Kitten pedophilia, hermaphrodites from south west Patagonia, and growly Gerards....NEW CHAPTER UP, GUYS!! :D :D
Trying to Escape the Inevitable has FINALLY been updated, and I’d really, really appreciate it if you checked it out and R&R it… http://www.ficwad.com/story/184563
Oh, and I’ve also posted my first ever song, if you’re interested- http://www.ficwad.com/story/184406
Right, I think there will be two chapters after this, actually, but definitely no more. So enjoy the complete and utter craziness!
Chapter Twenty Three
I am standing in a rainbow striped church.
As I look round, I see that it’s filled with a bizarre assortment of people I vaguely know. I also notice, much to my embarrassment, that all I’m wearing is a pair of green tights and a fluffy feather boa. However, I am holding the hand of the god of all sexy, hot, cock-combusting yuminess that is Frank Iero, so everything is just dandy, despite the fact a frowny-looking priest is glowering down at us and droning on about something like ‘everlasting bonds’ and ‘matrimony’.
Standing cheerfully behind him on the alter is a giant, six-tiered wedding cake, lathered in black icing and decorated with two adorable little icing snails under a large red love heart. The snails are kissing, so they must have lips after all.
A strange version of ‘The wheels on the bus go round and round’ floats through the church from where Mikey is strumming on his bass guitar, wearing a unicorn horn on his head. Although actually, when I listen more closely, it becomes apparent that it sounds more like ‘The gays on the bus play tonsil badminton, all day long’. But hey, Mikey was always a messed up little fucker. He also clearly does not understand that it is tonsil tennis, not badminton.
In the front pew, Jamie is sitting in a long, hooded black cloak like the Grim Reaper’s while muttering dark incantations under her breath that sound as if they’re meant to turn Frank and I to little piles of bones there and then. Beside her, Ray is beaming and wiping tears from his eyes, while several dozen kittens claw their way all over him, mewling and playing with his ‘fro as if it’s a ball of yarn.
The monotonous drone of the disapproving priest suddenly comes to a halt, and I look up just as he says with a look of great pain and disgust, “I now pronounce you-”
“Wake up, you penisnostril!”
My wonderful dream is harshly shattered by a loud voice, and all my new, dismal little brain cells growl angrily, brandishing little spears and battleaxes to personally decapitate the moron-bum that just destroyed my wedding to the dazzlingly hot deity of all sexiness.
Something pokes my chest none-too gently. “Oi! Geefreak!”
I snuffle and snort my grumpy way back into consciousness.
That double-crossing, abysmal fucker that always ruins everything.
Which means I’m not really about to marry the sex god of knee-melting yumminess in a rainbow church with a murderous looking priest in front of a snail wedding cake, while listening to the homosexual adaption of ‘The wheels on the bus go round and round’, played by my unicorn-believing little brother.
Instead, I am still stewing in my own depression, stench and idiocy, splatted attractively and maturely on my bed under a giant poster of Kurt Cobain, which isn’t really doing a good enough job of keeping the horribly sunny rays of the sun out of my scratchy, gritty eyes.
Well, obviously the sun’s rays are going to be sunny. But seriously, couldn’t they go and be sunny somewhere else that is not ruining my already tragic life? I mean, I already have a completely broken heart and hair that’s greasier than a McDonald’s cheeseburger on the celebration of greasy greasiness day. And seriously, that is pretty damn greasy.
But I mean, I already have all that to contend with, not mentioning the fact I still have a bunch of depressive lunatics inside my head that are not squealing and wearing pink knickers, but in black funeral veils and sobbing uncontrollably. I really don’t need to be blinded on top of everything else.
I blink, my gaze gradually focusing on my surroundings.
Which sadly, is definitely not a stripy rainbow church.
I must say, this is a little life-destroying. My brain is clearly plotting against me and trying to make me so unhinged I actually have to be wheeled into a mental asylum with crazed, rotating eyes and a frothy mouth. I mean, the grey-celled little fuckers tricked me into believing all my dreams were about to come true. Mentally unbalanced traitors.
Um, not that wearing a pair of green tights at my wedding is one of my dreams. Or listening to Mikey playing ‘The gays on the bus’, for that matter.
But I really thought I was going to be marrying a sex god. Or at least that a sex god really did like me, rather than the fact I was just some random molestation in a bathtub.
Now I’m just lying, alone and extremely whiffy due to over a week without a shower, under the comfort of a giant Nirvana poster. And there my life is still horribly lacking in Frank. Not to mention the fact I really am starting to lose the plot I never had.
I groan despondently and squint and scowl into the sun-soaked gold of my bedroom, realising that I must have company. The demon that roused me from a wonderfully Frank-full dream. Ooooh, maybe it is Frank!
Shut up, you little pessimists.
Wait, that’s being an optimist.
Never mind. Just shut up.
I open my eyes hopefully, but sadly, instead of it being the sexiest creature ever to exist, there’s a puffy-headed, cat-molesting moron standing over my bed, beaming far too cheerfully. Pfff. Seriously. What is it with people being happy?!
“Hello,” Ray beams, waving dorkishly.
All my dreams come crashing down, because seriously, I doubt Frank would hide himself inside a puffy-haired imbecile.
I groan and close my eyes again. “Fuck off.”
“Nice to see you too,” Ray says sarcastically, but he still sounds annoyingly good natured.
I growl slightly and burrow further under my poster, which is actually surprisingly comfortable. I sort of hope that Ray will take the hint and just skedaddle, but sadly, he remains irritatingly present and continually prodding my shoulder.
“Come on, you really need to get up,” Ray says, poking me harder when I don’t respond.
I growl menacingly. Well. Menacingly-ish. It’s hard to sound ferocious and fearsome when your heart is broken more than a teenage girl’s after finding out that Robert Pattinson won’t actually make babies with them.
“That’s not remotely scary, Gee,” Ray sighs. “You just sound like a dying hamster.”
“And that isn’t terrifying?” I snarl without opening my eyes. Admittedly not my best comeback, but hey, I’m dying. Of course I’m not going to have such sharp retaliations.
“…No,” Ray says, sounding worried. “Look, Gerard, I really think you should get up.”
“Go fuck a cat, Ray.”
“And just out of interest, why are you lying under a poster of Kurt Cobain?”
“Go fuck a kitten, Ray.”
“That’s just sick, Gerard!”
“And fucking a cat isn’t?!” I exclaim.
“Yeah, but a kitten?! That’s like…feline paedophilia!” Ray says in disgust.
“Well, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” I say smugly from under my poster.
“For the last time, I AM NOT SEXUALLY ATTRACTED TO MY CAT!”
There’s a silence, broken only by the soft chirping of birdsong seeping through my window along with the warm, golden summer sunshine, which is really just too bright for its own damn good.
“You realise everyone in the street probably just heard that,” I say nastily, snuggling back under my pretend duvet and closing my eyes so as I don’t have to look at the terrible, terrible fluffy-skulled mistake that is my best friend.
“Shut up,” Ray says snappily. “And, getting back to the point- why are you lying under that? Is there actually a good reason, or have you just finally lost it?”
“Seriously, go and fuck something feline and leave me to die alone,” I snap.
“Not happening, fuckface,” Ray says cheerfully. “Now will you please just tell me why you are lying under that poster?”
“Because it’s comforting,” I say sniffily.
“Um, lying under a man who committed suicide is comforting?”
“Fuck you Toro. I’ve lost my duvet.”
“Gee, I think you’ve lost more than your duvet.”
I scowl. “Ha. Ha. Look, just go play tonsil tennis with Satan or something,” I roll my eyes grumpily. “Just don’t flaunt the fact you have something to swap saliva with in my face.”
“No, something, Ray. I mean, it sure as hell isn’t human.”
“She’s an angel,” Ray sighs dreamily, sinking down beside me on my bed and unintentionally crumpling my makeshift duvet.
“She’s the devil,” I growl, trying to tug my poster from under Ray’s gigantic ass, as he doesn’t seem to have noticed that he’s sitting on and squashing the only important thing left in my life. “She practically castrated me.”
“She’s got beautiful eyes.”
“She looks like she’s got tarantulas instead of eyelashes.”
“She’s got amazing skin.”
“She’s more orange than an orang-utan in a sun bed.”
Ray blinks. “Orang-utans are hairy, Gee.”
“Is Jamie bald?!”
“No, but she isn’t ginger.”
“Oh, for disembowelling out loud, will people STOP rubbing my nose in the fact I seem to be the ONLY human being in existence that doesn’t have a girlfriend, boyfriend, or intimate relations with the devil?!” I snap furiously, covering my ears. “I want someone to lick, Ray!”
“Oh,” Ray looks slightly abashed. “Sorry, Geefreak.”
“I’ll forgive you if you either get your fat ass off my poster or go get me a duvet,” I say snippily.
“Sorry,” Ray grins.
I open my eyes fully and glare at the fro-faced lunatic.
“What?” I snarl.
“Sorry,” Ray says apologetically. “But I came over to drag you out and cheer you up-”
“Jeez, you’ve done such a great job,” I snarl grumpily, turning away towards my window, where the sun is still streaming irritatingly through onto the carpet. “Just go and play tonsil tennis with the bitch from hell, I told you.”
“Nope, you’re coming with me.”
My eyes snap open wider than the poor postman’s yesterday when I was yelling about the abominations caused by flowery underwear. And comparing my manly parts to the leaning tower of Pisa. Eek. I hope his padded cell is comfortable.
“What?! I’m not joining in, you sicko!” I yelp in horror, clinging to my poster for comfort.
Ray makes a rather unattractive retching sound. “I didn’t mean that,” he gasps, looking very, very pale. “I meant that I’m going to take you out to the park and buy you ice cream to help you forget Frank.” He says shakily, suppressing a burp.
“Oh, so ice cream destroys memories now, does it?” I ask sarcastically.
“Oh shut up and stop being so annoying,” Ray sighs despairingly, and before I can see it coming, Ray’s grabbing hold of my elbow and dragging me out from under my giant poster and onto the floor in an ungraceful splat of distraught, growly Gerard.
You know, the kind of thing everyone would love to find on their bedroom carpet.
“Oh dear god,” Ray splutters, staggering back and looking ready to start retching all over my room.
“What?” I snarl from where I’m still sprawled on the carpet.
“Um, no offence, but I REALLY think you should take a shower first,” Ray adds hastily, backing away rapidly while holding his nose and spluttering. “Did something die in you?!”
“My heart,” I say tragically, sniffling into my carpet.
Ray rolls his eyes to the heavens. “Oh my god, how cheesy are you?”
I give him the finger and pout, which probably doesn’t really have any affect, seeing as my face is currently squished uncomfortably into the carpet.
“You smell very cheesy. You remind me of stilton,” Ray says, clamping a hand over his mouth and nose.
“Mikey said that earlier,” I admit grumpily, sighing. “Is it that bad?”
“Um…” Ray trails off tactfully, still holding his nose.
“Oh moose poop,” I sigh despairingly. “Is that why Frank dumped me?” I sniffle into the carpet at the memory of the mango-scented sex god’s devastating departure last week.
Ray is saved from another tactful silence as my door bursts open, and my evil, skinny little unicorn humping sibling skips inside, holding a large, steaming mug of coffee.
“Ever tried knocking?” I hiss snappily from the floor.
“Didn’t see the point,” Mikey shrugs carelessly. “Hi, Ray,” he adds, waving at where Ray is backed as far away from me as possible beside my dresser.
“What, just because I’m heartbroken I don’t count anymore?” I growl.
“Gee, you’re not going to ‘count’ until you’ve showered,” Mikey splutters, having tried approaching me, coming into contact with the- admittedly rather strong- smell of a very unwashed and distraught Gerard and being forced to retreat, choking.
I scowl. “What’s so great about showering?”
“It’ll keep the rest of the human race alive,” Ray gasps, holding his nose.
“You know, I’m really insulted,” I say huffily, turning away from my moronic best friend and evil younger sibling. “Why are you guys even here, anyway?”
“Because,” Ray chokes. “We’re trying to cheer you up.”
I remain huffily turned around.
“C’mon, fuckface,” Mikey sighs despairingly. “I even brought you coffee. You can have it if you try and cheer up.”
“And shower,” Ray adds quickly. “You’ll shower even if I have to fucking come with you.”
“Anytime, gorgeous,” I mutter from under my greasy, unwashed hair.
Ray stifles a retch, and I feel a little better. For some reason, making my best friend nauseous always makes me feel a little better about life.
“Um, someone called for you, Gerard,” Mikey says tentatively, and I instantly whirl round, eyes wide, heart pounding. I’m almost certain the pink knicker wearing little lunatics inside my skull are even showing the tiniest little signs of returning from the dead in hope and saliva.
“Who?!” I exclaim.
“Chill, it wasn’t Frank,” Mikey reassures me, and I droop and die inside.“It was…some dude called…Trevor?” he asks questioningly.
My heart stops.
“Who’s that?” Mikey asks curiously.
“Oh meese shit,” I breathe. “That was Glen motherfucking Danzig! He must be out of hospital!”
Ray’s eyes widen. “You hospitalised the Glen Danzig?!” he yelps incredulously.
“No, just someone who looks scarily like him I met on holiday last year,” I say sadly. “Well, I don’t know if he still will after all that surgery.”
Mikey shakes his head despairingly at me. “You are one fucked up little pumpkin, aren’t you?”
“How am I a pumpkin?” I frown, baffled. “And are you sure Frank didn’t call pretending to be someone called Trevor?”
“I think it’s the miniature teeth or something,” Mikey says casually. “And sorry, but he really hasn’t. Now, perhaps you really should go take a shower unless you actually want to get killed by your own smell.”
“I don’t care if I die,” I say limply, staring despondently at my messy carpet and sniffing pitifully. “Frank’s gone. What’s the point?” I wail tragically.
“Gerard…you kind of look as if you’re loosing the plot,” Ray says gently.
“I’ve lost Frank,” I sniffle, wiping my dribbling nose on a stray Kerrang! magazine.
“Are you implying that Frank is the plot?”
“No, I’m implying he’s god,” I sniff sadly.
Mikey sighs, and then, after wrapping one of my clean t-shirts across his nose, he sits down tentatively on the carpet beside me, and starts to slightly warily pat me on the head.
“You really liked him, Gee?” Ray asks softly, sounding uncharacteristically sensitive as Mikey pats me gently on the back and pushes the mug of coffee towards where my nose is squished into the carpet.
I nod, wiping my nose and watery eyes on my horrified little brother’s leg.
“Well…why don’t you just call him?” Ray asks.
Mikey snorts. “Are you actually being serious, Raymond?”
Ray looks perplexed. “Um….yeah?”
“Of course Gee isn’t going to call him- that’s far too logical a solution! It’s so obviously far better to lie in a stinking slump in bed, wishing your life would be terminated for over a week,” Mikey says sarcastically.
I scowl through my snivelling and take a large gulp of the coffee. “Hey. The reason I didn’t call him was…well, because he’s like, so ridiculously out of my league and I thought it would make me seem a clingy teenage girl.”
“That’s what you are,” Mikey points out. “Just with a dick.”
“But…I really do think he liked you,” Ray says, frowning. “Really.”
“Yeah, until he broke my heart and left me to die in Satan’s lair,” I say, my eyes becoming dangerously watery.
“Oh, Gee, I’m sorry,” Ray bites his lip sympathetically, half twitching towards me, but then spluttering and pinching his nose more tightly.
I shrug, snivelling unattractively into Mikey’s sleeve.
“But I agree- I really think he liked you, dude,” Mikey says, trying to prise my nose from his sleeve while Ray proceeds to fumble around in his ‘fro for something, still managing to keep one hand firmly clamped over his nose, which really doesn’t make me feel a whole lot better about myself.
“Yeah, the whole running away from me as fast as he could really emphasised that,” I sniff sarcastically into the carpet.
“No, really, Gee,” Ray insists, scrabbling more frantically in his mass of puffy hair, expression serious. “I don’t understand what happened.”
“Dude, you weren’t there. I think it was pretty clear what happened,” I sigh.
“I was there!” Ray says indignantly.
“Ray, you were covering my crotch from the other end of the phone,” I point out sadly. “I wouldn’t call that being there.”
Ray promptly makes another retching sound at the thought of being a crotch cover for me, and finally draws a large blue clothes peg out from under his endless curly hair.
I stop wiping my runny nose on my younger brother and he stops patting my head. We both stare questioningly at Ray as he beams happily at the clothes peg as if he’s just found the meaning of life.
“Are you going to explain to me why the hell you have a clothes peg in there?” Mikey asks, sounding concerned for Ray’s sanity.
“I dropped one in there this morning when I was hanging up the washing for one- talk about good luck!” Ray beams, clipping the peg onto his nose and then crossing the room to sit down tentatively beside me.
“Gerard, I really think there’s more to this than you think,” Ray says gently, starting to stoke my eyelids. “Don’t go all drama-queenish and think there’s no hope.”
“Why is everyone stroking my god damn eyelids?!” I exclaim, sitting up and leaning dismally against my bed between Ray and Mikey. Ray continues to stroke my eyelids, and Mikey stays patting my back slightly warily.
“Because your eyes keep rotating in this really weird way whenever I mention Frank,” Ray looks like he’s biting back laughter, despite the fact I am tragically dying of a broken heart.
“I can’t help it!” I snap. “And incidentally, have you ever noticed how the skin of eyelids feels the same as a dick?”
Ray burps unhappily, and starts pawing the carpet with his contaminated hand, as if my eyelids have actually just become penises.
“Can’t you just let me go back to bed?” I pout unhappily.
“No,” Ray says, looking slightly green. “We’re not gunna let that happen.”
“Yup,” Mikey agrees. “I’m with you, Toro bum.”
“I’m going to cheer you up, Geefreak, if it’s the last thing I do,” Ray announces.
“It probably will be,” I growl. “Nothing’s going to bring Frank back. NOTHING, okay?”
“Positive little flower, aren’t you?” Ray says brightly.
I scowl furiously, lean over, and remove the clothes peg from Ray’s nasal passages, exposing him to the full extent of my odour.
My cat-abusing best friend promptly chokes and sputters and scrambles as far away from me as he possibly can, retching horribly.
Maybe now I can crawl back under my Nirvana poster and hopefully return to my dreams of a rainbow wedding and a six-tiered black icing cake. The six tiers would obviously be a metaphor for the amount of manly parts my husband has.
It really destroys me a little inside to realise that I’m never going to find out if he really does have multiple baby-making bits.
“Okay, fucker,” Mikey says firmly to me, as Ray starts vomiting into my t-shirt drawer. “Here’s what’s happening. You are going to finish this coffee, take a shower, and get dressed. Then Ray and I are going to take you down to the park and by you a whole vat of ice cream and then you are going to call Frank.”
I blink. Ray pauses in emptying his half-digested breakfast over my clothes.
“…I-what?” I choke.
“You heard,” Mikey says determinedly. “You’ll never get over the dude unless you know where you are. And for that, you need to call him.”
“But he’ll tell me I’m an un-coordinated loser with no control over my tongue.”
“There’s nothing more refreshing than the truth, Gerard.” Mikey says brightly. “Ray, don’t you think Gerard should call Mr. Iero?”
Cue a spattering sound of agreement.
“Right, that’s settled then,” Mikey beams. “Come on, dingbat. Bath-time!”
Much to my displeasure, an hour later I am standing, scowling moodily in the blistering sunlight of the park, freshly showered, cleaned, and dressed, wishing I’d brought sunglasses, because seriously, my eyes are dying. I’m also wishing I was still curled up under a large poster of Kurt Cobain, because so far, this whole ‘cheering Gerard up’ thing isn’t much fun.
I mean, the amount of sun outside is just not natural. Ugh.
“Double scoop?” the smiling man in the ice cream van asks cheerfully.
“Double, thanks,” Ray replies, sliding a few coins across the counter.
“There you go, Gee,” Ray says, handing me a cone of cookie dough ice cream and Mikey a cappuccino one as we start across the balmy green grass of the park in the direction of one of the shady oak trees.
“Thanks,” I mumble, licking it despondently and wishing it was Frank.
The world is a tragic place.
Ray sighs contentedly as we flop down in the dappled shade of the tree.
“Thanks, Ray,” Mikey chirps happily, slurping away at his cappuccino ice cream. “This is almost better than coffee.”
There’s a silence for a few moments, while I remember the time magnificently face-planted on the grass in front of Frank. And bashed him over the head with a guitar. And just generally completely humiliated myself, thanks to the complete and utter perverted lunacy of my pink-knicker wearing brain cells.
Bless their little frothy tongues.
I look up, and see that both Mikey and Ray are suddenly grinning scarily at me.
And Ray is holding out a mobile phone.
“What?” I blink bemusedly.
“It’s ringing,” Ray beams, thrusting the phone against my ear.
“To who?” I yelp, alarmed.
“Frank.” Ray looks like he’s having the time of his life. Puffy-skulled fucker.
Before I can die and stop all my pink-knicker wearing brain cells peeking up hopefully from their little graves at the mention of Mr. Iero, someone picks up at the other end.
“Hello?” a female voice says.
All my squealy, conspiring brain cells scrabble back into their graves.
I blink tragically and mouth ‘It’s a girl!’ to Ray and Mikey’s expectant faces.
“Hello?” the woman says again.
“Eemph,” I say intelligently.
“I mean, ehwtogehoim, is uh, Frank there?” I manage weakly.
“I’m sorry, he’s out at the moment…can I ask who’s calling?”
“Uh, Gerar- um, I mean, Geraldine,” I find myself stammering in a disturbingly girly voice, not entirely sure why I suddenly found the need to become female.
Ray looks completely bewildered, while Mikey sniggers infuriatingly.
“Oh, are you the person Frank’s been seeing so much of lately?”
“Uh…you mean Satan?” I squeak in my ‘Geraldine’ voice.
“Um,” I say wisely.
“My Frankie’s become a Satanist?” the voice sounds very upset.
“Your Frankie?” I spit bitterly before I can stop myself.
There’s a slightly confused silence. Then-
“Uh, yes. He’s my son.”
Oh moose crap and snail slime. I want to die.
“Oh,” I stammer, feeling my cheeks flooding bright scarlet. Beside me, both Ray and Mikey are sniggering in that mature way only Ray and Mikey can. Well, and my brain cells. Little traitors.
“Oh,” I stutter again, wanting to die. “Um, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Iero.”
Ray inhales his ice cream in amusement.
“It’s Ms. Priccolo. I am divorced.”
“Oh. Um. Sorry. And just for the record, Frank is not a Satanist.”
“Who are you?” Frank’s Mom asks.
“G-Geraldine,” I stammer, only just remembering to say it in a not very convincing female voice. “I said.”
“You sound very masculine, Geraldine.”
I gulp. “Uh. I’m from…south west…Patagonia, and I’m…uh…in…in the middle of a… sex change…?”
Ray chokes on his ice cream and Mikey lets a howl of laughter.
“Um, no. Just….generally.” I stammer, starting to panic slightly.
“A sex change?”
“Yes, I’m a… hermaphrodite.”
Ray is now choking so hard Mikey has to whack him violently on the back.
“But…I thought you didn’t get human hermaphrodites.”
“I was, um…in an accident. In a science lab. They thought I was a…worm…?”
If he wasn’t trying to stop Ray dying from choking, I’m sure Mikey would be hysterical at this juncture. However, Ray looks in a pretty serious situation here. I mean, it’s not really a good sign if people go blue, is it?
There’s an ominous silence over the phone.
“So, uh, Frank’s not around?” I manage eventually.
“No, I’m afraid he’s gone out,” Ms. Priccolo replies, as if we’ve just had a perfectly normal conversation completely devoid in hermaphrodites named Geraldine. “He should be back soon. He only went to meet a friend- he’s been very down the last week or so. Not been out much.”
All my pink-knicker wearing brain cells leap in hope, poking their little goggle eyes up from their graves in excitement.
“Really?” I ask excitedly.
“…Yes,” Ms. Priccolo sounds a little irritated at my overjoyed tone.
“Why?” I ask hopefully as my old, ridiculously squealy and flamboyant brain cells start battling the new, depressing ones with sparkly pink spears and cherry stones. Freaks.
But I do love them really. It’s lovely to have the little fuckers back.
Even if they are going to try and ruin my life again.
“I’m not sure. Something about romance, I think…something about…oh, I can’t remember- he never tells me anything, sorry,” Frank’s Mom replies.
“But he’s definitely unhappy?”
“Yes, I’ve never seen him look so depressed.”
“YES!” I squeal, all my imbecilic, excitable pink-knicker wearing brain cells almost completely resurrected inside my skull; most of the tragic, glum ones are now impaled with the glittery spears or strangled with feather boas. “FUCK YES!”
“I’m sorry?” Ms. Priccolo says snippily, and I realise I just screamed with joy about the fact her son is very depressed. Oh dear. They’ve only been back two seconds, and those pink knicker wearing little lunatics are already making me act like a complete moron.
“Oh…um, sorry. Uh…cultural differences?” I bite my lip guiltily.
Mikey is currently giving Ray the Heimlich manoeuvre.
“Uh, I’d better go,” I say quickly, realising that Ray might actually be dying.
“…Okay. I’ll tell him you called,” unless I’m mistaken, she sounds amused.
“Oh, you don’t need-”
“Geraldine the hermaphrodite from south west Patagonia currently undergoing a sex change. I think it should be easy enough to remember,” Ms. Priccolo says brightly, and then the line goes dead.
I facepalm, and drop the phone to the grass and groan loudly for several minutes, because Frank is going to find out that I called him like a clingy teenage girl. And realise that I pretended to be a hermaphrodite named Geraldine. His Mom also may or may not think he is a Satanist now.
“Oh, I’m fine, by the way,” Ray breaks crossly through my thoughts. “No thanks to you.”
I blink and look up to see that he is indeed fine, thanks to Mikey’s geeky attention-paying in first aid lessons.
“How did it go?” Mikey smirks. “Geraldine?”
I scowl. “Shut up, fuckface.”
But I can’t stop a huge, grin splitting across my face while all my unhinged, glittery little brain cells start skipping and dancing and using the dead, depressing brain cells as trampolines, cause they’re kind of morbid like that.
“What?” Ray looks amused, despite the fact I just about nearly made him die.
“Frank’s depressed,” I beam happily.
Mikey sighs heavily. “You really are one messed up little moron, aren’t you?”
“But this means-”
“That Frank’s sad about what happened!” Ray concludes excitedly.
“Or that he’s sad about Jamie,” Mikey points out, being the evil little destroyed of lives he is. “Don’t get all cheerful yet.”
“Oh,” Ray’s face falls.
All my little brain cells droop tragically.
“But I guess we’ll find out in a moment,” Mikey continues casually, finishing off his ice cream.
“Huh?” I blink myself out of my returning despair and look up at my brother.
“Cause he’s coming this way,” Mikey says calmly.
I spit out my mouthful of ice cream into Ray’s ‘fro, somehow manage to catapult Ray’s mobile across the grass and into a family picnic, where it lands gracefully in the jelly and a freckly little girl gives me a look that clearly says she wants to scoop out my intestines and wear them round her neck.
Normally, I’d be slightly terrified, but I barely notice now.
My heart feels as though it’s suddenly being used as a treadmill for all my deranged brain cells as I whirl round to where Mikey and Ray are looking, feeling completely terrified.
My stomach actually falls out.
Striding across the grass and looking unusually meek, but of course still insanely, knee-meltingly hot with cock-detonatingly tight skinnies and glitteringly enchanting eyes, is none other than Frank Iero.
Mwhahaha…What’s gunna happen? xD I shall update within a week…what did you all think of this chapter? I really hope it was okay, because I’m feeling kinda lacking in confidence at the moment, which is incredibly annoying. Ugh. Anyway, pretty please rate and review- I’d really like to know what you think, and if you had a favourite bit/what it was. Love you all, seriously- thanks so much for being so amazing and supportive!
Free rainbow cupcakes decorated with mini Franks for everyone who R&Rs! :D
P.s. Remember to check out the two links at the top of the page if you have time (: