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Disclaimer: I didn't write this. All work belongs to someonesxsweetheart. I found this fanfic one day on www.theimmortalityproject.com . the direct link to it is: http://www.theimmortalityproject.com/fanfiction/fanfic/crashinto.html . Thank You
Crash Into My Fucking Arms
By someonesxsweetheart
Disclaimer:
(My writing, my sick situations not my characters.
Love these boys, but I don't own them... They own me.^^
Thoughts on Frankie and Gee? Dead sexy. I don't really
believe that they have, or ever had, a romantic relationship
with each other, but that is a personal opinion.
Dedicated to NB, I heart you.
And also to the members of mychem although
personally, if I were in a fanfic, it would scare me shitless.
Also thanks to YOU for reading.^^ )
MUCH-APPRECIATED COMMENTS TO: xxnewjerseyboys@hotmail.com
"Crash into my fucking arms/ I want you/You don't agree -
But you don't refuse/ I know you/ Oh ..."
"But tonight you presume too much " -'Jack The Ripper' lyrics
***
"Gerard? Is this..?" The voice coming in over my cellphone was crackly and broken up, but I could hear a pleading note in the words. "Gerard, I have to ask- you've gotta help me."
I frowned. "Who... who is this?"
Someone swallowed anxiously on the other end, sounding panicked. "It's... Frank."
"What? Frank..? From... school? Why are you... why do you need my help?" I only knew Frank Iero as a quiet, timid kid from high school, with what seemed to be a lot of talent, but a very bad attendance record. He had hardly ever been in class, and his skipping school became a bit of a legend. Most people thought he was on drugs. He had also developed quite a reputation as a fag, for being sort of shy, and maybe because his big dark eyes gave him a classic deer-in-headlights appearance. Now, he was on my cellphone... wanting my help?
"Um... y-your brother gave me this number. When we did a group project in Lit... a long time ago." He sounded badly shaken, and his breathing was erratic, though what he was saying seemed to be ordinary. I remembered the project, now that he mentioned it.
"Okay... okay. Um... is something... wrong?"
"I'm l-lost. " His stutter almost made me feel bad for him. He sounded terrified. "I'm downtown; I'm behind a... bar, I guess. I know it's a big favor t-to ask. I know... b-but if you could... m-maybe give me a ride?"
I couldn't really say no, after all, I was already in my car and not too far from downtown. I thought he was making a big deal out of being lost, but maybe he was just not a people person, or it bothered him to ask a favor?
"Alright, um, sure." I dug a cigarette out of my pocket and put it between my lips while I fumbled for my lighter. A minute later, when I could talk again, I had to ask for directions. "So... where exactly are you?"
''B-behind this b-bar..." All he could tell me was the name of the place, but I nonetheless knew exactly where he meant. I also knew that it wasn't the kind of place that I would have pictured the anxious, quiet Frank Iero. What the fuck was he doing there? "Alright, I'll be there in five, okay?"
"Thank you s-so, so much..." Frank said quietly, still sounding scared of something.
"Yeah, sure, no problem."
When I got to the bar and drove around the back, I realized that the alleyway was too small to fit my car into safely. Frowning, I got out of the car, not bothering to take the keys out of the ignition. "Uh... Hello? Frank?"
"Yeah?" a weak voice answered. I thought it had been the connection, but Frank didn't sound very good off the phone either.
I stepped into the alley and stopped dead, suddenly realizing the situation that I had stumbled into. Frank wasn't just lost, he was crumpled in a heap on the ground near a pile of broken beer bottles, hands wrapped around his knees. His face was tear-streaked and eyes bloodshot from crying. Bruises covered one side of his jaw and down his neck. I didn't know what to say. He was a mess. "I..."
"I'm f-fine..." he whimpered, trying hard to stand.
I offered him a hand, surprised at how pitifully clingy his grip was, and flicked my cigarette to the concrete where the burning amber end flickered once and died. "Are you... okay?" He certainly didn't look it, and didn't really answer, just looking down anxiously.
I wanted to ask him who had done this to him, who had fucked him up so badly, and why. I wanted to tell him things were fine, he didn't have to cry, it would stop hurting in a second. But I really couldn't. All he had asked for was a ride. "Get in the car..?" I realized halfway through that my suggestion sounded much more like an order, and tried to make it less intimidating by adding a questioning tone.
Frank nodded and got into the passenger seat with only a whimper as he hauled his bruised body into the car.
Some drunken jerks must have caught him at the bar, I had decided, and frowned. Bastards.
I could see him put his hand sharply up to his face out of the corner of my eye, and looked at him. There was a panicked look on his face. I realized he had a bloody nose.
I reached down beside my seat for a battered box of Kleenex. "Here."
"Thank you..." he mumbled quietly, pressing a wad of tissues to his face.
"You should call the cops," I said after a while. "You can't just let the drunk bastards get away with it... You should have told the owner of the bar." I was only offering suggestions because he looked so pitiful and scared.
He wouldn't look at me. ''S'n-not what you think."
"What?"
''It wasn't like t-that.''
"Well, what was it then?" I asked, miffed.
''I c-can't say that."
"Well, goddamnit, why the fuck did you call me, then? Don't you have any friends who wouldn't ask fucking questions?" I wasn't sure why I even cared if he wouldn't talk to me.
"Stop the car!" he said suddenly, hysteria in his soft voice.
I thought it was because of what I'd said. "What the hell?! This is a fucking deserted highway!"
"Stop the car, I'm gonna f-fucking throw up..."
He sounded so scared that I veered onto the dirty gravel shoulder and slammed on the brakes. Almost before the car had stopped, he was opening the door, staggering out onto the roadside with both arms wrapped around his stomach. Before I even got out of the car, he was throwing up.
"Frank... Are-"
"It was m-my d-dad..." he sobbed breathlessly, tears pouring down his face and smearing eyeliner down his cheeks.
I didn't understand for a moment, but the awful realization sunk in quickly. Frank's father had done this to him, and by the tired whine in his voice, it didn't sound like the first time either.
I stepped closer to his shaking figure, doubled over with his hands on his knees. "Oh, Frank... God, I'm so sorry."
"Hate t-throwing up..." he moaned, then vomited again.
I put a hand tentatively on his thin shoulder. "Hey, shh..."
But he couldn't stop throwing up. At one point, his broken, skinny frame wasn't enough to support him, and he dropped to hands and knees. I couldn't do anything but watch helplessly. Frank had gasped out the supplication not to call 911, no matter what. I wasn't close enough to say anything to try and help. It made me uncomfortable.
Finally, he looked up at me, face streaked with dirt, tears, and blood. His grey-green eyes were tortured. Quietly, he held out a hand to be helped up. His palm was cut and bleeding from the gravel and broken glass of the highway side, so I took him carefully by the wrist to lift him. At first, it surprised me how light he was, but having seen how much he threw up, it made sense.
I went quickly to the trunk of the Nisan and broke the seal on the emergency six-pack of bottled water that Mikey had forced me to pack after I had bought the car. I pried a bottle out of the wrapping, then gave it to Frank.
He whispered a thank you, then unscrewed the cap and rinsed out his mouth.
I let him alone as he spat onto the side of the road, and when he was finished, he stepped towards me. "Thanks."
"Sure." I took the empty bottle and threw it into the trunk, carelessly slamming it shut.
He walked shakily back to the car and was about to get inside when he instead turned and mumbled politely, "M-maybe I shouldn't sit on the c-carseat?" It was true that his jeans were damp and somewhat dirty from his being curled on the side of the road, but I couldn't care less about my carseats, and his worrying about my old Nisan made me want to laugh.
"I don't give a shit about the seats," I told him. "This car is a piece of shit.''
He attempted a weak smile. "K-kay." His smile was... really something.
"Frank..." I said carefully.
"Y-yeah?"
"Um... I'm really sorry about your dad..."
"S'okay,'' he replied, very quietly. "S'my fault."
"What?!"
"S'my f-fault he's like that," Frank tried to explain. He paused. "...I'm a f-fag."
I stared at him. "Is that why he-"
Frank nodded. "M-mostly."
"Shit... Frank... you can't really believe that it's your fault that he treats you like that!" He frowned, looking confused. "It is."
"Shit, no! I mean..." I didn't really want to bring up my personal orientation, but I felt that I had to convince him that his father was the one with the problems. "...look. I'm... I'm gay too, but my parents... My dad'd never do that to me! We don't get along, really, but he would never..."
Frank sniffled miserably, a new look in his eyes. "I d-dunno... Hey, Gerard?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm really sorry for calling you... I just didn't know who else I could..."
"Hell, you don't have to apologize to me... I don't mind helping you," I told him. Part of me wanted to say more; to tell him he should've called me earlier so that I could've told his dad to fuck off... I didn't open my mouth.
He sighed, the whimper in it making it sound more like a pitiful moan, and let his head fall against the seatback. He looked exhausted and broken, mascara smeared around his eyes; blood and bruises decorating his cheekbones. "They used to talk about me in highschool when I wasn't there, didn't they?"
The question was so unexpected that I had to blink with surprise before I could even process an answer. "Um... yeah, a bit; I guess so..."
"What did they say?"
What did they say? Ha. "The faggot's skipping class again." "Probably buying his meth." "Meth? Looks more like a cocaine whore to me."
I wasn't going to tell him that. "Nothing much," I lied. "Just wondering where you were and stuff."
I could tell he didn't believe me even before he opened his mouth to spit "While I was apparently buying drugs, I was really trying to stop throwing up blood."
He looked so alone and sounded so hurt that I had the impulsive urge to hug him. I didn't. Instead, I said "Hell, Frank, shit, you don't deserve that asshole for a father..."
"Gerard, what's wrong with me?! Why the hell does everyone hate me so much?! Am I really so worthless that-"
"You're not-" I just reached for him, and before I could even take in a breath, he was curled in my arms, clinging to me.
"S-shit shit s-shit..."
"It's okay, Frank..." I told him awkwardly, trying to sound reassuring...
"I hate him s-so much..."
"I know..." His tears were starting to soak through my t-shirt. "Hey, shhh..."
"Thank you..." he whispered. I could feel his lips move against my neck, and a chill ran through me. "Thank you f-for not hating m-me..."
"I'd never hate you, Frank..."
I think I moved first. I don't know what it was; the scent of his pale skin pressed close to mine, the feel of his warm body trembling against me, the sound of his shaky breathing... Whatever it was, there I was, moving first... Whatever started it, a hand brushing a belt buckle, fingers sliding down a spine, two sets of lips colliding like a bullet through my head... It was my fault. After all, I'd moved first.
And after that, it was all a blur. "Shit, shit shit fuck..." Frankie moaning quietly. My own breathing racing, his ragged breaths in my ear... Wandering hands; but it was a lot more than that. A sigh, another whispered whimper, "Shit, hell, oh god..." Ribs, hips, shoulderblades... The musky smell of eyeliner, mascara and sweat... I could smell something else; I couldn't place it until I saw the small packet of powder which had fallen from his jeans pocket resting on the seat. Cocaine whore. Shit. I just pulled him closer to me. Cocaine whore... My heartbeat was out of control. "Hell, Gerard-" Sharp intakes of breath; skin on bare skin... I slid two cool fingers slowly down his lower back and tailbone, making him squirm. A stifled gasp; he was tensing up... "Baby, this is gonna-" "Ow, Gerard, ow oh..." A whimper; my murmured promises. I wanted him to know it was all okay. "Frankie..." His shaky deep breathing. "Oh-" Murmured fragments of sentences... "Alright, it's alright..." Loud gasps for air. Skin. There were tears in his eyes, he was biting his lower lip; I was trying hard to be gentle... Shit, shit... Frankie...
Stickshift, carseat upholstery... Hell, what the fuck were we- Shit. Dammit... A moan. "God, I-" Cocaine whore. Did he smell the alcohol on me? I wasn't drunk now; hoped he didn't think- Oh. Oh god. That felt- Shit. There was a spattering sound on the tinted glass of the windows, it was dim and sprinkling rain outside... Oh, hell, Frankie... Smeared mascara, drug habit, sexy, hell, shit shit- Sonofabitch, sonofabitch... Dammit, don't- Shit, he was shaking, don't scare him- Hell, too late? "Frankie, Frankie..." Shit. "God, your dad's a-"
''I k-know, oh, Gerard, dammit-"
Shitfuck. Hell. Wrists, neck, lips, shit shit... God, he was- Oh wow. Shit, oh- God.
***
I didn't want to let him go. Releasing him meant facing reality; facing the fact that despite how it felt, I barely knew him, and he'd been hurting- had I made things worse? His father; "I'm a fag;" what if the bastard found out?! God, Frankie would get killed, oh shit shit hell no...
I had to let go of him, slowly turning the car ignition on...
"Oh christ." I couldn't look at him. It took several swallows before I could say, "Are... are you okay?"
"Gerard... Hell. Was that- Oh shit.''
I made myself glance sideways at him. Smudged eyeliner trailed down his pale cheeks, mascara framing scared wide eyes. He looked... hell, beautiful, stunning, gorgeous...
"Was that b-bad?" he stammered nervously. "M-my fault-"
"No!" Worrying that I'd been a little too quick to correct him, I slowed down awkwardly. "I mean... it was... y'know..." A breath, I sighed uncomfortably. "B-but not, not... a bad thing; not your f-fault, not like that... I mean... Shit."
I just reached out for him again, wrapping my arms tightly around his shoulders as our lips met. Gently now, not so panicked or desperate... Well, he still looked desperate, scared and scarred from all that abuse... but not so heartbreakingly alone now. Something had filled up the hole I'd seen before in his haunted eyes. ...Me?
"Gerard, Gerard-" whimpered into my neck...
"Frankie, oh Frank... you okay?"
"I think s-so... t-thank you... you're f-fucking amazing..."
"Shit, Frankie, I'm not really-"
He put a trembling finger slowly to my lips. "D-don't. You m-made me feel... lo-"
If he said loved... My heart thudded in my throat. I wasn't sure I could...
"-like somebody g-gave a shit."
Had he sensed my fear? God, he was something else...
"N-nobody's ever made me f-feel like they c-cared. Not in a long, long t-time..."
"God, I... I do, Frankie... I care..." I started to pull gently away, but his fingers tightened on my arm.
"C-can we just stay here... one more m-minute, Gerard... please..? I just... I just wanna p-pretend that it's all okay... that I d-don't have to go back home...'' His eyes were nervous, jumpy, scared. I knew it made him anxious to ask. He seemed so frightened of doing the wrong thing.
"Shh, Frankie; mmkay, it's okay..." I leaned back into the embrace as he closed his eyes nervously, breathing starting to even out.
We just stayed there for a while, Frankie's face pressed into my chest, eyes tightly closed as he shut out the rest of the world. I watched him gently, emotions I couldn't really place surging through my veins. Frank Iero... wow.
After a long time, Frank curled back away, still not taking his gaze off me as though he was afraid I would disappear when he blinked. "T-take me..." He couldn't even say the word home. "B-back, please?"
"Frankie... Maybe you don't have to go back right yet..?" His eyes held a flicker of hope for a moment; it was brief, but I knew I'd seen it. Then "I don't have anywhere else to g-go, Gerard."
"You could... you could come to my place... You know Mikey a bit already... It's not too far away... so..." I swallowed.
He glanced down. "I want to, Gerard, really I do..." he said quietly to his lap. I had to strain to hear him. "B-but I always go home... after. After he... y'know. I always do..."
"Maybe it's time to change things... to feel better. Frankie?"
He stared hard at me, then tore his eyes away to nod. "Okay."
I reached down next to the seat, straightening and silently handing Frank the plastic packet of white powder he had dropped. His pale face flushed. His hand was shaking badly as he took the baggie from me, and he was refusing to meet my eyes with his. I thought I heard him murmur "S-shit" uncomfortably under his breath.
"Frankie-"
"Gerard-"
We spoke at the exact same moment, then looked at each other.
''Go ahead," he murmured quietly.
"No, you Frankie... you go ahead."
He took a deep breath. "M-maybe the rumours were true. A little... Look, I never meant to get... addicted... Shit. Shit, y'know-"
"Frank... I know. I might as well say it; I drink too much, like passed out every night kind of 'too much...' Just ask Mikey... Well... I understand. I do."
"Thank you," he whispered, then leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes again.
The drive was silent; we both had too much to think about...
I pulled into the driveway and turned off the car ignition. "Mmkay."
Frank got out as I did, and our doors closed in unison, making him smile a little. His smile was so shy and sweet... My heart might have missed a beat. Sexy Frankie was also cute Frankie.
He trailed me up the walk, watching nervously as I unlocked and opened the front door.
Mikey came down the stairs, stopping as he saw who was behind me. "Oh. Frank! ...christ-" He looked at me. "-is he alright?"
I just turned to Frank, who nodded and whispered a "Y-yes, thank you."
"Sit down," Mikey said, leading him and me towards our living room. "Uh... Should I get beers, or..?"
"Can I use a bathroom, please?" Frank asked politely.
"Last door down the hall," Mikey said, pointing. As Frank nodded his thanks and went in that direction, my brother turned towards me. The second the bathroom door had swung shut, he pulled me into the living room and fixed me with a stare. "What the hell is going on?"
"He got... lost, he said. He needed help, and he had my number from when we did some project..."
"Oh, that..."
"He called me to pick him up. Well... I found him like that. It was..." I knew Mikey would never open his mouth about it. Keeping my voice low, "His dad does that to him."
"Holy fucking shit; you aren't serious..." Mikey looked thoroughly disgusted. "Poor guy... god."
I nodded.
The bathroom door opened again, and Frank came down the hall, looking better. He'd cleaned up the blood and most of the smeared mascara, though some still shadowed his dark eyes as if he'd kept it to remind himself that what we'd done hadn't just been a dream. He did look much less of a mess, but there was no hiding the dark indigo bruises coloring his pale skin. "Hey."
"Sit down," Mikey offered again.
Frank sat as though it had been a command.
I lowered myself onto the couch beside him, keeping a certain amount of distance between us. My brother was watching him and me carefully from the opposite sofa.
"You okay?" Mikey asked Frank to break the silence. "Oh... want a beer?"
"I'm okay," he answered softly. "And yeah, thanks."
Mikey didn't respond right away, and following his eyes, I realized that he was looking at my fingers, smudged with the same eyeliner and mascara accentuating Frank's eye sockets, and formerly streaking his cheekbones and slender neck. Shit. Suddenly, Mikey got to his feet. "Okay, yeah. Okay." He hurried to the kitchen for the beer.
I exchanged an awkward glance with Frank. He bit his chapped bottom lip, obviously frightened.
Mikey came back just in time to see us both look uncomfortably away from each other. "Here." He set a beer down on the coffee table for Frankie with a thud, opening his own as he sat down.
He hadn't brought me one. Fucking son of a bitch... Mikey picked on things, like my problem with alcohol, when he was pissed off. I knew he was testing me, waiting to see if I would get pissed in front of Frank, who was watching me too. I didn't want to, but didn't want Mikey to suspect things either... Oh shit. I grit my teeth.
There was a clatter; Frank was taking his beer from the table, but had accidentally knocked it over. Well... accidentally? Maybe his hands really were shaking out of nerves, or maybe he was just trying to break the awkward tension between me and my brother.
Frank and I reached for the tipped bottle at the same moment, and our hands touched. The feel of his skin brushing mine sent a sudden shock through me, and he must have felt the same piercing jolt that I did, because we both recoiled at the same time, him grabbing panickedly to right the bottle and me moving back further on the couch with an involuntary shudder.
Mikey's eyes were following everything. I couldn't meet them. The silence in the room was the most deafening thing I had ever heard.
Suddenly Frank gave a hiccupy gasp. Head snapping worriedly in his direction, I could see him cup one hand awkwardly under his nose, shuddering. Blood was running down his face again. "S-shit, Gerard, I-"
"Frankie-" I got up and ran for the tissue box to realize that Mikey was already holding it out in my direction, the expression in his eyes unreadable.
"Thanks," I muttered unsurely, taking the tissues from him and handing a wad to Frank. There was already blood dripping off his fingers, and he stared helplessly at me.
Biting my lip, I gently pressed the Kleenex to Frank's face, holding it there as he used another tissue to clean his fingers. My stomach churned; I knew Mikey was watching this too.
Frank couldn't even murmur a thank you as he brought his own hand up next to mine, he was trembling so hard, spitting blood which had gotten in his mouth into the Kleenex. There were tears in his eyes.
I stepped back.
Cocaine whore. Shit.
Frank gave me an almost tortured look and ran for the bathroom again.
I started to follow him. "D'you need-"
Mikey stopped me with a hand on my shoulder, jerking me back to face him. "Well."
"Well what?" I snapped.
"You're fucking him." "I don't know what you're-"
"Don't give me that shit. It's fucking obvious; ''Frankie..." Mascara down to his collarbone when he walked in...The way you can't look him in the eyes. Can't touch him without jumping." Mikey's eyes were locked on mine, daring me to deny it.
"Well... well if I did... what the fuck is it to you anyways?" I spat.
"God, you make me sick," Mikey told me vehemently.
The look on his face reminded me of the one I'd seen when I told him about Frank's father. Oh, hell no...
"All that crap about his dad, blah blah blah... Then you went and fucked him. Holy fucking shit, Gerard, god."
"No! No, holy shit no! I didn't do that to him; I didn't fucking hurt him-"
"I'm not saying you did, damnit. Somebody did, though, and then instead of helping him, you went a got in his pants, you selfish son of a bitch! Can't you think of someone else besides yourself once in your life? Just because he was easy-''
"You fucking think that I- God, what the h-"
The bathroom door opened again with a click, and I broke off abruptly. I couldn't believe that Mikey thought I'd taken advantage of Frank... that I didn't care about him at all. I cared, I really did... Maybe it had been wrong to fuck him; I shouldn't have made a move... So Mikey was right, in a way. But to say that I didn't give a shit...
Frank stepped slowly into the living room, eyes burning a hole into the carpet. He wouldn't look up; not at me, not at Mikey.
I was just relieved that he had even decided to come back. If he knew that Mikey had figured it out, I thought maybe he would hide down the hall until someone went and got him.
He didn't say a word, just sat quietly down on the couch again. This time, I stayed standing.
Mikey knocked back the rest of his beer. Frank didn't touch his.I watched the clock. God, I hoped Frank didn't feel too uncomfortable... Ha. Of course he felt like shit. It was written all over his pale face. He looked exhausted and miserable.
"Can I get anybody anything?" Mikey asked. I could still hear the bitterness in his voice.
Frank shook his head anxiously.
"No," I said.
"Great," Mikey muttered.
I shot Frank another sideways glance. He was staring miserably at his wrists. I followed his eyes to the inside of his arms where the cerulean veins ran under semi-translucent skin and my lungs suddenly felt leaden. There were pale white scars up and down both arms, crisscrossing his fragile wrists. Shit.
He caught me looking, and hurriedly turned his arms over, pulling them towards himself and wrapping both around his stomach as though it hurt him. He looked close to tears again.
Mikey got to his feet. "Bathroom," he said, then went down the hall.
I thought I saw a flicker of nervousness in Frank's eyes, but in an instant, it was replaced by the hollow look of fear that I recognized uncomfortably. The loneliness was returning to his haunted gaze... Damnit.
"Frankie..." I whispered quietly once the bathroom door was tightly shut.
"S-shit."
"Frankie."
"Gerard... he knows. He knows..."
"He's pissed off at me; he thinks I... whatever. He's not mad at you, though; you don't have to worry..." I sat down, but spoke to the air next to him because we still couldn't let our eyes meet.
"Why is he p-pissed?" His quiet voice was shaky.
"Thinks I... took advantage of you..." I mumbled, flushing.
He froze. "N-no! I mean..."
"I k-know-" He was in my arms again before I even knew how I was going to finish my sentence. So I didn't finish it at all, just held him more tightly.
His lips were against my skin again. "I d-don't think you-"
"I didn't want to; that was n-never what I-"
He fought back tears. "S-shit, it was t-too fast, Gerard, I-"
"God, I'm s-sorry; I'm sorry..." I paused and took some deep breaths. "Frankie, the nosebleeds..."
"I'm a-"
I put a finger to his quivering lips before he could say it. I had heard it enough. "Shh..."
"Gerard, p-please..."
"Frank..."
"I'm a cocaine whore, okay?" he whimpered. "I gotta say it; I gotta-"
"Doesn't it hurt you to hear?" I asked. It hurt me...
"Y-yes..." he whispered against my neck. "B-but I hope if it hurts enough, I'll stop..."
"Damn, Frankie, you're just fucking torturing yourself." I could hardly stand to hear the pain in his soft voice. God, what was this? I was hardly in control of my own emotions around him. Hell, I was hardly in control at all around him.
''G-gerard..." He swallowed hard. "Gerard."
"Will it happen again?" I asked, handing him the Kleenex box from the coffee table where Mikey had set it down.
His head snapped up, eyes wide. "...Um... N-not if..."
Wait, no, not sex- The look in his eyes made me realize what he was thinking, stomach dropping. "No, I meant the nosebleeds, Frank, n-not the... not that!"
"Oh." He took it from me with an uneasy shrug, refusing to look at me again. "...I hope n-not. N-never used to happen at all..."
"I know, Frankie. Hell, I know." I could feel every knob of his spine straight through his t-shirt, and I ran a hand over it gently.
He sniffled and curled closer to me only to skitter back like a startled kitten at the familiar creak of the last door down the hall.
Mikey came back into the living room and stood silently across from us. I couldn't tell what the odd look in his eyes meant. "Gerard, I need to talk to you."
I shot a sharp glance at Frankie. It was as if he had expected it, nodding tiredly at me. So I got up and followed my brother anxiously into the kitchen.
"Your little bitch is a cocaine whore," Mikey hissed quietly.
Had he guessed just from a couple nosebleeds? "You don't know that. And goddamnit, he's not my-"
"Have you seen the bathroom?" he said quietly. "There's enough fairy dust on those tiles that we could put it in a bag and sell it for 100 bucks."
I glanced down. "So he's on drugs. Look, with what his fucking father does to him..."
Mikey nodded. "I'm not judging him, okay? I just wish you'd stop trying to avoid telling the truth about him."
"Sorry," I muttered to the floor.
"Gerard, god, I don't care who you fuck. I do care who you hurt."
"Look, if you have to fucking know, when I look at him... Shit, seriously... There's something about him; I just... It's different. I want him to be okay." I shifted uncomfortably. I hadn't been this awkward around my brother in the longest time.
Mikey seemed to be thinking. "Love?" he asked me finally, the bite of sarcasm in his voice, and my heart almost stopped.
"I..."
He looked away. "Sorry. Shouldn't have said that."
"I care..." I muttered. "I care about him, a lot... Damnit."
Mikey nodded. "Alright." I trailed him back into the living room with a unsettled feeling in my stomach.
Frankie was gone.
"Oh, shit... shit shit shit..." I bolted for the door.
"Sorry," Mikey muttered, following, concern for Frank in his eyes.
Pushing the door open, my heartbeat slowed. Frank was sitting on the steps of the porch, head in his hands. He must've started to leave, then realized that he had no way to get home on his own. "Hey..." I said gently, sitting down beside him.
He flinched. "I'm s-sorry..."
"Don't. Don't; you don't have to be sorry. Mikey and I are okay now-"
"He's right," a voice said behind me, and both Frankie and I turned to see Mikey standing at the door. "Gerard is right, Frank... I'm sorry. I... I had things wrong."
"K-kay..." Frank was shaking.
I bit my bottom lip, then slid an arm around his thin shoulders. "Shhh..."
As his lips met mine, I could hear the front door swing closed. Mikey was leaving us alone.
After a long while, Frank stood up. "C-can you drive me home, please?"
I nodded. "I mean, if you want to stay here-"
"Things'll be worse for me if I don't show up," he answered. "B-but thank you anyway..."
"Okay." I opened the front door. "Mikey? I'm driving Frank home."
As soon as I heard him call an okay down the stairs, I followed Frank towards my car, unlocking the door and getting in. As he gave me directions, I wished that I didn't have to bring him back home. I wondered if I would see his father, having to fight against showing the man what I knew.
But when I got to Frank's house, it was obvious that I wouldn't be seeing anybody. The windows were dark, and the front window was taped messily with duct tape.
"He pushed my hands through it," Frank said quietly.
I felt sick. "Fucking-"
"My shit-job fixing it didn't help things between us." He laughed bitterly.
I put a gentle hand on his arm, and he gave me a weak smile before getting out of the car.
"Thanks, Gerard..." he said quietly. "Thank you so fucking much..."
"It's fine... Look, you have my cellphone number..."
He grinned lopsidedly, making my stomach somersault. "Gotta pen?"
I searched the floor of the car for a ballpoint, finally finding one and giving it to him.
He took my hand carefully and quickly scribbled a number on it. "G'bye... Thanks again."
"Yeah."
He was gone. I didn't look at the number until after I got home, late in the evening. When I did, my heart flip-flopped. Scribbled in messy handwriting across the back of my hand were nine digits, followed by ~Frankie and a sloppily drawn heart. I smiled, but bittersweetly. Shit.
I had already gone to bed when my cellphone rang, startling me. Shaking, I grabbed for it and blinked. The number on the screen matched the number on my skin. "Frankie?"
"Gerard, Gerard, something b-bad happened-" His voice was choked with tears. "-I need help, I'm outside, I've b-been walking, can I come to your house; please, oh god, Gerard, please..."
My heart was already pounding uncomfortably against my ribcage. "Shit, Frankie, Frankie, are you alright?!"
"N-no, no, I'm a b-block away, could I m-maybe-"
"Of course, Frankie... shit..."
"B-be right there." Click.
"Wait, but-"
He had already hung up. I bolted out of bed and tried to smooth out my rumpled clothes.
Nervous, I went down the hall and down the stairs. The house was pitch-black and kind of creepy, and I didn't turn on any lights for fear of waking Mikey.
I rubbed my eyes and conscientiously turned on the porchlight before slumping miserably onto the living room couch. Inwardly, I realized what a good thing it was that my parents were out of town.
Finally, the doorbell rang; once, then a second time hurriedly. I got up and pulled the door open, butterflies in my stomach.
Frankie looked like shit.
It wasn't just the new bruises on his neck, looking a lot like finger marks, accented by the eerie halogen glow of the outside bulb, or the raw red cuts and scrapes up the inside of his thin arms... There were streaks of dirt and tears down his face, and his makeup was smeared again. But worst out of it all was the haunted terror in his eyes. He looked... god, I'd never seen anybody with such unbearable pain on their face.
"Gerard-" he gasped, staggering forward and ending up in my arms.
He didn't even speak; wouldn't tell me what had happened, just pressed his mouth hard against mine. I wasn't about to stop him; couldn't help leaning into him.
Kissing desperately, holding tight; I could feel his thin hips bump mine and his shirt was somehow suddenly somewhere by my feet. I could feel him shiver vulnerably against me in the cool nighttime air, skin meeting skin.
Still touching, still kissing harder, harder; we'd somehow found the stairs, his hand was in mine as I pulled him up towards my room... Fumbling for the doorknob, the lock; wall, bedframe, mattress.
Trying to make one last decent effort to find out what had happened, I unlocked my lips from his and whispered the question into his soft skin.
He still refused to answer, pressing his lips almost clumsily back against mine, desperately trying to chase away the pain. He was crying, and I could taste the salty tears on his face, prompting me to pull him even tighter to me.
"Frankie, Frankie, don't cry..."
He whimpered into my chest, the sensation of his lips gently brushing my collarbone sending shivers dancing through my body. I moaned quietly, trying hard not to let my hands slide from his waist to his belt buckle, trying hard not to lose control...
"P-please..."
Could he tell that I was trying to stop myself? I knew exactly what he wanted me to do; hell, I wanted it too, my whole body was aching for it, but some small part of me was saying that it was wrong, probably the part that Mikey and I both shared. It was telling me that I should sit him down and talk to him, try to take the pain away for good, not just give him this impermanent solution and leave him feeling even more like shit later...
Fuck. I moaned again, because regardless of what my conscience (it was my conscience?) was saying, we were still kissing, touching... I just hadn't made the next move yet.
"G-gerard..." he whimpered plaintively.
Was sex really all he wanted?
Our bodies were pressed together so tightly that I could almost hear the blood pulsing through the faint cerulean veins snaking along beneath his pale skin. Every breath he took, his fragile ribcage expanded against my chest. I could feel his warm breath against my neck in the instant before his lips touched it.
I ran a shaky hand down the length of his spine, making him shiver and cling closer to me. I was refusing to meet his eyes; even in the nearly pitch-black room, the thought scared me.
He let out a shuddering sigh against my neck and slid both his hands down my back, lips hitting mine again.
I realized that in a lot of ways, he was mimicking what I did, and my stomach flip-flopped. God, he was so... innocent. If I gave in, I would be taking advantage of him...
"Gerard..." he moaned once more, begging, face buried in my neck so that his cool, wet tears trickled down over my collarbone, making me shiver.
Fuck fuck fuck, I wanted him, I fucking wanted him-! The pressure was literally building up inside my bones, my muscles tight with pent-up emotion and with trying not to lose myself. It didn't make any sense, but my skin was burning under the touch of his cool fingers. I let out a shaky moan with a string of swearwords. My breathing was racing almost completely out of control, and every one of my senses was heightened to the point where I was fighting not to let them overpower me.
"Frankie, please tell me what-" He pushed his mouth hard up against mine, cutting me off. I knew he wasn't going to tell me...
One of his hands was resting at the small of my back, lined up perfectly with my spine. I wished he would move it, I wished- Oh fucking god, I couldn't take the stinging adrenaline collecting in my taut muscles like a toxin any longer. Shitshitshitfuck. My fingers began to slip slowly past his navel.
He moaned, open mouth warm against one side of my neck.
My fingers hit the cool metal of his belt buckle, sending a shiver of cold and something else shooting along my veins like an injection. Frankie tensed against me as I slid the silver-studded leather strap out of the first loop.
I unfastened the button on his jeans, anxious, barely conscious of his lips on my throat anymore. I was shivering, shirtless, in the cool room myself as I slowly pulled the zipper down. Things were suddenly a blur again as time seemed to speed up and I found that I could feel Frankie's hands sliding down around my waist once more. I was kissing him hard again, through with asking questions, just pulling him close in an effort to satisfy the need in my body.
His hands were undoing my belt, unzipping my pants; I was whispering meaningless shit about how badly I wanted him into the space between his shoulder and his neck and tracing his shoulderblades with my fingers.
"Frankie, angel-" Hands, hips, mascara-painted eyelashes brushing my cheek. I reached out again, hitting the wall, the nightstand, the mattress... Pulling him with me, "Gerard..." A moan, whimper, shifting position... I could smell the blending scents of bleeding makeup, sweat, and melting cocaine powder- "Sonofabitch, oh, damnit, sonofa-" Shit, fuck, Mikey was asleep, "God, we gotta be quiet-" Another moan, stifled midway this time; shit, oh boy, shit; wanting him... ribcage, waist, thighs, he was something else, all right, oh, oh hell, "Frankie, Frankie..!" Oh hell. This was... The room was exploding in my vision, sorta like fireworks, but more like a loaded gun with the barrel pressed up against my jaw... damn, shit, hell "Frankie," hold on, hold on... That felt- oh shit, god.
***
I woke up and realized that Frankie looked even worse in the daylight than he had even under the harsh glow of the porchlight. He was lying beside me, half of his face pressed almost childishly into the pillow, arms hugging a bundle of the comforter to his chest. He looked so sweet, but not the picture of innocence that he could have been. The bluish-black watercolor bruises were striking against the paleness of his skin, and the contusions and cuts up and down the insides of each arm looked like they had been made by the hard leather edge of a belt... My eyes traced the veins up and down his arms, then wandered to his crumpled jeans on my bedroom floor, his black studded belt still hanging from the belt-loops. The little metal studs no longer looked innocent. I flinched. Could he still stand to wear it, if it had been used to..?
I got up abruptly, trying not to think about it any longer, and picked up my own jeans from their heap on the hardwood. I pulled them on over my boxers, shooting a glance at the still-sleeping Frankie. He looked almost angelic, in a broken way, with his dark bangs falling over his forehead and into his eyes. When I had fastened my belt buckle, I looked around for my shirt, quickly realizing that I must have left it downstairs on the living room floor. Shit. With another look at Frank, I quietly went outside into the hall and towards the stairs. If Mikey was still sleeping, I sure as hell didn't want to wake him up.
Just as I reached the top of the stairs, a sarcastic voice behind me made me whirl around, heart beating faster. It was Mikey. "Here's your shirts," he spat, holding my shirt and Frankie's out to me.
"Holy shit! You almost scared me to death." I swallowed. He looked pissed. "What?"
"You managed to get the little whore to fuck you twice in almost one day. Pretty good, don't you think?"
I stared. This was so unlike my brother it was almost frightening. ''What the fucking hell is that supposed to mean?"
"You know damn well what it means. You leave him alone, Gerard. That kid does not deserve another twisted bastard in his life; he's already got one!"
"I thought we talked about this!" I hissed. "You agreed that I wasn't out to hurt him!"
"Yeah, well, I was wrong."
"What the hell do you mean, you were wrong? What's the matter with you, Mikey?! I bring someone home and suddenly you have a fucking cow- Are you fucking jealous?"
"What?! Hell no! I'm fucking pissed off! You're using that kid, and I'm sorry, but I can't stand seeing how you're hurting him, Gerard!"
"I'm not using him, I'm not trying to hurt him; why the fucking hell can't you see that?" I was trying hard to keep my voice down, but it was difficult. How could Mikey say that about me?
"I don't know if you're trying to hurt him or not, Gerard-"
"I'm not!"
"-but you're going to, regardless. Fucking him is not going to take away the pain he's feeling... I don't care if he's a slut and says he wants it, it's only hurting him in the end!"
"He's not a fucking slut! He called me last night, late... He was a mess again, Mikey..."
"That's what I mean! Even if he thinks a fuck will take the hurt away-"
"It's not that; something happens when we're around each other... It's fucking amazing. He... he takes my breath away."
Mikey gave me a long, hard look, then abruptly turned away with a curt "Fine." He quickly disappeared down the stairs, leaving me standing with two crumpled t-shirts in my hands.
With a sigh, I pulled mine over my head and started back towards my room. To my relief, Frankie was still asleep. I debated briefly over whether or not to wake him up, then decided that he was better off asleep, where he could forget the world. Looking him over in the light made me nervous, because now that I could see each cut and bruise clearly, I could also feel guilty over fucking him when he was in such bad shape... Maybe my brother was right.
I just stood there watching him breathe for a long time. The quiet rhythm of the rise and fall of his thin ribcage was almost seductive, and I was content just to watch it until finally, Frankie gave a quiet moan and his eyelids flickered open.
"Hey," I said softly.
He blinked and gave me a shaky attempt at a grin. "Hi."
"You okay?" I asked, wishing that I could erase the pools of black and blue collected beneath his semi-translucent pale skin.
He nodded a little. "I'm g-good."
"You sure?"
He knew that I was really trying to ask him what had happened. "Gerard... I don't wanna talk about it."
"It wasn't me though, was it?" I had to know the truth. "He didn't find out about..."
"He always thinks I'm out screwing with somebody," Frankie murmured to my floor, voice very, very quiet. "It's not that he actually found out."
I felt slightly sick. "So it is because-"
"N-no! It wasn't your fault... He doesn't know that it's the truth this time; he always says the same thing..."
"Then why did you come back here?! Won't he just think-"
"I had to see you."
"Why? D-didn't you know that all I'd do was f-fuck you? I'm not any help..." My guilt was coming out in my voice.
"Gerard, don't think like that... You know I wanted it more than you did. You kept asking me what had happened, but all I wanted was sex..." Frankie stared miserably at the sheets. "I think I'm a whore."
The words had been so quiet that they were almost unintelligible, but as soon as they sunk in, my stomach dropped. "No, shit, Frankie, no!" I crossed to him, one hand on his shoulderblade. "You're not a whore."
He smiled weakly. "Thank you...."
"Frankie..." My eyes wandered across his jeans lying on my bedroom floor. "Your dad... that b-belt..."
He shuddered. "Y-yes."
"Frankie! Oh god-"
He was in my arms in an instant, clinging to me as I pulled him close against my chest.
"I d-don't try to piss him off, I n-never do..." he mumbled miserably, and I kissed his neck gently.
"I know. I know, Frankie..."
After his slow sobs had faded to sniffles, I let him go, hands sliding reluctantly from his naked shoulders. I got to my feet and handed him his jeans from the hardwood. His tears had dampened the fabric of my shirt at the shoulder.
He nodded a thank you and pushed back the covers to pull on his boxers. It was awkward as hell, and even though I wasn't sure, it felt like the polite thing to do to turn away as he dressed.
A hand touched my shoulder, and I spun to find Frankie now wearing jeans, with only his shirt missing.
I looked around, then picked up his shirt from where I had thrown it after getting it from Mikey. "Here."
"Thanks," he said shyly, and I watched as he pulled it on over his head. It stretched over his shoulders and clung to his collarbone and ribcage like a second skin. As I watched him, my stomach gave an uneasy flipflop. He was something else, alright. It was amazing how you could know every inch of someone's body without really knowing them at all. I knew a fair bit about Frankie, and I'd gotten several glimpses into his head just from things he said and did, but I still didn't really know his thoughts... On the other hand, I knew every fucking millimeter of him, I knew how to touch him, how to make him whimper... moan... scr- Oh god. I forced myself to stop looking at him until he turned to face me once again.
"S-should I go, or..?"
"Uh, no, no; you can stay for breakfast. I mean, if you want to..." I replied awkwardly.
"If it's not any trouble..." Trouble? No, it wouldn't be any trouble, if I could just get myself to stop staring at his fucking body... "Um, no, it's not any trouble... I want you to stay," I said, swallowing.
He gave me a shy smile and nodded, glancing down. "Okay."
Now how to tell him that Mikey had changed his mind since the past day; had decided once again that I was out to take advantage of Frank, and would possibly be very vocal about it, too. I wasn't sure what had gotten into my brother, and I was even less sure about how to break it to Frankie. "Um... Frank..?"
"Yeah?"
I bit my bottom lip. He looked so fragile. I didn't want to hurt him. "Frank, my brother... He's... he's pissed again."
Dark, deer-in-headlights eyes flickered anxiously upwards to mine. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No! No. You didn't do anything- Look. He's just pissed at me because... because he's jealous." I was lying through my teeth, and I felt guilty over it because I knew perfectly well that Mikey wasn't jealous. He was upset, and I didn't know why, but I'd known Mikey for a long time, and jealously was the most unlikely option. Still, I had to tell Frank something.
"Jealous?"
"Uh, yeah. Y'know."
He didn't believe me; I could see it all over his face. He didn't fucking believe me. "Gerard... If I did something bad, I can leave. It's okay. I... I promise."
"That isn't it! That isn't it, okay?!" I looked away, choked with uncomfortable emotions that I couldn't name and couldn't understand.
A gentle hand touched my shoulder, and I glanced awkwardly up at Frankie. Part of me wished he would fucking leave me alone. "What?"
"You okay?" His voice was so quiet that I couldn't snap at him. When I nodded curtly, he continued. "...If it'll piss Mikey off, I just won't stay for breakfast. It's... it's not that big of a deal, I guess, Gerard."
"Please stay," I managed, torn between still wanting him there and wanting to be left alone.v "Really?"
"It's fine. He won't make a big deal out of it."
"Mmkay."
I went out into the hall and started for the stairs, and Frank followed me nervously down to the kitchen.
Mikey was sitting at the table drinking a glass of orange juice, the folded newspaper resting on the table next to his place. He looked up when we walked in to shoot me a steely glance, then got to his feet and took the glass and paper as he left the kitchen.
Trying to ignore the cold look he had given me, I pulled a chair out from the table and motioned Frank to sit down. Not used to being a host, and not wanting to look stupid, I wasn't sure what to do. My brother was much better at this kind of thing than I was. "Um... What do you want to eat?"
Frank shrugged a little. "Whatever you have, I guess... Got anymore orange juice?"
I nodded and went to the fridge to pour him a glass. I was trying to think of something to say; the silence felt awkward, to me at least. "So. What're you gonna do today?"
"I don't know... Fix the front window?" He smirked a little. "Or anything not to go home."
I looked at him. "What do you usually do?"
"Draw. Drink. Listen to music. Play guitar. My life is not that fucking interesting."
I set the orange juice on the table in front of him and put a bagel in the toaster for myself. "You want one?"
He nodded an okay, then said, "Thank you."
"Sure." After a pause, I glanced at him. "Frank... Why do you let him?"
He knew exactly what I was talking about, his fucking father again, and flinched. Watching his shoulders shudder slightly, my stomach twisted a little. "'Cause I'm scared."
I wanted to press the subject, but I was fucking scared too, in a way. So I didn't say anything until I set his toasted bagel in front of him. "Anything else?"
"No, thank you."
When we were finished eating, he looked at me nervously. "Can you please drive me back?"
I didn't even argue. Breakfast had been so awkward that I couldn't imagine trying to make conversation with Frank all day. I was starting to get anxious, though I was also determinedly trying to ignore the way my guts were trying to remind me that maybe Frank and I really didn't have anything in common; maybe my brother was right, maybe... Oh god.
Frankie followed me to my car, and the whole drive to his house passed in silence except for a few mumbled directions and street names.
When my car was turning into Frankie's driveway, he looked around briefly, then said, "No one's home."
"What does that mean?" I asked quietly.
"He's out drinking or something..? I don't know... I've got time to fix the window, I guess."v
I was staring at the messily duct-taped glass pane. "How're you planning to do that?"
He swallowed and gave me a sheepish half-smile. "I guess you can tell it looks hopeless, huh? To be completely honest, I have no fucking idea. I can peel off all that duct-tape and use clear tape- it'll take forever, but it'd look better, I think..."
"Do you... do you want some help?"
His gorgeous eyes locked on mine and I shivered without meaning to. "Would you do that?"
"Sure, Frank, of course..."
"Then... if you really don't mind..."
"I don't mind," I told him, putting the car into park.
He smiled, and that made it all worthwhile.
***
Almost an hour and twenty minutes had passed, and the thick layer of duct-tape was only half peeled from the glass. Where the tape had been removed were jagged glass edges heavily covered in sticky adhesive.
I sighed and leaned back to fight the ache in my neck, taking a drink from the bottle of beer that Frank had offered me earlier.
"Sorry," he murmured from beside me. "I didn't know it would be this tough..."
"It's fine... At least you didn't have to do it all by yourself, right?"
He smiled quietly at me and nodded.
Before I could say anything else, the telephone rang, and Frank got unsteadily to his feet to answer it.
I followed slowly behind him to the entrance of a dirty kitchen, a few messy stacks of chipped dishes on the counters. He was facing away from me, and even though I couldn't hear a voice from the other end of the line, the way his shoulders were tensing like someone had kicked him in the ribs gave me the clue that somebody was yelling.
"D-dad... No. No, I swear to god-" He broke off and whimpered.
I watched. I knew what he would have done for me; he had done it just that morning, when I had turned away from him, fighting emotion. I wanted to go up to him, put an arm around his shoulders,&nb
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Posted
on 06/03/2008 4:01 PM |
Visits: 29
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whoa
good job!