Wake Up :Frerard: 1

"Mom! Dad! No! You can't leave me!"


I bolted up in my bed, my breathing coming out in sharp ragged huffs. My throat was raw from my unconscious sobbing and my face was slick with tears. I ran a hand through my hair which was sticky with sweat. I let out a sigh after a few deep breaths. "Just a dream… Just a dream," I muttered to myself.
   But it wasn't. No matter how many times I woke up, my parents were still dead. My parents still died in a car accident. My little brother Mikey and I were sitting in the back. I was trying to keep Mikey in his seatbelt when it happened. A semi-truck had burst into the intersection and hit the front of the car. And only the front of the car. My parents died, and I couldn't do anything to stop it.
   I was seventeen then; Mikey two. Now, five years later, I was in custody of Mikey. I had made it my job to take care of him and give him the life he deserved.
   There was a soft knock on my door. "Gerard? Are you up?" Mikey wondered.
   I rubbed my tired eyes with my fingers. Why is it that I always woke up far more tired than when I went to sleep? "Yeah... I am."
   Mikey pushed my door open. He stood awkwardly in my doorway. He constantly rubbed his arm and glanced around. I pushed myself up to see him better. "What's wrong?"
   "I can't see," Mikey said. He laughed sheepishly. I glanced around the room to see what he meant. My room was dark. I blamed the heavy, velvet, black drapes that covered the windows.
   "Then turn on the light," I said. I rolled over onto my stomach, burying my face in the warm, blood-red pillow.
   With a soft click the lights sprang to life. They hurt my eyes even though they were closed. Mikey hopped onto the bed beside me, resting his back against the headboard. "You should think about getting dressed, ya know."
   "Why?" I whined.
   "It's Monday, Gerard. Remember? Your art class opens today. Cassidy called to remind you," Mikey replied.
   "Who Cassidy?" I wondered.
   Mikey sighed. "Your grammar sucks," he said. "Cassidy is your assistant. Like your teacher's aide or whatever."
   "Oh... Yeah," I said, vaguely remembering a too-perky brunette that dressed up like a rainbow. "What time is it?"
   "Seven forty-two." Mikey hurriedly hopped off the bed as I bolted up.
   "You're kidding me, right!?" I shouted.
   Mikey shook his head. "Nope."
   "Fuck! I'm late!" I cried. I turned to him. "And you're going to be, too! Hurry, get your stuff ready!"
   Mikey darted out of the room as I cursed under my breath. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I threw open the top drawer of my dresser, tugging a pair of black pants out. I slid them on over my pale legs before reaching for my closet door handle. I tugged a grey button down off of its hanger before shrugging it on. My muscles ached in protest, but I ignored them. I reached for my darker grey vest and a black tie.
   I looked around for a pair of shoes that was more professional than a pair of Chucks, but couldn't find any. I didn't forget to buy shoes, did I?
   I looked out the closet door toward my clock. I didn't have time for this! I slid on a pair of black and white Chucks. My students would get over it.
   I ran out of my room, tugging on a thick coat. "Mikey! Call for the elevator!" I called. I grabbed a few dollars from my wallet and handed it to him for lunch money. He slid it into his pocket and pressed the elevator's call button. I supposed it would have saved time to live in a house like normal people, but the penthouse was more affordable and closer to his school and my art studio.
   The elevator doors slid open with a metallic groan. I grabbed Mikey's hand and leapt forward. "C'mon, Mikes," I said. The elevator doors slid closed and I turned to Mikey with a glare. "Why didn't you wake me up earlier?"
   Mikey shrugged, pressing the button for the Lobby. "You seemed really tired when I came in at seven. I shouted 'Wake up' but you didn't really respond. I thought you were dead until I saw you breathing."
   I sighed. I couldn't die. I couldn't leave Mikey alone like that. I could never rest in peace if that happened.
   I pulled him into a hug. "Don't worry. I'll never die on you, Mikey. Never."
   Mikey shuddered slightly as he held back sob. "Promise?" he asked in a trembling voice.
   I held up my pinky. "Pinky Promise." Mikey clasped his pinky with mine with a shallow laugh. I kissed his hair as the doors opened. "C'mon." Mikey grabbed my hand and followed me across the polished, marble floors to the revolving doors at the entrance. "Have a nice day, Mrs. Hensley," I said to our house-keeper. She didn't exactly approve of Mikey's and my living arrangements, but she never really sad anything.
   Mrs. Hensley nodded before returning to her conversation with one of the other housekeepers.
   As soon as we were out of earshot, Mikey asked, "I thought you hated Mrs. H?"
   "She annoys me and has way to many judgments and opinions for one woman," I said instead of answering him. Mikey snickered and hopped into the passenger seat of my black Trans Am. I had inherited it from my dad.
   I always thought that after I watched my parents die I would never get behind the wheel of a car. And yet there I was, sliding in and sticking the key in the ignition. I started the engine and eased my way onto the street. "You want coffee or should I just drop you off first?" I wondered.
   Mikey scrunched up his face. "Coffee is bitter."
   "You learn to love it," I said. I pulled into his school parking lot. I got out of the car, walking around to Mikey's side. I checked to make sure he was dressed appropriately. It was only his very first day at this school because he wore a shirt with a gruesome murder scene that terrified the other students. And guess who forgot to inspect his wardrobe that morning and several before?
   I straightened Mikey's black button-up shirt by its hem. I studied his band shirt. It was a Green Day shirt. It wasn't too bad. I made sure his converse were on the right feet. He was seven years old and he still forgot. I ruffled his hair and straightened his glasses.
   I kiss his cheek. "Have a nice day, Mikes." Mikey nodded and raced off. "Hey!" I called after him. "Get back here!" Mikey walked back, his demeanor impatient. "Where's your jacket?"
   Mikey jumped, as if just realizing he didn't have it and how cold it was. He reached into the car and slid on a black and grey checkered hoodie. "Better?" I wondered, barely holding back a fit of laughter.
   "Yeah." He turned to leave but I cleared my throat. He turned back. "What is it this time?"
   "Are you forgetting something?" I wondered, casually picking at my chipped black nail polish. Mikey jumped forward and wrapped his thin arms around my waist. I pressed him to my chest with a solemn smile. "That's better."
   "I love you, Gerard," Mikey said, burying his face in my chest.
   "I love you, too, Mikey," I said. I gave him one last gentle squeeze before releasing him. He raced off and I called after him, "Be good!" I paused. "And be yourself!"
   Mikey turned as he approached the door. "Have a nice day, Gerard! A never let them take you alive!"
-X-O-X-
I walked into a Starbucks, rubbing my frosty hands together in an attempt to warm them. I went up to the counter with a careful smile. "Hi," I said to the cashier.
   He glanced up from his phone with a practiced smile. "Hello, Sir," he said. He slid his phone shut and put it in his back pocket. "What can I get for you today?"
   I examined the sizes. Should I get a Grande? Or a Venti?
   "I'll just have a Grande Coffee with two shots of Espresso and... I'll try the Mallorca Sweet Bread," I said with a smile.
   The cashier tapped on the touch-screen cash register a few times and looked up. "The Sweet Bread is really good. Anyway, that'll be ten seventeen."
   I handed him a ten and a one and waited for my change. He handed me a bunch of coins that I dropped into the tip jar.
   I walked over to a table and just settled down when someone burst through the door. He was dripping wet. I looked out to see it pouring. The guy was shaking like mad. He raced up to the counter. "Uh..." he said. "I'll just take... uh... Venti black coffee with a croissant."
   The cashier tapped in his order. "Nine fifty-eight," he said.
   The guy patted his pockets. "Shit," he breathed. "All I have is a five..."
   "I'm sorry, Sir," the cashier said.
   I pushed my chair out and walked up to the counter. I slid a ten to the cashier and smiled at the guy. "I got it."
   The guy stared at me with absolute adoration. "Thank you so much, Sir! I'll pay you back as soon as I can!"
   "Don't worry about it," I said. "Really."
   More adoration filled the small man's hazel eyes. He covered his mouth with his hands. "Thank you! So much!"
   I smiled. "Don't mention it."
   A girl behind the counter raised my coffee in the air. "Sir, your coffee?" I took my cup and Sweet Bread from her. The guy stopped me before I could turn to leave.
   "Hey, uh, thank you for the coffee. It means a lot," he said. His hand was like ice on my arm.
   "No problem. You look like you need it," I said with a grin and a wink.
   The guy giggled nervously, looking at his all-black Chucks. Impeccable taste. "Um... Oh!" He quickly turned and pulled a pen from his pocket. He tugged a napkin from a dispenser and furiously wrote something down. He handed me the napkin. "Here. Um, call me some time. Maybe we could meet up or something."
   "Thanks," I said, looking down at the digits. "Frank... I like that name."
   "Thanks... And you are?" he wondered.
   "Gerard," I said.
   Frank nodded. "Well, Gerard, just feel free to call if you need anything. It's the least I could do."