Anorex-a-Gogo

We linger in the hallway. Nobody is around, everyone went to lunch already. Those still inside are probably on a lower level anyway. All that's up here is a long-forgotten bathroom, a janitor's closet, and the room where Home Economics was taught back when they still taught sexist shit like that.

I am only aware of three things:

1) My breathing, shallow and clogged from my swollen lip and the blood congealed in my nose.

2) Gerard's spindly fingers weaving through my hair. Probably the only thing that's keeping me grounded.

3) And last, but certainly not least of all in importance, my shame. Every last inch of my body is drenched in shame. For Gerard finally seeing who I really am. For myself being a waste of life. I am ashamed that I'm still here--still breathing and hating myself and everything that makes me Frankie--while out there there's someone dead who probably deserves to live more than I do. Someone who probably wants to live more than I do.

But what I want most right now is to be able to say something worthwhile to Gerard. Express my thanks for...for what? Watching while I got the living shit beat out of me? Yes. Because both of us know that if he'd stepped in I'd just be more fucked than if he'd stuck to the sidelines. If he'd tried to take those guys, I have a feeling we both would have ended up lying bleeding on the floor. And then who would be there to make me feel safe?

There's karma for you.

And for accepting my failing sanity. How many people do you know that would welcome you with open arms while you're teetering on the brink of insanity? I'm willing to bet my life that most of you would have no one at all. And those of you that do? You're fucking lucky, man, don't screw it up.

"I'm a fuck-up." That isn't exactly what I'd been planning on saying to him, but predictably, my insecurity gets the best of me.

The atmosphere is different now that my shameful words hang in the empty hallway. The only thing constant is his fingers in my hair. "Shh, Frankie, it's just me," he whispers.

I jump in his lap, my heart racing a million miles a minute. I'm no longer in the hallway, but in my bedroom with Owen. He mutters the same words. Shh, Frankie, it's just me. And his icy blue eyes are like metal spikes driving themselves further into my chest so that I'm pinned to the mattress, suffocating under his stare...

"It's just me," he continues soothingly, trying to calm me again. He doesn't question me for freaking out. "Just Gee. You don't need to talk, it's just Gee."

"Gee?" I murmur, turning my face up to his. He's smiling down at me softly, his pale hands in my hair.

"Mikey used to call me that when he was a kid," he said, smiling at the memory. "Couldn't pronounce 'Gerard', so he called me Gee instead."

I want to be a kid again right now, my only problem not being able to pronounce Gerard's name. To be that innocent all over again.

Although Owen took that away even while I was just a kid, the bastard.

But I'm not looking to think about that right now. Not when Gerard's fingers are in my hair and he's basically telling me to call him by an affectionate name. "Thanks, Gee," I mumble, the name fresh and new on my lips. It makes me want to smile, and I find myself actually doing it, even though it hurts my busted lip.

Gerard pets back my fringe and smiles again. "Let's clean you up."

~ ~ ~

Imagine this.

A ghostly pale guy, looks to be nearing his twenties or so, with straggly black hair and blood all over his clothes. He's supporting a much shorter (shut up), younger guy as they walk towards the attendance office. This younger guy is sporting two lovely shiners, a fat lip, and various cuts and bruises on his face. He's limping visibly and holding his right side. This is likely the reasoning for Guy #1 to be supporting him.

These two guys reach the attendance office, bearing close gory resemblance to veterans of some war. The young woman behind the desk tries, and fails, to mask her surprise.

"I need to sign Frank Iero out, please," Guy #1 says politely to the young woman, who's mouth is slightly hanging open.

She stammers for words. "Are...are you f-family?"

"His brother," Guy #1 replies without missing a beat. He flashes her an easy, golden grin, but offers up no explanation for either his or Guy #2's appearances.

Because the woman is fairly new to the school and her job, she lets the older guy sign out the beat-up younger one. She doesn't quite stop staring until the glass doors shut again and the guys are making their way out to the parking lot.

I'm surprised at how easily Gerard got me out of school for the rest of the afternoon. No doubt the poor woman in the attendance office wasn't thinking straight. I find it hard to think straight whenever Gerard smiles too. But still. I just didn't expect it to be so easy.

Soon we are in his car, pulling out of the school parking lot. I don't know where we're going, but then again, it doesn't matter anyway. I'll know when we get there.

Like Sunday, there's silence in the car. But unlike Sunday's silence, this one isn't uncomfortable and tense. It's by choice that we don't speak.

There's a river that runs behind a housing development they're building in the better part of town. It's one of the cleaner rivers in Jersey, so it's supposed to be this great land-seller, which is why the houses going up are so damn expensive. Gerard parks outside of the orange caution cones that prevent us from driving any further and then helps me out of the car. I'm not really in any condition to jump the low fence, but he finds an area not far off where we can slip through. On the other side is a small patch of wooded area, and beyond that is the river.

Gerard leads the way and I struggle to keep up. He sees me lagging behind and slows his pace a little to match mine. Then he takes my hand again, and a peculiar sensation consumes me. It hurts to walk on the uneven ground, but it just doesn't seem to matter with his fingers laced through mine.

Let me say this now: I am not one for romantic mushy stuff. I don't melt if a guy does something "cute". But right now, everything seems to be a haze of just that. The sun seems brighter, the cool air crisper, the Jersey smog lighter. I don't feel sick or disgusted or ashamed. I just feel...happy. I think I might even be able to hear birds singing.

It's like Gerard is my comfort, and each time I remember his fingers intertwined with mine, I feel better and lighter than I have in a long time. Getting my ass kicked seems like years ago.

By the time we get to the river, I'm practically floating on my own personal cloud of good feelings. Gerard turns and grins at me and I happily grin back and his grin just grows wider. So what if I'm not worth his time? He doesn't quite know that yet. He's choosing to spend time with me, and fuck if I'm going to waste this opportunity.

We sit down on a dry part of the river bank and hold hands down there. He does this thing with his thumb where he rubs up and down my thumb slowly, over my knuckle and back again. It makes my skin tingle and burn.

I finally break the silence again because I've got a question burning inside of me and I'm too impatient to wait. "What were you doing at school anyway, Gee?" I ask. My body is screaming with relief now that we're sitting down.

Gerard's quiet for a long moment. He just stares into the river like he expects something to come out of it. The water stays completely still, nothing breaking the smooth glassy surface. I'm not looking at him, but our reflections in the still-water reveal that he's contemplating my profile now. His expression looks hesitant, as if he's trying to make a decision. Finally, he says, " I came to see you." And his eyes remain trained on my profile.

"Me?"

His watery reflection shows him smiling now, each of his teensy nicotine-stained teeth glinting off the water. I think he expected me to react like this. "Don't be so surprised, Frankie," he says softly, gripping my hand a little tighter.

"I stare at my reflection, bruised and broken. And damn confused. "I don't get it. Why me?"

"Why not you?"

"Because...because I'm..." I trail off, averting my eyes from the river. I don't want to see me anymore.

Gerard's other hand comes up and gently holds my chin, turning my face to his and then pushing up so that I'm forced to look into his eyes. I'm flooded with warmth and a deep feeling of safety and contentment. "What, what do you see?" he urges softly, searching for the answer himself in my eyes. All he gets is a blank stare. "What do you see when you look at yourself, Frank?"

I blink and try to look away, but he pulls my chin back. "I see nothing," I mumble quietly.

He scoffs. "That's hard for me to believe. I think you see a lot of things. A lot of things you hate." He knows he's right when I try to look away again. "Frankie, nobody ever looks in the mirror and and can look away saying, 'I'm 100% completely happy with the way I am and the way my life is going.' No one, do you understand?"

I don't answer him.

"But I can't see the things you see. And I can't understand them or why you see yourself that way. When I look at you , all I see is...is this giant brick wall that you use to keep people out. You won't even let anyone past that wall. Sometimes I see past it though. Then I can see this...this beautiful, sad boy who--"

"No," I reply, finally jerking my face out of his firm hold. "That's not me."

He smiles, but it's frustrated. "Yes, it is! That's what I'm talking about, you don't even see that part of yourself. But I see it, Frankie, I do. Not often, but I do. And that's why it's you, that's why I come to see you. That's why I want you."

I choose to meet his eyes at this point, and for the briefest moment I think I can almost see the boy he's talking about, reflected in his burning hazel eyes. Then he closes them and presses his lips to mine, and I immediately forget about everything we've just discussed.