Anorex-a-Gogo

Imagine you're in bed. You're snug and warm in your pajamas with a nice hot cup of coffee. It's probably got cream and sugar in it, maybe something flavored that makes your insides gurgle with absolute warmth and pleasure. Imagine it's snowing outside, but the heater's turned way up so it feels more like you're inside a womb than anything. Only not so gross and fluidey. Just warm and safe and sleepy.

Imagine that you've got Gerard as your blanket. He's sort of lying half on top of you, half curled up to your body. Like a cat, sharing your body warmth. Imagine the sleepy noises he's making, sort of murmuring and cooing and smiling every once in a while as he sleeps. You brush aside his hair and hope he's dreaming happy dreams.

Imagine that soft quietness. Imagine something that's quite akin to Heaven.

Imagine that you've been in Paradise for a couple of days now. Saturday night, all of Sunday. Your mother knows where you are, what you did. She isn't really angry, just curious to hear the whole story. Imagine that now it's about seven on Monday morning, and you should be getting up because this is your last week of school before Christmas break, buy you'd really just like to stay in this bed all day with Gerard as your blanket. And so maybe you don't want to go to school, but you're going to go anyway because it's responsible and blah blah blah.

Imagine that you're happy like me.

And then imagine some fucking skinny-ass kid bursting into the room with his coke-bottle glasses all askew and a scarf wrapped around his neck.

And imagine that perfect little womb-like Heaven exploding--KABLAM!--into about a million fucking pieces.

Mikey sees me in Gerard's bed, smiling and drinking the coffee that I snuck downstairs and made a little while ago, and his eyes go wide as saucers. Seriously, I'm surprised they don't just pop right out of their sockets.

"Oh my God, you guys did fuck, didn't you?" he says in a muted hiss. Why is he so concerned with us fucking anyway? Poor kid though, looks like he might just pass out right in the doorway.

Of course, me being the complete retard I am, go into a full Frankie Spaz Attack. Why must I do that every time my personal life is brought into question?

So here's the gist of the story:

I freak out.
My cup magically flies out of my hands, spilling coffee over the once peacefully sleeping Gerard.
He freaks out as he is awakened by his skin starting to fry.
I freak out even more because now Gerard is freaking out and screaming and leaping up, and Mikey is still freaking out and shouting, "You did fuck! You did fuck!" like a fucking broken record player.

It doesn't help that Gerard is naked, despite the fact that we did not fuck. We didn't. I swear it. We came close, we did, and I'll even admit that. But in the end, Gerard had some sort of super-power control, and he put a stop to it before anything major could happen.

Well, anything more major than a nice nakie make-out.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck, Mikey?" Gerard says, grabbing for the sheet on his bed to sponge off some of the coffee that's currently burning through his skin.

"I didn't do it, it was Frankie!" Mikey cries, pointing at me.

I'm still sort of hyperventilating against the pillows in my pajama pants and one of Gerard's old ratty Iron Maiden tee shirts. The now empty coffee cup guiltily resides next to me on the bed. I'm trying to figure out how I was just sitting here in peace, and suddenly I'm being blamed for everything. I'm trying to think of how just two fucking seconds ago I was happy and sleepy in bed with Gerard, and now suddenly chaos is storming around me.

"Any reason you decided to bathe me in coffee?" Gerard asks me, though I notice his voice is softer now, decidedly less angry than it had been towards Mikey.

Because I still can't really breath, and my face is ten times redder than the Crimson Romance nail polish my mother loves to wear, I just sort of make a gurgling gaspy noise and stare at the Way brothers like some sort of dying fish.

Gerard sighs at me, then looks at his brother. "Could you please give us some privacy for just a moment, Mikes? Thanks."

"Just, um, came....get Frank up....school," Mikey mumbles, then looks relieved to get the hell out.

And then there was just me and Gee, alone and with a bit of explaining to do.

He gives me a long look, his arms crossed over his pale chest, then retreats back to the coffee-soaked bed. "Calm down, Pansy, fucking spaz. Mikey won't bite, he's harmless. Me, on the other hand..."

I yelp as his sharp little teeth sink into my calf in a playful bite. "He...he asked if we fucked," I say, my voice a mixture of embarrassment and disbelief.

Gerard screws up his face, thinking. "But we didn't..."

"No!" I gasp.

"You wanna?" he suddenly asks with a mischeivous grin.

Take 2: Frankie Flips Out Like a Fucking Basket Case.

"Relax," he chuckles, "I'm just screwing with you."

Take 3: Frankie Has a Seizure.

He full-out laughs. "Frankie, I want to make hot, affectionate love to you!" he cackles dramatically, pouncing on top of me and attaching his lips to my neck.

Someone's in a good mood, considering he was boiled in a tasty flavored beverage only minutes before.

I am well aware of where this could lead to. I'm well aware that he's 100 % in the flesh. I'm well aware that I'm going to have a nice, grape-sized hickey on my neck if he keeps sucking like that.

I'm just well aware that by now I just don't care.

* * *

I've got a case of Gerard on the brain.

I can smell his cigarettes and his cheap cologne in my clothes.

I can picture his perfect smiling face in my mind.

I can hear his scratchy voice and his cackling laugh.

I can feel his lips skating across my hipbones.

I can taste him, his essence, whenever I bring up the memory of our most recent kiss.

Congratulations, Gerard Way, you've dominated each of my five senses. Add that to my each and every thought, and every good memory I've got, and I'm practically your slave. Your whore de jour, if you will.

I've got Gerard on the brain. And I've got it bad.

A little over a week ago, if someone would have told me that I'd fall for the guy with shaggy black hair and the sarcastic laugh, I would've said, No way, man. You've got the wrong address. I am Invisible.

And I never would have given it another thought. It's just as simple as that.

But if someone were to come up to me today and tell me that I was going to lose the boy with the burning hazel-green eyes and the little-boy smile, I would say, No fucking way. Do you see our lips? They were made for each other. You've got the wrong address. I love him.

I would never believe it. Would never believe for one second that the boy who's taken over my brain would just up and leave me.

It's just as simple as that.