Frank is disappearing inside himself, and Gerard witnesses a horrible tragedy.
It would be another month before Frank saw Gerard again.
Each day passed without meaning. Frank sunk deeper and deeper into a daze, only barely conscious of the fact that he had turned into the busiest prostitute on the corner. Every minute of that month was spent either having sex or sleeping.
Frank preferred the latter activity, because every night he would get to see those unique hazel eyes. In his dreams, he would approach Gerard and kiss him until Gerard pushed him away. Dream-Gerard would look down at Frank with that gorgeous smile of his and ask: "What took you so long, Frankie?"
And even though there were times that he couldn't remember his dreams, Frank would sometimes catch himself thinking of ways to answer this question. What had taken him so long? Traffic?
Frank was in one of his fantasies while standing on his usual corner. He had just been imagining what it would feel like to gently take Gerard's full lower lip into his mouth when a red GMC Acadia pulled up next to the sidewalk. With a little wave to the two female prostitutes he was sharing the corner with, Frank swaggered over to greet his next client.
"Evening," he said huskily, still halfway in Gerard-land. The clock on the GMC's radio read 4:57.
The door unlocked, and Frank hopped into the vehicle in one swift movement. Once he had shut the door behind him, Frank turned to get a first look at his client.
The man in the driver's seat had to be around the age of thirty. Frank could see well-defined muscle beneath the gray-blue t-shirt. The John had dark brown hair that curled in loose waves down to his cheeks. He had dark-hazel eyes, but they didn't have the same greenish hue as Gerard's.
'He could kill me.' The thought came out of nowhere, but Frank wasn't the least bit disturbed. 'He could kill me, and I might let him. What could I do to stop him?'
The John was watching him curiously, and Frank decided to make his move. He leaned forward, as usual, and locked eyes with the driver.
"My name's Frank," he said in a low voice. "And yours?"
The driver smiled, obviously not new to the way things were done around here. "Jared."
Frank's breath caught. 'So close, yet so far...' he thought, and a small giggle escaped his lips.
"You want a good time, Jared?" he purred, now running a hand over Jared's toned stomach. Light as a feather in some places, more pressure in others.
Jared's grin widened. "I know exactly where to find one," he said, pressing his lips against Frank's.
'Uh-oh,' Frank thought. 'Time to go into auto-pilot.'
This was something he did often; simply moving his body without feeling anything. These were not the lips he wanted, these were not the hands he wanted, and these were definitely not the eyes he longed to gaze into.
Frank was dimly aware of Jared pulling away from the sidewalk. He didn't actually pay attention to the road they were traveling on until the neon sign was blinking in front of his face.
"Oh God," he whispered, not daring to believe it. Frank didn't turn his head to see if Jared was out of the car yet, because he knew he would see that God damn apartment building. He knew that if he looked up, there was a chance that he might see those haunting eyes watching him go into a hotel with a stranger.
"You say something, babe?" asked Jared. He had gotten out and opened the door for Frank, almost like a gentleman.
'Yeah, a gentleman that plans on fucking my brains out without ever planning to see me again.' Out loud, Frank said: "Nothing. Just anticipating."
He climbed out of the Acadia, every cell in his body screaming 'RUN!' He felt Jared's arm go around his shoulder, and suddenly he was in a motel room.
Jared was on the bed, waiting. Frank swallowed, but his throat was dry. 'Not for long,' he thought, feeling slightly nauseous.
His hands slid under Jared's shirt, lifting it up and over his head and running an experienced hand across his chest. Long, slender fingers explored the John's six-pack.
Jared moaned, and Frank saw the beginnings of an erection straining against his jeans. Jared's hand were pulling at his shirt now, and Frank lifted his arms up and allowed himself to be stripped of his t-shirt. He saw Jared staring at his bruised torso with a look of hunger in those dark-hazel eyes of his, and shivered.
Hands went on exploring, clothes were torn off, and Frank found himself once again thinking of green/dark-hazel eyes.
Strangely, Frank thought he smelled smoke.
Gerard was eating poptarts when he saw it. That red Acadia gliding into the parking lot, no doubt containing a prostitute and her John.
'Or his,' he corrected himself. Frank's face swam in front of his vision but he ignored it. He was good at that now.
Gerard lifted the poptart to his mouth, took a bite, and choked. Eyes streaming, he hacked up the strawberry-flavored pastry and pressed his nose against the window.
'No,' Gerard thought desperately. 'No. No. Nononono NO!'
But even as he tried to deny it, Gerard couldn't stop seeing that figure outside his window walking into the motel with a man holding him close. A short figure, with black hair that was short in the back but long in the front to flop in front of one of his eyes.
And suddenly it wasn't just the poptart making his eyes water.
'You knew him for one day!' his mind shrieked. 'Get over it!'
But he didn't want to. In one day he had developed a crush on Frank, but over the course of a month he found himself thinking constantly about him.
Oh God. No.
Frank didn't think about him that way. He hadn't come back. Hadn't called. Hadn't even sent him a letter. He didn't give a flying fuck.
Gerard was furious with himself. Here he was crying because a prostitute didn't want him. 'But Frank's more than a prostitute,' he thought. 'Frank's special.'
Oh God. Please. No.
Gerard couldn't take his eyes off of the neon sign that flickered on the motel roof. Red flooded his mind and took up his entire sight. Red neon. Orange flames.
The twenty-year-old was horrified to see fire licking its way along the motel. Flames were consuming it faster than Gerard could believe. People were running out the front door like ants fleeing a magnifying glass, but none of them had black hair.
Gerard skidded across the kitchen and dashed out the door in his bare feet, unwilling to spend precious seconds putting on his shoes. His hair was messy and he was in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, but he didn't slow down as he ran across the street.
He was so close that he could feel the heat of the fire cooking his face. "FRANK!"
Gerard was completely alone now; everyone else had run off to save their own skins. The red Acadia was still there, along with a few other cars. "FRANK!"
The fire had covered the entire building by now. Anyone left inside would have surely died of smoke-inhalation or burns.
Gerard dropped to his knees, unable to stand anymore. His eyes were wide and unseeing, flames reflected in their depths. Tears streaked his face.
"FRANK!" he howled. His whole body was shaking with sobs, and he didn't even hear the sirens of the firetrucks until a hand landed on his shoulder. Gerard looked up to see a wise-looking man in his forties dressed in a fireman's suit.
"You okay, kid?" asked the fireman.
Gerard couldn't answer. The roof of the motel had collapsed in, crushing any hope he had of finding Frank alive.
:::::::::: Demolition Lovers ::::::::::
AN: Attention artists! I'm asking you to draw this scene, or any other scene, and put it online. Send me a link, if you'd like. The contest winner gets a sneak-peak at any future chapters that I have written! So draw, paint, and show me what ya got!