Crash Into My ***ing Arms

“Gerard? Is this..?” The voice coming in over my cellphone was crackly and broken up, but I could hear a pleading note in the words. “Gerard, I have to ask- you’ve gotta help me.”

I frowned. “Who... who is this?”

Someone swallowed anxiously on the other end, sounding panicked. “It’s... Frank.”

“What? Frank..? From... school? Why are you... why do you need my help?” I only knew Frank Iero as a quiet, timid kid from high school, with what seemed to be a lot of talent, but a very bad attendance record. He had hardly ever been in class, and his skipping school became a bit of a legend. Most people thought he was on drugs. He had also developed quite a reputation as a fag, for being sort of shy, and maybe because his big dark eyes gave him a classic deer-in-headlights appearance. Now, he was on my cellphone... wanting my help?

“Um... y-your brother gave me this number. When we did a group project in Lit... a long time ago.” He sounded badly shaken, and his breathing was erratic, though what he was saying seemed to be ordinary. I remembered the project, now that he mentioned it.

“Okay... okay. Um... is something... wrong?”

“I’m l-lost. “His stutter almost made me feel bad for him. He sounded terrified. “I’m downtown; I’m behind a... bar, I guess. I know it’s a big favor t-to ask. I know... b-but if you could... m-maybe give me a ride?”

I couldn’t really say no, after all, I was already in my car and not too far from downtown. I thought he was making a big deal out of being lost, but maybe he was just not a people person, or it bothered him to ask a favor?

“Alright, um, sure.” I dug a cigarette out of my pocket and put it between my lips while I fumbled for my lighter. A minute later, when I could talk again, I had to ask for directions. “So... where exactly are you?”

‘‘B-behind this b-bar...” All he could tell me was the name of the place, but I nonetheless knew exactly where he meant. I also knew that it wasn’t the kind of place that I would have pictured the anxious, quiet Frank Iero. What the fuck was he doing there? “Alright, I’ll be there in five, okay?”

“Thank you s-so, so much...” Frank said quietly, still sounding scared of something.

“Yeah, sure, no problem.”

When I got to the bar and drove around the back, I realized that the alleyway was too small to fit my car into safely. Frowning, I got out of the car, not bothering to take the keys out of the ignition. “Uh... Hello? Frank?”

“Yeah?” a weak voice answered. I thought it had been the connection, but Frank didn’t sound very good off the phone either.

I stepped into the alley and stopped dead, suddenly realizing the situation that I had stumbled into. Frank wasn’t just lost, he was crumpled in a heap on the ground near a pile of broken beer bottles, hands wrapped around his knees. His face was tear-streaked and eyes bloodshot from crying. Bruises covered one side of his jaw and down his neck. I didn’t know what to say. He was a mess. “I...”

“I’m f-fine...” he whimpered, trying hard to stand.

I offered him a hand, surprised at how pitifully clingy his grip was, and flicked my cigarette to the concrete where the burning amber end flickered once and died. “Are you... okay?” He certainly didn’t look it, and didn’t really answer, just looking down anxiously.

I wanted to ask him who had done this to him, who had fucked him up so badly, and why. I wanted to tell him things were fine, he didn’t have to cry, it would stop hurting in a second. But I really couldn’t. All he had asked for was a ride. “Get in the car..?” I realized halfway through that my suggestion sounded much more like an order, and tried to make it less intimidating by adding a questioning tone.

Frank nodded and got into the passenger seat with only a whimper as he hauled his bruised body into the car.

Some drunken jerks must have caught him at the bar, I had decided, and frowned. Bastards.

I could see him put his hand sharply up to his face out of the corner of my eye, and looked at him. There was a panicked look on his face. I realized he had a bloody nose.

I reached down beside my seat for a battered box of Kleenex. “Here.”

“Thank you...” he mumbled quietly, pressing a wad of tissues to his face.

“You should call the cops,” I said after a while. “You can’t just let the drunk bastards get away with it... You should have told the owner of the bar.” I was only offering suggestions because he looked so pitiful and scared.

He wouldn’t look at me. “S’n-not what you think.”

“What?”

“It wasn’t like t-that.”

“Well, what was it then?” I asked, miffed.

‘‘I c-can’t say that.”

“Well, goddamnit, why the fuck did you call me, then? Don’t you have any friends who wouldn’t ask fucking questions?” I wasn’t sure why I even cared if he wouldn’t talk to me.

“Stop the car!” he said suddenly, hysteria in his soft voice.

I thought it was because of what I’d said. “What the hell?! This is a fucking deserted highway!”

“Stop the car, I’m gonna f-fucking throw up...”

He sounded so scared that I veered onto the dirty gravel shoulder and slammed on the brakes. Almost before the car had stopped, he was opening the door, staggering out onto the roadside with both arms wrapped around his stomach. Before I even got out of the car, he was throwing up.

“Frank... Are-”

“It was m-my d-dad...” he sobbed breathlessly, tears pouring down his face and smearing eyeliner down his cheeks.

I didn’t understand for a moment, but the awful realization sunk in quickly. Frank’s father had done this to him, and by the tired whine in his voice, it didn’t sound like the first time either.

I stepped closer to his shaking figure, doubled over with his hands on his knees. “Oh, Frank... God, I’m so sorry.”

“Hate t-throwing up...” he moaned, then vomited again.

I put a hand tentatively on his thin shoulder. “Hey, shh...”

But he couldn’t stop throwing up. At one point, his broken, skinny frame wasn’t enough to support him, and he dropped to hands and knees. I couldn’t do anything but watch helplessly. Frank had gasped out the supplication not to call 911, no matter what. I wasn’t close enough to say anything to try and help. It made me uncomfortable.

Finally, he looked up at me, face streaked with dirt, tears, and blood. His grey-green eyes were tortured. Quietly, he held out a hand to be helped up. His palm was cut and bleeding from the gravel and broken glass of the highway side, so I took him carefully by the wrist to lift him. At first, it surprised me how light he was, but having seen how much he threw up, it made sense.

I went quickly to the trunk of the Nisan and broke the seal on the emergency six-pack of bottled water that Mikey had forced me to pack after I had bought the car. I pried a bottle out of the wrapping, then gave it to Frank.

He whispered a thank you, then unscrewed the cap and rinsed out his mouth.

I let him alone as he spat onto the side of the road, and when he was finished, he stepped towards me. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” I took the empty bottle and threw it into the trunk, carelessly slamming it shut.

He walked shakily back to the car and was about to get inside when he instead turned and mumbled politely, “M-maybe I shouldn’t sit on the c-carseat?” It was true that his jeans were damp and somewhat dirty from his being curled on the side of the road, but I couldn’t care less about my carseats, and his worrying about my old Nisan made me want to laugh.

“I don’t give a shit about the seats,” I told him. “This car is a piece of shit.’’

He attempted a weak smile. “K-kay.” His smile was... really something.

“Frank...” I said carefully.

“Y-yeah?”

“Um... I’m really sorry about your dad...”

“S’okay,’’ he replied, very quietly. “S’my fault.”

“What?!”

“S’my f-fault he’s like that,” Frank tried to explain. He paused. “...I’m a f-fag.”

I stared at him. “Is that why he-”

Frank nodded. “M-mostly.”

“Shit... Frank... you can’t really believe that it’s your fault that he treats you like that!”

He frowned, looking confused. “It is.”

“Shit, no! I mean...” I didn’t really want to bring up my personal orientation, but I felt that I had to convince him that his father was the one with the problems. “...look. I’m... I’m gay too, but my parents... My dad’d never do that to me! We don’t get along, really, but he would never...”

Frank sniffled miserably, a new look in his eyes. “I d-dunno... Hey, Gerard?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really sorry for calling you... I just didn’t know who else I could...”

“Hell, you don’t have to apologize to me... I don’t mind helping you,” I told him. Part of me wanted to say more; to tell him he should’ve called me earlier so that I could’ve told his dad to fuck off... I didn’t open my mouth.

He sighed, the whimper in it making it sound more like a pitiful moan, and let his head fall against the seatback. He looked exhausted and broken, mascara smeared around his eyes; blood and bruises decorating his cheekbones. “They used to talk about me in highschool when I wasn’t there, didn’t they?”

The question was so unexpected that I had to blink with surprise before I could even process an answer. “Um... yeah, a bit; I guess so...”

“What did they say?”

What did they say? Ha. «The faggot’s skipping class again.» «Probably buying his meth.» «Meth? Looks more like a cocaine whore to me.»

I wasn’t going to tell him that. “Nothing much,” I lied. “Just wondering where you were and stuff.”

I could tell he didn’t believe me even before he opened his mouth to spit “While I was apparently buying drugs, I was really trying to stop throwing up blood.”

He looked so alone and sounded so hurt that I had the impulsive urge to hug him. I didn’t. Instead, I said “Hell, Frank, shit, you don’t deserve that asshole for a father...”

“Gerard, what’s wrong with me?! Why the hell does everyone hate me so much?! Am I really so worthless that-”

“You’re not-” I just reached for him, and before I could even take in a breath, he was curled in my arms, clinging to me.

“S-shit shit s-shit...”

“It’s okay, Frank...” I told him awkwardly, trying to sound reassuring...

“I hate him s-so much...”

“I know...” His tears were starting to soak through my t-shirt. “Hey, shhh...”

“Thank you...” he whispered. I could feel his lips move against my neck, and a chill ran through me. “Thank you f-for not hating m-me...”

“I’d never hate you, Frank...”

I think I moved first. I don’t know what it was; the scent of his pale skin pressed close to mine, the feel of his warm body trembling against me, the sound of his shaky breathing... Whatever it was, there I was, moving first... Whatever started it, a hand brushing a belt buckle, fingers sliding down a spine, two sets of lips colliding like a bullet through my head... It was my fault. After all, I’d moved first.

And after that, it was all a blur. “Shit, shit shit fuck...” Frankie moaning quietly. My own breathing racing, his ragged breaths in my ear... Wandering hands; but it was a lot more than that. A sigh, another whispered whimper, “Shit, hell, oh god...” Ribs, hips, shoulderblades... The musky smell of eyeliner, mascara and sweat... I could smell something else; I couldn’t place it until I saw the small packet of powder which had fallen from his jeans pocket resting on the seat. Cocaine whore. Shit. I just pulled him closer to me. Cocaine whore... My heartbeat was out of control. “Hell, Gerard-” Sharp intakes of breath; skin on bare skin... I slid two cool fingers slowly down his lower back and tailbone, making him squirm. A stifled gasp; he was tensing up... “Baby, this is gonna-” “Ow, Gerard, ow oh...” A whimper; my murmured promises. I wanted him to know it was all okay. “Frankie...” His shaky deep breathing. “Oh-” Murmured fragments of sentences... “Alright, it’s alright...” Loud gasps for air. Skin. There were tears in his eyes, he was biting his lower lip; I was trying hard to be gentle... Shit, shit... Frankie...

Stickshift, carseat upholstery... Hell, what the fuck were we- Shit. Dammit... A moan. “God, I-” Cocaine whore. Did he smell the alcohol on me? I wasn’t drunk now; hoped he didn’t think- Oh. Oh god. That felt- Shit. There was a spattering sound on the tinted glass of the windows, it was dim and sprinkling rain outside... Oh, hell, Frankie... Smeared mascara, drug habit, sexy, hell, shit shit- Sonofabitch, sonofabitch... Dammit, don’t- Shit, he was shaking, don’t scare him- Hell, too late? “Frankie, Frankie...” Shit. “God, your dad’s a-”

‘‘I k-know, oh, Gerard, dammit-”

Shitfuck. Hell. Wrists, neck, lips, shit shit... God, he was- Oh wow. Shit, oh- God.