murderer - frerard

[021]

Two more days passed while Gerard stayed with me, and my mom actually started cooking for us both. I didn't tell her he was the one who'd stabbed and stitched me up; she took care of my slowly healing wound, making sure it was clean and closing up properly.

It was about four days later when she finally declared the stitches were ready to be taken out. Gerard sat next to me in the kitchen, allowing me to clutch his hand — quite cripplingly, I might add — as my mom snipped the knots and pinched the sutures between her fingers, pulling ever so slowly, working them out of my flesh.

And fuck, I could have screamed — the pain was absolutely unbearable, but I didn't want to look weak in front of Gerard, who was watching intently, so I managed to keep in the bloodcurdling screeches building up in my gut as Mom carefully picked out every last thread from my skin.

Gerard had been whispering softly in my ear the entire time, but I didn't hear him over the pounding in my ears and my mother telling me to stay calm. As I've previously stated, having stitches isn't supposed to be a painful experience unless something goes wrong, which something obviously had. I know Gerard wasn't a fucking surgeon, but I felt like he could have done a little better, at the very least.

I could feel the blood trickling down my forearm, and the biting pain of the antiseptic — I guess — as Mom wiped it away just as quickly as it had sprung out of the small holes in my skin.

"I'm sorry, honey," she said gently, pressing the cold wipes down on my arm to staunch the flow of red liquid, "I know it ain't pleasant."

I just nodded.

[]

"Looks like I need a new dealer, huh?"

"I could agree with that, yeah," Gerard smiled at me, resting his pale fingertips on my knee. I stretched my arm, resulting in a small series of 'pop's. "Mikey had a guy, I think."

"Yeah? Well I think we'd better be finding him," I said, lying back and tucking my hands behind my head, but quickly learning that my left arm wasn't yet in shape for too much activity. I winced visibly; Gerard cracked a smirk and scooted off my bed, touching the neck of my guitar, his fingers brushing the strings slightly.

"His name's like, Peter or something. Sounds like a douche," he replied distractedly, picking up the old instrument and sitting on the corner of my bed.

"Can you play?" I said, repositioning myself, leaning against my headboard. Gerard shrugged and let his fingers fall into the C chord, strumming softly. He thrust it into my own hands after changing chords a few times and said, "You know."

I shook my head. "Not now."

[]

So, I found the 'Peter' kid, who was, in fact, pretty douche-y.

"It's just Pete," he kept saying, but he finally gave in after I refused to call him Pete, and slapped the bag of green material into my palm after I slapped a few bills into his, leaving without another word. I watched him the entire time, and though he was a douchebag, he was pretty hot. I let that thought slip my mind as he walked away from me, his studded belt clinking with every step he took.

[]

A laugh found its way from my throat and tumbled out my lips onto the smoky air between Gerard and I. We were sitting on the floor in my bathroom for God knows what reason, passing the blunt back and forth. He was grinning stupidly and licking his lips far too often.

"Hey...hey, Geraaaard," I giggled, digging my phone out of my pocket. His hazy eyes met mine and he let out a high-pitched, girly laugh.

"Hmmm?" He hummed, then burst out into a fit of laughter. "That tickles my lips," he said breathily between hums. I followed suit, pressing my fingers to my lips to stop the vibrations. I watched Gerard laugh for a long time before I remembered that I'd wanted to tell him something, but couldn't quite recall what it was.

I collapsed on his lap and smiled up at him. "I wanna touch your red," I mumbled, my lips feeling heavy and clumsy. I reached up to touch his 'red', running my fingers through his hair, looking closely at the slightly outgrown roots.

"Hmmm," Gerard responded, closing his eyes to stop himself giggling. Even in my fuzzy-minded state, his pot laugh was the cutest thing I could've ever imagined.

Then I decided I wanted to touch his pastel pinks.