Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > And I'll End This Direst: a Frerard story
Gerard’s POV
“No, Gerard, this is your teacher. Of course it’s me,” my mother replied hurriedly, with a sarcastic “who-else-would-it-be” tone. I couldn’t help but snort at her bad sarcasm. “I’m calling to tell you that your father changed jobs again.”
I wasn’t following. “So?” Why would I care what he did?
“So we have to move again, damn it.”
I still didn’t understand. “And why are you telling me this?”
I heard her sigh with frustration, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “We, Gerard, meaning your father, your brother and I, are moving back to Jersey. We’ll be in Hawthorne, not far from where you live now.”
This was a major shock to me. My parents and Mikey, the people who hated me most, were moving just a half-hour away from me. “Hell no. When?”
“Sometime this month,” she snarled, like she didn’t want to move any more than I wanted them to. I was speechless. “Mikey tried to tell you yesterday.” My mind went back to my conversation with Mikey; oh, God.
“Hell no,” was the only thing I managed to whisper over the phone; it seemed to be the only thing I could say. I imagined the torture it would be having Mikey and my parents living so close; not only close to me, but to Frank.
“Well, I didn’t ask for it either, Gerard. But unfortunately, that’s the way it’s got to be.”
This just shows the type of relationship I have with my mother: not very friendly at all. My dad was a little better; he wasn’t the one that cared that I was gay, but he was the one that brought up the idea of disowning me. He’s always been ashamed of me, and he was right there next to my mom when she signed the papers. I hated him just as much as I hated my mom and Mikey.
“As long as you don’t bother me or Grandma,” I demanded, mindful that Grandma somewhat disowned my mom when she disowned me. They’ve never had a close mother-daughter relationship, either.
“You don’t have to worry about me bothering that woman,” she snapped, sounding mad. “Or you, boy. I—”
I heard the sound of another voice asking for the phone. “Let me talk to him, Mom,” it said. Oh God, don’t let her give the phone to Mikey, please.
“Gerard,” his deep voice rolled over the phone. Shit. Little brother’s all grown up, huh?
“What do you want, Mikey?”
“I can’t believe we’re moving so close to you,” he jeered in that mock-friendly tone. One thing he was good at: being the ‘sweet-little-baby-brother-who-never-does-anything-wrong.’
“Neither can I. You stay the hell away from me, understand?”
“Aww, Gerard. Why can’t I come play with you and your new boyfriend?” I cringed as he emphasized the word ‘boyfriend,’ being careful to say it loud enough for my mom to hear. I heard her question him in the background.
“Gerard has a new boyfriend?” I heard her ask. Only, she sounded disgusted with her emphasis.
“Yeah, he was at Gerard’s house yesterday morning, when Gerard was in the shower.” I cringed again; Mikey always made things sound worse than they really were.
“Shower?” my mom shrieked, and Mikey laughed deeply into the phone.
“How about that, Gerard?” he whispered evilly, and when I didn’t respond, he added, “So here’s the plan. We move to Hawthorne, I find you and your boyfriend; I attempt to de-fag you, and your soon-to-be-ex boyfriend won’t even know what hit him. How about that?”
“Screw you, Mikey,” I said, getting nervous about what Mikey would do to Frank. I mean, he’s gone as far as killing someone, who knew where he’d stop this time?
“Well, if you want, I can your boyfriend’s life hell, and he can die slowly.”
My blood froze. “You don’t mean that,” I nearly whispered.
“I don’t?” He laughed. “Funny, this must be sounding a little like déjà vu to you.” He always knew how to hit the right nerve.
“Mikey, if you don’t shut the fuck up right now…”
“You’ll do what? Become an alcoholic again? Go ahead; I don’t give a shit. You can tell your boyfriend that there’s no need to help you this time; maybe this time it’ll kill you. You should probably do that just to be nice, actually. You’re damn boyfriend’ll have nothing more to live for,” he jeered, and then snorted. “Fag.”
It was too much; I hung up on him right then and there. I can’t keep taking Mikey’s shit, I knew. And it wasn’t fair to Frank, he didn’t do a damn thing! My God, those bottles of alcohol looked good right then…
Mikey always made me feel like shit… Frank wasn’t here to see me now; his mom wouldn’t notice a few bottles missing… I really needed something to take my mind off this… Mikey’s moving closer to Belleville; he’s gonna hurt my Frankie…
Thoughts raced through my head faster than I could stop them. I really needed a damn drink. It was getting harder and harder to resist, but I had to resist for Frank and my first boyfriend, who is only a memory now… Pretty soon, Frank will only be a memory… I’ll be alone again…
I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed a drink.
I grabbed a few bottles of whatever was closest to me and started stuffing them in my jacket pockets. I stuffed more and more, until I no longer looked like I had empty pockets from the outside. I then took one of Frank's mom’s empty grocery bags and stuffed it with more than a few bottles. Finally, I had gotten enough, and I made my way to the front door to go home.
It was late by the time I arrived. As soon as I got there, I went straight to my room, trying to find a place to hide my new inventory from Grandma. I found a place in my closet, under some stuff. I counted how many bottles I had taken from Frank's house as I hid them: twelve bottles in all. I opened one and drank until it was halfway empty. The burn on my tongue as it slid down my throat was like being reunited with a friend, much like it was yesterday.
Even though I felt guilty about it, I found that the more I drank, the warmer and less guilty I felt. So that was how to solve that problem…
Swallow after swallow, I drank until I felt like I couldn’t anymore. Even then, I kept throwing back swigs. With thoughts like, “I must forget about Mikey and Frank,” and “This is going to help me get over this,” I drank through a bottle and a half. This was nothing compared to what I used to drink before.
Suddenly, I couldn’t see. The time was well past eight-thirty, or nine-thirty. I couldn’t tell. I felt dizzy, I felt like going to bed. I didn’t bother hiding the bottles thoroughly in my closet because I forgot about them. I was too busy laughing at how I couldn’t stand up without swaying or how I couldn’t control my hands enough to take off my shirt and jeans. I fell onto the bed with my head spinning.
The best part was, I didn’t feel guilty anymore. My head was going crazy; I felt as if I were flying. I actually remembered Frank, and remembered what he did when he was over here, how much fun I was having. Until Mikey called, then things got bad.
But they weren’t bad anymore, I thought as I suddenly drifted off to sleep.
Elena’s POV
“Gerard?” I called again, receiving no answer once again. It was eight forty-five, and I know I just heard him walk through the front door about an hour ago. He’d been over at Frankie’s house for about two hours, and I knew he hadn’t eaten dinner yet.
I decided to go check on him, and I found him in his room, asleep on his bed. He must have really been tired; Frankie must have worn him out, considering Gerard never has many friends over. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time he had anybody over.
I went back to my chair in the living room, where I thought a lot about Frankie. Bless his heart; the poor boy technically has no place to call home. I hope we made him feel welcome this weekend; he deserves a safe place where he knows he doesn’t have to worry about anything. I see him how almost as my own grandson, and I hope he knows he can come back whenever he wishes.
It pains me to wonder what he might be doing right now. His poor mother probably doesn’t know what a nice, talented young man she has. It’s awful; he himself doesn’t know how wonderful and special he is. Something needs to be done about his situation; I can’t sit there and watch a poor boy diminish right before my eyes. I’ve watched it before with Gerard and his alcohol and drugs; I can’t take seeing it again, especially with someone like Frankie.
“No, Gerard, this is your teacher. Of course it’s me,” my mother replied hurriedly, with a sarcastic “who-else-would-it-be” tone. I couldn’t help but snort at her bad sarcasm. “I’m calling to tell you that your father changed jobs again.”
I wasn’t following. “So?” Why would I care what he did?
“So we have to move again, damn it.”
I still didn’t understand. “And why are you telling me this?”
I heard her sigh with frustration, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “We, Gerard, meaning your father, your brother and I, are moving back to Jersey. We’ll be in Hawthorne, not far from where you live now.”
This was a major shock to me. My parents and Mikey, the people who hated me most, were moving just a half-hour away from me. “Hell no. When?”
“Sometime this month,” she snarled, like she didn’t want to move any more than I wanted them to. I was speechless. “Mikey tried to tell you yesterday.” My mind went back to my conversation with Mikey; oh, God.
“Hell no,” was the only thing I managed to whisper over the phone; it seemed to be the only thing I could say. I imagined the torture it would be having Mikey and my parents living so close; not only close to me, but to Frank.
“Well, I didn’t ask for it either, Gerard. But unfortunately, that’s the way it’s got to be.”
This just shows the type of relationship I have with my mother: not very friendly at all. My dad was a little better; he wasn’t the one that cared that I was gay, but he was the one that brought up the idea of disowning me. He’s always been ashamed of me, and he was right there next to my mom when she signed the papers. I hated him just as much as I hated my mom and Mikey.
“As long as you don’t bother me or Grandma,” I demanded, mindful that Grandma somewhat disowned my mom when she disowned me. They’ve never had a close mother-daughter relationship, either.
“You don’t have to worry about me bothering that woman,” she snapped, sounding mad. “Or you, boy. I—”
I heard the sound of another voice asking for the phone. “Let me talk to him, Mom,” it said. Oh God, don’t let her give the phone to Mikey, please.
“Gerard,” his deep voice rolled over the phone. Shit. Little brother’s all grown up, huh?
“What do you want, Mikey?”
“I can’t believe we’re moving so close to you,” he jeered in that mock-friendly tone. One thing he was good at: being the ‘sweet-little-baby-brother-who-never-does-anything-wrong.’
“Neither can I. You stay the hell away from me, understand?”
“Aww, Gerard. Why can’t I come play with you and your new boyfriend?” I cringed as he emphasized the word ‘boyfriend,’ being careful to say it loud enough for my mom to hear. I heard her question him in the background.
“Gerard has a new boyfriend?” I heard her ask. Only, she sounded disgusted with her emphasis.
“Yeah, he was at Gerard’s house yesterday morning, when Gerard was in the shower.” I cringed again; Mikey always made things sound worse than they really were.
“Shower?” my mom shrieked, and Mikey laughed deeply into the phone.
“How about that, Gerard?” he whispered evilly, and when I didn’t respond, he added, “So here’s the plan. We move to Hawthorne, I find you and your boyfriend; I attempt to de-fag you, and your soon-to-be-ex boyfriend won’t even know what hit him. How about that?”
“Screw you, Mikey,” I said, getting nervous about what Mikey would do to Frank. I mean, he’s gone as far as killing someone, who knew where he’d stop this time?
“Well, if you want, I can your boyfriend’s life hell, and he can die slowly.”
My blood froze. “You don’t mean that,” I nearly whispered.
“I don’t?” He laughed. “Funny, this must be sounding a little like déjà vu to you.” He always knew how to hit the right nerve.
“Mikey, if you don’t shut the fuck up right now…”
“You’ll do what? Become an alcoholic again? Go ahead; I don’t give a shit. You can tell your boyfriend that there’s no need to help you this time; maybe this time it’ll kill you. You should probably do that just to be nice, actually. You’re damn boyfriend’ll have nothing more to live for,” he jeered, and then snorted. “Fag.”
It was too much; I hung up on him right then and there. I can’t keep taking Mikey’s shit, I knew. And it wasn’t fair to Frank, he didn’t do a damn thing! My God, those bottles of alcohol looked good right then…
Mikey always made me feel like shit… Frank wasn’t here to see me now; his mom wouldn’t notice a few bottles missing… I really needed something to take my mind off this… Mikey’s moving closer to Belleville; he’s gonna hurt my Frankie…
Thoughts raced through my head faster than I could stop them. I really needed a damn drink. It was getting harder and harder to resist, but I had to resist for Frank and my first boyfriend, who is only a memory now… Pretty soon, Frank will only be a memory… I’ll be alone again…
I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed a drink.
I grabbed a few bottles of whatever was closest to me and started stuffing them in my jacket pockets. I stuffed more and more, until I no longer looked like I had empty pockets from the outside. I then took one of Frank's mom’s empty grocery bags and stuffed it with more than a few bottles. Finally, I had gotten enough, and I made my way to the front door to go home.
It was late by the time I arrived. As soon as I got there, I went straight to my room, trying to find a place to hide my new inventory from Grandma. I found a place in my closet, under some stuff. I counted how many bottles I had taken from Frank's house as I hid them: twelve bottles in all. I opened one and drank until it was halfway empty. The burn on my tongue as it slid down my throat was like being reunited with a friend, much like it was yesterday.
Even though I felt guilty about it, I found that the more I drank, the warmer and less guilty I felt. So that was how to solve that problem…
Swallow after swallow, I drank until I felt like I couldn’t anymore. Even then, I kept throwing back swigs. With thoughts like, “I must forget about Mikey and Frank,” and “This is going to help me get over this,” I drank through a bottle and a half. This was nothing compared to what I used to drink before.
Suddenly, I couldn’t see. The time was well past eight-thirty, or nine-thirty. I couldn’t tell. I felt dizzy, I felt like going to bed. I didn’t bother hiding the bottles thoroughly in my closet because I forgot about them. I was too busy laughing at how I couldn’t stand up without swaying or how I couldn’t control my hands enough to take off my shirt and jeans. I fell onto the bed with my head spinning.
The best part was, I didn’t feel guilty anymore. My head was going crazy; I felt as if I were flying. I actually remembered Frank, and remembered what he did when he was over here, how much fun I was having. Until Mikey called, then things got bad.
But they weren’t bad anymore, I thought as I suddenly drifted off to sleep.
Elena’s POV
“Gerard?” I called again, receiving no answer once again. It was eight forty-five, and I know I just heard him walk through the front door about an hour ago. He’d been over at Frankie’s house for about two hours, and I knew he hadn’t eaten dinner yet.
I decided to go check on him, and I found him in his room, asleep on his bed. He must have really been tired; Frankie must have worn him out, considering Gerard never has many friends over. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time he had anybody over.
I went back to my chair in the living room, where I thought a lot about Frankie. Bless his heart; the poor boy technically has no place to call home. I hope we made him feel welcome this weekend; he deserves a safe place where he knows he doesn’t have to worry about anything. I see him how almost as my own grandson, and I hope he knows he can come back whenever he wishes.
It pains me to wonder what he might be doing right now. His poor mother probably doesn’t know what a nice, talented young man she has. It’s awful; he himself doesn’t know how wonderful and special he is. Something needs to be done about his situation; I can’t sit there and watch a poor boy diminish right before my eyes. I’ve watched it before with Gerard and his alcohol and drugs; I can’t take seeing it again, especially with someone like Frankie.
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