Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Send In The Clowns
Man, you guys are frickin' boss. Glad you guys are liking it. Well I thought we'd swing back to Frankie for this one, since you guys seemed to like his perspective earlier. And oh ho ho. Just you wait :D
I feel strangely defensive when I look back to Mallory after Gerard and Mikey leave. She’s watching me so closely, something I’d normally love. But with her odd probing questions I feel like she’s looking deeper than I know. I wasn’t really taking it seriously in the beginning, just dicking around and flirting like I usually do. For some reason though, I feel like she’s analyzing my every move; even the stupid thoughtless answers. But it was even worse when I answered seriously.
The one thing I was having trouble deciding was whether I was more uncomfortable with Mallory herself, or how I was handling her.
She made me feel…guilty. And I don’t have any clue why- she hadn’t said anything, or behaved in a way that remotely suggested it. She was flirting right back with me, which I noticed was driving Gerard insane, not that I’d ever been particularly cautious about that in the past. Yet somehow, when I slid closer to her, and did stupid exaggerated things like winking and calling her ‘baby’ like I’ve done to dozens of other girls, and boys for that matter, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I should be ashamed for my behavior.
Now it’s far too quiet, and she’s staring at me in some weird, expectant way. I’m not sure what she’s waiting for.
I spit out a choppy question that’s been hanging in the back of my throat, something I’m suddenly dying to know.
“Do you think I’m an asshole?” It takes a lot of effort not to blush, not to make it seem like I want to swallow that question, never allowing it to be verbalized.
She looks slightly off center from my face, a little down and to the right when she replies. “Not exactly.”
Cryptic. Fuck that.
“It’s a yes or no question.”
Mallory meets my eyes now, brows pulled down just a little bit, showing more emotion than I’ve seen from her all afternoon.
“No, it’s not. You asked me what I thought. I THINK a lot of things. “She pauses, like she’s waiting for me to interject. When I don’t, she continues.
“I think you’re a little contradictory. You’re awfully confident, but not egotistical-rare in someone like you.”
Someone like you? What the fuck does that mean?
“You’re not remotely self-righteous, kind of the opposite actually. Like you do as you please, and you’re unapologetic, but at the same time you don’t exactly condone it.” She frowns, looking very somber.
I don’t understand this girl-everything she says is neither a compliment, nor an insult. I’m not an asshole, but I’m not NOT one. I’m overconfident, but not egotistical. I’m not self righteous, but I’m not apologetic. These statements don’t add up-they all cancel out, leaving me with nothing but confusion.
She keeps studying me, and I consider a different perspective. Is it Mallory that’s all confusing and contradictory, or is it me?
Is she giving me opinions or facts? Everything about her is strange and ambiguous. Debatable. You could make a case for either.
I sigh frustratedly. She’s making me think too much. I don’t appreciate it. I don’t do this whole ‘self-reflection’ thing. I am who I am. I don’t put all this consideration into it. I don’t need to. I SHOULDN’T need to.
“What if I just want a yes or no?” I want to kick myself. Why do I give a damn if she thinks I’m an asshole or not? That very question goes against my nature. Frank Iero does not give a fuck of what anyone thinks of him.
Mallory bites her lip again, thinking before answering.
“No. No, I do not think you are an asshole.”
I try to bring back a trademark smirk, showing her my teeth. It feels all wrong though- wolfish and almost creepy. I’m second guessing everything now. I’m not used to this feeling.
“Interesting.” I say, trying to imitate her almost eerily calm voice.
She laughs and her whole face lights up and I’m extremely happy that she got the joke.
I try to clear my head, jumping on the lightheartedness of the moment. Oddly though, I’m still watching her, waiting for her to disapprove, to tell me to stop as I lean closer to her. I even pause right in front of her mouth, when I can already taste her breath on my tongue, still half expecting her to push me back. She looks at me with clear, emotionless eyes, and says nothing. I take this as a sign to continue, so I push my mouth to hers.
And the resultant kiss feels absolutely wrong.
Our mouths move together, but the motion is foreign and uncomfortable. Her mouth is soft, almost too soft- virgin lipped. She offers nothing, simply imitating my every motion. There is no chemistry, no spark whatsoever. It is a bland and generic kiss-strangely amateurish and lacking finesse. And when I break it off it leaves me hollow and melancholy.
I feel a strange urge to wipe my mouth afterwards, and I can’t meet her eyes, though I know they are burning a hole in me.
My mouth feels strangely slimy, disgusting. Her lips were too soft. I feel like I need to cough, but when I try it is an awkward garbled sound, and I still feel something clawing in the deep part of my throat, hiding and making me clear it compulsively.
Mallory is a patient statue, unmoving as she waits for me to say something. She makes me feel like an experiment.
Her eyes are still on me, penetrating me in a way that I just can’t stand. I can’t play off this feeling that I’ve got with some sarcastic comment.
My feet are tingling, sending me a message. But Frank Iero will not flee.
He.
Won’t.
Will he?
“If I run away right now, what will that tell you?” My voice is shaking uncharacteristically.
“That you haven’t got yourself figured out like you thought you did.” She sounds strange- almost like she pities me.
“Is that a crime?” My head was in my hands, but I lift it now, finding some courage that comes purely from my will not to embarrass myself any more than I have already.
Mallory is still staring at me unashamedly. “Of course not.”
“Well then.”
I try to cough again, and then stand up with a sigh.
“Show yourself out?”
She nods and I leave her there on the couch without another word. On my way out the door I’m biting my lip and shaking my head. We’ve got quite the habit of jetting out of that hotel room, me and the Way brothers. In the elevator I pull a cigarette out of my pocket and light it, ignoring Barry the manager’s protests about non-smoking. This is Jersey. There’s no such thing as non-smoking.
I walk out the door with no clue where I’m going. I walk absently around the back of the building, and sink down into the dandelions on the edge of the wall. I don’t realize what I’m doing when I pull out my phone. I don’t realize who I’ve called until it’s already happened. And when I hear the voice crackling through the speaker, I understand the gravity of what I’ve done. But I can’t go back now.
“Heyyyyy Frankieeee. Long time no speak bro!”
“Hi Donnie.” I say quietly.
“Where ya been Frankie Boy? You’ve missed some sick bashes.”
“I’ve been layin’ low. “ I’m rushing my speech- I don’t wanna talk to him any longer than I need to.
“Listen Donnie you’re still selling right?”
Donnie snorts. “What else would I be doing?”
I let him have a forced laugh, mostly out of charity. “Yeah yeah. Well can you meet me somewhere?”
Donnie’s mumbling something to a voice in the background, and when he replies his voice is a little different. “Yeah, yeah sure man. Where at?”
I tell him to meet me at the Burger King across the street, and then hang up abruptly. I feel like I’m not really doing this. It’s surreal. I’d stopped this. Or I’d thought so.
I stroll across the street, reaching into my back pocket and pulling out a huge wad of money, counting it with practiced hands. There’s nothing worse than arranging a purchase without the cash to back it up. In the end I have enough for several purchases, though I promise myself that I’ll limit to one. I sit down outside and tug my jacket tighter around myself, freezing in the wicked Jersey wind and the ever-gloomy skies. I try to be patient, but I keep tapping my feet as I keep an eye out for a beat up Range Rover, sure to come roaring up the street, bouncing with shitty rap beats. I know Donnie’s nearby, and despite his lifestyle, he’s always been a good businessman- fair and punctual.
I get so jittery waiting for Donnie that I begin playing with my money, folding one of my 50’s into a paper airplane, then one of those things that we used to make in grade school, the fortune tellers. That feels like another lifetime. I’m beginning to get anxious, checking my phone too often. It’s been 15 minutes. 20. 30. He must be coming from someone else’s place.
I finally see his car pulling into the parking lot, and I get up quickly, jamming my hands into my pockets and walking as casually as possible in his direction. He jumps out of the passenger seat, strangely enough, and walks toward me in a style almost identical to mine, only a little jitterier looking. I figure he’s just strung out.
We do that corny high-five-hug-slap thing that looks so sickeningly masculine and ridiculous when you see it in the movies. The difference is that we not only exchange formalities and some precious body heat. Because Donnie comes away a few bills richer, and I quickly palm a bag of white powder.
I shield it from passing cars as I lean down to inspect it- even if I’ve known Donnie for a while, I’m not dumb enough to buy without checking the goods. That’s for amateurs.
I’m slipping the powder into my pocket, and just about to thank Donnie when I’m knocked to the ground, my chin hitting the concrete and splitting immediately.
“What the fuck Do-“ I roll over midsentence, adrenaline pulsing as I turn to face Donnie.
But it’s not Donnie hovering over me, glaring with eyes so angry they would burn through anyone else. It’s not Donnie who puts his foot on my chest. Donnie is a few feet away, watching with an apologetic expression that looks oddly sincere. I tear my eyes off him as my head spins, trying to focus on the loafered foot that is planted on my chest. My eyes trace up a pair of expensive slacks, up to a broad chest covered by a blazer and tie.
“Frank. You worthless motherfucker.” He snarls at me.
There’s a deadly silence.
“Good to see you too bro.”
Oh, you all have so much to learn. There is an awful lot about our lovely Iero that you have nooooooooooo idea about. Things are about to get messy. Very messy. Rate and Review peeps. You have no idea what a difference it makes, inspiration wise. Reviews based on actual content are especially appreciated. I like to know specific thoughts. Gratzi. Rock n' Roll. xoxo Evangeline.
I feel strangely defensive when I look back to Mallory after Gerard and Mikey leave. She’s watching me so closely, something I’d normally love. But with her odd probing questions I feel like she’s looking deeper than I know. I wasn’t really taking it seriously in the beginning, just dicking around and flirting like I usually do. For some reason though, I feel like she’s analyzing my every move; even the stupid thoughtless answers. But it was even worse when I answered seriously.
The one thing I was having trouble deciding was whether I was more uncomfortable with Mallory herself, or how I was handling her.
She made me feel…guilty. And I don’t have any clue why- she hadn’t said anything, or behaved in a way that remotely suggested it. She was flirting right back with me, which I noticed was driving Gerard insane, not that I’d ever been particularly cautious about that in the past. Yet somehow, when I slid closer to her, and did stupid exaggerated things like winking and calling her ‘baby’ like I’ve done to dozens of other girls, and boys for that matter, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I should be ashamed for my behavior.
Now it’s far too quiet, and she’s staring at me in some weird, expectant way. I’m not sure what she’s waiting for.
I spit out a choppy question that’s been hanging in the back of my throat, something I’m suddenly dying to know.
“Do you think I’m an asshole?” It takes a lot of effort not to blush, not to make it seem like I want to swallow that question, never allowing it to be verbalized.
She looks slightly off center from my face, a little down and to the right when she replies. “Not exactly.”
Cryptic. Fuck that.
“It’s a yes or no question.”
Mallory meets my eyes now, brows pulled down just a little bit, showing more emotion than I’ve seen from her all afternoon.
“No, it’s not. You asked me what I thought. I THINK a lot of things. “She pauses, like she’s waiting for me to interject. When I don’t, she continues.
“I think you’re a little contradictory. You’re awfully confident, but not egotistical-rare in someone like you.”
Someone like you? What the fuck does that mean?
“You’re not remotely self-righteous, kind of the opposite actually. Like you do as you please, and you’re unapologetic, but at the same time you don’t exactly condone it.” She frowns, looking very somber.
I don’t understand this girl-everything she says is neither a compliment, nor an insult. I’m not an asshole, but I’m not NOT one. I’m overconfident, but not egotistical. I’m not self righteous, but I’m not apologetic. These statements don’t add up-they all cancel out, leaving me with nothing but confusion.
She keeps studying me, and I consider a different perspective. Is it Mallory that’s all confusing and contradictory, or is it me?
Is she giving me opinions or facts? Everything about her is strange and ambiguous. Debatable. You could make a case for either.
I sigh frustratedly. She’s making me think too much. I don’t appreciate it. I don’t do this whole ‘self-reflection’ thing. I am who I am. I don’t put all this consideration into it. I don’t need to. I SHOULDN’T need to.
“What if I just want a yes or no?” I want to kick myself. Why do I give a damn if she thinks I’m an asshole or not? That very question goes against my nature. Frank Iero does not give a fuck of what anyone thinks of him.
Mallory bites her lip again, thinking before answering.
“No. No, I do not think you are an asshole.”
I try to bring back a trademark smirk, showing her my teeth. It feels all wrong though- wolfish and almost creepy. I’m second guessing everything now. I’m not used to this feeling.
“Interesting.” I say, trying to imitate her almost eerily calm voice.
She laughs and her whole face lights up and I’m extremely happy that she got the joke.
I try to clear my head, jumping on the lightheartedness of the moment. Oddly though, I’m still watching her, waiting for her to disapprove, to tell me to stop as I lean closer to her. I even pause right in front of her mouth, when I can already taste her breath on my tongue, still half expecting her to push me back. She looks at me with clear, emotionless eyes, and says nothing. I take this as a sign to continue, so I push my mouth to hers.
And the resultant kiss feels absolutely wrong.
Our mouths move together, but the motion is foreign and uncomfortable. Her mouth is soft, almost too soft- virgin lipped. She offers nothing, simply imitating my every motion. There is no chemistry, no spark whatsoever. It is a bland and generic kiss-strangely amateurish and lacking finesse. And when I break it off it leaves me hollow and melancholy.
I feel a strange urge to wipe my mouth afterwards, and I can’t meet her eyes, though I know they are burning a hole in me.
My mouth feels strangely slimy, disgusting. Her lips were too soft. I feel like I need to cough, but when I try it is an awkward garbled sound, and I still feel something clawing in the deep part of my throat, hiding and making me clear it compulsively.
Mallory is a patient statue, unmoving as she waits for me to say something. She makes me feel like an experiment.
Her eyes are still on me, penetrating me in a way that I just can’t stand. I can’t play off this feeling that I’ve got with some sarcastic comment.
My feet are tingling, sending me a message. But Frank Iero will not flee.
He.
Won’t.
Will he?
“If I run away right now, what will that tell you?” My voice is shaking uncharacteristically.
“That you haven’t got yourself figured out like you thought you did.” She sounds strange- almost like she pities me.
“Is that a crime?” My head was in my hands, but I lift it now, finding some courage that comes purely from my will not to embarrass myself any more than I have already.
Mallory is still staring at me unashamedly. “Of course not.”
“Well then.”
I try to cough again, and then stand up with a sigh.
“Show yourself out?”
She nods and I leave her there on the couch without another word. On my way out the door I’m biting my lip and shaking my head. We’ve got quite the habit of jetting out of that hotel room, me and the Way brothers. In the elevator I pull a cigarette out of my pocket and light it, ignoring Barry the manager’s protests about non-smoking. This is Jersey. There’s no such thing as non-smoking.
I walk out the door with no clue where I’m going. I walk absently around the back of the building, and sink down into the dandelions on the edge of the wall. I don’t realize what I’m doing when I pull out my phone. I don’t realize who I’ve called until it’s already happened. And when I hear the voice crackling through the speaker, I understand the gravity of what I’ve done. But I can’t go back now.
“Heyyyyy Frankieeee. Long time no speak bro!”
“Hi Donnie.” I say quietly.
“Where ya been Frankie Boy? You’ve missed some sick bashes.”
“I’ve been layin’ low. “ I’m rushing my speech- I don’t wanna talk to him any longer than I need to.
“Listen Donnie you’re still selling right?”
Donnie snorts. “What else would I be doing?”
I let him have a forced laugh, mostly out of charity. “Yeah yeah. Well can you meet me somewhere?”
Donnie’s mumbling something to a voice in the background, and when he replies his voice is a little different. “Yeah, yeah sure man. Where at?”
I tell him to meet me at the Burger King across the street, and then hang up abruptly. I feel like I’m not really doing this. It’s surreal. I’d stopped this. Or I’d thought so.
I stroll across the street, reaching into my back pocket and pulling out a huge wad of money, counting it with practiced hands. There’s nothing worse than arranging a purchase without the cash to back it up. In the end I have enough for several purchases, though I promise myself that I’ll limit to one. I sit down outside and tug my jacket tighter around myself, freezing in the wicked Jersey wind and the ever-gloomy skies. I try to be patient, but I keep tapping my feet as I keep an eye out for a beat up Range Rover, sure to come roaring up the street, bouncing with shitty rap beats. I know Donnie’s nearby, and despite his lifestyle, he’s always been a good businessman- fair and punctual.
I get so jittery waiting for Donnie that I begin playing with my money, folding one of my 50’s into a paper airplane, then one of those things that we used to make in grade school, the fortune tellers. That feels like another lifetime. I’m beginning to get anxious, checking my phone too often. It’s been 15 minutes. 20. 30. He must be coming from someone else’s place.
I finally see his car pulling into the parking lot, and I get up quickly, jamming my hands into my pockets and walking as casually as possible in his direction. He jumps out of the passenger seat, strangely enough, and walks toward me in a style almost identical to mine, only a little jitterier looking. I figure he’s just strung out.
We do that corny high-five-hug-slap thing that looks so sickeningly masculine and ridiculous when you see it in the movies. The difference is that we not only exchange formalities and some precious body heat. Because Donnie comes away a few bills richer, and I quickly palm a bag of white powder.
I shield it from passing cars as I lean down to inspect it- even if I’ve known Donnie for a while, I’m not dumb enough to buy without checking the goods. That’s for amateurs.
I’m slipping the powder into my pocket, and just about to thank Donnie when I’m knocked to the ground, my chin hitting the concrete and splitting immediately.
“What the fuck Do-“ I roll over midsentence, adrenaline pulsing as I turn to face Donnie.
But it’s not Donnie hovering over me, glaring with eyes so angry they would burn through anyone else. It’s not Donnie who puts his foot on my chest. Donnie is a few feet away, watching with an apologetic expression that looks oddly sincere. I tear my eyes off him as my head spins, trying to focus on the loafered foot that is planted on my chest. My eyes trace up a pair of expensive slacks, up to a broad chest covered by a blazer and tie.
“Frank. You worthless motherfucker.” He snarls at me.
There’s a deadly silence.
“Good to see you too bro.”
Oh, you all have so much to learn. There is an awful lot about our lovely Iero that you have nooooooooooo idea about. Things are about to get messy. Very messy. Rate and Review peeps. You have no idea what a difference it makes, inspiration wise. Reviews based on actual content are especially appreciated. I like to know specific thoughts. Gratzi. Rock n' Roll. xoxo Evangeline.
Sign up to rate and review this story