Mikey Way finds a distraught Frankie behind the venue. A story of despair, love, heartbreak, the whole nine yards.
I threw open the back door of the venue, looking back at Ray, who was still inside, with a laugh. "Try not to get too drunk, Rayray!" Yeah right. I knew for a fact that within an hour he'd be passed out or
worse. That's just how he was. After every show he'd get slobbery drunk and or high, sleep it off in the van the next day, and be ready for the show the day after. That's how our little world worked. I let
the door slam behind me and looked around for a good spot to sit and smoke for a minute. It was so loud and noisy inside, I just needed a spot where I could sit and smoke and think in peace. I walked around
the corner of the building past the trash cans and dumpsters, seeing a small stone bench against the wall. I walked towards it, but as I neared, I saw someone sitting on the ground beside it. A guy about my
age, maybe a little older, sat on the cold gravel. A twisted white joint hung from his lips and his hoodie sleeves were pulled up to reveal deep, bloody gashes stretching on each arm from the crease of his
elbow to the palms of his hands. His face was pale, and he looked tired, worn out. The one streak of long black hair running through his short blonde buzz cut hung limply in his face, but he seemed not to
care. My first instinct was to help him; I'd seen my own brother in this exact position too many times for me to count. I pushed my hair back from my face and kneeled next to him.
"Hey man, are you okay?"
"...do I look okay?" He rasped.
"No, I suppose not. Can I help?"
He shrugged. "I'd rather you didn't. I'm hoping to die here."
I flinched. Memories of Gerard's various suicide attempts came rushing back to me and I itched for a bottle of vodka to make them go away. I shook the thoughts from my head and focused again on the distraught
young man. I plucked the joint from his lips and stamped it out on the ground, then pulled his left arm towards me. I withdrew a small medical needle and thread from my pocket and began carefully stitching
up the gash. I glanced at him to make sure he wasn't going to hit me or something, but saw only confusion in his eyes.
"You carry around needles and thread?"
"My brother's constantly trying to kill himself. It's too much hassle to drag him to the hospital every time he does, so I just learned how to deal with this sort of thing. I carry them with me everywhere I
go." I sighed. "Just in case."
He didn't reply, so I looked back down and focused on the task at hand. I efficiently sealed up the bloody cut on his arm, then gently rubbed the blood away with the sleeve of my hoodie. I pulled his other
arm towards me and did the same thing, murmuring apologies when he winced or whimpered. In the middle of lacing up his skin of his right arm, though, I ran out of medical thread. \shit.\ I paused, then stood.
"Why don't you come with me? I ran out of thread, and I can't just leave it like that, it'll get infected and then you'll most likely have to get your arm amputated. C'mon."
I reached down and helped him up. It was clear that he had already lost a lot of blood because he swayed when he stood and his eyes kept focusing and unfocusing. I wound an arm around his thin waist, then
reached up and put one of his arms around my shoulders. I carefully helped him around to the front and across the parking lot where our "bus" was. My Chemical Romance wasn't horribly big yet, we'd only had
one or two out of state concerts. Other than that, we were pretty local. So our "bus" was pretty much a van that was a little bigger than normal, with a bathroom and a kitchen. It wasn't big. We took turns
sleeping on the small fold out couch. I usually slept in the drivers seat. It was pretty comfortable once you tilted the chair back and such. I opened the door, and as soon as I did, I heard Anthrax blasting
through the speakers. I guess Gee was back then.
"Gerard! Turn it the fuck down!" I screamed as I helped the guy up the steps and into the bus. I set him down on the small couch and then turned to Gerard, who was jumping around and screaming. I smacked him
upside the head. "Dude, chill." I rolled my eyes, reaching over to turn the music down. After it was only at a dull roar, I looked at the guy on the couch. "Wait here, I'll be right back. You two play nice.
And Gerard, try not to turn him into a raging pothead while I'm gone." I turned and walked into the bathroom.
He. Was. Gorgeous. From the moment I had turned to look at him, I was austounded. Yeah, he looked worn and was definitely in pain, his wrists were all slashed up and he looked at least a litte drugged up. But
his skin was so smooth and clear, and he had the most beautiful hazel eyes. His hair hung limply in his face, yet it was a look that seemed perfect on him. I tried to tear my eyes off him, but found I couldn't.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Frank," he said quietly. He seemed dizzy. I probably would have been too.
"I'm Gerard. D'ya want like, some painkillers or something?" I always wanted my pain meds after Mikey forced his nurse skills on me.
"Yes please," He said in his quiet, yet angelic, voice.
I reached into a nearby cupboard and pulled out a small bottle of pills. They were my prescription pain meds but everyone on the bus used them like aspirin, and look at them. Well, maybe that wasn't the
greatest comparison. Everyone in my band is utterly fucked over in the head. Oh well. I shook a few of the pills into my hand and gave them to Frank. I picked up a water bottle and gave that to him as well.
"Thanks," he said before taking the pills.
"No problem." I said, sitting next to him. "So...what happened?"
"What do you think happened?" He rolled his eyes, holding up one of his arms.
"Yeah, I assumed that much, I meant why?"
"Cause I wanted to die, obviously."
"That's not an answer."
"It is now."
I sighed. "If you don't want to talk about it, fine. But I always find that it makes me feel better if I do."
"You don't know anything about what I'm going through."
"Wanna bet?" I gave him a sad smile. I yanked up the sleeves of my hoodie to reveal wrists that were horribly scarred and mangled. I wasn't ashamed of them.
"Oh." He said in defeat. I suppose I seemed too happy to be suicidal. That happens when I take my pills. My happy pills.
I would have said more, but at that moment, Mikey walked back in. I turned and tried to make it look like I hadn't been talking to Frank. Mikey always freaks out when I do cause he says I scare people off
when I talk. True, I used to tell all his friends about vampires and werewolves that were going to come in the night and kill them, but hey. I was being nice and warning them. Everyone knows that they do
exist and they will not hesitate to eat your soul out. I looked up innocently at Mikey. He sighed.
"Gerard...what did I tell you."
"I didn't say anything creepy this time! Promise! Right Frank? Frank?" I turned and looked in concern at the angel who had just fallen into unconsciousness on my couch. As Mikey fussed around him, I made a
descision. I \would\ learn his story. What happened to him to make him suicidal, who he was, where he came from. I would.
I just had to know.
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