Turnpike Gates [Frerard]

3- Rules They Make

New character!! Guess who. We know them. (Clue).

Also, most of this is written from a tablet, so beware of mistakes, and plz point them out so I can fix em.

TW for anti-gay slurs, but only once

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Despite my very much absent desire to get fucked in the back of Frank's car, my brain had other ideas. So I spent the night locked in a very interesting dream involving a certain punk boy and myself, and let's just say I was running to the bathroom when I woke up.

After, um, fixing my problem, I got back to my room with plans to collapse on my bed and sleep for etirnety, but unfortunately my alarm clock decided to start blaring its offending noise all over the place.

Fucking alarm clock.

I slapped the off button and shoved myself into some clothes before dragging myself upstairs.

I don't know why I always stay up so late when I love to sleep. We got home around three, but then I stayed up reading on my phone for about two hours, leaving me with two more to sleep with.

I'm not sure how it is now, but I had severe insomnia, so then I just got used to doing things at night, so I have no clue if I could fall asleep on my own at this point, but it's doubtful.

The point is, I managed to shove some food down my throat (I'm very lazy today, I know), and do my eyeliner somewhat properly.

When Mikey and I were ready to leave, we stood by the door waving farewell to our mother. Dad had already gone to work, because the mechanics shop started early.

 "I wish you wouldn't wear that stuff," my Mom said with a tired sigh, referring to the makeup around my eyes. "It makes you look like some sort of wannabe fag."

 I flinched internally at the use of that much hated word, the one typically wielded by my bullies, coming from my own mother's lips. I shouldn't have been surprised, though, she hated everything about me, most days.

 "I like it," I defended weakly.

She sighed over-dramatically.

 "Whatever, but if any boys ask for your number, just say your mama's coming for them!"

 I smiled falsely and followed Mikey outside.

 "I don't know how she finds that funny," Mikey sighed, unamused. "It's a pretty lame joke."

I nodded in agreement.

Was he showing signs of support for gay people, or just criticizing Mom's 'threatening' abilities? Because let's be honest, even if you disapproved of homosexuality, that's just plain lame.

-

Class dragged on as usual, and no boys asked for my number - shocking, I know. 

Because I'm usually so popular.

You know.

Can you feel the sarcasm yet?

Anyway, by the time Chemistry rolled around, my poor brain was torn between the intense need for sleep and the strong desire to burn something. My eyelids dropped and my fingers twitched towards the pocket where I knew my lighter lay.

I leaned my head on my hand, imagining the warm colors of the flames licking up a paper - or better, a structure. I really wanted to experiment with backdraft, but I didn't have a small container that was fireproof enough. I had watched videos on YouTube of controlled instances, and the way the plume of fire and smoke rolled out of the opening like a horizontal volcano was truly mesmerizing.