Re-posting this !Frerard! to my newer account. Go ahead, ignore it. Or ya can read it. It's short and fluffy. Everything I really don't write any more.
The drugs had never worked on me, and that was something I had immediately learned to keep a secret. The districts didn't like it when anyone thought, much less a factory worker. The Drug kept your mind blank, keep you moving like a zombie. It made you not notice abnormalities, not question, barely feel. They had a file of things they kept on you- they knew your talents (no one really has any), and your physical capabilities. They never throw out files. There are warehouses where they keep the old files. They destroy the files of undesirables. If you have no file, you don't exist. It's the rule here. Everything here is a rule. You just have to see it, but no one does. No one fight, they don't care. No one loves, the don't care. No one cooks, no one can taste. (They're very lucky, the pills they give us for nutrients are awful) You live your life. You die. They move your file. That's it. It's what everyone does, cares for. But I don't.
I can see the colors of the world, even if no one else can. I can smell the stench created by the factories, I can feel desires, even if no one else can. They can't stop me, they don't know. They don't know that the Drug doesn't affect me. How could they? I'm smarter than them, they're all pumped up with the Drug, too high to notice. My nanny was the same way. She taught me to hide it, but she's gone now. They found out about her resistance. Her file was terminated.
I don't think anyone ever wants anything here, none of the fellow factory workers. They don't think. They just obey. They can't afford to think. They need the drug, unlike me. I could go an eternity without it. It's just another thing that sets me apart, apart from a herd that doesn't even know it exists. Never once, for all the time I've been alive, have I seen someone look up from their work with a look of emotion, of anything but death. In my eyes, they're all dead. We live underneath the world, we make manufacture for people who don't know we exist. And we never complain. Never, ever complain. That's rule number 10.
Breaking the rules will get your file terminated. It will get you destroyed, black, oblivion, nothingness. Breaking a rule means you're thinking, and they can't have that. No thinking allowed. No time alloted. Work, Drug, sleep. That's how everyone's day goes. No room for thought, unless you're me.
If you're me, you're always thinking. Always planning, always plotting. I need to always appear unintelligent, when I'm not. I need to escape this prison, this haze of unreality, this insanity, this audacity preformed and caused by those who live on the other side of the world. We are their slaves, but we must never, ever let them know we're here.
They would think it wrong. Besides, we're here for their benefit. Only them, never us and our Drug induced zombie like states, will ever matter. The ones of the upperworld have money, and the ones who own us want money. Very much money, because this world is about money, no matter what you think. Emotions can be easily killed with the Drug. Only money matters, not intellect. Intellect means nothing down here, you still work a factory job, still live in one room apartments, still follow the same, boring patterns. You never, ever think. You can't, you'll wake the Thought Police.
Back and forth. Left, right. Side to side. Top to bottom.
It's how the work day always goes. Doing the same, old boring thing, in the same, old boring fashion. The pristine white factory walls make the place seem like heaven, though it's quite actually a hell for someone like me. Silk screening ink onto clothes, usually the same pattern for a whole year. I don't look up from my work, none of the zombie's ever do. I just stare at the design I'm making on the shirt, scraping the ink onto the silk screen, back and forth, up and down. No one ever talks while working, it's always quiet, you can hear the rumbling of machines in the background. The behavior control squad patrols the building, but nothing ever happened. The most that has ever happened is someone got their hair all pulled off by a machine. I wasn't there when it happened, I silk screen things thus am always surrounded by silk screens and the zombies who man them. The woman who got her scalp pulled off screamed, thus disturbing the peace. Her file was terminated.
I jerk my head back a centimeter-before stopping myself- when I hear the chair next to me slide out. I slowly look over-the chair's been empty for ages- eager to see the new zombie. Anything new interests me. It might be different. A man in standard issue white cloths sits don in the chair.
"Mr. Way." Says the security guard with the man "I would like you to show around Mr.Iero until he gets how things work." He informs me. I slowly nod, willing my eyes to look glossed over and deficient.
"Yes, sir." I say slowly, slurring the words together.
"Then I'll leave you to it." The guard says, walking away.
I turn slowly to face the man, I didn't barely glance at him before. "Hi, my name is--" I catch full sight of the man. He has brown hair, cut just like everyone else, at the ears. But his face is slightly tan looking, his skin smooth with an adorable button nose. His eyes are a green brown, gorgeous, his long eyelashes long and full. His eyes, though, they're definitely something more than the usual zombie. They seem wise, yet they're trying not really trying to hide their knowledge.
He gives me a look. "You're not like the rest, are you?" He asks, in a soft voice. My eyes widen.
"What do you mean?" I ask slowly, feigning ignorance by talking slow and zombie like.
"You stopped talking when you saw me. You must have thought something at that point." he says in a low, demanding voice.
I give him a blank look. "I don't know what you are talking about. My name is...it's...Gerard. I forgot it." I say, covering up my mistake with extra stupid. He'll figure it out eventually, he seems smart like me. But having another know a secret like that is dangerous. Very dangerous.
His eyes gaze over in the same manner I always do when I fake stupidity. "Right. I am Frank, nice to meet you." He says slowly.
"It is good to meet you too. To work the silk screen you must..." I explain the easy process slowly, observing him the whole time through a glossy eyed veil. I only explain it once, he's smart and I know he gets it.
"Where did you work before?" I ask. Oh God, I did not just ask a question! Zombies don't think, they don't ask questions.
"I made guitars." He says slowly. "You aren't normal." He whispers the last bit.
"Later!" I whisper back, and we both get back to silk screening.
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing sounds the unenthusiastic bell that signals lunch period. Everyone slowly stands up, their bland faces showing their currently empty mids going about their usual business-doing nothing. Lifelessly, all the zombies, Frank and I file out of the white factory door to the white pristine lunchroom. We all take a carton of milk and 3 pills in a white paper cup. We have 15 minutes to eat, and use the restroom, even socialize minimally. Too much talk draws attention.
The zombies mindlessly sit down, shuffle around and exchange meaningless words. I sit down at a sterile white table with Frank, off in a corner.
"You don't take The Drug?" Frank asks quietly.
"Of course I do. Everyone does." I say. He looks confused for a moment, but then goes back to his custom blank zombie expression.
"Then why aren't you...so dead?" He asks slowly.
"I'm immune." I say equally slow.
"Really? Is that possible?" He asks quickly. I give him evil eyes for slipping up, then revert my face my bland usual zombie-face.
"Yes. What about you?" I ask slowly.
"I...came from the other side of this, I suppose. The side that gets all of these supplies." He says...He's an outsider.
"Why would you come here?" I ask.
"To investigate for the police." He says, and my eyes widen as I quickly dart my eyes across the cafeteria.
""We have police here, too." I say quietly.
"Do you?" He asks.
"Yes. The Thought Police. Theymake thoughts limited, if not non-existant. They developed The Drug, and they erase the files." " I explain.
"Erase files?" He asks.
I nod, slowly. "A file here is what proves your existence. No file, no life. Having your file removed is basically an execution order, and it doesn't take a whole lot to get your file erased. Last year a woman's file was erased because she screamed when a machine pulled all her hair out quite violently. They said she was 'disturbing the peace'." I explain.
"That's awful." Frank says. I shrug slowly.
"You learn to live half a life."
I shrug again. "How do you go without being administered The Drug?" I ask him.
"Some of the doctors work with the police force. They just have to pretend to give it to me." He explains to me, his face devoid of any emotion. "Maybe they give it to someone else."
"If they gave it to someone else there would be more ODs." I say.
"ODs?" He asks.
"Yup. You can only handle so much of The Drug, it's not perfect yet. People have too much in their system and they can't handle it. They die." I shrug. My brother over dosed two years ago.
"That's awful" Frank says.
I shrug. "Shit happens."
"Do you think you could get me out of here?" I ask abruptly.
"That's why I'm here. To get you out." He says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
"Yeah...but why did you come here? You have the doctor's accounts, right?" I ask.
"Oh. I came here to see what it's like to live here, if it's as awful as it seems." He explains. Ah.
"It's only awful if you're like me, having to hide everything about yourself. Never ask questions, rule number 9." I say.
"What's rule number 10?" Frank asks.
"What are the other rules?" He asks.
"All in due time." I say as the Riiiiiiiiiiiiiing signaling the end of lunch goes off.
We file back into the boring white factory, going back to our lifeless jobs as zombies, not looking forward to it in the least.
"This'll be where you sleep." I say, pointing to a neatly made bottom bunk of a two story bunk bed in my, no our, sleep room.
"Ah. We share a room, then?" Frank asks.
I nod. "Every room has a bunk bed, thus two people per room.""
"Ah. I see...Who was your roommate before?" He asks.
"My brother." I say. My wonderful, loving, zombie brother. He always meant so much to me.
"Ah...He moved?" Frank inquires, sitting on the bottom bunk. I sit next to him.
"No?" Frank asks, obviously confused. Then a look of understanding crosses his face. "Oh God, I'm so sorry."
I chuckle, though I don't know who this 'God' is. " My brother was different from the other zombies. He was occasionally unaffected by The Drug. He usually was, but he could be so loving." I say, tears threatening to fall from my eyes.
"He meant a lot to you." Frank says softly. I laugh a little.
"I remember first noticing he was sometimes...into it. I was so happy. We were good friends. Sometimes the Drug wouldn't work, but after the those times having The Drug was always worse for him." The tears stop threatening to fall off my face, they just fall, salty and wet.
"I'm sorry...How'd he...you know, go?" Frank asks in a kind, warm tone.
"He over dosed." I choke out. "God, now I'm even breaking rule 8." I whisper.
"Rule number 8?" He asks. I nod.
"Never show passion." I manage. Frank must think I'm a wuss.
Frank puts his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into a hug. A hug is something I've missed, but I don't remember it making my stomach summer salt like this.
"Thank you." I whisper.
Frank pulls out of the hug, grinning at me.
"You need to tell me all about this place." He says. I grimmance. I look around our room. It's small, and white, a bathroom, two dressers and the bunk bed. Everything is tasteless and uniform. What I wouldn't do to get some black in here. Or have some music. Nan, my nanny, used to sing to me. She'd tell me of the world Frank came from, too.
"Where you come from...Do you ever listen to music?" I ask.
Frank grins. "Yeah. Everywhere you go, you can bring it, make it or it'll already be there. You don't have music here, do you?" He asks. I shake my head.
"My Nan used to sing to me, teach me about music. She remembered your world, and she was immune to The Drug, like me." I say. I get up and quickly strip into my boxers. I put them down the laundry chute. Frank does the same.
"What was she like?" He asks.
"She was nice. She cared, she covered for me when I made a mistake. She taught me the rules of living here." I say, climbing up to the top bunk.
"She sounds like a remarkable woman." Frank says.
"She was. Her file was deleted because she wasn't affected by The Drug." I sigh.
"I'm sorry, Gerard." Frank says from the bottom bunk." I didn't realize being immune was so dangerous. This place is awful."
"Yet, at the same time, it's paradise." I say, drifting into sleep.
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing sounds the un-apologetically apathetic bell signaling the waking of the zombies.
I sit up in my bed, blinking the sleep from my eyes. I swing my legs off the side of my top-of-the-bunk bed, and jump down to the floor.
"Good enough morning." I say to Frank, who is pulling himself slowly into a sitting position.
I quickly strip, dropping my boxers into the laundry chute, and changing into fresh zombie issue clothes. A white 3/4 sleeve shirt, white skinny jeans, white socks and (you guessed it) white lace up ankle height cloth and rubber soled shoes. (A/N: Converse, unbranded. I did my best to paint that picture, but I just thought you should know.)
I look over at Fran, who's staring a me, red faced.
"Are you okay?!" I ask, worried. His face is the color Mikey's was before he ODed, I think as I rush over to him. Did someone inject him last night?
"Yeah! I-um-I..." He says. I'm glad he's okay. Then a confused look crosses his face. "Why? Did I look bad?"
"No. Well, your face was red. My brother's face was red just before he Oded..." I explain.
"So why was your face all red?" I ask, and his face turns a darker shade of red. But it's not because he's sick- it's some weird, foreign reason.
"Well..." He sighs. "Because I was embarrassed. Generally, people's faces turn red when they're embarrassed."
"Oh...Why were you embarrassed?" I ask.
"Well...Er, you were changing...." He mumbles, looking anywhere but at me.
"Is my figure really that bad?" I say. I thought I looked decent, compared to some of the people around here. I'm nothing compared to Frank, though.
"Oh no! You have a lovely figure!" He says quickly, then his face flushes.
"Thank you...You do too." I say. "So why, then, did your cheeks burn red?"
"Because I'm...well, I'm gay." He barely manages, like he's expecting to be hit.
"I don't know what that means." I inform him.
"It means I like men."
"You like all men? I don't feel one way or another on the species as a whole." I say, confused.
"No...I mean I'm into men, ya know?" He asks.
I shake my head. "No, I don't."
"It means I prefer to do men!" he exclaims.
"Do? What does that mean?" I ask, innocent of all charges.(A/N; That was symbolism, y'all. not literally)
"You know, have sex with? Do the dirty?" He tries.
What is he talking about? Oh! "You mean you prefer to have babies with men? How does that work?"
"No..." He sighs. "The act that makes babies, I prefer to do with men. That act is called sex. A man, or woman, can have sex with anyone, technically. But most people chose to have sex mainly with one gender. If they don't, they either want sex from everyone or just don't care. But there is no baby if it's two people of the same gender. I don't see the appeal of having sex with a woman, only men. Thus, I'm gay, meaning I'm into men."
"But..." I say, still confused.
"Did your Nan explain what love is?" He asks, exasperated.
"Yes. She said it was the most wonderful feeling, feeling complete just by being around another."
He nods. "I, being gay, will never fall in love with a woman. I am only romantically involved with men." He explains. "I take it you don't know who you prefer?" I shake my head.
"What's it like to be in love?" I ask.
"It's just to be always thinking of someone, even when they're not there. You just notice things about them, think things like 'God, they're beautiful'. Or they'll do something around you that will make your stomach parade around your torso in a undisturbed happiness. Got anyone like that?" He asks.
"Yes. There is." Frank looks slightly disappointed, but nods all the same. It's him, it's Frank. My stomach almost started hemorrhaging in happiness when he hugged me last night. I've thought the thoughts, felt the feelings. I must be this 'gay' thing.
"Hm...Who?" He asks.
"Nan said not to say. I'd be breaking rule number 7 on a whole new level." I say. It's half lie. It goes with the rule, but it's not the reason I won't tell him. What if he doesn't like me? I have no experience with this, and he might be able to get me out of here.
"And what is rule number 7?" He asks, temporarily distracted.
"Never appear individual." I say.
"You've broken that one with me before." He says. "Tell me who it is. Pleeeeease!"
"Aaaaw...boy or girl?" He asks.
"Boy." I say, and I swear I can see a fire light up in his eyes.
"There you go, Gerard." Says the doctor man with a shock of red hair, pulling the needle from my arm. I used to be afraid of needles, but now they're a part of my tri-weekly life. They always were, but when you're younger they give you pills, that aren't too strong. They can't do that if you've gone through puberty.
"You're roommates with Frank, yes?" He asks. I slowly nod.
"Take care of that boy." He says firmly, patting my shoulder twice. "Not that probably know what I just said...I really do detest The Drug." He sigh.
"I'll make sure Frank is fine." I say, a little too quickly. I'm just breaking rules left and right, Frank got my guard down. "So you don't have to worry." I say, this time at normal zombie pace.
The ginger man lifts his eyebrows. "I think I'm going to request being your doctor permanently."
"Are you Frank's doctor?" I ask.
He chuckles, shaking his head. "No, my wife is."
XXXX(NOT THE END JUST A BIT LATER)XXXX
Scraaaaaaaaaaape, scraaaaaaaaaaaaape, scraaaaaaaaaaape....
The factory room makes that awful sound, as workers scrape ink across their respective silk screens. As we scrape ink, staining the fabric beneath with red, black, blue or green.
I work with a dark blue semi-paste like ink, scrapping a pattern of trees(Nan told me about these), many of them, all twisting around themselves and each other in an eery, yet beautiful way. I scrape this pattern, just like anyone else would with their pattern, into the cotton polyester mixed fabrics.
The bell rings lazily, like it has something better to do than direct a zombie hoard.
We all slowly shuffle into the eating area , grabbing our pills and milk. I hate milk. It's a disgusting thing, tastes awful.
"I hate these, they taste awful." Frank says, a tad whiny under the zombie-ness. He swallows the pills, and I assume he was talking about them, not the milk. Nan said milk's common there.
"No, they're not very good, not that I've had a lot of comparison. But they get you what you need, which ones are given to you is based on body mass and how much strength your job requires. Trust, there are worse tasting ones. Nan hated these pills, too. She said we shouldn't have to eat this when there is lots of food going to waste. She said food was something that could make your mouth burn, could delight you so you'd always want more, pucker your lips." I say.
"Speaking of puckering lips..." Frank grins, wiggling his eyebrows. "Who is it you like?"
"Frank!" I his. "You're breaking rule 6!" I exclaim in hushed tones.
His face reeks of confusion. "Just go back to your zombie face!" I demand, and he follows order.
"Rule 6?" He asks.
"Never show any non-zombie facial expression!" I say, slowly but surely.
"Ah..." Is his only comment. "Who do you like?" He slowly looks around. "You said it was a guy...is he in this room?"
"Alll the guys I know, not counting the secuirity are in this room." I tell him.
"That's a yes..." He says. My cheeks flame red, in what Nan called a 'reflex'.
"You gonna tell me who it is?" He asks.
I slowly shake my head. "No, I'm not."
"I'll get it out of you eventually." He promises.
"I have little doubt about that." I sigh.
Sounds the indifferent bell .
We get up slowly, and just as slowly we walk back into our false reality of life and work.
“Have you ever wanted a cat?” Frank asks me, once we’re safely within the confines of our bedroom.
“A cat. Have you ever wanted one?” He asks as we both strip down to our boxers, throwing our clothes down the laundry chute.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I say, raising my eyebrows. “Should I want a cat?”
“I dunno. Do you?”
“I don’t know what it is!” I exclaim.
“Oh. Sorry. It’s like, a pet.”
“Pet is a verb, not a noun.” I say.
“An animal, you know?!”
I blink. Silence. He sighs.
“Like, another form of life besides humans?” He tries.
“Like milk? Nan said that milk is alive.”
“Um...No. Like, small furry creatures.” He says, giving me a strange look.
“You’ll have to show me someday.”
“Yeah, I will.”
“You promise?” I ask. He looks surprised.
“You know what a promise is, but you don’t know what a cat, or as they say in French, chat is?”
“Nan just taught me the basics before she was deleted.”
“Oh. Well yeah, I promise.” He says. I grin.
“I want to go to where you’re from.” I say. He sighs.
“Are you NOT going to take me?” I ask, alarmed.
“God, no! I will! I just was thinking about my side of the in this case proverbial universe.” He say, eyes lost in memories.
"Oh. What was your life like?" I ask.
"Hm...you want my life story?" He asks. I nod.
"Yes, please." I say, I want to know more about him so, so badly. Like I've never wanted anything before.
He chuckles, like something is funny. "I'll give you a short version, for now. I'm tired." He says. "Well, I was born and raised in New Jersey, and-"
"Is it nice in New Jersey?" I ask, I want to ask where it is, but I'll just get more confused.
"Yeah, when people aren't trying to murder you." He says, frowning.
"Does that happen often?" I ask, appalled.
"Oh, not that much. So yeah, let's see... I dropped out of high school, to do this. Il' go back and finish later."
"High school?" I ask. He nods.
"Also known as the place they send teenagers to learn. It's a pretty violent and dramatic place." He explains to my dull mind. "I'm 17, by the way. You?"
"Um...I think 18." I say. I was 13 when Nan died, she counted the days and I've had five patterns during my work, one per year.
"They don't celebrate?" He asks. I shake my head.
"That's sad. But I suppose, good. On my 16th birthday I told my parents I was gay and they kicked me out. That's actually how I got into this. That, and my sister is a conspiracy theorist. On another note, I was living with my friend Ray-"
"Is being gay bad?" I ask, concerned.
"No, of course not. Some people think it is, but that's because of their belief in God, which is semi impractical if you ask me." He says, stopping with my questioning look.
"What's God?" I ask. He keeps mentioning this word.
"Are you serious? You don't know who 'the creator' is?" He asks.
I shake my head. "I should, shouldn't I?"
"Oh! Um, no, it's not your fault you don't. God is, if you will, a mythical creator of the world and humanity. It can't be proven He exists, but some people think He does despite logic and write laws against things they deem unfit to exist." He explains.
"People like us are unfit to exist?" I ask, a bit afraid. "What gives God the right to say that!" I almost yell.
"My point exactly." He says. Oh.
"So this God...is like the false creator of life?"I ask.
"Close enough." He shrugs.
"Anything else I should know about you?" I ask.
"Not really anything else important. I'm tired, we can continue this some other time." He says, yawning.
"Well, night then." I say, up climbing into bed/
"Yeah, night." He says, obviously drifting to sleep. Oh, the thing I could do now...I gasp, appalled at my thoughts. I need to go to asleep and stop thinking about how beautiful Frank is. After a long while of attempted sleep, I finally manage to fall into Frank-filled dreams.
I'm awoken by a R-r-rii-ii-ing! Of the bell, almost as if it's stuttering. I sit up, knowing full well what that means.
I quickly jump out of bed, and pull my clothes on. I want this over with. Frank's looking around, confused.
"Is the bell having an epileptic attack?" He asks.
"I don't know what that is, get dressed. Hurry." I say quickly, brushing my hair to make it look decent. Zombies brush their hair. I usually forget, it's not usually a big deal.
"What's up?" Frank asks.
"Brush your hair, zombies brush their hair." I say, barely paying attention. "Today is no good. Shit. Ah, fuck." I mutter.
"I didn't even know those words were in your vocabulary." Frank remarks.
"Nan taught me the basics." I say, distracted by my appearance. I look fine. Relief floods through me.
"So what's no good about today?" He asks, brushing his hair while I brush my teeth quickly.
"Whatever happens, remain calm. Don't show any emotion. Stick to rule number 5. Don't scream." I tell him. "react as a zombie, and don't talk to me." I say, spitting out the paste.
"Why? What's today?" He asks.
"An inspection. Or a beating day."
We all stand in a semi-familiar white room, in a line, like perfectly stupid zombie minions. They've looked at our work, They've checked our progress, making sure it's not too much or too little.
"You are all working at sufficient amounts." The inspector says. I've seen him at every inspection since I started working. He has an air of authority as thick as his mustache. His brown handle bar mustache is huge. He has his hands clasped together behind his back, and he walks back and forth in front of us zombies, his stiff olive green suit unmoving. His beady brown eyes examine us, searching for defect.
"Gerard Way!" He yells in a gruff voice, almost making me jump. Did I do something wrong?
After about 15 seconds, I respond. "Yes." I say mechanically.
"Your 18th birthday is Tuesday." He informs the room. "You don't know what that is, do you?" He asks.
"No." I say, after the required wait.
"It means you'll be visiting my office late at night so I can assess your...qualities." He almost looks hungry.
I slowly nod.
"On another note, when you hear your name please step into the black room." Th inspector says, pointing to the black door behind him. "I hope you pass your inspections."
A black door. A black door, in a world of white. In a perfect plastic world, a black door, a door where mistakes leading to death can easily occur. A torture room. I remember the beatings, the trying to look neutral and not scream. Nan used to cut me for practice. She said never to scream, because screaming means you have hope. I can't have hope, not to live here.
I walk into the black room, Frank's already been through. A man pops out from behind the door, and my eyes widen half a millimeter before returning to normal. I CAN"T be surprised here, I have to expect the unexpected. But it seems like trying to scare me has been given up, as the man punches my stomach.
Soon I'm on the floor, he's kicking me. I'm winded, and I want more than anything to cry. It's never been this bad. They only usually hit me twice or so, not this. He kicks me again, and I struggle not to display the pain, anger and humiliation I feel.
If I can't handle this, I'll be terminated. If I can't handle this, I'll no longer exist. I'll be erased, no more me. I won't be able to see Frank. If I scream, or cry, my Frank will be taken from me... I don't think this pain would even compare...
"I think that's enough." I hear a feminine voice say. I've long since closed my eyes. I think I could possibly love that voice right now, as the kicking stops. "You really don't like him." She remarks.
"Of course not. Did you NOT hear what the boss said? He wanted to 'assess his qualities', aka he wanted the boy." The man whom I assume was kicking me sneers. "That's my job."
The woman chuckles. "Come on. You know the boss will fuck anything he can fit into."
"Yeah, but his one's pretty." The male voice responds, sounding bitter.
"Jealous much?" The woman asks.
She chuckles again. "We should get him to a doctor." She says as I black out.
XXXX Frank's P.O.V.(OMF, right?)
Gerard should be back, it's been ages. They gave me the day off after hitting me twice. It was hard not to yell or anything, but I did it. I think I would've made Gerard proud. Speaking of which, where is he?
Slowly the door opens, and in walks Leila Nelson, my doctor. "Leila!" I say when I see her. "Have you seen-" I stop, there's a giant figure behind her. I can't see it, though.
"Frank, I need Gerard to sleep on the bottom bunk tonight." She says. Where did that come from?
I slowly nod.
"Frank, there's no need to act dumb. This is my husband." Leila says, pointing behind her. I finally get a good at the figure, it's two figures. One of them is a ginger, he's supporting someone...Gerard. He looks awful. There are bruises all across his face, bandages over his stomach and he's biting his lip. He looks like he's in pain but really trying to hide it.
"Omigod what happened?!" I gape.
"They really didn't like me." Gerard says meekly, trying to smile but not quite managing.
"I wonder why. With that shitty inspector flirting with you and all, I thought they'd like you well enough." I reason. I can't believe the inspector made a move on Gerard- and he's going to rape Gerard? My Gerard? And on his 18th birthday, of all things. I wonder who Gerard is crushing on. They can just go and die. If Gerard liked me, I'd use that to every advantage.
"Exact opposite." Gee says, wincing as the Ginger doctor places him in my bed. Gerard's sleeping in my bed! OMIGOD OMIGOD OMIGOD!
"This is my husband, Arthur Nelson." Leila says, pointing to the Ginger man. "You and Gerard should really get to sleep. Don't want to be tired for work tomorrow." Leila says, her and Arthur evacuating the room.
"Gee...Are you okay?" I ask, once the door is shut. He nods silently.
I give him a concerned look before stripping to my boxers, and climbing up to the top bunk. Up to Gerard's bed, his bed... He should be able to sleep here, not beat up in my bunk. I want to kill the bastard who did this. I really do.
The light in our room is dim, it never really goes off. It's a while later that I realize Gerard is crying. I can't believe those people, making him cry. It's just cruel, doing something like this to Gerard. He's like a puppy.
Oh God Frank, what are you doing? You should be comforting your crush.
"Gerard?" I ask quietly.
The sobbing quiets. "Y-yes?" He says shakily.
"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask, jumping off the top bunk so we can make eye contact while he tells me the truth.
"I-I- no!" He cries, tears spilling across his already tear stained face.
"Sh..Sh.." I say, stroking his hair, pulling it out of his face. Hi s beautiful, black hair. "Why don't you move over?"
He follows my wishes, though he's obviously unsure of why I want this.
I slide into the space he made for me, not caring what the state of my lower being will be in the morning. He needs me now.
"F-Frank- what are you doing?" He asks, his eyes wide.
"If you get scared, I'm right here." I promise. "I'll make them pay, one day."
"That'd break rule number 4." He says quietly.
"And that is?" I inquire.
"Never look out for anyone else." He says. I chuckle.
"I've kind of given up on following most of these rules when it comes to you." I say. I see him blush in the faint light.
"You need to follow them! They're lifelines!" He begs.
"Only because you say so." I say, and smile.
We share a short conversation about nothing, and soon he's drifted into sleep, a smile etched into his features.
It's almost my birthday, my bruises are gone, the purple and blue marks of pain and hate faded away. It still hurts.
I don't wince when I stand up, or lean over, as much as I want to. The only thing keeping me from crying at night is Frank- he's always there with me, making me forget all the pain. But every time we're together, which is often, actually, only during doctor visits are we apart, and those moments are agony. I just want to...touch him. Push his hair out of his face, grab his hand, hug him. Anything, as long as we can be close. I want most to crush my lips against his, like they do in fairy tales Nan used to tell me.But it would no doubt ruin everything. And I just can't bear to have him leave my life.
"Frank? What do you think the inspector's going to do to me?" I ask. We're laying next to each other on the bottom bunk, on our backs, staring at the white plastic that separates the two white beds.
"I...I don't know." He says, biting his lip. He's lying. He has an idea. I know Frank, so I just ask him a semi-relevant question. I haven't asked him yet, I didn't know what his reaction would be.
"Don't you?" I pretend ponder. He stiffens a bit. "What do the words 'fuck' and 'get it on' actually mean?"
"Where'd you hear those?" He asks quickly, looking over at me like a fear has come true.
"Well...Nan used to say 'fuck' when she was upset..." I try. He raises his eyebrows. I sigh. I din't want him to be angry with me. "Well, I um, the man who 'tested' my reactions, the one who beat the shit out of me, he said the inspector man 'wanted' me. That he wanted to 'get it on' with me. And a lady said that the inspector woulld 'fuck' anything he could fit into." I explain. He does not look happy. Angry, even. I cringe. "I'm sorry, Frank. I din't mean-" He pulls me into a hug, and I almost sigh because of the brain spasms it causes.
"It's not you I'm angry at." He whispers into my ear.
I'm relieved. I'd hate to have him mad at me. I'd really, really hate it. "Can you tell me what it means?" I ask quietly.
"Sex." He says.
"Sex. He wants sex." Frank explains further, practically steaming.
"I don't want to have sex with him." I squeak, appalled. The only person I want to 'fuck' is Frank. Not the inspector, not him, only Frank.
"Yes. Thus the angry Frank." He says, lightly pushing me out of the hug. I try not to look too disappointed. He grabs my hand, and squeezes it. I almost melt with relief. He's not allergic to me. He's holding my hand. Wait. He's holding my hand!!!!
My brains 'splat' against the inside of my head, an implosion of happiness, all because he's touching me again. I shouldn't feel like this. But I do. So I'll just have to live with it.
"Frank, I don't want my first time to be with someone I don't like." I whine. I want it to be with you.
He sighs. "Can't always help it."
"I know...I just wish-never mind." I say, blushing at what I was about to say.
"Just wish what?" Frank asks.
"Nothing." I say quickly. A little too quickly to get away with.
"You were going to say something." He pouts, his face unbelievably cute, cuter than normal. I just want to lean over and...What am I thinking? I almost said I wished my first time could be with him! What would Frank think? There has to be something wrong with me.
"Yes...But I decided against it." I tease.
"That's not fair! Tell me!" Frank begs, flipping on his side so his fave is very close to mine.
I shakily take a breath. I need to learn to ignore the aching of my heart everytime he's so close, it can't be good for my health. I need to stop loving Frank, it's distracting. In a good way- no, in a bad way. He makes me want to be creative, be myself. In a world like mine, that isn't a good thing.
"It's not really any of your business." I say, but it so is.
"Of course it is! We are friends, aren't we?" He asks, exasperated. Friends. Yes, we're friends. And that's all we'll ever be, all he wants us to be. I should be happy I have that, besides, he probably has a prettier boyfriend back in his side of the world. A pretty, perfect boyfriend. Frank deserves it.
I sigh. "I wish things were different, that's all. I wish I hadn't started falling."
"Falling? Oh, you mean! You need to tell me who you're falling for." He demands, poking my shoulder.
"It would ruin things." I say, unhappily.
He chuckles. "Gerard? Ruin something? I can hardly imagine."
"Laugh all you want, it's still true." I say stubbornly. He sighs.
"Fine, fine. You win this round." He says, swinging his legs off the bed., getting up.
"Stay with me." I whisper, grabbing his arm. "Don't leave me, not tonight."
Gerard's P.O.V. (die in the unexpected expected-ness, bitch)
"Are you Gerard way?" A pale woman asks me, her long curly black hair swinging as she stands up from behind the reception desk. I slowly nod. "Follow me." She smiles, sliding out from behind her white desk.
Her clothes are strange, not ones I've really ever seen before. They're white, of course, but she's got a long sleeved button up shirt, and a puny thin skirt that hides nothing at all. (IT"S A PENCIL SKIRT! A/N, BTW)
I follow her as she leads me to a brown door with interesting patterns. Wood. That's what Frank calls it.
The woman knocks on the door, a bit impatiently. Not the perfect receptionist, I see.
"Come in." I hear the gruff voice of the inspector say from within. The woman opens the door slowly, revealing a purple carpeted room with bright red walls. red is for passion. That's what Frank says, anyway. I step into the room, the receptionist locking it behind me.
There's a wooden table, and a matching chair in which he's sitting on. On the table is a metal like string, a needle and a bottle labeled 'Vodka'.
"Get over here." He growls.
I comply, involuntarily.
"Take your shirt off." He commands, and I slowly do. Not that I want to. He whistles. He picks up the string, and ties my hands together in front of me. The string is cold, thick and sharp, it hurts, cutting into my wrists.
He hums while he works, then turns around and preps the needle. He turns back to me, and patiently injects me with what ever is in the barrel of the needle, pushing on the plunger until all the liquid is released.
"This," He says, grinning evilly, "Will cancel out The Drug. You see, I want you to feel it when I'm in you."
"W-what ?!" I gasp, as the anti-drug starts to take effect, making me feel a slight buzz.
"The anti-drug. Now, take my shirt off." He commands.
"I-What?" I ask, though I had been expecting this.
"Take it off." He says, impatiently.
"Why?" i ask, pretending I don't know what he wants.
"So I can have sex with you." He says, nonchalant to the point of irritation.
"But I don't want to have sex."
"Then I'll take it off, and rape you." He says, shrugging as he removes his shirt, his pants and finally his underwear. How peculiar that he still has his socks on, and his thing is smaller than mine. Are they supposed to be small? Would Frank think I'm a freak if he knew?
"You just had to make things difficult." He says, punching me to the floor. He crouches down next to me, quickly pulling off the rest of my clothes before I can stop him. "You're big." He comments happily, and I can see his...thing start to move.
"Please don't!" I beg, tears forming in my eyes.
"How many times do you think I've heard that line?" He asks, shaking his head. He stands up, grabbing my hair and pulling my mouth over his...manhood. Nan never did tell me what it was called.
"Bite and I will kill you." He hisses, pulling my hair so my mouth is going up and down on his hard manhood. Tears fall freely from my eyes, as he moans, and pants. Why does this have to happen?
He pulls me off suddenly, turning me over, still firmly grasping my hair, and he...He starts to do the unthinkable.
~~~~~(A/N: I wrote it out, but it sucks, so) time lapse.~~~~~
I stand outside the door of Frank's and my room, contemplating what to do. I've barely just gotten the tears to stop falling. Maybe he'll be asleep. Yeah, it's late, no doubt. He should be asleep. How will I explain the cuts on my wrists, the fresh bruises all over my body, the dried tears and crumpled clothes other than saying 'you were right'? I don't want him to know. But I can't stay out here all night, not after the inspector re-administered The Drug.
I slowly open the door. Frank's sitting on the bottom bunk, fully dressed, no doubt waiting for my return.
"Are you okay?" He asks, rushing over once the door closes.
"Yeah.." I lie. My body aches all over, I'm going to collapse if I don't lay down, and I'm fighting off an incredibly strong urge to cry. yes Frank, I'm okay.
He looks me over. "No, you're not." He decides. I strip to my underwear. He gasps at the state of my body, but I ignore him, and climb to the top bunk, even though it hurts, and we've been sleeping on the bottom together as of late. He, of course, being Frank, follows me up, laying next to me. I turn away, wishing he'd just leave for a while.
"I just want to be alone, Frank." I say, turning to him.
"No such luck." He says.
There's silence for a few moments.
He reaches out for my hand, squeezing it.
"Are we going to talk about it?" He asks. There's a deep concern in his eyes, and he wants to know about the Hell I've been through, wants to help.
"There's nothing to talk about." I say quietly. "You were right." The tears are back, falling off my face. I try to turn away from him, but he pulls me into a sideways-laying-down hug. He still wraps his arms around me the best he can, and kisses my forehead. That puts around half of the cells in my multi-cellular heart at ease.
I start sobbing uncontrollably, telling him the gory details between sobs, soaking his shirt. He doesn't interrupt, doesn't ask me any questions. He just squeezes me closer to him, and soon I'm clinging to him like my life depends on it.
"He'll never do it again." He says, once my sobbing has become less destructive.
"How do you know?" I ask, another tear finding its way down my cheek.
"Because I won't let it. " He promises, hugging me tighter.
"Thank you, Frank." I say, hugging him tighter. I hope I never have to let go. And that's how we fall asleep, in each other’s arms, still merely friends.
Leila's P.O.V. (Oh yes, I went there)
Frank is mad. I can tell he's mad, it's easy enough to guess. It was beating day a few days ago, and I haven't seen him in a few days. They've started making The Drug doses bigger, so I'm not needed as much. But boy, is Frank mad.
He walks into the room like normal, like a zombie. But as soon as the door closes, I can tell he's upset, mad. He's furious. Livid seems more appropriate.
"What happened?" I ask quickly, trying to figure out the dilemma. He wasn't this mad after beating day, what's his sudden problem?
"The inspector raped Gerard." He says quietly, in a way that makes you know a storm is coming. Not that we ever get storms here.
"What?" I gape, genuinely dumbfounded.
"The inspector. Fucking. Raped. Gerard." He says, biting his lip to keep from screaming. That wouldn't go over well, other people could hear it.
"He did?" I ask, still a little concerned. How does Frank know this? Are Gerard and him close? Did he see it happen? Did Gerard tell this to Frank? Is Gerard lying?
"That's what Gerard says." Frank states, his jaw clenching and un-clenching. Mixed in with the anger, though, is hate, and sadness.
"How do you know Gerard isn't lying?" I ask, and instantly regret it.
"Gerard wouldn't lie, not to me!" He almost yells, his voice getting louder with each syllable. Such hate and anger shouldn't be able to emanate from such a small teenager.
"I know, but..." I say, trying to calm him, and save myself. "Tell me what happened."
He sighs, trying to collect himself before carrying on. "The inspector called him to his room after work." He starts.
"Do you know which inspector?" I ask, cutting him off a bit.
He shrugs. "Handle bar mustache. Gerard came back really late. He had bruises all over his body, and cuts on his wrists from a chord of some sort. He came into the room, and he wouldn't say anything. Then he started crying. Like, the-world-is-ending crying. Shaking all over. He told me what happened. That the inspector fucking raped him." Frank spits, clearly upset.
"This could give us grounds and proof to shut this place down." I say slowly. He nods. "I'll request to see Gerard. Patch him up. I think we have a rape kit around here somewhere." I say, looking around to figure out if it's in plain sight. I sigh, looking over at Frank's tense body. "Hit it." I command, pointing to the wall.
"What?" He asks, clearly confused.
"Just do it." I command, my patience growing thin. "Hit it like you mean it."
He does. He throws a punch at the wall, like it's the inspector he has come to hate so much. "Fuck!" He exclaims, wincing at his now bleeding hand.
"Feeling better now?" I ask, getting out bandages to wrap up Frank's injured hand.
"Surprisingly, yes. I always did like hitting things." He muses as I wrap the bandage around his knuckles. "Gerard's going to wonder what happened."
"Frank...Do you like Gerard? Romantically, I mean." I ask. It's been bugging me since this whole thing began. Since he'd waited for Gerard after Beating day. I can add. Two plus two equals...
"Yes." He says, momentarily surprised. "But if you tell anyone, I will not testify against this place to the government."
Then, like a drama queen, he walks out. The drama is almost more because of the zombie-ness exhibited as he opens the door and disappears into the land of Drug, work and Gerard.
XX One Gerard Later XX
riiiiiing...riiiiiiing.... goes the phone, as I impatiently tap my fingers on my office desk. I'm finally making the call. I'm calling the government. I haven't heard from them, except a message from Frank. I only have one call. It's now or never, though. Finally, an answer, the click of the phone being picked up.
"Agent Red?" An unfamiliar, masculine voice answers, using my codename.
"Is this an emergency, or have you substantial proof of human rights being violated?" The voice answers again, calmly, collected, everything I want to be but am failing at.
"Of sorts." I say calmly, trying to figure out how to put this.
"Tell me what happened." The voice commands, in an imposing way tat makes me just blurt it out.
"I have proof that a boy was raped by one of his superiors." I blurt out quickly.
"Is that not enough to shut this awful place down?" I whisper, my dreams failing.
"No. Even in our world, people are raped by their bosses all the time. Of course, they have to deal with pressure and sorts but no, it isn't enough." The voice says, pausing. "Is there anything else you'd like to add?"
"Beating day." I realize.
"Excuse me?" The male on the other end of the world asks.
Beating day. They beat the workers, making sure the Drug works. Some of the workers aren't effected by the Drug, and it's a way they rat out the undesirable people with brains left." I explain.
"...You should have called this in before." He says.
"It only got bad a few days ago. I had to patch up a man who was beat up pretty bad. It's usually not very bad." I explain to him, I didn't even know about it until that day with Gerard. One of those things I'm supposed to hide. Arthur and I were told not to tell the other doctors about inspection day, beating day. It's wrong.
"Just go about your norma routine. I'll see what I can do. You can expect to be out of that Hell in the next few months." Then hangs up. A few months. There are thousnds of people living here, so I suppose it won't be easy finding them places to live. But a few months. What could happen to Gerard and Frank in a few months?
I wake up to a dark room and a big hand clamped over my mouth. I can't breathe. I slowly open my eyes, playing zombie, though I want to yell, kick and scream like this 'Hell' Frank talks about. This hand is too big to be Frank's.
"Be silent or your roommate dies." A masculine voice whispers to my opening eyes. He pulls me from the top bunk (Frank and I didn't sleep together last night. I wanted to, but I didn't just want to ask. That would be weird, right?). I'm glad Frank isn't up here now, though. If he was, this mystery man might figure Frank isn't taking The Drug. I would hate for something like this to happen to him.
The hand is off my mouth, and I'm pushed into the dimly lit hallway.
"We know you're not under the influence of The Drug." The male voice says. It's coming from a muscular blond, blue eyed man. He's tall, too. Taller than me. Not that I'm super tall or anything.
I gulp. "Are you going to kill me?" I ask.
He chuckles. "I'm just going to erase your existence."
XX FRANK'S POINT OF VIEW XX
When I woke up, Gerard was gone. He still isn't back, though it's only been 10 minutes. It's scary, not hearing his breath. It's something I've grown used to. Something I've come to expect, and now I miss it like it was a drug I was under. The Drug in me is Gerard. Where could he be?
Where the HELL is Gerard? Because I swear, if they've hurt him, I will destroy this place. Did the inspector get to him again? If he did...I'll fucking kill him. That's a promise. Gerard likes promises. Gerard...
I take a few deep breaths, convincing myself he's fine. It'll all be okay, he'll be here when you get back, he's getting looked at by the doctors or something. Yeah, that's it. Now that I've gathered myself, I open the door and head out to work.
XXX Leila's P.O.V. XXX
"I'd like o see Gerard Way." I tell my superior.
"Gerard Way?" He blinks. "We don't have a Gerard Way."
"You...What!?" I ask. How could Gerard not exist? I know Gerard. He exists. How could this be?
"If you need to make sure he doesn't exist, you can check his file." My superior says, pushing up his brown rimmed glasses.
"O-Okay..." I says. "Sorry to disturb you." I say, leaving a very confused woman.
I dig through the files. W...W...W... I search. Here it is! I grab the file labeled 'Way' and open it excitedly. He does exist! I look across the file and my heart drops. It says Mikey Way. Not Gerard. Though this boy isn't very old. Younger than Gerard, probably a cousin or sibling. and...deceased. I wonder if that was hard on Gerard, if he even knew this boy.
Finally, I face the fact. There is no Gerard Way. His file was here last week. Gerard Way no longer exists. I sit frozen on the floor, Mikey's file in my hands. This is my fault. Gerard might be dead because I called in the government. It's all my fault, and Frank... How will Frank take it? A missing file means a person dead. And in this case, a person dead means one more useless, broken agent. I hope Frank won't take it too badly.
They shove me into a cell, there are three other people in the dimly lit, grimy gray-walled room, four beds, two of them chained to the wall over another bed. There's one window, covered by bars, and enough chairs for all of us.
Two of them have long hair- a curly haired blue/green eyed girl, and a woman with long, ratty brown hair with natural honey highlights. She's facing the window, sitting in a chair, so I can't really see her.
"Welcome to our lovely abode. I'm James." Says the other cellmate, a bald man with sparkling blue eyes. He shakes my hand. What a weird gesture.
"I-I'm Triana." The red head stutters, she seems nervous. I wonder why. I mean, it's obvious they're not going to kill us.
"Hello. I'm Gerard." I say, looking them over. They seem nice enough.
"Jared?" James asks, while Triana asks "Gerald?"
"No, its'-" I'm cut off by a very familiar voice.
"Gerard." She says, and I turn to look at her. She gets up from the chair and turns around slowly. She looks at me, and her semi-wrinkly features light up.
"N-Nan?" I ask, as she walks towards me and squeezes me into a hug.
"Gerard." She repeats, hugging me tighter. "What happened while I was gone?"
"We'll let you two catch up."James says, sighing as he and Triana go back to whatever they were doing. Triana is brushing her hair with her fingers, and Jan=mes is helping her.
"While you were gone, Nan...Mikey died." I start. It's the past. It can't hurt me. Her eyes widen.
"Too much Drug." I shrug. (A/N Ha ha it rhymes)
"Oh honey I'm so sorry!" She hugs me, then releases me and has us sit down on a bottom bunk bed.
"It's fine. It was half a year ago, I think." I say, trying to do the math. 1 inspection per month. 6 inspections..yeah, 6 months.
"But still." She sigh. "Continue."
"I met someone who is from the outside world." I grin, thinking about Frank. Oh shit, he probably is going to wonder where I am! Don't let him do anything stupid!
Nan looks me straight in the eyes, frowning. "You're sure he wasn't just a bug?" She asks. My eyes widen. Frank? Sell me out? No, he wouldn't would he?
"I-I never thought of that." I admit."But he-he would never do hat. No, not him. He taught me things, like you used to." I try, more to convince myself than her. It can't be true.
She gives me a skeptical look. "You trust him too much. He's likely the reason you're here."
No, Frank wouldn't. We're friends. But he did get me to trust Leila and Arthur...
"Nan, I don't think-" I start, but she cuts me off.
"What makes you so sure he didn't?" She snaps.
"Nothing solid, but I..." I look away.
"But you what?" She asks impatiently.
"But I think I love him." I lean over and whisper in her ear. Not everyone needs to hear this.
Her eyes widen as I pull away, and a scowl devours the warmth of her smile. "Gerard. He's the enemy."
"Yeah..." I finally admit it might be a possibility. Not Frankie...
"You'll never be together! He got you into this mess, and he sure as hell won't get you out." She snaps, impatience etched all over her features.
"Yeah..." I don't care. I should, but I don't. He's Frank. In a just world he would be mine. I've never loved anyone like this, not Nan, not Mikey. There's just Frank. Just being around him burns away my insides with happiness, he makes me want to touch him, to be there for him always. And he cares. About me. About all of us in this world. He wants us out. But... it's his fault I'm here. "I know we'll never be together."
Nan sighs. "I'm sorry. You're just going to have to let him go. You can't risk loving someone who'll stab you in the back like this." Nan says, then sighs.
I nod. "Consider him nothing to me." I say, though it tears me apart. Rips my heart in half, then throws half of it to the sharks. Because I know he'll always be everything to me. But I can't be in love with him. Because this is all. His. Fault.
XX Frank's P.O.V. XX
"Hey, do you know where Gerard is?" I ask Leila at my next appointment.
She stiffens. "About that...Frank, Gerard is dead."
"Oh reall- wait, WHAT!?" I yell. He can't be dead, not my Gerard! It's not possible, he was fine! Just this morning- how is it even conceivable?
"He doesn't have a file anymore." She says regretfully. Gerard told me no file means no existence. Oh Gad... He can't be gone. He can't.
"No..." I croak. He's dead. Gerard's really dead. I feel my body become devoid of all emotions, I know there is a pain, I just can't feel it. It hurts that much. It hurts so much it can't even register.
X Frank's P.O.V. X
Gerard Way is dead. It's a fact I've drilled into my brain everyday, each moment of realization as painful as the day before. It's so hard for me to believe he's dead. It hurs so much, it's something I hardly notice anymore. And I can't grieve.
I can't grieve because the people who killed Gerard rule my life- they have me work a useless job, a job Gerard and I used to work together. They have me medicated- unanware that the medicine Gerard was resistant to never even reaches my veins. They call it a medicine. We call it a Drug.
A Drug that could never destroy Gerard, not the way it destroyed all the zombies or the way it destroyed his brother. A Drug that never stopped Gerard from being who he was, when he was alone with me. Never stopped his innocent but silent revolt against the un-just world he lives in.
They never stopped his adorable giggle, or the way his hair would somehow always manage to look cute, curling into his face though everyone else had the same haircut- he made it stand out, he made it his own, he mad it gorgeous.
He had all the good things of a human, and most of the bad things weren't as pronounced as the people in the world I come from. He was innocent, curious, and had a little bit of a taste for revenge. In my world, he would probably burn twice as brightly. My world. He wanted to escape to my world. He wanted to know everything. But as they say, curiosity killed the cat. And that's why Gerard is dead. He must have let something slip.
If I were a weaker person, I would do what I desire to do. I would kill myself. But not yet. Gerard's death, if nothing else, has given me a new reason to live. Because they just decided to kill him, on a whim or something. It's not Gerard's, or my fault, that he's dead. It's this company that keeps us enslaved.
They must be taken out of power. They must be destroyed, obliterated, deleted from existence like you delete a wrong word on the computer. Gerard must be the last person they kill. Because there are others like him, I'm sure. And this can't happen again. It's not right. And I'm one of the only people who can stop it.
So I will crush it in the palm of my hand. It's time a fat cat had a heart attack. And it will be one hell of a heart attack, I promise you that.
XX Leila's P.O.V. XX
Frank's become the perfect little zombie. He's practically high on misery, no Drug needed. I hope he doesn't try suicide. This place is almost suicide proof, unless you let loose the fact that you're not Drugged up. But there seems to be a little clockwork working behind his eyes- he's planning something, planning something grand. I just hope he doesn't get himself killed. We need him.
XXX Excerpt From Phone Conversation (A few months later) XXX
Male: Are we almost ready?
Female: Yes, sir. Until total force mobilization, 72 hours.
Male: Good. Is everyone playing fair?
Female: The alliance between US, UK, France, and Russia holds strong. No one has backed out, sir.
Male: Good. Good. Over.
XXXX Gerard's P.O.V. XXXX
I wake up, a smile on my face. I was dreaming about Frank again. I've got to stop doing that. It'll only make Nan angry, and it'll make me want Frankie, something I can't have. Because he got me here. I need to hate him. I just can't bring myself to do it. Because I guess I do, really love him. But if I ever see him again, I will make sure to kick, scream and cry against him. As much as I love him, he is my enemy, and I need to be strong and emotionless if I'm ever to get out of this awful place. They're teaching me to be a doctor. I don't know how they fathom that will happen, surely Frank's old them how much I hate needles? Getting them is one thin, but giving them... Frank, if you're trying to torture me, you're doing a lovely job. They had me needle a strange orange thing (which Nan called an Orange) and I started freaking out, just holding the needle. I'm wishing I'd never let Frank anywhere near me. And it'll never happen again. I'll likely never see him again. If I do, I won't listen to a word he has to say.
Gerard's point of view
I wake up to an unfamiliar smell, a burning in my nose and mouth, and tears in my eyes. There's a gray puff of air floating into the cell door, clogging up the room, making it difficult to think, to do anything really. I can hardly breathe, can't smell, all I can see now is black. Black around me. Black surrounding me, encasing me, like it's trying to devour my soul.
I gag, gasping for breath, only to come up empty. Suddenly there's a hand on my wrist, dragging me into where our cell door was-a hallway. The door must have been opened, as soon I'm aware of James' hand on mine, pulling me down the hall.
"But Nan! And Triana!" I protest.
"Don't worry, they're fine. They're ahead of us." James tells me, and we're running from the fire, adrenaline keeping my tired, unhealthy body going. We run through what seems like ages of smoke, keep running, keep running until my limbs feel rubbery and exhausted from the sudden exertion.
We run out of the building, the prison, only to realize the entire city is on fire. White buildings, all around us, are burning, engulfed in flames, turning orange, red and yellow, leaving gray and black ash in the path of destruction. James makes a split second decision, pulling us between two burning buildings, in an attempt merely to get out.
James pulls me along with him, him hand firm around mine, his frantic searching for an escape, his shallow breathing the only sign of fatigue.
I hear a worrying grinding noise, and suddenly James' arm is no longer on my wrist. His hand is though, the falling building somehow cutting off the hand, still attached to mine, but hiding the body under burned remains. I scream, tumbling back onto my butt, before turning around and frantically crawling, then once I scramble off the ground, running in the opposite direction. Suddenly there's a loud noise, and an air born machine hovering over me. There's a ladder, and on the end of it...Frank.
I look on the screen of the computer. The government has gotten everyone out of the puny city of factories, and I'm to make sure there's no one else left. I'm in a helicopter, scanning the ground. Then I see something so incredibly impossible, so incredibly alive I can hardly believe it. It's Gerard, running in the city frantically, alone, and not dead.
"There's one!" I yell to the captain, and he soon sees Gerard too. I'm filled with happiness, knowing that my Gerard is alive. I'm lowered onto a ladder, which is sent down to the earth, to Gerard.
"Gerard!" I yell, a smile lighting up my features. He looks happy, then angry as I reach the ground. "Get on!" I motion him towards me. His face looses all emotion, and I receive a stone cold answer.
"Why not?" I ask, confused. I'm saving his lie, and he's refusing?
"Because Frank...I-I hate you." He says. Wait,what? Why does he hate me? I haven't done anything.
"Why?" I ask, feeling a tear drip out of my eye.
"Because you destroyed my life. I promised I wouldn't go with you, and that if I would, it would be kicking and screaming." He says coldly.
"Gerard! I don't know what you're talking about, but it doesn't matter! This isn't some game! It's whether you live or not!" I exclaim at his idiocy.
He looks me over a moment, and slitting his eyes, he slowly approaches me. He holds onto the ladder, though he's careful not to touch me. The ladder starts to move up, and we're around twenty feet off the ground when the helicopter jerks the ladder up.
"Gerard!" I yell as his footing slips, and his arms as he starts to fall backwards.
"Gerard!" I scream, as his body falls away from mine, his eyes wide in shock and disbelief. I lunge for him, on arm on the ladder one reaching out to save the man I've come to love.
I catch him, just barely though. Holding his wrist, he's dragging me down. I won't be able to hold him over the burning city for long.
"Just drop me." He whispers over the noise of the helicopter. "I know you want to do it, so do." He doesn't look me in the eyes.
"I would never drop you, Gerard." I tell him, confused as to why he thinks I would.
"Then why the hell did you sell me out!?" He yells, angrily, snapping his eyes to mine. I feel a shock so electric I almost drop him. There are tears in his eyes, and he looks upset, distraught, though his voice makes him seem angry.
"What are you talking about?" I ask quietly.
"They knew I wasn't affected by the Drug! That's why the locked me up in that awful cell with the others!" He screams.
"Gerard...I thought you were dead." I tell him. his eyes widen, then shrink to slits.
"You're lying." He says. He just doesn't get it, does he? Almost makes me want to drop him. Kidding.
"Gerard...No, I'm not. I don't know how to prove it, but I do." I say, gripping his hand tighter as my grip on the ladder starts to slip.
"Maybe it wasn't you, but you got me to trust Leila and Arthur! They tried to teach me how to fucking inject people with The Drug! Do you know how scary that is!?" He yells. He's gotta be shitting me. Needles scare him? Or maybe it's the Drug, but still... I suppose he's a sheltered boy, for all he's been through.
"I trust them. If they let it slip, it was on accident." I promise.
"Frank..." He looks into my eyes. Really looks. Like there's something to see. Like there's a maze, a puzzle that doesn't quite go together. he just looks, searching for any betrayal. And I find I'm staring back, entranced by his beautiful eyes, unable to look away, to deprive myself from his gaze- because I realize, I really do love him.
The helicopter sets us down in a field of green, green grass and green... just green.
"Gee..." I say as we land in the field. "Gerard..." I try when he doesn't respond.
"Leave me alone, Frankie! I hate you!" He turns away from me, and starts walking off. Wait. Frankie. He...has a nickname for me? Do nicknames even exist in the zombie paradise he comes from?
I grab his arm, spinning him towards me. "You called me Frankie... Do you really hate me?"
He looks a me. Just looks, for a moment before a tear falls down his face. "I should. I tried to. I really tried...Nan told me to, said I couldn't trust you..." he cries.
"You can trust me, Gerard." I confirm for him, an answer to an unasked question. A question that desperately needed answering.
"How can I be sure?" He asks, eyes wide and tear filled. I can't help it. I pull him into a the kiss I've been craving for so long. I mash my lips to his, and he jumps, pushing me away.
"What the hell was that?" He yells, sinking my heart, ripping it in two.
"A kiss...though I suppose you still have your eyes on that pesky crush..." I mutter, backing away.
"A-A kiss? Like in fairy tales?" He asks, eyes wide. "That's what a kiss is?"
And with that, he pulls me back to him, locking my lips in a heated embrace. I kiss back, of course, my heart half mended. He didn't know what a kiss was. Of course he freaked out. But does he know what it means...?
I pull back from the kiss, needing confirmation.
"Gerard, you know what kisses mean, right?" I ask, hoping it's a yes.
"It means I love you." He smiles at me.
"So you gave up on your crush and are going with me instead?" I grin, my heart almost breaking in happiness. Bursting at the recently sewn seams.
"You were the crush, silly." He whispers, threading his arms around my torso, pulling me closer to him, and pulling m lips to his, starting the bliss that is Gerard and I.