Beginning to Break (Frerard)

The Man with the Tattooed Face

I have only been driving for 20 minutes when I realized I was almost out of gas. This piece of shit car ran through gas like I ran through cigarettes. Too fast for its own good. I took three next exit off of the highway and found the nearest gas station. I stepped out of the car and felt something I never felt before.

Relief.

I could breath like I never have before. My lungs (which was most likely covered in a layer of tar) felt clear, ready to absorb all the oxygen this Connecticut air had to offer.

And that is when I started to cry.

I bawled my eyes out for a good 10 minutes. I sat back down on my seat with the door open and my short legs dangling outside the car. I felt weak but strong at the same time. I got a few strange looks from truck drivers taking a pit stop to drink some coffee.

I have never been sure-footed about any decision I made, mainly because I never made any for myself. It has always been my parents controlling my life. This was the first decision I ever made for myself and it felt good. I just ran away from an Ivy League college to go to New Jersey.

I don't even know anyone in New Jersey. I could have decided to go to New York City, "The city of opportunity", but that's too "mainstream" for me.

I laughed at my own thought. I sounded like a stuck-up hipster.

After the tears stopped streaming down my face, I wiped my face and stood back up. With red eyes and a grin on my face, I filled up my car with gas. I love my car.

I suddenly felt a common feeling. Tiny daggers stabbing the back of my neck that left tingling. That's the feeling of someone watching you. I turned around to see someone walking past me, but still glaring.

"Have fun in hell, faggot" he said. I noticed that the man had tattoos on his face.

The obviously angered trucker walked into the small convenient store looking content about the insult he gave me. I could honestly care less. That's not an uncommon thing I have been told over the years. Although I didn't care that he approached me with misdirected anger, it brought back memories.

Back in high school, many people thought I was gay because I never fucked anyone. In my uptight, rich, white kid private school, nobody was a virgin. Except me. So they immediately came to the conclusion that I am a homosexual. To be honest, I don't still know what I am. But, whose to rush to find out their identity.

Certainly not me.

I finished filling up my gas tank and hopped in quickly. I didn't want to wait and see if the man with the tattooed face had made up his mind to do something worse to me than just call me names.

I pulled out of the lot and sped back on the highway where my mind can take me to the possibilities of where exactly I was going, and what my plan was to even survive.

hi! I hoped you enjoyed the first real chapter. I'm not sure whether I should post a chapter this length every day, or a much longer chapter every few days. What do you guys think? It will still be the same content, just broken up in different places. Don't be shy to comment! thank you <3