Tell Me I'm A Bad Man [Teacher/Student Frerard]

Twenty-five - Tell Me I'm An Angel

Trigger warning for mentions of self-harm and suicide this chapter ❤️

"Are we going anywhere in particular, or are you just going to drive until you either run out of gas or find somewhere that takes your fancy?"

Gerard just smiled, blowing smoke out the slightly open window, his fingers tapping ash onto the asphalt as he kept his right hand on the steering wheel. He was being oddly evasive, and he had been ever since I left his house on Thursday evening. Even in school yesterday, he'd just strangely avoided me, and when I'd stayed behind to try and worm answers out of him, he'd just smirked and slapped my ass, telling me to get on my merry way.

"Y'know, you being all weird and shit is getting kinda annoying now."

"I know." He put the cigarette to his lips and I sighed, leaning my head back against the headrest.

"You still haven't told me what you bought."

A grin spread slowly on his face as he flicked the cigarette butt out the window, rolling it up afterwards. "I know."

"Are you going to tell me?"

He shot me a glance as we passed a large sign that told us what town we were in. "You'll find out when we get to the motel."

I pressed my lips together, both slightly agitated and incredibly curious. Knowing Gerard, what he'd bought was likely to be erotic, scary, and either for me to wear, use, or (God forbid) ingest.

Oh fuck, please don't say he took my lemon comment seriously.

"Have you spoken to Bert recently?" I asked, completely out of the blue.

He glanced at me, his eyebrows raised. "I have, actually. He wanted to meet up this weekend, but obviously I had plans." He smirked, scratching at a spot behind his ear. "So I'm meeting him after work on Friday; that okay with you?"

I nodded. "Sure it is." I mean, of course I was uneasy, but...I trusted Gerard. More than I've ever trusted anyone before.

"We're only going out for a drink. Well, I won't be drinking, but..." He shrugged.

"How come?" The question made my heart sink, and I regretted asking it. I was worried that it was much too personal, seeing as I didn't know much about him.

But he just sighed a little. "I...I used to be an alcoholic." He pressed his lips together before continuing. "When I was your age - no, younger - I was really depressed, y'know, and I...I used to go what you do now." He looked disapprovingly at my arms, even though they were covered. "But then I started drinking instead, and I just surrendered to it, not giving the slightest fuck to what it was going to Mikey or my mom. It's okay now, though. I haven't touched alcohol in, like, two and a half years or something." The way he said it meant that the subject was closed, whether I liked it or not. He smiled, and then I noticed that he was pulling up at a motel. Not a shabby, shitty one, a nice-ish one. "C'mon, you."

He climbed out of the car and I did the same, going around to the back to get my bag. He went up to reception, getting our room key and such, and then he beckoned for me to follow him up the stairs. Once we were in the room, he dropped his bag to the floor and bent over, pulling something from it. It was a black carrier bag, and as I put my bag down beside his, he sat, cross-legged, on the bed.

The room was fairly large, not too big but not too small, with black sheets on the bed and black curtains. It was simple, and it was neat, and it would do. It was near the beach we'd been to a week before, so I was going to drag him down there later. The bed also looked rather comfy.

"What's that?" I asked, and he looked inside it before handing it to me.

I swallowed heavily, taking the plastic bag from him. He just sat there, a proud smile on his face. "Go on." He said.