FicWad

I couldn’t pick out a single reason why my mind set had changed so dramatically in the last five minutes. Maybe it was the sheer tragedy of his predicament; a man so unusually beautiful, reduced to less than a shadow of his former self… Or maybe it was the way his haunted gaze reminded me of the person I’d destroyed due to this unholy addiction. I could see the broken pieces of his mind scattered in his stare, even though he never once looked me in the eyes. Avoiding eye contact like a mutt with its tail between its legs. Which I must say was incredibly wrong; he looked like he deserved to hold his head high in pride not cower pathetically.

I guess you’re wondering how I knew that he deserved better, because I certainly didn’t know him but I could recognise when someone was innocent, and when someone was sinful. I had to pick them out upon first glances around a crowded dimly lit bar. I needed some sort of intuition about the types of vibes people give off. Those who were sinful stuck out, like every single one of us sitting here today, in this classroom. But he didn’t have that air of dirty about him, his shyness and obvious nerves amplified this.

Maybe it was even the fact that a person, with the same addiction as myself, had degraded him to this. It made me ashamed to call myself one. Not that I was entirely proud of it in the first place, but he made me feel disgusting for what I suffered from. Something I thought I’d never feel again. Maybe it was because he’d just made me realize there was a reason for me to beat this one last time… As I watched him scurry from the room; head facing directly downwards, neck bent I decided, I wanted to get better. I wanted to get better because I was determined to show him that sex addicts could be beautiful people. I knew I was, beneath this façade of lust and hushed deceit. I knew I could be a good person; after all I’d managed to kick this once before. And the person I was immediately after walking out of those doors; cured, was a person I’d love to feel take over my mind again.

Our therapist Dr. Klien walked to where Frank, I think his name was, once stood. She clasped her perfectly manicured hands together (she did this frequently and can I just point out that it annoys the freaking hell out of me) before opening her mouth.

“Well to see all these shocked and even appalled faces makes me think introducing you guys to Frank Iero was highly successful.” She received a stark silence as her reply. I looked around, surveying my peers for the next eight months. They all sported the same expression as myself. Boredom, now that the shock she had spoken about had worn off. I can’t believe I’m going to be stuck with such drab people in this jail house, not one of them apart from someone who looked old enough to be my dad, had fashion sense. Seriously, gramps over on the second row looked like he had it down, but everyone else. Oh my fuck, it was awful. None of them looked remotely interesting. Nothing about them screamed intellectual either. They were all just dirty, with no personality about them. It made me feel even more ashamed for being one of them. Normally the course was around about eight months, at a push. But because I was a relapse case, I, unlike all these other poor lost souls around me had to stay on for an extra two. This was precautionary. They needed to know if I was ‘high risk’ or ‘low risk’ when it came to relapsing a second time. If I was deemed ‘high risk’ I wouldn’t be offered any post-treatment therapy. If I was deemed ‘high risk’ I would be seen as nothing more than a lost cause and a waste of time, effort and money to them. Which I found extremely stupid. If you worked hard enough with anybody who genuinely wanted to get better, after a certain amount of time said person would end up ‘low risk’ but to the government time was money and money was tight. So if you weren’t a fast learner, you were pretty much screwed. Luckily for me, I was a fast learner with an iron will and determination as strong as diamond when it came to getting better. I just needed a reason to bother in the first place. And now I had my reason.

“Well now considering I prefer unorthodox approaches to treatment, I want you all to tell each other what types of sexually transmitted Infections you’ve had. This way you’ll feel comfortable with your peers. This is needed because well you’ll all be living here and helping one another for the next eight months and you all have to feel equal. Every one of you is addicted to sex, every one of you is in dire need of professional help and not a single person here has the right to feel like they are more superior or more inferior. But as I know, people don’t tend to listen to their therapists, so why not listen to one another… I want everyone to move their chairs so they’re sitting in a circle. Like you would at group therapy.” She commanded she had been walking the perimeter of the room. Eyeing us all up in an extremely patronizing manner. Her skinny black stilettos clacking against the hard floor with every move she took.

The bimbo already got on my nerves and I hadn’t even had one-to-one therapy with her, I didn’t particularly take well to female therapists anyway. My first therapist here had been female and she made my blood boil intensely. Women were prone to prejudice more than men were. And I’d made the mistake of baring my soul to her. Pfft. Never again. She helped, obviously, because she was the one to prescribe me my medication. Without it I wouldn’t have gotten clean, but the sheer disgust that swirled in her eyes and danced in her venomous green irises put me off female professionals for life – her name was Mandy and Dr. Klien reminded me of her too much. It was uncomfortable. I couldn’t even imagine going through the discrimination again with her. I could do get clean myself anyway. I didn’t need a human diary, I just needed the steps to self-control and I’d help myself to become clean. I knew I could and the reason I hadn’t already was because I simply hadn’t wanted to… But meeting Frank indirectly had completely changed the direction of my life.

The room burst into life as everyone did as she said. I took a seat between a very grimy girl with no class and a very suave elder gentleman or as I had affectionately dubbed him ‘gramps’. I tried to stifle a laugh; it was like being sat between Hue Heffner and a back alley prostitute. My life always consisted of colourful moments like this… I wriggled in my seat, slightly anxious about what I was going to say when my time rolled around. I mean yes I had been infected with chlamydia and I had been host to crabs but that was like almost five years ago, when I was truly filthy and too paranoid about getting caught by my ex to use a condom. My last stop in this place had helped me see the vital importance barrier protection offered me. I was probably the best groomed, best educated sex addict in this room. No doubt I’d be put off my dinner after this; I mean my eyes flickered to the woman sat to my right. Her ebony hair was so greasy it looked like she’d taken a shower in molten lard. She was probably crawling with all sorts of diseases and parasites. My stomach jolted as I averted my eyes in distaste. She held no sophistication either to back up her cause. She was dressed in a boob tube, a fluorescent pink one at that and denim hot pants, her skin on show for all. Which I may add was not attractive. I wouldn’t touch her with a ten foot barge pole… Her jaws were rhythmically clamping around bubble-gum. I could guarantee you that if I peered behind her I’d see a tramp stamp printed in ink on the small of her back. She even had a playboy belly bar. I swear I could smell the HIV pumping through her veins. She wasn’t hygienic enough to bother with contraception or protection. I could tell.

But as Miss. Bitch (my new nickname for Miss. Klien) had so rightly stated, I had been infected with STI’s therefore I had no right to judge. My eyes flipped to the guy to my left. His aloof presence seemed to give off the vibe that he’d most likely suffered chlamydia or gonorrhoea. Even though he was well groomed for an elder gentleman (I say that but he looked around sixty, that’s old to me okay?) he couldn’t have been clean, this guy was a ladies man and he’d probably been found out the same way I was back in my teens. He’d probably passed on a disease to his wife. But I guess she was taking it better than Kayden had. Then again my timing had been the worst possibly expected. I could say it without feeling pain; it was my fault he got into such an accident…

Miss. Bitch patrolled the circle like a buzzard circling its prey. I glared at her because right now I did not want to be announcing to a group of people that I had indeed gone through the pain of STI’s. I would rather be having a cigarette whilst watching porn. Nuh-uh, I need to avoid those thoughts right now… I was supposed to be down grading my sex-addiction to kinkiness, so I needed to cut down on the amount of sex I allowed myself to indulge in, and that meant porn as well as the real thing.

I can’t believe I’m going to be chaste for the next ten months… The thought actually made me feel deprived and I hadn’t even gone a day without the influence of sex or something sexual. Fuck my life. My mind floated back to our special guest speaker, I really wanted to let him know that his story made me want to change. I really wanted him to know that sex-addicts did have hearts; they just were a little bit thicker skinned than most, and he had most certainly encountered the wrong one. He had said that he had to work and live here to pay off his therapy fees… Did that mean he’d be floating around the building from time to time…? Did that mean he’d be eating lunch at the same time as addicts like myself…? If it did then I was certainly going to talk to him. I just needed to know how to go about it…

Mikey was the best when it came to things like this. He was Casanova reincarnated. That guy could click his fingers and have a lady hanging off his arm in an instant. [s]It was totally down to genetics.s] But he also knew how to appeal to different personalities (that’s why he was such a good player back in his early teens) so I’m sure he’d know how to handle a person like Frank. He’d certainly know how I would be able to show him I’m harmless. Because I was. And that’s what I wanted to do; I wanted him to make friends with me so I could show him my progression through getting clean. It would be a little hard because I found him attractive, but last time I only got better because I placed myself in stressful situations. So in a way he’d be helping me by being my friend too. I just wanted him to see me as a person and not a monster, for some reason I held his opinion rather high. Maybe because it was the ultimate challenge? Show the rape victim of a sex addict that not all sex addicts are the same. I don’t know what it was, but I was certainly inspired by him. And getting clean didn’t seem that pointless anymore. I may be a bit of a scratcher and I may like it rough, but deep down I’m a lover not a fighter. But I knew that when he looked at me, he’d just see his rapist with a different face. I needed to change that.

That’s when I heard a voice sound from next to me. Sarah Slut (the back alley prostitute next to me that I had given a nickname) had just finished talking, a red blush had covered her face painfully and it had also burnt her ears the same shade. Damn! I missed her HIV positive confession. I sighed audibly as all eyes settle on me, waiting… Well there’s no point in sugar-coating shit. We were all grown-ups in this room. I sprawled out on the chair supporting my frame, my legs apart and out-stretched. What? I may as well get comfortable. There were about fourteen people in this class and Sarah Slut had been gabbing for ages, the most annoying part? She was the first person to come out with her confession; it would take forever to get around everyone. I reclined even further as I felt the therapists gaze burn into me. Fine…

“About five years ago I contracted crabs and the clap.” I state crudely, my eyes finding my nails much more interesting than the people around me. I guess my flippancy attracted attention because my therapist coughed loudly, I rolled my eyes. Somehow I got the feeling that she wanted me to look at her. “Yes?” I asked my tone somewhat irritable. How did I know that blonde bitch would interrupt?

“This is therapy, Mr. Way, not a college gossip circle. I suggest you start acting like you’re in an institution of rehabilitation. Please tell us what you were diagnosed with.” She replied, her red glasses glinting angrily in the sunlight seeping in through the windows. Her stare was harsh and I knew that this woman and I were not going to get on.

“Chlamydia and genital lice.” I spat, acid dripping from my tone, drowning every word. My gaze never leaving hers. I could feel the rest of the addicts staring at us, it was like a showdown. A power struggle between the doctor and patient, they loved it. Their sick little minds being entertained by the hate sizzling between us. And I’m not going to lie. So was I. She acted like I needed her, like I needed help from her, like I was dependant on her advice, she probably got off on the fact that ‘addicts needed her to get better’. I knew that if she gave me the steps and allowed me to talk to Frank I’d be able to do this myself. I’d done it alone before, my last therapist just signed the prescription for my anti-depressants, that’s the only help I needed from any [/professional.
“Is there anything else you’d like to tell the circle?” she inquired, her patronising tone present once more. I pinched the bridge of my nose. What a stupid fucking question, of course there wasn’t.

“No.” I stated flatly, as I wished many a nasty scenario on my new therapist because seriously? She seemed like my last one, obnoxious, patronising and worst of all judgemental…

After what seemed an eternity she released us from the living nightmare with a swift warning that truanting from any classes would only result in expulsion from the course unless there was a viable, credible explanation as to why exactly the lesson had been skipped. I merely scoffed as my feet walked me through the door. She couldn’t kick me off a course that my parents had paid for, she was just trying to scare those greener than myself into thinking that if they skipped out they’d never be forgiven, left to wander aimlessly in this sea of addiction. Typical medical behaviour. Scaremongering. That’s how they worked though, and I guess it worked to an extent because scare tactics worked on me too; however hollow threats never really touched me. I mean last time I was here they showed us a video and multiple pictures of what happens when sexually transmitted infections aren’t treated, and what they can result into, and let me tell you this, I actually felt like apologising to my dick after risking his health and well being like that. I never had sex without a condom again. That’s for sure. I won’t gore you with details, but I’m sure you can imagine. It was grimmer than sex with a corpse.

I knew exactly what I was going to do with my free time before one-to-one counselling. I was going to call up my little brother. And on the way I’d try my hardest to spot Mr. Breathtakingly Beautiful. It wasn’t perverted that I wanted to see him again. It was just he had the saddest puppy eyes I had ever seen and I just wanted to witness their perfection once more. One day those eyes would smile again I was sure of it, but he could still look numb and pull it off. I was pretty sure that man could pull most looks off, even if he dressed as a woman, he’d still probably rock my world, and my bed.

I didn’t even acknowledge that last thought properly. Tempting fantasies beckoned to my mind as I walked the empty corridors leading to my room, but I gritted my teeth and kept telling myself his story. I recalled the memory of his words to assist my battle against my dirty thoughts. It was lucky that it was around mid-day. This was the best time for me. My mind was alert enough to function but still encompassed in the endorphins of a good morning wank. So there wasn’t the need to get off… Just yet. My thoughts would never become perverted this early; their power wasn’t as strong as it was late at night or early in the morning. This monster that crawled within usually hid just beneath my skin, however I could tell that I’d just found a new affection, a new face to satisfy my primal side. However, thoughts were just that; thoughts. And they, like me were harmless if I contained them. And I could vaguely remember how to do that from last time my presence graced these familiar halls. That was all I needed for the time being, vague instructions to remember. I was hardly going to be spending more than an hour a day with him if I ever managed to bump into him again I doubt it would be for long at all. So my urges could be over-come with the strategies I already remembered. And I doubt he’d spend any more time than that with me before we covered and executed the twelve steps of self-control in class. We’re talking about a rape victim here. I’d be lucky if he didn’t run away the first time I approached him. After all I did have the title of ‘Sex Addict Extraordinaire’ hanging over my head which translated into his language was like having ‘rapist’ tattooed across my forehead. Not exactly helpful when you want to make friends with a rape victim.

My footsteps reverberated around the sterile hallways, the echo was awful and I hated how alone it made me feel. The smell of rank disinfectant infiltrated my nose as I turned a corner abruptly. My room coming into immediate focus. A sigh of relief ghosted past my lips as realised I was only a few doors away from my room. My temporary residence. It was then I heard a slight squeak, I was slapped rudely from my thoughts as I saw him, his terrified glare landing on my face.

His eyes pleaded with me to head back the way I came but I couldn’t, my room was this way. Deciding it was best not to move at all I stood still. Giving him the chance to run if he wanted to. My eyes floated down to his hand where a spray cleanser rested and a cloth. So he was the reason behind the strong smell of bleach and cleaning agents. I kept my eyes down knowing that if I looked him in the eyes I’d only frighten him. It was a way to assert dominance. When you stared into someone’s eyes, you were trying to get them to look away in submission. So I stayed clear of eye contact. Soon I heard his sneakers squeal against the polished floor. The sound scratched my eardrums but I knew it was safe to look up. My stare lifted to see him walk away, cleaning equipment gripped in an almost deathly vice between his fingers. His hurried strides distancing us. He was scared of me. And it made me sick. It actually did sting a little inside to know that he thought I’d force him into sex. I may be perverted but I only enjoy consensual sex. Thanks. But I completely understood his way of thinking. I just wanted to show him that his misconceptions were false.

Running a frustrated hand through my hair I fished out my keys, relishing the jingle that broke the endless silence of my surroundings. Unlocking the door I was greeted with the seemingly bare room. There was no colour, there were no posters, it was just this dreadful off white colour. It made me sick, this place was so boring! The bed sheets? White. The furniture? Sparse: A chair, desk, bed, and wash basin all white! The walls? White. The carpet? Fucking cream. Wow. That was such a bold move I almost shit my pants in wild excitement.

I again found myself pinching the bridge of my nose; I wish I had my paint set with me, just so I could jazz this room up a bit. Just so I could make it mine, staying in this box of dirty white for ten months would actually kill my spirit. I didn’t care that they had art facilities, or that they had a gymnasium. I was all sorted for my free time… Simply sleeping in this bleak nightmare would drive me insane. I needed something to bring the colour back into my life. But my first priority at this moment in time was to contact Mikey and beg his assistance. My point was proven just then, that Frank wanted nothing to do with me… And I needed his help. I needed him to help me better myself. In a weird way I needed his judgment, his anger to help me better myself just to prove him wrong. We weren’t all monsters here, we were people just like he was, and it hurt to have him see me that way. I guess part of it had to do with the fact I found him genuinely beautiful, because if a fugly bitch told the class she was raped I probably wouldn’t give two shits. But he was beautiful, and he was broken in the same way I’d broken someone. Here was my chance to finally correct a wrong that had been plaguing me for most of my life. I was going to restore his faith in people and save him from doing something stupid like Kayden, and in return he’d help me become clean, for the last time. I think this was the most determined I’d ever been on not sexing someone in my life. I chuckled aloud; this was so un-Gerardly.

Frank Iero look what you’ve done already, you miracle worker. Taking a place on the grotesquely white bed spread I reached over to the phone that rested on the window sill of my box. I rapidly tapped out my house phone number before eagerly pressing the fucking white device to my ear. It was old fashioned and I twirled a cream coiled cord around my fingers in anxiety. I hoped he picked up. I didn’t want to talk to mom or dad right now, even though Mikey had ratted me out, it was mom and dad who made me feel like shit about my whole predicament, about everything I’d ever done, they were the first to tell me that I was wrong. And I didn’t need their gloating right now. The beeps rang out dauntingly and soon I heard my brother’s recognisable voice drift down the phone line.

“Hello?” He greeted his voice thick with sleep. I should have known the lazy bugger would have been asleep at eleven thirty in the morning, I was just elated that it was him who answered.

“Mikey I have a problem only you can solve…” I spoke before launching head first into a rant about how in therapy we had a guest speaker and how I wanted to approach him desperately. I told him Frank’s story so he could get a clear picture of the person Frank appeared to be. Then I went on about how I wanted to get better in general, how this person had inspired me with his tragic condition. How this person had made me feel so ashamed in myself. About how I wanted to make friends with him and make him see that we weren’t all these demonic hounds with a one dimensional mind... I think that fact alone excited him considering my attitude when I first came here. To put it bluntly my brother and I hadn’t seen eye to eye exactly and I simply saw it as an opportunity to fine tune my lying skills… Well that’s quite a far cry from how I felt now… And that is why I had to make friends with him, I had to let him know that he helped someone, that his story had touched and turned someone…

“I just don’t know how to approach him Mikes, I don’t even know how to act with him. I saw him before in the corridor and I didn’t want to say something or talk to him because well, the way he looked at some of us in that room, it was like he couldn’t stand to breathe the same air as us… And I didn’t want to walk away because I want to speak to him. I just stood still and looked away and guess what he did, he didn’t even resume his job. He walked away, as fast as his legs could carry him…” I finished, my tone betraying my frustration.

“Gee… I’m really happy that you feel you have a purpose to get clean again, but is this really a good idea? I mean the kid’s a rape victim, I mean it’s not like you [b]have[/b] to befriend him. Why not do it and write him a thank you or some shit. I think it’d be easier for him that way. I mean do you have any idea how fucked in the head he could be? I don’t think he needs you hounding him right now… And he ran away from you right? That clearly shows that he’s fucking terrified of you.” Mikey’s response was true, but his idea fucking sucked. And it was gayer than Gok Wan.

“Mikey that’s the most feminine shit you’ve ever suggested in your life. A thank you letter? Who the hell do you think you are Boy George?” I quipped, he hated it when I told him he was a raging homosexual, plus I was feeling pretty bitchy because he totally just pissed all over my parade. I heard him sigh in frustration. We always had this small fights, it was like a ritual we always preformed. I was the one with the bright ideas and he was the one that brought them down to earth, but sometimes that meant serious consequences from me. Like a good whack with the remote control or an embarrassing baby photo being accidentally uploaded onto Facebook.

“Well Gee you hardly ever think things through properly. And I honestly don’t know how exactly you could go about showing him that they’re not all the same without being his friend, but do you know how bad you could fuck him up if shit goes down? Do you understand that he’s fragile and that your self-control isn’t what it used to be…? Seriously Gerard, this is a real person, you have to consider the negatives too. You could really push him over the edge. I mean do you find him attractive?” I grimaced on the other end of the line, I was hoping he didn’t ask that question because I couldn’t lie to my brother. And he knew this, the son of a bitch. It was the same way he got me to confess to being addicted to sex again.

“Yes.” I stated plainly, expecting a frenzied reaction.

“THEN IN GODS NAME LEAVE HIM THE HELL ALONE. Do you want another Kayden on your hands!” Well that was a complete over re-action and it kind of wounded me a little… Who in the world said I was going to even consider a relationship with Frank anyway? Jesus H. Christ. Does he not realize that I can actually hold my own for a while around a good looking guy if I wanted? The only reason why I became re-addicted is because I wanted to, not because I couldn’t control it, I’ve seriously just forgotten the middle four steps on the way to gaining full control. It’s not like I’ve gone back to only thinking about doing something, anything, all over again. No one seemed to believe me this time round though. They just judged me on what happened last time; it hurt me that even my brother saw me as the mindless sex drone I was the first time round. Once you go to rehab you never get as bad as when you first entered, ever.

“Seriously Mikey. I wasn’t even planning to go there, that’s just messy and full of emotional baggage. I just want to show him that sex-addicts aren’t all rapists and the fact that I find him attractive has more to do with the motivation to do so. I mean it’d be like gaining the ultimate respect from someone who also happens to be drop dead gorgeous you know? And I know I won’t hurt him, it kind of makes me sick thinking that anyone could even try. He’s the kind of good-looking that screams innocence, Mikey. It’d be like microwaving a puppy and laughing at its squeals. It honestly makes me feel disturbed.” I spoke truthfully.

“Hmm… I’ve always been able to tell when you’re lying so I know that you intend well at least. And if your plan works then you could come of there fixing more than just yourself, which would be fantastic… But I’ll be honest Gerard; it’s not going to be easy. He was raped after all… It may not even work because he may be that freaked out he just never responds to your advances regarding friendship. So please don’t get your hopes up, I mean I’m kind of hoping he doesn’t respond… But if we take the positive spin on this, here’s what you have to do: He needs to see you’re not targeting him for sex, but platonic reasons alone. You’re going to have to just walk up to him in an environment where he can’t escape and talk to him. And when you do you have to keep at it. Even if he walks away, or runs, you have to find him again and talk to him. You have to keep approaching him, so you become familiar. And when you get a chance to talk to him, you need to be the real you. Not that argumentative macho shit most people are greeted with. You need to be your sarcastic, flamingly hilarious self. Because let’s be honest when people see that side of you, they couldn’t ever think of you as dangerous…” I felt like punching my brother, but I also felt like kissing him. He always knew the best way around awkward people.

His social skills were so attuned. I put it down to his nerdish intelligence. Once he’d said it out loud it all made sense, but there was a huge IF factor going down that I didn’t particularly warm well too. I gulped, there were a few things I needed to work out, there was a plan to be made before this could work. I thanked my brother profusely before wishing him farewell, his last words being how proud he was of me for wanting to get clean, of how happy he was that I would no longer be stuck in my own hell. I severely hoped Frank would respond to me, and not just for our sake, but for Mikey’s too, even if he thought otherwise. I saw no point in getting clean for myself alone.

Hanging up I got straight to work on my little plan, based on Mikey’s words of wisdom of course. I need an environment in which to approach him. My vision narrowed as I tried to think of the places he’d be in at the same time as me. If he was in here for therapy alone then we’d have completely different time-tabled routines, and that meant different free times to me too. I wracked my brain, I guess we’d have visitor days together (but I doubt there wouldn’t be a day where Mikey wasn’t down here bugging me about my progress) and there was lunch time… That was at the same time every day for everyone... I guess that was workable…?

I just needed to be a bit of a stalker today, I needed to watch out for him and where he sat. I needed to observe today so I know just when the right time was to slide into the plastic chairs opposite him… That’s if he sat alone… I needed to see if he had others to eat with… If he did then my plan was utterly fucked and it was back to the drawing board later tonight...

I think lunch was a good place to start. After all I had all the time in the world to take because I knew I was here the best part of ten months and I’m sure rape victims don’t just heal over-night either. I went back to Mikey’s words in my mind, it may not even work because he may be that freaked out he just never responds to your advances regarding friendship.That was the IF factor I hated, I mean what if he has this huge panic attack when I sit next to him and he faints or some shit? I mean how bad would that look to the therapists? To the other sex addicts? I really would look like a rapist then… But if you don’t ask you never get. So I guess I’d just have to take it one day at a time and today, well today was observation. And if fate wasn’t on my side, it was back to figuring out an environment from which he couldn’t escape. The thought alone sounded sick and twisted and it made me feel wrong for thinking it about Frank, even though it wasn’t anything incredibly wrong. The wording of if just made me so… creepy. But it was true. He would always walk away like today if I didn’t approach him in a controlled environment.

I exhaled blowing my fire-truck red fringe out of my face. This was going to be my biggest challenge yet, but I’d complete it. We’d end up friends even if it killed me to do so and the fact he was so beautiful made it the ultimate path to success. [b]Gerard Way you can do this. I repeated it in my mind over and over again, because I could do this. [s]And then maybe, just maybe when we were over this, I could tell him that I thought he was more beautiful than a summer’s sunset…

The clock hanging on an angle on the wall opposite me told me it was 12 o’clock. It was like a death sentence though because now I’d find out whether or not I had found the perfect opportune environment to approach Frank in.

A/N: Ok, this chapter was written completely by Pfft! How amazing is she? :D
SO comment and let us know what you think.