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“Fuck you. You can’t make me take any fucking pills. I don’t know what’s in them. Maybe you’re poisoning me.” Frank Iero crossed his arms sourly and glared at the nurse standing in front of him. Her starched, white scrubs seemed to be blinding him, as did the rest of the mental hospital. Every surface seemed to be polished, bleached, and gleaming, which might have been comforting to some, but to Frank, it felt like the brightness of it all was overwhelming him. It gave him a headache, and even when he closed his eyes, all he saw was blinding white light. He was beginning to feel nauseous.

“Frank,” began the exasperated nurse. Sneering, Frank thought about how people that work in a mental institution should be more patient. After all, they deal with people who killed other people all day long. “You have to take your pills; it’s a rule.”

Frank ignored her and, instead, examined the guy beside him. He’d been sitting here when they’d brought Frank in yesterday; Frank remembered because he’d been smoking then, just as he was now. He was grinning slightly at the new guy, a manic sort of look in his eyes. It didn’t surprise Frank, though; he was, after all, in a mental hospital for the criminally insane. A wet dream for this guy was probably eating Frank’s guts out of his stomach while he was still alive. Still, the creep got to smoke and, as far as Frank knew, he didn’t.

“Hey, why does he get to smoke?” he asked the nurse, shooting another furtive glance at the man beside him.

“Because he behaves well and takes his medicine,” the nurse said enticingly, obviously still on the whole pill-thing. She offered the small white cup out to Frank again, shaking it alluringly, as though that were supposed to tempt him, or something. Frank locked his eyes onto hers, not breaking the contact as he smacked the bottom of the cup upwards, causing all the pills to fall to the floor, like candies raining down from the sky. They rolled away in different directions as the nurse jumped up and began to collect them. She sighed exasperatedly as she dropped the pills one-by-one into her open palm, standing up once more when she had gotten all of them.

“I’m not taking those,” Frank said, casting a disgusted, sweeping glance over the spotless linoleum floor, as though it were covered with muck and grime. The nurse huffed and walked away; either to go get new pills, or moved on to a new patient, Frank didn’t know. He hoped it was the latter. The strange man took this opportunity to scoot closer to the new guy, and Frank had to stifle the immediate instinct to move away.

“You know,” the man said quietly, beginning to blow perfect, round smoke rings into Frank’s face. “If you’d just take the pills, things would be a lot easier.” He continued to puff on the cigarette, Frank’s mouth almost watering with desire as he stared at the round, white tube between the man’s lips. His tongue slid across his teeth, wanting a drag, just one drag, on the beautiful cigarette.

Before coming here, Frank had spent about two months in a prison, isolated from the other inmates due to the severity of his crimes. They hadn’t given him any cigarettes there, and he hadn’t even been able to coax one out of his fellow prisoners as they passed his cell; they were all quite frightened by the rumors they’d heard of him, and didn’t want to chance even looking at the man. The withdrawal was taking quite an emotional toll on Frank, who had built up more than a tolerance to nicotine; with the intensity of his cravings for it, it might as well have been his lover.

“Would I get one of those?” Frank asked the dark-haired man, licking his lips absent-mindedly. He clenched and unclenched his shaking hands.

“Perhaps,” the man said, this time blowing a single, long stream of smoke out his lips to billow between himself and Frank. “Then again, I only got them after I…reacted undesirably when they tried to tell me I wouldn’t be able to smoke.” He spoke in a slow, dreamy voice, quiet, though demanding attention from those around him. Even the other patients that were otherwise occupied were keeping one eye constantly on the man with whom Frank was in conversation.

“What did you do?” Frank asked desperately, needing to know what kind of stunt he’d have to pull off to get a smoke in this place.

“Oh, nothing too awful,” he drawled, making a show of really enjoying his next drag on the cigarette. He paused in his speech, smiling at the taste of tobacco on his tongue and closing his eyes to bask in its warm glow. “I just threw my bed against the wall, mattress and all, and then beat my head against the unbreakable glass window until I lost consciousness. Quite an impressive performance on my part, if I do say so myself.” The cigarette was finally spent, and Gerard flicked it carelessly onto the flawless linoleum, scattering little grey ashes around the tiny, mangled, white corpse.

“Is that all?” Frank asked shiftily, hoping he wouldn’t have to resort to such measures, but willing to do so if it meant he could smoke again.

“What’s your name, comrade?” Frank’s new friend turned a pair of deep, hazel eyes on him, seeming to peer past the mere reflection of himself in the younger boy’s eyes.

“Frank. Frank Iero. What’s yours?” Frank almost had to look away from the older man’s gaze, it seemed so intense.

“Name’s Gerard Way.” Gerard finally looked away, beginning to let his eyes wander around the room, as though he were already bored with the conversation at hand. Or, perhaps, he was having a discussion with the voices that were undoubtedly in his head. Frank didn’t completely dismiss the latter. Wasn’t that a staple of crazies? Hearing voices?

“What did you do to land yourself in here, Gerard?” Frank asked, hoping this wasn’t a touchy subject. There was something about Gerard, perhaps his pearlescent white skin, or his deep-set, hazel eyes, or the long, matted-down, jet-black hair that framed the man’s face darkly, that made Frank feel a bit cautious of him.

Gerard grinned wickedly. The smile spread slowly and maniacally on his face, his eyes darkening to a shady green, almost black. “I killed my therapist. And his receptionist. And a patient that happened to be in the waiting room at the time.”

Frank felt a dull shiver run up his spine. Not only had this man killed three people, he was quite happy to admit that he’d done it. “Why?” he whispered, knowing his eyes were wide and somewhat aware of his hands shaking.

“I was seeing a therapist because my wife cheated on me.” At this statement, Gerard’s dark eyes narrowed, and his brow reflected the hatred that he still harbored against an unfaithful spouse. Frank wondered how she had been able to make it out alive. “And then the man that she was cheating on me with killed her.” Well, that answered that question, Frank thought to himself. “It’s too bad I didn’t find out until she was already dead. I could have killed her myself and saved the ‘stud’ a lot of trouble.” Frank nodded, though unsure why. “And then I found out that my therapist was cheating on his wife with the receptionist. No wonder he kept trying to get me to forgive Lindsey.” Gerard was breathing a little heavier than the usual, dreamy flow of air that typically respired, as though just remembering the rush of killing scum like his therapist left him short of breath.

“So you killed him and his receptionist…” Frank said slowly, trying to see Gerard’s reasoning. “But why’d you kill the other patient?”

Gerard’s smile became even broader, showing two rows of small, straight teeth. “He was there,” he said with relish, making it sound like that was the icing on the dangerous, murderous, sinister cake.

Frank frowned slightly. “But…that’s not logical--”

“Logic?” Gerard spat, sitting up suddenly as though the mere taste of the word on his tongue, the feel on his lips, made his insides writhe with loathing. “I’m insane. I don’t concern myself with logic.” He said this firmly, making it quite clear that the subject was closed, because he said it was, because reasoning was nothing in the world of Moonstruck. It was as fleeting and imaginary as sanity itself.

Frank simply nodded, not wanting to push Gerard’s button even farther. He was saved from changing the course of conversation by the return of the nurse, carrying a new cup of pills and a determined look on her face.

She held the cup out demandingly, trying to make eye contact with Frank, who was examining the carton thoughtfully. He grabbed the cardboard from the nurse’s fingers, tipping his head back and letting the pills tumble into his mouth. He felt them on his tongue for a moment, measuring the taste and weight of the capsules between his teeth. The nurse relaxed, smiling lightly.

“I see Gerard was able to talk you into being a good boy,” the nurse said, winking conspiratorially at Gerard, who sneered in return. This comment made Frank narrow his eyes and glare at the nurse, who looked back, smiling. He contemplated letting the pills fall, one by one, from between his lips, just to really grind this woman’s gears. However, he only slipped the pills behind his teeth and opened his mouth wide, keeping just the right angle for his trick to stay hidden. The nurse nodded, satisfied, and walked off to continue her rounds. When Frank was certain she was no longer looking, he spat the capsules out into his hand, examining their colorful exterior. He pocketed them, knowing from prison how items for trade were always valuable and worth having.

“Smart man,” Gerard said, nodding. “You get nothing for nothing in here, sugar, and drugs are what the people want. You have those, and you have opportunity.”

“Thanks for the tip.” Now that he had “taken” his pills, Frank desperately wanted nothing more than to ask the nurse when he could have some cigarettes. Or one. Just one. He could make on cigarette last for days, maybe even a week. He just needed a cigarette. His gut was churning with the thought of actually getting a hold of some wonderful, lovely nicotine.

“Now that I’ve told you my story, I need to know yours. It all gets back around to trade, honey. Nothing for nothing. What did you do to get in here?”

Frank thought for a moment, letting his tongue wander to the hold in his lip where a piercing usually was so he could click it against his teeth. They’d taken every piercing out of his body when he’d been sent to prison, and he hadn’t seen them since. “I killed my parents,” Frank finally said, his eyes resting daintily on the pile of ash on the floor from Gerard’s cigarette. “And the dog,” he added remorsefully. He hadn’t actually meant to hurt Russ, but Frank had gotten caught up in the moment…The poor dog.

Gerard accepted this news with little more than a slightly surprised head-nod. It was as though this type of thing didn’t faze him at all, which, Frank reminded himself, it probably didn’t. He was certain that, in a place like Moonstruck, Gerard had heard worse, much, much worse.

“Why?” Gerard finally thought to ask, though it was obvious from his tone that he was only doing it to be polite; he really didn’t care for Frank’s sob-story.

Frank shrugged. “It was Saturday night. They wouldn’t let me go out.”


I'm trying something new. Let me know what you think, please. This, I think, is going to be very...dark. As Shakespeare once said, "Once more into the breech ye men, ye merry men, ye band of brothers." Rate/Comment/Subscribe. OverAndOutxx