FicWad

Wow this took a looooooong time to write. I'm gonna blame that bitch we all know, writer's block. And just general business. I'm back now though, and quite happy with this chapter. It's not so much action packed but very important character wise. Everything here is here for a reason. Enjoi

After Mikey flies out the door I am left standing awkwardly for quite some time, stationary and confused. My brain seems to be moving slowly, hazily, every thought it squeezes out taking its' own sweet time. I feel sort of like a dish towel, being used and then wrung out, drained of everything.

After however long, I take a deep breath and push my hands through my hair, tugging at it unnecessarily. I'm suddenly exhausted, feeling like I'm going to collapse. I exhale again and walk over to the sink, splashing frigid water on my face and letting it seep through my pores and into my skin. When I look up to dry off, Frank is staring at me, his brows pulled together over his contemplative hazel eyes.

"What?" I ask him, feeling uncomfortable and strangely self conscious.

"You look like shit Gerard." No beating around the bush from Frank. No sugar coating.

I laugh once, and it's sharp. "This coming from the person who has nearly DIED yesterday?"

He waves me off. "Beside the point. You look terrible."

I don't really know how to reply to that, so I just shrug at him, wiping my face off on my t-shirt and then joining him, as he continues to scrutinize me. He watches me through narrowed eyes as I fall down beside him, the couch creaking as I sink into the worn out cushions.

"When was the last time you ate?"

I look up in surprise, put off by Frank's sudden interest in my health. I look at the ceiling as I try to recall. "Uhm, the pancakes I think."

Frank gapes at me. "Gerard, you HAVE to eat something. That was two days ago!" Really? It feels like a lifetime ago.

I shrug again and nestle more comfortably into the couch.

"Gerard, I'm not kidding. You look like a skeleton."

I perk up at this. "Really?"

"It freaks me out that you seem to think that's good."

"Nothing wrong with being thin."

"There is when you're starving yourself." He parries my response quickly and I sense a tone in his voice that makes me uncomfortable. It's not condescending, but not gentle. Accusatory. That's what it is.

"Jesus Christ it wasn't intentional!" Why is he berating me like this?

Frank pulls a battered cell phone with a scarlet case out of his pocket and begins to dial a number.

"What're you doing?" I ask warily.

"Calling Mikey. I'm gonna have him bring you food."

"NO!" I yelp, swatting his hand and sending the phone flying through the air, where it clatters to the floor halfway across the room.

Frank arches an eyebrow and looks at me worriedly.

"Mikey needs his alone time." I say quickly, scrambling for justification of what I just did.

"And you need food."

"Why are you so worried about me?" I ask him, feeling very defensive.

"Why does it matter?" He responds in his traditional flippant tone, but he can't hide his abashed expression.

I roll my eyes, pushing myself off the couch and walking over to the pullout bed without saying another word. Just before I fall asleep, I pull my shirt up and look guiltily down at myself. My ribs are beginning to strain against my oh so white skin and I fall asleep with the ghost of a smile on my face.

I'm extremely disoreinted when I wake up the next morning, taking more time than usual to ease into a state of consciousness. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and sit up slowly, sighing. My head just feels so heavy as I attempt to lift it, finally giving up and falling down again, disgruntled. Maybe I just really didn't feel like getting up. Who said I can't just sleep the day away?

I'm just on the precipice of a dream when something soft hits me in the back of the head and I roll over, frustrated, to come face to face with Frank and Mikey. They're standing in identical positions, arms crossed and looking down at me with narrowed eyes.

"Whaaaat?" I groan but it comes out garbled, my voice rusty from lack of use in sleep.

"Gee, let's go get breakfast." Somehow it was an ominous and threatening invitation, though my brother said it in his gentle, shy tone.

"Nooo, Mikes. I just wanna sleep okay?"

Frank is not so gentle, picking up a pillow from the couch and whipping it at my head. "Get up!" He says cheefully, looking mischievious. I'm happy to see that there is much more color in his cheeks; he looked almost normal, and he wasn't shivering now, thank god.

I appeal to Mikey hopefully, and upon getting no help, I tumble out of bed, grudgingly changing clothes and running my hands through my hair. I do look like hell, I realize after I look into the mirror. Ugh. Stupid reflection.

I'm so busy chastising myself as I enter the main room again that I don't notice the extra person who suddenly appeared.

"Gerard?" Mikey says, his voice higher than usual.

"Yup?"

"Mallory's here."

I look up in shock, seeing my brother looking back at me with a flushed face, while Mallory stood, tall, calm and composed beside him. Just behind them I could see Frank, his eyes focused on a very specific part of Mallory's body, eyes narrowed as he appraises her. He looks up, unashamed when he catches me looking at him, grinning like the chesire cat.

"Uhm hi," I say awkwardly, more than shocked. I was fairly certain we'd scared her away for good.

"Hey you," she says with a half smile that lifts one of her cheeks slightly.

I cough, choking on air as I yet again, search for the next forced piece of conversation, which is unnecessary, because Mallory skips over the cheap formalities.

"I brought you something." She misses my befuddled expression, walking out our open door and into the hallway, coming back in carrying a colossal canvas that is nearly as tall as she is. She struggles to carry it and Frank immediately rushes to her side, a knight in shining armour, valiant and charming. He smiles warmly and chuckles as he steadies it, helping her carry it and set it down gently on the floor beside me. I gape, when Mallory goes back into the hallway and returns with a large paper bag filled with paints and brushes of all sorts of colors and sizes imaginable.

She dusts her hands off, then looks up at me, tucking her hair behind her ear. "You said you make art. I want to watch you use these. Transform it." She gestures to the gigantic canvas at my feet.

"This is, amazingly generous of you Mallory. But I mean, I can't."

"Sure you can."

"No, I mean, I don't even really, paint...that well..."

"Yes you do Gee!" Mikey interrupts cheerfully.

"No I can't!" I feel backed into a corner again.

Mallory takes a step closer, looking me directly in the eye with a somber expression.

"Gerard. I want you to do this. Please."

And I suddenly understand. This is something she wants me to do, so she can "help" me the way I asked her to. This is part of that.

I keep myself from letting out a resounding "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh" of comprehension.

"So will you do this? For me." She knows I caught on as she speaks, slowly and deliberately, never losing eye contact. I break it, glancing over at Frank who is arching an expressive brow slightly, unsure of what's going on.

"Yeah." I answer, looking back to Mallory. There's a pregnant pause and I cough awkwardly again. "Wait, you mean, like now?"

Mallory nods, then adds rapidly, "Unless you had plans or something!" She already knows I didn't, and I can't help but feel embarrassed.

"Nope, I don't."

"Then it's settled. You don't mind me staying to watch do you?" The way she says it makes me feel like she would've stayed regardless of the answer, that she was only asking at all for formality's sake.

Frank is the one who answers, showing her a surprisingly white set of straight teeth. "Not at all sweetheart."

I feel irked as I turn around, awkardly beginning to block off an area for the art I've just been forced into making. What is Frank doing? Is he seriously flirting with her? I mean, it's not like she's mine or anything but he's met her for all of two minutes and he's already flirting? I guess I should've expected it. But why is it bothering me so much? Like I said, it's not like she's all mine or something. Anyhow, Mallory's not the type to be easily enchanted by Frank's smoothness.

As I pull out all the supplies that Mallory bought for me, Frank smoothly leads Mallory over to our couch, helping her turn it around, angling it so everyone can watch me. I hear him making easy conversation with her, in a way that I have never been capable of doing with anyone.

"So how old are you Mallory?" Frank flops onto the couch, leaving a very obvious space for Mallory to fall into on one side, as Mikey awkwardly squeezes in on her other side.

"Twenty three."

"Me too!" He sounds so excited when he says this, like it's the best news he's ever heard in his life.

I continue to listen to their conversation as I get up to get more supplies, became more irritated by Frank by the second. I pull out a mug, which we stole from a Waffle House down the street, and fill it up with water, grabbing a couple napkins, also from various restaurants. My hand is trembling slightly, the water showing my unease as it splashed around in the cup.

"So what do you do Miss Mallory?"

"I'm in school still. Training to be a psychologist."

"Cool!" Frank's reply is enthusiastic. I resist the urge to turn around and look at them. I am suddenly feeling extremely jealous, I realize as I open the paint brushes, the package exploding, brushes sailing through the air and clattering to the floor. I pick them up quickly, hands still shaking. My tongue it twitching in my mouth, wanting very much to be used. I can't hold back anymore.

"Yeah, she's really talented. She can profile people really quickly. You should have her try it on you Frank!" I can't help it. He's charming her so quickly. I want her to look closely, to see all his flaws like she did with me. I want him to be embarrassed. I want him to be uncomfortable. Maybe that's bad but I just can't help it.

Frank falls into the trap very easily. "Cool! Sure, go for it."

"Nahh," Mallory replies in her muted voice. Fuck. What's she doing?

Thank god for Frank's persistency. "Aw, please! Come on, I wanna see how I look in the eyes of Miss Super Smart Psychologist." Translation. I want to know what you think of me. Further translation. I want to know if you're into me.

My teeth grind against each other. Frank's voice has once again become the most annoying sound in my world, worse than knives and forks scraping together or Miley Cyrus or my Great Aunt Linda's snorting laugh.

I open a random tube of paint, not even paying attention as I slap it angrily onto the canvas, paying much more attention to Frank and Mallory's conversation.

"Pleaseeeee?" Frank continues to beg, sounding like a child.

Mallory giggles. What, Mallory giggling? "Fine!" Her exasperation is fake, but I hope dearly she'll see past the front Frank has up now.

My movements get choppier, brash as she begins to question him.

"Tell me about yourself. "

I just know he's giving her a wan smile right now, one that could melt the polar ice caps and is clearly melting her.

"Well, I'm Frankie Iero." Frankie? Jumping right to nicknames is he? Ugh. I stab at the canvas, only now noticing I am using a brilliant scarlet and looks like I'm painting with blood.

"I like to dance and play guitar. And have a great time." I bet he winked. I can't see behind me but I bet my whole worthless life that he just winked at her.

"What is your least favorite thing in the world?"

"Being bored. And sitting still."

"Favorite thing?"

"Fun!" Frank laughs easily and I clench my jaw, continuing to paint subconsciously. "No, uhmm....." Frank draws out the word and it sounds seductive somehow as he considers his answer. "Being challenged. I like being challenged."

Being challenged? What kind of bullshit answer is that? It's so...argh.

"If you were an animal what would you be?"

"Easy. A cat."

There's a pause and I hope that despite the watered down questions she is asking, Mallory is really looking deeply into Frank.

"Who do you miss the most that you've lost?"

"My dog Bowser. He got run over by the mailman when I was nine." He says it so sarcastically that I can't tell if he intends it to be a joke or not. I guess Mallory takes it seriously because she goes on to the next question.

"What annoys you most?" I can answer that one easily, I think bitterly as I jab at the canvas with spastic, violent motions. It's almost entirely crimson now. I inhale through my nose and try to ignore the pressure that is building up in my temples.

Frank seems to be taking things more serious now, acutally thinking before he responds. "People who live inside their comfort zones."

"If you were an alcoholic beverage what would it be?"

What the fuck is this? Her questions are so random,barely even serious with Frank. I feel jilted, like she's simply playing a game. What is she doing? I tear open another tube of paint with malice, paying little attention to the color or what I am making, my only focus being Mallory and Frank.

Frank snickers. "Baby, I'm tequila."

The room seems to shift as Frank uses another pet name on her. My hand is flying over the canvas but I am barely watching what I'm doing, painting completely by feel.

"Biggest fear?"

Frank waits a very long time on this one and I have just allowed a smirk to creep onto my face, hoping he feels uncomfortable and self conscious.

His voice is different when he finally responds, completely serious, without a hint of sarcasm or humor. "Fear."

That's such a cop out, I think to myself, disgusted.

"Dumbest thing you've ever done?"

Frank's laugh is completely without humour. "Sugar, I've done too many dumb things to pick."

I wish she'd make him answer, so we could hear about all his failures, all his idiotic moments. But of course she lets him get away with it.

The pressure in my temples is building, as a picture begins to take shape on the canvas, a horrible looking mouth with jagged, pointed teeth.My hand flies back and forth, and I'm being splattered with dirty water and paint but I don't remotely care.

"What is something you've done that you're ashamed of?"

Frank laughs again and it's boisterous, and completely forced, which somehow makes me feel better, in a twisted way. "I'm not ashamed of anything."

My picture develops on it's own, and at points I fear for the paintbrush, thinking that it just may snap under all of the pressure that I'm putting on it. A body forms, willowy and androgynous, with arms reaching up, contorted, long fingers clawing at the face I've created.

"If you could re-do any moment in your life what would it be?"

"I wouldn't re-do anything."

God, every answer of Frank's is so fucking shallow and vapid and just...fuck. The truth is though, they are all so...Frank. For lack of a better description. They're exactly what I would've expected from him.

"Biggest flaw?" At least now Mallory's questions are more serious, and I can hear in her voice that she's focused, intense.

Frank sighs, and I can hear him tapping his foot on the floor.

Oh Frank. I can think of a thousand for you.

I'm smiling bitterly to myself as I, along with Mallory, and my brother, (whose presence had been completely forgotten by me) await Frank's answer. I wish I could see his expression now, but I don't dare look back at them.

"I can be really insensitive." That's the answer he gives, after leaving all of us clinging to his silence. That's the best he can fucking do? I paint even more quickly now, using vengelful, violent strokes that are short and choppy as the picture sprawls itself out over the canvas.

My head feels like it's going to explode as well as feeling like it suddenly wieghs thirty pounds. I struggle to keep it upright, noticing vaguely that I'm extremely dizzy. I ignore this, painting furiously, making a haphazard attempt to block out everyone else, just to paint. It only works because no one is speaking, though I don't notice this until I fall back, exhausted, onto the floor, dropping the paintbrush onto a McDonald's napkin beside me as I gaze at my handiwork, looking it at from a distance and truly seeing it for the first time.

The fingers the were simply clawing at the face before now tugged at it, pulling and revealing that awful, frightening mouth. Above it though, where the skin was still intact, there was a pair of large, emotionless eyes, dark hair falling around them, framing them, and flipping wildly around me the face in several directions. It was like they were pulling off a mask, beautiful on top but hideous and terrible beneath.

"That's incredible." Mallory frightens me, speaking right into my ear, so close I can feel her warm breath on my face. I had no idea she was there, and I look behind me, jolted. She's staring at my painting with an expression that is impossible to describe, pensive and yet also open. Frank and Mikey are standing behind us, peering down over our shoulders to get a better look. They could've been there for a half hour for all I know.

"It's really great Gee," Mikey tells me, patting me on the shoulder encouragingly.

Mallory and Mikey both shower me with unnecessary praise, which I pay little attention to. I'm much more interested in the fact that Frank says nothing. He just stands, hands jammed into his pockets and staring down at the painting with a face that I am not familiar with. It's a blend of angst with something else that I can't put a name to right away. He gazes down at it stonily, looking almost frustrated. I watch him, very intrigued by his reaction to it, or seemingly lackthereof.

Mallory turns around, wondering what I'm so fascinated by I guess.

"Frank, what do you think?"

He exhales lazily, trying to pull together a normal expression.

"It's cool." Is his only reply.


What'd you think? How does Frank's analysis compare to Gerard's? Is Mallory really so easily enchanted by Frank or is she just pretending to be so quickly taken by him? Why is Gerard so annoyed with every little thing Frank does? Give me your thoughts! Rates and Reviews as always, will increase update speed. Suggestions are still welcome! Love you all xoxox