I Don't Love You

I'm bad at naming chapters...

I let the locker door swing shut, metal connecting with purple metal in a sharp clank. Purple. Who the hell chose to paint the lockers purple? The entire school was a massive spew of purple and gold, the colors running opposite each other down every hallway, lining every wall in the form of banners and posters cheering on the Lakers. They outlined the entire building, like prison walls that held the clusters of students captive inside the bastille of horrid colors.

The halls are emptying out by now. Normal kids sprint for the door like a lifeline when the final bell rings on a Friday afternoon. So why am I still here, at almost three PM, going farther into the school instead of running the opposite direction? Well that's simple; Detention. 

I drag the soles of my Converse across the hard marble colored tile, my backpack hitched up on my shoulder, feeling less like a weight than my reluctance to go to detention. Here I was, a week from the end of school-- not just Summer vacation, but graduation-- and I was getting in trouble. Trouble, I might state, that was not even my fault to begin with.

It was Wednesday morning when I was busted for skipping class. One of the teachers, some old hairy guy that I didn't have class with, stopped me in the hall and asked to see my pass. When I had stuttered out an excuse as to why I didn't have one, he just sneered and dragged me to the Principle's office. Now, you ask, why was I wandering the halls then? I said this trouble wasn't my fault, right? So what was I really doing when the teacher caught me without a pass?

Simple; I was hiding.

Right before I had walked into my second period class, I was grabbed from behind. Two jocks had pulled me away from the safety of the classroom, through the gymnasium, empty that early in the day, and into the locker room. There, they proceeded to shove me against the lockers, one of them tearing stuff out of my backpack, leaving a mess of crumpled paper and torn journals on the concrete floor, while the other kneed me in the balls. Low blow, if you ask me, and that's exactly what I told him. 

Though I was winded and doubled over in pain, I had laughed. "That's the best you've got?" I asked. "That's low. Pathetic, almost. I thought you guys were getting better at this whole kicking my ass thing."

Not the best move. The first jock, the one who had kneed me, simply chuckled before his rounded fist connected with my stomach. More wind rushed out of me, leaving me breathless and weak, on my knees on the cold concrete floor. I could do nothing but watch as they grinned and left the locker room. I had been leaving the locker room, finally able to breathe and walk without wincing, when the teacher caught me. 

So now here I was, the toes of my black shoes mere inches from the designated detention room. The wooden door was closed, the single glass window in the entrance covered from the inside by a grey curtain. No lights shone under the door. It was like the room was deserted, empty and hollow on the other side. Maybe it was. Maybe I could skip this whole stupid thing, leave like every other kid, and pretend like detention never even happened. I stand there for a long moment, wandering if I should test the doorknob for access or just turn and leave. 

"Are you going in, or are you just gonna stand there like a dumbass?" The voice that sounds behind me answers my question and I roll my eyes. Without even turning, I know who the voice belongs to.

"I don't know, Gerard." I pretend to ponder the question, pursing my lips and tilting my head to one side. "Maybe I was waiting for you." I spin on my heels and my natural cocky smile falls into place, looking up to meet his stupid hazel eyes. His stupid black hair falls into his stupid pale face and I fight the urge to kick him in his stupid balls.

Gerard rolls his eyes and sighs heavily. "Move, Iero."

I bite down on my lip, shaking my head. "I love the way you say my name," I say. "But I feel like, by this stage in our relationship, you should know my first name."

Another sigh and Gerard's stupid eyes meet my own. "Move, Frank." He sneers the word, drawing out the single syllable, and I grimace, realizing I don't like the sound of his voice saying my name.

"I think I prefer Iero," I inform him, crossing my arms and studying him before offering a resolute nod. "Yeah, just call me Iero from now on." I narrow my eyes at the taller boy in front of me. Irritation clouds his eyes and a permanent frown seems etched onto his pale lips. "We should go make out," I decide.

Gerard groans, getting fed up and shoving me out of his way. He pushes the door open with ease and moves into the room beyond, leaving me no choice but to follow behind.

The teacher residing over detention glances up as we make our way inside, raising bushy eyebrows and watching the two of us over the top of her cat-eyes glasses. "Nice of you to join us," She rasps, her voice sounding nasally and smoke worn. Gerard ignores the older woman completely, strutting past the lines of desks to a seat in the back, while I offer a cheeky grin and slide into a desk in the front row.

Of course, the entire room was basically vacant. No sane student would be stupid enough to get a detention this close to the end of the school year. Sure, most of the Seniors were running amuck and setting all hell loose in the hallways, but that was just in good fun. Senior pranks, pent up adrenaline. All that shit. But skipping class landed me here with Gerard and two other kids, neither of whom I recognized, in a stuffy, silent room for sixty minutes instead of out with my friends, enjoying the fact that there are seven days of my High School career left.

Just my fucking luck, right?