All I Wanted Was You

Mikey and Frank lived in a three-bedroom ranch, secluded from all neighbors by a good quarter-mile on each side. It wasn’t small, but whenever Mikey and his girlfriend Alicia had a fight the hostility always seemed to consume the entire house – from the front door with the It’s nice to fucking see you doormat to the sunroom in the back that they pretended was a living room, watching old horror movies and screwing around on their guitars despite the poor insulation and the fact that the room was practically outdoors.

The tension even seeped into Frank’s room while he sat thinking well, this is fucking awkward and flipped through a comic book, acknowledging the fact that his and Mikey’s cottage was not big enough for Alicia’s misguided temper.

Usually, he ended up leaving. The fights never lasted long, though he never came back too soon since they were always followed by sex that was – if possible – twice as noisy and intruding as the yelling.

“Howdy, Mother-Fucker!” Gerard answered the front door wearing his Smashing Pumpkins tee, along with a child’s size cowboy hat and a pink tutu. Bandit was propped against his hip, giggling with a spit-stained smile at Frank and drooling all over the front of her Batman costume.

“You’re gonna wanna slap yourself when she shows up to pre-school in a few years and starts calling the other kids ‘fuck-face’ and ‘mother-licker’ ‘cause she thinks they’re terms of endearment,” Frank warned, chuckling as he followed Gerard into the house and back to Bandit’s playroom.

“My daughter shall be able to express herself as she sees fit,” Gerard answered, dancing his way back to the playroom with Bandit on his hip. He set her down between a mess of blocks and a miniature dump truck, big enough for Bandit to crawl into the back of. The two men each took a seat at the toddler-sized table and chairs set, “So what brings you to our Dream Castle Glitter Dungeon?”

Frank shook his head, beginning to genuinely laugh, “You’re having more fuckin’ fun than she is!”

“You said ‘fuck.’” Gerard pointed a finger across the play-sized table top at his friend.

“You said it was okay! And I’m here because your brother and his looney-tunes girlfriend are fighting.”

“and this time it’s because…?”

“I didn’t get much, but I think I heard Alicia say something about how Mikes was, like, caressing her shoulder like a pussy.”

Gerard scoffed, “That girl isn’t gonna be happy until Mikey turns into some dominatrix, I swear.”

“Oh God the sex is even worse than the fighting,” Frank added then looked over at Bandit, remembering after his comment that there was a one-year-old in the room and instantly feeling self-conscious even though he knew she couldn’t understand a word. He turned back to Gerard, elaborating, “They’ve started using dirty talk…”

Gerard choked out laughter he couldn’t stifle even for a second. Thinking about Mikey, their lanky, quiet bassist, trying to talk dirty in the bedroom was a concept neither Gerard, nor Frank, could quite grasp. Mikey was reserved, tame, awkward – he sometimes tripped over his own feet, down beneath his long dangly legs, and stuttered gawkily on about all the new indie bands he was always discovering.

To a more demure sort of girl, Gerard knew his brother Mikes would seem adorable. But Mikey talking dirty was something he couldn’t fathom, especially when it was directed towards Alicia – who, from what he gathered, was an irrational, squawking sex-doll.

“So, where’s The Wife?”

“In New York,” Gerard cooed, crawling over to his daughter on the floor with the sloppy smile only parents of toddlers ever wear, “In the studio with the band,” he answered Frank, though the baby-talk made it seem directed towards Bandit, as he crept along the carpet towards her.

“They working on an album?” Frank asked, sort-of wondering how to continue talking to his best friend through all the cooing. He had no children of his own, currently no prospects for a date, and couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that thing that results in all the babies. At this rate, Mikey would end up having kids before him – since that’s what he and Alicia were most likely doing right then. And, that’s fine and all – Mikey would be a very loving dad – but Frank was always having to remind that fucker not to put forks in the toaster.

“Yes, they are,” Gerard said, standing and stuffing Bandit beneath his arm like a football, “And they have a tour booked for the summertime so we’re gonna need a nanny to go too. Hopefully Mikayla doesn’t mind throwing out her summer, ‘cause she’s who Lindsay and I want to take,” Gerard spoke like an adult again, lugging his child beneath his arm and stalking off into the kitchen.

Frank followed behind, “How is Mikayla? Lindsay told me about the incident at school the other day while she was napping.

“Decent… I guess. Lynn helped her get caught up on all her schoolwork over the weekend. She’ll probably end up coming over this afternoon, too,” he sat Bandit down in her high-chair, “I love having her here all the time; I love the kid. But I just know if she had someone, like a group of friends, to preoccupy her she wouldn’t fixate on the stupid shit so much.”

“She’s too good for high school,” Frank offered, truthfully. “She’s too old for high school – mentally, I mean.”

Frank knew Mikayla slightly better than just in passing. She spent quite a lot of time with her aunt, the woman married to his lead singer and one of his best friends. He had a vague familiarity from all the time they’d each spent at Gerard and Lindsay’s house last summer and from the times she came out with her aunt to visit Gerard when he was on tour with My Chemical Romance.

Frank just spoke what was evident to any adult who knew Mikayla well enough, unaware that those words would adopt a very ominous, potentially destructive meaning just a few weeks down the road.



Mikayla hurried through the empty hallways. Her hair was done up in a Swedish braid, as doing hair was one of the few motherly things her lawyer-for-a-mom ever did. She wore studded, faux-leather combat boots; torn, black floral tights; a velvet dress that clung to her torso but swayed freely around her hips and a chunky, spiked belt clutching to her midriff. Despite her hectic, anxious brain, Mikayla almost always managed throw together a good outfit each morning.

Shoved somewhere in her bag, probably squeezed between her American Pageant history book and biology notebook, was a sketchpad full of clothing designs she’d drawn. The fact that Maria Clark was more than likely going to be named Best Dressed next year in their senior yearbook pissed her off, to be quite frank. Anyone could put together a decent outfit from Forever 21.

Mikayla walked solitary through the high school’s science wing, late to lunch after staying behind in bio to discuss with her teacher the makeup work she'd handed in the day before. She swung around the corner and Vikki was abruptly there before her, equally as stunned.

Initially, she hadn’t realized who it was at all, standing there as this stranger’s frame developed into her own former best friend. It had been so long that they weren’t even on avoiding-each-other terms; they just weren’t on any terms. At first, Mikayla hadn’t recognized Vikki even as either someone she should smile at or as someone she should turn her head away from; she hadn’t recognized her as anyone.

In front of her, Vikki had been intangible like smoke or pixie dust and slowly materialized into something familiar. They made eye-contact. They couldn’t have been standing in front of each other more than five-seconds but it had felt so intrusive, so longing. Mikayla hated herself, walking away, for even giving the slight impression of lingering, her mouth agape with implausible potential conversation.

She stalked off towards the cafeteria, where she would probably sit next to Amanda Mitchell and Amanda’s boyfriend and the small group of people they usually sat with. She wouldn’t talk to anyone; no one would talk to her, either.

Things had been like that since the night Vikki ended their friendship, saying I feel like you’re only friends with me because no one else wants you around. Mikayla remembered exactly how Vikki had phrased it, through text, and sometimes – when she felt particularly alone and vulnerable – she scratched at its truth.

She and Vikki had been close – to the extent where, if they ever hung around with a third person, it became almost uncomfortable. Fitting a third person into their weirdly-tight dynamic had proven difficult. But they were just really good friends, except for when Abby came around. Abby had been Vikki’s “real” best friend since pre-k, but liked to ditch her friends to spend a vast majority of her time with various boys. Whenever Abby felt like paying attention to Vikki, Vikki had dropped Mikayla to comply.

What sucked the most was how no one stopped to ask Mikayla why she hated Vikki so much. She was so quiet, such a recluse, everyone assumed she was bitchy and unfriendly. Whereas, Vikki was unreasonably bubbly, with a personality so sugar-coated that it was clearly just that – coated, gilded, a farce – and nobody gave her sweet, innocence a second consideration.

Mikayla lost her best friend and everybody just rolled their fucking eyes, not bothering to ask for her side. She was totally isolated.

In the cafeteria, she pulled her phone from deep within her backpack, sort of surprised the screen hadn’t been cracked by all her textbooks into a million tiny shards of glass pinching into her fingers. She texted Lindsay, asked if she could, please, come over her and Gerard’s house afterschool.

Sure thing, babe. her aunt replied.

Then a second: I’m over the river and through the woods, Lindsay sent, meaning she was in Manhattan, I’ll have G pick you up. Do you still wanna come over if I’m not home till later?

Yes



Gerard was sitting on the couch with Frank, Law and Order: SVU on the television and Bandit asleep on the floor in her car seat, when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He raised an eyebrow at the explicit text from his wife.

“Fraaaaaaank,” Gerard whined.

“Uhh…what?”

“Will you do me a huge favor?” Gerard asked, shoving his phone, still displaying that risqué message, in Frank’s face.

“I want to lick… The fuck?” Frank turned away, pushing the phone from his face, “Why did you show me that?”

“I’m supposed to pick Mikayla up from school soon and Lindsay’ll be home in like twenty minutes and…yeah. Will you please, please, please take Bandit and go pick you Mikayla and keep them both occupied for like…forty-five minutes or so, so Lindsay can do…uhh, that.” he explained, gesturing to his phone again.

“Forty-five minutes, ehh?” Frank teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Please!?”

“What am I supposed to do with her while you’re having sex?” Frank asked, incredulous.

“Bring her to your house! I’m sure Mikey and Alicia should be done fighting by now!”

“What if they’re doing it too?”

“Frank, please?”

“Fine.” Frank could not believe he was agreeing to go keep a baby and a seventeen-year-old busy while her aunt and uncle got busy. “I need to take your car, though. There’s too much shit in the back of mine for a car seat.”

“My keys are by the door!” Gerard yelled, already racing up the stairs.

Bandit still securely strapped within, Frank took her car seat by the handle, wondering how you are supposed to hook one of these things up, anyways, and muttering incoherently about how everybody was getting laid but him. Once he got outside, his frustration only grew – leave it to Lindsay to take Gerard’s mustang to work and leave him with the minivan.

At the school, Mikayla threw all her things into the backseat and climbed into the passenger seat. “Uhh, hey Frank,” she greeted him.

“Hi,” he laughed, “Gerard’s sort of busy so he sent me to come get you.”

“Oh…” she took this in, “Well, hi,” she added brightly, “How was your day?”

They talked a bit, until Mikayla realized Frank wasn’t driving in the direction of Lindsay's house and asked, cautiously, where they were going.

“Well, I’m bringing you back to my house, if that’s okay,” Frank answered, “I can drop you off at home though. Lindsay and Gerard just needed their… alone time so…”

“Oh my god! Eww. Did they seriously send you to babysit me so they can have sex?” she demanded. She swore, but didn’t sound quite so mad as she did dumbfounded.

“Hey!” Frank shot back, “Don’t yell at me about it. I’m just the one making sure you don’t walk into your aunt and uncle having sex.”

“Vomit,” she commented, “Well, thanks. I guess.”

Mikayla’s disgust was so enthusiastic that he found himself wondering if she was a virgin. Of course, it was gross to know your aunt and uncle were somewhere 'getting it on,' but Frank was suddenly mulling it over and instantly felt guilty and creepy. Had she, though? Most girls were doing it by fourteen or fifteen, but Frank couldn’t really picture sweet, smart Mikayla in that way, like a regular teen.

Plus, she’d only ever had one boyfriend that he knew of – Frank remembered his own questionable, barely-controllable desire to pummel the kid, Parker, that one time they met at Gerard’s house. But, that relationship had lasted, like, an hour.

Still all that isn’t to say she wasn’t pretty. Mikayla was tiny – like him – with a cute, skinny frame; long brunette hair; blue eyes and an angelic, unblemished face. She had big, pouty lips too. Frank felt like a super big creep, wondering about the status of her virtue, but ultimately decided that she had to be, in fact, a virgin.

“Really, though, I feel like you’re my babysitter or something,” Mikayla pouted from the passenger side.

“Well, I don’t think of you as someone who needs babysitting,” Frank offered, “You’re pretty much an adult. I’m only, what,” he counted on his fingers, “eight years older than you? Okay, that’s kinda a lot...” he trailed, “Still, you’re a smart, pretty lady and I’m not here to babysit you.”

“You’re rambling,” she laughed.

“Okay, but still, all we have to do is hang out and watch Bandit for a while, does that sound so bad? I can drop you off at your house if you really need me too…”

“I’ll stay with you.”

“Good,” he smiled, looking out past the windshield.