FicWad

-Gerard-

The police finally left with Ollie, but some linger behind to question everyone. One talked to Frank while I tend to his bloody nose and black eye.
"Where were you when the rape happened?" A tall, dark man questions, tipping his head slightly.
"I don't know, sleeping?" Frank mutters.
"Yeah, Frankie you were asleep on the couch." I help out.
Frank winces at the pain of my blotting his nose.
"Did you notice anything strange about Oliver, Mr. Iero?"
"I don't know..." He groans. "Ugh.. my head..." Frank rubs his for head. Ollie really put a hurting on him. Frank being half a foot shorter and Ollie being a drummer with muscles the size of Franks head didn't work in Frank's favor.
"Are those bright lights really necessary?" I ask the officer. "They're hurting my head, I can't even imagine what they're doing to Frank." The officer crosses his arms. "Not to mention I have a sister upstairs who I want to check on. So can we wrap this up?"
He seems to soften up a bit. "We're almost done." He reassures us. Then he goes on, and 'almost' feels like 'forever' until everyone has left. Frank and I walk in silence to the house. Mickie has seemed to calm down enough. She's laying on the couch with her head on a pillow which is on Mikey's lap, and they're watching the TV where a bride passes out at her wedding, letting her dress flop up to her head.
"Hey you." I greet her as we enter the room.
"Hey." She replies in a quiet voice.
I tell Frank to lie down so he'll be knocked out before he can promise Mckayla that Ollie will be dead by morning. Then I take his boots off for him, and cover him in a blanket. I look for a pillow for his head. But when I can't find one I improvise with my lap, and scoot under his head and rub his temple so he'll wake up with less of a headach. He yawns and falls back asleep.
"Mickie..." I begin once the commercial for 'America's funniest home videos' comes on, and we make eye contact. "I can't even begin to apologize..."
She sniffles. "It's not your fault..."
"But it happened on my property, and I will never be able to show you how sorry I am..." I try again.
"Yeah Mickie... Is there anything we can do to make you feel better?" Mikey asks, looking at me.
She smiles the slightest bit. "You've asked me that three times. I told you. I just want to stay here a few more nights. I don't want you to drive me home tonight."
"You can stay as long as you want. You can even re-paint the guest room." I laugh. But I kind of mean it.
"Yeah, Mickie, I called your Aunt while you were in the shower. She's driving up now..."
"No!" She shoots up off of Mikey's lap. "I don't want to see her!" She pleads.
Mikey doesn't miss a beat - he digs his phone out of his pocket and tosses it to me. "Call her Aunt."
"But, Mckayla, why don't you want to -"
"Hey!" Mikey warns me, stirring Frank. "She said she doesn't want to."
Mikey and I have a stare down for a few seconds, and I decide I'm more scared of him than I am of Mickie's Aunt. I slowly move my body from under Frank, and keep my eyes peeled on Mikey, who lowers Mckayla's head down back to the pillow.
"Alright." I say. "I'll be right back." I stop on my way out and crouch down next to Mickie's head.
"I just don't know why you'd want to stay here..." I say in a low voice.
"Not here, necessarily. I want to stay with you guys..."
"Why don't I bring you back to my house?" Mikey offers. "Get you out of here."
Mickie agrees and they collect their things while I talked to Mckayla's Aunt, who isn't happy with us or her 'daughter'. She swear she's gonna sue My Chemical Romance for this. But non the less she'll respect her wishes "Only because she's with Michael." She says, judgment in her voice. "And only because she'll be at his house tonight." I roll my eyes at the phone.
When Mickie goes to give me a goodbye hug, she doesn't let go for a long time. She looks like she's second guessing her choice to leave, like she wants to be here - the more people the safer she is.
Mikey and Mckayla leave - and I go back into the living room. Suddenly, the house is so quiet and empty.
Except for little mini Frank over on the couch.
"Hey, you." I shake him a little. "Come up to bed." I guide him up the stairs and into my room, and lay him down on the bed. I take a shower and lay up watching stupid middle of the night TV, making sure that I'm awake in case Frank needs something, Mikey calls, Mickie calls, or something. And I was right. 3 am, Mikey calls me.
"Hey, did I wake you up?" He talks softly.
"Nope." I say. "Just watching..." I try and figure out WHAT I'm watching. "tv." I say. "What's wrong?
"Nothing..." He says. "Well, you know. Nothing emergent."
"Then why are you calling?" I ask, sensing something's on his mind. "Is it Mickie?"
"No, she's fine. She went right to sleep."
"Then what?"
"I had..." he hesitates. "A panic attack. Tonight."
I sigh. "Oh, Mikey..."
"No, don't do the pity party okay. It makes it..." he takes in a sharp breath. "Worse."
"Oh, Mik-!" I say, but then catch myself. I try and compose my voice. "What's it at right now?"
"It's a five... but it's getting better."
"A five isn't bad. Now remember, if you aren't breathing -"
"I know Gerard!" He snaps. "Gerard, this can't be happening! Not now! I'm with Mickie!"
"Bubba it's okay..." I pull out the old nicknames. "I can come over."
"No, not like that. Not right now. I mean, Mckayla's in our lives now. And she just got raped. She's hardly fifteen, and it's slightly our fault. And not to mention it's our fault she was raised with her Aunt and not us."
"I know..." I sigh. I want to assure him it's not our fault, that we were just kids, but I can't. I feel the same way. We knew and we didn't say anything. And now...
"She needs us to be strong." Mikey continues.
I glance at Frank. "Two down..." I mutter.
"One down." He corrects me. "Frank's out for now but I'm not. These panic attacks can not come back. Two years in therapy, six months in the hospital and four years of meds later, they will not come back." He raises his voice. I hope he doesn't wake Mickie.
"What triggered you?" I ask.
He sighs. "Seeing Mckayla have one. After the rape - right after. The red lines, the fear, the -" he groans. "The gagging... I know it's different, but..."
"They are different, but they're both bad. She was raped by a virtual stranger at fifteen. You were abused by your own uncle - physically, emotionally.. sexually? I mean, they're both hard things. It's normal that you'd have equal reactions. But just because she's having her panicy time doesn't mean you're gonna go back."
"I know. I've just... I've never seen one. And her eyes, they... that must've been what mine looked like, huh?"
"Yeah..." I say, because I don't know what else to say.
Little Mikey, little Freshman Mikey.
He had it bad. After the physical abuse turned into sexual, he told my mom, and my uncle has yet to be seen. He's off in Alaska somewhere, he could be dead for all I care. Mikey slept in my bed every night for a year. Not a kings bed - no, a twins bed. he was basically on top of me. He had to be pulled out of school and was home schooled for a few weeks. Then, he locked himself in a running car in our garage - closed door. He survived, three days later, he was released from the hospital with every other day therapy, and I myself switched to home school to watch him. But when I was taking a shower... Mikey's current bass guitar had a suicide note threaded in the strings and he was laying, blood everywhere on his white carpet. I dragged his lifeless body to the ER, and he hardly lived. Then he was admitted to in-patient for self injury and suicide risk. He never ended up going back to school, and piecing together his home school work and what he completed of freshman year, you could say he dropped out with about a 10th grade education. He hasn't had a panic attack since he was about eighteen, so about three years ago.
"You alright, Mikey?" I ask him, finally feeling the effect of the long day on my eye lids.
He reads my mind and yawns. "Yeah. We should get some rest... I don't know what either of us are waking up to tomorrow."
"Frank's gonna be alright. It's Mickie. I'll come over tomorrow morning and help out. When? 7am?"
"Eight." he says. "Unless I call earlier."
"Okay. What's it at now?"
"Three..."
"Alright. You'll be fine. If not, call me or Ray. Promise?"
"Gerard I'm not seventeen."
"No you're twenty one, you're still a kid."
"You're twenty five."
"Oh shut up."
We laugh, say goodnight and hang up. I flip off the tv and roll over, my back facing Frank. I'm asleep within minutes.

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