Chipped Black Nail Polish

Update!

Disclaimer: I don't own them and Simple Plan owns the song.

Chipped Black Nail Polish
Part Six: You'd Be So Proud

I know there’s a million reasons why I shouldn't call
When nothing to say
Could easily make this conversation last all day

You're standing in my doorway when I wake up, a cup of coffee in your hand. You're not smiling, but you're not angry. You're staring at me as if you're noticing something for the first time. "No practice."

"Oh."

"Don't sound so disappointed." you say a sarcastic smile on your face.

"Sorry."

You walk over and backhand me, spilling coffee on my sheets as you do. "Don't use that tone with me, you ungrateful slut." My bottom lip trembles. I hate it when you call me that. You walk toward my door, stopping at the doorframe and looking back at me. "Change those sheets."

Tears blur my vision as you leave. I can't do this right now. I just can't. I'm not leaving forever, I promise. Just long enough. I pull on clothes. I wore them yesterday, but I can't go into your room and get clean ones.

I open my window and slip out. Gerard lives three blocks away and I can't even think about taking a car. I don't want to commit suicide. I know this will earn me slaps and really really painful sex, but I don't want to think about taking my car will do.

I hear you yelling my name and I take off running, using the sidewalk before you can look out the window and see me. I look behind me as I'm running like a really bad scene from a movie that they would show in slow motion.

As I'm running I have a thought that comes out of nowhere. Do you know that I can't remember the last time you kissed me on the mouth. I wait to catch my breath before I knock on Gerard's door. He answers it with a glass of orange juice in his hand.

He smiles when he sees me. What's that expression in his eyes. "Come on in." I follow him into the kitchen and he pours me a mug of coffee, handing it across the counter where I'm leaning with my chin on my hand. "You want something to eat, kid? You're losing a lot of weight." It's an accusation toward you without actually saying it. I can tell Gerard's wishing you weren't his brother right now so he can say everything that's on his mind. He does want to believe that someone he knows so well could possibly be hurting me.

"Yeah, well . . ." I shrug. "Sure, whatever." He smiles and walks over to the toaster. When he comes back he passes me a plate of toast slathered imperfectly in peanut butter.

I smile and pick up a piece, taking a bite. He grins. "So what're you planning to do today?" I shrug and he smiles again. "Cool. You can hang out with me. Ray went somewhere and Matt's sleeping off a high, so there's nothing to do. I hate being in this house by myself."

"Aww, you sure you're not just looking for an excuse to hit on me?" It feels so good to make a joke, to hear someone laugh at something I said instead of you making a sarcastic sort of sound when I do something stupid.

He grins and makes a kissing expression with his face and then I laugh and he looks . . . relieved? It's such an odd expression for the moment. I guess he was terrified I was turning it a robot or something.

"So, what's been up with you and Mikey?"

I force a smile. "Oh, you know . . . great sex, candlelit dinners, walks on the beach."

Normally he'd make a comment about not wanting to hear about his brother's sex life. Instead he looks at me seriously. "You sure? Lots of people go through rough patches, you know."

"We don't." You'd be so proud of me if you could hear this. Even in my head I can hear the sarcasm of my words. I wince involuntarily at what you would do if you could hear that.

Gerard looks at me for a second longer before reaching across the counter for a pack of cigarettes, lighting two and passing one to me. I take a drag, coughing slightly. It's been awhile since you've let me smoke. A week maybe?

Gerard's looking more concerned by the minute. I stand up straight, crossing my arm across my body to my elbow. I know it's just a small bruise and could pass for running into a door or something, but I know he'd ask question with this mood he's in.

"Your lips are chapped."

"The price of having a lip ring." I say. You used to think it was cute. Now you scream at me if I don't use enough chapstick. "I love him."

"I know." he says, sighing. "That's the problem, isn't it?"

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I like making a plotline.