Gerard tells Frank his secret... Frank doesn't know why...
“You’re beautiful when you cry” he said, turning the singer back around to face him. The singer just grunted in frustration and looked at his feet. “I don’t know what you want from me.” Frank said reaching up to stroke the singer’s cheek. “But I’m still here aren’t I?” he asked, smiling up at his boyfriend. The singer just stood there till he leaned forward and cried against the man who was indeed still standing there.
“We’re gonna get through this,” Frank said, leading his boyfriend from the middle of the pathway, to the bench. They were in Chicago, walking through a park just before they were going to eat at Gerard’s favorite pizza parlor. Gerard had confessed a secret. Something he wouldn’t share with anyone but Frank. He had been hurting himself. He needed help, but he wouldn’t get it. Frank knew that, he didn’t know what to do.
“Can I see?” he asked, looking at the singer’s arm expectantly. Gerard shook his head no, but didn’t resist when Frank’s tiny fingers slowly peeled up his long sleeved shirt. Frank bit his tongue to keep from gasping. There were about 15 deep gashes on his left arm. They were fresh. The blood still sticking to the sleeve, but the black material on the other side showed no blood. Frank wanted to scream, shout, do something. “Wh-why?” Frank stuttered out. Gerard just shook his head again, falling back into silent sobs. His whole body was shaking. Frank just closed his eyes and held the man in front of him.
“Bert?” he asked, the singer shook his head no. The guitarist was at a loss, Gerard knew all of his issues… but he realized Gerard hadn’t shared any of his. “Gerard…” he said pulling away from his boyfriend and looking him square in the eyes. “Gerard, you need help.” He said, leaning in to fold the sleeve back over the wounds. Gerard’s eyes went big and he pushed away from the shorter man, shaking his head in panic.
“No!” Gerard cried, trying to get away. Frank held his grip, and looked at his boyfriend. “You…you’re supposed to say I’m not crazy!” Gerard yelled still struggling against Frank’s grip. “You’re supposed to tell me-”
“Gerard.” Frank tried, but the singer wouldn’t listen. He continued to struggle sobbing some more, and just utterly looking like a mess. “I love you.” Frank said, the singer stopped struggling and looked at him. It was the first time Frank had said that. The singer knew Frank only said it if he meant it. Gerard shook his head and looked away, his black hair covering his eyes as he looked at an imaginary item.
“Liar.” He said, tears still streaming down his neck. “You fucking liar.” Gerard wanted him to correct him, to tell him he wasn’t lying. To pick him up and fuck him right there. Help him forget about his life, forget about who he was. Just fuck anything he was feeling away. But the guitarist knew better, he sighed and sat there for a moment.
“I could be,” Frank said. Looking out at the park, like Gerard. “You know I could be lying, I know I could be lying.” He said, out of his peripheral vision he noticed Gerard biting on his lip. “But, we both know I’m not.” He finished taking the singer’s hand in his. “Gerard, I don’t understand why you hurt yourself like this.” He said searching the singer’s eyes for any signs as to why he cuts himself but got nothing.
“I…” Gerard smiled, “Sometimes, I don’t even know why I do it.” He said, looking at Frank. Frank smiled at him and shook his head.
“Well then, I guess that’s the first step.” He said slowly coaxing Gerard to his feet. “I’m glad you told me.” He said squeezing the slightly bigger hand in his. “We’ll get through this together.” He said firmly, walking towards Papa’s Pizzeria.
Gerard smiled and sighed lightly. “Together.” He whispered looking at his arm then back at Frank. “I like that.” He said.