FicWad

Chapter 3

Consciousness slowly flooded into Frank’s body. His eyes, slightly crusted over, began to flicker, letting any daylight that could be found in Gerard’s darkened room tickle his corneas.

He groaned as he began to sit up, raising his hand to his aching forehead, finally feeling the after-effects of alcohol. The consequences. There always had to be consequences.

He remembered the night before and immediately started making a mental list of all possible consequences:

Gerard won’t remember it. Or he will and our friendship will be ruined. Oh shit! My dad’s going to find out; he will never accept me for who I am. What if this was all a setup? What if someone had set up cameras and a whole fake scene to get back at me for something? What if it was Naomi? No. Crap! What if this is one of those idiotic reality shows where they play a prank on you – make a complete idiot out of you – and play it on live television?

Gerard’s soft grunt startled Frank, making him jump and accidentally knock over the jar of pickles which he had completely forgotten about. He saw Gerard, on the other side of the room, slowly picking himself up, running his long, pale fingers through his jet black hair.

“C- Coffee…” The whisper was barely audible, but made Frank smile at the thought of how all of his started because of coffee.

“Hey, you,” Frank grinned, his eyes still sunken and half closed, but his smile meaningful and warm.

“Frank,” was Gerard’s response.

“How was your night?” Frank attempted to engage in a proper conversation.

“Splendid.” Gerard muttered his words of sarcasm groggily as he turned his head to find a large, emptied potato chip bag filled with vomit and vodka.

Smiling through the pulsing pain in his head, Frank tried again, “I had an amazing time. You, know, just before I either fell asleep or passed out. I don’t even know what happened…”

Gerard froze for a moment, then let out a long groan of regret and embarrassment, dropping back onto the floor with his hands, his perfect hands, covering his face.

“No! No, no, no, no, no!” He repeated the word until it didn’t sound real anymore. He then grabbed hold of his nightstand in an attempt to pull himself up, and once he was finally sitting upright, he turned to face Frank, slowly rubbing his face with one hand.

“So tell me, where do we go from here?” Frank’s expression became more serious as he carefully asked a sleepy Gerard the question. Although he quickly realized it was probably a stupid thing to say and wished that he could take it back.

“Frank, I don’t know how to say this…” Gerard continued to rub his face, gazing up at Frank from behind raven black hair.

Frank had no idea whether he should be disappointed, or jumping for joy. It was either one or the other, and he hoped to God that it would be the second option. But for that moment, his heart sank, because with his luck, everything would take a bad turn.

“I- Is… Is everything alright?” He stammered, the innocence and a hint of disappointment in so clear in his quiet voice.

“Umm…” Gerard began, “Frankie, last night…”

The tone of his voice made Frank almost certain that he would regret even bringing it up. He gulped, awaiting, and dreading, the end of the sentence.

“We were really, drunk. It shouldn’t have happened.” Gerard finally sighed.

Frank felt a lump rise in his throat. He felt his eyes swell from the tears that were about to wash away any pride he had left. He wanted Gerard to suddenly burst out laughing, announce that he was only kidding. He wanted Gerard.

“Frank, are you- are you okay?” Gerard’s concerned voice made it so much harder for Franks to fight the tears. He hadn’t just realized that he liked Gerard last night. He knew it for at least three months now, he just didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to admit it to himself. And now that he had, and he’d finally got everything he wanted, it was gone. Just like that.

“So… last night was nothing to you…?” Frank choked, trying to sound casual, but wasn’t even surprised at how hurt he sounded.

“Frank, all we did was kiss. We were both drunk out of our minds and we kissed. That’s it. End of story.”

Frank shook his messy fringe in front of his rapidly reddening face as Gerard’s eyes, now full of sympathy and guilt, burned into him. He thought he had him. He did have him. Just not for long enough. Ten minutes, maybe, and he barely remembered any of it.

“Right…” His voice was now nothing but a faint whisper. Simply a breath that escaped his lips only to melt into the cool air.

“I-” Gerard sighed again, looking down at the stained, red carpet, “I’m sorry if you thought it was anything more than that. I really thought it was just friends experimenting, messing about.”

Frank was devastated to the point where for a minute or two, all emotions left him, leaving his expression blank and his eyes vacant as he picked at the carpet, staring down at it through the shield of hair.

“I see.” His voice, once again, a hollow whisper. He just felt like he needed to ask one more question. “But, what you told me… are you gay?”

There was a pause where Gerard stared vacantly into space. He then looked up at Frank, who was now curled up against the wall.

“No.” Another whisper, disappearing into thin air. He sounded as if he was on the edge of tears. “I’m sorry, Frank.”

Without a word, Franks picked himself up, only just realizing that he was still somewhat intoxicated from the night before, the alcohol swirling his thoughts like an evil spell.

After picking up his backpack and Pansy, he headed for the door, but stopped right in front of it. He turned around, refusing to meet Gerard’s deep, sad eyes.

“I’m sorry for fucking things up…” He whispered, then left the room, closing the door as slowly as he could, careful not to wake Gerard’s mother who was still unaware of his presence.

Gerard quickly broke eye contact with one of the drawings in the open sketchbook lying on the floor next to him, and gazed up at his best friend. He opened his mouth to protest but it was too late. The door was shut behind him, and the suffocating silence that surrounded him seemed to slowly eat him alive.

His eyes dropped back down to the drawing. That face staring back at him. Those perfect, golden eyes, the flawless pale skin and unique cheekbones, the sparkling white teeth, showing through the grin on the boy’s face.

“Trust me, if only I could tell you how I really feel, you wouldn’t have had to walk out of that door. You would have never had to walk away. If I could tell you how long I’ve loved you… but I can’t do that to-, I just can’t do that… And I’ve never been more sorry about anything in my life…”

A perfect portrait of Frank stared back at him as he dropped his head into his hands and wept silently. He didn’t know how long he sat there, crying, and it didn’t really matter, did it?

*

Frank’s footsteps quickened, his breaths short and fast, swirls of steam escaping his mouth and melting gracefully into the icy air that seemed to slice at his skin like a broken mirror, reflecting just how he felt on the inside. Cold, bitter, like everybody wanted his gone already. February was his least favorite month, what with everybody obsessing over Valentine’s day, and the drastic temperature changes that drove everyone insane.

He stopped behind the old garage. This used to be a parking lot, however now it was just a collection of rusted-over railings and litter. Pacing back and forth underneath the corrugated-tin roof, rusty, just like everything else, he felt all his emotions from before flooding back into him.

“FUCK!” He shrieked at the top of his lungs, his anger slowly leaving him. “What the FUCK just happened?” He screamed until he couldn’t even hear his own voice anymore, kicking over an overflowing trash can.

He began pacing back and forth once again, exhaling his feelings into the winter air. Tears began to pour from his squinting eyes, feeling like lava on his face, surrounded by the bitter cold.

At this moment he didn’t care as much about the fact that he couldn’t be with Gerard, as he did about the fact that he had him, but their kiss meant less than nothing to him.

If he’s told Gerard that he liked him and was turned down straight away, sure, he’d be upset, but he wouldn’t be feeling nearly as bad as he was now. How could he face his best friend – his only friend – after all that?

Everyone he loved was slowly fading away, becoming out of reach to him. They always forgot him, but he rarely forgot them. And how could he forget Gerard? The one person in the entire world who now knows every single one of his secrets, the one who helped him through so much shit over the years, the one who always stood up for him… He couldn’t.

As his head began to spin, Frank decided to take a seat on a cold, rusty railing and gather his thoughts, burying his pale, puffy face in his skinny, skeleton-gloved hands. However, it wasn’t long at all before he was interrupted.

“Frank!” The deafeningly loud, booming voice startled Frank to the point where he completely lost his balance, his body leaning back dangerously as he sat on top of the railing, his feet flying about as he frantically searched for something, anything, to grab on to.

Giving up, he squeezed his eyes tight shut and gave in to gravity, bracing himself for impact against the solid, wet concrete behind him.

For a brief moment he hung in the air, halfway down, and a fraction of a second later, a mysterious force tugging on the back of his black hoodie and pulling him back up into a sitting position.

Shit! He thought, as he slipped off railing to his feet and slowly turned around. He knew who it was, and he knew exactly what was coming.

“Where the hell have you been? What do you think this is, a game of fucking hide-and-seek?” His father spat in his face. If he were a cartoon character, steam would be blasting out of his ears right now.

Anger flooded back into Frank as he lowered his head and observed his raging father from behind his beloved hair. The hair that hid so many of his secrets and feelings, all of which could be conveyed so easily through his forever-mysterious eyes.

“Don’t just fucking stand here, looking like some kind of-” His father paused, suddenly sniffing the air around his son like a dog. “Have you been drinking?” His tone now threatening and cold, more quiet than Frank had ever heard. Those piercing eyes burning right through Frank’s, playing mind tricks to get a confession out of him.

For a few seconds Frank said nothing, he simply glared right back, as if it were some kind of staring contest.

His father tried again, his tone almost exactly the same, just more agitated this time around. “I said-”

“I heard what you said!!”

Silence fell, Frank’s heavy breathing the only sound for what seemed like miles, and barely audible. Neither of them had any idea what just happened, Frank had never talked back to either of his parents before. But as his father continued to stare, a mixture of shock, confusion and anger all over his face, Frank’s own anger was slowly becoming contaminated with fear. And if not for his fringe, it would have been far too obvious in his eyes.

Recovering from the slight shock he’d just experienced, his father’s confused expression turned into something Frank had never seen before in his life. It was as if his father was draining Frank’s anger, keeping it for himself.

He unexpectedly grabbed hold of the back of Frank’s hoodie, along with a chunk of hair, and started pulling him back towards the house.

Frank struggled to no avail. He was small and weak, a five-foot-two vegetarian, struggling against a tall, muscular grown man. Every time he tried to escape, the grip on his hair and hoodie tightened.

Eventually he gave up, walking obediently beside his father as several faces peeked out from behind their curtains, curiosity getting the better of them. They’d obviously heard the yelling, the echo in the suburban Belleville streets was unbelievable.

Frank felt any pride he had left drain from him, as some of the grown-ups and elderlies who had always praised him for being a nice kid witnessed the scene he’d just made, some of them shaking their heads slightly, disappointment crystal clear in their hollow eyes.

He was so consumed by shame that he barely noticed when they got home. It was only after his father flung open the front door and practically threw Frank onto one of the two green arm chairs they owned.

As soon as the door was shut and they were out of the neighbors’ earshot, Frank raged once again. “That counts as child abuse, you know? I could-”

“Shut up!” His father was pacing back and forth across the lounge, never completely taking his eyes off Frank.

At that point his mother stormed in, clearly alarmed. “Frank! We have been worried sick!” She didn’t sound any happier to see him than his father did, but just the sound of her naturally soft, feminine voice was enough to calm him down.

Frank stared in response, but after an awkward and tense pause, he finally muttered, “Didn’t think you’d miss someone so unacceptable that much…”

His mother’s face softened at his words. His father’s face, however, had turned to stone and stayed that way.

“Frank… You know that’s not-” She began to speak, this time with concern ringing in her voice, but Frank cut her off.

“Then why did you say it?” The question was directed mostly at his father. “And why did you have to discuss it so much?”

“Where on Earth did you hear-?”

“Oh, save it!” Frank growled, rolling his eyes.

Ignoring his wife’s attempt to hide it, he explained, “We discussed it because it’s something that had to be discussed!”

“Are we really going to go through all this again?” Frank squinted at his father and pulled a face.

“Fine! Let’s skip that, shall we? How about talking about why you reek of alcohol?”

“Because, dad! I’m a teenager! I went and got drunk out of my mind, and you know what? I fucking loved every minute of it!” Frank explained, emphasizing almost every other word.

“Right, okay. Maybe you should be completely isolated from the world then. Let’s see, no TV, money, phone, music and grounded for three months. How’s that sound to you?” His father never seemed to stop screaming.

Frank was ready to say, ‘I don’t care’ or, ‘is that it’, until he realized that his father had said, “No music”. He immediately sprung to his feet.

“Music? You’re going to take away my music?”

“You can have whatever music you can play on that ‘guitar’ of yours! That’s it!”

As his father stormed out of the lounge, Frank wondered why he said the word ‘guitar’ in a tone that clearly suggested he didn’t think of it as a real guitar. His father rarely made sense to him.

Whatever, he thought, and was about to go up to his room when his mother stopped him by softly placing a hand on his shoulder.

Frank turned around to see what she wanted.

“Frankie, what’s going on? You’ve never ran away from home, you’ve never talked back to me and your father like that, and you have certainly never just gone out and gotten drunk like that…” The genuine concern in her eyes made Frank want to cry, fall into his mother’s arms, tell her all about everything that happened and how devastated he was. But he simply couldn’t.

“What’s your point, mom?” He sighed instead.

His mother tried to really look into her son’s eyes, try and read them the way she used to be able to, but Frank just shook his messy fringe in front of his face.

She sighed as well, then finally asked, “Are you okay, Frankie?”

He looked at her, his expression completely blank and emotionless. “No.” He replied, his voice, much like his face, conveyed very little emotions. “No, mom, I’m not okay.”

He noticed that she was genuinely upset, which secretly killed him inside. But he had to deal with it. She had to deal with it. Before she could utter another word, he broke the eye contact, shrugged her hand off of his shoulder, and turned away, dragging Pansy the guitar and his heavy backpack up the stairs to his room. His mother’s eyes never left him, though, following his footsteps until he disappeared around the corner.

As he made his way sleepily back to his room, dragging his feet one behind the other, he began to regret what he had told his mother. What woman wants to hear that her own son is not okay? What woman wants to spend days and nights worrying about what could possibly be wrong? What teenager doesn’t try and reassure their parents that everything is fine? What kind of son was he? He should have told her it was just a teenage phase, or that he simply had a bad weekend, that it would never happen again?

‘You are a pathetic excuse for a human being, Frank!’ There was he voice again. It had gone away while he was with Gerard. Now it was back. He tried to put himself back in that moment, turn back time somehow… His stomach twisted into knots as he remembered just how he felt. Completely careless, as if everything would always be alright from then on. And the general thrill of it all…

“Get out of my fucking head!” Frank screamed after shutting the door to his room. He knew that his parents would hear him and probably thing there were more things wrong with him than they originally suspected. He didn’t really care at this moment though.

‘If only it was that simple! As soon as I’m gone, you will be too, Frank Iero. Be careful what you wish for!’ It laughed, driving him insane and sending icy chills down his spine.

He needed the voice to leave him alone. And he needed to make things less awkward with Gerard. He desperately needed Gerard. If only there was anything he could do…