FicWad

Hey guys,
Happy Halloween! And Happy Birthday Frank Iero!
Well…here’s the next chapter. It’s entirely in Gerard’s POV, so I’m not quite sure how I did on it…I hope it’s okay. I’ve been really really sick, and I’m just starting to feel better. (Nasty stomach bug, I’ll leave it at that.)
Other than that, my birthday was Saturday (Oct 29), and I’m now fifteen! So I got to eat chocolate-coffee cake for the past two days, without anybody commenting on it, XD.
Well, I hope you enjoy the chapter. Again, I’m not quite sure how I did on this one, so please let me know what you think! (I’ll hand out pieces of cake :P)




I slid further into the soft material that made up my bed, wondering just how mad Mikey would still be. I hadn’t done much of my day besides rotting in my own pathetic thoughts, and mom thinking I was sick had kept her from poking her slightly rosy powdered nose through the door. Black Flag was playing softly, since I was just too lazy to actually get up and turn the volume up higher, and the lyrics were just barely distinguishable from the angst filled guitars. Through the window I could see cotton like clouds begin to float over into the clear blue sky, glowing a muted golden shade as a few sun rays reflected off of them. I’d spent the whole day wondering why I wasn’t actually as mad at my brother as I thought I’d be: I should be furious. I should be worried. I should want to punch him, hard. But I just sort of wanted to poke him a few times, just to annoy him. Just enough for him to throw something at me…so that maybe I could think properly again. I should be …scared. But instead I’m just waiting. Waiting for Mikey to come back, and to yell at me for breaking his glasses. At least that would be something familiar. Something that could maybe end my confusion.

I shouldn’t just be lying around waiting for Mikey to come back. I should be angry. Mad and Furious. But instead I’m…excited? Nervous? I can’t quite figure out why, but the baby butterflies fluttering in my stomach aren’t the anxious ones I’m used to. These ones are calmer, and they seem happier. Maybe even hopeful….but what am I possibly hoping for? It can’t be Mikey coming home; he might actually rip my head off when he gets the chance to. And it’s definitely not Frank. I spent the whole day deciding that I didn’t care, and butterflies or no butterflies I’m not letting anything change my mind. Why should I anyways? I’d probably just loose him later, because no one actually wants to be around a stuttering freak with a history of alcohol abuse. And I don’t need him either, I mean, I’ve been fine without him, so I’m fine.

Except what if I’m not? What if I just want to see him again? The thoughts are clouding up my already fucked up brain, constantly contradicting each other. One minute I do care, the other I don’t. All day long, all that has gone through my head involves a certain being with large, soft chocolate brown eyes which have a light hazel hint in them, smooth pale pink lips and—well, you get the idea. At first, I just wanted coffee. After I got it, I realized how pathetic I might look in Frank’s eyes. Later on, after toast, it came to me that if Mikey did rip my head off later, I didn’t really care that much, and that if he didn’t, I probably wouldn’t care that much either. After my mom came around to ask if my ‘absolutely awful stomach ache’ had calmed, I finally realized that the reason I wasn’t so mad at Mikey is because I kind of wanted him to talk to Frank…I wanted to see him again, and I didn’t care how pathetic I’d look in his eyes because I remembered the few things I do know about him, and I figured out that he might understand. But then, the only real friend I‘ve had is my brother, and that it’s probably because he’s kinda stuck with me anyways, so I don’t want to look pathetic in his eyes, so I have to pretend as if I don’t care that he talked, or did not talk to Frank. However, I probably don’t have much to worry about since he recently started crying when we were out of pop tarts, and the stores were closed. Then, I went back to thinking about Frank: it’s not like he’s want so see me, so there’s no point in wanting to see him. He made it clear he didn’t want to see me. So I don’t know what to think. So in the end; I’m just confused.

Confusion. As to what I should want, and what I do want. Confusion because I know that I would normally be pissing myself with fear, pulling out my hair and searching frantically for inexistent solutions. I would be sick to my stomach, drowning away slowly in my pride and insecurities, and that I’d be coming up with ways to never face Frank Iero again, ever. But instead, I’m just plopped down lazily on my bed, staring at the tips of the my brother’s fuzzy pink socks while tiny little birds chirp happily around my stomach, scuttling around excitedly like little girls before their first dance recital. And I’m just waiting. It’s the same feeling I had before I went on stage as Peter Pan in fourth grade; nervous, because you’re uncertain of the ending, but slightly relax because you don’t really want to act as if something could go wrong because if something did, you wouldn’t know what to do. You’d freeze, like a dear in headlights, panic, and later try and avoid everything that reminded you of whatever happened. So I’m just waiting.
“Um…Gee?” My heart jolts involuntarily in my chest as I hear a knock on the wooden door, and instantly recognize Mikey’s voice. If I made any sense, I’d tell him to fuck off.
“Can I come in dude?” No, he shouldn’t. He’s possibly made my already fucked up life even worse. So, no, he should definitely not come in. Despite this, I hear myself mumble a pathetic ‘y-yes.’ The door opens revealing a satisfied looking Mikey, who simply chooses to stand in the doorway, casting a long shadow across the crowded floor. I look up at him, expectantly. Isn’t he about to bash my head in or something? He shuffles closer, a sort of proud grin on his face, and despite my earlier statements, I’m dying to know what happened. Worst of all? He knows it.
“W-w-well?” I ask, and I see his grin broaden.
“I thought you didn’t care.” He smirks.
“I-I d-d-don’t…” I answer unconvincingly, sounding like the kid who lies about not having eaten any chocolate while he has some all over his face.
“You so care!” he squeals, and I cringe as I recognize his high pitched eating-pop-tarts-voice.
“N-n-no…” I mumble, once again failing to convince anyone, including myself. “I-I-I’m j-just…c-c-curious.” Yeah, that’s it. Curious. I don’t actually care, I’m just…interested. Mikey’s grin spreads all the way up to his ears, and I cringe as I see the overhead lamp reflect off his shiny teeth.
“Curiosity killed the cat, ya know.” He snickers, and I raise my head to glare at him reproachfully.
“Fine…I’ll tell you.” I look up, hopeful. “But,” I lower my head in defeat. “First you have to promise me three things.” I’m guessing he raised his eyebrows, but since they are hidden behind his straightened mousy brown bangs, I just see a large pair of hazel eyes goggling at me weirdly. I sigh, every single ounce of self-respect and pride having already left me a while back.
“f-f-fine.” I agree, watching him as he grins mischievously.
“Okay. One, you go to that therapist appointment thing you have tonight, and I’m aloud to borrow all your comic books and CDs while you’re gone, and I’m loud to be in your room whenever I want to be.”
“F-f-fine” I sigh, the fucker.
“Two, you buy me as many strawberry flavored pop-tarts as I want till Christmas.”
“M-M-Mikey!” I shriek “y-y-you’re ga-going t-t-to a-ask f-f-for a-a-f-f-fucking th-thousand! It’s g-gonna c-cost m-me a-a-all m-my m-money!”
“Do you want me to tell you or not?” If we weren’t related, I swear I would strangle him.
“Ugh. F-f-ine.” I grunt, frustrated.
“Good.” He smirks. “And third, you buy me a new pair of glasses. The exact same ones I had.”
“B-b-but th-those c-cost a-a f-fortune!” I whine. He shifts a little, and now I can only see his abnormally large smirk.
“Deal?” I sigh, grunt, sigh again, flip him off, cruse multiple times, and kick the pillow onto the floor.
“Oh! And you give me my socks back!” he says, pointing at the fuzzy pink unicorn socks.
“H-h-hey! Th-that’s f-f-four th-things!” I protest, already imagining how cold my feet will be once deprived of the fuzzy, warm, cozy--
“Either you agree, or I don’t tell you.”
“A-AGH! F-FINE!”
“You swear?”
“Y-YES!”
“I don’t believe you.” His eyes are twinkling proudly, and I resist the urge of ripping them out of their sockets.
“M-MIKEY!” I shriek.
“Repeat after me: I, Gerard Arthur Way” The kid is unbelievable.
“I-I, G-Gerard A-Arthur W-Way” I repeat reluctantly, glaring at him.
“Promise to grant all of the previously mentioned wishes”
“P-Promise t-to g-g-grant a-all o-of th-the p-p-previously ma-mentioned w-wishes”
“My wonderful, kind, and very good looking brother has made”
“M-my w-w-wondefull, k-kind, a-and v-v-very g-good l-looking b-brother has made”
“Without questions, or backing out of them later.”
“W-without qu-questions, o-or ba-backing o-out la-later.”
“Very good,” he smirks, patting my head.
“F-f-fuck y-you.” I mutter, slapping his lanky hand away.
“You know…I’m not sure you deserve to know yet…maybe you haven’t done enough.”
“A-AGH! M-M-MIKEY! J-JUST F-FUCKING T-TELL M-ME B-BEFORE I-I-I R-RIP Y-YOU’RE M-M-MOTHERFUCKING HA-HEAD O-OFF A-A-AND F-FEED Y-YOU T-TO A-A H-HUNGRY P-P-ACK O-OF CR-CRACK SN-SNORTING R-RABID M-MEESE!”
“If you’re rude, I won’t tell you anything. And its Moosi, moron.”
“Mikey. What. Happened.” I snarl through gritted teeth. There’s a long pause as he glances around my room.
“Okay…you’ve suffered enough. I’ll tell you.” I sigh in relief, my hands trembling as I wait.
“Everything is fine.” I stare at him blankly. Fine as in good, or fine as in bad? Sensing my confusion, he adds: “Everything’s gonna be okay…but just in case I think you should go to your therapist’s office…like…now.” I sigh in relief, not really caring that I look like an 11 year old girl with an embarrassing, all-consuming crush. Wait—I didn’t mean crush. I meant…friend. Fuck it. He’s too gorgeous.
“Gerard, did you hear me?”
“h-huh?”
“I said you should go to um…that John dude’s office now…y-you w-wouldn’t w-want t-to b-be l-late.”
“Y-you’re j-just s-saying th-that s-so y-you c-can g-gain a-access t-to m-my c-comic b-books a-and sh-shit.”
“I’m really not.” He states seriously, and for some reason I believe him. “Just go.”
“W-why?”
“Just fucking do it Gee.” Confused, I nod, and start rummaging through a pile of clothes in attempt to find a clean pair of pants. Locating a beat up faded black pair, I kick my pajama pants off, and hear a high-pitched scream behind me. I spin around to see a very pale faced Mikey, who’s gawking at me in pure horror.
“Are you trying to give me nightmares?!?!” He hisses, covering his eyes.
“W-well th-then g-get o-out o-of ma-my r-room”
“Actually, I can stay in here whenever I want, so you have to get out.”
“t-that’s f-for wh-when I-‘m g-gone!”
“Technically, that only applies to borrowing your CDs and comic books,” he smirks. Sighing in defeat, I pick up the jeans and drag them outside, closing the door behind me. Mom shoots me a puzzled look as I change in the hallway, kicking my bedroom door before I set off towards the front door. It rattles a little but I pay no attention to it as I slip on a pair of scruffy doc martens, and bundle up in several puffy hoodies—most of which are Mikey’s.



By the time I’m nearing my –honestly dreaded- destination, the sky has morphed to a subtle shade of lavender covered in fluffy cotton clouds. A few white snow flurries are fluttering down, sprinkling the tobacco-speckled sidewalk, glinting slightly in the half-light of the setting sun. Cars are speeding down the large slush-lined avenue, spraying ice cold water into the air as they race through the large puddles. I’m humming absent-mindedly along to the Misfits’ dust to dust while I clumsily try to avoid the small menacing snow piles that are scattered here and there, the grim sidewalk playing hide-and-seek beneath them. I’m clinging fiercely on the multiple sleeves covering both arms, my fingers curling in, trying to avoid the piercing cold air. And despite the five sweaters I’m wearing, I have the feeling a giant ice cube is quickly replacing my lungs as I try and keep from shivering too much. Damn cold weather. A few blocks up, I can see the spotless white building poking out slightly and hidden by rooftops and higher houses and apartment buildings. Although I can’t quite read it, I can see the dark outlines of the evergreen swirls embellishing the threatening sign bearing the name of my ‘therapist’. I scoff at that thought, and a well-groomed dude wearing something that looks like a charcoal grey pea coat (but I’m not one to trust when it comes to fashion) looks at me questioningly. I simply shrug and keep on walking down the street, a very good impression of a shivery hungover penguin.

I hate Mikey at this point, since I know that if I had waited a bit later, I could’ve begged mom to drive me. But no, the asshole suggested I come here earlier. And when Mikey suggests something, there’s always a reason behind it. Except I can’t figure out what it is here, I mean, apart from the fact he’s probably abusing my comic books right now. Last Halloween for example, when he suggested I should go with our mom to go buy candy for trick-or-treaters, it was so that he could splash fake blood all over the bathroom, leaving a dripping knife on the side of the bathtub for me to find. He filmed me screaming like a little girl as I ran out of the bathroom covering my eyes yelling something about him having been murdered. But I doubt I’ll find blood covering John Mitch’s office. I’m nearing the building now, and even though I’m not very psyched to actually get there, I’m fucking freezing. So I start running.

One step, two step, last step. So maybe my brain froze a little too. And by now I am utterly and completely pissed at Mikey. I feel as if someone scraped off my skin with a potato peeler, and then used acid over it. I can actually see how red my nose is, and my teeth are clattering as I slowly reach my partially frozen hand towards the door handle, shivering as my palm wraps around the freshly painted knob. I lean against the door, tumbling inside and almost collide with a plastic tree that’s standing right next to the doorway, its plastic roots poking out of its large black pot. I stumble awkwardly inside, removing the three hoods that are piled on top of my frozen head, my dry, brittle hair falling down in small wisps against my Rudolf-the-reindeer-resembling face. I edge closer to the plastic counter, behind which Lady Bubblegum seems to be brushing her hair, tugging fiercely at a large chunk of fluorescent pink gum. I cringe, watching as she struggles with her magenta fake nails that are clawing at the big clump of chewing gum. The wooden door to John’s office opens as a short, ebony figure slips out ignoring the goodbyes that are being called out after him.
“Um Excuse me? Do you know how to get bubblegum out of hair?” I stare, horror-struck as she smiles, hospital white teeth glowing in the industrial glow of the neon overhead lamps. I feel bad for the kid who just got asked that. I return my eyes to the dull, carpeted floor as I shift my weight from side to side, swaying slightly in the center of the waiting room. Why the hell did Mikey want me to be here?

Suddenly, the short, midnight black figure of which I can only see the back, mumbles something that sounds like peanut butter. Mumbles…in a voice I recognize. My head jolts up, and that’s when I recognize the Misfits hoodie, the scruffy vans, and the dark mop of black licorice hair, which is dyed a lush black-brown.
“Eeeew…I’m not putting peanut butter in my hair!” I cringe again as the sickly-sweet fake voice drifts over, trying to block out something that could possibly haunt me for years to come: she’s got small chunks of bubblegum stuck onto her fingernails, and she’s lost one fake nail in her hair.
“Fine, then walk around like that.” I bite my lip to suppress a snort when I realize just how dumb I am, and how annoyingly clever Mikey is. Or maybe he’s not even that clever, I might just be numbingly stupid. And, as Frank’s entrancing, gorgeous and hopeful eyes look up at me, a smile tugs at my lips because I realize that I’m not actually scared to be here. Instead, I’m happy.


Eeeep...was it okay? I have the feeling my writing's been getting worse lately...and my chapters shorter...Well, please let me know what you thought! -Hands over mini cupcake Frankies-.
xx, a.