FicWad

Chapter Three - Meeting My Match




I need to know everything about you for reasons I am currently unable to explain. Text me.

No. Too creepy and sudden. Makes me sound like the CIA. Or a potential stalker. Which I kind of am, but in a much less stalker-ish way.

This is crazy, but here’s my number. So call me, maybe?

No. Just… no.

Your brother mind-raped me and now I must help you rediscover yourself whilst discovering myself and what I am to become. Text me if you seek to know more.

Wow. Way to sound like Ghandi.

Text me or I will go motherfucking crazy.

Before I can even consider my actions, my cell phone is crashing into the Tom and Jerry wallpaper that’s decorated my bedroom since I was eight and rebounding to the floor with a resounding thud.

It’s not that I have a short temper; it’s just that my day decided to head permanently downhill around about the same time I decided to get out of bed this morning. I could look at the positives and say that this day has pushed my social boundaries or that, at the very least, it’s been more interesting than a normal Monday spent droning through life at Belleville High. Thing is though, I’m not an overly positive person. In fact, I’m capable of being as negative as absolute zero when the mood takes me.

And boy, has the mood taken me.

I have had the worst day in the history of ever and now, even with the metaphorical ball in my own motherfucking court, I can’t even turn it around. Hell, even my mom’s homemade meat-free meatloaf hasn’t cheered me up. Yeah. That’s how bad this is.

All because I’ve got to text some psychotic vampire who used to act a little like me back when he was alive. Or rather, all because I’ve got to text aforementioned vampire and I don’t know what to actually say. I can’t just come up out of the blue and expect him to tell me everything I want to know.

Largely because I don’t even know what I want to know, just that I’ll know when I know it.

Great. Now my own mind is fucking itself. That’s the affect that Mikey Way has had on me. No; it’s the affect that Gerard Way is having on me and I haven’t even made first contact with the guy yet. That’s got to be some kind of sign or an omen or something telling me that I should just give up now, accept that there are some things that I just shouldn’t know or try to know.

But I’m in too deep now. Mikey made sure of that.

Heaving out a sigh that sounds like a car engine dying on a deserted highway, I fling myself off my bed and stumble towards where my cell is lying on the floor. Or to be more precise; on top of a pile of defiled pants on the floor. After carefully rubbing the screen against my top, I pull the screen up to my face to check it over for damage and-

Shit.

Message: Sent.

The button must have gotten pressed when I chucked the damn thing at the wall and now I’ve sent some poor guy a message that will most likely scare the living shit out of him;

Text me or I will go motherfucking crazy.

And here I was thinking that my day couldn’t get any worse. But, big surprise, it just has. All because I opened my mouth, or rather started texting, and everything has fallen to shit. Just like the last time I decided to let my brain get involved with anything remotely important to me.

What am I supposed to do now? Wait? Text again? What?

Give up. I should just give up. Not only on this Gerard Way character, but on the whole student-to-student counsellor thing as a whole. All this stupid idea of mine has done is cause me trouble and stress; two things that being a teenaged Frank Iero brings me in abundance anyway. But at the same time I know I won’t give up because this was my idea and I’m a stubborn little fucker, even when I don’t want to be. Mom says I get that from dad, which would probably explain why they aren’t together anymore.

I’ve never had a real relationship, other than when I played Joseph in the school Nativity at age six and pretended to be married to the girl playing Mary, something that I mostly put down to my attitude, stubbornness included. I guess it could also be down to the fact that there aren’t that many gay guys at school. I mean, I’m sure there are plenty, but none of them have realised it yet. Hell, I didn’t realise I bat for the other team until last Fall, when my mom talked me into watching Brokeback Mountain with her. I think I’ve always been gay, but there was just something about that movie that made me really realise it and see it, y’know?

Back to the matter at hand though; maybe there is a slight chance that Gerard will see the, currently non-existent, funny side to this and text me back, smileys and all.

As fucking if.

In a last ditch attempt to put some happiness into my day, I drag myself to my feet and turn my stereo on, praying that one of my good CDs is in there. God must finally be listening because, thank fuck, Misfits start thundering into my too-dull bedroom. It’s an up-tempo track, so at least it’s somewhere along the lines of a cheering-up-pissed-Frankie kind of tune.

Satisfied with the music, I flop back down on my bed and nestle my head firmly into my pillow, which proceeds to swallow my face like an all-encompassing giant marshmallow absorbing some hot chocolate. The stress of the day has finally drilled it’s way through my last remaining nerve and I’ve had enough. I’m going to sleep, even though it’s still light out and I’m still fully clothed. The only sure-fire way to stop this day from sinking any deeper into hell is by making it be tomorrow quicker.

So I shall sleep and dream of murdering Mikey Way in numerous graphic, bloody ways.

Just as my eyelids are finally starting to merge together with sleep’s delightful glue, I feel something vibrate in my hand, reminding me that, yes, I am still holding onto my phone. All of a sudden sleep seems stupid and pointless, and I’m flipping my phone open faster than I ever have done before because something is finally, finally, coming my way.

Who the fuck r u???

Well, it’s a start.

My mind’s whirring into action, trying desperately to figure out a way to answer that without sounding condescending or creepy or anything like a Fucking Asshole. At the same time another part of my brain, the part I think I’ve picked up from hanging around with Toro too much, is attempting to analyse the reply.

With little success. It’s easy to tell that my text didn’t freak him out too much or else he wouldn’t have responded at all, but other than that I can’t really decipher anything other than the fact he clearly has a great love of question marks. And that, the fact that I can’t figure anything out like Ray or Mikey would have been able to, pisses me off.

But it’s a good kind of pissed-off, if that makes any sort of ludicrous sense. It’s the sort that fuels my insatiable curiosity and gives me ideas. I know my ideas have a tendency to put me in worse-than-shit situations, but right now ideas are all I have to get me into the figurative place that I want to be.

I think the pissed-off-curiosity-fuelled ideas may have just paid off because I, Frank Anthony Iero, have come up with the greatest plan ever; if he really is just like me, he won’t be able to resist something that he doesn’t understand once it’s caught his attention. Evidently, I have caught his attention with my ever so slightly confusing text, so all I need to do now is play on that, carry on with this air of, I don’t know, mystery?

Yeah. I need to be mysterious here if I want any chance at getting to meet this guy for real. Even more mysterious than Scooby motherfucking Doo.

I’m a friend who wants to help. The question is; who are you?

That’s it. I seriously need to stay away from people like Mikey Way, less I want his Fucking Assholery to rub off on me.

Rereading the message though, it doesn’t sound too bad. In fact, it sounds pretty good from where I’m sitting. I know it would definitely pique my interest and, running on the theory that’s driving this madness, Gerard is basically the same person as I am.

Correction; he was the same person as I am. And that’s why all of this is happening.

So I press send, smugly satisfied with the mysterious content of my message and wait, my heading bobbing in time to the song that’s currently rattling through my room like a derailed rollercoaster of pure rocky awesomeness. Things are finally starting to look up, so far up in fact that I can just about see the light of day from this dark pit that my mouth dug me into.

My phone rumbles once more about three songs later, my eagerness to read the answer making me jump and shake like a puppy shitting razors in a thunderstorm.

i’m gerard motherfucking way. if u don’t no who i am how can u b my friend dumbass

Do you know what? I think I preferred Mikey. At least Mikey wasn’t outright rude to me without purpose. That’s right; I’m thinking of Mikey Way, mental rapist, as being better than someone. And when a person like Mikey Way is the lesser of two evils, well, it says a hell of a lot about the other evil and it’s degree of evilness.

Or maybe I’m jumping the gun a little here. After all, if Gerard does get bullied half as bad as Ray seems to think he does, then he could be thinking that this is some kind of trick. Maybe life has taught him to be hostile before hostility can happen to him.

Then again, he could just be reacting like this because he’s finding me to be annoying as fuck with my crypticness. I know I would be. But it was that cryptic element that I was banking on to draw him in, just like it would do me no matter how annoying I’d find it.

But seriously; dumbass? Well, at least I am capable of being grammatically accurate.

I slam my cell shut, throw it against my wall again and then bury my head into my pillow like a bullet into flesh. This is me, giving up. Giving up because, between the pair of them, the Way brothers have exhausted my ability to want to help anyone other than myself anymore.

If I see Mikey tomorrow, which I have a horrible feeling that I will do based on my current lack of good fortune, I’ll be telling him in no uncertain terms exactly what I think of both him and his brother; they are both Fucking Assholes who deserve whatever it is they get that they need my help with so damn much. Help that they can kiss goodbye to because helping them would be like me helping Lady Luck fuck me over one more time.

But what’s one more time on top of a million?

Groaning at my own stupidity, I all but dive for my cell and start typing into it like a man possessed.

Haha, smartass. I’m Frank Iero and I’ve had the day from hell, so don’t give me shit.

I click the send button before I can reread it through fear of me deciding that I really don’t care, which I really do. I care because I’m curious and I’m curious because I care; one can’t survive without the other in my mind.

Barely a second passes before my phone’s vibrating all over again and sending shivers all through my body. Shivers that have nothing to do with the sudden bout of livelihood stirring within my beat-up old contact device. Shivers that are being caused by someone I’d never even heard of before this afternoon.

r u the kid who blew up a hamster???

Yes. Yes I am. But I prefer thinking of it as I ‘sent a hamster skyward’. :)

I don’t for the life of me know why I added a smiley face at the end of my reply, just like I don’t really know why I’m smiling to myself at the thought of this guy having some vague idea of who I am even though I don’t have the first clue about who he is. I guess it’s just nice being known, even if it is just for being ‘the kid who blew up a hamster’.

Or maybe it’s more than that. Maybe I want this guy in particular to want to know who I am more than I want anyone else to know. Maybe his attitude and other people’s opinions of him (mainly Mikey’s and Ray’s) have already earned him my respect so now it only makes sense that I want his.

No, not want; I need his respect. After all, if he learns to respect me then we have a higher chance of getting along and if we get along I can find out whatever the hell it is I want to know about him. And then I can help him too, something that I really want to do because there’s just something about Mikey’s visit that I can’t get out of my muddled little head. Namely the fact that he honestly did look like a little brother in distress, like I truly am his last hope.

And I told him I would try, I promised him with my eyes; I never break my promises. Not unless I absolutely have to or I was drunk when I made them.

My cell hasn’t even done one full vibration before I’m flipping it open and scanning the screen at a speed that would do Sonic the Hedgehog proud.

nice work, frank. vry cool. i blew up a fish tank once. and set fire to my teachers hair.

A snort of laughter storms out of my nose at the thought of any of the teachers at Belleville running around with flaming hair, at the sounds they would most likely be making at the feeling of being spit-roasted like the pigs they are.

Holy shit; we really are the same. Pyromaniac tendencies and all.

I swallow down some more laughter and remind myself that I’ve got a point to get to here, a point that I’d preferably like to reach at some point before midnight if at all possible.

You sound like a cool guy, Gerard. I do student-to-student counselling every Monday and Wednesday, it’d be great if you could come along. I wanna meet the guy who sets fire to his teachers.

As I press ‘send’ I can’t help but cringe at how almost-patronizing I sound. Only almost because I really meant what I put in that text; he honestly is the kind of guy that I want to meet because I think that, despite the rocky start, we might just get along rather well. Just like Toro predicted.

A few seconds of agonizing silence pass, the kind of silence that feels like it’s screaming at you impossibly loudly, and then the seconds run into minutes, the only thing making me realise the passing of time being that my CD is nearing the end of the final track.

I wonder if Gerard’s listening to music right now and if so, what band? He seems like the sort who probably listens to Slipknot or Marilyn Manson, something loud and as angst-filled as he apparently is. Or maybe he’s sat in silence, contemplating who to set alight next. Hell, for all I know he could be sat in a graveyard holding a séance right now, holding a bloody goat head like a little girl holds her dolly.

Well, that would explain why it’s taking him so goddamn long to fucking reply.

All of a sudden, my cell shakes into life. Speak of the Devil and he will appear. Or rather, think of some weirdo you’ve never even met and he will text you back.

mikey put u up 2 this???

Unsure of how else to respond, I answer with the truth.

Yeah. He’s really worried about you. But don’t tell him I said that.

I’m gnawing down so hard on my lower lip right now that it’s a miracle I haven’t torn through it like tissue. For all I know I could have just landed Mikey in it with his gothy big brother, or I could have just seriously upset someone who is supposedly already emotionally unstable. But it’s not like I had anything else I could say.

And if I have just thrown Mikey in at the deep end, then it’s what he deserves for going behind his big brother’s back and pissing me off in the process. Yeah.

Mere seconds later, a small vibration separates me from my thoughts.

ok. ill see u 4 mikey. wed @ 11. b ready, iero.

I don’t know whether to jump for joy or start preparing my last will and testament, so I settle for doing the one thing that can’t possibly cause me any more grief; I decide to send one final text to the boy who will either captivate me or kill me when we finally get to meet.

Right back at you, Way. Right back at you.

With the ‘send’ button pressed, I switch off my cell and smile to myself; I’m in control, at last.







A/N: Thank you very much for reading and I hope that this was alright. The ridiculous heat wave that us Brits are currently experiencing is frying my brain, so I apologize if this chapter sucks like a whore. But at least Frankie and Gee have made contact, albeit by method of text.

Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)