Anorex-a-Gogo

It's a dream, just a dream. My imagination out of control. My mind finally going crazy from all those nights where I was thrashing about in my sleep, dreaming of him.

He thinks I'm asleep, I suppose, so he tiptoes over to the bed and drops to his knees before my face. Delicately, with steady hands, he trails his fingertips down my cheekbones, down to my lips where he plays with my lip ring a bit. His breathing is so shallow, it is barely there at all. Soft puffs of air brush across my cheek and faintly stir my hair.

I peer at him, opening my eyes because all of this is just a hallucination. A crazy side-effect that those pain pills don't advertise. His hair is shorter than I've ever seen it, and it looks like he could have very well just chopped it off himself. The dyed black sweeps across his forehead like a curtain, delicately touching his cheekbones on either side. His face is fuller somehow. Healthier, clearer. His once pale skin is, although still fair, just a shade darker than it was before.

He looks so beautiful, my hallucination-boy, I want to cry.

But he is not real, so I'd simply just like to die. Just shut down and die.

He doesn't seem to notice that my eyes are fully open now. But maybe that is what my mind really wants; for him to let me take him in for once without interrupting. He just trails his eyes over the features in my hollow face. Jaw, lips, the tip of my nose. And then he gets to my eyes, and suddenly he knows. But he doesn't speak, so I don't either. It's just that simple.

Finally, just when the silence seems ready to strangle us both, he speaks. "My beautiful, beautiful Frankie."

It seems so right that those are the first words out of his mouth. So right in emotion, and so, so wrong in context. His voice brings reality spinning back like the world was set on fire. Flames burning before my very eyes. I feel like I'm choking on smoke, I should be gasping for air, but I can't be bothered that I'm...drowning? Asphyxiating? This is not a fucking dream. But it's not a nightmare. I'm praying that this is not a nightmare.

"What are you doing here?" I manage.

Gerard holds my face between his hands. They're warm against my clammy cheeks. "I told you I was coming home," he replies. Then he leans his head down, his lips puckered and heading straight for my own.

How I want them on my own. How I need him not to kiss me. It will only leave me wanting more, and I do not want to want him.

I jerk my head away and sit up, sucking in this huge, gasping breath of cold air. He falls face-forward into my pillow, losing his balance with his momentum and then falling backwards onto his ass. "When?" I hiss, my voice high and shaking with emotion, "When did you even fucking say that?"

"Yesterday."

"On the phone?"

He smirks, although his features still hold a spark of confusion. "Yes, Frank, on the phone," he replies patiently, "Didn't you hear me?"

"No!" I cry, "The reception was shit!" I can feel myself hyperventilating, clutching onto my chest. I can feel myself slipping into this racy world of mixed feelings and suddenly realizing that the next few seconds and minutes and hours have changed so damn drastically, I don't even know where they're going anymore. It feels like I swallowed fire.

And then Gerard is climbing up onto the bed and pulling my face to his chest. He strokes my hair, whispering, "Calm down, sugar," and, "I'm here now, I'm right here." I'm enveloped by his scent, all smoke and baby-powder, sweat and cheap cologne. Dear God, that smell is bliss, pure bliss, and for a moment, I think I feel something that closely resembles peace.

And then I'm pushing away from him and I'm climbing off the bed as he sits, dejected and rejected amongst the mess of blankets and sheets. Put some distance, put some distance, put some distance. My head is spinning like the tea cups at Coney Island, just over in New York, and I feel just as nauseous. Why is this happening now? I was healing...I was.

And then I realize, like a lightening bolt straight through my brain: I never was. Not for one second was I ever getting over him. I'd become such a good liar that I'd even fooled myself. I'd simply tucked away that part of me that was trying to tell me that I would never let him go. And now I'm teetering on the edge, dangerously close to never recovering at all.

"Frankie, come here," Gerard is telling me. Like I'm just a pet. A play thing that he can just flip the switch on and I'll come back to life. Something he can give orders to, and expect me to follow them. But I'm not like that anymore. I'm just not quite who I was.

Or maybe I am. I am positively trembling with effort, trying not to go crawling back into his arms. Even when it's all that I want and can think about. Even though it might just save my life. I want so badly not to want all that he is. And furthermore, all that he's made me out to be.

I sink to the floor and clutch my knees to my chest in a miserable attempt to gather myself. I need to hold myself together, or I might just fall apart. Making myself as small as possible just to make sure that I'm still here. Shivering, like withdrawal. Here is the drug, the needle in the vein, presented before my very eyes and itching fingers. All I have to do is accept it, accept him, and I'll get that high.

My mind is trying to tell me he is a bad guy, a very very bad guy. But I know he is not a bad guy. He's simply the one who destroyed me, the one I still love, and for that, my mind is trying to tell me that he's wrong. It is my body that is begging me to listen, pleading that he is still right.

"Please," I beg to no one in particular. Maybe the very forces that are trying to rip me in half, like good vs. evil. "Please, don't let me need this."

Gerard looks almost awe-struck, and even a little frightened. Here I am, Gee. Here is Frankie, unstable as ever. "What are you talking about?"

Attracted by his voice like a moth. My eyes meet his, zeroing in on his dilated pupils and the light that reflects off of them. The moon. "Why are you doing this?" I ask him. My voice sounds raw and harsh, like I swallowed broken glass. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Frankie, please calm down. I can't understand you when you're crying. Can't we just talk for a moment?"

"Talk?" My voice sounds shocked, which is strange because now all the cogs in my brain are spinning at an almost numbing speed. I stand up and return to the bed, my legs so unsteady that it's a wonder that I don't crash to the floor. "You want to talk to me? What can you possibly want to talk about? How you fucking left me, no explanation? You didn't even make sure I knew you were gone. Or maybe we could talk about how you ruined me, and how you made me Invisible. We could talk about how you left me, you left me when I needed you the most, Gerard. I needed you, and you weren't. Fucking. There."

He winces and opens his mouth to respond, but I beat him to it. "I loved you," I tell him, my voice oozing spite just as my eyes ooze tears. They are probably the most harsh-sounding words I've ever said, despite the emotion they carry.

And he is taken aback. Like maybe I kicked him in the chest, or wrapped my hands around his throat and squeezed. "Do...do you love me now?" he asks. Hesitant, like he's afraid to hear the answer. Desperate, like he needs to know that I do.

I want to tell him of course I love him still. That I never even stopped. That I may continue to love him for the rest of my existence, and then even Eternity beyond that. But the words that come out of my mouth are not that reassuring. And they are pure, baneful lies.

"I don't know."

His carefully sculpted features give a little tremor of shock before collapsing completely into one of the saddest looks I've ever seen. It could break my heart a million times over if it wasn't already in complete shambles.

But by now I've found my voice. Somewhere there inside of me, I'm strong enough to keep on talking. "Gerard...I don't think you'll ever know what you did to me. It was like you....you packed up all of my insides and you took them with you. And I was just empty. Just this horrible, empty shell. And I don't want to be one of those guys that people look at and wonder, 'What the hell happened to you? What made you so hollow?'

"But you know what? I accepted it that you were gone. I didn't know why, but I accepted it because I knew you'd gone away for some reason. Even if you couldn't tell it to me straight out, I knew you wouldn't have just shredded my heart for no good reasons. You are a lot of things, Gerard Way, a lot of things, but you're not cruel. You've never been cruel to me before."

"I'm sorry," he whispers, "I'm sorry."

"And now, suddenly you just decide to come back? After weeks of nothing, no calls before yesterday? What were you thinking, Gee?"

At my use of his name, call me Gee, not Gerard, he sucks in one ragged breath and then comes apart at the seams. His theatrical features crumble and he buries them in the palms of his hands, weeping like a child.

It is an independent decision, I swear it is. But my arms are seeking him out in the darkness that holds our sadness, and I'm laying on the bed, curling his shaking body into my own. It's strange, but I'd forgotten how well we fit, our bodies connecting like manufactured puzzle pieces. They were just made that way.

"I just wanted you to be okay," he sobs into the sleeves of his shirt, and his full-body trembles shake me as well. "I thought you would learn how to be happy on your own. I thought you would see..."

Despite all my anger and confusion, something very ancient and primal calls out to me. My instincts are urging me to hold him tighter, so I do, burying my face into the top of his new hair. I smell the familiar grease and jasmine, and suddenly I just feel so impassioned for the boy in my arms that it throws me off.

And I don't want to do this anymore. This fighting and this not knowing when he's going to come back, if ever. I don't want this hoping and this letting down, this anger and this hurt. I don't want to do this dance we keep on dancing, back and forth from love to disappointment, to lust and to loss. I'm just so tired. I'm so, so tired, and I don't want to do this anymore. I just want him.

So I forgive him. You may not believe that it could ever in a million years be that simple, but it kind of is. There's just too much I want to hold on to, his apologies and the warmth that is bubbling in my stomach where it used to be just hollow. So I forgive him, because I don't want to be the cause of this anguish and misery. This is our second chance, that door opening for us to step through. And why should we screw it up because of something so simple? Deep down, we're just two fucked-up chemical humans, with flaws and grudges and scores to settle. Despite all the ways in which he's torn me apart and let me down, I still love him. Flaws and all.

That is nothing but clear to me now. I love him. It is imprinted on my brain. It is in every word I say. I love him, and he could probably hurt me a hundred more times, and I would love him still. A thousand times. A million times. There would be no change. Not even a dent.

"You needed to become unattached," Gerard is sobbing, clutching at my waist. He is so scared. So scared I'm going to push him away for something he was so sure was right.

And I finally understand. All along, I had been using him as my crutch. Yes, I loved him, but that wasn't what this was about, was it? I needed to be loved. I needed to be depended on just as much as I depended on him. I needed to be needed, and he fulfilled that for me.

But what about now? In a month's time, I managed to reverse everything that had happened just to become Invisible again. But was I still me? Yes. Did I survive? Yes. Did I overcome it? I never had a need to. I would never have gotten over Gerard, and that is something I'm thankful for.

Gerard taught me so many things, so many times. Even after he was gone, I was still learning. He wanted me to become independent, my own person. And I did. Just look at me. Look at me taking responsibility for the one I love. I'm a hell of a lot stronger than I ever was before.

He kisses my stomach through the fabric of my shirt. "Please, Frankie. Understand why I had to do it. Try to see why I had to leave." His voice is frantic. "And why I had to come back to you." Begging. Desperate. "Tell me you need me."

When I don't answer, he lifts his head. His eyes are cloudy, insane. He grabs my face with his overheated palms. "Tell me," he says, as if he's trying to see through to my soul.

Gently, I remove his hands from my face, cradling them in my own. "I don't need you, Gee," I whisper, shaking my head.

Gerard looks at me as if I just told him his entire family died in a tragic hot air balloon accident. Ripped apart and surprised, as if he just can't believe his ears. Who would ever see that coming?

"I don't need you anymore," I say again, now bringing his hands to my lips, "But I want you. I want you more than anything."

My words wash the greatest sense of relief over us, and we drown in it. I'm sinking into his eyes, and I just never want to resurface. I close my own and Gerard leans over me, my head pressing into the pillow. He doesn't kiss me, no, his lips don't even find my skin. He is laughing and I am crying and then I'm laughing too as he cries even harder. It's not even that there is anything funny, because there isn't at all. Our bodies and our minds are just so damn relieved, and so emotional that they just don't know how to respond otherwise. There is so much joy, and so much happiness welling inside of us that we just don't know how else to let it all out. So we're laughing and we're crying and he's hugging me so close that I could just burst. Just to be embraced in his arms once again.

His hands roam up my shirt, slowly pushing it up inch by meager inch. He kisses the sensitive skin there, lips fluttering across my belly button and over my hips. Leaving a trail of warmth and fire.

But there is something completely different about the way his lips brush my heated skin. There is none of the frenzy of what our sexual encounters used to be, no dizzy-headed moans and groans. It is as if all of that rushing was subdued by his absence, and a longing for contact took its place. A re-acquaintance of sorts. I want his skin on mine so much that I think I'll scream if time slows down any more, but more than that I want the anticipation. Such a contradiction, such a masochistic act. But his butterfly-lips simply breeze across my own, and I know for a fact that time will stop.

It's the most overwhelming sensation. I lose my sense of time as his fingers roam up and down my torso. I can't even keep track of where he's touching me, or what feels good. It all feels sublime. Darkness paints the room, causing his features to be softened and shadowed above me.

"I love you," Gerard breaths as he gently lifts my shirt over my head. A warm kiss to my lips follows suit, and then he simply rests his forehead against mine, his eyes fluttering closed. "God, you know I love you."

I nod because I do know that. And I needed to hear it just as much as I need to say it right now. "Gee Gee, I love you. I know that I do," I tell him, and there is courage in my voice. I feel him grin against my lips, his kiss like a smile. His breath that I bet he didn't even know he was holding.

And I've never meant it more. I love Gerard with everything in me. It's just that simple.

Lazy blur, his hands on my hips and my fingers in his hair. Then his bare chest against mine and the electricity that sparks. This is how chemistry works, and we are a chemical couple. Clothes mix in with the shattered remains of my alarm clock, and my blanket is just an afterthought as it slides off the bed. It's just so surreal. Only hours ago I was broken, a mess, and now...I'm just so complete. Just so fucking complete.

I shiver as his lips lazily collide with mine, his tongue sweet and demanding. I am aware of everything and nothing at all. The curve of his hips. Not the passing of time. The burn of his lips. His legs tangled with mine. The fire behind his kiss. Heaven here. His breath in my ear. The sun on the horizon.

Shh, Frankie, it's just me.

I know, Gerard, I know it's you. It's always been you.

I don't even notice that I'm trembling until Gerard strokes my cheek and whispers, "There is nothing to be afraid of. I'm home now, Frankie. I'm home now."

He is finally home, and I am too because I'm realizing that he is my home. We are home because we're here, we're right fucking here. And we're not going anywhere.

This time, when my hands wander below his hips, he does not stop me. His thighs grip at my hips like a vice as I let instinct take over, my curiosity overwhelming. He lightly bites down on my shoulder, a strangled moan vibrating from deep in his throat. Almost like a purr. I discover that my hands already know each and every curve of his body. I was born with a map of Gerard implanted in my brain because we were simply meant for each other.

"Fuck, Frankie," he breaths, and his voice is deep and ragged in my ear.

I squirm as he leans down and playfully nips at my chest, planting a kiss here and there. His hands wrap around my cock, and I try not to breathe too hard. I just hold my breath and let him lead me where I know I want to be.

* * *

I think sometimes two peoples' souls know each other before those people are even born. In Heaven or Elsewhere, or whatever you want to call it. They just meet because they are meant for each other, and they know it right away. They know it because they've been together all along really, lost in that hazy unknown. So then they sort of bond so that each of them has a little piece of their sole soul-lover inside of them, so that when they have to go down to Earth to live their lives, they don't lose each other.

Those souls wait for years and years and years, or sometimes for no time at all, cherishing and nurturing that little piece of their lover's soul inside of them, so that when the time comes they'll be able to give it back as whole as it ever was. And then one day those two people meet randomly, on the sidewalk, plain as day, or in a coffee shop or a fancy restaurant, or even inside the bathroom while one guy is hiding and the other is searching. Their souls know who they are because they've been waiting for this, they've been waiting and hoping and just getting ready for this. They've been waiting your whole life for this moment to come. They just had to wait a fraction of a lifetime to be reunited with their soul-lover.

I think if there is a Heaven, if there is an Elsewhere out there, then Gerard's and my souls were bonded way before we started living. I think they just always knew the day would come where we would realize that we'd been together way before he found me crouched in a bathroom stall, playing the loneliest game ever played. Sometimes, it just works out that way. It's kind of funny if you think about it.

"Gerard," I whimper, and he knows what I want. He wants it too.

I think sometimes, the most beautiful things in life can't be described. Not with words anyway. They're just too stunning, too breathtakingly amazing to be watered-down with common language. It would be a failure to try. Plus, I'm not sure I really want to remember this in words. I want to remember it touch by simple touch, breath by breath. Sweet kiss by sweet kiss, tear by tear. I want to remember it by the way Gerard looked at me while he was inside of me, and by the emotion that drenched his words, "I love you." I want to remember it by the way it felt so right to close my eyes and finally feel things where I had once been so numb. This is something I will remember by the things I felt when he held me so close, how I finally felt like a part of something beautiful, something real.

And it is so real. I'm not really sure about the future, or where it will take me. I'm not sure about what will happen tomorrow morning when we wake up and we see that we are still right here, right where we left off. This is life, this is what we have, and I want to know it by the present, not by what's to come. All I know is that I am so chaotically in love with the boy who's eyelashes are wet with tears as we finally make love in the quiet of the night. I just know that he is my Destiny, and I can't really imagine it any other way.

Do you see the beautiful boy who is sleeping beside me with a smile on his face? Do you see how simply amazing he is? I'm not so sure you can, not the way I see him. I don't think you could see him like that, because it is an image that was made for my eyes alone.

We were made for each other.

It's just as simple as that.

* * *

The End.