eat. I open the cupboard and to my dismay, the only edible food in is spaghetti, and I really don’t fancy that for breakfast. Time for a trip to the shop, oh joy, I think to myself.
I throw on a new pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt, adding a leather jacket over the top. I grab my money and tell mikey that I’m going out to get food.
I turn the corner, the shop in sight. I walk up closer, and outside is a sign with the latest news on, swinging in the wind.
“Dead body found in abandoned house”
It reads in big black bold font.
I shrug and think nothing of it, is it really something new around this part of town?
I progress into the shop, immediately being hit with warm air as I step through the door. The shop is small and only has a few aisles, but it’s convenient when you just want a few quick things.
I pick up some bread, milk, tomatoes, chicken, just the basics really.
I move to the counter to pay, waiting in line, only to overhear a conversation between two women.
“Did you hear the news?”
“I did, it really is awful. Poor guy, he was only sixteen or so, and to be killed and just left like that? It’s awful.”
They leave the shop and I step to the cashier. I drop my items for the man to scan them for me, glancing at the newspaper propped up on the side.
“The story is shocking, have you heard about it?”
He asks, whilst scanning the milk for me.
I nod briefly, blushing and stuttering as I try to continue with the conversation, though I’m not very good at talking to people, especially when I’m sober.
“You should have a read. Apparently he was found dead on the floor, drugged, the only person there was his boyfriend crying at his side, shaking him. Apparently some wild house party went down, but by the time the police got there most evidence was cleared-“
I nod, intrigued, slowly picking up a copy of the paper and adding it to my bag. The man adds it and bags all my food, as I pay for the cost.
-
When I’m back home, I make a mug of coffee and a bowl of cereal, opening the paper and reading through it, trying to find the news on the boy.
I turn the page to find the huge title like on the sign, along with an image I’ve seen all too clearly before…
The memory of his weak body floods back, causing me to choke on my coffee. I don’t know why, but I something in my brain is telling me this incident is rather familiar.
“Young boy aged 15, Patrick stump found dead after an abandoned house party. Read for more news’
I gasp, Patrick stump! I know mikey is pretty good friends with him and his boyfriend, Pete.
I want to slam the paper shut, burn it and never look at it again, there’s something in the back of my mind telling me I don’t want to read further. But there’s also the other half of my brain intrigued, forcing me to read on.
“Boy found at an abandoned house party, dead due to drug overdose and an allergic reaction to it. It appears to be the boy was forced into it, as his hands are tied behind his back. This was confirmed by close boyfriend, Pete wentz, who said that there is no way young Patrick could have possibly done it to himself, as quoted,
‘Patrick never drank, he wouldn’t even touch the stuff, it goes the same for any kind of drug or medication, especially needles. I know there is no way he did it to himself, and I will find whoever did it, and I will kill them-‘
He was soon cut off, but we can trust this as evidence that this was not self-inflicted, and in fact, a serious murder case. We are currently testing the needles and syringes for fingerprints, but this may not get us anywhere. If anyone knows any information, please send it in.”
Follows is a picture, of Patrick’s body lying limp, cramped up in a small bathroom.
I slam the paper shut, as all the memories flood back, and I mean all the memories.
No… it couldn’t be…
Bert and I are the murderers?
I jolt awake, my breathing heavy and shallow. I am urgently looking around the dark room, scanning my surroundings to confirm to myself it’s just another dream, well flash back.
“Gee, are you okay baby?” little Frankie asks, concerned.
I nod and gulp, pushing my hair out of my face.
He shifts up the sofa, hugging his arms around my waist, slowly stroking my cheek.
“Gee, you know we can talk about anything, right?” he tells me, whilst sympathetically smiling up at me.
“Yeah.” I croak out, cringing because I know I can never tell him about what happened.
He rubs a gentle hand up my leg, whilst leaning his head into the crook of my neck. It feels wrong to have him touch me; he deserves someone so much better.
“Oh gee, let’s get you into bed. You don’t look so well.”
I try to object, but he isn’t having any of it, and insists on pulling me up the stairs and tucking me into bed.
He joins me, after flicking off the light. He wraps his arms around me, nodding his head into my neck and smiling softly as he drifts off into sleep. After all, it is like three am or something.
My eyes are wide open and staring blankly at the ceiling, hundreds of thought whirling through my head. Why had I been able to take my mind of the incident for all these years, why only recently have the nightmares been coming back?
I shake the thoughts, tugging Frankie close to my chest, inhaling his smell. I just love him so much. It’s selfish, I know, he deserves someone so much better than a murderer. But I guess I am selfish, and I can’t just let him go like that, I love him to bits.
I rub my hand up and down his side, gracing over his stitches and travelling up his body, to run a hand through his soft hair. I stare at the wounds on his neck, shivering.
I run down the empty streets, as fast as my legs can carry me, tears rolling down my face whilst I try to regulate my breathing.
After running for god knows how long, I finally stop, completely out of breath and unable to continue. I look around, trying to figure out where I have ended up. Tall, drooping trees, with long leafless branches hanging around the stumps, are spread all around me. The mixture of mud, old leaves and twigs squelch under my feet, my rundown converse now soaked in rain and mud.
The moonlight filters between the gaps of the spindly branches, creating an illusion of shadows on the wet forest floor.
I lean against a huge tree stump, holding myself up against its thick frame.
I take a long, big breath in, holding it and exhaling slowly, feeling my heart rate slowly decrease, my shaking calming down.
I slide down into the mud, careless to be even remotely bothered about my jeans getting muddy and uncomfortable, they’re already soaking wet anyway, so what does it matter? I tug my body into my knees and rock slowly, in attempt to calm the sobs escaping my lips.
I watch the rain gently patter and drip from the braches above me, whilst out of the protection of the trees, the water teams down onto the concrete slabs like a hailstorm of bullets.
I watch the little drops of rain bounce up after hitting the ground with such force. Anything to distract me from what just happened.
His pale face, his still body after all the struggling… the needles poked into his pale arms and the way he shook, growing desperate for air. I feel my stomach churn, and before I can prepare myself, a warm stinging syrup rises up my throat and I throw up all over the ground beneath me. My throat stings and burns, my mouth dries with the taste of puke.
My eyes sting from the salty tears that fill them, my head pounding like there’s a tiger stuck inside my skull, growling and trying it’s hardest to get out and be free. My brain is muddled up and my thoughts are all tangled together, words and letters mean nothing to me right now.
I bury my head further into my knees, as if I could disappear if I manage to make myself even smaller. I clench my eyes shut, hoping to fall asleep in the deserted forest and never wake up.
-
“Gerard! Wake the fuck up-“
I groan, rolling over onto cold, hard, concrete.
“What the-“
My voice is raspy and thick of sleep.
“Gee, thank god. Let’s get you cleared up.”
I open my eyes, to be met with mikey worriedly staring down on me, close to my face.
“Why am I on the floor?”
“Do you not remember what happened?”
I shrug; I probably just got drunk and took a nap against a tree, too tired to walk the rest of the way home. I push myself up off the ground, groaning as a pain shoots up my back and my stomach growls.
Mikey pulls me up, as I hobble around on my two feet that are completely uncoordinated.
I scratch my shaggy dark hair and yawn, stretching my arms out and receiving a satisfying click.
I start waking down the damp alley, on my way to my little apartment, mikey supporting my weight with his thin arm wrapped around my shoulder.
He reaches into my pocket, retrieving my key then sliding it into the door and turning it. The door opens to my warm house, the smell of fresh washing drifting to my nose. I went straight to the sofa, crashing down into the pillows.
After a good few hours of watching TV, I drift into comfortable sleep.
The next morning I wake with a growling stomach, reminding me to eat. I open the cupboard and to my dismay, the only edible food in is spaghetti, and I really don’t fancy that for breakfast. Time for a trip to the shop, oh joy, I think to myself.
I throw on a new pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt, adding a leather jacket over the top. I grab my money and tell mikey that I’m going out to get food.
I turn the corner, the shop in sight. I walk up closer, and outside is a sign with the latest news on, swinging in the wind.
“Dead body found in abandoned house”
It reads in big black bold font.
I shrug and think nothing of it, is it really something new around this part of town?
I progress into the shop, immediately being hit with warm air as I step through the door. The shop is small and only has a few aisles, but it’s convenient when you just want a few quick things.
I pick up some bread, milk, tomatoes, chicken, just the basics really.
I move to the counter to pay, waiting in line, only to overhear a conversation between two women.
“Did you hear the news?”
“I did, it really is awful. Poor guy, he was only sixteen or so, and to be killed and just left like that? It’s awful.”
They leave the shop and I step to the cashier. I drop my items for the man to scan them for me, glancing at the newspaper propped up on the side.
“The story is shocking, have you heard about it?”
He asks, whilst scanning the milk for me.
I nod briefly, blushing and stuttering as I try to continue with the conversation, though I’m not very good at talking to people, especially when I’m sober.
“You should have a read. Apparently he was found dead on the floor, drugged, the only person there was his boyfriend crying at his side, shaking him. Apparently some wild house party went down, but by the time the police got there most evidence was cleared-“
I nod, intrigued, slowly picking up a copy of the paper and adding it to my bag. The man adds it and bags all my food, as I pay for the cost.
-
When I’m back home, I make a mug of coffee and a bowl of cereal, opening the paper and reading through it, trying to find the news on the boy.
I turn the page to find the huge title like on the sign, along with an image I’ve seen all too clearly before…
The memory of his weak body floods back, causing me to choke on my coffee. I don’t know why, but I something in my brain is telling me this incident is rather familiar.
“Young boy aged 15, Patrick stump found dead after an abandoned house party. Read for more news’
I gasp, Patrick stump! I know mikey is pretty good friends with him and his boyfriend, Pete.
I want to slam the paper shut, burn it and never look at it again, there’s something in the back of my mind telling me I don’t want to read further. But there’s also the other half of my brain intrigued, forcing me to read on.
“Boy found at an abandoned house party, dead due to drug overdose and an allergic reaction to it. It appears to be the boy was forced into it, as his hands are tied behind his back. This was confirmed by close boyfriend, Pete wentz, who said that there is no way young Patrick could have possibly done it to himself, as quoted,
‘Patrick never drank, he wouldn’t even touch the stuff, it goes the same for any kind of drug or medication, especially needles. I know there is no way he did it to himself, and I will find whoever did it, and I will kill them-‘
He was soon cut off, but we can trust this as evidence that this was not self-inflicted, and in fact, a serious murder case. We are currently testing the needles and syringes for fingerprints, but this may not get us anywhere. If anyone knows any information, please send it in.”
Follows is a picture, of Patrick’s body lying limp, cramped up in a small bathroom.
I slam the paper shut, as all the memories flood back, and I mean all the memories.
No… it couldn’t be…
Bert and I are the murderers?
I jolt awake, my breathing heavy and shallow. I am urgently looking around the dark room, scanning my surroundings to confirm to myself it’s just another dream, well flash back.
“Gee, are you okay baby?” little Frankie asks, concerned.
I nod and gulp, pushing my hair out of my face.
He shifts up the sofa, hugging his arms around my waist, slowly stroking my cheek.
“Gee, you know we can talk about anything, right?” he tells me, whilst sympathetically smiling up at me.
“Yeah.” I croak out, cringing because I know I can never tell him about what happened.
He rubs a gentle hand up my leg, whilst leaning his head into the crook of my neck. It feels wrong to have him touch me; he deserves someone so much better.
“Oh gee, let’s get you into bed. You don’t look so well.”
I try to object, but he isn’t having any of it, and insists on pulling me up the stairs and tucking me into bed.
He joins me, after flicking off the light. He wraps his arms around me, nodding his head into my neck and smiling softly as he drifts off into sleep. After all, it is like three am or something.
My eyes are wide open and staring blankly at the ceiling, hundreds of thought whirling through my head. Why had I been able to take my mind of the incident for all these years, why only recently have the nightmares been coming back?
I shake the thoughts, tugging Frankie close to my chest, inhaling his smell. I just love him so much. It’s selfish, I know, he deserves someone so much better than a murderer. But I guess I am selfish, and I can’t just let him go like that, I love him to bits.
I rub my hand up and down his side, gracing over his stitches and travelling up his body, to run a hand through his soft hair. I stare at the wounds on his neck, shivering.
Notes
"lol she's actually still alive?"
"sHe pOsTs?????!!?!?11?2?!"
"no way wtf"
yeah sorry it's been a long timeeeee
i was in paris so soz. i probably should've said, u guys started msging me asking if i was okay. which, i was. but anywho, i have returned holla
AND OVER 110 VOTES???!?!?!!?!?
I FLIPPED MY SHIT SO HARD IT GOT STUCK ON THE CEILING
I LOVE YOU GUYS A LOT
Literally a classic
5/8/19