Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > And I'll End This Direst: a Frerard story
Frank’s POV
We got back to Gerard’s house at three-fifteen, which was when school was supposed to get out. It would be interesting to see which kids lived near his house, if any, and out of curiosity Gerard asked me where I lived.
“Not too far from you, actually,” was my reply. “I live within walking distance from Jefferson Hill, but on the other side of the school. It would only take about ten minutes to walk to my house from here.”
“Cool,” he said, sounding relieved that there was actually someone he somewhat knew in his neighborhood. He then asked if I wanted to put my bookbag down in his room, since that was where I would be sleeping.
“Sure,” I replied, picking up my bookbag from the couch and following Gerard to the back of the house.
His room wasn’t much different than mine: there wasn’t much light streaming through the window, but his wasn’t decorated with posters or anything, whereas my walls were covered with band posters and pictures of my guitar idols. He turned on a small lamp that was sitting on a desk near his bed, and slightly brightened the room.
“There you go,” he told me, opening the curtains on the small window.
I put my bookbag down on the bed and he threw his down next to mine in a discombobulated mess. I looked toward the desk and saw a bunch of drawings and pictures. He followed my gaze and told me he drew them. I had no idea he was such a great artist: there was a picture of a bloody girl in a moonlit cemetery, a crimson sunset, and a rough sketch of the trees that were outside his window, which could be clearly seen from the bed.
“I was bored,” was his simple explanation when he saw me looking at the tree picture.
“These are really good,” I complimented.
He shrugged. “Eh. They pass the time, that’s all.” So modest. He sat on the bed and I sat beside him, separated by our bookbags.
“Well, they’re good nonetheless.”
“Thanks. Now, if you don’t mind me asking, why was it that you didn’t want me telling Grandma about your bruises?”
I sighed. “Because if other people knew about my parents beating me, then they’d want to get me help or whatever. Meaning take me away from my mom,” I said, and Gerard nodded. Not that I’d mind. “ And my mom’ll think I set her up. Both my parents do all they can not to get arrested,” I added, and Gerard nodded again, understanding. “And when my parents find out it was me that told other people, God knows what would happen to me,” I said quietly, my mind re-living beatings of the past, and the damage they’d inflicted.
Gerard remained quiet. “I don’t like keeping secrets from Grandma. I want to help you, Frankie.”
That was the first time I’d ever heard those words directed at me, from what I could remember.
Gerard’s POV
Oh, God. That smile. His smile made me smile. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled as much in my life as I had today, and it was all Frank’s doing. Too bad he’s not gay, I found myself thinking.
“Can I make an agreement with you?” I asked, and he nodded, waiting. “If I can tell Grandma, she can help you, and I’ll ask her not to tell your parents or anyone else.”
He seemed hesitant, but slowly agreed. “Okay. Just don’t tell anyone else, please,” he said pitifully.
A sigh of relief escaped my lips. “I won’t, Frankie. I promise,” I said, thinking back to earlier that day at the park, when he was the one that had said that to me. Funny what you learn about people, I thought. We spent the next hour and a half just talking about random shit, and it was actually rather enjoyable. Frank was quite an opinionated kid once you broke past the “quiet reject” vibe.
After a long discussion about nothing, he shifted on the bed, lost in thought. “Gee?” he said, looking at the clock on my wall. “I probably shouldn’t be asking this, but where’s Mikey?”
I froze, the thought of Mikey reminding me of my unforgiving past. “You’re right; you shouldn’t be asking,” was all I said on the matter.
“Sorry,” he whispered, looking at his feet. “I just thought that since school was out a long time ago, he’d be home by now.”
“He’s not going to be home,” I replied coldly. I heard Grandma walk through the door and drop her stuff off in the kitchen.
I could see the confusion bloom across Frank’s face. I’d have thought it was cute if I wasn’t thinking about Mikey just then. “What do you mean, ‘he’s not going to be home’?”
“Just what I said.” I hated sounding so cold and mean towards Frank. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know, but didn’t mean he should find out. What if he turned out like Mikey? I wouldn’t be able to bear it.
When Frank saw that I wasn’t going to discuss it any further, he gave up asking.
“Boys?” I heard Grandma calling from the kitchen. “Where are you two?”
“We’re in here,” I shouted back, and stood up. Frank got up behind me, and we walked out of my bedroom towards the kitchen. “How was your bridge game, Grandma?”
She glared at me. “I lost.” I laughed out loud, and she swatted me with her purse. “Be quiet, boy. I’m not mad because I lost, I’m mad because I lost to Marge.”
I laughed again. “Marge, your rival? I thought you were used to her beating you by now; she has been since the end of the stone age.” Even Frankie giggled at this remark, and Grandma shot him a playful death look and swatted him with her purse as well.
“You boys are awful,” she rolled her eyes. “Frank, dear, are you staying for dinner?”
“He’s staying the night, Grandma, if that’s cool with you.”
“That’s marvelous, dear! Of course you can stay the night! How’s spaghetti sound for dinner, then?” she asked, looking to Frank.
“Spaghetti sounds great. Only, no meatballs for me, please.”
“Okay, hon. Are you vegetarian?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
This made Grandma practically beam with delight, and she told me to help her reach the top shelf for some spaghetti noodles, since she was too short to reach. I made a big show out of reaching the shelf with ease, and laughing at her as I handed her the box of noodles.
“It’s okay, Elena, I wouldn’t be able to reach them either,” Frank said, playfully taking Grandma’s side.
Grandma laughed. “See, Gerard? Frankie here knows how to be nice, and knows not to make fun of the person who cooks and cleans up after him.” She squeezed his shoulder lovingly, and I thought I saw him wince in pain as she did so. I need to hurry up and tell her, I guess. I also thought I should tell Frank that she didn’t mean to hurt him, just in case he didn’t know.
We got back to Gerard’s house at three-fifteen, which was when school was supposed to get out. It would be interesting to see which kids lived near his house, if any, and out of curiosity Gerard asked me where I lived.
“Not too far from you, actually,” was my reply. “I live within walking distance from Jefferson Hill, but on the other side of the school. It would only take about ten minutes to walk to my house from here.”
“Cool,” he said, sounding relieved that there was actually someone he somewhat knew in his neighborhood. He then asked if I wanted to put my bookbag down in his room, since that was where I would be sleeping.
“Sure,” I replied, picking up my bookbag from the couch and following Gerard to the back of the house.
His room wasn’t much different than mine: there wasn’t much light streaming through the window, but his wasn’t decorated with posters or anything, whereas my walls were covered with band posters and pictures of my guitar idols. He turned on a small lamp that was sitting on a desk near his bed, and slightly brightened the room.
“There you go,” he told me, opening the curtains on the small window.
I put my bookbag down on the bed and he threw his down next to mine in a discombobulated mess. I looked toward the desk and saw a bunch of drawings and pictures. He followed my gaze and told me he drew them. I had no idea he was such a great artist: there was a picture of a bloody girl in a moonlit cemetery, a crimson sunset, and a rough sketch of the trees that were outside his window, which could be clearly seen from the bed.
“I was bored,” was his simple explanation when he saw me looking at the tree picture.
“These are really good,” I complimented.
He shrugged. “Eh. They pass the time, that’s all.” So modest. He sat on the bed and I sat beside him, separated by our bookbags.
“Well, they’re good nonetheless.”
“Thanks. Now, if you don’t mind me asking, why was it that you didn’t want me telling Grandma about your bruises?”
I sighed. “Because if other people knew about my parents beating me, then they’d want to get me help or whatever. Meaning take me away from my mom,” I said, and Gerard nodded. Not that I’d mind. “ And my mom’ll think I set her up. Both my parents do all they can not to get arrested,” I added, and Gerard nodded again, understanding. “And when my parents find out it was me that told other people, God knows what would happen to me,” I said quietly, my mind re-living beatings of the past, and the damage they’d inflicted.
Gerard remained quiet. “I don’t like keeping secrets from Grandma. I want to help you, Frankie.”
That was the first time I’d ever heard those words directed at me, from what I could remember.
Gerard’s POV
Oh, God. That smile. His smile made me smile. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled as much in my life as I had today, and it was all Frank’s doing. Too bad he’s not gay, I found myself thinking.
“Can I make an agreement with you?” I asked, and he nodded, waiting. “If I can tell Grandma, she can help you, and I’ll ask her not to tell your parents or anyone else.”
He seemed hesitant, but slowly agreed. “Okay. Just don’t tell anyone else, please,” he said pitifully.
A sigh of relief escaped my lips. “I won’t, Frankie. I promise,” I said, thinking back to earlier that day at the park, when he was the one that had said that to me. Funny what you learn about people, I thought. We spent the next hour and a half just talking about random shit, and it was actually rather enjoyable. Frank was quite an opinionated kid once you broke past the “quiet reject” vibe.
After a long discussion about nothing, he shifted on the bed, lost in thought. “Gee?” he said, looking at the clock on my wall. “I probably shouldn’t be asking this, but where’s Mikey?”
I froze, the thought of Mikey reminding me of my unforgiving past. “You’re right; you shouldn’t be asking,” was all I said on the matter.
“Sorry,” he whispered, looking at his feet. “I just thought that since school was out a long time ago, he’d be home by now.”
“He’s not going to be home,” I replied coldly. I heard Grandma walk through the door and drop her stuff off in the kitchen.
I could see the confusion bloom across Frank’s face. I’d have thought it was cute if I wasn’t thinking about Mikey just then. “What do you mean, ‘he’s not going to be home’?”
“Just what I said.” I hated sounding so cold and mean towards Frank. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know, but didn’t mean he should find out. What if he turned out like Mikey? I wouldn’t be able to bear it.
When Frank saw that I wasn’t going to discuss it any further, he gave up asking.
“Boys?” I heard Grandma calling from the kitchen. “Where are you two?”
“We’re in here,” I shouted back, and stood up. Frank got up behind me, and we walked out of my bedroom towards the kitchen. “How was your bridge game, Grandma?”
She glared at me. “I lost.” I laughed out loud, and she swatted me with her purse. “Be quiet, boy. I’m not mad because I lost, I’m mad because I lost to Marge.”
I laughed again. “Marge, your rival? I thought you were used to her beating you by now; she has been since the end of the stone age.” Even Frankie giggled at this remark, and Grandma shot him a playful death look and swatted him with her purse as well.
“You boys are awful,” she rolled her eyes. “Frank, dear, are you staying for dinner?”
“He’s staying the night, Grandma, if that’s cool with you.”
“That’s marvelous, dear! Of course you can stay the night! How’s spaghetti sound for dinner, then?” she asked, looking to Frank.
“Spaghetti sounds great. Only, no meatballs for me, please.”
“Okay, hon. Are you vegetarian?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
This made Grandma practically beam with delight, and she told me to help her reach the top shelf for some spaghetti noodles, since she was too short to reach. I made a big show out of reaching the shelf with ease, and laughing at her as I handed her the box of noodles.
“It’s okay, Elena, I wouldn’t be able to reach them either,” Frank said, playfully taking Grandma’s side.
Grandma laughed. “See, Gerard? Frankie here knows how to be nice, and knows not to make fun of the person who cooks and cleans up after him.” She squeezed his shoulder lovingly, and I thought I saw him wince in pain as she did so. I need to hurry up and tell her, I guess. I also thought I should tell Frank that she didn’t mean to hurt him, just in case he didn’t know.
Sign up to rate and review this story