Twenty-nine year old Frank Iero is a waiter at THE LOTUS, a five star restaurant in Newark, New Jersey. Why on earth would HE of all people end up in prison? Let's find out, shall we?
The Lotus. Five star restaurant. We served the best of the best. Only the most privileged chefs in Jersey were hired here. And I was lucky enough to be a waiter. I followed orders all day and didn't have to deal with the stress of the kitchen. There was absolutely nothing to set off my anger management issues.
I wore the black tuxedo and red tie that was the uniform of the waiters at The Lotus. The tuxedo covered all my tattoos but the scorpion on my neck and the word Halloween on my knuckles, which suited my employers just fine, though they quite disapproved of my lip ring/ However, they still allowed me the job. My short height (for I was only just over five feet) made me inconspicuous, and though I was petite, I was strong. This made me a great worker. My only ultimatum? I cold not deal with the rude customers. They agreed.
As I carried a large tray loaded with drinks to a group that seemed to be Procter and Gamble executives, I chuckled to myself, thinking of how much of a drastic change I had gone through since taking this job.
I had walked in for my interview at The Lotus eight years ago wearing skinny jeans, converse, and with a new tattoo on my left arm. My black hair was in a mo-hawk with ice-blond on one side and red on the other. I had entered the front office as a defiant boy and left a changed man. I returned home and immediately dyed my hair back to its original color, cropping it to one length. I changed my tone from sarcastic to civilized. And I began to control my rage, rather than letting it hurt others.
Oh, there had been times when I'd slipped up. Badly. Once, in one of my outbursts, I had taken a chunk out of my 'enemy' with my teeth. This had not only made me break my veganism, but once again triggered my bulimia, which my veganism had cured.
I shuddered, handing out drinks to the men and pushing the memory out of my head. Those days were long gone. Now all that was left was my tattoos, my lip ring, and a pair of fingerless skeleton gloves, which were nestled deep into the pocket of my slacks.
I tucked the empty silver tray under my arm and strode back to the counter outside thee kitchen. Meals and orders were exchanged over this counter like lightening, and I pity the employee who tried to interfere. I snatched a scrap of paper with the ease that only eight years of experience will grant you, and checked the sheet. Foi gras, table 21.
I carefully balanced the aforementioned dish on the palm of my hand and headed towards the table. I gently placed the dish on the table, avoiding eye contact as I had been taught, and was about to turn away when a familiar and hated voice greeted my ears.
"Frank Iero, as I live and breathe."
I froze. Memories flooded into my consciousness; maniacal laughter, a woman screaming, sirens. I fought to regain my control as I turned my gaze u to the face I loathed so much.
"Matt Pelissier. How... pleasant... it is to see you again," I forced out, choking on the syrup that coated my words. I quickly clasped my hands behind my back to hide the fact that my fingers were bleeding from how deep I had dug my nails in.
"Oh, the same to you, my dear boy!" he replied, a malicious gleam in his eye. "Tell me- how is Jamia?"
"I-I wouldn't know," I growled through my teeth, my thin frame now visibly shaking from rage.
"Ah, yes, she left you, did she not? After our little... accident?"
"Accident?" Something inside me snapped just then. My sight turned red as I stared into Matt's sneering face.
"WHAT YOU DID TO HER WAS NO ACCIDENT!" I screamed, slamming the table with my fist and knocking over the crystal glass of Merlot that Matt had been sipping only moments ago.
"Oh? Then why is it that all the poor girl remembers of that night was that it was your fault?"
"IT WAS NOT MY FAULT!"
"She says all she remembered is the pain, and that you weren't there to save her..."
"I DIDN'T KNOW, YOU FUCKER!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. The restaurant was in an uproar as the kitchen staff phoned security.
"Really? Because when she got out of the hospital, she told me she was sure it was YOU who hurt her. I showed her how much pleasure she could have. She said she was sure you never cared..."
Right then, I lost it. "HOW DARE YOU TOUCH HER!" I shrieked, flipping the only thing standing between Matt and me, the table, over, pinning him to the ground. The heavy oak was hardened in fire and string as steel, but with the adrenaline pulsing through my veins, breaking the leg off was like snapping a toothpick.
I raised the oak table leg over my head and began to beat upon Matt's torso, which was exposed from beneath the table that I was now kneeling on. I punctuated each blow with my words as Matt screamed in fear and agony.
"YOU FOUL-" BANG.
Before I could go any farther, I felt strong hands grip my shoulders. I flailed and fought, but was lifted off the ground nonetheless and had my hands cuffed behind my back.
I was wrestled out the door and into the back of a police cruiser, red and blue lights flashing. As soon as the door was shut behind me, my anger towards Matt was replaced with dread. What had I done?
"Remove your piercing Mr. Iero."
"My foot you can't."
"I'm telling the truth." And I was. When I had first gotten my lip ring, my parent had told me to dispose of it. In an act of defiance, I welded the ring together, rendering it irremovable. I was punished severely, but they made no moves to stop me from getting my nose pierced as well, hoping I would take less drastic measures to insure my freedom of expression.
After proving to the guard the accuracy of my statement, he led me to rather large cell, made to be shared, that was occupied by a single man who was hiding in the shadows. The officer removed my cuffs and told me to strip, handing me the black prison uniform and politely averting his eyes as I changed. He gathered up my clothing and was about to walk away when I remembered.
"Sir, may I have my gloves?"
"In the left pocket of my pants is a pair of gloves. May I have them?"
"I don't see why not." He plucked the tattered keepsakes out of the pants pocket and tossed them to me before closing and padlocking the cell door and strolling down the deserted corridor, taking my freedom with him.
I stared at my feet as I tugged on my skeleton gloves, glad for the familiarity of the cloth on my skin. It wasn't until he coughed that I remembered my cell mate.
He had risen and moved out of the shadows to meet me. I realized with astonishment that his hair was red. Not a normal, natural red, but a brighter red than the tie I had been wearing only moments ago. He was taller than me, which wasn't saying alot, and was very striking in the black clothing. He was studying me intently.
I stood there awkwardly for a moment before he stuck out his hand.
"Hi. I'm Gerard. Gerard Way. And you are?"
I shook his hand, taken aback by his civility.
"Frank Iero. Former waiter at The Lotus. Pleased to meet your acquaintance."
He nodded his acknowledgment of my past occupation before glancing down at my hands.
"Yeah. I've had them since I was twelve. I'm surprised they let me keep them."
Gerard laughed. "I'm surprised they let you keep the lip ring! The last guy who was in the next cell had a piercing and he refused to take it off. They tore it off. Besides," he brought his fingers up to a pure gold locket that was dangling around his neck, "they let every prisoner keep one thing. It keeps us human."
He trailed off, lost in thought, his fist tight around the locket. The silence grew deeper, so I decided to ask the most cliche question of all-
"So. What are you in for?"
"Intentional homicide. I murdered a rapist. You?"
"Mental instability. I beat a rapist with a table leg in the middle of a crowded restaurant. Anger management issues."
Gerard grinned, his white teeth shining in the gloom.
"This is going to be a very fun fifteen years."