Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Powerless
WARNING: STRONGLY IMPLIED RAPE
“Follow me, Iero.”
I just arrived at the Washington State Penitentiary, and after a series of various security checks and paperwork signings, I am being taken away to my cell, where I will presumably be meeting my cell mate. The past day or so has been a blur; I remember the things that have happened, but I feel nothing towards or about them. Hell, I could have been dissected alive, and I wouldn’t give a fuck. You know why? Because I don’t know where Gerard is right now, and I can’t function when I’m not 100% sure he’s alive and safe. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to him.
“Coming.” I sighed.
The large, intimidating security officer grabbed me by the arm and led me to my cell. He said I would be put in a moderate-close security unit as long as I didn’t break any rules; this means private showers, a cell mate, supervised recreational activity and group meals. But I was warned very carefully that if I misbehaved, I would be moved up a security level; and with each increase in security level, more privileges are lost.
“Cell 148.” The officer stated, nudging me through the door. “This is Glen, your cell mate.”
“What the fuck is this?” The man I assumed to be Glen scoffed, jumping down from the top bunk. “You didn’t fucking tell me I have a cell mate!”
“This is Frank Iero. And for your own sake, I suggest you two try to get along.”
“Fat fucking chance.” Glen sneered as he gave me a disdainful look-over.
The officer shut and bolted the door behind him as he left.
“H-Hi.” I stuttered, trying hard to make a good impression and hopefully prevent any unnecessary conflict.
“Frank Iero, huh?” He laughed resentfully. “I’m Glen, as you already know. And just for the record, this cell was mine before it was yours, so tread carefully.”
He was average height and build; short brown hair and a thick moustache featuring a slight grey tinge, and oval glasses perched upon his nose. At first glance, he didn’t appear at all to be the prison type, and it made me wonder what he had done to land himself in here. He looked as if he could have been a husband or maybe even a father at some point in his life. But spend a couple of minutes with him, and that initial view starts to change quite quickly. His defensiveness was very prevalent; he walked around like he owned the fucking place, for pete’s sake. And he’d look straight at you – his cold brown eyes shooting straight through your body and out the other side like a bullet.
“Yeah I know, I’m just trying to keep the peace here.” I said, my back against the stone wall.
He observed me for a few minutes before speaking.
“Y’know, I think I like you. You don’t challenge me” He informed me casually, then stepping forward and shaking my hand. “I’m Glen. Glen Christien. What’re you in here for?”
“Long story.”
Cautiously, I sat down on the bottom bunk, watching for any enraged stares of trespass.
“Are you a rapist?” He asked, more gleefully than I found to be comfortable.
“Wha- hell no.” I grimaced.
“Serial killer? You have the eyes of one.”
What the fuck is wrong with this guy’s head?
“No-“
“Are you in the KKK?”
“What the fuck? I worked for the damn mafia okay?” I said finally.
“Oh man, were you part of the whole drag thing that went down not too long ago?” He asked, now calmed down and sitting beside me on the bunk.
“Actually, I was the one who blew the cover.” I laughed. “You knew about that?”
“Shit, it’s everywhere. They said it’s made a massive contribution to the elimination of mafia activity in the states. It’s kinda sad really, it’s been around for so long. How did you get involved with them?”
If I tell him, he’s not gonna believe me. But hey, I’m in prison for the rest of my life, I might as well take some chances.
And so, I went on to explain my story. Everything from how it was raining in Chicago and I was late for work, the vomit-inducing body on the ground and the man standing above it, to the El Camino and the border crossing and drag club. Leaving out Gerard’s significance to me, of course. I told him how at first I didn’t understand how anyone could do that for a living, but after having to choose between that and death, just as Gerard essentially had to, I understood. Because humans, by nature, are afraid of death.
After I had finished, I screwed up the courage and asked him what got him in here. He said he was a serial rapist and murdered his last victim. Her name was Bella Rue, and she was 11 years old.
“I got 87 years.” He said after he was done explaining. “They might as well have just given me life, I was 26 when I was put in this damn place. What’d you get?”
“Life.” I answered.
“Ah great, we’re gonna die in this fucking hole together.”
The warden opened the door and poked her head through.
“Dinner is ready. Glen, can you go sit down at your table, I’ll need to give Mr. Iero a rundown on meal times.”
Glen happily obliged, nearly skipping out of his cell and down the stairs to the meal area below.
“Mr. Iero-“
“Just call me Frank.” I suggested.
“Okay, Frank.” She sighed. “My name is Wendy, and I am one of the unit wardens. I just want to go through the mealtime rules with you quickly, okay?”
“Go ahead.”
Her voice was fast and automated sounding. She had probably done this lecture hundreds of times, and it showed. It was if she was reciting something from a textbook for a speed-reading contest; I caught a few lines concerning zero tolerance for violence and provocation, but for the most part, I just nodded my head and repeated the word “okay” every so often. And it seemed to satisfy her adequately; she led me out of my cell and sat me down beside Glen. I was served a plate of what I was pretty sure was macaroni and cheese, but hey, you never know.
“Isn’t it lovely out here?” Glen leaned towards me, whispering. “The air is so thick you could catch it on camera.”
I looked around the pseudo-dining room, observing the many people around me. The majority of the men were heavily tattoed, Glen being one of them, and a surprising amount were kind of short and stocky. Some snickered at the others as they passed tables, and others took to the edges of the large area, suspiciously eyeing anyone who looked in their direction.
“In exchange for a favour of my choice, I’ll tell you who to watch out for here.” Glen grinned slyly.
“Depends on your favour of choice…”
“Look, Frank. Either you do what I say in exchange for the goods of this place, or you’re dead within the first week you’re here. What do you say, huh? Gonna give me that favour?”
“Fine, fine.” I cringed, unsure of what I was getting myself into, but figuring that he did indeed have a valid point.
I’ll find some way to use this guy to my advantage.
“Good boy. Over there…” He smiled, pointing to the table diagonally across the room from us. “Stocky black guy, handlebar moustache, scar across his left eye. See him.”
“I’d say so, yeah.”
“Jerry Steele… he’s bad news; avoid him at all costs. Been in and out of solitary confinement for the past three years, and the guy’s a fucking psychopath. Literally, he’s a diagnosed psychopath.”
“What exactly do you mean by psychopath?” I asked nervously.
“He’s in here for life for treason, assault, and kidnapping. Used to be a big macho navy guy; really high up there. He was secretly working for Afghanistan and telling his real boss back there all the goods, just in case war breaks out. There’s always been tension there over all the oil shit, so I must admit, he’s smart. Too smart for the rest of us.”
“Okay, but-“
“Oh, and his butt buddy. Big black guy beside him, his name’s John Gilmore.”
“Butt buddy?” I interrupted, laughing.
“I secretly think they’re gay.” He whispered. “Anyway, he’ll do anything for Jerry; he’s the brawn, and Jerry’s the brain. You get the picture.”
“What’s he in for?”
I’m kind of afraid to ask.
“Kidnapping for ransom, rape, torture, and 2nd degree murder. He’s getting the chair in another 5 months.”
After dinner was done, Glen and I went back to our cell. As soon as the door was shut and locked behind us, he grabbed me and bent me over the cold sink in the corner.
“Wh-What are you doing?” I asked frantically.
“Remember that favour?” He sneered, fiddling with my jumpsuit zipper for a minute before pulling it off me violently. “It’s time.”
He positioned himself and slammed straight into me, and that was the last thing I remember before waking up on the floor the next morning aching and blood staining my thighs.
“Follow me, Iero.”
I just arrived at the Washington State Penitentiary, and after a series of various security checks and paperwork signings, I am being taken away to my cell, where I will presumably be meeting my cell mate. The past day or so has been a blur; I remember the things that have happened, but I feel nothing towards or about them. Hell, I could have been dissected alive, and I wouldn’t give a fuck. You know why? Because I don’t know where Gerard is right now, and I can’t function when I’m not 100% sure he’s alive and safe. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to him.
“Coming.” I sighed.
The large, intimidating security officer grabbed me by the arm and led me to my cell. He said I would be put in a moderate-close security unit as long as I didn’t break any rules; this means private showers, a cell mate, supervised recreational activity and group meals. But I was warned very carefully that if I misbehaved, I would be moved up a security level; and with each increase in security level, more privileges are lost.
“Cell 148.” The officer stated, nudging me through the door. “This is Glen, your cell mate.”
“What the fuck is this?” The man I assumed to be Glen scoffed, jumping down from the top bunk. “You didn’t fucking tell me I have a cell mate!”
“This is Frank Iero. And for your own sake, I suggest you two try to get along.”
“Fat fucking chance.” Glen sneered as he gave me a disdainful look-over.
The officer shut and bolted the door behind him as he left.
“H-Hi.” I stuttered, trying hard to make a good impression and hopefully prevent any unnecessary conflict.
“Frank Iero, huh?” He laughed resentfully. “I’m Glen, as you already know. And just for the record, this cell was mine before it was yours, so tread carefully.”
He was average height and build; short brown hair and a thick moustache featuring a slight grey tinge, and oval glasses perched upon his nose. At first glance, he didn’t appear at all to be the prison type, and it made me wonder what he had done to land himself in here. He looked as if he could have been a husband or maybe even a father at some point in his life. But spend a couple of minutes with him, and that initial view starts to change quite quickly. His defensiveness was very prevalent; he walked around like he owned the fucking place, for pete’s sake. And he’d look straight at you – his cold brown eyes shooting straight through your body and out the other side like a bullet.
“Yeah I know, I’m just trying to keep the peace here.” I said, my back against the stone wall.
He observed me for a few minutes before speaking.
“Y’know, I think I like you. You don’t challenge me” He informed me casually, then stepping forward and shaking my hand. “I’m Glen. Glen Christien. What’re you in here for?”
“Long story.”
Cautiously, I sat down on the bottom bunk, watching for any enraged stares of trespass.
“Are you a rapist?” He asked, more gleefully than I found to be comfortable.
“Wha- hell no.” I grimaced.
“Serial killer? You have the eyes of one.”
What the fuck is wrong with this guy’s head?
“No-“
“Are you in the KKK?”
“What the fuck? I worked for the damn mafia okay?” I said finally.
“Oh man, were you part of the whole drag thing that went down not too long ago?” He asked, now calmed down and sitting beside me on the bunk.
“Actually, I was the one who blew the cover.” I laughed. “You knew about that?”
“Shit, it’s everywhere. They said it’s made a massive contribution to the elimination of mafia activity in the states. It’s kinda sad really, it’s been around for so long. How did you get involved with them?”
If I tell him, he’s not gonna believe me. But hey, I’m in prison for the rest of my life, I might as well take some chances.
And so, I went on to explain my story. Everything from how it was raining in Chicago and I was late for work, the vomit-inducing body on the ground and the man standing above it, to the El Camino and the border crossing and drag club. Leaving out Gerard’s significance to me, of course. I told him how at first I didn’t understand how anyone could do that for a living, but after having to choose between that and death, just as Gerard essentially had to, I understood. Because humans, by nature, are afraid of death.
After I had finished, I screwed up the courage and asked him what got him in here. He said he was a serial rapist and murdered his last victim. Her name was Bella Rue, and she was 11 years old.
“I got 87 years.” He said after he was done explaining. “They might as well have just given me life, I was 26 when I was put in this damn place. What’d you get?”
“Life.” I answered.
“Ah great, we’re gonna die in this fucking hole together.”
The warden opened the door and poked her head through.
“Dinner is ready. Glen, can you go sit down at your table, I’ll need to give Mr. Iero a rundown on meal times.”
Glen happily obliged, nearly skipping out of his cell and down the stairs to the meal area below.
“Mr. Iero-“
“Just call me Frank.” I suggested.
“Okay, Frank.” She sighed. “My name is Wendy, and I am one of the unit wardens. I just want to go through the mealtime rules with you quickly, okay?”
“Go ahead.”
Her voice was fast and automated sounding. She had probably done this lecture hundreds of times, and it showed. It was if she was reciting something from a textbook for a speed-reading contest; I caught a few lines concerning zero tolerance for violence and provocation, but for the most part, I just nodded my head and repeated the word “okay” every so often. And it seemed to satisfy her adequately; she led me out of my cell and sat me down beside Glen. I was served a plate of what I was pretty sure was macaroni and cheese, but hey, you never know.
“Isn’t it lovely out here?” Glen leaned towards me, whispering. “The air is so thick you could catch it on camera.”
I looked around the pseudo-dining room, observing the many people around me. The majority of the men were heavily tattoed, Glen being one of them, and a surprising amount were kind of short and stocky. Some snickered at the others as they passed tables, and others took to the edges of the large area, suspiciously eyeing anyone who looked in their direction.
“In exchange for a favour of my choice, I’ll tell you who to watch out for here.” Glen grinned slyly.
“Depends on your favour of choice…”
“Look, Frank. Either you do what I say in exchange for the goods of this place, or you’re dead within the first week you’re here. What do you say, huh? Gonna give me that favour?”
“Fine, fine.” I cringed, unsure of what I was getting myself into, but figuring that he did indeed have a valid point.
I’ll find some way to use this guy to my advantage.
“Good boy. Over there…” He smiled, pointing to the table diagonally across the room from us. “Stocky black guy, handlebar moustache, scar across his left eye. See him.”
“I’d say so, yeah.”
“Jerry Steele… he’s bad news; avoid him at all costs. Been in and out of solitary confinement for the past three years, and the guy’s a fucking psychopath. Literally, he’s a diagnosed psychopath.”
“What exactly do you mean by psychopath?” I asked nervously.
“He’s in here for life for treason, assault, and kidnapping. Used to be a big macho navy guy; really high up there. He was secretly working for Afghanistan and telling his real boss back there all the goods, just in case war breaks out. There’s always been tension there over all the oil shit, so I must admit, he’s smart. Too smart for the rest of us.”
“Okay, but-“
“Oh, and his butt buddy. Big black guy beside him, his name’s John Gilmore.”
“Butt buddy?” I interrupted, laughing.
“I secretly think they’re gay.” He whispered. “Anyway, he’ll do anything for Jerry; he’s the brawn, and Jerry’s the brain. You get the picture.”
“What’s he in for?”
I’m kind of afraid to ask.
“Kidnapping for ransom, rape, torture, and 2nd degree murder. He’s getting the chair in another 5 months.”
After dinner was done, Glen and I went back to our cell. As soon as the door was shut and locked behind us, he grabbed me and bent me over the cold sink in the corner.
“Wh-What are you doing?” I asked frantically.
“Remember that favour?” He sneered, fiddling with my jumpsuit zipper for a minute before pulling it off me violently. “It’s time.”
He positioned himself and slammed straight into me, and that was the last thing I remember before waking up on the floor the next morning aching and blood staining my thighs.
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