Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > You Can Always Cover Me With Makeup
Present Day. Gerard.
My eyes are still wet when he comes back an hour later, clutching a mug brimming with a liquid thats no doubt potent enough to burn away the roof of my mouth. Mikey slams it down in front of me, the sudden noise shocking. I withdraw.
'Drink this. And for God's sake, pull yourself together.'
And I can't. You'd think it'd been long enough, wouldn't you? It only takes one shot to fuck up a heart past this point.
Yours was a perfect shot, darling. Exacted with the kind of precision I'd loved you for, you left me lying broken on the floor, self deprecating to the point where even my own brother can no longer stand the sight of me.
You never did do things by halves, did you?
***
Then. Frank.
Weeks pass. I don't see the boy for a considerable amount of time, and although I know it shouldn't bother me, it does; and this simple fact in itself annoys me. I long to see him again, his perfect, furrowed brow, verdant eyes, tangled silk for hair. The only guy who's ever freaked out Oh-So-Hard Stevie (who sickeningly enough fancies himself as some kind of unshockable badass)- when we asked him what'd fucked him up so much, he'd glared at us and refused to answer. I got a kick out of knowing that his too-large ego had been crushed, hopefully beyond repair.
By the time last period maths has the decency to be finished on Thursday afternoon, the rain is pelting down outside, causing chaos as twenty-four students scramble for umbrellas, coats, textbooks to keep the rain off their heads. I choose to wait until the mayhem has cleared, then pull on my hoodie and make my way out of the classroom into the damp.
And that's where I catch sight of him. He's perched on the wall by the car park without a jacket or umbrella or textbook, cigarette in his mouth. He doesn't seem to mind the rain.
For a moment, I stand watching him, then on impulse pull down my hood, walking over to him. He doesn't turn to look at me.
'Those things'll kill you.'
He scoffs, holds out the pack. Gingerly, I slide out a white tube. I've never smoked before.
We stand in companiable awkward silence for a while, before he speaks.
'Why aren't you with your fellow lackeys?'
'What?'
'You know. That guy. The one who fancies himself.'
It gives me a weird delight to hear Stevie being referred to in this manner.
'Oh, it's Thursday. Thursday isn't ego-pandering day.'
He stares at me, open-mouthed for a couple of seconds, before starting to laugh.
'What's your name?' He hands me his lighter
All my life, people have been calling me Frankie, which I've found increasingly juvenile and irritating. I don't want him to have those associations with me.
'Frank.'
His perfect lips curl upwards in an evil smile
'I like Frankie better.'
Fuck. I struggle with his lighter, engendering a flame but incapable of setting fire to the cigarette. Sighing heavily, he takes them from me.
'You don't smoke, do you Frankie,'
'...no'
'Don't start. Filthy habit,' he hands me the cigarette, now magically lit 'Gerard.'
I take it from him
'Gerard the cigarette?'
'Don't be an idiot.'
'What did you say to Stevie?' Fuelled by my sudden spurt of cocky-ness, I attempt to drag on the cigarette. Instead, I gag and start spluttering everywhere. Gerard eyes me, silently laughing.
'Not funny,' I manage to choke out, painfully 'Are you really Mikey's brother?'
'What is this, twenty questions?'
'Yes. And you have to answer them.'
He lets out a theatrical sigh, raising his eyeliner-smudged eyes to the overcast heavens 'No. We're married.'
'Really?'
'No you fool, he's really my brother. Next question.'
'Okay. What did you say to Stevie?'
'You really want to know?'
'Uh-huh,'
'I told him I got kicked out of my last school for nailing a kid to the wall,'
I start laughing. The expression on his face is mildly amused.
'Did you?'
'Do I look like a murderer?'
'Uh...' I cast my eyes over his dripping hair, his demonic scowl, his black-on-black-on-white as death attire 'Yes.'
'Huh. I didn't nail him to the wall, per se, he just didn't have the will to get back up after I'd left him there.'
'Ok. Last question.'
'Fire ahead.'
I extend the cigarette, which I haven't dared drag on since my last painful experience 'Why do you smoke these things?'
'So I can laugh at people like you when they try them to impress me,' He blows a stream of silvery smoke in my face, making me cough, and seizes hold of his bag from the ground. By the time the smoke screen has dissipated, he's gone, like some fucked-up villain, leaving me standing alone and rain-sodden.
My eyes are still wet when he comes back an hour later, clutching a mug brimming with a liquid thats no doubt potent enough to burn away the roof of my mouth. Mikey slams it down in front of me, the sudden noise shocking. I withdraw.
'Drink this. And for God's sake, pull yourself together.'
And I can't. You'd think it'd been long enough, wouldn't you? It only takes one shot to fuck up a heart past this point.
Yours was a perfect shot, darling. Exacted with the kind of precision I'd loved you for, you left me lying broken on the floor, self deprecating to the point where even my own brother can no longer stand the sight of me.
You never did do things by halves, did you?
***
Then. Frank.
Weeks pass. I don't see the boy for a considerable amount of time, and although I know it shouldn't bother me, it does; and this simple fact in itself annoys me. I long to see him again, his perfect, furrowed brow, verdant eyes, tangled silk for hair. The only guy who's ever freaked out Oh-So-Hard Stevie (who sickeningly enough fancies himself as some kind of unshockable badass)- when we asked him what'd fucked him up so much, he'd glared at us and refused to answer. I got a kick out of knowing that his too-large ego had been crushed, hopefully beyond repair.
By the time last period maths has the decency to be finished on Thursday afternoon, the rain is pelting down outside, causing chaos as twenty-four students scramble for umbrellas, coats, textbooks to keep the rain off their heads. I choose to wait until the mayhem has cleared, then pull on my hoodie and make my way out of the classroom into the damp.
And that's where I catch sight of him. He's perched on the wall by the car park without a jacket or umbrella or textbook, cigarette in his mouth. He doesn't seem to mind the rain.
For a moment, I stand watching him, then on impulse pull down my hood, walking over to him. He doesn't turn to look at me.
'Those things'll kill you.'
He scoffs, holds out the pack. Gingerly, I slide out a white tube. I've never smoked before.
We stand in companiable awkward silence for a while, before he speaks.
'Why aren't you with your fellow lackeys?'
'What?'
'You know. That guy. The one who fancies himself.'
It gives me a weird delight to hear Stevie being referred to in this manner.
'Oh, it's Thursday. Thursday isn't ego-pandering day.'
He stares at me, open-mouthed for a couple of seconds, before starting to laugh.
'What's your name?' He hands me his lighter
All my life, people have been calling me Frankie, which I've found increasingly juvenile and irritating. I don't want him to have those associations with me.
'Frank.'
His perfect lips curl upwards in an evil smile
'I like Frankie better.'
Fuck. I struggle with his lighter, engendering a flame but incapable of setting fire to the cigarette. Sighing heavily, he takes them from me.
'You don't smoke, do you Frankie,'
'...no'
'Don't start. Filthy habit,' he hands me the cigarette, now magically lit 'Gerard.'
I take it from him
'Gerard the cigarette?'
'Don't be an idiot.'
'What did you say to Stevie?' Fuelled by my sudden spurt of cocky-ness, I attempt to drag on the cigarette. Instead, I gag and start spluttering everywhere. Gerard eyes me, silently laughing.
'Not funny,' I manage to choke out, painfully 'Are you really Mikey's brother?'
'What is this, twenty questions?'
'Yes. And you have to answer them.'
He lets out a theatrical sigh, raising his eyeliner-smudged eyes to the overcast heavens 'No. We're married.'
'Really?'
'No you fool, he's really my brother. Next question.'
'Okay. What did you say to Stevie?'
'You really want to know?'
'Uh-huh,'
'I told him I got kicked out of my last school for nailing a kid to the wall,'
I start laughing. The expression on his face is mildly amused.
'Did you?'
'Do I look like a murderer?'
'Uh...' I cast my eyes over his dripping hair, his demonic scowl, his black-on-black-on-white as death attire 'Yes.'
'Huh. I didn't nail him to the wall, per se, he just didn't have the will to get back up after I'd left him there.'
'Ok. Last question.'
'Fire ahead.'
I extend the cigarette, which I haven't dared drag on since my last painful experience 'Why do you smoke these things?'
'So I can laugh at people like you when they try them to impress me,' He blows a stream of silvery smoke in my face, making me cough, and seizes hold of his bag from the ground. By the time the smoke screen has dissipated, he's gone, like some fucked-up villain, leaving me standing alone and rain-sodden.
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