Anonymous

I remember that night I ran so fast from you, that I seriously thought I would be in the next state before anyone could catch up to me. It was back when my hair was short, and thick, and black- before I tainted it with any dye. You said I looked cute with my hair like that, and then you would run your fingers through my hair- smiling, like having my hair caress your fingers made you happy. I kept my hair like that for you…and you kept your hair long because Bert said he liked it. Because you fucking did everything Bert said- not because you loved him, no, you weren’t capable of love back then. Hell, sometimes I think you are unable to love even now, with me. No, Bert learned to love you, you just liked the fact he could fuck.

And that was exactly why I was running from the bus, from the drugs, from you! You were addicted to Bert because he tasted like cocaine, and you never fucking shut up about it. You were irritating, drunk and fucking high. And sure, it was fun sometimes…when I was drunk and unable to see you were breaking before my blurry eyes. But that night, I had reached my breaking point…because now the drugs and alcohol and the Bert were taking away your identity. Before you were bad, Gerard, you would protect me…see cause I am small and tiny and everyone can take advantage of me. So you…you could protect me…and you did…

But then we were in that tour bus, right? With Bert and some other band who couldn’t play worth shit. And you were drunk and snorting coke off Bert’s bare back. You were all over him- licking his sweat and rubbing his cock. You weren’t even playing attention to me, little Frankie in the corner with a beer watching his best friend self destruct. I could have left…so I guess that was my fault. I could have walked out and left you there with them…with Bert. But I was scared…that they would take advantage of you…

But they didn’t want you, did they Gerard?

One of them, the one with the emo haircut who looked more like a chick than most chicks I knew, walked over to me with drunken eyes. He licked his lips at my small form, like a lion to his prey. I cocked my head to the side like a child- “Can I fucking help you?” I remember how he smiled, with his fake vampire teeth glistening in the dull tour bus light. He touched me, and I shoved him against a wall. I remember how the bus shook when his skinny body hit the wall. It caused some of the drinks to fall, spilling onto the hard floor like blood. You and Bert started freaking out on me…

“Fuck, Frank, why are you such a prude,” you slurred, “why do I fucking hang out with you?”

I rolled my eyes, “Good fucking question. You are too busy fucking your personal cock sucker to give a fuck anyway.”

“You say cock funny!” Bert cackled on the floor.

“Yo, Way, I thought you said this shrimp was cool?” That’s what the blonde on said; he was bigger…muscles on the arms- probably a drummer.

“He used to be cool,” you stumbled over to me, grabbing that thick part of my hair, “but he is being a little pussy!”

Your eyes were green…I remember how bright they were; brightest I ever seen them. So beautiful, in a tragic way though. I saw you in that body, screaming for help; clawing at the walls of your own addiction; your fingers bleeding, trying to fight your way out of that prison you locked yourself in. Your eyes were so sad.

I decided to ignore them, just this once. My anger had reached a new level. So without even thinking about it, I kicked you in the balls and ran out of the bus. I cringed as I heard the “ooohs” and the laughs come out of the mouth of those drunken assholes. They were like small stabs to my own troubled soul; bringing me back to High School…a place I had hoped I could avoid in my adult years. Apparently not.

I was running, fast, through the bitter cold that nipped at my exposed skin like small bug bites. I could feel my chest start to close, my breathing harsh and hard, and my legs burned from the unfamiliar use. I didn’t want to stop until I was dead; then I would have a good excuse to never see your lying face ever again. But could I hate you? No. So I started making up excuses in my head for you- “he was drunk. He was high. He has been depressed.” You weren’t in your “right mind”, right? Because you would have to be so wrong to say talk like that to me.

I didn’t realize I had stopped moving until I heard your voice in the dense cold air.

“Frank! Wait!”

I turned and saw you running towards me; out of breath and your face red as a tomato from the lack of air. You caught up to me, placing your hands on my shoulders to keep yourself from collapsing. I placed one of my hands on yours, with all intention of throwing you off me; but once my skin connected with yours, letting go seemed more painful than your touch.

“What, Gerard?” I sighed.

“Please, don’t run away from me, Frankie. I’m sorry.”

You looked so sincere despite the drunkness evident in your bloodshot eyes. I was blinded by the desperation in your voice that the sinister glint in your pale green orbs when unnoticed by me. I sighed and looked at my worn out converse sneakers, pretending to contemplate whether or not I should forgive you; for in my mind, the mere fact you chased me was enough to win back my loyalty.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” I shrugged, blushing slightly at the smile you flashed me.

“Good,” you grabbed my hand, “lets head back, I’m tired.”

I hid the growing smile from you; the feeling of your skin against mine sent those annoying butterflies to whip around my stomach as if they were on crack. I began to wonder if you would let me kiss you- better than the stage kisses- but I remember you relationship with Bert- and the diseases that were laced in his kiss- and I decided against it. You were drunk, I mean, you probably didn’t even know what you were doing, right?

Because…that’s the only explanation for what you did next.

“Hey, wait,” you said, stopping in front of that hack band’s tour bus- it was dark, silent, they were probably passed out in their own filth. “I forgot something in there, come with me to get it?”

I groaned, “Come on, is it that important?”

You pouted like a child- your greasy hair covering your face- and my heart melted.

“Pwease, Fwankie,” you said.

“Ugh, fine you baby.”

You squealed and ran to the door, opening it to let me in. I sighed and mindlessly walked into the bus, expected you to be on my heels. However, once I turned into the living area, the door shut; and you weren’t behind me. I knitted my thin eyebrows together and looked behind me…confused…worried- but not for me. I heard Bert’s ghostly voice echo from outside- “he fucking fell for it!”

I felt the presence of other bodies in the room. I turned my head to see the four shadowy figures standing before me. I heard them snicker at my vulnerability- cause was so tiny, right? I was so easily overpowered. So I needed you to protect me…to grab me and tell them to go fuck themselves. But you never came- you were long gone. I had to defend myself, and though that seemed like an easy thing for me….being so cocky and high strong…one against four…

Well, I wasn’t a fucking moron…

“What do you cocksuckers want?” Okay, scratch that last part.

I don’t remember why I said it; maybe I wanted my last words to be as unyielding as me. I didn’t want to beg- Frankie Iero doesn’t beg, right?

Then he came from no where- his fist came in contact with my face, sending me to the floor. Before I even had time to get up, one of them started dragging me. I attempted the grab on to anything that wasn’t nailed to the fucking floor- but that proved to be in vain. I clawed the floor, causing my fingers to bleed from scraping so hard on the floor. When the dragging stopped, that’s when the kicking started. Only cowards kick someone when they are already down. The first foot landing on my back; I convulsed from the pain that surged through my body. Another foot, this time to my ribs…and another to my legs, face. The alternated…punches to my face that cut open my eyebrow, to kicking my hand until it was broken and bloody to ensure I couldn’t play. One of them too a knife and ripped up my shirt- more bare skin…more pain…more blood.

I eventually allowed my eyes to drift closed; unable to handle the pain that ripped throughout my small body. Small. I was so small...

The next thing I remembered was waking up on the cold parking lot street; my shirt was missing and replaced with tiny little cuts and sores. I couldn’t open of my eyes…or move my left hand. My throat was raw…and the taste of blood swarmed in my mouth. I could do nothing but stare helplessly, with my good eye, at the “My Chemical Romance” logo that ordained our bus. At least the had the decency to bring me home…

I felt someone’s hand caress my face. I painfully brought my eyes to lay on the stranger whose touch was soft and caring. My eyes wilted when I saw Quinn; his eyes were in a panic, his mouth was dry. He just stared at my broken form, trying to find the Frankie he loved under all those bruises. My name echoed through the air- Mikey was somewhere around me…screaming his head off; his voice cracking from the tears that threatened to fall. Everyone spilled from their tour buses- even bands who hardly new us came running down to see the commotion. Everyone hovered over me; Jeph, Quinn, Mikey, Bob, Ray…even Branden had gotten a first aid kit to tend to my broken hand…

In the sea of faces, I searched for yours- to see your eyes plagued with guilt and concern. But I never saw you….

Last night you had an excuse- you were drunk…

What was you excuse now?