Anorex-a-Gogo

Let me stop and explain something about Gerard, or at least something that leads up to him. He is the older brother of the one boy I could ever possibly call my friend. Mikey Way is the one boy who I could maybe relate to a fraction of an inch. He, like me, really has no friends. He's quiet and moody on the outside, but if you ever hang out with him, he's really quirky and funny and sweet. Only problem is, nobody ever takes a chance to see that side of him. I've hung out with him maybe three or four times, but that isn't much. We go well enough together to be friends, because neither of us needs to talk much to be satisfied, but we don't make much of an effort aside from polite greetings in the hallways. Be Invisible kind of frowns upon that sort of social interactment.

But his brother Gerard is nineteen, three years older than Mikey and me. He doesn't even go to Belleville High, although he used to. I met him once when I went over to Mikey's house afterschool, and he spent the entire time trying to seduce me. No joke. It's no secret that he's gay.

And here he is in the school bathroom, smirking at me behind his sheet of black hair.

"Hey, Frankie. How was your lunch?" he asked, his hazel eyes gleaming, and I know that he was here to witness what I just did.

"Um, hey, Gerard," I mumble, flushing. My hands are shaking. I go up to the sink and wash my hands, splashing the cool water on my burning face. I frown as I see my reflection in the dirty mirror, and then frown even deeper when I see Gerard staring at me.

"Why do you do that stuff to yourself?" Gerard asks, folding his arms at his chest as he leans against the bathroom door.

I ignore him and dry my hands. But then there's nothing left to do, and he's blocking the doorway. Too bad it's impossible to Be Invisible when you're the only other person in the room. "What are you doing here?" I ask instead.

He looks as though he's debating whether or not he should call me on not answering his question. Finally he pushes back the hair from his eyes and sighs. "I was looking for Mikey, I was thinking about taking him off school early. You seen him?"

"No."

"Guess I'll have to keep looking then," he replies smoothly, but he makes no attempt at moving. So here we are, standing awkwardly, him staring at me and me staring fixedly at my shoes. He's really making me self-conscious. "You wanna come with us?"

"What?" I say, jerking my head up in surprise.

Gerard is holding the door open. "Do you want to come with us? Our parents are gone for the weekend, so Mikes and I have the house to ourselves," he says very slowly, as if talking to a child.

Damn, I had forgotten it was Friday. I must be the only person who dreads weekends more than I do school. But I remember the objection of my game, how Being Invisible doesn't like me to hang around with other kids a lot. "No, I'm busy," I reply robotically.

He's still standing there, holding the door open with a scrutinizing look on his face. "Alright," he finally says, "I'll see you around then."

'Probably not,' I think bitterly.

And then he's gone, the shutting of the door echoing in the empty bathroom that smells sourly of vomit and shame.
* * *

Misery loves company.

That must be the reason why my mother seeks me out later on that night as I'm watching television on the couch. She kisses the top of Owen's head, he's sitting on the recliner with the remote in his hand, and then comes over to me. Brushing my fringe away from my eyes (I hate that), she sits next to me on the couch and kisses my temple.

"Mom..." I whine, shrugging away. I try to sink into the couch, try to melt between the cushions, but I can't. I'm probably too fat to fit in there anyway.

"Jesus, Frank, calm down. I'm your mother, is it so wrong that I want to kiss you?"

Probably as wrong as it is that Owen wants to fuck me. But I won't tell her that. I just sink lower into the couch and focus my eyes on the reality shit Owen likes to watch.

"Honey, are you all right?" Mom asks, still fussing with my hair.

I chew on my lip ring, a nervous habit I have. She's studying me doing that though, and I know the psychiatrist in her is making mental notes.

Resorts to nervous habits, seems reluctant to willingly give information...

"I'm fine," I reply automatically.

She still looks worried. "You sure? You just don't seem happy anymore, Frankie, what happened to you? I glance at Owen out of the corner of my eye, and he is glaring at me menacingly, daring me to tell her.

"I'm fine," I repeat, no emotion at all. Rule #4 of Be Invisible: keep your emotions to yourself. They'll always come back to bite you in the ass.

"Frankie, you can't fool me--"

"I said I'm fucking fine, okay, so why don't you get the fuck off my back?" I shout, jumping off the couch. Her eyes fill with hurt, and I feel bad. She's worried, and she has every reason to be. I'm just a jerk. But I'm fucking hungry, I haven't eaten since that sandwich earlier, and I puked that up. I'm irritated and hungry, so no surprise that I'm not jumping for joy in my boots.

Mom purses her lips, and I suddenly feel like she's trying to make me into one of her little mental patients. "Well, fine. Just tell me when you get hungry for dinner, okay?"

"Yeah, I won't," I mumble under my breath, but I know she doesn't hear me as she stalks off to the kitchen.
* * *