Misguided skipping, Saliva souviners, and The sparkly prostitution of brain cells...NEW CHAPTER, GUYS!! :D :D EDITED SINCE YESTERDAY!!
EDITED SINCE YESTERDAY!!
Chapter Twenty Four
If life meant sense, I would be skipping right now.
However, life does not make sense, and I am not skipping.
When I say skipping, I mean metaphorical skipping, because, as I have stated before, literally skipping is not really a wise move for me- unless I want to look like a demented sea urchin on crack, dismantle my own skeleton, and knock out/maim/kill/remove the sanity of everyone in a ten metre radius. And seeing as it is a swelteringly sunny August day, the park is quite busy. I doubt a massacre would really be welcome, especially with so many kids around.
But luckily for the occupants of the park, I am not skipping- literally or metaphorically (when I skip metaphorically, my eyes go funny and people get scared).
Instead, I am suddenly quivering in terror behind the giant puffball of puffiness that is Ray’s hair.
In fact, I am actually the furthest thing from any kind of skipping- I actually think I may be about to pass on. And by that I mean mortally pass on to my next life as a sweet, green-swirled little snail which may or may not have lips and will hopefully marry and make adorable little snail babies with a snail named Frank Iero.
I wonder what a mini-Mohawk would be like on a snail…
Get to the point, fuckface.
Oh, yeah. Sorry. I always get distracted by daydreams of snail intercourse and reincarnated life. I guess I’m just a little messed up like that.
Anyway, the reason as to why I’m suddenly cowering behind the gigantic mass of curls and insanity that is my best friend’s hair is because he’s here.
Yes, that’s right. Frank Iero.
The Frank Iero who molested me in a bathtub and did the most cock-combusting things to my manly parts on Satan’s bed.
The Frank Iero who may or may not still be dating Satan.
The incredibly lickable and ridiculously sexy Frank Iero who smells of mangoes and whose smiles are the destroyer of kneecaps.
And um, the Frank Iero who’s Mom may now think is a Satanist whose best friend is an insane hermaphrodite from south west Patagonia named Geraldine.
Oh, and he’s also like, twelve moose salivating metres away.
Wow, that’s like, the perfect distance to be from me if you value your life in any respect. You know, just in case I misguidedly start skipping or something life-destroying like that. …He must be my soul mate.
Oh my god, I really am beyond tragic. And I really, really do not have time to calculate whether a sex god is far enough away for me to start skipping or not.
I AM GOING TO DIE.
Like, in the fatal sense.
Oh, and in case you’re wondering, there is another way in which you can die- perhaps the only thing that has stuck in my head from English lessons is that in Shakespearian times, die also meant ‘orgasm’. Trust my hormonally deranged little brain cells to remember that, but hey, at least I got one question right on my exam paper.
Sadly, however, that is not the kind of dying I’m going to be doing right now.
You’d think after over a week of flailing about dramatically in a heartbroken, overly whiffy slump in my bed, sobbing and desperately craving a certain mango-scented and extremely lickable sex god with a magical tongue and questionably multiple penises, I’d be over the fucking moon to see him again, but actually, instead of wanting to skip and consequently destroy the world, I want to be sucked into the pits of hell and die a happy, un-humiliating death there.
Clearly, if Frank comes over here, he will dump me and destroy my life. I mean, how on earth could I even have thought he’d want to swap saliva with me ever, ever again?!
The dude’s a fucking god.
Like, seriously. Well, not a religious god. A sexual one.
But wow, if he was what religious god is like, I would become a fucking Nun.
Except they’re women. But hey, I could become a woman too.
Seriously, though- Mr. Iero really is just too god damn sexy for his own good- his eyes are golden russet and rimmed in scarlet as usual, his hair is sexily dishevelled and flops carelessly across the perfect skin of his face, and his lip ring glints silver in the summer sunlight beating down on the park. His jeans are so tight they might as well be painted on, although sadly conceal his multiple cocks, and his sleeveless Iron Maiden t-shirt clings to his slim yet muscular torso in all the right places, showing off his wonderfully smooth, lightly tanned biceps.
Like I said. He is practically god.
And I’m an albino lookalike lunatic who is destined to become a snail.
I am so beyond out of his league that I’m not even in a league.
Yes. It’s official. I’m going to get ditched. Like, now.
“Oh giggling octopi,” I whisper, eyes wide in horror as I stare at Frank’s rapidly approaching figure. “I am going to die.”
“That rhymed,” Ray says brightly from where he’s sitting beside me on the grass, finishing his ice cream. “You should totally use that as lyrics, Gee.”
I turn to look incredulously at the idiot that is my puffy-skulled best friend.
“I am going to die,” I repeat, eyes flickering across the park again in terror. “I really don’t give an actual flying red hot moose if it rhymed or not!”
“That did too,” Ray points out cheerfully.
I fight back a mental breakdown, owing to the reason that being on the verge of death has, for some reason, made me speak in rhymes.
But hey, I was always a little weird.
“Gerard,” Mikey hisses suddenly, prodding my chin and startling me out of my argument with my own brain about my minimal intelligence and insanity.
“Frank’s coming over,” Mikey whispers, jerking his head behind him.
“Oh dear moose poop,” I breathe, suddenly feeling faint. In fact, all my moronic, feather-boa wearing little brain cells have become so excited that they are jumping up and down and skipping so violently that my vision is starting to go all blurry and fuzzy.
“Uh, Gerard?” Ray’s face suddenly appears very close to mine, looking worried. “You look kinda…pale, dude. Are you alright?”
Mikey promptly snorts ice cream all over the grass. “Raymond, my brother is always pale. You get worried if he’s not.”
“No, he’s like- really pale,” Ray says, sounding worried as he peers closely at my face. His features are kinda blurry, and there’s a funny kind of ringing sound in my ears, no doubt due to the fact those mentally unhinged little brain cells are squealing in a very excitable high pitched manner because FRANK IERO IS COMING OVER. AND I AM GOING TO DIE.
“Hide me,” I whisper weakly. My breathing feels all funny, as if my brain cells have strangled my lungs with their little feather boas and sparkly pink garters, because yes, they are slutty little motherfuckers like that.
“…He really doesn’t look right,” Ray frowns, clicking his fingers in front of my rotating, glazed eyes. “His tongue’s lolling out of his mouth and he just looks…not…right.”
I try vacantly to reel my tongue back in, not even realising it wasn’t in my mouth. Thanks a lot there, you pink-knicker wearing life destroyers. Seriously, the little perverts seem determined that my tongue will actually spend more time outside my mouth than in it.
“It may have escaped your notice, Ray, but my brother isn’t right,” Mikey says sardonically. “And of course his tongue is hanging out of his mouth- Frank’s around, which means he will lose all of his minimal sanity and start drooling.”
“Look at him, Mikey!” Ray hisses.
Mikey’s face suddenly appears beside Ray’s, also frowning, although he can’t be too worried cause he’s still slurping away at his ice cream like his only brother isn’t actually about to die a very, very painful sex-god/demented brain cell/humiliation death.
“Hmm, he does look a little odd,” Mikey concedes. “Maybe it’s all the sun.”
“We’re in the shade,” Ray points out.
I just inwardly flail and wonder if I am actually about to have some kind of miniature brain cell induced breakdown.
“Yeah, but he’s not used to this amount of light, is he?”
“He’s usually okay- he just gets grouchy if we’re exposed to sun for too long.”
“It’s probably just because Frank’s here.”
“…Frank?” I breathe, feeling alarmingly light headed but trying to focus my blurry vision on the approaching figure of personified sex, who, need I add, is getting scarily close and ohmygodI’mgoingtodieandbecomereincarnatedasasnail.
I don’t want to get dumped by the only guy I’ve ever licked. At least, not until I’ve licked him so much there won’t be any of him left to dump me with.
“Dude, he’s gunna faint,” Ray says worriedly. “Gee, put your head between your legs, yeah?”
“Put my head where?!” I exclaim feebly, while all my brain cells giggle pervertedly and lick each other excitably, because Frank is nearly here. They seem to have failed to grasp the fact that they are about to be dumped, not licked. Hence why they just will not stop skipping gleefully with crazed their little goggle eyes, spangled and disturbingly sexual all-in-one swimsuits, and frothing, foamy little tongues.
God, I need professional help.
But oh god, I’ll never lick sex again. Or taste that wonderful, mango flavoured saliva of his…I wonder if he’d mind terribly if I asked for a little souvenir bottle of the stuff?
“Between your legs, Gee. It’ll stop you passing out,” Ray informs me as my vision clouds even more and my whole brain swims ominously.
“But it’ll look like I’m trying to do strange things to my manly parts,” I protest weakly as my brain cells stampede manically through my skull.
“Gee, it always looks like you’re trying to do strange things to your manly parts,” Mikey sighs despairingly.
“Look guys, just hide me,” I insist dazedly. “Please? I can’t let Frank see me.”
“But…I thought you wanted Frank to see you,” Mikey hisses confusedly. “Isn’t that the reason you’ve spent the last week in a stinky, sobbing splat on your bed doing a scarily good imitation of a heartbroken thirteen year old girl?”
“Yes, but he’s going to dump me,” I wail.
“Dude, you weren’t even dating. He just felt you up in a bathtub,” Ray says tactlessly.
“And you don’t know that he’s going to dump you,” Mikey points out reasonably.
Well, fuck reason. It always comes back and bites you in the ass. So yes. I think it can just go and fuck itself for all I care.
“Yes, he is!” I say, panicked. “What am I going to do?!” I exclaim dazedly, noting the fact that Frank is nearly upon us.
If only Ray’s ‘fro was a portal to hell, then I could get sucked away to a comparatively peaceful place. Of course, now that he’s dating Jamie, there’s a very high possibility that she will enchant his ‘fro with black magic so as he really will be able to suck me into the pits of hell.
In the vain hope that Jamie has already enchanted it, I suddenly grab the muddy-coloured equivalent to a morbidly obese sheep stuck to my best friend’s head and, with a quick glance towards me to make sure that Frank still hasn’t properly noticed me, I start trying to scramble into the thicket of puffy hair.
“What in the name of sanity are you doing?!” Ray yelps as I squish myself, face first, into his ‘fro, my little feet scuffling at the grass as I try and get absorbed by the mysterious mass of curls.
“Mhmphgmm,” I growl, my voice slightly muffled due to the fact my mouth is filled with Toro hair.
My feet sprint madly against the grass in attempt to propel me further into the depths of the ‘fro.
“Gerard?” Mikey’s slightly muted voice percolates the density of the ‘fro, sounding both amused and despairing.
“Yes?” I reply brightly, mashing my nose against the unfathomable ‘fro in attempt to squish myself further into its depths.
“Have you finally lost the plot?” Mikey sighs. “What are you doing? You know, if you’re trying to get into a mental hospital, I’m sure they don’t need further proof.”
“I’m hiding!” I roll my eyes, although I guess no one can really see so it’s kinda pointless. Whatever. Maybe Ray has lots of little nits procreating in cute little colonies on his scalp and they can see me- at least that way someone would appreciate my clever sarcasm.
That’s not even sarcasm, fuckface.
Oh, go die up your bum crack, dipshit.
It’s your bum crack, too, you asshole.
That’s your asshole too.
“What?!” Ray yelps in horror, cutting through my buttock argument. Because, yes, arguing about your anus with the multiple voices belonging to the sparkly, squeaking little lunatics inside your skull is perfectly normal.
I mean, I am practically normal personified.
Well, if you take away the insanity.
"Get out, you homosexual dingbat!" Ray whimpers, sounding violated and distraught.
“Are you discriminating against my sexual preferences?!” I ask snippily from the depths of the ‘fro.
Ray grabs hold of my ear and starts trying to drag me out of his hair where I am still desperately trying to bury myself.
“No, just GET OUT OF MY HAIR! I don’t care if you like guys or girls or kittens or little kids or dead people or dead kittens-”
“Dead kittens?!” I exclaim, trying to push my whole head into the ‘fro, ignoring Ray’s pummelling against my chest. “What kind of sick things go on in your head, Raymond Toro?!
“If you burrow much further, I’m sure you’ll find out!” Ray yells angrily.
“I don’t want to invade your brain, I just want to use your ‘fro!”
“Oh, illicit sexual activities!” I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes again for the benefits of Ray’s little family of nits. Who knows, perhaps they can somehow transfer my eye rotating to Ray’s brain or something.
Ray retches, which sounds kinda funny when my ears are consumed by the wiry curls of the ‘fro, which actually seem more like tentacles at this stage. What if I really do get lost in here? Of course, it wouldn’t really matter, because without Frank, I have no point in life other than to trip over my own limbs.
“I was being sarcastic!” I point out before Ray regurgitates. “I said, I’m only hiding.”
“Frank Iero! I can’t let him see me, or he’ll come over and dump me for being retarded,” I hiss, scrabbling desperately in vain attempt to get further into the ‘fro, but getting prevented by Ray’s skull. “I don’t think he’s noticed me yet, so SHH!”
“Oh no, no one would notice a vampire pale retard trying to hide inside his best friend’s hair and yelling about dead kittens,” Ray says sarcastically.
“Don’t even think about using my own sarcasm on me, fucker.”
“Oh, so you own sarcasm, do you?”
“Dude, I hate to burst your mentally unhinged little bubble, but I Frank has noticed you. And so has most of the park, actually. I mean, you are trying to bury yourself in someone else’s hair. People are bound to notice, Gee,” Mikey interjects.
I stop burrowing.
“Seriously dude, it’d have looked a lot more sane if you’d just put your head between your legs,” Mikey points out irritatingly.
“What, and suckled my baby making area?” I quip.
“Oh my god, get out, you self-cock-sucking freak! It’s my ‘fro!” Ray yells again, trying to tug me from his scalp and sounding rather distraught.
“I’m only borrowing it, Ray!”
“Gerard, stop yelling! The ‘fro doesn’t muffle your voice!” Mikey hisses.
“…It doesn’t?” I gulp, and accidentally swallow some ‘fro.
“Get out!” Ray shouts, louder this time, yanking harder at me. “Mikey, help me!”
“Mikey, help me!” I protest. “I’m your brother!”
“I’m being ‘fro raped by your insane brother!”
“I am not insane!”
“Dude, you’re insane personified!”
“At least I don’t play tonsil tennis with my CAT!”
“You don’t have a cat!”
“Well even if I did, I wouldn’t snog it!”
“I don’t snog my cat!”
“At least I actually have a proper girlfriend!”
“YOU’RE DATING LUCIFER!”
“Guys, stop it!” Mikey hisses.
“Get him out, then! GET OUT OF MY ‘FRO!” Ray is sounding quite upset by this point and ever so slightly hysterical as if I really am using his scalp for pornographic activates. Pfff. No such luck. There are no sex gods in here, unless they are in the form of nits, and I know I'm strange, but I'm not so strange that I want to have intercourse with nits.
However, before I can say anything witty and clever, something icy cold and sticky trickles down my neck and I squeak loudly, stop scrabbling, and shoot out of Ray’s ‘fro to land on the grass with an uncomfortable splat.
The park around us is uncomfortably silent, so I keep my face pressed against the grass in the hope they’ll all go away if I lay here long enough- maybe it’ll just look as if I’ve become part of the grass.
Oh yeah, Gerard. That’s really gunna happen. I mean, you are green and fluffy, aren't you?
Shut up and stop ruining my life.
It’s my life.
I groan and bash my head against the parched summer grass.
If Frank wasn’t going to tell me he never wanted to play tonsil tennis again, he’s sure to after witnessing me trying to burrow through my best friend’s head.
Oh dear god, did I really just try and hide myself in Ray’s ‘fro?
My brain cells must be invading my sanity, which is already minimal enough without being infested by excitable, hormonally deranged little morons with frothy tongues and a dangerously strong obsession with Frank Iero.
I peek up and my heart falls out. Frank is standing right over me.
“Gerard,” he greets me, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. “Hey. Can I talk to you for a second?”
“Meep,” I say intelligently, cheeks burning with humiliation. “Sorry,” I push myself up into sitting position. “But I’m otherwise engaged.”
Beside me, Mikey sniggers and I shoot him a death glare.
“Oh?” Frank frowns, perplexed.
I flick my hair sexily out of my face and accidentally whack Ray in the eye.
“Um, I’ve got a…convention,” I stammer at Frank, trying to look alluring, which is quite difficult when you’ve got a load of loonies that look like glittery prostitutes rampaging in your skull, you’re covered in ice cream, and you just tried to hide yourself in your best friend’s ‘fro due to a temporary lapse of sanity.
“Yes, for…lovers of…lesbian platypuses… and…kiwi fruit... shower gel?”
Oh god. Please tell me I did not just tell Frank Iero that I am going to a gathering for lovers of lesbians platypuses and kiwi fruit shower gel.
And oh dear moose faeces, I just realised that ‘lovers’ could mean two very different things in this context. I sincerely hope he thinks I just mean for people who love the little homosexual dears rather than people who have messed up sexual interest towards them.
Panic rises up in my gullet, and I realise that there’s only one thing for it.
Somewhat frantically, I use Ray to claw myself into standing position.
“Gerard?” Frank questions.
“Au derriere!” I wave.
And then I turn and sprint wildly in the other direction, arms flailing.
I wish I was a very, very attractive and sexual runner, so as Frank might rethink his decision about finishing with me, but sadly, I am not.
My arms are crazed and flailing in an embarrassingly feminine manner, while my feet are constantly tripping and stumbling over each other. God clearly has a sadistic sense of humour and has given me two left feet just for his own fucked-up amusement.
To top it all off, I have ice cream on my neck and am apparently sexually attracted to platypuses.
“Hey, GERARD!” Frank’s yell echoes after me. “WAIT!”
Yes, I think seeing me run will just confirm he has made the right decision to never ever, ever play tonsil tennis with me again.
I glance back to see Frank sprinting after me, and oh holy fuck does he look like sex when he runs. Like, all sweaty with his hair flopping across his face and his muscles flexing and…
Oh. I’ve just realised that instead of bidding him a dignified farewell in French, I may have just called him a bottom.
Oh will this torture never end?!
Of course, no reply comes but the hyperactive and horny squeaking in my head.
“Michameeph!” I squeak suddenly, as my face collides forcefully with something alarmingly squishy and pink and perfumed.
Apparently, running very fast while looking in the opposite direction isn’t wise. You’d think I would have learnt that by now, but I guess I’m just not the shiniest safety pin in the tub.
Groaning, I peel myself off the thing I just landed on, only to discover that it is a breast. Oh.
Like, a woman’s breast. And a very large one, actually.
All my brain cells are currently retching, because they do not like breast. They like cock. Especially Frank’s. And they want it now- their little tongues have been deprived of sex gods for far too long now. Especially six-dicked sex gods with mango saliva.
I wonder if Frank would mind terribly if I licked him before he tells me I can never ever see him again.
“Um,” I look up into the angry eyes of a middle aged woman in a tasteless fluffy pink cardigan and gulp, gingerly patting her in apology and then realising this might not be the most appropriate thing to do seeing as it was her boob I landed on.
She raises her eyebrows menacingly.
“…Sorry?” I bite my lip, because I can hardly tell her that I am not a teenage paedophile trying to feel her up because I’m actually more of a fan of penises. And they tend to come on men.
Or very, very fucked up females.
“GERARD!” Frank yells, running faster towards me and the furious large-breasted woman.
“Meeeek!” I yelp, using the (fuming) woman’s breast as a kind of catapult, which she doesn’t look too happy about, actually.
My legs are starting to burn and a stitch is pulling in my chest now- I’m really not used to this amount of exercise. And my brain cells really aren’t being much help- they’re all plastered to the back of my skull, gazing glassily at Frank Iero and drooling, their frothy little pink tongues lolling out of their mouths in longing.
I’m suddenly interrupted by an angry buzzing sound, and look round, confused. Frank is closing in on me; clearly a lot fitter than I am.
Oh shut up. Haven’t you morons destroyed enough yet?
No. We want Frank. Our tongues are getting thirsty.
Not even bothering to ask how tongues can get thirsty, I shake myself out of my deranged thoughts, wondering what the buzzing sound was, because seriously, I doubt it was Frank, who is gaining on me at an alarming rate.
In desperate last resort to throw the sex god off my trail so as I won’t be dumped by someone I’m not even dating while dying of exhaustion, embarrassment and insanity, covered in an attractive splat of Mikey’s cappuccino ice cream, I swerve suddenly to the left.
“Gerard, WAIT!” Frank groans as I scuttle as fast as my chubby little legs will carry me towards the other end of the park and the gates there, panting in the heat.
“WE NEED TO TALK!”
Well isn’t that the line that fills just everyone with joy? That makes it official; he’s definitely going to tell me I was just some random grope in a bathtub and that I’m just about as significant to him as a woodlouse pretending to be Miley Cyrus.
I continue to scuttle.
Suddenly, a horrible, stinging feeling spreads through my neck from where Mikey so gracefully splurged his ice cream.
Hehehe. Ice cream.
Oh my god, shut the actual moose poop up, you perverts. Ice cream was not some kind of sexual innuendo- he’s my brother.
But um, back to the point that my neck feels like it’s just been stung. And not the kind of sting from emotional, sex god related tragedy.
Still scuttling as fast as my chubby little feet will go, I swat at the stinging throb on my neck and yelp as I hit something that buzzes angrily.
Holy multiple dicked sex gods and plurals of moose.
There is a wasp on my neck. And I am being stung.
“EEKEPGH!” I scream, somehow managing to continue sprint/scuttling, but simultaneously sideways head-banging in attempt to get the demonic insect off my flesh.
I glance behind me to see Frank still close on my heels.
“GERARD!” he yells, sounding slightly out of breath now.
There’s another ominous buzzing sound, and I look up to see not one, not two, but three motherfucking little waspies zooming menacingly down from the cloudlessly blue summer sky to my ice-cream coated neck and the greedy, evil little wasp that’s already suckling on the melted snack there.
Okay, so it’s not just going to be death by exhaustion. I’m actually going to get stung into my next life.
And my feet are burning up and I fear that very soon, I will be able to scuttle no more.
Of course, whether I die from exhaustion or wasp stings or having my heartbroken, is yet unclear.
Jeez, is there no end to the lengths this world will go to in order to kill me in the most excruciating way possible? I bet Jamie’s at the bottom of all this. She’s probably waiting for me in the darkest pits of hell with a whole batch of gigantic needles.
Oh, and just to add to it all, the pink-knicker wearing little dingbats plastered to the back of my skull are now starting to orgasm and squeal in a very obscene and high pitched manner because Frank’s t-shirt is riding up and exposing his olive-tanned stomach.
I let my tongue stray longingly out of my mouth for a moment, and suddenly, I am in an attractive splat on the grass.
Blinking bemusedly and panting, I look around to see that I’ve tripped over the lead of a very bad tempered looking sausage dog. Who is snarling ominously.
I also notice that the wasps are zoning in.
And their numbers have doubled. No. Make that tripled.
“Um,” I say cleverly, trying to get up, but finding that the grumpy looking sausage dog’s blue lead has decided to entangle itself with the lace of my left Converse, which really just proves that the world is trying to destroy my life.
“What on earth…” the woman walking the evil dog blinks, looking completely bewildered as to why there’s suddenly an unhinged, sweating, ice-cream and wasp coated, homosexual lunatic entangled with her overweight dog.
“Um, hi,” I say intelligently from where my head is crushed into the grass.
“GERARD WAY, WAIT THE FUCK UP!” Frank yells, sounding angry now.
Oooh. Angry sex god. Mmmm.
Oh go die in a hole, you little perverts. Now is really not the time for sick-minded fantasises.
It’s always the time for sick minded fantasises!
I groan and mentally facepalm as I try desperately to get up again, but my balance is instantly throttled by the entanglement of my Converse lace and the sausage dog’s blue lead. A sausage dog, who need I add, is currently gnawing at the leg of my skinny jeans and growling fiendishly.
“WAIT!” Frank’s only metres away now, looking wonderfully sweaty and dishevelled and-
“OWW!” I yelp in agony.
The wasps have descended. And the evil little sausage dog seems to have decided it would add to this joy by sinking it’s canines into my anklebone.
“Are you alright, dear?” the woman asks worriedly as wasps start to feast on my flesh and kill me while her dog mangles my limbs.
“Oh, I’m just fucking dandy,” I say sarcastically as the bloodthirsty little dog gnaws manically at my flesh and I’m stung by about fifty different wasps at once.
Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little. The wasps are only feasting on the ice cream on my flesh and stinging me occasionally. And the dog is only mangling one of my limbs. But hey, I think I’m in a good enough position to exaggerate a little.
Oh, and Frank is here. Like, right here.
“Gerard,” he pants, gasping for air. “I need to talk to you.”
Panicking, I wrench off my left Converse trainer that’s still deciding to form an infuriating attachment with the lead, prise the snarling sausage dog’s jaw from my anklebone, consequentially getting my fingers maimed, and stagger up, trying to ignore the fact I’m pretty sure there’s a whole army of wasps on my neck at this stage.
And then I sprint for the gates. Well, limp.
I mean, I did just get my ankle gnawed. And I’m still being devoured by wasps while being chased by a sex god.
And just to top it all off, I don’t think I’ve ever had this much exercise. I think my heart is starting to fail.
Despite all this, I don’t stop running until I’m halfway down the street and suddenly have a brainwave for somewhere to hide.
The bell over the door tinkles cheerfully as I stagger, gasping desperately for breath, into the music shop minutes later.
I stumble into the shop, neck swollen up into red lumps, skin slathered in ice cream and sweat, hair sticking up like a Black Veil Brides fan trying out a hedgehog Mohican, only wearing one shoe, and the left leg of my skinny jeans severely frayed and torn and coated with my own blood from that little demon sausage dog’s teeth.
I collapse against the music book stand, gasping.
“Bad day?” Bob asks mildly, not looking up from his screen.
Before I can answer, the door bursts open again and Frank falls into the shop, sweaty and gasping in a way that really shouldn’t be arousing in this kind of situation, but oh god, it really fucking is.
The dude really is sex personified.
I try and crawl behind the music stand, out of sight, but I think he might have notice me. After all, a panting, gothic, albino-lookalike lunatic covered in wasp stings and melted ice cream is kinda hard to miss.
“Gerard,” Frank pants, sounding exhausted. “Come out, I know you’re there.”
“How?” I pant.
I see Bob facepalm behind the counter at my stupidity, but hey, I’ve had a difficult afternoon- I tried to burrow into my best friend’s ‘fro, got chased by a sex god and a swarm of flesh-eating wasps, attacked by a minute dog representing a sausage, and now I’m about to have my heart broken by sex itself.
Frank ducks down and pokes his head round the stand.
“Look, I really am late!” I babble, struggling up and staggering out from behind the music stand. “You know, that gathering I told you about…the platypuses get angry if you’re late. They’ve got this special kind of venom and-”
I’m stumbling for the door, about to fling myself under the nearest bus, but Frank grabs my arm and yanks me back, stalling my babbling, cause yeah, Frank Iero is holding my hand.
“Cut the crap, Gerard,” he rolls his eyes, still panting slightly.
All my brain cells moan and flatten themselves to the front of my skull. A few even skip squealishly down towards my baby-making bits, but I ignore them and just stare into Frank’s golden-russet eyes, heart pounding wildly in my chest in a way that has nothing to do with having just run a fucking marathon.
There’s a silence. Then-
“Gerard,” Frank takes a deep breath. “I really need to tell you something…”
Little cliffhanger there xD R&R and I’ll post the LAST chapter. Oh my god, I can’t believe this is nearly over. Hope this was okay- I really did try my best, but I’m still not sure it was great. I know it was a little insane :L Love you all to bits. You are AMAZING.