Skin and Bones

“Frank?” I open my eyes and look up at the officer.
“Will you come with me?” His voice is soft and careful – almost helpless. I sigh softly and look back down at the stain on the floor.

I slowly lift my head off of Gerard’s chest and unfold my legs – letting them drop onto the tiled floor with a screech. Gerard removes his hand from my hair – pulling at a few strands – and turn in his chair so he can get up as well. He’s been holding me from the moment we sat down.

We follow the officer. I notice that Gerard is limping slightly. I guess he must’ve sat uncomfortably.
I take his hand in mine and look at him out of the corner of my eye – too shy and scared to look at him fully.
I see him smile, before I feel him squeeze my hand. I feel like crying. He makes me happy – even now.

“It’s just in here, Frank.” I look up to see the officer holding a door open. I take a deep breath and enter the room. On my way through the door, Gerard’s hand slides out of my grasp – mine out of his.
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait outside.” I whip around and look at Gerard. He catches my eyes for a second, before he turns back to the officer.

“No. He’s my boyfriend and he needs me right now.” His voice is calm and collected – the exact opposite of his face.
Wait, he just called me…my boyfriend.
I smile slightly – the first time in forever, it seems – and feel all fuzzy and warm inside. The feeling tickles all over.

The officer sighs loudly, and then waves his hand for Gerard to enter the room. Gerard meets my gaze and I see happiness in his eyes – I can actually see it.
Gerard grabs my hand and we walk over to the chair that’s on one side of a small, worn table. Gerard pulls a chair over – never letting go of my hand.
The officer sits down opposite to us and puts pen, paper and a small tape recorder on the table.

“Okay. To make all of this easier, I will be recording this session. That way, a judge will be able to listen to both of your statements objectively before any trial might begin.” I swallow nervously. What if the judge don’t believe me? What if I say something wrong – do something wrong?
Gerard starts stroking his thumb over the back of my hand, and I suddenly realize that I’m trembling.
“Just tell us the truth, okay? If you do that, it’ll all be fine.” I nod timidly.
The officer presses a button on the tape recorder.
“This is the hearing of Frank Iero, son of Linda Iero. Date: 26 June 2009. Case number: 560502-3 – possible abuse and assault. Officer James Matthews.” James scribbles something down on the paper – or notebook, really – while he talks. I don’t know where to look. I feel unsure and uneasy. I just want this over with.
“Frank.” My name pops out of his name and my head snaps up quickly. My throat twists around itself.
“Have your mother, Linda Iero, ever hurt you?” Wow. He goes right to the point.
Gerard squeezes my hand, before he continues to caress the back of my hand with his callused thumb.

“Y-“ I swallow.
“Yes,” I say – as loud as I can muster.
The officer pushes the recorder closer to me.

“Mentally or physically?” I swallow before I answer this time.

“Bo-both.” I still stutter. Gerard’s caresses speed up.

“When did it happen?” Slowly my mind turns into a haze. It’s like it goes on autopilot – and I just let go of the steering wheel. I just stare at the worn, green table as I pick at the paint.

“A little over a week ago.” My voice is cold and emotionless.

“What happened?”

“She called me a fag. An ungrateful fag.”

“What happened prior to this?”

“She’d cooked dinner. She wanted me to eat again.”

“What do you mean, ‘again’?”

“She found out I had anorexia.” There’s a pause.
I finally get a flake of paint off. The table underneath the paint is brown.

“When did the physical abuse start?” My cheek burns.

“The next night.”

“What happened?” The blood rushes in my ears.

“She slapped me.”

“What brought this on?”

“I told her I was gay.” There’s a pause again. I stop picking at the paint.
“I cooked us dinner.” I stare at a loose flake – just stare at it.
“I wanted to make her happy.” The small lump that’s been in my throat for hours slowly starts growing.
“I wanted her to be proud of me.” The end of my sentence come out as a whisper as the lump grows bigger.

“How many times has she physically abused you?”

“I thought it was my fault. I thought I’d hurt her.” I tilt my head slightly. The flake of paint glistens in the faint, dull light.
“I thought I deserved it.” I was so naïve – to think that she loved me.
Gerard’s hand has moved onto my shoulder. I lean my head against it – blood pounding in my squashed ear.
I stare at the flake. Then tear it off.

“When was the last time she hurt you?” The officer’s voice has dropped.

“Today.” My voice is a tremor. I gasp for air.

“And you ran away?” I feel a tear roll down my cheek and off to the side, due to gravity. It lands on my black sweater. I look down at the wet piece of clothing.
I feel tears and mucous rise in my throat and start filling up my mouth and my eyes. It hurts.
I nod.

A sob suddenly escapes my lips and I quickly turn my head to hide my face. Gerard quickly pulls me into his arms – my face pressed against his chest.
I start sobbing. I can’t control it. My body is shivering and trembling and I can’t stop it.
So I just let it.
I feel Gerard’s chest vibrate and I grab onto his shirt in fear of losing him. I just want him here – protecting me.
My mom was wrong. She’s wrong.