Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Hazel Eyes

Chapter 3

by PartyPooperX 6 reviews

Gerard's new therapist and Frank makes a significant friend.

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama,Horror,Romance - Characters: Frank Iero,Gerard Way,Mikey Way,Ray Toro - Published: 2011-11-27 - Updated: 2011-11-27 - 2514 words

Thanks for R&Ring!! Y’all are splendid folk. Right, chapter 3. I had this awesome epiphany like brainstorm thing like, two minutes ago so I know where this is going. Kinda.

This is really long, by the way. I got a little carried away. You may need a taco for the journey.

Hazel Eyes

Chapter 3

It was 12 minutes past midnight when it happened, or at least that was what the clock read.

Gerard couldn’t sleep; his brain speeding at one hundred miles an hour. No matter how many times he closed his sore eyes and told himself to relax it seemed the only thing he could achieve was a few rough half hours of restless drifting in and out of consciousness. By then he just got bored with the effort of sleeping, and instead just lay in bed, but soon he felt his eyelids growing heavier and heavier until he sank deeper into the mattress and shut his eyes. And then –

“You’re a bad person.”

His eyes shot open and he slowly sat up to the voice, casting his eyes around the moonlight bathed room. “H-hello?”

The speaker leapt at him with their hands bent into claws, so sudden he didn’t even have the time to scream.

“This. Is. All. Your. FAULT!” they screamed, clawing at his eyes. He yelped and batted off the sharp nails scratching at his skin. They sprawled and writhed on the bed, Gerard fighting off the offender as best as he could despite the shock shaking him still from the spontaneity of the attack.

“Wh-what the fuck-OW! Who are you?!”

“You’ll pay for this! You’ll pay!”


Gerard bolted upright in bed, his fists clutching the hem of the duvet so tight he could see the white of his knuckles. It took him a few shaky moments to realise that firstly the room was immersed in the piercing brightness of fresh day, and next that he was alone in his apartment. He drew the covers over his trembling body, damp with cold sweat, and tried hard to stop the tears filling his eyes from cascading down his cheeks. His head fell to his hands and he breathed slowly in and out, calming the nerves raging inside him.

“Shit,” he whimpered, pulling his knees to his chest. “Just a dream. Just a dream...”

Suddenly the door burst open so violently it was a wonder it hadn’t fallen off its hinges in the process, and Frank ran in wielding a rolling pin and releasing a war like cry Gerard was shocked his tiny body could even possess.

“WHO WANTS SOME?!” he bellowed, charging around the room like a mad man. “GET YOU’RE FUCKING HANDS OFF HIM YOU PERVERTED PIECE OF SHIT!”


The bloodthirsty flames in Frank’s eyes demolished as he laid them on his friend sitting perfectly intact and very bemused in the bed. “Oh, hey, Gee.”

“What. The. Fuck.”

“I heard a girlish squeal that could only have been recognised as you screaming,” Frank explained sheepishly. “Thought you were being raped.”


“But don’t worry, dude.” He waved the rolling pin triumphantly. “I got your back.”

“There’s something wrong with you,” Gerard stated simply.

Frank’s shoulders sank comically. “I’m not getting any.”

Gerard stared at his friend in dismay before shaking off the covers and hopping out of bed. “Why are you in my apartment?”

“Mikey got called into work for some reason. And I wasn’t doing anything so I came over to babysit.”

“Oh, haha,” Gerard replied dryly, scowling. “It’s been two weeks since the operation. My eyes are fine; I think I can look after myself.”

“I don’t.”

“No one cares what you think.”

Frank pouted and crossed his arms over his skinny chest. “Someone’s a grumpy-Gus. Who got outta the wrong side of the hamster wheel this morning?”

“Up your bony ass, Iero.”

“No seriously, you look like shit. Were you up bingeing all night or what?”

Gerard stopped in front of the mirror and realised, much to his displeasure, his friend was right. Purplish bags shadowed his eyelids like bruises, a vibrant contrast to the marble pallor of his skin. His hair was greasy and in desperate need of a trim, growing thickly way past his ears and falling into his sunken eyes. He sighed heavily. “I’m not sleeping too well.”

Frank raised his eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Gerard nodded and swallowed. “I keep having this weird dream. There’s this girl and she’s screaming at me...says I’ve done something bad’s really weird...”

“Sounds a bit like the time I had too much ecstasy at Bert’s,” was all Frank could reply nonchalantly. Gerard sighed again and rolled his eyes. He picked up a random shirt and a pair of jeans from the floor and slipped them on.

“Whatever. I have an appointment with Brice at eleven. What time is it?”

The guilty silence from Frank caused Gerard to groan and pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Frank...”

“Five to.”

Goddamn it, Frank!” Gerard shoved past him and grabbed his jacket and keys before racing out the door.

“Will you at least have some waffles? They’re not terrible, just a little...charred...” Frank called after him, still standing in the doorway.

Gerard opened the car door and stopped before getting in. He gestured for Frank to get in. “You’re coming. I don’t trust you alone in my house.”

Reluctantly, Frank trudged after him and slid into the car, stropping like a five year old. “You don’t live in a house,” he grumbled darkly.

Gerard chuckled and put the key in the ignition. Wheels screeching against the tarmac, they sped away to the hospital, with no regard to the fact they were going at least five miles past the speed limit.


The therapist’s room was a small-ish one, with warm orange walls and wood panelling. To Gerard, who had had more than his fair share of therapy in the past, it was pretty average, and his attention was more diverted to the disturbing dolls and paintings littering the place rather than the decor. Much to his numerous protests Mikey had still managed to shove in two precious hours a week of answering patronising questions and “describing what he saw in this picture? What about this one?” into his life, and he was less than content with it. Nevertheless, he arrived promptly at every session, except of course for today due to Frank’s organisation skills.

“Doctor Brice is unable to hold these sessions with you anymore, so he’s appointed your case to me.”

The voice was firm and straight to the point, followed by a wiry hand with neatly manicured nails holding out for him to shake. He looked up to an equally firm and straight to the point woman with an effortless half-smile hanging on cherry painted lips and intelligent brown eyes that looked like they had already started X-Raying him as soon as she had strode into the room.

“Doctor Ballato,” she said. “Call me Lindsey.”

Gerard shook her hand and almost instantly after she drew out her clipboard with a flourish and perched on the chair opposite.

“So,” she began. “It’s been a fortnight since your operation, correct?”

Gerard blinked. “Uh...yeah, that’s right.”

“And how are you taking it?”

“It’s okay...I guess.”

Her eyebrow shot up in doubt. “You guess?”

“Well suddenly being able to see after twelve years of blindness can come as a shocker to most,” he replied bluntly. She smirked, but it was unimpressed.

“Any problems?”

His eyes lifted up from the floor and he gave an involuntary jolt when he meet hers. He hesitated for a moment but then slowly shook his head.

She sighed. “You sure?”

“Why wouldn’t you believe me?”

“Your knee is giving you away.” Her head was cocked slightly to the side, her eyes on his knee. He looked down to see it jiggling up and down, a habit he’d adopted years back and now did absentmindedly. “Got a tell?”

“Just a habit,” he murmured. A thick silence fell between them which was bored on his behalf and exasperated on hers.

“Look,” she said, rubbing circles into her temples with her fingers. “You don’t need therapy, you don’t wanna be here, this sucks, yadayadayada. I get it. But guess what? Cold hard truth is, this is my job and you’re my assignment. Call it a code of conduct or just a hero complex but I have 100 percent dedication to helping my patients, whether you’re gonna like me or not. I need to know the inside of your head like the back of my hand; your favourite food, who’s your favourite Bollywood actress, or even if you’ve got a birth mark shaped as a poodle on your butt. This whole stubborn bitch act is something I don’t have time for, so you better learn to live with your new BFF, princess, or it’s the sidewalk and you’ll have to learn how to handle the shithole we call a world that you’re about to see from mommy, comprehendé?”

Extremely taken aback, Gerard just blinked, ignoring the tiny little voice at the back of his head telling him she was right. Lindsey slipped a strand of dark hair behind a double pierced ear and exhaled. “So. Any problems?”

Gerard contemplated his choices of answer. He could keep the whole ‘seeing things’ part to himself so as to seem normal and escape from pointless therapy sessions with Doctor Psycho Bitch. Or, and this was unexplainably the most dominate option, he could tell her everything as she was probably going to found out sooner or later anyway and get the sympathy he wanted instead of his sexually deprived best friend ranting on about ecstasy.

“Ever since the operation I’ve been seeing...things,” he said quietly.

She leaned forward in her seat and folded her hands in her lap. “Seeing things?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I dunno if it’s me dreaming or...something else.”

“What do you see?”

He looked at her. Her brow was furrowed in curiosity and her red lips were pursed. “When I first opened my eyes with Mikey and Doctor Brice I saw this figure in the corner that wasn’t there before,” he explained. “At first I thought it was just a piece of furniture or something because it was so blurry. But then I saw this little girl on the road that had been hit.” He swallowed. “I told my friend to stop the car and when I got out there was nothing there. And I keep having this dream that this person is attacking me for something I’ve done to them. That I’m gonna pay.”

“Is the kid in the dream?”

Gerard shook his head. “I can’t see who it is.” He frowned, thinking back to the fragments of memory he had of the dream. Come to think of it, the voice was high pitched and girlish. The body small, bony, tiny hands scratching at his eyes when they attacked him. “...Yeah, actually. I think so.”

Lindsey straightened up in her chair and tapped the side of her head thoughtfully. “So this girl has been hit by a car and somehow found her way into your dreams seeking her revenge. Perhaps.”

Gerard raised his eyebrow. “That was an astute assumption.”

Lindsey smirked and her eyes shone in the lamp light. “Just doing my job. Tell me more?”


Frank sat lazily in the waiting room on the chocolate leather sofa he sat on every time he was there. True, usually he was waiting amongst about three other patients at the most but he still decided that this was His Seat and every time he was waiting he would wait there for however long necessary. He smirked as the image of the day he’d find some wanker sitting in his seat entered his mind.

In the seat opposite sat a small girl, no more than six or seven, sitting cross-legged and picking at her nail. Her auburn ringlets curtained her round peeked face, so he couldn’t see her freckled features or slightly upturned nose until she locked her startling blue eyes with his.

“Hello,” she said in a small voice.

“Hey,” he grinned, albeit unimaginatively. He hadn’t mastered his way with kids, only that with babies if they cried he’d turn them upside down. “I like your shoes.”

Her eyes fluttered at her pink and yellow flashy sneakers and up again, a gap toothed grin splitting her face. He hated them really, but was proud with the result of the smile.

“Thank you. I like your t-shirt.”

A conversationalist. Nice one.

“Is that your brother in there?” She pointed to Gerard who was on the other side of the sound proof glass wall separating them.

“No,” he chuckled. “He’s my friend. Who are you waiting for?”

“My mom,” she replied. “She had a breakdown. She needs help.”

Frank blinked at her bluntness. “Oh. I hope she’s okay.”

The kid shook her curly glossy head and pouted. “She’s never okay. Always crying, always whining,” she sang boredly.

He frowned. This kid was a nut. “And why is she crying?”

The girl’s eyes were like ice. “Because Emily died,” she replied like it was the most obvious thing. Ever.

“Who’s Emily?”

Her pout got bigger and she crossed her arms over her tiny chest. “My sister. We were twins.”

Shit. Frank watched her wearily, expecting her to burst into tears and wipe her runny nose on his sleeve, like most kids her age would. Instead those sky blue eyes remained fixed on the floor, unblinking. It was quite odd actually.

He bit his lip, running his tongue along the cool metal of his lip ring. This was pretty awkward. “...How she die?”

Her eyes flashed and she glared at him. “She got run over by a car.”

Frank’s eyes widened and he couldn’t help but shrink slightly in his seat. When the silence between them and the thought that he had made a little kid upset was too much to bear, he decided to speak again. “What’s your name?”

She looked at him, slightly more at ease at the simple question. “Rosalie.”

“Rosalie’s a nice name. I’m Frank.”

“Rosie?” A small, withering woman with an equally peeked face and sunken eyes appeared at the doorway. “We’re going home now.”

“Yes, mommy.” Rosalie hopped off the seat and took her mother’s hand. She turned back to Frank with a small smile and waved.

“Bye, Mr Frank.”

Frank grinned and waved. He watched them leave before relaxing back into His Seat and turning to his magazine.

O.o Coincidence? I think NOT! R & R before I give away the rest of the plotline x
Sign up to rate and review this story