A Kiss and I Will Surrender

20

New Years Eve. A chance for new beginnings and change. I woke up and was ready to conquer the day.

"Well you look happy today," My mom grinned as I walked into the kitchen, "Did I miss something, Sunshine?"

"Nope, just ready for the year to be over," I sat down on the couch, an apple I had grabbed from the counter in my hand.

"Good morning, Mark," I smiled as he walked into the living room. He had stayed over a few times before, but this was the first time I had even acknowledged his existence in a positive manner.

"Good morning to you too," I knew my mom was celebrating the fact that I was being nice to Mark. She'd been waiting almost two weeks for it to happen. After our conversation last night, I knew that I had just been immature for being a dick to him. I had even managed to apologize to him during our chat. (Also brownie points because he's bi!)

"What's the plan for today?" I asked, turning around and sitting backwards on the couch so I was facing them.

"Umm... If it's alright with you, Mark and I were talking about maybe going to his sister's house later to watch the ball drop. He says they're having a potluck, and she throws great parties," She looked from me to Mark hopefully. She was expecting a no from me, I know she was, but instead of saying no, I pretended to think about it for a minute and then nodded.

"Yeah, sure. I don't have any other plans, sounds fun," she let out a victorious squeal and pulled Mark into a tight hug. He spun her around and I mockingly gagged, straight people... or... well-- Okay I guess just ew PDA in general.

We spent the rest of the day cooking up some food for Mark's sister's New Year's Eve party. It was genuinely fun. We listened to music and danced around in the kitchen while we cooked. We even listened to a few of Mark's songs from his band days; they were pretty good. The best part about it was that it distracted me from thinking about Gerard at all throughout the day. If Mark hadn't given me that pep talk, I would honestly be sitting in my room downing a gallon of ice cream and blasting Metallica.

I think my mom wouldn't have liked that option as much as this one. She was beaming, she loved- what she called 'family time' and honestly, we hadn't had much of that lately. Then again, it had just been the two of us until Mark came into the picture. And up until now I wanted to cut him out.

--

Gerard's POV:

I felt bad, I really did. It wasn't because of the sex, it wasn't because of the fact that he was a virgin, it wasn't anything that he could control; it was the realization that he was a kid. Anyone else would have ended it sooner, right? But I let it go on too long and I feared that if I didn't end it right then I wouldn't have been able to. I was already in way over my head, and I couldn't lead him on anymore.

I drove home in silence, I was sad, but I would get over it. It's not like it really was anything, just another guy I made out with. It wasn't even sex, so doesn't that mean that it's even less of anything?

"What took you so long? Frank doesn't live that far," Mikey greeted me with a ton of questions that I didn't want to answer.

"I had some errands to run," then I pushed past him and went straight to my room. I was a disaster.

"Gee, what the hell is wrong with you?" He barged into my room.

"I'm painting, go away," I rolled my eyes and pulled a blank canvas from behind something.

"Gee," I slammed my hand against the desk, resulting in a loud bang.

"I said get out," I was pissed, I was sad, I was sick. I needed to be alone, I needed to think. Mikey left me with that, closing the door behind him. My room was dimly lit by a lamp beside my desk; there was a ceiling light that was much brighter, but I preferred to paint in the dark.

I grabbed hold of a paintbrush from inside the desk drawer and dipped it in the glob of paint I had squeezed onto my palette. It was red, I dragged the brush harshly across the canvas, adding lines and shapes in every direction. I squeezed another tube of paint and continued to paint. Red and black. It was a portrait, no one in particular; just a face from inside my head. I pressed down on the brush a bit too harshly and it snapped.

"Ugh!" I shouted in frustration, I couldn't take this anymore. I dropped the broken paint brush to the ground and stood up. I looked at the portrait and cursed my hands for creating the image they did; it reminded me of Frank, too much for my liking. I took the canvas out to the backyard and produced a lighter from my pocket, shielding it  from the wind and igniting the canvas.

Yeah it was probably the least rational thing I could have done— and the most dramatic— but it made me feel a bit better; watching my disaster-piece burn. Someone might've thought that I was symbolically burning Frank, but hurting him was the last thing I wanted. I hated myself for doing what I did, but I knew that there was no way around it.

"Gerard?" Mikey came up behind me, "What the fuck is going on?" He sounded genuinely concerned now.

"I'm a fuck up, I can't paint anymore," I dropped the ignited canvas to the dirt and watched it shrivel up into ash. The fire danced across the still wet paint and crackled against the wooden frame of the canvas.

"Does this have anything to do with Frank," This was Frank. Everything had to do with Frank. He haunted my thoughts, he swam through my dreams, he was in everything I touched and felt. I hated myself so much for it. He had ruined me, made me feel things I didn't know were possible, he was different and I threw him away like a bad one night stand.

It was the stages of grief, I realized; I denied that there was anything between us at first, then I was just pissed. I wouldn't go to the next step, bargaining, I ended it for a reason and I would never look back.

"No," I mumbled, Mikey of all people couldn't know.

"Well then tell me what the fuck it is?" Now he sounded kind of annoyed.

"My roommate," I lied. I was a good liar, "He just.. he got himself into some trouble and it's really fucking stressing me out."

"Clearly," He eyeballed the glittering embers where the canvas once stood.

"What did he do?"

"Something... Um... to do with drugs," Mikey's eyes went wide, "I didn't have anything to do with it, but it was something bad... The police are involved and they're gonna um, search our dorm," I was pretty good at improvisation and believably lying. At least, based on prior experiences.

"Wow, that's... that's a lot," Mikey was a good kid, he was the smart one, the straight one, the not-fucked-in-the-head one, the one who didn't even know the difference between a blunt and a joint.

"Was that where you were? Dealing with whatever is.. um... happening?" I nodded, stepping on the leftover sparks in the dirt to put them out. I'd clean up the scorched pieces left behind later.

"It's fine, I just..."

"I get it, the instinctual primal urge to destroy something, yeah, I'd probably do the same thing," Oh Mikey, poor, innocent Mikey. I just prayed that Frank kept this whole situation a secret too. I didn't see why he wouldn't, but it was still a thought that kept pushing forward from the back of my mind. I was a garbage human being, and I'd ruined something that so good that it hurt, but it was what I had to do. That's what I kept telling myself.

--

When I'm writing like... angry scenes and shit I like lowkey start feeling angry, its weird lmao. Anyone else do that? Feel an emotion while writing about it?