Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/550749.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Bandom, My_Chemical_Romance, Fall_Out_Boy
  Relationship:
      Frank_Iero/Gerard_Way, Alicia_Simmons/Mikey_Way/Pete_Wentz, Frank_Iero/
      Jamia_Nestor
  Character:
      Gerard_Way, Frank_Iero, Bob_Bryar, Ray_Toro, Mikey_Way, Pete_Wentz,
      Alicia_Simmons, Jamia_Nestor, James_Dewees
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, Alternate_Universe_-_Dystopia,
      secondary_character_death, Crush, Loss_of_Virginity, Alternate_Universe_-
      College/University, Break_Up, Reunions
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-10-31 Words: 22291
****** Killin' Before Killin' Was Cool ******
by gala_apples
Summary
     Gerard's not sure why the guy on the badminton team keeps trying to
     skewer him with a crossbow. After all, Gerard hasn't killed any of
     his friends, or even his host brother. But when you're in high school
     you don't really need a reason to kill someone, just whatever weapon
     is at hand, and five minutes to get the job done. At least Gerard is
     good at knowing when to duck. Better he get attacked than his
     friends. If he can just keep ducking for three years, he can graduate
     and live the rest of his life. Unfortunately, even those that make it
     out alive can never forget. After all, the past is never through with
     you.
Notes
     This fic is inspired by the B-side Kill All Your Friends. The first
     time I relayed this idea the person I was talking to bashed it, so I
     kept it quiet for a year. And then I told Dr Jasley and she
     immediately started asking me questions to help me world build. When
     I was fretting that my story would be difficult to follow she made me
     timeline headers. This story wouldn't exist without her.
                                 [Photobucket]
                     [Image_and_video_hosting_by_TinyPic]
Every morning when Gerard wakes up he checks his email. There’s usually around
twenty, nearly all directing him to other websites. He’s on forums that notify
him when he’s got a private message, he’s on blogging sites that notify him
when he’s got a comment. And then there are the sale emails, stuff like Abe
Books and Threadless that don’t go in the spam inbox because he cares about
what he could potentially purchase. He gets emails from Ray occasionally, he
travels a lot for his job. Bob is easier to find on Twitter. Nothing from James
of course, he still lives in Setlzer. He gets Christmas cards though.
This morning he deletes the ads, too broke to click them open and be tempted to
buy something. Next are the forum notifications, he’ll log on later. There’s a
direct email from a name he doesn’t recognise; Nadine. Six days a week he
wouldn’t open it, even if it didn’t wind up in his spam filter, but he’s
curious about what ‘Please RSVP’ is about, and if they’re aware that’s
redundant.
Two minutes later he’s not grinning anymore, just trolling the internet for
cheap last minute flights to Newark. He’ll have to drive from there.
Gerard’s halfway through the purchase when it occurs to him it would be nice
spending the eleven hours with layover with Mikey rather than a stranger.
Besides, the three of them aren’t very good at searching for deals. With three
incomes they don’t have to, not like him, but it kills him to see money wasted.
It’ll soothe his soul if he buys tickets for all four of them. He just needs to
make sure the departure time works for them. Pete often works overnights.
Alicia answers on the first ring.
“Hey ‘Licia. Looking forward to seeing your parents?”
“Uh. Oh, you mean going back next week. Uh. You know what? I’m going to pass
the phone to Mikey now. One sec.”
Mikey doesn’t say hi, just starts in. “I’m not going. I’m a different person
when I’m there, and I wanna try to stay this person.”
“But what about James?”
“You’re going because Frank will be going,” Mikey says out of nowhere.
“What? Fuck you.”
“Gerard, don’t even try. It’s been nine years since you left, eight years since
you broke up. You haven’t dated anyone since. The only reason you haven’t gone
to him is because you have no idea if he still lives in Chicago. But you know
he’ll be there, so that’s where you’re going.”
There’s no point in trying to reply to that. He presses end call, and turns the
phone off so he doesn’t have to get even more angry when Mikey doesn’t call
back apologising. Gerard doesn’t care if Mikey and Pete and Alicia come or not.
He’s going. Not because of Frank, regardless of Mikey’s theories Gerard knows
that ship has sailed. He’s going because James deserves to have people that
care at his funeral.
                     [Image_and_video_hosting_by_TinyPic]
August
Gerard’s not sure what to expect when they leave the house. He knows some
things. He knows they’re going to host a teenager, like half the other families
in Setlzer. All over the city cars are descending on restaurants and coffee
houses viewed as neutral meeting grounds. He knows teens stay anywhere from a
single year to six years. They’ve been told theirs is going to be three years,
so he’s most likely his age, fifteen, and staying for high school. He knows the
person’s values are going to be skewed and they have to make allowances for him
or her. There are disadvantaged cities all over North America, people are
clamouring to come to Setlzer. The problem is none of the things he knows are
interesting. Gerard wants details.
Gerard’s wanted details since the beginning of the summer. As soon as they
found out they were going to host -the only one among his friends- he started
trying to guess what the guy or girl would be like. Mikey’s played along for
most of the summer, imagining different shapes and races and personalities with
him like they’re playing Dungeons and Dragons. He stopped doing it a few days
ago though, along with just about anything else. For the last week all he’s
done is run upstairs to steal slices of bread and run back downstairs. Gerard’s
pretty sure he stole the spare toaster from Dad’s workshed, which is sort of a
frightening idea. Mikey’s about as good working electrical appliances as Dad is
fixing broken ones. He can’t check though. He can get the locked door open, he
learned that trick from Frank when they were seven. But Mikey learned it from
Frank too, so he’s got something heavy in front of the door as a backup.
Gerard’s only option would be to dart in while he was upstairs getting more
bread, and refuse to leave until Mikey talked to him. That sets a bad privacy
precedent though. If he does it to Mikey now, it gives Mikey the green light to
do the same to him in the future.
It’s obvious what the pissy mood is about, and it’s not fair. It’s not Gerard’s
fault Frank and Ray are his age, and that this new kid probably will be. Gerard
didn’t ask to be a year older. He would have been perfectly happy being a twin.
But he was born first, and it’s not his fault, so there’s no reason for Mikey
to be stonewalling his imagination.
Like everyone else, the Ways are meeting their guest at a restaurant. It’s
technically a diner, stools and checkerboard tile making it a slight variation
on the theme. He wonders if parents have a handbook for how to do this. Mom
says no, but when everyone does the exact same thing it has to be more than
just a social obligation. Gerard stares out the window as Dad winds through the
nearly full parking lot, trying to see their guest, but there are at least a
dozen teenagers in Tammy’s. It’s impossible to know which one is his. Theirs,
hopefully. Gerard genuinely hopes the person and Mikey become friends even if
they are in different grades. Gerard’s worry for Mikey surviving ninth grade
alone is only topped by his worry for surviving tenth.
It seems to take forever for Dad to park. Gerard throws off his seat belt, and
waits impatiently for everyone else to get out. It’s Saturday, he’s got less
than forty eight hours to make a friend of this person before school starts. He
might need every minute of it. Or maybe Mikey could stop being a hermit and
befriend him or her, and they won’t take him out out of loyalty.
No one makes a beeline for them as they enter, so they just head for the
counter. Gerard’s requesting extra caramel in his milkshake when the voice
comes from behind them. “Are you the Ways? They gave me a picture, but-”
Gerard can understand the confusion. The picture they had to submit along with
the meeting location was given in June. Since then he and Mikey have both grown
out their hair, and he’s dyed his. Mikey’s is about three shades darker from
not showering for almost two weeks. Middle length brunets aren’t exactly shaggy
black haired guys. The guy probably only found them by honing in on Mom’s
bleached hair. That hasn’t changed since their parents got married.
“Yeah, we are. Hi, I’m Gerard, this is my brother Mikey.” He has to introduce
him, Mikey’s lips are pursed around his straw and he looks like he’s not gonna
move them until the drink is finished. “Are you gonna be in tenth with me on
Monday?”
“Yeah. I’m Bob. Hi.” Bob is wearing all black, from sneaker laces to hoodie to
beanie. The diner air conditioning is shitty, but he’s not sweaty. Gerard’s
jealous already, he sweats like a bastard.
“Do you want a milkshake? We could order food, but to be honest it’s not the
best here. This is more an ice cream bar. I was thinking we’d pick up dinner on
the way home.”
“My friend Frank always orders chocolate covered pretzels when we come here,
but that’s just ‘cause he can’t have anything with milk,” Gerard offers. It’s a
sly statement, letting Bob know he already has a group to back him while still
sounding friendly. It’s hardly throwing Frank under the bus either. Even if
someone tries to poison him it’ll only make him fart, it can’t kill him.
“It’s been months since- Do they have chocolate?” Bob sounds utterly awestruck
by the idea. It’s almost cute, or something.
“What kind of ice cream place doesn’t have chocolate?” Mikey’s words are barely
audible, spoken around the straw still in his mouth. But he spoke. It’s a
start. It would suck if Mikey gave him the silent treatment the entire year,
especially considering he might not live through it. Dying with his brother
pissed off at him for something that isn’t his fault is a shitty way to go.
Bob shrugs, and then they stare at each other for a solid minute. Mikey breaks
first, sucking more strawberry shake up his straw. Gerard wants to applaud, but
doesn’t. It would probably fuck up the truce they just wordlessly worked out.
Bob takes the brown shake from Mom and starts downing it.
“You’ll need to finish before we go. They ran out of take away cups three weeks
ago and haven’t ordered more in yet. But we’ll go get fast food, and I need to
pick up some smokes, and then we’ll go home, and they’ll show you your new
room.”
“I get my own?”
“You didn’t have one at home?” Gerard has way too many collectibles to share a
room with a sibling. Mikey’s not much less cluttered.
“I didn’t come from home. I- shit. I’m not supposed to talk about it, it was
one of the conditions.”
“Uh, okay?” Gerard doesn’t get it. Other cities are weird. But whatever. If Bob
doesn’t want to talk about his old place, that’s up to him.
“Having my own room sounds really good though.”
“You can decorate it however you want. We can go paint shopping tomorrow.
Gerard used to have your room, so the walls are bright red.”
“Thanks.” It’s the tone of someone that is genuinely surprised that an adult
would want to give them freedom. It makes Gerard want to ask questions, even
though Bob’s already made it clear he won’t be answering.
 
September
Gerard doesn’t really remember going to kindergarten while Mikey stayed home
with Grandma. He’s heard stories though. When you eat family dinner every
Sunday night certain stories become routine. Going to high school while Mikey
stays in the junior high wing of the elementary school isn’t turning out much
better for him. He’s a bit old for throwing himself to the ground and screaming
or sobbing, but it’s not like he doesn’t think about it.
Dad drops Mikey off first. He gets out of the front seat and walks around to
the back. Gerard always sits behind the driver if he can’t call shotgun, and
Bob didn’t seem to care. Mikey pulls the door open and bends in to curl himself
into Gerard. Gerard accepts the hug mutely, scared of what he might say if he
opens his mouth.
“Get them before they get you,” Mikey orders. Gerard nods. Realistically
speaking, the first day shouldn’t be too bad.
Mikey wishes Bob good luck in a louder voice then separates himself. He closes
the door and watches Mikey walk up the double-wide sidewalk. Gerard watches
every step, knowing that this might be the last time he ever sees Mikey. Dad
doesn’t pull away until Mikey’s inside, a courtesy Gerard will no longer be
getting.
Gerard’s going to the largest high school in Setlzer. Jonathon Brook has a
population of a bit over a thousand compared to the two other school’s slightly
less than. He can’t remember what his reasoning was. Maybe that in a sea of
people he’s less likely to be noticed and singled out. Maybe it’s just that
it’s the school Frank and Ray are going to. They’re not in his first period
class, but they share other classes and Bob is in his homeroom. He doesn’t know
much about comics, but he didn’t seem to mind Mikey pushing issues at him.
Aside from the not talking about his home thing, Bob is pretty cool. And
average, which is important. Gerard isn’t spending the next however long trying
to impress incredible people.
Since they won’t get their locks for their lockers until first period
introduction, there’s no reason to not go straight to homeroom. Gerard lets Bob
lead the way, happy that he picks seats in the second last row. Gerard’s not
really a front seat eager beaver, and if he was it wouldn’t be for general
science. He pulls his binder and his information packet from his backpack. A
boy in the front row is reading his student handbook, and the girl beside him
is already making a list of names on her notes app. Gerard starts drawing a
brontosaurus on the corner of the first page. Bob leans over and starts writing
dinosaur related dialogue. Gerard tilts his paper for easier access.
They’ve almost got a comic finished when the five minute warning bell rings. It
makes Gerard look up reflexively. The teacher’s gun is on her desk in direct
line of sight. The class is nearly full now, and half the students are
eyeballing it. Gerard goes back to adding dandruff to the pterodactyl. Guns
aren’t his style, and they’re not allowed them in school anyway.
After the final bell rings they all stand for the anthem. It’s still the Star
Spangled Banner, of course, but the backing instruments are different than the
simple piano at his old school. When braaaave finishes ringing out and the
intercom crackles off the teacher introduces herself over the scrape of thirty
people settling back into their chairs. She takes attendance, then moves close
to the door to kick at a plywood box painted navy blue.
“This is the lost and found. Technically I’m supposed to tell you to keep your
mitts off. Realistically, if there are any weapons in lost and found feel free
to take them. Chances are the student is no longer capable of reclaiming them.”
Bob laughs. Gerard’s not sure why that’s funny.
Everyone is tense the whole morning. Gerard can’t help but wonder if this is
what the next three years are going to be like. But no, it’s a different kind
of tension. This isn’t just normal tension. This is first day specific.
Everyone is waiting for something to happen, no one wants to make the first
move. It’s almost a relief when in the middle of a conversation while walking
out of cooking Frank barks out a shout of excitement. Gerard looks up from the
locker combination written on his hand that he’s trying to memorize. Beside him
Ray and Bob stop in their tracks.
Seemingly everyone in the hallway is turning to watch. Down the hall it’s a
pretty decent show. A girl has another girl by the pony tail and is smashing
her head into the locker. The defender isn’t doing much to save herself, the
first blow must have stunned her. Part of Gerard knows he should run forward
and join in. He could finish off the dying girl and take the aggressor’s kill.
He could go after the aggressor, as she’s basically made herself open game. Or
he could even go after someone random, really get the year started. And he
should do it while shouting ‘you don’t mess with the Ways’ so he can start
building a rep to keep himself and more importantly Mikey safe. He doesn’t
though, just hangs back.
It’s not the first girl Gerard’s seen die. You don’t live fifteen years without
seeing death, unless your parents keep you indoors whenever possible. Coddling
like that is dangerous though. It leaves you unprepared for the world. Still,
it’s the first time he’s seen someone get beaten so enthusiastically, and the
first time he’s not protected from being the next. His hand goes to the sheath
dangling from his belt loop, index finger rubbing over the hilt of his knife.
He doesn’t have the safety of the yellow cloth any longer. If this escalates he
has to watch his back, and Frank’s and Ray’s. And maybe Bob’s. They haven’t
struck a deal, but alliances are constantly broken. There are entire reality
shows based on the idea. Gerard would rather have a friendship, and not just
because Bob looks like he could handle anything.
Bob’s chill demeanor doesn’t match the words coming out of his mouth. “That
girl is killing her!”
“Don’t worry, I’ve got a knife,” Gerard reassures.
“What? Gerard, I think that girl is trying to kill her!”
Frank snorts. “Yeah, and my Spanish teacher is trying to teach me Spanish. Who
knows who’ll prevail.”
Frank’s got a point. The defender is rallying. She’s got a delicate stiletto
knife out of her pocket now. Her sight is obviously pretty fucked, she’s
swinging it at random, but she’s connected a few times. Nowhere vital, but
enough to make the aggressor cry out in pain and stop smashing the defender’s
head.
“What the fuck, Frank? They’re trying to kill each other!”
“Yeah, and my math class had numbers, and in gym I had to move around. High
school comes with requirements.”
Bob is staring at Frank wide eyed. Ray finally takes pity. “Did they wait until
after labour day to start at your school?”
“Start what? What the fuck is going on! She just died!” Bob points wildly and
Gerard looks again, noting that the stiletto did its work. The aggressor is
slumped, pints spraying out of her thigh. “Someone just killed someone! Why
does no one care? Where the fuck are the cops!”
Gerard doesn’t know how to answer that. Frank is confused too, though more
distracted watching the girl finish opening her locker and getting out a change
of clothing. For the second time, it’s Ray that attempts to help Bob. “Uh, cops
come when crimes occur?”
“Someone just murdered someone! What the fuck do you think a crime is?”
Suddenly it all makes sense. Gerard can see the comprehension flash in Ray and
Frank’s eyes. Of course it’s Frank that says it, because he has no head to
mouth filter. “Oh, you’re from one of those towns. Weird.”
“Could one of you explain what the fuck that means before I go fucking
batshit?” Bob doesn’t look like it would take much to push him into action.
Gerard angles himself better so if Bob attacks him he can take him down.
“Just that there are towns like yours, you know, disadvantaged,” Ray’s voice
drops to a whisper for the last word, “and then there are normal towns, like
ours.”
“Jesus Christ, you guys think murder is normal. This isn’t. I don’t. I don’t
belong here! I didn’t murder anyone, I just got drunk and hit my cousin for
hitting his girlfriend. It was my first party, and he was a dick and he got me
drunk and my aunt called the cops. I was supposed to be staying away from my
family, being relocated was my early release condition. They moved me to a town
where murder is okay. I don’t belong here! I barely even hurt him!”
Gerard watches Bob spiral into hyperventilating. He doesn’t know what to say.
Even Ray’s at a loss for words, and he’s always the comforter. Thankfully the
silence doesn’t stretch long, the five minute bell rings.
“Oh shit, we gotta get to class. Look, we’ll hang out at Gerard’s after school
and explain shit to you. But you have geometry with McKensson, right? He’s
cool, my older brother liked him.”
Bob looks at Ray like he’s insane. “Yeah, I’m not going to class. I’m calling
my probation officer and getting the fuck out of this crazy ass town.”
It isn’t until last period that Gerard gets sent to the guidance counsellor’s
office. He’s been expecting it all day, hosts are checked in on a few times a
year. Assuming the guest lives through all of high school, of course. If Bob
dies next week there wouldn’t be any point in meeting to talk about him in
December. Once he gets into the general office he knocks on the closed door
he’s assigned to. Or at least he assumes he’s assigned there, the door has the
label Q-Z on it, along with Grey. A female voice calls for him to come in, so
he turns the doorknob.
The room is small, her nice chair on one side of a desk with paper strewn over
it, two normal classroom plastic chairs on the other. Gerard throws himself
into one and glances around the room as he waits for her to finish typing. The
art is horribly generic, and a poor contrast for the safe walls. Not for the
first time, Gerard wishes the school designers could have chosen a better shade
to signify off limits areas. At the very least a bright yellow instead of a
pastel butter shade.
“How are things going with Bob?” she asks. She’s still facing the computer, not
him, but it’s fairly obvious she’s talking to him.
“Mrs Grey, I don’t get it. Bob seemed shocked when two girls went at it. Not
just normal shocked ‘cause you never know when to expect it. Really shocked.
And then he said it doesn’t happen where he’s from. He kind of implied that
we’re the weird ones.”
She turns to look at him. Her face is compassionate, like she’s barely
restraining herself from leaping over the table to hug him. “Gerard, you have
to remember a lot of the guests are from disadvantaged cities. No one gets a
college fund because no one has earned the right to be an adult. Many cities
have populations where adults abuse or even kill each other.”
“What?” The idea is unfathomable. Parallel universes and time travel are far
more plausible than someone over eighteen hurting someone else.
“Yes, it’s quite true I’m afraid. Not being able to get their aggression tamed
has left them in a state of perpetual adolescence.”
“Well that’s fucked up.”
“That’s why we bring in so many teenagers. Every normal city does, in a sort of
aide to those that need it. Bob told you he came from prison, correct? Did he
tell you the circumstances?”
“Uh, he got in a fight with his cousin? I didn’t really get it, that’s not a
crime. At least not here.”
“Gerard, his cousin is twenty one. His cousin had assaulted his twenty year old
girlfriend, and Bob, fourteen and intoxicated at the time, was the only one in
a room full of adults to try to stop it. When the selection committee found out
he was immediately on the transfer list. Bob is exactly the type of child most
in need of saving.”
“Holy shit,” he mutters. Bob didn’t say anything about their ages when they
were in the hallway.
“His probation officer instructed him not to share his past. You can understand
how some of our less, well, how some of the students would look down on him if
they found out he was violent while in junior high, against adults. I’m going
to make the same request of you.”
“I won’t tell anyone.” It’s only a little bit a lie. He’s going to tell Ray and
Frank, and Mikey when he goes home. But he sure as fuck isn’t telling any of
the dumbass popular kids. There’s already a prejudice against guests, if anyone
finds out about Bob’s perverted act he’ll be a target immediately. Gerard
doesn’t want that for him.
 
March
Gerard doesn’t really want to watch basketball. He doesn’t care about the
sport, in his opinion the only good sport is wrestling. He really doesn’t care
about showing school spirit for the team, there’s nothing that makes JB any
better than Amos Avery. To top it off, he has a feeling that shit is gonna get
messy. He can pretty much guarantee someone is going to die tonight, and
multiple are actually pretty likely.
Unfortunately for them, Frank does want to go. He’s been invested in the games
since November, even attends some of the Amos Avery vs Paulo Ferdinand games.
They can’t exactly let him go alone. There’s safety in numbers. Frank doesn’t
need protection, it’s the other way around if anything. The first semester of
freshman year has taught them something not particularly surprising; Frank can
be a bit enthusiastic with getting into it with someone over a perceived
slight. If he didn’t have people around to make him laugh and keep him chill,
he might rack up a body a day. It’s impossible to hold a grudge though, as soon
as Frank is springing to his feet and cursing the referee Gerard can’t help but
smile. And the two foot long plastic bag of popcorn seems to be placating Bob
and Ray.
Mikey is the only hold out, scowling more each second. It takes a few
meaningful nudges and knee knocks for his brother to spit it out. “This pinnie
makes me look fucking stupid.”
“Yeah, well too bad. You’re wearing it.” He’s not Mom, but as older brother
he’s got enough authority to make sure it doesn’t come off.
The scowl grows before it distorts as Mikey retorts “I didn’t say I wasn’t
gonna wear it. I said it looks fucking stupid.”
Frank shrugs, sitting down for the tenth time in eight minutes. “Price you pay
for being fourteen and hanging out with the big boys.”
“Frank I’m like two feet taller than you.”
Frank swivels towards him. “Fuck you, I am not three feet tall.”
“You don’t look like a runty junior high kid, is what Frank is saying.”
Gerard’s pretty sure that wasn’t at all what Frank meant, but better to let Ray
talk. “So when shit goes down, which we all know it will, that’ll say you’re
immune. And in what, seven months, you won’t be an off limits kid, you’ll be a
teenager. So enjoy not being a target while you still can.”
“Fuck off. And gimme some popcorn.”
It’s pretty much the best resolution Gerard could hope for. Mikey wants to be a
freshman in a way Gerard never did, and he’s not going to be entirely himself
until he’s no longer left behind. He jams both hands down the plastic and grabs
two handfuls. He tosses one fully into his mouth, and holds the other open so
Mikey can scoop it up.
For a minute it looks like things are going to blow up six minutes into the
third. Frank’s outrage against an uncalled foul is met with catcalls by a guy
with a hammer in his hand. The catcalls rile up the Jonathon Brooke crowd, all
around Gerard people are shouting. It’s a young crowd, everyone in high school,
except for one or two yellow pinnies. It’s a volatile crowd, to put it mildly.
He stays sitting but keeps his hand on his hilt.
In the end, no one takes that first step off the bleachers. The screamed
threats simmer down, and most sit down and the ref calls the game back on.
Gerard could make a calm in the eye of a storm comment to Mikey, but it’s not
really like that. That implies the storm will stop. Maybe after a ton of
wreckage, but it will. Non-metaphored real life doesn’t stop. It’s a series of
short pauses between death and more death.
Shit actually starts in the fourth quarter. Someone in the Avery crowd jeers
the JB point guard, and his reaction is to turn and charge at her. The clock
pauses again, and when Eric starts punching the girl the crowd swarms on him
and the JB crowd swarms on them. Most of both basketball teams run to the door
that leads to the change rooms. They still have half a season to play, they
don’t want to die yet.
Gerard doesn’t want to die yet either. Ray’s got Frank by the hair so he
doesn’t go dive into the melee, but it’s spreading as individuals start to hit
and cut and kick, and it’s only a matter of minutes until it gets to them.
Trying to leave wouldn’t be safe, you don’t expose your back to this kind of
scene. Instead they cluster in front of Mikey. Pinnie or not, someone with a
tec-9 doesn’t have a lot of accuracy. It’s better to be safe than to be at a
funeral.
Gerard can feel Mikey’s forearm press against his back trying to get him out of
the way. He doesn’t move. He’s Mikey’s older brother and that entails a lot of
things. In the end being a human shield is no worse than making sure he eats
the whole bowlful of soup when he’s sick. This is what he has to do.
Eventually they get rushed. The girl has Jonathon Brook coloured hair ties, but
this stopped being about teams five minutes ago. He can feel Frank tensing on
one side of him, Bob on the other. Ray’s half behind Frank, in the last year
it’s become obvious Ray doesn’t have the right teenage attitude. Of the three
times he’s tried to kill, two lived after Ray walked away thinking he’d
finished the job. Gerard doesn’t have the enthusiasm Frank does, or Bob’s
strength, but he can hold his own if someone comes at him. His technique has
changed in the last seven months. As it turns out, slitting throats does best
for him. It requires far less force or momentum than stabbing someone in the
chest would. It’s also more merciful, they bleed out much quicker from a nicked
jugular than a gut wound. The most important factor is it gives no chance for
recovery. People that survive tend to want revenge.
She comes at him, and Gerard does what he has to do. She’s obviously not
thinking, caught up in the blood rage groups sometimes get. It’s easy to hold
the knife up as she rams into him. The arterial spray is already gushing before
Gerard fully lands. He closes his eyes and purses his lips to keep himself from
ingesting any fluids, though it can only help so much. As her body twitches one
last time her bladder loses control over his shoes.
“Fuckin’ gross,” he mutters.
“Get the hell off me.” Or at least that’s what sounds like Mikey says. His
voice is pretty muffled with a blanket of two people on top of him. Gerard
can’t do shit all about it though, not until Bob or Ray gets the girl off him.
It’s too much dead weight, liked a felled tree; he can’t dislodge her himself.
                     [Image_and_video_hosting_by_TinyPic]
Gerard is exhausted by the time he gets to his parents house. That hardly
matters though, it doesn’t dampen the thrill of seeing them a bit. Mom makes
him a sandwich, microwaved bacon and thickly sliced tomatoes. Dad tells him the
score of a baseball game that’s being played somewhere it’s still light out.
He’s only taken his first bite when Mom tells him the wake is at Frank’s house
tomorrow.
“Why are Mr and Mrs Iero hosting it?” He can think of a whole handful of people
more appropriate.
“No, Frank is. He’s got a place near the river.”
“What? He lives here?”
“Has for about, what’s it, Don? Seven years?”
Holy shit. Maybe Mikey’s partially right, in that Gerard’s been curious about
what Frank’s been doing. He’s probably daydreamed a hundred lives for him over
the years. But not a single one of them involved Frank coming back to a city of
murder and staying.
“I’m pretty sure a lot of the guys your age are having a pre-wake wake.
Probably staying overnight, so it’s not too late to go over, if you’re not
jetlagged.”
“They must be staying,” Dad adds. “They bought one of the liquor stores out of
beer. Literally, Chris told me when I was picking up milk. Gerard, do you
remember Chris? Well, he’s working three different part time jobs. Four, if you
count gossiping.”
“I don’t drink anymore Dad. I had a problem with it after leaving here.” From
what he could tell researching, a lot of PTSD survivors have substance issues.
Mikey and Pete weren’t much better with the drugs.
“Well you should still go over. Pay your last respects to James. His funeral is
the day after tomorrow.”
The action suddenly seems a lot more questionable now that it’s at Frank’s. And
he is tired. Really, it can wait until tomorrow.
                                 [Photobucket]
October
Anyone with common sense would say a teenager with a crush would spend their
days talking about their crush to anyone that would listen. Mikey doesn’t.
Instead he spends his days talking about Patrick, who talks about Pete.
Gerard’s glad Mikey has acquaintances. Friends can sometimes be exhausting. Ray
didn’t successfully kill anyone this summer, Bob had to finish off the one guy
Ray tried to get. And Frank was of course the opposite, diving into any
possible situation. You have to back friends, or at least Gerard’s personal
ethics says he has to, and he knows Ray and Frank and Bob share that idea.
People that make you happy yet you have no obligation to keep alive are a
relief. But every second sentence out of Mikey’s mouth is about Patrick. It’s
getting old.
To be fair though, it’s not right for him to say what average teenager with a
crush behaviour should be. It’s not like he likes anyone, has experienced what
Mikey currently is feeling. Gerard can at least admit he doesn’t know what he’s
talking about And they are supportive. If Mikey wants to relay that time where
Patrick and Pete inhaled and exhaled, one of them will feign interest. They
rotate. Today it’s Ray’s turn.
“Patrick told me Pete showers twice a day. Sometimes three times.”
As much as Gerard cares about neither Pete nor Patrick this just seems
ridiculous and impossible. It’s the first thing all week worth asking about.
“What? Why in God’s name would he shower three times a day?”
“Because not everyone can get by on three times a month like you and Mikey
can?” Bob comments.
Frank and Ray laugh, Gerard just rolls his eyes. Everyone knows hair has its
own natural oils that self clean. And soaps are just chemicals that leave a
film on your skin.
“Patrick says it’s because when Pete is having his nightmares he sweats a lot.
So he has to shower in the morning.”
“Yeah I can understand that, my sheets are always damp.”
“Sure that’s not just wet dreams?”
“Fuck off.”
Mikey interrupts Frank and Bob before it can devolve further. “Then he showers
at night so he can jerk off.”
“How does Patrick know that?”
“You’re telling me you haven’t figured out when Lou is taking ten minutes too
long?”
“Why the hell would I think about my brother?”
“And then sometimes he’s got soccer, so he has to get all the grass stains off
his knees or whatever.”
Gerard can honestly say he wouldn’t use the shower in any of those situations.
He’s not normally sweaty after his nightmares, and if he can’t get back to
sleep he uses the time to draw instead of worrying about personal hygiene. It’s
never too soon to start building a portfolio. There’s nothing wrong with
jerking off in bed, it’s a lot more comfortable. And while he doesn’t do
anything that would involve grass stains, if he did he would consider it a
hazard of the action and not worry about it. Like the paint that sometimes gets
in his hair.
“Patrick says that Pete and Jeanae don’t even like each other anymore. They’re
just too stubborn to let go. Patrick thinks they’d end up getting married, just
because they can’t stop.”
“That’s crazy,” Ray manages. Thank fuck it’s Ray’s day. If Gerard has to
actively participate in one more conversation about Patrick’s thoughts on
Jeanae he’s going to stab himself in the eardrum with his own knife. At least
Frank and Ray and Jamia get to go home, this follows him and Bob.
“I know.” Mikey stands and Gerard is suddenly very interested. His brother’s
pockets are bulging. It’s obvious he’s got something.
“Think about what you’re doing Mikeyway.”
“I’ve thought enough.”
When Mikey starts walking Gerard doesn’t hesitate a moment before following.
He’s gratified to see Bob, Frank, and Ray too. It’s nice when trust is properly
placed. Jamia stays at the table, but he can’t fault her for it. She and Frank
have only been hanging out for a few weeks, she owes Mikey as much as Gerard
owes Patrick.
Unsurprisingly Mikey stops at the table Pete is sitting at. Jeanae is sitting
beside him, and they each have half a dozen friends to fill out the table.
Pete’s have some variety, different ethnicities and styles. Jeanae’s girls are
nearly identical.
Mikey doesn’t waste time calling her out. He just pulls a bottle of Axe out of
one pocket and a lighter out of the other. He depresses the button as he flicks
the lighter. The flame shoots out several feet. She’s screaming in an instant,
a move that doesn’t do much good when it just has her inhaling the flame and
roasting her throat. Mikey uses all his weight to keep the chair tucked in so
she can’t escape. No one intervenes, her friends just shift so the clumps of
burning hair don’t land on them and ruin their outfits. As she slumps he
follows her, expending the rest of the can. Only when it’s empty does he throw
his hoodie onto her corpse to suppress the flames before the whole table goes
up.
He slips the lighter in his pocket and moves a few feet to the left. “Hi. I’m
Mikey.”
“I’m Pete, Pete Wentz.” He’s not really looking at Mikey, rather he’s staring
at the black fleece covering his charred girlfriend. Gerard can’t really blame
him for the split attention.
“Yeah, I know. I’ve been waiting for you to break up, but I got bored.”
“Oh. Uh, I get that. I’d get bored too.”
There doesn’t look like there’s gong to be any immediate retaliation so Gerard
falls back. He should let Mikey have his moment. He’d want Mikey to do the same
for him.
 
November
Gerard always waits outside band practice for Frank. He sits in the hallway and
does his homework -or at least opens his binder- and lets the minutes slide by
until Frank comes out with his guitar, a single body in the stream of students
lugging instruments. He’s always talking to someone as everyone exits, there
never seems to be infighting. If there are less members towards the end of the
year it’s because others have killed them. Mrs Brady has the claim to fame of
the only after school club in which there have been no murders between members
in the last decade.
If anyone were to ask why he stays, it’s just safety in numbers. No one has
asked. The lack of consideration is probably a good thing. As soon as someone
points out he still has to walk by himself from Frank’s to his house, that
excuse is done.
It’s not entirely about the fact that he might like Frank more than others -
say, Mikey- do, and walking home with him gives them more time to hang out.
Gerard honestly likes hearing the music being built. Listening to the school
band practice is as good as Bob’s drum corps is as good as Ray playing along to
CDs in his room. He keeps telling Mikey to pick up an instrument but he doesn’t
think it’s likely.
It’s not that bad of a walk to get from school to Frank’s house. There are two
main ways, cutting through back fields or down normal streets. When Gerard’s
walking with him it’s always the streets. Middling length over cracked
sidewalks is better than a short walk up and down a hill. On concrete you only
have to worry about gum, not animal shit. And there are more places to run and
better makeshift weapons in case something happens. Gerard’s pretty sure even
when he’s not with Frank his friend goes the streets way. He’d have to, he has
an addiction.
Just like every other time, halfway home they stop to get Slushies. Frank’s mom
gives him a twenty for bus tickets each week, and each week Frank either walks
or mooches rides. It’s a system that leaves him with a good chunk of spending
cash. That cash is almost entirely spent on flavoured ice.
When they exit the store, Frank’s is already half finished. He starts sucking
out of the lurid straw the moment the cup is full, and there’s usually a line
at the til. Gerard waits until they’re paid for. If Frank didn’t have enough
change it would be theft, and this shop is notorious for calling the police for
the smallest of shortchanges. Gerard’s not getting arrested for petty crime for
a dollar ninety five.
In the parking lot a blue haired teenager is being stabbed to death. They walk
around, giving wide enough berth to make it obvious they’re not interested in
being second and third victims. Still, they can’t help but watch. The aggressor
is doing a really shit job at it; the victim is bleeding from about five
places, none of them fatal. Or maybe he’s just a sadist. With each stab he
giggles like it’s the most hilarious thing in the world while the victim just
takes it stoically.
“Oh, that guy’s badass. Hold Pansy.”
As they’re thrust at him, Gerard quickly juggles Frank’s guitar case, Frank’s
backpack, Frank’s Gatorade Slushie and his Coke Slushie. It defies the laws of
physics, but somehow nothing goes crashing to the sidewalk. By the time he’s
got everything settled Frank’s across the parking lot. Gerard’s not
particularly surprised to see him attack the aggressor rather than go for the
easy kill. Frank’s always rooted for the underdog.
It only takes a few headbutts to the base of his skull for the aggressor to go
down. Frank drops with him and starts smashing his face against the sidewalk.
Gerard readjusts his handful of items so he can take a long suck of his
Slushie. When the Coke ones melt down they’re flat and gross. Much better to
have it when it’s still icey so it won’t go to waste. The hard sucks drown out
any sounds of the guy’s head cracking. One time he sucked hard enough to pop an
eardrum, and his enthusiasm has never really waned.
Eventually Frank stands, wiping the chunky splatter off his hands onto his
jeans. It’s Gerard’s hint to move in to the pair. Frank only waits a beat
before he starts questioning blue haired kid. “I’m Frank. That’s Gerard. Why
didn’t you kill him? You’re bigger than him. Shit, I was almost bigger than
him.”
“James. I don’t kill.”
Gerard looks him over again. He looks too big to be a freshman, and besides,
it’s almost the end of November. At this point, most freshmen have gotten their
first done. But maybe he’s just a slow freshie trying to fly under the radar.
Hell, he could be in ninth grade, and just forgot to wear yellow.
Before he can start asking questions, Frank speaks up. He’s less inquisitive
than Gerard wants to be, and more supportive than he probably would ever be to
a stranger. Frank’s just awesome like that. “Dude, it’s okay if you’re a no
digit, everyone starts off that way. You just need to try.”
James shakes his head. When his hair flops around it shows his dark roots. It’s
kind of inspiring to see. Maybe Gerard should go orange. “I don’t kill on
purpose. I don’t ever want to hurt people.”
Gerard’s speechless. What can you say to something like that? Bob didn’t like
it, but once he realised the stakes he got with the program. Someone that knows
how things work but refuses to join in... It’s just suicidally stubborn.
At least he’s not the only one to be stunned. Frank doesn’t have much of a
brain to mouth filter, and instead of staying quiet he comments, “but we’re in
high school. You’ll never make it out alive.”
He shrugs. “Better dead with principles than alive with none.”
Gerard has principles. He believes in loyalty. He believes in the mercy of a
quick kill. He believes in family and making friends close enough to be family.
He believes in finding your passion and going balls to the wall, full throttle
with it. But not killing isn’t a principle. Refusing to kill is only going to
end up with James being very very dead.
“But you didn’t try to stop me.” Frank questions.
“You don’t have my principles, you have yours.” So, at least he’s not trying to
convert others.
“So you don’t care if I kill someone.”
“Like you said, it’s high school.”
Gerard knows what’s coming, and three seconds later he hears it. “Okay, so I’ll
just hang around and kill people for you when it comes up. We can be besties.
Go get your shit stitched and I’ll see you tomorrow. If you go to JB. Do you?
‘Cause if you don’t this plan might-”
“I do. And I stitch myself, actually. I get stabbed a lot, my parents can’t
afford a doctor a week. But you’re right, I should go get it done. Blood loss
is no one’s friend.”
Frank waits until James is gone to turn to him and take his things back. He
sucks down a gulp and then scowls savagely. “Look, I’m not asking you to do
shit all. And don’t think I’m doing it just because I want to kill a ton of
people. I’m not gonna kill everyone that looks at him. I just want him to have
the same chance to survive that we all get. I-”
Gerard speaks over him. “If you care we care.”
Frank smiles. If anyone asks, Gerard won’t say he agreed to help a stranger
just to see it. But maybe, just maybe, it’s the truth.
 
February
It’s easy to not say anything. Even if he wanted to tell Frank, Gerard never
has the opportunity. Other people are always around, and no one else needs to
know. No one else can know. Gerard knows his friends and acquaintances well
enough to know the reactions would fall into two camps; offended and
empathetic. It’s hard to say what would be worse to actually experience. There
would be the friends like Bob that would pissed he was trying to mess up a good
relationship. Which he’s not. It’s not like there haven’t been opportunities to
throw a wrench into the works of Frank and Jamia. Four months of a
relationship, four months that include Christmas and New Years and Valentine’s,
there were chances to make things go wrong. But he didn’t, and he wouldn’t.
Gerard doesn’t want anyone pissed at him for something he wouldn’t do. On the
other hand, he knows the sympathy that would come from James and Christa and
Alicia would be just as hard to face. Just because he’s got an unrequited crush
doesn’t mean he’s swooning when Frank walks past and crying when he and Jamia
hold hands. And he doesn’t want to hear that he and Frank would be hot
together, because he knows that already.
And then there’s Mikey. He’s so fucking happy with Pete, each day has them
grinning like idiots at each other. Gerard knows he doesn’t regret getting rid
of Jeanae for an instant. Mikey’s advice would be obvious, which is why he
can’t ask. Gerard likes Jamia. They might not be best friends but he likes her
and he can hardly say she and Frank aren’t great together. If he can’t as much
as break them up, he can hardly kill her, or incite someone else to. It
wouldn’t be right.
So he stays quiet, and goes about his life. He’s not the first person on earth
to have unrequited love. He won’t be the last. And sooner or later he’ll get
over it. Until then he can focus on art and movies and video games, and trying
to figure out why the guy on the wrestling team has tried to run him over three
times this week. If he doesn’t fuck off soon he’s going to have to do some
research and figure out how to make an ignition bomb.
This weekend though he’s not gonna do shit all. He is unsupervised, and it
would be a crime against nature if he did anything strenuous without being
forced to. Some of the host parents are having a party, or conference, or
whatever. Gerard isn’t clear on the details, only that his parents will be gone
all weekend. In practical terms this means he Mikey and Bob can get drunk and
have a five am video game marathon without being yelled at for fucking up their
biological clocks.
Except apparently that’s not anyone else’s game plan. Bob doesn’t meet them
after school, just relays a message through Ray that he’s spending the weekend
with Vanessa. On one hand Gerard can’t really blame Bob for wanting two days of
uninterrupted time with his girlfriend. The last few months have been a pain in
the ass for him, the Barkers guest was a total creeper that completely deserved
the impaling he got two weeks ago. Even Vanessa didn’t go to the funeral, no
one Gerard knows did. On the other hand Bob not being with them gives Pete the
chance to tag along.
On the walk to the car Pete calls shotgun. Gerard didn’t think it was even an
option, just assumed Pete would want to sit beside Mikey in the back. But you
can’t argue the shotgun rule, so Gerard climbs into the back. He’s still in a
good enough mood about the free from nagging weekend that he barely scowls when
Pete wastes it, spending the entire ride on his knees turned backwards so he
can talk to Mikey. Thankfully no one tries to plow into them. Ray’s car would
crumple easier than a pop can, it’s a hand me down through about six Toros.
Ray drops them off, shaking off the invitation to come in. No one is surprised,
the Toros have a pretty strict family dinner policy. Ray might be over by
eight, but there would be hell to pay if he came over now. Once they’re in the
kitchen Mikey makes mixed drinks for all of them out of the bottle hidden in
the massive bag of flour. Gerard chugs his, Seven Up mixing with the raspberry
vodka nicely. He puts his glass beside the bottle with a pointed look at Mikey,
then heads downstairs to get a comfy pair of pyjamas on for the next two and a
half days.
When he comes back upstairs the kitchen is empty, all three glasses on the
counter. Further investigation finds them in the living room. Mikey and Pete
both have their shirts off and Pete is sprawled on the top of Mikey on the
couch.
“Guys. Seriously?”
Their lips make a wet noise when they pull apart. Pete arches to look at
Gerard, though he doesn’t actually remove his groin from Mikey’s. “What.”
Gerard throws his arms around as he asks “do I really need to explain all the
problems here?”
“Look. Being very quiet in Mikey’s room or being very quiet in my room gets
old. Next year we’re going to be obnoxiously loud in my dorm room. For now we
take excitement where we can get it.”
“Go watch an ep of Farscape, we’ll call you when we’re done,” Mikey says more
kindly.
Gerard snorts. He is not spending the whole evening getting banished and
rebanished every time his brother and his boyfriend get turned on and think of
a new surface they want to screw on. At a loss of what else to do he grabs his
keys and his knife and starts walking to Frank’s. Frank and Jamia are almost as
good at video games as Mikey and Bob are, they’d supply entertainment. And the
Ieros like him, so he’ll be allowed to stay two nights in a row, if he wants
to.
About halfway down the block Gerard realises his mistake. It’s February, and
he’s wearing flannel thin enough to spit through, and a hoodie. The winter wind
bites through his cow print bottoms, but he can’t go back. If he goes back
dicks will be out. He’s seen Wentz’s dick once, accidentally, he doesn’t need
that experience twice. Hell, he didn’t need it once. Besides, if he ends up
spending the weekend there he’ll want to have them. He can’t borrow from Frank.
They’d be too small, and realistically they’d probably make him hard the whole
time. He just needs to walk quicker instead of complaining. Or do both. Both
works.
He gets to Frank’s without something going down. Yellow zones end at the bottom
of the stairs, so Frank opens the door without brandishing a weapon. Gerard
shrugs and smiles a bit, hoping Frank’s not too cranky that he’s crashing.
Frank just jerks his head and leads him to the living room. Gerard’s been over
enough to know Mr and Mrs Iero should be sitting watching tv, but they’re not.
“They’re at the meetup,” Frank answers his unasked question.
“Didn’t Hank die like the first week into September?”
“Yeah, I dunno. They probably just want to bitch. When they went to go turn his
room back to a guest room they found some of Mom’s jewelry under the bed.”
“Shitty. Good thing he got killed early then.” Gerard tosses himself onto the
carpet. The couch is more comfortable, of course, but the cords don’t reach
that far. “Where’s Jamia?”
“Oh, we’re not hanging out tonight.” Frank settles beside him without picking
up the controllers. Call him a lazy bastard, but it would have been nice to not
have to get up again in five minutes to get his. It’s hard to knee walk on
carpet wearing loosely elasticised flannel.
“You guys left together?” It’s not stalking, he knows how Alicia and Christa
and James got home too. Monitoring keeps people alive.
“We just went to pick up together. She’s smoking with her friends, and am I
smoking with mine?”
“I dunno.” It wouldn’t be his first time, or even the tenth, but he doesn’t
have an almost daily routine of it the way Frank and Jamia do.
“Well then, I’ll roll a joint for me and you can decide later.” Frank scoots to
the nearest side table and pushes the lamp so he has room to work. The bud is
at least two inches long, it looks like a freakin’ pine cone more than normal
weed.
“Are you sure it’s good? Because stick a junior in a college dorm and all of a
sudden he looks nineteen.”
Frank shakes his head as he starts to slice the green with embroidery scissors.
“The woman I got it from was older than my mom. And don’t start with suggesting
it was her kid’s pot, she tore off a bit of this and smoked it with me.”
It is hard to find an issue with that.
“Look, if you feel paranoid don’t smoke it. But I’m telling you even teenage
dealers don’t put rat poison on their shit. If people died using it they’d lose
business. And put on a shitty rom com. That shit is always hilarious when I’m
stoned.”
Gerard picks one at random from Mrs Iero’s shelf on the bookcase appropriated
for DVDs and puts it in the player. As the previews start Frank’s first wafts
of smoke begin to drift. When Frank gestures speculatively as him, he takes the
joint. He’ll need it to get through this movie.
Frank’s right, as usual. The more they smoke, the funnier the incredibly
overused scenario is. When Frank has a bad enough coughing fit during some of
the dialogue that Gerard has to pause it, he decides on the behalf of both of
them that three joints is enough.
“You know the funny thing is we sort of have that.” Gerard points at the
screen.
“What?”
“Oh, I guess I haven’t told you.” It would be nice to be drunk for this, but
stoned will do. “I have a serious boner for you. Not just my dick, a heart
boner too.”
“Huh.”
Neutral. Not disgusted, not interested. It’s pretty much what Gerard expected.
“I, uh, can’t do anything about that. I mean, it’s not the gay thing. I don’t
care about that. It’s just I’m dating Jamia. I don’t want to cheat. Not just
because she’d kill me. Cheating is shitty, Gee.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s why I pointed to the unrequited love scene and said it
was us.” He blinks a few times -his eyelashes feel sticky- and adds “you should
roll another joint.”
“Fuck that. I’m packing a bowl. Way easier.”
Gerard would call him lazy, but namecalling doesn’t tend to lead to him getting
free hoots. So he just leans back and rests his head against the middle
cushion. It’s much better than the floor.
                     [Image_and_video_hosting_by_TinyPic]
Gerard has a beer in his hand. He doesn’t plan on drinking it, but he’s
incredibly proud of the fact that he can hold it without crying for how much he
wants to drink it. AA was too religious to work for him, he’s committed too
many sins to let himself believe in God, but he did his best to rehabilitate
himself. There have been times where it’s been ridiculously hard to not guzzle
the nearest thing containing ethanol. That he’s been able to hold an uncapped
Millers without taking even a sip is him winning at Russian Roulette.
He’s the only one not drinking. All over every flat surface in Frank’s house
are empties. There’s a pyramid by the front door nearly human height of 24s
filled with empties. The house smells like beer and dill pickle chips. When he
went past to use the bathroom, a few guys were passed out on Frank’s bed. Most
of the mourners seem to be holding their weight though, and none have turned
obnoxious. The drink has merely made them more talkative, more willing to
remember things and allow themselves to feel nostalgia without getting too
weepy.
“I remember his style.” Frank grins for a moment, like he can’t help it, before
the expression slides off. “James and I were always very interested in what
else we could make our hair look like. We had to focus on hair. He wasn’t as
lucky as I was. We both wanted tattoos, but he had a lot more scars than I did
from freshman year, before we found him. His scars couldn’t take ink. Too
keloided.”
Gerard maybe shouldn’t jump in now. But he wants to. “I remember one time Mikey
and James were hanging out and they got jumped. I wasn’t there, I heard about
it after. Much later, after. Because when I go home and went looking for Mikey,
I found him helping sew James up, and that needle in his hand made me faint.”
Everyone’s laughing at him, but it doesn’t feel mean. Soon enough the laughter
switches to Ray, when he relates a story of a cooking class experience; James
nearly crying when Ray accidentally put his hand on the entire plate of frosted
cupcakes and made them fail the lab.
“His parents moved to Orlando a few years ago,” a woman Gerard doesn’t
recognise starts. “They asked James to come with them. He said no. He said he
had a job here, helping the teenagers that managed to get away. He was really
fucking great at what he did.”
Gerard remembers being surprised with the first Christmas card that James was
studying to be a paramedic. It was a tough career to get into. There wasn’t a
large turnover rate in the field, and there wasn’t lot of call for it. Most of
the adults that got hurt drove themselves to the hospital, and most teenagers
finished off the job. But between heart attacks and children having accidents
there was enough to necessitate ambulances, and a combination of good grades,
great attitude and lucky timing got James in. It’s not surprising to learn
James did it for the rare teenager rather than the elderly stroke victim.
“Anyone else think this is really screwed up? I mean, James is fucking twenty
six. People that old don’t die. It’s not right!” The man drives his fist into
his thigh. As the chorus of agreement start, it’s easy to pinpoint which
drinkers came from out of town. People like himself and Ray and Kittie, they
know how death works in the real world.
At the beginning of the afternoon Gerard had gone over mentally planning how to
leave as soon as possible without looking like a jerk. Now it’s past five, and
he still has no plans to leave. It’s nice, remembering James like this. He can
almost forget that across the room Frank is refusing to look at him.
                     [Image_and_video_hosting_by_TinyPic]
December
Mikey stops at the open door of his room while Gerard is wading through his
pile of clothes to try to find a pair of decent black trousers. The problem
with working on a chalk piece on the section of the wall painted with
chalkboard paint is that white dust floats on to everything. Trying to brush it
off only smudges it. When Mikey neither walks past or asks to borrow a tie
Gerard starts a conversation. “Which funeral are you going to today?”
“Well, Collin McMurray was in my French class.”
“He cool?”
“I dunno. He knew all his nouns but couldn’t get a verb if his life depended on
it? Didn’t, by the way, no rampaging francophone. Xavier Broad drowned him in
the fountain at the mall. Got off lucky, really. Xavier’d been threatening to
drown him in a toilet for a week.”
Dying looking at other people’s shitstains would suck. “Maybe he made a wish on
the coins and next week someone spikes his juice box.”
“Yeah. So where you going?”
“James has this friend that got taken out, so Frank is going-"
Mikey interrupts “and where Frank goes, you go.”
“Mikey it’s not like that. Jamia’s going too. I wouldn’t-”
Mikey interrupts again. “I know. Everyone knows. Even Bob knows you’re a stand
up fuckin’ gentleman that’ll never do anything about it. Just, you never think
it’s hurting you?”
Gerard doesn’t know how everyone knows. The only person he’s told in the almost
year it’s been is Frank, and Frank is hardly going to tell his girlfriend and
everyone else that Gerard wants his dick. But through the confusion he knows
one thing. “Hanging out with my best friend doesn’t hurt me.”
The expression on Mikey’s face makes it obvious he doesn’t believe him. He
doesn’t say anything contradictory though, just says “if you can get away early
you should come. From what I’ve heard the McMurrays are having a whiskey bar.”
“Shit, really?” Gerard doesn’t really like whiskey, but alcohol is alcohol when
it’s free.
“Yeah. I-” A buzzing sound comes from Mikey’s only slightly wrinkly trousers.
“Kay, Pete’s here, I told him to text me when he was outside. See you later.
Get them before they get you.”
“You too, Mikes.” Not that he’s worried, really. Mikey is more a Frank than a
Ray, when it comes down to it.
Bob ends up coming with him. Since they have to take public transport, it’s
nice that there’s another person to stand back to back with him. They go inside
but Frank and Jamia and James aren’t seated yet, so they go back outside. It’s
better to stand in the cold December air and wait. Outside they can have a
smoke. Inside they’d have to save three seats between the two of them, and
while sometimes it’s worth the inevitable tension it causes, getting front row
for James’ friend really isn’t. It’s not like there aren’t rows of benches
left. Which funeral you’re going to any given Saturday is entirely a popularity
contest, and it’s obvious this guy hasn’t won it.
Gerard would like to be able to say he telepathically sensed Frank’s distress
from miles away, but it would be a lie. When Jamia’s mom’s car parks and three
doors slam he notices the expression on James’ face first. It’s a combination
of horror and disgust, like he just sat through the most awkward thing of his
life. The last time Gerard saw that look on someone’s face, Ray’s grandmother
had just given him a safe sex lecture.
James goes storming in without saying hello and Jamia follows close after.
Gerard doesn’t have the chance to tell them they’re not late, no need to rush
before they’re inside the church. It’s not very often Gerard sees Frank moving
slowly but he decides to not say anything. If Frank got half beaten since the
last time he saw him, Frank’ll tell him about it on his own time.
They stand for a few minutes in silence, smoking. Gerard’s getting a bit dizzy
from the nicotine rush, he’s used to splitting one, not having two in a row.
But he’s not going to stub it out when Frank clearly needs the private time.
Bob’s face is blank, because he’s good at that sort of thing. Gerard knows he’s
not hiding his curiosity well, even with his lips pursed around a cigarette.
Frank’s the most obvious of them all, a scowl is putting it lightly. Eventually
they’re all down to filter. Bob and Gerard stub theirs against the brick and
pocket them for chucking later. Frank evidently doesn’t care, he just tosses
his. It briefly hisses in the snow before sinking down and disappearing. Gerard
turns to enter the church. It’s still not quite eulogy time, but his
extremities are getting numb. Before he takes more than two steps a hand clamps
on his shoulder. He stops. Bob’s not being grabbed but he stops too.
“What’s up?”
“Jamia broke up with me.”
“When? We all hung out last night.” It was the whole group at Alicia’s, her mom
made them spaghetti and then insisted they take home tupperware containers of
the leftovers. As far as Gerard knows, Frank and Jamia were totally fine then.
“In the car.”
“With James there?”
“Yeah. It sucked.”
“Are you gonna bail?” Gerard would. He would in a fucking second, no question
about it. Well, no, if he was with Mikey or Ray or James he’d make sure there
was someone else to watch their back, and if it was one of the others he’d
double check they had a weapon first. But mostly he’d wallow in misery at home.
“No. I just don’t want to sit beside her. She’ll take care of James should
something come up. They’ve been really close lately.”
Bob’s eyes narrow. “How close.”
“Calm the hell down. Not that close. It’s not about that. She thinks we’re
incompatible as lovers. She actually pulled the Styles thing, was what pissed
me off. ‘A blunt force and a smotherer will never last long term’. It’s as bad
as fucking horoscopes. I swear to god if she asks me to be friends before
January I’m gonna punch her in the face. Not as a girl, as a human being.”
“She’d punch you back.”
“Well, she should. I’m not punching her to be sexist, I’m punching her because
you don’t trash a year and a half relationship then ask to still be besties a
day later. Fuck. I. Fuck it, let’s just go inside.”
As far as funerals go, it’s pretty low key. Gerard’s been to some interesting
ones. Melody Keane’s funeral was at the concert hall, and the rest of her band
played a set instead of anyone giving a speech. Amit Preet’s had everyone
meditate together for an hour. This guy’s one extravagance is that he’s being
buried in a coffin. Coffins take the ground room of at least a dozen urns, and
are about fifteen times more expensive to bury, even in the cheapest of lands.
“If I die I want a pyre,” Bob comments lowly into Gerard’s ear.
“But you’re not gonna die.”
“But if I do.”
“But you won’t.”
“Gerard, I’m not Mikey, I’m not gonna do that for twenty minutes. I’m not
planning on failing any time soon, if only because I wanna go have a
conversation with my probation officer. But if I do, I want a pyre.” Gerard
refuses to make a mental note of it. Planning for a funeral only brings it
closer.
They end up going to John’s after party. Gerard doesn’t really want to go, and
with Jamia taking charge of attacking an aggressor against James they don’t
need to go. Except they don’t have a choice. The church is nearly empty and
they’re spotted trying to leave. The kid’s mom asks if they need a ride back,
and it is impossible to look her in the face and tell her they don’t care about
her son and they’re going somewhere better. Worse, without Jamia’s borrowed car
they don’t have a ride. The silent ride is awkward, but not as bad as seeing
her in a grocery store a month from now could have been.
The apartment is small and smells like cats and pine air freshener. The
majority of people inside are their parents age, the next biggest group of
people are their grandparents age. Frank heads to the balcony for a smoke
immediately. It’s like he’s claiming territory. Jamia will either have to go
out and face him, or go to the main floor to smoke. Judging by the hunch of his
shoulders, anyone attempting to share space with him will have their head
bitten off.
Gerard mutters to Bob “the only thing I want is to get out of here before I
have to talk to someone.”
“Agreed.”
Unfortunately it’s not meant to be. He stalls for as long as he can in the
doily encrusted bathroom but eventually some deep baritone lets him know rather
enthusiastically that there’s a line. He washes his hands for the third time
and exits.
Jamia is third in line, but she steps out of it to talk to him. “If you don’t
start hooking up I’m gonna have to staple you together.”
Gerard has no problem imagining her doing it, which is probably why she and
Frank got along so well. Even with differences in style, they share an
enthusiasm for violence. Or is it ‘will continue to get’? It’s the first
emotional break up he’s seen, Bob’s constant rotations of girls don’t count. Is
he supposed to refer to people in past tense even though they’re still alive?
“Jamia, I don’t think-”
“If there were two of him, one of them would have dated me, and the other would
have dated you. But there was only one, and I got there first. But I’m not
there now, so.”
“Tell me you didn’t break up with him so I could be with him.” It’s really only
slightly better than Mikey’s solution of killing Jeanae for Pete.
“Don’t be stupid. Our time was just done, that’s all. And don’t be stupid. Make
sure it’s your time now. He’s got high numbers, other girls are going to make
moves. And soon.”
Well shit. If he’s gonna do it, might as well do it now. Otherwise he’s just
going to brood about it. He inhales and exhales hard a few times before walking
determinedly -almost marching- towards Frank. Bob has joined him on the
balcony.
“Frank?”
“Yeah?” he slurs around another cigarette.
“Remember that thing last year where I liked you? It’s still true.”
“Don’t you think it’s a bit soon, man? We only broke up before the sermon.”
Left to his own devices, yeah, Gerard probably would have waited. Jamia is
right though. His body count makes Frank a popular guy. Other girls, and
probably other guys, are going to try to attract him. Gerard’s not good at
attracting. He can only make this happen if he moves first, it won’t happen
based on quality of performance.
“Okay, yeah, on one hand I see your point. But on the other, since one of us
could get killed at any moment, time is of the essence. You said last year it
wasn’t a gay thing.”
“It’s not. It’s a ‘I broke up with my girlfriend two hours ago, and you just
asked me out’ thing. That’s a really quick rebound.”
“We already hang out constantly, we know each others parents and friends. The
only thing that would change is we’d be having sex and making out. Which is why
I’m asking if it’s the gay thing.”
“It’s not.”
“Do you want to have sex with me?”
“I haven’t thought about it! I’ve been having sex with Jamia. You don’t think
about fucking your friends when you have a girlfriend.”
“So how about we try, once, to see if it works? If not, just an experiment that
didn’t pan out.”
Bob snorts. “That’s real fucking romantic.”
“Shut up,” Gerard snaps. Bob being a cockblock is the last thing he needs right
now.
Frank snorts. “You’re dating Martina because you let her sip your Pepsi after
she puked because her friend got run over. Your relationship is founded on
vomit. Sex is way better than vomit.”
“Does that mean-?”
“Yeah. Why not? Mikey and Pete seem to enjoy their big gay buttfucking."
Gerard winces. “What? No. No. I never need to hear that again, thanks.”
“So the next time one set of parents fuck off for a few hours I guess?”
“Yeah.” Maybe Bob’s right and it’s not romantic, but that’s the way it is.
Gerard’s expecting it to take Frank a few weeks to want to try anything. He’s
also half expecting Frank to call it off after thinking about it and freaking
out. So the call that comes a few hours after he and Bob get home is a
surprise. That doesn’t mean he’s going to say no though. If Frank is ready to
try Gerard’s willing to meet him half way. Or more, literally speaking,
considering Frank is going nowhere and Gerard is going to his house.
He runs the whole way. It still probably evens out though, because he has to
stand on the sidewalk and bend with his head between his knees until he can
breathe normally. Then he adds on a few more minutes of waiting after realising
after being friends since elementary Frank will know how long it takes him to
walk, and being overly enthusiastic might seem creepy. Finally it’s been long
enough that he can go inside and head upstairs to Frank’s room.
Frank is hanging laundry in his closet. He tosses down the hanger he’s got in
hand and grins. “So do you wanna fuck me, or should I fuck you?”
It’s not like Gerard hasn’t thought about it a thousand times either way. But
it’s real now. Real means he should probably try to be a little bit smart about
it. “You, I guess? I mean you’ve already had sex, you know how to make it
good.”
“I never fucked Jamia in the ass, I don’t know anything about asses. You’re
fully gay. Don’t you-”
“What, have a million dildos? I’m still sixteen without a fake ID.”
Frank rolls his eyes. “I was gonna say have experience with guys.”
“Since when have I had experiences with guys?”
“You’re not-”
“Do you remember me telling you about losing my virginity?”
“No. But I thought you’d though I wouldn’t wanna know because it was with a
guy.”
“Oh, so I had an in-depth conversation with Pete about it. Of course. Come on,
don’t be a fucking moron.” Gerard can’t picture having to talk to Pete for more
than ten minutes without going crazy.
“Your first time with dick, my first time with dick. Tonight’s a whole party
then!” Frank smirks, and Gerard’s embarrassment washes away. “So let’s get
naked and start the festivities!”
It’s not until he’s got his jeans and boxers off that he looks over at Frank.
It’s a mistake. Heat coils in his belly and his balls draw up, just from seeing
Frank half naked and hard.
“Okay, so I know this is lame. But this sort of my fantasy since ever and if
you touch me I’m gonna come.”
“Not lame. That’s hot, and pretty fucking flattering. Idea. We both jerk off
and watch each other and then watch Zim as we wait for second boners. I bet we
manage one episode.”
Gerard agrees and turns to climb on the bed. Frank pulls him back for a kiss.
Gerard can’t help himself from rubbing against his thigh. Frank is leaner than
him, even though he has the diet of a stoner. His thigh is firm and warm,
really fucking nice against his cock. It takes all he has to pull away.
It’s different, jerking off like this. Gerard’s not stupid, he knew it would
be. Mutual masturbation wasn’t at the top of his list of fantasies, but it was
there. This is so much more than the vision he built. The bed shakes under him
in a rhythm not entirely his own. Frank’s hair is tickling his ear. He can
fucking smell him. Even with the most skin touching being their hips, it’s
hardly five minutes before he’s coming over his fingers. Beside him Frank moans
and reaches for the box of kleenex.
“So, that was awesome.” He realises a second too late that should have been
phrased like a question, just in case Frank didn’t enjoy himself.
“Yeah.” He crawls over Gerard to get off the bed and turn the dvd player on.
“Any season you like better than another one?”
“No. Just not the parent teacher night one. That’s Mikey’s favourite, I’ve seen
it about a billion times.”
“Kay.”
Frank’s wrong. It takes two episodes. It’s kind of difficult to get turned on
watching Dib turn into bologna. But when Frank is back at the menu queueing a
third episode Gerard looks over at Frank and the view is fucking great. Like
Gerard, Frank is only wearing a shirt. The skin of his lower half is bright
against the hem of his shirt, and the contrast probably follows down his legs
against the white sheets but Gerard doesn’t know. He can’t look away from
Frank’s ass. A dozen different pornos tell him now is the time to spank Frank
pink and part of him really wants to. Like facials though, it’s not first time
fare.
“I know we said I’d bottom. And I will, in the future. But you’ve got a really
hot ass. Like, really hot.”
Frank tosses the remote on the floor and rolls on to his side to look at him.
Gerard can only be grateful to the universe that Frank is smirking rather than
having a straight freakout. “So what you’re saying is you want to fuck my
glorious ass.”
“You can say no?”
“No shit Sherlock, of course I can say no. But I won’t. Just make me come, the
rest is up to you.”
It’s hard to say if that’s hot or way too much responsibility. “Okay, so do you
ever finger yourself?"
If Gerard was expecting a whole dirty talk saga he’d be sorely disappointed.
Frank just shrugs the shoulder he’s not propped up on. “No man, I’m new.”
“It’ll be good, I promise.” He thinks for a second then amends “I like it at
least. So get on your hands and knees. Except not really. Like elbows and knees
with your stomach on the bed.”
He does it, but snorts a second after he’s settled. “This is really exposing.”
“Well it’s kind of hard to have sex with you if I can’t see your ass.”
“You’ve probably got a point there.”
Thankfully Frank’s got jerking off lube right next to the box of kleenex.
Gerard has to arch his body over Frank to reach it, accidentally rubbing his
dick against Frank’s back. It’s surprisingly hot. If this works out, he’s going
to need to suggest more frottage.
It takes a while to open Frank up. Gerard gets that, gets every shiver and
clench. The first few times he tried it himself he could only get one finger
in. Frank’s being pretty damn impressive with two, then three. Every time he
starts to get soft from the wait all he has to do is look at the way part of
his body is inside Frank’s.
“I’m going to fuck you now, okay?”
“Do we need condoms? 'Cause I don’t know if I have any left.”
“Well, I’m a virgin and I assume you used them so Jamia didn’t get pregnant. So
we’ll be fine without I think. Unless you, you know, don’t want me to come in
you.”
“Kind of an important part of the experience, isn’t it?”
Gerard kisses Frank’s spine, then pulls his fingers out and lines himself up.
Frank spreads his knees and gasps as Gerard pushes the head of his dick in.
Gerard’s willing to wait as long as it takes but as soon as he stops Frank
thrusts his body back, gasping a second time.
It’s too much to ask that it last very long. His body seems to have no
recollection of getting off half an hour ago, the heat starts rising up his
skin after the first five strokes. Frank’s not doing much better. His knuckles
are whitening around the pillow he grabbed. The moan he made once when he was
jerking off is falling out of his mouth again and again, in tune with the
rhythm Gerard is trying to keep up. It’s hard to stay in fluid motion. He would
make a really bad pornstar. Thankfully Frank is getting off on it anyway.
Gerard comes first. It’s probably bad etiquette, but he can’t exactly stop
himself. Apparently Frank can feel it, he groans wow, fuck. A second later
Gerard is echoing the words as Frank’s body tenses and his softening dick is
squeezed. It’s somewhere on the line between hot and painful, overwhelming
enough that he doesn’t know where to place it.
Frank’s arms collapse, he faceplants on pillow and knuckles. Gerard uses the
last of his strength to roll off and over. He needs to give Frank a bit of
space, even if his preference would be to snuggle. Slowly he stops sweating,
starts catching his breath. For as long as he lives, he’ll never be able to
look at a ceiling without thinking of jerking off beside his best friend.
“So,” he asks eventually. “Fun enough that you want to be my boyfriend?” The
joking tone neatly covers the distress, Gerard thinks. If after that Frank
still doesn’t want him he’ll have to curl up in a corner and cry. Maybe
sacrifice himself to the drama club. Whenever possible they like real deaths
for character deaths on stage.
Frank doesn’t leave him guessing for long. “I would be goddamn delighted.”
 
January
It’s not until after the holidays that they can get a date in. Christmas is a
multi-day event, cookies and present wrapping before, shopping at sales after.
They lose an entire day to the Ieros buying build it yourself furniture sets
for each other. And then it’s Bob’s birthday, a day which has to be celebrated.
Better that than celebrating New Years, when everyone their age knows the year
starts in September.
They have two days left for winter break when Frank takes Gerard out for
dinner. Half the guys invite themselves, Gerard loses track of how often he has
to tell everyone to fuck off and leave them alone. Of course that method can’t
be taken with either his mom and dad, or Frank’s parents, all four of whom
won’t shut up. The worst is mom, who didn’t give a shit that Mikey was gay, but
now that he’s dating a guy is upset she’ll never get grandkids. For hours
before Frank comes over she tells him stories about what Benny would have done
when he grew up, or how much Michaela, named after Mikey, of course, would have
wanted a cat. Thankful she manages to stop waxing melodic when Frank opens the
front door. They flip off Christa and Alicia when they offer to come with and
give helpful post date kissing pointers and leave holding hands.
The restaurant is one Gerard’s never been to. He orders chicken and mashed
potatoes, figuring they’re both bland enough that he can make out with Frank
afterwards without his breath smelling bad. The rational part of his brain that
points out they’ve been making out and fucking for almost three weeks without
Gerard worrying before is entirely drowned out by the compulsion he has to make
their first date perfect. Without being able to date competently they’re
friends with benefits, not boyfriends. Gerard needs this to go well.
They talk as they wait for the food to come out. That, at least, goes well.
Talking to him from across a deep coloured wood table for two is no different
than talking to him walking home from band practice, or talking to him after
Frank’s just come in his ass. Well, maybe a bit different from the last,
neither of them are panting, or particularly sweaty. The server actually
interrupts a discussion about XMen when she drops their plates off.
Gerard’s about to take a bite when Frank reaches out and grabs his wrist. “We
had a teenage server, and who knows who’s in the kitchen.”
Gerard wants to bash his head against the wood paneled walls. His first real
date with Frank, the first time they’ve managed to go out without anyone
needing them, and he forgets all safety concerns. If he’s gonna be that stupid
he might as well forget his own fucking name.
It smells like it’s supposed to, not the almond of cyanide or the citrus of
kitchen cleansers. A scent judgement isn’t always enough though, so Gerard
lowers his face close to the table and inspects the chicken and the potatoes.
It looks good enough too, and across the table Frank is cutting the first slice
of his steak. He digs his knife into the butter and smears them over the
potatoes. He likes them more butter than potato. When he starts mashing the
butter in he sees a glint of silver that he’s almost certain is not his fork.
Gerard forgets about table manners for a second and digs his fingers into the
mash. “Son of a bitch.” There are tiny bits of straight pins. Not large enough
to really be felt when he’s chewing, unless one stabs his tongue by fluke. He’s
sure they’re long enough to fuck up his stomach.
“Frank I can’t eat here, I dunno if it was random or a vendetta. Are you okay
with going to the diner? The staff there are all in their thirties.”
“Yeah, sure, one second.”
Frank stands. For a second Gerard thinks he’s gonna go find the manager to
explain why they won’t be paying. Then Gerard remembers who Frank is. He
hurries to follow Frank into the kitchen. Frank grabs the first knife he sees.
“Someone better rat out who tried to kill my boyfriend, or I’m killing every
teenager here.”
Gerard smiles. The word boyfriend still hasn’t gotten old, for hearing or
saying. He’d ask Mikey if it ever does, except Mikey would just call him a
girl, or something else that fails to be offensive, and not answer the
question.
“I’d like to point out I’m twenty.” A server raises her arm to show a yellow
bracelet.
“Yeah, I see your bling. Five seconds then who knows who I stab first.”
A dishwasher who is somehow even shorter than Frank breaks first. “It was
Theresa. She’s been bitching for a week that you got a recommendation for your
college application from the art teacher when she asked and he said her work
wasn’t high enough calibre.”
Frank grins. “Thanks. I’m sure everyone appreciates your truth telling.
Theresa, you wanna go to the parking lot or try this here?”
Theresa ends up being a girl with long brown hair curled under a hair net. “I’m
not scared of you, Frank.”
“I’m not saying you are. I’m saying if your blood gets all over the equipment
they’ll need to close tonight for sanitary reasons and some people probably
need this shift on their paycheck.” He radiates confidence. It’s fucking hot.
Gerard would make out with him if it wouldn’t dangerously distract him.
In response she grabs a cleaver from the meat station and runs at Frank. It’s
pretty obvious she’s used to her swallowed sharps method, she’s not holding the
hilt properly. Frank avoids the flailing knife by dropping to the floor and
jamming his blade with as much force as he can through the tongue of her shoe.
She drops as she screams but doesn’t let go of her cleaver.
Gerard understands why he’s keeping it in her foot. It’s stuck enough into the
linoleum that it keeps her pinned. The major downside is that Frank doesn’t
have a weapon now. Gerard looks for another knife to toss him, but he’s
surrounded by plastic glass and serving trays and the aisle is too thin to move
past them. Frank can’t move without being decapitated, and on the other side of
the battle Theresa’s coworkers are firmly not getting involved. He picks up a
tray to check but there’s not heft to it. It’s plastic, not nearly good enough
for blunt force trauma. There’s only one thing to do. He turns and runs to the
nearest table in the dining room and snatches a knife.
Frank doesn’t need it. In the thirty seconds it took Gerard to find a couple
eating steak Frank got the cleaver. He gets back just in time to watch him slit
her throat. Gerard puts the knife down and tosses Frank an apron instead.
“Sorry about the mess. I did try to get her to dance in the parking lot.”
The general reaction is a shrug. Gerard hopes that means Frank was wrong and no
one is desperately needing every minute of their pay check. Frank finishes
scrubbing the blood off with the dampened cloth and they leave.
“You killed her for me,” Gerard says a few minutes later, on their way to pick
up food made by old and innocent people.
“Of course I did. You’re my boyfriend. I’m sure you’d do the same.”
Gerard slides his fingers between Frank’s. It’s not like they’re going to start
swinging their arms and skipping and saying tralala. It’s just simple
handholding. Nice, while retaining their manliness, for as much as Gerard
cares.
“Of course. I’d slice them open and wear their intestines as a boa.” He thinks
a second, then amends, “well, probably not. That would cover me in shit and
bile. Messy as fuck.”
Frank grins, laughs. He looks fucking lovely when he laughs, mouth obnoxiously
wide, lips against his teeth. “You always know the most romantic thing to say.
I- Shit, is it okay to say I love you to someone on your first date?”
“We’ve known each other for about a decade, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t count as
being creepy during your first meeting. As long as you don’t say we were
destined, or we’re soulmates or something. I’m pretty sure that’s creepy
whenever it occurs.”
“Okay, great. So, I totally love you. I love you enough that I would kill
everyone in the world for you. Except James because I promised to protect him.
And probably not Ray or Bob or Jamia or-”
“Yeah, I’m not gonna be asking you to kill all our friends. You didn’t mention
Mikey though.”
“Like you would let me go anywhere near Mikey. Besides, he could take me. Not
saying he’d win, but it’s not a sure thing on my side.”
Briefly he pictures it. Frank’s right, it’s pretty hard to imagine who would
win. They both have pretty high counts. Mikey’s is lower, of course, being a
year younger. Mikey might win because his methods are unique. Frank might win
because he gets high on adrenaline and can fight through being hurt. They both
have the same level of enthusiasm.
Thankfully he doesn’t have to imagine his boyfriend and his brother, both his
closest best friends, going at each other for long. Frank uses their connected
hands to tug him in for a kiss. Frank tastes like two bites of nearly raw rare
steak. Gerard doesn’t care.
 
June
Gerard has one of the latest mentoring appointments. Everyone he knows has
already completed theirs. Really though, it’s good timing. This way he doesn’t
send all morning worrying about what might happen this afternoon. Last year the
robotics club planted bombs every fifth seat. Graduation is a big day, the last
day, which means a lot of people will be making big moves. He could spend the
entire morning thinking of what his fellow graduates might do, plan routes to
get away and ways to defend himself and the others, and no matter how many
plans he’d make, whatever happened at four would be something entirely
different. Better to focus on other things.
Gerard goes into the junior high with the intent of preparing the child he’s
assigned for what’s to come without disheartening him or her. He’s thought
about what he’s going to say since his own ninth grade meeting. It’s been three
years of carefully crafting the best advice. When he logs in at the office he’s
told he has three children to talk to. The number isn’t entirely surprising. By
June a large portion of students are dead. Three is better than last year’s
graduates. Pete’s year so many died it ended up being eight children to every
senior.
Gerard leaves the junior high wanting to kick himself in the face. Luckily
there are two things preventing the unnecessary violence. The first is his
limberness, or lack thereof. The second is Frank, who is waiting outside for
him. Gerard doesn’t remember telling him when his meeting was, beyond the
conversation at lunch two weeks ago when everyone found out their date. Still,
he’s there, waiting. He’s balanced on the top of the bike rack like a tight
rope walker. He jumps down without wavering when he sees Gerard.
“Solid dismount, nine point eight.” Gerard doesn’t watch gymnastics, but he
knows enough to always make the Russian judge give threes or fours.
“Thanks. Aim to please.”
“Walk me back to the house?” Presuming they make it out of school today,
tonight there will be a dozen parties all over town. No matter where they end
up going, it’s unlikely they’ll have the chance to cuddle and fuck the way
Gerard wants. If he wants alone time with Frank it’s gotta be now.
“Of course.” Frank smiles. “On second thought, race you. First there gets to
top!”
Gerard runs. He knows he won’t win, Frank is a speedy little fucker when he
wants to be. He doesn’t care about top or bottom, and he knows Frank doesn’t
really either. It’s just a blowing off of steam for Frank. Gerard’s not the
only one concerned about what’s going to happen this afternoon.
Frank gets to the end of the sidewalk first, of course. He’s not even
breathless. “I win, fucker! Or should I say fuckee? I’m totally owning your
ass!”
“What did you tell them?” Frank can fuck him twice, for all Gerard cares.
“Oh, last week? Just that while it’s never too early to plan a strategy,
thinking on your feet and being willing to toss your plans is important too.
Remember Leslie, and how she had that fucking flowchart of ‘if he does blank
I’ll do blank’? And then he did, and she did, and he did something different
and she got stabbed in the eye, all within the first week of tenth grade. Plans
fuck you up, if you get attached. How did yours go?”
“Oh God. I was a total prick. If we weren’t graduating I’d be worried they’d
target me for being such a tool.” Gerard moans, “I don’t know. It all just went
horribly wrong. I couldn’t shut up.”
Frank doesn’t take the issue seriously. “Okay, but you know what’s awesome? If
you can’t shut up when I have my fingers in your ass, it turns into dirty
talk.”
Gerard opens his front door and kicks his shoes off. One makes a dirty imprint
on the bottom of the wall, but Mom and Dad probably won’t notice. “I definitely
want to have that moment Frank, but I need to talk to Mikey first.”
“Yeah, makes sense. I’ll just start jerking off in your room. When you’re done
come say hi.”
Gerard nearly falls down the stairs when he trips on Mikey’s backpack. Only
Frank grabbing the back of his shirt hard enough for the collar to strangle him
saves him. Gerard is grateful for it. Dying accidentally from a brain
hemorrhage on the last day anyone is allowed to try and kill him would be
horrendously embarrassing.
At the bottom of the stairs they split off, Frank heading for his bedroom as
Gerard goes to Mikey’s. A quick look shows it to be empty, so he goes back up
the stairs and into the living room. “Where’s Mikey?”
“Not sure. Maybe in his room with Pete?”
“He’s not.”
“Maybe he went back out with Pete then,” Dad offers without looking up from his
word search.
Gerard rolls his eyes. It’s safe to, neither of his parents are looking at him.
Mikey’s probably not even with Pete. His backpack is at the back landing. If
there’d been a reason to come home and leave again his shit would be in his
room. Maybe he’s building a bomb in the back yard or something. He sighs and
heads for the back, not bothering to put shoes on before he opens the door. The
concrete is cold under his feet, even in June.
“Sweet fucking Jesus.” Gerard closes his eyes as fast as he can, but it’s too
late.
With his eyelids squeezed tightly shut he says “I’m going back inside for five
minutes, then I’m coming back out. Put your pants back on.”
In the kitchen he thinks for a second before opening the fridge and pouring
himself a glass of milk. Drinking it will give him something to do that’s not
trying to not think of his brother fucking in the grass. Gerard’s half tempted
to forget the whole thing and go downstairs, but if he goes down today there
are some things that he needs said. If he goes to Frank they’ll probably fall
asleep after and not get up until they’re woken up for the ceremony.
Just as he sets the glass on the table, the back door opens. “It’s cool. We
both came, you didn’t cock block us.”
“Great. Because that’s what I was really worried about.”
Pete’s grin drops off, an expression Gerard’s only seen a few times. “Look,
you’ll get through today. You will, because he needs you to, and you always do
what he needs.”
Gerard wants to reply with great advice or no pressure but he doesn’t, just
says thanks. Pete is being sincere. Mikey might get that, or Patrick, but it’s
new to Gerard. It would be cruel to mock him, and a shitty potential last move.
“I’ll come this afternoon. I mean, I can’t kill anyone, but I can trip them if
they’re heading in your direction?”
“We’ll see. I need to talk to Mikey first.”
“Yeah, he’ll come in when he hears my car taking off. He said he didn’t want
you to have a heart attack seeing us hold hands. Bad form to kill your brother
on the last day.”
True to Pete’s word, after the entire neighbourhood hears him revving his car,
the back door slams open. Gerard decides he’ll start with something neutral,
something that won’t piss Mikey off. What comes out is, “don’t come today.”
It’s not neutral. He is pissed off. “Fuck off!”
“Mikey-”
“You’re stupid if you think I’m not coming.” Gerard’s heard Mikey petulant and
calling things stupid a hundred times. A thousand. This is just flat toned,
serious.
“Mikey you know it’s the most dangerous day of the year. Why would you put
yourself at risk?”
“Because you’re graduating. You and Ray and Bob and Frank and James are all
graduating and I want to see it. Next year I’ll still have Alicia and Patrick,
but this year your backs are the backs I watch.”
Gerard doesn’t like it, but there’s no point in arguing. If he did, it would
take until three thirty when they’re due at the school and Mikey would still
come. It’s time to move to the next issue.
“Just don’t start any blood wars, okay?” Gerard can easily imagine it
happening. Mikey can get enthusiastic, without him and Ray to keep him settled
he could easily piss off one of the popular gangs.
“I can handle it Gee.”
“I wish I hadn’t been accepted.” Christ, he’s not even going to be in the same
state as Mikey. It seemed like such a good idea at the time, Setlzer University
barely has an arts department.
“But you were, and it’s going to be awesome. You’re going to get famous, and
then you can show everyone kill counts don’t matter, you can still be awesome
if you’re a single digiter. Besides, James and Ray aren’t going to abandon me
for another state.” Mikey obviously sees the guilt flash across Gerard’s face.
He seizes him in a hug and says lowly into his ear “I was joking, numbnuts. Who
knows. Next year I might join you in California, if I can find the money for
it.”
“You could just be in horrible debt forever, like me?” Most of the students
that leave for other cities have money stored up. It costs money to go to
university in places other than Setlzer. It’s worth it to Gerard though,
minimum wage job and loans until the end of time, to learn how to market his
art.
“I dunno Gee. I’ll think about it. Pete doesn’t get his degree for two more
years though.”
“Which brings me to my next thing!” Gerard disengages from the hug so he can
gesture properly. “For the love of God stop cheating on Pete with Alicia. Just
because he can’t kill you doesn’t mean a freshly broken up with teen won’t go
on a rampage targeting all infidelity.”
“Pete knows.”
“That you’re cheating? Yeah, you’re not really good at secret keeping. Anyone
that’s seen you kiss Alicia knows, meaning half the school, meaning sooner or
later someone that’s been cheated on is going to be pissed.”
“No, Pete knows. It’s not just me that visits him at college.”
Well shit. Gerard could have sworn they had a great relationship. The kind that
makes Pete offer to stab Mikey’s enemies, even though he’s too old for it.
“Okay, just because he’s cheating on you doesn’t make it okay for you to cheat
on him. Relationships aren’t a tit for tat kind of-”
Mikey sighs. “I’m starting to think you’re still a virgin, and you and Frank
just hold hands in your bedroom. Haven’t you ever heard of a threesome? Me.
Pete. Alicia. It’s not that hard to understand.”
“Wow.”
“Okay, so, to recap. I’m coming to grad, you’re going to get famous at your
school, me and Pete and Alicia might live in your super sweet mansion. I love
you, you love me, and this afternoon you’re gonna get them before they get you.
Anything else I missed?”
“No blood wars.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Mikey goddamn Way! No blood wars!”
“You won’t even be here!”
“That’s my point! Next year you have five less friends to help you. No fucking
blood wars!”
“Fine. Now stop being an annoying prick to me and go be a prick to Frank. I
know he’s here. Someone moved my backpack and it wasn’t you, you woulda just
kicked it.”
Frank writhing on his bed, cock in hand is a nice sight. Somehow Gerard can’t
quite get into it. Frank is a good boyfriend, it only takes him a minute to
notice and pull the blanket up so his dick doesn’t get cold when he lets go.
“Lemme guess. Regrets about leaving.”
“How can I not? I mean, we’ll write letters and jerk off at exactly eleven each
night, and call when we have the money for it. But you’re going to be safe.
Mikey will still be seventeen.”
“Gee, your little brother is bad ass. Doesn’t have my numbers, but he’s
creative. I bet if we lived on the other coast, he’d have an army of sharks
trained to his command. Motherfucker not only made it out of woods last
semester-”
“I dunno why they even have that class. An average of what, two survive?”
“My point exactly. He made it out, and his final project was a bladed
boomerang. I wish someone had had a camcorder, I can’t believe you missed
that.” Gerard doesn’t encourage Frank, but he’s right. Mikey decapitating
someone in the cafeteria is totally going to get a mention in the yearbook.
Meanwhile he was in the bathroom like a chump. “Trust me, your brother is gonna
be fine. He’s only got a year left, and when he’s not actually in school Pete
and James and Ray will be around.”
Fuck. Somehow he always knows the right things to say. Gerard replies with the
only thing he can. “I love you, Frank.”
“Course you do. I love you too.”
                     [Image_and_video_hosting_by_TinyPic]
Gerard isn’t planning on getting into it with Frank when he sees him coming out
of the Leifs next door. There’s probably a totally legitimate reason, like
their host kid that started the year Gerard graduated worked in the hospital
with James, and Frank needs his opinion on something. Logically he knows it,
even if it feels like Frank is infringing on his territory. It’s possible he’s
just pissy about the hypocrisy of his parents making him smoke outside like
he’s still fifteen and sneaking around when they both smoke indoors.
It’s Frank that starts shit. “Why did you come back?”
“To go to James’ funeral.”
Frank turns from his stopping place on the Leif’s patchy grass and heads
towards him. “You didn’t care enough to visit the last nine years.”
Gerard crosses his arms. Frank is not the only one with questions. He knows
Frank -or at least he used to- and he can see this easily turning into an
interrogation. And that is bullshit. “You know what? No. Why did you come
back?”
“I came back after college.”
“Why?”
Frank’s volume spikes with irritation before going back to a normal level as he
continues. “What do you want to hear Gerard? That all my classes bored me and
by the time I was done them I didn’t give a shit about the subject anymore?
That my band crapped out? I missed being here.”
“Frank, this place isn’t like other places.”
“I know. But it’s home. My parents are here. My memories are here.”
Gerard shakes his head, disbelieving. All his memories are of murdering and
barely avoiding death.
“You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here? You obviously don’t care
about anyone or anything here.”
Something thin and brittle that’s been standing upright for eight years
shatters in that instant. “I care about you, you goddamn moron!”
And just like that, Gerard’s kissing him. And he didn’t ask if it was okay, or
if he wanted it, but Frank is kissing him back. And then he’s shoving Gerard
against the front door, mesh screen grating a little where his shirt is rucked
up. Gerard wants to ask if they can not fuck in his front yard, but thinks
talking might kill the moment. He refuses to let that happen. He’d rather have
the entire neighbourhood watch than have this stop.
                     [Image_and_video_hosting_by_TinyPic]
Gerard hasn’t slept more than a few hours a night in the last week. There are a
multitude of reasons for it. Half are physical, half are mental. All have to do
with being overwhelmed with the differences university brings.
It’s that the dorm he’s in violates every sanctity rule in the handbook. His
roommate Sebastian doesn’t seem to be a partier, but all that means is that
it’s not in their room. If the room on the right, the room on the left, and the
room across the hall are all playing loud music with open doors, Sebastian can
be using the best headphones in the world and Gerard’s water glass will still
rattle.
If anyone has looked at the rulebook, it’s just to find out if they’d get fined
for putting tacks in the wall. The answer is yes, and so far it’s the only rule
Gerard’s managed to break. He smokes outside, even though he’s on the third
floor. He hasn’t attempted to cheat his meal plan. But the walls were freakin
white, and some things just cross the line. Nothing in the dorm is like home.
He can’t get a midnight snack when the mood strikes. He has to put clothes on
before running to the bathroom for a middle of the night piss, which means he’s
wide awake by the time he gets back in bed for another hour of sleep.
Then there’s that the entire concept seems unsafe. At home living in a building
with two hundred people his age would be nothing short of suicide. Going to
school for eight hours was dangerous enough. It doesn’t matter that he’s too
old to be at risk now. You don’t forget three years of ensuring your safety
over one summer. He’d be willing to bet anything Pete had been fucked up about
it too. Not that he’ll ever have a heart to heart to find out.
It’s that he misses Mikey and Mom and Dad. He misses watching football with
them, him and Mom pretending to care as Mikey and Dad flinch when the players
get hit. It’s football season, he should be there. He misses Mom making
extremely unhealthy meals for them, butter and grease dripping everywhere. He
misses pooling money with Mikey to get movies or comics or books, and then
arguing about who gets to use what first.
It’s that he misses his friends. Not just the obvious things, Ray being
ridiculous and Bob being blunt as fuck. Bob went through a lot of girlfriends,
but they all had a dry wit that made an evening better. The few times it
mattered, Alicia had a way of making them all look at least ten percent hotter.
Shit, Gerard even finds himself missing Pete throwing himself at, onto, and off
things seemingly at random.
It’s that he’s found out why they encourage you to go to school in the city.
He’s had to redefine his life. Or at least he’d have to if he thought about it.
He’s been trying to avoid that trap.
With all that though, there’s one reason that shines above the rest. And that
is that Sebastian has introduced him to the internet. It’s an insane system,
one that you can find anything on. He lost ten hours to clicking the blue text
on Wikipedia. According to Seb they’re called links. There are comic book
forums, and a site that has every movie ever made, and a half a dozen sits that
let you put any movie you want on your computer along with tv shows and music.
It took him three days to ask. Gerard felt bad for a minute when he realised
his lack of thought; a feeling that was quickly overwritten with joy when Seb
answered him. The answer was yes, he could talk to Frank using the internet.
Frank had a student account with his university, once Seb found it Gerard was
able to contact him. It only took a few emails for Seb to suggest getting Frank
on AIM. For a day they used that, though they’d had to make do with the
computer lab in the library at Frank’s school because his roommate Ranson
wouldn’t share like Seb. Thankfully Frank had decided to fuck being responsible
and he blew a ton of money on a laptop. All that leading them to the wonderful
situation of being able to Skype.
Gerard logs on as soon as he wakes up. He could go back to sleep, all it would
take is rolling over. But it’s eight, which means that across the country his
boyfriend will be awake and probably on his second cup of coffee. He can sleep
later. A few weeks from now, when he collapses from sheer exhaustion he can
sleep for three days straight. For now there’s Frank.
Sure enough when he gets the password right -takes three tries, his fingers
aren’t the most nimble in the mornings- Frank is already on. Gerard opens his
mouth to say hi and ends up sneezing so hard he splatters the screen with spit.
Frank starts giggling. It’s great to be able to watch his eyelids crinkle and
hear the sound. Two out of five senses is more than Gerard thought he’d get
until summer.
“So anything happen you to today?”
“In the three hours since I’ve talked to you?” He’s overexaggerating a bit, he
crashed around half past three, not five. “But yes, actually. They killed
Matt.”
“What? Who?”
“I dunno who. Someone from Setlzer, I think. He freaked out when he found out
teenagers don’t kill anywhere else. That it’s so rare they made a documentary
about two kids killing twelve kids five years ago, and it’s still the school
where kids got killed. He told me yesterday he was gonna tell everyone.
Apparently the cops found him stabbed to death a few hours later. I overheard
it in the bathroom when I went for a piss. Apparently he had cocaine on him,
and it was just a deal gone bad. We weren’t really friends with him, but I
don’t remember him being a cokehead, do you?”
Frank shakes his head. “I mean, it’s not like I knew every dealer in Setlzer,
but I knew a few, and you kinda know who uses what, ya’know?”
It’s fucked up, in Gerard’s book. Realising that Bob was right in grade ten
about Setlzer being the weird place was bad enough. Googling ‘high school
killing each other’ and getting just a foreign indie movie meant to be a horror
film was disturbing but enlightening. But Gerard had figured if they went as
far as to bring in prisoners from other states to supplement each grade then
the whole thing went beyond one messed up city. And he was right. Matt was
being watched, which means he and Frank and Ray and anyone else that decided to
leave for university are probably being watched too.
“What if he wasn’t gonna really tell anyone? What if he was just fake ranting,
and the killing was pointless?” Because that’s what it’s about. It has to be
why Matt died, otherwise they would just decapitate anyone that left town
limits.
“Come on, have you ever killed someone fora good reason? He tried to kill me
first doesn’t count.”
Gerard can’t think of a time, and he’s only killed seven times. He was
downright discriminating compared to his boyfriend. Frank’s got over four dozen
on his list, one of the most prolific at JB.
“Just don’t freak out about it, Gee. Him being dead doesn’t change anything. We
weren’t gonna tell anyone about it before, and we won’t tell anyone about it
now. We don’t want to remember, and no one would want to know. Shutting up is
the best way to handle things.”
“I know. So let’s talk about something else. Have any good dreams?” Gerard
never does, but Frank might.
 
April
Art has always been a constant in Gerard’s life. The three things Gerard can
count on to always be there are art, death, and Mikey. He has memories of being
far too young to kill, sprawled on his stomach on the burnt pumpkin carpet at
Grandma’s. They each had their own colouring book, but they had to share a pack
of crayons, and inevitably Mikey was always using the colour Gerard wanted. He
has memories of being an age that requires killing, bored out of his mind in a
poorly chosen elective, mechanical pencil only allowing for light lines and
heavy lines, Mikey beside him and equally likely to smother a yawn against the
back of his wrist. He has more more recent memories of being old enough to
learn the hidden truth that killing is wrong, mailing a C+ project to his
brother, knowing it’s going to be slit open and checked for messages, but also
knowing in two weeks he’ll get a letter back from Mikey telling him that his
professor is brain dead and it looks great.
He can picture himself ninety years old, drawing Frank’s jowls as he socialises
and plays cards during mandatory group time in their assisted living facility.
Art is a varied craft. It can channel emotions, or make a point, or spark
imagination. In Gerard’s experience, it’s only when it does all three that
others will take notice, and then only rarely. No one is less appreciated than
an artist.
These days, Gerard’s art is of the things he experienced at Setlzer. Sometimes
he doodles random crap. When Seb is pissy he appreciates a good comic about
turtles, as it turns out he has kind of an obsession. And his drawings to Mikey
never deal with it. Why give him more in paper form, when he’s still living it?
Though, at least he still is living it. According to Mikey, he and Alicia are
doing pretty well with protecting themselves and Patrick, who is like Gerard’s
Ray. He can get pissed off enough to start something, but his rage always dies
before they do.
For class though, it’s memories. Things he saw, things he just heard about,
stories of his parents and all the other adults that lived through it and
stayed in town. Not just straight gore, of course, he’s not a splatter and
bodily function artist. In Gerard’s paintings the aggressor is the one
bleeding. The one with the detonator, the one with the knife, they’re the ones
spilling over. Not the red of blood, but every colour, a complete loss of
vibrancy and strength.
The show isn’t some mind blowing honour. Every student moving to their second
year gets at least one piece displayed. You’re allowed to recommend pieces you
think are more crowd pleasing, or that you are more proud of, but in the end
it’s the professor that decides what your best is. Half the class was pissed he
got four works approved, the most of anyone taking the course. Their seething
jealousy doesn’t bother him, and neither do the snippy remarks they pretend he
wasn’t supposed to hear. It’s all bullshit. Gerard didn’t attempt to persuade
Mr Simon to display more. He didn’t even recommend anything for the show,
whatever works of his people like are their choice. Gerard sure as hell didn’t
suck Simon off for the privilege. Professor Simon has a beard. That he’s got
four up doesn’t mean he’s automatically going to pass next year, or even that
he’s actually the teacher’s favourite. They can say whatever they want. As long
as they’re not attempting to poison him it’s no big concern.
Cre8ery is decently crowded. Most of the students are standing by their hanging
works, small clusters of people around them. There’s no reason to mingle when
your stranger is your classmate’s boyfriend. Simon is nowhere to be seen, which
means he’s in the bathroom fucking a student. Gerard doesn’t dispute the idea,
after all, just that the used body is him. He doesn’t need a hairy man in his
late forties, he has Frank. It’s the reason he leaves The Poisoner and The
Drowner, The Beater and The Strangler. He promised to take pictures for Frank,
so he could be there in spirit if not in flesh. Not that Gerard blames him for
the lack of flesh. University costs money, when it’s not being paid for by city
taxes.
There are three people walking around in all black. Which, granted, isn’t too
outstanding considering the crowd of art students, and art students best
friends. Still, they don’t belong. Most people probably notice the big
indicator of a tray full of wine glasses before they notice the small things,
like the three being washed, not having pastels under their nails or paint
knotting their hair into lumps.
For his part, Gerard notices it all, but goes straight for the trays. Alcohol -
even something as bitter and harsh as white wine- helps take the edge off just
about everything. He’s not an alcoholic or anything, but sometimes you need the
edges soft as butter in the sun.
It’s impossible to say how long it is until the first person approaches him.
He’s not good at judging time, and being intoxicated or sleep deprived only
makes the hours and minutes blur more. At first he’s not sure why the woman is
coming to him. It can’t be an overbearing mother yelling at him for taking
photos without permission; his camera is back in his pocket. His pictures
probably aren’t fantastic. From what Frank has emailed him his boyfriend has a
real gift at it, his won’t be anything in comparison. But they’ll be enough for
Frank, when all Frank will do is shrug at each and say Gerard’s art is better.
Tipsy from the wine it takes Gerard a few blinks to place her as the ex-mayor
of Setlzer. She was mayor when he was a kid, not that he knew or cared then. As
he got older, her re-election commercials got more and more pathetic, and
Gerard obviously wasn’t the only one to think so as she never got a second run.
“They wanted to kill you for this,” she says, as casually as one might discuss
grocery shopping. The tone isn’t a shock. For a woman that’s spent nearly fifty
years in Setlzer, arranging the deaths of talkative former citizens probably
isn’t much more thought consuming than produce and cereal. “I convinced them to
wait. Sure enough, you haven’t spilled a thing about your inspirations.”
“Congratulations on properly judging my character. I’d applaud but-” Gerard
waggles his drink. It would be really nice if it was topped up, but there’s
only about a half inch left.
“No need to get sarcastic, young man.”
“You killed Matt.”
“You know as well as I do that that was necessary. You’ve been here eight
months, how much violence have you seen between adults? How much violence is
there in Setlzer between adults? Whether you decide to believe it or not, deep
down you know our system works better. So just keep up the silence, Gerard, and
everything will be fine.”
She leaves, and Gerard finds one of the servers. He needs a drink.
 
May
It’s been a slow progression.
It started with finding a gallery he liked. Cre8ery was affiliated with the
school, Gerard knew that from the first day he attended class. It was on the
course outline. Gerard didn’t want to just be the perfect student and cozy up
to the things his professors liked. He wanted to live life for himself as much
as he could. That the philosophy could boil down to finding a good coffee
place, a good pizza place, talking to Frank every night, and experiencing art
just meant he was easily pleased, not a simpleton.
Eventually it turned into Gerard talking to the dealer of Spun Around, and
discussing art. It wasn’t that the guest lecturers at school weren’t
interesting. It was just that even those post-grad, This Is Real Life speakers
were paid to give their thoughts to students. Gerard wanted thoughts without a
filter, without a script and a role to play, whether it was ‘you can do it’ or
‘the real world is hard, folks, give up while you can still take accounting’.
Tristan liking him meant he spent a lot of his free time at Spun Around. In
most places being a regular means you get to know the other regulars. The
gallery was no different. Sooner or later he knows them by name, or nickname in
his phone, knows them well enough to text and hang out in places that aren’t
Spun Around. It was interesting, having artsy friends. It wasn’t not always
fun, they could get emotional and stubborn. But it was interesting, and that
fueled his art almost as much as his ‘tragic past’ did. Not that he’d ever said
anything. It’s been less than a year, the lesson of Matt still stood clearly in
his mind. And it wasn’t just external forces keeping Gerard quiet. It had taken
a while to realise how fucked up it was to kill people, no matter what his age,
and how fucked up he was that he couldn’t manage much more than simple regret,
about the same level as throwing out a friend’s can of soda before they were
done with it. So of course he didn’t talk about shit. But they all knew, in
part because every artist was fucked up by something, and because he wouldn’t
say a word about anything before September.
Their curiosity, their friendship, and the real quality of his art, it all
coalesced at some point. First to rumors of a show. They chatted possibilities
of what a theme could be -apart from death, that much was obvious- or if he
could create something that wasn’t a signature Way explosion of murder and
colour. They chatted who he could share the walls with, if he had the choice of
anyone living or long since dead. It was all casual, until Tristan pulled him
aside and started talking money. If a piece sold, how much she would get, how
much he would get.
Great news, except Frank also has a progression.
Frank had just as many issues with gaining new friends as Gerard did, just in a
different way. Not just the secret keeping thing, though Gerard had never known
Frank to stay quiet about something. Rather than not knowing how to approach
people, he had this stupid idea that he was somehow abandoning all their old
friends. Gerard, being a good boyfriend, didn’t point out that technically he
abandoned everyone in August, just told him over and over again that none of
them would be upset that he was making new friends until Frank finally believed
it.
Some of the guys Frank found also played instruments. Frank got so enthusiastic
about Karl, his new bass playing friend that it was a turn on, and Gerard had
ended up jerking off to Frank’s wide grin. That they got together to make a
band was just a matter of time. Well, time and deciding what kind of music they
wanted to write together.
Gerard talked to Frank every night, without fail. Some nights though, it was
just for five or ten minutes before he had to catch a bus to get to his
practice space. Anxious Bones was doing pretty well, though their lyrics
weren’t the most interesting. Half the bands in the world knew it; college was
a good time to start a musical career. Gigs were easier to get when you were
young and enthusiastic, and willing to play for free or for access to the keg.
If Frank was thrilled the first night he met LizaBeth, it was nothing compared
to the day he found out places all over the state would let you play in
exchange for pittances and liquor. Karl, LizaBeth, Mattie B and Kunst -he said
Mattie K put him back in kindergarten, and not in a fun paste eating way- were
equally enthused, according to Frank they couldn’t think of a better way to
spend the days until classes started again.
Great news, except Gerard also has a progression.
They were supposed to spend the summer together. Not in Setlzer, which was the
plan before they left in August. As hard as it was to not see their parents,
they couldn’t go back. Gerard might have attempted it, not asking Frank to come
along, to see Mikey. Thankfully he’s known for a month that Mikey and Pete and
Alicia are following him out. So, not Setlzer. But somewhere. Only now Frank
won’t rent an apartment with him. Only Gerard won’t climb in a van with him.
It comes to a head one night on Skype. Of course it does. That’s how they
communicate, through sight and hearing alone.
“We’re not important enough to each other. You’re the second most important
thing in my life, and I’m the second in yours. But that’s not enough, is it?”
Gerard shakes his head. He can’t speak, he doesn’t know what will come out. He
might scream, he might cry, he might laugh hysterically. He wants to do all of
it and none of it. He wants to tell Frank this is all his fault, that
everything would be fine if he just came with him. But Frank feels the exact
same way, Gerard knows he does, and he’s not getting hysterical. The least
Gerard can do is the same.
Frank breaks the painful silence after it becomes obvious Gerard won’t. “So,
that’s it. We’re done then.”
Gerard nods his head.
Gerard logs off.
They’re done.
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The words fall out of his mouth before he knows what he’s saying. “Come back to
California with me.”
Frank shakes his head. “I can’t. Here I’m not a failure.”
That’s the shittiest excuse Gerard can think of. It’s not I like the slack of
my job, or I’d miss my parents, it’s some kind of bullshit ambitious streak.
“Oh for godsake Frank. Everyone is a failure. I don’t own a gallery of my own.
Pete isn’t a big shot lawyer. Alicia isn’t a fetish model. Mikey doesn’t have a
record label. Everyone on Earth has at least one thing they’d rather be doing.
But it doesn’t matter because while you’re doing things that suck, people that
love you make life better. We lived through a horror movie because Bob was
sarcastic and Ray was thoughtful and James was funny and you were the best
boyfriend ever. Why can’t we make it through the real world?”
“Gerard, I don’t know if I can make it out there. I’m not sure love is enough.”
He throws his hands up into the air so he doesn’t grab Frank by the shirt and
shake him. “I’m walking away now. You don’t need to be sixteen to die in this
place. I don’t just mean James. I mean everything you are, slowly rotting away
just by being here. I’m walking away, and I’m never coming back. I want you to
come with me, I can’t think of anything I’d want more. But it’s your choice,
not mine.”
It takes all his courage to follow through, to walk through the funeral home
parking lot towards his rented car. It’s dark irony that he has to tap into his
high school self’s bravery to do it. But he does, and he doesn’t look back.
Gerard is still fumbling with the key -he rented an old model, one that doesn’t
have a button to unlock the car from a football field away, in case he got
caught in a deliberate accident and he had to pay for damages- when he hears
steps pounding against the pavement behind him. He still doesn’t look back,
just opens his door and presses the unlock button on the small panel on the
door just in time for the passenger door to open.
“Where are we going?” Frank’s voice is only a little bit wobbly.
There are a lot of things Gerard could say. California, or to my tiny shit
apartment. If he’s being more realistic, he needs to go to his parents house to
get his suitcase, and he needs to get gas, and Frank should probably leave
Setlzer with more than just the dress shirt and tie and slacks he’s wearing.
They’ll have to go to a travel agent in the airport to figure out how to get a
last minute ticket for Frank.
“Home,” Gerard settles on. Maybe it’s corny, and it’s entirely possible Frank
will find the three square feet too cramped and wind up finding his own place
to live. But if dying in Setlzer can be a layered metaphor, so can being home
in San Diego.
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