Neurotic

Frank Iero had a terrible secret.

Frank was a ten-year-old boy when his parents left him alone with Gerard, a long-time friend of the family, an honest man with a smile of virtue. The man was a presence of truth in the family and they all trusted him with their thoughts, opinions and problems. Gerard was at the moment, and from the former moments of his first and very own office, a very well-known therapist; he liked to smile at people and hear them talk about the things that bothered them, from mental instability, to haunted memories from the past, to irrationally wicked phobias. Any kind of problem you might have, you could go to Dr. Way, Gerard Way. He would see and hear you gladly.

However, like everybody else, Gerard had his own problems; he had his weaknesses. The man was crazy about art and every form of Nature could serve as his muse, as his inspiration. Gerard had an ability to draw, in pencil of pure charcoal, and in his mind, in his conscience and deepest subconscious, there were no impure things. Everything deserved to be drawn and he always derived more joy from the tiniest details: the water drops on top of flower petals, or the shadows from the sun on the ground, or the round curve of female shoulders leaning in to let colored pearls and long fingers search for something inside a purse.

Artist Way was indeed nothing but human and his art was only a mix of talent, love and practice. He knew that there was nothing as relaxing as drawing, but the human imperfection of his charcoal strokes required work… and obsession. That was the only reason behind Artist Way’s works, but they all hid his weaknesses. Those took form of unrequited passions, either for the after-sex sweat drops, or the underage fine-looking boys.

Gerard Way had a terrible secret too.

He had known Frank Iero for a long time, Gerard had practically watched him grow up, and trust was easily built up through time. Frank would always share with him all the events he went through at school, and Gerard would listen carefully, watching the boy smile and giggle over every single story. It was just like any other kid with his older friend; Gerard would help him with some homework and they would have fun together before dinner. On some days, the artist would eat with the family, but on other days he simply went home; it depended on how the next morning would be, as the first hours of the day were the only ones when he was Dr. Way, the therapist.

Gerard’s age of fifty-one and his twenty years of a progressing career gave him the stability he needed to give only twenty weekly hours of therapy, and those he’d give on every morning, from Monday to Saturday. Sunday was his sacred day. All nights, no exception there, he would dedicate some time to his art, and in the afternoons and evenings… those were saved for Frank.

The boy was then ten years old when his parents left him alone with Gerard. It was usual for the two males to be alone and Frank’s parents were aware that Gerard was a good friend, personal guide and influence for their son. Frank was an only child, but not spoiled; he was used to a simple life in family and in between friends, Gerard being the most important one. On that day, as the therapist knew the couple would take a long time out due to legal matters, he brought some of his art supplies to the house. He would teach Frank how to draw, and his intentions were to actually train Frank on drawing.

Gerard’s technique was to go with the flow and be as natural as possible, so he let the boy draw what he wanted, despite the childishness of the drawings due to the boy’s young age. There was a pleasant smile on Frank’s face as his small, color pencil scratched the paper on the living room table; they were both drawing there, side by side, knees on the carpeted floor, eyes gleaming with the light from the wide-open window. It was a usual warm April afternoon and the two of them gasped, Gerard rather playfully, when Frank’s pencil escaped the paper, as his hand failed its usual steady position, and landed on his white t-shirt.

“Don’t worry, Frank, it can be washed”, Gerard told him with a smile. He grabbed Frank’s little hand, the one tugging at the t-shirt after the boy’s annoyed groan, and placed it softly on the table. Gerard ran a smooth finger over the infant skin, and continued, “do you like what you’re drawing?”

Frank nodded and went straight back to his mission of finishing the shades on his first work of art. Gerard fumbled with the pencil he was using, spinning it while smiling over and over again. He was watching Frank as the tip of the boy’s tongue stuck out of the mouth’s corner, not in effort but in concentration, as scratching sounds filled the air. Gerard was nowhere finished with his own drawing, but it didn’t matter anymore, as Frank ruffled his hair with one hand, scuffed his head in the process, and watched Gerard back through the corner of his eye. Frank saw nothing but attention and he was so used to the adult man’s presence that none of Gerard’s glances seemed wrong. Frank saw nothing but a friend and tutor’s attention.

Soon enough, the boy re-started his coloring efforts, new pencils inhabiting his hand as though they’d always belonged there. Gerard watched simply, still smiling and merely observing the child, as Frank announced that he had almost, almost finished. There was a grin illuminating the room, a fair and very natural pair with the light from the outside sun, and then a squeal: “Done!”

“Oh!” Gerard joined the high-pitched celebration, before asking, “who are those drawn people?”

“Mom, Dad”, Frank pointed to the pictures with no name or id number, colorfully resting on the flat sheet of paper; “me and Gee”, the boy rhymed with a knowing smile on his face and another willing squeal of his voice.

What Frank did next took Gerard by surprise; when he was admiring the boy’s work, Frank threw his young body into the pair of adult arms by his side. Gerard was taken back and tackled to the floor as the movement had been unexpected, but laughed along with the childish giggles sounding in his ear. Frank was seriously having the time of his life, the right amount of fun by his male-adult-friend-Gerard’s side, and gave him a contented and sweet smile of a kid.

“Thank you”, Frank said.

“No! Thank you”, Gerard argued while getting them back to their previous kneeling positions. It wasn’t uncomfortable at all to be laying down on the living room floor, that wasn’t the reason why he had decided to take the body out of his arms; in fact, it had felt too right, too comfortable, too wanted to be conceded unknowingly by Frank. “You included me in your family portrait; I’m very flattered.”

“Aw, no, you’re the good friend here”, Frank exclaimed and placed his body between the adult arms again, now more carefully to not end up lying on top of his friend again. “What did you draw, Gerard?” Frank innocently asked in his regular childish voice. At the same time, he brought his hand along Gerard’s ribs, a friendly gesture, while focusing on the paper half-full with charcoal.

“Hmm,“ Gerard disguised his soft moan with a thinking and attentive expression. He focused on the drawing and tried to analyze it properly, as he usually drew with his mind filled with running thoughts and wicked desires. “I was drawing you, Frankie…”

Both Frank and Gerard knew that Frankie was a nickname very rare in the house, as it was the one that Frank used to be called until he was six years old. Long since then, people rarely used that nickname, but sometimes it resurfaced, especially as Gerard got closer and closer to the boy’s mind… and also his own appetite, glory and sin.

“I was working on your face, hence I kept staring at you, watching your features change due to your feelings and thoughts”, Gerard told Frank, or Frankie, as the boy smiled radiantly at the unfinished picture of himself. “Don’t worry, I’ll finish it another day”, Gerard added.

“Why not now? I wanna watch you too”, Frank questioned innocently, two fingers over the natural curve between Gerard’s cheek and nose, and travelling across ‘Gee’s cheek land’.

Gerard smiled noisily, tiny teeth erupting from underneath his lips and disguising a chuckle. “Don’t worry, Frank. You see, I want to draw your body too, because you’re just so innocently cute. I wanna make you my masterpiece, Frankie, only if you let me.”

The boy didn’t know how to interpret the words he was hearing, but in his ingenuousness of a boy, Frank stood up and stared firmly at Gerard. “What do you mean?”

Frank was too young to probably understand, so he let Gerard fumble his bare hands of art on his arms and then torso, while the man held a grave expression, but Gerard’s eyes cared, or craved, for what and who he was touching. “Let me work you, Frank. You’re young and you’re a sweetie, so much that I could draw your face directly on you. You have, though, this rare detail on your structure, you’re young and probably fragile, so I want to protect you. Let me draw you as you are, Frankie, and I shall preserve your uniqueness as you created it unknowingly.”

Frank just kept staring at Gerard, mouth firmly shut, lips in a tight line and mind as empty as a transparent glass. He didn’t understand exactly what Gerard meant, but they were friends, they’d been friends for a long time, so Frank didn’t flinch at Gerard’s touch. The boy let the adult hands crawl over his clad shoulders and exposed neck, never abandoning their truthful staring game, and listened carefully to the words that came next; “Do you trust me, Frank?”

“Very much; why?”

“It was only a question”, Gerard stated, face now leveled with Frank’s as the boy gazed back at him with unending inquiries floating around in his eyes. Those were never asked, however, as Gerard kept feeling the body heat emerging from the boy. Frank never froze, and he never flinched either, as he inwardly trusted Gerard to never hurt him.

Some secrets, however, break all those rules about trust.

**

“I wish I could understand, Dr. Way; I wish I could help…”

They were in Dr. Way’s office and the location was the only element making their meeting an official and secretive matter. The doctor was dressed informally, a thick black shirt covering his torso and comfortable jeans cradling his legs that stretched out under his desk, but those only he could see. Not the patient; not the man in front of him with a dark blue pullover and probably expensive jeans.

Fortunately for the world, not only women and not only people with problems met Dr. Way in his office, and he saw them all with a smile and heard them all with constant nods. Dr. Way always tried to be understanding and supportive, to give his patients some hope for the future and some possible solutions for the situations that had brought them there.

And slowly he got to his point through questions; “Have you tried to make him talk?”

While both sat on comfortable chairs though facing each other on opposite sides of the office desk, the patient in front of Dr. Way sighed and, suddenly, his gaze traveled downwards. He was assuming a defeated expression, and Dr. Way understood it, so he waited for any more reactions.

“You know I have, Gerard”, the man spoke, swiftly breaking the official atmosphere and turning the office meeting into a friendly but tense, informal conversation. “It’s been about two years since he started acting like this, and it’s not like it is wrong, because it definitely isn’t, but…” the man trailed off and his almost-speaking hands fell dejectedly onto his lap.

“It’s okay; calm down and let everything out, Frank.”

“Okay”, he sighed. “He’s an amazing kid, you know that; damn, you’ve been a friend of our family for years, Gerard, and you must have noticed how different he is… how different he gets from time to time. It’s like he’s constantly mutating, changing moods, changing gazes, changing thoughts, even changing his tone of voice! I really don’t know what to think about this.”

“Well”, Gerard interrupted, and shut his notebook, as the conversation had stopped being for his job now. He had been a friend of Frank’s family for a long time and he knew how they all used to be and still were, hence the reason why he didn’t seem taken back by anything as he spoke; “I know that he tends to obey every single order he is given, or even requests he is asked, and that he can get a little obsessed when things don’t go as he planned, but in the end it can only be a matter of organization, Frank; you know that.”

“Yeah, I do know that, but how do you explain the mood swings, and the voices he comes up with?”

Gerard sighed and leaned back in his chair, grabbing the notebook again and returning to Dr. Way, as if those mood swings were his own. “He might be just imitating voices he hears, Frank; the TV can be really suggestive these days, all those cartoons, movies, music channels, etc…”

“You know he doesn’t watch TV, Gerard!” The man, Frank, slapped the desk in frustration and let his voice rise two or three octaves to make a point there. He wanted to win the conversation and get Gerard to go back home to help him. “He just gets up and goes to school, and comes home again only to drown himself in his readings and writings. It only changes when you go there, Gerard, and we both know that you haven’t been around as much as you used to… maybe it changed him?”

“Look, sometimes life doesn’t turn out the way we want it to and things are getting complicated for me. But anyway, maybe school is changing him somehow. For example, a lot of kids get affected by how others can be aggressive and get very offensive these days. There’s an increasing rate of violence in schools, Frank, you know that”, Gerard said calmly, unaffected by the man’s sudden outburst, still sitting back on his chair, pencil rolling in his hands.

“I disagree”, Frank retorted immediately. “Teachers say he behaves properly, and he has good grades, and in classes I know he participates either when requested, or freely if the situation demands it. They say he’s not very social, that he’s in the library a lot and rarely talks, and that sometimes he even denies an answer to classmates and other kids there. A lot of people there see him as a good example, but I really don’t think he sees himself in such a light; he seems so fidgety all the time. And at night! You know he goes to bed early, and I’ve checked on him often enough to know that he’s been sleeping so restlessly and uneasily. I just wish I could understand him, Gerard; I just wish I could help him somehow…”

“I know, and I’m aware that it’s very difficult for you. I can see that for myself when I go there, even if it’s not as often as I used to go”, Gerard trailed off, eyes flickering down to nowhere specific amongst his desk items.

“Yeah, and we can’t change that, but maybe we can- maybe you can help him”, the man-called-Frank told Gerard and their eyes met for seconds in a battle to understand what was being said. Frank continued: “You could see him, Gerard. We’re all friends, so maybe some formal confrontation would make him realize that something is wrong, no?”

Gerard thought for a moment and glanced at his notebook momentarily; what no one knew was that the notebook was empty at the moment and Gerard’s mind was filled with cancerous thoughts. He still tried to disguise them with his innocent speech of a therapist, “Do you really think it could work?”

“I wish it would, I really do wish that, but I don’t know. My wife wanted to do an exorcism, can you believe that?! She told me he might be possessed by some kind of evil and that’s where the different tones of voices come from, but I don’t know. He’s so fragile that such kind of evil possession would probably force him down on his knees and heels crying out in despair, or discomfort. I really don’t think he needs a priest; maybe a trustworthy friend…”

Frank’s monologue faded within the words and for some moments only silence reigned in Dr. Way’s office, different men confined to thoughts and fantasies of I could be his priest, or to worries and questions of What can I do. It was all a matter of not knowing what to say, of not knowing what to do and any decision was a very difficult goal to achieve; a matter of wanting something and ignoring the right and perfect thing to do.

“Frank”; the silence was broken then. Gerard’s friendly voice emerged from his throat in a response to his enormous gathering of ideas. “You can’t force him to come, but if he agrees with the decision, I’ll be more than glad to help you. It’s like you said; we’re friends and the worst that can happen is him not agreeing, right? We’ll start being doctor and patient, but once out of the office we’ll still be just close friends; damn, we’re almost like family! So,”Gerard Dr. Way took some time to reflect on what he was saying and on how he could conclude it.

“So, if he’s willing to come, I will do my best to bring him back to what he stopped being two years ago. I can’t promise you any specific results, since a lot of things do depend on the patient, but I will do my best. And after all…” Once again, Gerard stopped talking for mere seconds, and this time there was a smirk on his face; one that the wicked, sick man inside of him managed to turn into an honest smile.

“After all, Frankie’s a good boy…”

**

The voice of a regular young teenager filled Gerard’s attentive ears with words.

“I was dreaming, Way; I could only be dreaming of a funeral. Everyone was walking, following the hearse with the wooden coffin right in the middle of the congregation, all dressed in black as though they knew that it is my favorite color. There were no sad faces, though; maybe they thought they were in a party or something, because I really didn’t see any of the tears that persist almost always in all funerals. I think they were celebrating…”

Gerard Way listened and took false notes, his pencil hovering over the paper, his mind doing a close-up of Iero’s face along with his conversation. He let Iero continue.

“…but what could they celebrate, when there was a coffin, probably with a dead body in it? I had to walk closer, a lot of those people turned their heads to see me and their eyes shone even more. Some of them shook my hand, forced me to do it, and others touched my face lightly and ran away screaming with joy, and others…”

The doctor raised his head from the notebook and only listened more carefully now. It was interesting to hear Iero talk about his dreams.

“…saw me and called me a miracle. I didn’t understand what was going on, why they were acting as if I was the resurrected Messiah. They all searched for me, traded gazes with me and just rejoiced, and some women and girls danced around the hearse chanting in glory and power. I couldn’t do anything else but join them, so I smiled a bit and as soon as the smiling sounds filled my features they all exploded…”

Way completely focused on Iero’s words now.

“…of joy, Way, exploded of joy! So I smiled even more and one of them, an older male whom I had never seen before but who looked horribly familiar to my eyes, took my hand carefully and graced my fingers. One by one, he planted kisses along my hand and turned to me, welcoming me to my own funeral. I looked at him in disbelief but just listened to his calm words, as everyone else kept walking, smiling, chanting, dancing, enjoying their time around a coffin. And at the same time I looked at and listened to this unknown yet familiar man telling me…”

There was no way that the doctor could comprehend the dream he was being told about. He knew Mark Twain’s Tom Sawyer, but it was a book, an imagined tale, not an unconscious will, desire or thought inhabiting some kid’s dreams during the night. Way couldn’t understand, but continued to listen to Iero.

“…me!, that I was a lucky man for celebrating with them, because apparently not many people are able to come to their own funerals. He basically told me that I was watching my own memorial service and that I was lucky for that; it’s like he thought I should be dead! I don’t know what to think now, as I didn’t know what to think at that moment, so I let the funeral/party continue. There was nothing else I could do but watch all those people celebrate how fortunate I was and soon enough the chanting mood contaminated me and, without any rehearsals, I found myself singing the lyrics along to the music. I wasn’t dancing, partying or whatever, but for some strange reason, I knew the lyrics…”

Gerard shook his head at Iero’s hesitation but sighed and looked up, trying to convince him to continue. And Iero’s voice was heard again.

“…and out of nowhere, no explanation, poof! There was a blurry horizon and it changed to a cemetery, where the rest of the ceremony took place, people still chanting but no one dancing. As they buried the coffin, in a very deep hole in the ground reaching the center of the Earth, the rain started to fall from the skies, like a cliché scene from a movie, and magically everyone had an umbrella to cover their figures. Obviously, I had nothing to protect me and so I tried to leave the place to seek shelter against the soaking, but someone touched my arm…”

There was a tense atmosphere in Way’s office as the doctor let Iero finish his tale.

“…and I looked back. It was the same talking man from before, but he wasn’t as happy as he had been, and it made my skin shiver along with my insides. And that was before he told me that it was all over then and that I was the only one who couldn’t go home. No matter how hard I tried to leave, I couldn’t; it felt as if his previous hand on my arm was still holding me back. And when I went back and looked at the deep hole to search for the coffin, it changed to a pool and I saw myself floating there, face-downwards in the water, definitely dead.”

**

Hello, Doc.
Hmm; hello, George.

I need to tell you something.
Go ahead.

I’m afraid of dying.
Do you know what it implies?

Yeah, to be dead.
And what is that, death?

It’s to be away from others.
And why is that so important?

We all need other people, to have them around.
Yes, George, but why now?

What do you mean, Doc?
You don’t ask the questions here.

I can always ignore the question mark, if you want.
Don’t be insolent.

I won’t, Doc.
Good. Why do you need other people now?

Because I’m only a voice.
Hmm, and why is your voice so stern?

I guess I’m older.
And why are you here?

Iero needs me, Doc.
What?

I’m a voice from his problems.
And what is your job?

Keep him sane.
Is it working?

No.
Why not?

It just isn’t.
George, answer me; why not?

You’re not helping…
No; why aren’t you keeping Iero sane?

Because you’re not helping!
Don’t yell at me!

Yeah, I just…
What is it?

Iero needs to trust himself again…
What happened to him?

You know what happened, Doc.
I want you to tell me.

And I want you to admit it.
What are you talking about?

I know the truth.
What truth?

I know your secret, Doc.
What secret?

Ha, why don’t you just confess?
You don’t ask the questions here, George.

Are you afraid of my questions?
You can’t just ask anything you want!

So you do have a secret?
Stop it, don’t accuse me.

I have to, Doc.
Why, what do you know?

I know about your notebook.
Hmm, what about it?

I know about your drawings.
You don’t know anything!

I do!
You think you do.

Doc, I’m aware of your sins.
Don’t be silly; you’re older for a reason.

Exactly; to make you talk.
Don’t even try.

Why not; are you-
Stop with the questions. You know nothing!

Haha, I know more than you think.
Then talk about it.

Nuh-uh, because you know what you draw.
Elucidate me.

Do I need to call you a sinner again?
Is that a question?

Alright; I need to call you a sin-pedophile again.
George, don’t insult me.

Both of us know the truth.
No; where did you get that idea?

You didn’t hide your notebook today.
Are you sneaking glances at my stuff?

No; it’s right in front of me!
Yeah, my bad; shit happens.

Don’t cuss!
Then don’t offend me.

Remember that I’m older for a reason.
Which is…?

You sure you want to know?
Mhmm, why are you here?

To sneak glances at your stuff.
Why would you do such a thing?

I need to keep him sane.
So it’s about Iero again; what happened to the drawings, the secrets, the sins?

You know where to find them all, Doc.
Maybe I don’t; tell me.

No, I can’t.
Why not?

You have to admit it and…
And what? George, are you in pain?

Mmm, yes. Iero is backing me off.
Does he know anything?

He doesn’t care to remember.
And why is that such a bad thing?

He needs to remember; I want him to feel peaceful…

**

Charlie told Dr. Way, in his childishly weak voice, that an obsession was making him suffer. He wasn’t exactly in physical pain, nothing particular in his body hurt at the moment, but there was an uneasy feeling in his mind. Charlie could not control his obsessive thoughts and fears, so much that he couldn’t sleep peacefully as soon as he went to bed, especially at night. He was only a boy, his sweet voice denouncing him, and Dr. Way gladly heard him as he confessed what was going on in his mind.

It wasn’t occasional; every single night, Charlie went to bed after washing his hands, face and teeth, after wishing his parents good-night. And also every night Charlie took a long time to fall asleep due to that persistent uneasiness; and it was inevitable. Secretly, Charlie had his own problem, which he didn’t admit to anyone, and that is what some call ‘neurosis’. In his case, this boy was a checker and every night he had to make sure, Charlie had to verify that everything stayed as it was supposed to.

So some minutes after going to bed, Charlie felt that he had to get up and practice his ‘neurosis’, something that he definitely couldn’t avoid. He had to make sure that the bedroom window was properly closed, afraid of something, though he didn’t know what exactly. He had to verify that all his teddy bears were in their designated places, organized by colors and each one with its name tag properly placed in its left hand. He had to confirm that his parents were also in their bedroom, sitting by the closed door and listening closely to their regular, sometimes agitated, breathing exercises, and he wouldn’t leave until he was sure that the couple was silently and peacefully sleeping. Only then would he go to bed and allow himself to drift off to dreamland.

Charlie told himself very often that it was a normal thing to do, because everyone was afraid of staying alone or of losing someone. He would never admit that he had a problem and maybe because he was too young to recognize any problematic condition. However, the boy knew that he was suffering and every time he allowed himself to go to Dr. Way, Charlie would tell him any unusual situation that had occurred in his life. He didn’t know the exact words to use, but the doctor was supportive, helping him with nodding movements and agreeing sounds.

Another thing that the boy confessed in that office was that he had an issue with unclean items. Charlie had to make sure that he always washed his hands, even though he hadn’t exactly worked with them in dangerous occasions. He only knew of that instinctive necessity of feeling clean, and sometimes he told his parents that he wanted to shower more than once a day in fear of being contaminated. There wasn’t a clear reason for that behavior, and Charlie didn’t need one, because he felt unclean, he felt dirty, he felt like a walking magnet for viruses, dirt and bacteria. It was deeply imprinted in his mind and there wasn’t any other way of relieving himself from that idea of being a compulsive cleaner, except to clean.

So every day and every night, the boy repressed every single notion of ‘wrong’ and ‘obsession’, thinking that it was normal to act like that. And every time he was at home, Charlie just had to respond to his addiction, bluntly obey his ‘psychic boss’, and verify the whole house for his own security, verify his whole bedroom for his own comfort, verify his two parents for his own stability; and he had to wash his hands for his own health, and to shower more than once a day against his own disgust. There wasn’t an explanation, a reason, anything, to justify his actions, and the boy didn’t need one as long as he kept obeying his compulsions and keeping himself stable.

Charlie told Dr. Way about the obsession that made him suffer daily because he wished he could be like any other kid at school and go to the playground with no fear. The doctor would ask him why he didn’t just risk some things sometimes; telling the boy that he’d be helped by his parents and by the doctor himself, but Charlie just shrugged it off, looking forward completely, blindly. And Dr. Way would have some compassion and would get himself out of that comfortable position inside his office. And Dr. Way would touch Charlie’s hair, Charlie’s face, Charlie’s neck, and go down to his arms, to his back and very softly to his hips. And Dr. Way would finally pull out of an innocent and unknowing Charlie.

**

Hello, Doc.
Hello again, George.

I’m glad you remember me too.
Why would I forget you?

You never wanted me here.
That’s not true.

It is, because I know your secrets.
We’re not gonna discuss this again.

Don’t worry.
Are you giving up on that?

No, but you don’t have to get so uncomfortable.
I am not uncomfortable.

You definitely are, Doc.
Why do you say that?

Because you just started fiddling with your sleeves.
Bad habit, I guess.

You’ve never done it before.
So what do you think about it?

I think you’re nervous.
Why would I be nervous?

Because you know I’m right.
Huh?

Yes, Doc, you know I know what you don’t want others to know.
That’s nonsense.

I disagree with that.
What do you want to get with all this?

I want you to admit everything.
Admit what and why?

What you’ve been doing with us.
With who?

All of us inside Iero’s head.
And who are you exactly?

I’m older and I represent what he forgot.
The subconscious that establishes the rules?

Something like that.
The psychological deepness that protects him?

That’s all I want; to protect Iero.
Protecting him from what?

From people like you!
Stop glaring at me and accusing me.

I can’t; you know you’re guilty.
Am I now?

Oh yes, Doc, you are very guilty.
That’s scary; what are you gonna do about it?

I have to force Iero to remember.
Do you have to?

Yes, he needs his sanity back.
Are the voices hurting him?

Exactly, and he doesn’t even know.
But weren’t you afraid of dying?

I am, but he needs to remember.
That will kill the voices, right?

Yes.
Do you want that, George?

Yes, Doc.
Why?

I’m here to keep him sane.
What about the other voices?

You know them perfectly…
Maybe I don’t; tell me about them.

Well, there’s me, Iero and Charlie.
You are the wise one and Iero the sacrificed one.

Exactly, hence the reason he needs to remember.
Hmm, and who’s Charlie?

He’s a kid, only a kid.
Why does he exist?

Charlie represents all the repressed memories.
Memories of what?

You know exactly what!
Don’t look away; tell me everything.

You know what you did, Doc.
Why is it so important?

Only you made Iero like this.
So that’s why I’m guilty?

Exactly, and I am not afraid…
Of dying?

No; of accusing you!
That’s not necessary.

Yes, it is!
Don’t yell, George; why is it so important?

Everyone is oblivious about this.
And?

And they all trust in you.
Is that a problem?

Yes, because you’re turning Iero into this.
What do you mean?

It’s you that keeps him insane.
But I’m a therapist; I heal him.

No!
Why not?

You’re hurting him.
Don’t be stupid.

You are, Doc, don’t deny it.
Iero came to me.

Because of his parents.
Maybe they know what’s best for him?

That’s not true; they’re just blind.
Why do you say that?

Because they asked you to help him.
And here I am, trying.

But you hurt him!
Don’t hiss or point at me.

I know what you’re doing, Doc.
You know nothing.

You keep Iero insane.
I try to heal him.

That’s not possible.
Why not?

Because you hurt him!
What are you talking about?

I’m here to save him.
Save who from what?

Save Iero from your weakness.
You’re not making any sense, George.

I need to back off.
Why now?

Iero is suffering.
No one needs to know.

That’s unfair for Iero.
How come?

He’s just a boy, Doc.
Yes, he’s young.

Iero is too young.
He’s deliciously young.

Doc, don’t…
What?

Don’t make him suffer anymore…

**

The voice of the teenager ringed musically around Gerard’s office and the man was listening.

“I was dreaming, Way, I think I was dreaming of fairies. They were very colorful, some yellow, some blue, others orange and so bright that it made me blind. I couldn’t see past the barrier they formed, as those fairies were so many and the visible wall so solid, so thick. I saw the almost-human figures; their tiny legs balanced their bodies, dressed in such brilliant costumes of adored spring flowers and skins painted with sparkles of magic. Then, hymns sounded from nowhere and they shone even more brightly as they started moving towards me…”

Gerard Way listened, his eyes sometimes focusing on the young man and other times leaning towards the desk where his notebook was resting on. Turning to another blank page, he heard Iero’s voice again:

“…and I think they were dancing. All characters in my dreams dance awkwardly, but these movements were soft and all the fairies were synchronized with each other and the unknown hymn. They all gazed at me and smiled whitely before looking down and swirling on their spots, rhythmically moving along with the sounds of heaven, perfectly choreographed to do flips back and forth at the same time. It amazed me so I smiled, and they must have seen me because they stopped, turned to me and…”

The doctor snorted inwardly at the mental image and looked up at his patient; he wasn’t new in the office, but sometimes his dreams and fantasies were revealed in weird ways. However, Way let Iero continue his dreamland tale:

“…and they smiled at me, their beams and voices replacing the exquisite hymn and sounding blissfully to my ears. I loved it so I enjoyed it, and the fairies surrounded me, stroked my exposed arms, some going up to my hair, others going down to my legs in this cloud of caresses underneath my body. They lifted me; those tiny limbs surprisingly managing to carry my human body, lightly transporting me to some place I didn’t know. It all left me confused but it still delighted my incredulous self; I felt comfortable in their arms of bliss, satisfied amongst their choir of harmony, relaxed with no dreams of funerals, uncertainty and fear of whatever. I felt…”

Way just focused his attention for slight seconds, exploring the face in front of him, which now gleamed of satisfaction while talking. And for that he could only let Iero talk.

“…happy, Way, I felt happy! There was nothing preventing me from enjoying the comforting carriage, as some lady from Rome, but no slaves to be mistreated; only fairies to sing in my ears and shine against my orbs. However, as usual, things in my dreams tend to go wrong and, out of nowhere, I felt cold drops; they refreshed my face, but soon the heavenly choir stopped and the bright light faded, as the drops were transforming. Soon enough there was a storm swirling heavily and increasingly darkening above me, clinging onto my skin, suddenly and unexplainably exposed to the skies, and bringing torrents of distress and pain in shape of drops. They were all fat against my eyes so I had to close them to…”

There was no possible interpretation for the change in Iero’s voice, as though a sudden weight had crashed onto it, making it crack suddenly and the tale only continued after Gerard Way saw that Iero, the patient, was stable and strong enough to carry on. And he listened.

“…to avoid the clashing pain. And then there was silence. I wondered what it meant, my mind repeating the back and forth flips the fairies had executed before, but thoughts replacing the gleaming figures. I stayed silent and listened to the quiet silence that then became unbearable and forced me to open my eyelids again. There was no bright light and the fairies had dropped me somewhere I didn’t know. And when my eyes adjusted properly to the new environment, I saw…”

Gerard looked up now and waited for the upcoming words until Iero’s voice sounded:

“…an old witch, like one of those from stories for kids. I focused on her wickedly wrinkled face, my attention not dropping for a single second, and I could see how her smirk softly changed into something else. There was another light forcing me to look away and I focused my gaze on her bare feet; not singing, not dancing, the old, wrinkly woman slowly faded away, but didn’t disappear. Her darkened figure was sharply changing into a male’s one, but before I could see his face and recognize his looks, the whole scenery changed in front of my shocked glance. I was seeing too many things in that dream, but there was no way to escape, so I just watched as it all shaped into a desert, and the remaining storm faded into a very strong wind, and that was exactly when I heard a voice I recognized, but I couldn’t tell from where…”

In the tense ambiance of the office, Gerard Way wondered if it was his… Iero wasn’t finished:

“…but I knew, and still know, that the voice follows me everywhere, every single day…”

**

Are you back, George?

Stronger than ever, Doc.
So, what’s your plan?

Expose your secrets.
George, George, what secrets?

The artwork in your notebook.
What about it?

And the photographs at home.
Again, what about it?

I know more than you think.
Maybe you think you do?

No, I know more than you think.
Like what?

The artwork in your notebook.
What about it, George?

And the photographs of the kids…
What are you talking about?

Don’t think I’m stupid.
Why not?

I just wanna expose your secrets.
You’re nothing but a voice.

I can make Iero remember.
And then what?

He will turn you in.
You said it yourself, he’s just a kid.

I only need to work him some more.
To respond to your idiotic ideas?

No, to sneak glances at your artwork.
What’s wrong with that?

They’re only kids, Doc.
They need me.

Or do you need them?
Remember, you don’t-

Ask questions, I know.
So answer me now.

Ask away, Doc.
What have you seen?

I’ve seen those nude kids.
I like to draw them.

I’ve noticed that.
And nudity is perfection.

Those drawings aren’t perfection…
What do you mean?

They are perversion!
It’s only art, you ever considered that?

Yeah, the art of abusing innocent kids…

**

Charlie was nothing but a boy, too young to understand; so young that he accepted everything that came his way. For his short understanding and his short memory, that was the only way to look at things and let them get to himself. He didn’t react because no response made proper sense in his mind of a child.

Only for his own interpretation, the boy knew he was too young to have an answer for complicated things, because he did have conscience that some things should never be mentioned or explained. That was the thought Dr. Way had forced into Charlie’s too-young mind, and the boy learned to live with his condition of isolating whatever happened in that office. He couldn’t avoid it; somehow, the doctor had programmed his little mind not to forget, but to not think about those things. How he had done it, Charlie didn’t know, but he respected Dr. Way’s will and never talked about the office and its secrets. Those meetings were confidential, sometimes even to Charlie’s mind.

The fact was that the boy could never fully interpret what was happening inside his own head; nothing made sense. Sometimes talking to Dr. Way seemed to help and the therapist would ask him questions and write down any answers he got from Charlie. Other times, though, and these constituted the majority of the visits to the doctor’s office, there were no questions in return and Charlie simply talked whatever he wanted. There was no control for the situation and even in the worst days, those of silence, when there wasn’t much that could be said, it was all both confusing and comforting.

Charlie would always feel the strength of the silence, washing over him very thickly. According to his peaceful young mind, that was a normal thing, a beautiful fact that he just didn’t want to be told about anything; or that was what he told himself. The office seemed bigger than it actually was from the spot where he would always be, from where he could feel the pushing, the discomfort and the pulling, and in reaction he would look forward. Not knowing exactly what to do, the boy would always see Dr. Way’s desk, the one that guarded too-many secrets of the man who sometimes questioned Charlie, and other times would only listening to him with nodding movements and agreeing sounds.

Everything happened as Charlie felt the thrusts and the hand pressing on his back; he felt the fingers threading in his hair and the continuous pain, spreading throughout his bones and escalating to his head in the shape of very calm thoughts. It was completely contradictory, but that was how his life had always run; out of normality and without explanation. So Charlie could do nothing but accept his situation and allow Dr. Way to use his best plan to make Charlie understand why he was so unstable, compulsive and contradictory.

At the same time, the boy’s body quivered in non-understanding, as his lower half shouted at the pain, his lower limbs growing weak all of a sudden, but his mind remained calm, flat and very empty. Not thinking was probably the solution, so the moment carried on. And new excerpts of pain climbed Charlie’s back as cats on summer trees, and with no reason, with no meaning, with no sense at all, Charlie’s lips let go the soothing sounds that kept relaxing his body and opening his mind to oblivion:

“20, 21, 22, 23…”

**

And the teenage voice sounded again…

“I don’t know, Way, I don’t understand them. I realize they are real, but I think they transformed me. I sometimes blamed them for the state I am in, and other times I beat myself up for thinking like that because I sense that there is no way that I can avoid my confusion. Today is one of those occasions that I just feel dizzy, all my ideas are running freely in my mind and I can’t control them; I haven’t been able to do that for some time now and for the same amount of days, weeks, months, I have felt this confusion. Walls are squeezing me together and my existence is a very tiny ball of string. And I just can’t find the end of it; damn, I cannot get out of this maze, out of this monster of uncertainty and doubts. I need stability and whenever I think I have it…”

Gerard Way had to pay attention now, because the conversation had suddenly become real and very serious, and Iero definitely needed to talk.

“…I see them, I glance at them even if at distance, and the cycle returns. It takes me back to confusion, leading me further into my own maze, and there I cannot avoid them. They surround me, like some plague and, no matter how much I pray, they are never gone. Never gone…”

The doctor blinked more than once at the words and tried to understand as Iero’s words kept coming like a flood:

“…and I just can’t make them go away. They are everywhere, or I see them everywhere, even when I don’t want to, I see them there, and they confuse me. I think they’ve put me here, in this lost state of mind, because I’ve been seeing them for a long time now and I’ve felt like this for all that time. They’re trying to make me go crazy, but I want to be stronger than them, so they torture me inwardly and I just can’t get them to stop. They…”

Way had to intervene there and ask Iero to be more specific, and Iero obeyed.

“…the clocks, Way, the clocks! It’s not like in any other story, they don’t help me, the clocks never guided me; they turn me insane! They just show me numbers in black or fluorescent sticks at night, the constant tic-tac of hours that just go by, running to create a time that makes no sense. The numbers, the sticks, the hours respect no sequence, as they all just run in front of my eyes to confuse me and…”

There were no words to completely describe how the doctor was confused himself, in his trials to understand what the patient meant. So he kept focused, with a blank page from the notebook staring back at Way’s blank face, as he listened to Iero’s exposure.

“…and suddenly, with no explanation, I become their martyr. I can’t really tell what I feel, but there were flashes of insecurity across the walls where dozens of clocks were waiting to haunt me again. I just didn’t understand the scene, as if all those objects placed me somewhere in an old time that I can’t remember, I can’t exactly recall what, when or where. There are a lot of dark moments inside my head as though someone was trying to take me somewhere and make me remember, or forget, I don’t know, something either very pleasant, or something very…”

Gerard frowned at the meaning of Iero’s last words, wondering if his patient was remembering what had been happening in that office for the last year. And Gerard also wondered if the boy would ever admit it and end with all the beauty of their sessions. And he listened very suspiciously to Iero’s finalization:

“…very traumatic, probably as much as that dream. I remember it perfectly, as it’s not occasional at all. Night after night, I keep seeing it; my own body, I’d recognize it anywhere obviously, floating in the pool. Facing down, my face directly drinking from the pure water as it waved awkwardly carefully against my dirty and perplexed skin. I don’t know how to interpret this, but I guess that nothing makes much sense without my insides drowning in the purity I don’t possess and without my lungs getting the air to fully live.”

**

Hello, Doc.
Welcome back, George.

What happened to my last name?
You never told me your last name.

I wonder why.
Maybe you fear any proximity?

Yeah, maybe.
But why?

You’re a dangerous man, Doc.
How come?

You keep me here.
You’re welcome to leave.

You know I’m not.
I do?

Yes, he needs me.
Who, Iero?

Who else?
He doesn’t need you.

You wouldn’t understand.
He needs me.

Oh! And why is that?
I can heal him.

Yeah, just like you’re hurting him…
And I need him too.

You’re just so sick, Doc.
Back at insulting me again?

Of course, you deserve it.
You really should explain yourself clearly.

I think I don’t need to.
Why not?

Iero is explicit enough.
What do you mean?

All the time he’s wasted…
Doing what?

Being your friend.
I thought friendship was positive.

Depending on its purpose…
What was that?

Depending on your purpose!
Are you blaming me, George?

Yes, I am!
What for?

The facts answer to that.
What facts?

The artwork in your notebook…
Not again, please.

You know it’s wrong.
What kind of wrong?

Illegally wrong,
Huh?

It’s physically wrong,
Don’t say that.

It’s mentally wrong, Doc!
Stop yelling!

I can’t avoid it.
Why not?

You make me feel bad.
That’s the reason.

You make me feel mad.
And about what?

You and what you do.
What do I do?

You hurt him.
Huh?

You hurt all of them.
No I don’t, George.

You tell them that but-
Stop accusing me.

And they think it’s okay to be hurt.
What are you talking about?

The photographs at home.
I just draw them.

You explore them, Doc!
Never, George, I treat them right.

You make them undress.
They do it by themselves.

Only at your orders.
They need me.

No! You need them.
Why would I?

Because you’re like that.
I’m like what?

You’re sick, you’re wrong, you’re abusive.
Stop saying that I-

You expose them and hurt them…
I do not, George.

You mold them as you wish…
Stop-

You turn them crazy…
George, I-

You made him create me!
Stop!

I can’t, Doc.
Just stop trying.

I can’t; Iero needs to be saved.
Don’t bother.

He needs to remember.
I’ll heal him, don’t worry.

No, you’ll only get him worse.
I’m trying to fix him.

You use us against him.
What?

Us - the voices in his head.
Explain yourself.

You fight with me to keep him backing me off.
We just don’t need you.

I’m the one who’s trying here.
Exactly; we don’t need you.

But you need Charlie?
Of course I do.

So you confess.
Huh?

You use Charlie to be sick.
I try to make him an adult.

You abuse him, Doc.
How do you know all that?

Why does it matter?
George, only a medium answers a question with another question.

Oh, I can’t ask them?
Not before you answer mine…

And why is that?
Because I’m the therapist, George.

But we’re reversing our places now.
Do you find it fair?

Iero is not fair.
This is not about Iero.

Oh, Doc, this is all about Iero.

**

“Frankie…”

Frank Iero had a terrible secret.

“Frankie?”

Frank’s parents had called and were coming home soon, so the friend Gerard quietly called the boy’s name. There was no malice in his voice; he had always been friendly and very careful around Frank, and waking him up wasn’t one of his favorite things at all. Frank always looked so peaceful while sleeping that the vision was a magnet to any eyes.

At that moment, willing to risk a bit of the situation, and only enjoying the sight of Frank’s still sleeping figure, Gerard Way admired the face in front of his. It rested on the pillow, allowing sweet locks of dark hair to fall over the eyes, and a small curve to appear on top of Frank’s lips. They were only slightly parted, and Gerard wished it was from the memories of their moments together, as dear old friends.

In Gerard’s mind, nothing was ever so deep as those same memories, and that was why he wanted Frank to remember them too. So, remembering their previous moment, before having Frank falling asleep, Gerard shook the boy until he opened his sleepy eyes, and rubbed any remains of slumber out of them. The man liked to do that for the boy before any response kicked in; Gerard could never tell which personality would meet him as soon as Frank fully woke up, due to the multiplicity inside Frank’s head.

“Gee?”

Fortunately, it was only Frank, not one of the others. Gerard relaxed his hand over Frank’s uncovered face before moving it down a bit to his neck, and only then he exposed the rest of the boy’s body from underneath the cover of that messy bed, as his eyes rolled open and demanded an explanation.

“You need to get dressed, Frank. Your parents are coming back home”, Gerard spoke, as his eyes told the words to every part of Frank’s body except for his eyes. The man was still greedy and the memories in his head were not helping to keep his mind shut.

“Okay…” was the only answer.

It had been a nice afternoon and the sixteen-year-old Frank had been Gerard’s perfect match for six long years. And it wouldn’t stop. After all, George was right; Gerard was sick, he craved for Frank like a very powerful drug and the boy had been his addiction for many years now. Frank had a terrible secret, and so did Gerard Way.

He had always raped Frank Iero.