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Chapter 3: Things Are (Not) Okay

New Monday same bullshit work week. This time Phil is here, and I can't focus. I've felt dirty ever since I stopped crying over Ray, and the last thing I'm okay with is an intense eye fucking. He's going to be busy with some guy the owner commissioned to draw us a mascot, so it should stop soon. I'm really glad he put Phil in charge of that, actually. Though that's about the only person that could, it still works out fabulously.

I don't dare look into the hungry eyes, they just may rip me apart. Can he smell the three day old shame? I've rubbed myself raw with washcloths to get it off me, but I don't think it has worked. The famished orbs approached me, now coupled with a watering mouth. Do I look like a slut, or am I just noticing things I've never noticed about the zealous rubbernecking?

I immediately looked down at my register, and pretended as if I was doing something. It was quiet the transparent disguise, and I'm not sure why I expected him to buy into it. I pressed the busted keys as if I was frustrated with something. We had gotten a few customers earlier, but none in the last 45 minutes, so nothing should've been wrong with my register. Or I shouldn't have noticed it now.

"Something troubling you?" He asked with a sly grin, leaning against the register.

I kept fucking with it to try and make this shitty dissimulation look legitimate. "N-No." I squeaked, my voice cracking slightly. I cleared my throat, and shook my head as if I could shake the embarrassment right off. "No, nothing is troubling me." I said, feeling the hot blood rushing to my face, covering me in a light pink. I analyzed his face for a brief second, and saw his grin had grown.

"You don't sound too confident in your answer." He chuckled, and let his hand brush against mine gently.

I tried my best to shoot him an intimidating glare in response, and I honestly can't believe I thought that'd work, too. Squinting my eyes and pouting slightly, I realized that probably looked more playful than intimidating. I snorted quietly and looked back down at my register, pressing the buttons to give my "there is something wrong with this" story a little more believability. Hopefully he'll just fucking leave me be.

I saw him take in a breath as if he was about to say something, but his attention was drawn to the entrance as the Glancing at the entrance, I saw a figure of average height enter the building. As he stepped into the light, I saw he had black shoulder length hair. He was pale, and dressed like me. Black jeans, tattered shoes, and a baggy t-shirt. To say I instantly wanted to know this person was a bit of an understatement. Call me insane, but I think I like him already. Okay, I most definitely am insane but this is the best I've felt about being crazy.

"Gerard Way?" Phil asked, standing up straight.

"Uh, yeah. I guess you're Phillip." The figure named Gerard nodded and approached the register slowly. Gerard Way? Is his the guy that drew the mural? The bartender didn't really know his name, she only ventured a guess. Gerald Road honestly sounded stupid. I'm not going to be timid. I am going to ask him about his work. I am going to make, at the very least, friends with him.

I've never felt this before. I honestly see something in him, something I like. I'm generally repulsed by everyone. He is different. There is no maybe, I know he is different.

Gerard and Phil went back to his office, discussing simple stuff I assume. Phil wasn't anywhere near the artistic type. He's the type of guy that'll call an artist a useless fag and slam him into a set of lockers. I tried thinking about how I was to approach Gerard. Maybe I could ask about the other things he's done. Or maybe I could ask him about how to draw, though I wasn't really interested in how to draw, but how he drew. If this is the same Gerard that was responsible for the mural, I know for a fact he's talented.

About half an hour had passed before Gerard walked out of the back office. He smiled slightly and waved once in what I'm assuming is Phil's general direction. He started for the exit, and I was nervous about approaching him.

It’s now or never.

"G-Gerard!" I called, sprinting a little to catch up with him. "Can I ask you some questions?"

"Sure, I guess." He shrugged stopping and allowing me to catch up to him. As I neared him, I felt a blush rise up to dust my cheeks once again. He had stunning hazel eyes. They looked a little green in the right light, but that didn't stop them from piercing right through me. It's like he actually saw me there, standing in front of him.

He had a small, cute nose and thin pink lips. His eyebrows were thick, but they fit his oval-ish face perfectly. He was thin, and about half a ruler taller than me. I noticed I had just stood there analyzing his wonderful features without speaking a word, and he was now giving me a look. Not an irritated or angry look, just a slightly confused look.

"Oh yeah, sorry, I zoned out." I said, trying to collect my thoughts. His good looks sent my mind into a whirlwind of jumbled up letters and words and this is the first time someone's ever made me like this. "Did you do the painting at the club X2C?"

"Yeah, actually. I did." He nodded, and then became visibly skeptical. "How would you know about it? You couldn't be any older than 19."

"That's beside the point." I mumbled. "I really like your work. I'd also really like to get to know you." I clenched my fists slightly, impressed at my own balls to suggest something like that.

"You know what? Okay. That actually sounds good; you don't seem like a lot of the assholes I willingly hang out with." He paused for a moment. "Wait, do you go to clubs often?"

"No, my friend wanted me to go and I have absolutely no social life so I figured I'd go," I paused. "For science, of course."

He chuckled lightly and flashed a tiny smile. My heart instantly melted into a gooey paste. I couldn't help but smile in response, his grin was wonderful. What the fuck is wrong with me, swooning like a school girl? I've never been suddenly infatuated with anyone, ever. What the fuck is he different?

Because he is different.

"Call me whenever you get a day off..." He trailed off, about to hand me his card. He arm stopped half way between the gap from him to me. "What is your name?" The black haired man asked gingerly. The hint of sultriness in his voice is going to send me spiraling, I swear.

"F-Frank Iero." I sputtered once again, mentally cursing myself for being overcome by butterflies at the mere quality of the voice of this perfect stranger.

"Alright F-Frank Iero," He mocked in the most polite way someone can mock a person. He grinned again, and passed the small rectangular slip of paper my way. "Call me when you get the chance, I'm never busy."

I nodded and tried not to smile too much, I didn't want to seem creepy. He began to exit, and before he got out the door, he turned around and waved. I of course waved back with excitement. I wanted to jump around, sing, and dance like a maniac. I finally have a crush. You'd be surprised how good something feels after feeling empty for so long.

I realized something that was magical and kind of off-putting. I felt something. I really felt something for someone -for him, this time. I could just be an asshole who attaches to anyone who looks in their general direction, but I know that he is different.

I know it.

I snapped out of my glorious daze, and turned around to go back to my register. I saw a miffed looking Phil leaning against my work station. I walked over slowly, with a bit of pep in my step. I was probably going to call Gerard Friday, and I honestly couldn't wait until then.

As I neared the register, I was met by a new confidence. "What's the matter, Phil?" I said with smile and sat on the stool I've had here for an eternity.

"You whore yourself out to a stranger like that, but you won't do anything with me? After I continue to pay you though I know you sit around here and do the bare fucking minimum?" He growled, his brow furrowing.

"Excuse me?" I snapped in response, my attitude changing completely.

"You fucking know what, don't play dumb. You're fickle for a slut." He spat.

"I don't think you know what the fuck you're talking about, I have never had sex in my life." I said in defense of myself. I haven't ever had sex, and I've only sucked one dick, and that was just a couple days ago.

"Yeah, and I've never seen daylight. It doesn't pay to lie. Andrew told me you took some guy home, I'm sure you rode him like a slut.” He murmured. “I will have you. You will admit you want me, and I know it.”

“You know jack shit about me. I wouldn’t willingly touch you with a ten foot pole. You are a slimy, despicable rat.” I argued, becoming irate. I defiantly crossed my arms over my chest and huffed.

“Then I guess I’ll be touching you.” He snarled with a small bite in his voice, and slithered back into his office.

My heart immediately leapt into my throat, and my mouth felt as if I had just downed a pound of salt. My eyes widened, the threat finally fully sinking in. I was half tempted to whip around with a, ‘what the fuck was that supposed to mean’, but I knew all too well what it meant. I knew every detail of what the venomous words implied, and it had me nearly scared to death. My eyes burned as I fought back the urge to cry. My shock at such a warning wasn’t exactly unwarranted, especially when it came from someone who has been making unshared sexual advances at me since day one.

Beginning to breathe heavily, it felt as if two weights had been placed on either side of my chest.

---
I get out early on Thursdays because I usually go visit my mom, or drive to the shelter and was a couple dogs. This is the reason I work so long on Fridays, but that's always worth it. I figured before I got into anything serious with any guy (Gerard or not), I'd come out of the closet to my mom. I've been meaning to do it for a while, I've just never had the balls. I'm not sure how she'd react, in all honesty. I can't see her hating me for it, but I can definitely see her being angry with me.

I stepped out of my vehicle after pulling up to the extravagent home. Emerging from my vehicle to the handcarved deep mahogany door which was dappled from the sunlight that shown through one of the twin willows on either side of the door I took a deep breath. I glanced at the Dickens' style knocker, considering using it for a moment. I decided against it, and wrapped my hand around the polished silver knob, turning until I heard the click. Bracing myself, I walked into my old house -my mother's house, and was greeted by the raspy voice of my more or less estranged step-father.

"You're so polite to just barge in here. It's refreshing to not have to deal with those considerate civilized human beings that knock." He heard him mutter from some other room.

I peered around, searching for his worn face, and dark hair laced with greys. I couldn't see him in the lavish kitchen that was directly across the hall, or the classy living room. My step father -Ryan, was a lawyer, and my mother is a real estate agent. They own a very large, very elegant home in the cut off between the bullshit of my town, and the suburb area outside it.

Why the fuck do I care what he's doing? I'm here to see my mom, not get judged by this stupid asshole.

Okay, he wasn't a complete asshole; he was just more of a pretentious dick than he needed to be. I don't want to go to college, I want to be a musician, but he only way he'll see me as another human being is if I go to college. He doesn't understand that unless I'm going for the New York Philharmonic, I don't need any extensive knowledge of music. I can read it, write it, transpose it, and keep time, and I learned all of that for free.

I slipped my shoes off and set them outside, as not to dirty the impeccable floors. I shook my head and strolled into the dining room to see my lovely mother. She was wearing a dark purple suit jacket, matching slacks and two prim and polished heals. She had an extremely white undershirt with a small pearl necklace. She was sorting through papers with a determined look about her. I had stood there for a second with my shoulders in my pockets before she noticed me.

"Frank!" She exclaimed happily, moving as fast as she could from the other side of the table. I quickly moved to meet her so she wasn't running around in her heals. She hugged me tightly, squeezing me for an instant before letting go. "I'm glad you came, sweetheart."

"Of course ma." I nodded and smiled. "I had something I wanted to talk to you about something anyway."

"Oh? What is it?" She enquired, tilting her head slightly to the side.

It's a lot harder than you think to come out of the closet to your mom. She was never really a devout Christian, but she believed in god. I'm not sure how she'd take it, but I guess we'll find out.

"I am," I paused for a moment and tried to summon my guts. "I am gay."

"Yes, I know." She stated flatly.

"You know?" I demanded without being harsh. I just wanted to know how she knew. I've never talked to her about relationships at all, so me being asexual should be less of a surprise than me being gay. Or at least you'd think that.

"It's not that hard to figure out." She shrugged. "Besides, if I couldn't tell, I'd be a bad mom. Why'd you choose now to tell me? Got a boyfriend?"

"No, but I want one." I sighed, and let my shoulders relax.

"Who is the lucky guy?" She quizzed, placing a light hand on my shoulder.

"Have you heard of Gerard Way? The artist?" I asked, turning to face her.

"Of course, your father and I know everyone who's anyone." She said. "Though, he's a tad introverted..." So I've heard. "...so getting a date with him may present a challenge. At least you can work with his sexuality, he's gay too."

"I technically have a date already." I said, grinning.

"Oh? How do you have a date with him when he won't leave the house to attend an art auctions and unveilings with senators, and celebrities? He wouldn't even talk to your father when he requested a piece for his firm." She enquired, an eyebrow rising.

"He showed up at work to draw us a logo or like a mascot or something, and I asked him if I could get to know him. He gave me his number, and said I could call any time I was free." I shrugged, the grin still etched into my cheeks. The mysterious artist, which I’ve somehow never heard of, has a soft spot for only me, and I don't have to worry about whether or not he is gay. I was having a hard time not feeling pride in me being able to capture the attention of the illusive illustrating virtuoso.

"He is quite the strange man." She stated, setting her hands on her hips. "That's actually very interesting, though. When are you going to call him?"

"Tomorrow after work. I was going to see if he wanted to go to a restaurant and get dinner." I started. "Now that I know all that, I don't think he'll settle for some shitty food from some cheap diner."
"What's your budget?" She asked, moving from her spot beside me to her tidy desk.

"Like, 60 dollars max." I shrugged. 50 is pushing it for me, so this is really going out of my way. That's fine though, it'll be worth it.

My mom reached into her pocket book, and handed me two tickets. "This is for a fun little cooking class your father and I were going to attend. We've got a dinner to go to that night, so I'd like you to take them so they don't go to waste."

"Mom, you don't have t-" I began before I was cut off.

"I want to. You've been such a big help through all my treatment, it's the least you deserve. You're a very selfless person, and I appreciate that more than anything else in the world." She admitted, coming back over from her desk and wrapping me up in her arms once again.

"We'll of course, you're my mom and I love you very much." I said, hugging her back tightly.

Pulling out of the embrace, she ruffled my hair lightly and smiled. She has always loved hugs, and she says she loves the fact that I'm barely 5'4". "It's like I've still got my little Frankie that used to run around and brag about doing well on his spelling test." she’s said. I saw her smile fade briefly and there was something in her eyes that I wasn't used to seeing. I only saw that look when I had gotten hospitalized from E. Coli. She was scared. Absolutely terrified was an outrageous understatement.

"I love you, too." She said, her voice wavering as she stroked my hair.

"You okay?" I inquired, genuinely concerned.

"Well, the doctor said I'm not getting any worse." She stopped for a moment to think. I could tell all of this was really hard for her, and I couldn't stand to see her hurt. "He also said I'm not getting any better. I'm only stable, and he's not sure how long that will last."

I saw a tear form in the corner of her eye, and she quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand. I did my best to smile and soothe her.

"No need to worry, you'll be better soon." I reassured, and hugged my mother once again.

I at least hope everything would be fine. I don't want to lose my mom at 19. I don't want to lose my mom ever. Being face to face with death like she is must be horrible. She used to only see it as an obstacle, another silly detail, something that was in the way. Now it was truly weighing her down. Physically, they were at a stalemate. Mentally, the disease was getting her, it's in the lead. I have no idea how to console someone with cancer when they believe they're going to die. Everything will be fine, though.

Everything has to be fine.

A/N
So, early chapter. Cool though, right? Hope so. Little shorter than I had hoped, but I'm working with it.
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