Anorex-a-Gogo

I wake up feeling unhinged. Detached from myself, from the world. Maybe it's because the pillow my face is pressed into still holds the scent of Gerard and sweat and booze.

What's surprising is that he's still here. I don't want to talk to him, and I'd thought he would've left by now. What's even more surprising is the unexpected leap of my heart at seeing him. His morning hair and protruding spine.

I entertain the idea of crawling to the end of the bed where he's sitting, rocking back and forth. I imagine myself pulling him back up to lay with me. Telling him it's all right.

But it's not all right.

Gerard stands up and slowly pulls on his clothes. He goes for his messenger bag, then changes his mind and turns back. I slam my eyes shut as he makes his way over on unsteady legs.

He drops to his knees by my side of the bed. I try to keep my breathing steady as his fingers trail down my cheeks. But I realize with a twinge of sadness in my stomach that I just don't want to pretend anymore. So I open my eyes and I look at him.

He looks worse than I've ever seen him. Eyes sunken in and bloodshot, like he didn't even sleep last night. Hands trembling, but this time it's not from the drug. I want to take them in my own to soothe the shakes. I know he's probably feeling horrible now that the high's worn off.

A small part of me simply wants to pull him up onto the bed and curl him up in my arms. It's all I can do to shove that part into the back of my mind.

"Frankie," Gerard murmurs, as if he can't quite believe his eyes. His long, artist's fingers cup both sides of my face, smoothing over each separate feature.

"You look like shit," I observe without humor.

"To tell you the truth, I feel like it too." He winces slightly. "I'm worse than shit, Frankie, I'm complete scum."

I move my head, but I'm not agreeing with him, and I'm not defending him. I'm just letting him know I'm going to hear him out.

"I told you I loved you on Monday."

I nod slowly.

"And you said you were scared." His fingers are playing with my fringe and the long hair that curls up above my ears. "Frankie, I don't think you realize how frightened I am of this. Of us."

He takes a deep breath and meets my eyes. His own are swimming with tears. "There...there's this guy. I've known him for a while."

I rip my eyes away from his, curling onto my side. Pain courses out of my heart and through my veins. I don't want to hear this. I just want to return to ignorance.

"But, but," he rushes on, gripping my face so that I have to look at him again, "he doesn't mean anything to me. Not like you mean to me, not like you."

"Gee, you fucked him," I spit with more bitterness than I really feel. It's so surreal, you'd think I'd be furious. Flaming with anger. But I'm not. Oh, I wish I could be. I wish I could explode and smack him and rip him to pieces. I wish I could crush him like he's doing to me. My voice sounds strong, but I don't feel strong at all. More than anything I just want to curl up into a tight ball and cry.

Gerard closes his eyes. He looks like he's in physical pain. "I know you don't believe in me," he whispers, and his voice cracks just a little, "But believe me when I tell you I love you."

"I don't know what to tell you."

"Tell me you love me back," he pleads.

I sigh and pull his hand from my face, holding it in my own. "You know I do," I say, but even then it feels like defeat. "But what I can't figure out is why you did it. Why'd you do it, Gerard? Why were you drinking and using and...and fucking guys?"

"I'm scared. It's not an excuse, I know that. But I swear it's the truth."

I swallow hard. God, this is painful. "Why..." I can't say it. Too embarrassing.

"Please, Frankie, just say it. Say anything."

"If...if you wanted..." I squirm in discomfort, wanting nothing more than to just sink into the mattress and disappear. It's only his pleading eyes that make me continue. "I don't get it, Gee. If you wanted sex, why didn't you come to me? Why did you go to some other guy? Why not me?"

Oh God, did I really just ask him that?

Mortified and ashamed, I turn my burning face, staring at the wall.

Silence fills the room like the ticking of a bomb. Counting down the seconds until I explode.

"You said you want me, but you won't have me," I tell him, fighting against the tears that are pressing against my eyelids. I will not cry.

"Oh, Frankie," Gerard finally breathes, shifting on his knees, "I didn't know if you were ready. You're so...fragile, so pure."

"You know I'm not."

He cringes. "You are to me. Frank, you are the most complex part of my world. You've done nothing but distract me ever since that first time Mikey brought up your name." Here he brings my hand up to his own face, brushing my knuckles against his lips. "That's what scares me so much, you know. All of this--this give-and-take of our relationship--it's all new to me. As new to me as it is to you. In every relationship I've ever been in before, it was always all give, or all take. I never knew I could be happy doing both."

Here he is, voicing all of the fears that had been building up in me with the passing of time. Here he is, admitting that we're just two frightened boys, that's all.

"There have been too many times where I've put a stop to it, to us. Just to save you. I didn't want to push you into something you weren't ready for, just for my own selfish needs."

"Stop trying to save me."

He grins, the first weak smile of the day. "I promise I'll stop trying to protect your morals."

I can't help but smile back. I hate him for making me smile when I'm still so goddamn furious. But here he is asking me for permission to kiss me with a glance, and here I am reaching out for him so he knows that he can. That he'll always be allowed to kiss me, because my lips belong to him.

We're not even close to being perfect. But in this moment, we're striving to be okay. Simply reaching out with all we've got just to be okay.

* * *

I need to be alone, I tell him.

No, I'm not mad anymore, I tell him.

Yes, I love you, I tell him.

I don't think he believes me. But he leaves anyway. I think he's scared that if he doesn't do the leaving, then I will. How wrong he is. I'm not strong enough to leave.

What I need is time to think. I just need a couple of hours to let it sink in.

At least, this is what I tell myself.

I try to think of life without Gerard. It's painful and makes my stomach churn. Not because I'm leaving him. Not because I think he'll leave me. But just because I'm trying to remember why I appreciate him in the first place. A reminder to why I love him. Damn it, why do I have to love him so much?

The worst part of this is that I still do. Love him, I mean. Despite all the ways in which he's hurt me, and after all the times he let me down, I love him so fucking much. I love him for all the times he saved me. I love him for that crooked grin. I love him for his fatal cigarette smell and his stupid cackling laugh.

I love him because he's him.

Questions swirl around my head a million miles per hour.

How often does he do drugs?

How often does he get falling-down drunk?

How often does he return to his fuck-buddies for a night of mindless fun?

This is destroying us.

I find myself missing those first days where I was so excited about having Gerard and the possibility of feeling things again. What I wouldn't do for the numb to return right now. I wish I could lock my heart back into the cage it had been in before he'd coaxed it out. I wish I could go back to Being Invisible. But now I'm realizing that that little game did nothing but hurt me and the people I care about. Like my poor mother and lonely Mikey. Jeez, I'm selfish.

I want to go to sleep and wake up to find that this was just a dream. That he's there in my bed, sleeping in the moonshine, ready to wake up with a quick grin. But this is life, real life, and you can't just wish up perfection. And I don't want Gerard to be perfect, I just want him to be okay. To be happy. To be happy with me.

Around 1:00 in the afternoon, Mikey calls me up.

"I'm sorry, Frank," he says.

"For what. You did nothing."

"I know. I did nothing at all. I didn't tell you how fucked-up Gee is. I'm sorry because I knew he was fucking around with guys and drugs, and I didn't even tell you about it. The thing is, Gerard loves you. More than he's loved anyone, I think. And, well, I really thought he'd stop once he saw how great you are, Frankie. But I just got off the phone with him, and I'm just...I'm sorry for not warning you."

I'm mortified because Mikey knows everything. It's bad enough to get fucked over, but it's always worse when you're the last person to know it. It means he's pitying me, and that's just embarrassing.

"Mikey, you had nothing to do with this," I tell him.

"But I can't help but feel responsible for not telling you..."

And so the conversation goes. Mikey's feeling guilty, and I'm just getting more and more fed up. I end by telling him for the trillionth time that it's okay/not his fault/nothing to worry about. At least part of that is true.

~ ~ ~

Over dinner, Mom asks me about Gerard as Owen glowers at me over the salad bowl. His bruised face is positively ugly with that snarl on his lips.

"What is Gerard doing for Christmas?" she asks.

"Probably something with his family," I reply. This is probably true to some extent. I know Gerard, and he would never leave Mikey alone on Christmas. As for his parents, I wouldn't be surprised if they struck out early on their own excursions.

"Why don't you invite him and his brother over for dinner?"

Owen glares menacingly at his mashed potatoes.

I glance between him and my mother. My oblivious family. I'm thinking, this is why I'm so fucked up. Nobody ever realizes anything that's going on. They don't know that Gerard screwed me over. They don't know a thing. For some reason this makes me angry in a way I can't describe.

"I'll see what I can do," I tell her, and my voice is stiff.

* * *