Crash Into My ***ing Arms

When I pushed open the front door and staggered inside, Mikey stood quickly from the couch. “Where the hell have you-” He stopped dead. “Oh my god. Oh my fucking god, what happened, Gerard?!”

“I did it, just what you said I’d do, I hurt him, I f-fucked him and I hurt him, he said he f-fucking loved me and then I think I might have fucking raped him...” My voice was rising as I spoke, ending on a nearly hysterical note.

Mikey just stared at me, at the blood all around my mouth, on my hands, everywhere. “That’s his- Oh my god. Oh my god- What did you do, kill him?!”

“N-no, but I hurt him, I hurt him and then I left him there, he told me to g-go and I just left him...”

“Left him where? Left him where, you son of a bitch?!”

“Behind a bar, f-found him there yesterday, we were f-fucking around and then his d-dad came home so we had to get the hell outta there, and we parked behind this bar, and I j-just lost it, I d-did exactly what you thought I’d do, I think I even f-fucking raped him...”

“What the hell do you mean, ‘think?’ Did you fucking rape him or not?!” Mikey looked like he was staring at a serial killer.

“I d-don’t know what it was, I hurt him, b-but he’d wanted it at first, j-just when I... b-bit him-”

“Oh my fucking god,” Mikey muttered again, obviously in violent shock. His hands were shaking. He looked like he might be sick.

“Mikey-” I moaned, voice cracking, knees threatening to collapse. I couldn’t take it.

“Gerard, oh hell, Gerard, I don’t even- Go... lie down or something... Wash up, wash up first... God, all that blood... What the hell did you do?!”

“B-bit his neck, there was blood everywhere, all down his back and-”

“You bit so hard that- Gerard! I... God. Just... g-get out, go!”

I staggered for the bathroom as Mikey collapsed into a sitting position on the couch, head in his hands, but instead of washing up, I opened the cabinet and scooped out a few cheap orange plastic pill bottles and brought them into the kitchen with me, washing down the contents with several bottles of beer. At last, slurring swearwords under my breath, I ran for the bathroom just in time to start vomiting. I threw up for almost an hour, until only stomach acid was coming up. By the time I staggered upstairs to my room and collapsed face-first on the bed, I wasn’t thinking anything at all.

***
A distant car horn outside woke me, and when it all came back to me in a sickening wave and I felt my stomach jolt with dread, I wished I could fall back into sleep and never open my eyes for the rest of my life. The very air around me felt poisonous. My head was pounding violently, my stomach felt like it was turned inside out, my throat was scraped sore, and my eyes were assuredly bloodshot, but I had a sneaking suspicion that however shitty I felt, Frank Iero was having a much worse time of it.

I stumbled out of bed, staring at my hands. They were still covered in blood- his blood. Oh god. I knew that if there was still blood on my hands, there would still be blood on my face... I knew I was a fucking mess... There was vomit in my hair, the taste of it mixing with blood and stale alcohol in my throat and mouth, making my guts lurch. Oh fucking god. I staggered towards the hallway. Nervously, I wondered what sort of state Frank was in. How badly had I fucked him up? Could he be, even... dead? Part of me wanted to go out and find him, see what I had done, how bad it was, but there was also a powerful feeling of loathing him for letting me hurt him, how I never wanted to see him again, ever. Ever ever ever.

I walked back into the bathroom and shoved the shower curtain to one side to clean off, like I could ever really get rid of the bloodstains...

When I went downstairs after my shower, Mikey looked up from the couch at me, the look in his eyes unreadable. I had a feeling that he hadn’t moved since the previous night.

“M-mikey, are you pissed?”

He looked down, eyes dark, shaking his head slightly. “I... I don’t know what to think. I can’t believe you would... What you did- People get... arrested for that, people get... God, I just... I don’t understand. It feels like something should’ve happened, the cops should’ve showed up, I don’t know... But you just walked away, you’re here, hell, you’re fucking hungover like usual..! Life’s just going to go on, b-but I can’t even fucking look at you without feeling sick... And him...”

“I’m sorry, Mikey, I swear to god that I’m sorry! I don’t know what happened to me- it was like when I drink... I just lost it. You kept saying I’d hurt him, b-but I didn’t see that coming, I don’t know-”

“I didn’t see it coming either, goddamnit! I thought you were already hurting him, just by fucking him... I never dreamed that you’d actually... Jesus fucking Christ.”

“I n-never want to see him again.”

“You’d better not.” Mikey’s voice was deathly serious. “Oh, you had better fucking not.

“I d-don’t, ever. B-but Mikey, what if he’s... d-dead?”

“Then he might be better off.” Mikey got to his feet and left me sitting there alone. I glanced at my hand, where the faint outline of Frankie’s cellphone number could still be seen, now that the blood was gone. My throat tightened. I had to know what I had done to him... With a phone, I could always hang up anyway...

I went down to the basement, where I was pretty certain that Mikey wouldn’t overhear who I was calling, and dialed the number with shaking fingers. No one answered. God, no, he was there, he had to be... I dialed again. Still no answer. Redial. Redial. Redial. I was panicking. God, I couldn’t have fucking killed him, I didn’t want that on my hands...

Suddenly, in the middle of the monotonous ringing of my millionth phonecall, there was a clicking sound as somebody picked up.

“Frank!”

“Gerard...” There was something wrong with his voice, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. Maybe just the connection..?

“Frank, are you okay?”

“I s-said I loved you...”

“Frank?”

“I said it, I s-said it, you said it too... You lied to me...”

“Frank, just fucking tell me if you’re okay!” I didn’t want to talk to him. I just wanted that one answer.

“No, no, I’m not okay, you goddamn son of a bitch!” he screamed suddenly, snapping. “I have f-fucking bruises, f-fucking- I can’t fucking sit down! I’m s-shaking and I’m f-fucking cold, and I’m d-dirty and I can’t get home and I can’t get up and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts it hurts it hurts, it fucking hurts, it-”

I had to make him stop; his hysterical screams were splintering me from the inside out. “Frank. Frank! Frankie, goddamn it, listen to me!”

“Why?”

That one sniffled, pathetic question... I didn’t have an answer. Why should he listen to me, after what I had done to him? “P-please.”

“Otay,” he whimpered.

“I can’t believe I did that to you...” I whispered. “I just can’t believe that I... Frank, I can’t fix it, I know that, and it’s f-fucking killing me... But I’m so sorry, so so goddamn fucking sorry...” My voice cracked.

“Were you lying?” he whimpered, and I had to strain to catch the words. “Were you lying when you said you-”

“-loved you?”

“Y-yeah.”

I thought back, back to his smile and him giggling as I mumbled around his fingers... I thought about how bad I wanted him safe, about the instant chemical romance that had occured when we’d first kissed... It hit me like a kick in the side of the head: I hadn’t been lying. “No.”

“D’you... you still-” He broke off coughing violently, a rattle in his chest. I was starting to realize that he sounded very, very sick. “-s-still love m-me?”

“Oh god, yes,” I whispered, the room spinning around me. I did still love him, I reallly did. I wanted to see him, hold him, make it better. I just had to focus on fighting the darkness that had made me hurt him, made me take him.

“G-gerard... I f-feel... I feel kinda sick.”

“Frankie?”

“I f-feel... kinda really sick. Gerard, I feel s-sick!”

The hysteria in his thin voice scared me. “Frankie, where are you?”

“B-bar...” he whimpered. “I d-don’t feel... G-gerard...”

My god, he’d been out there all that time... “I know, I know, baby; look, I’m coming, okay? I’m coming to get you...”

“Hurry... I d-don’t f-feel so good...” His voice was fading.

“I’m coming.” I hung up and ran up from the basement, glancing at the second-floor stairs and starting quickly towards the front door.

Mikey saw me as he neared the top of the stairs and started running. “Gerard, where the fucking hell do you think you’re going?!” he yelled.

I was fumbling with the locks on the door.

“I’m gonna call the police, I’m gonna fucking call the police!” my brother screamed as I ran down the driveway to my car, which I’d parked half on the grass in my state of panic the night before.

I shoved the key into the ignition and shot down the street with my heart pounding wildly. By the time I reached the back of the bar, my heart was almost in my mouth.

I got out of the car and dropped to my knees in front of Frankie’s crumpled form, curled on the dirty concrete. Blood was trickling from one side of his mouth; I didn’t think I’d hit his head on the dashboard that hard... The skin of his neck and face was stained lurid crimson, and I could see the tooth marks at his pale throat. He was pale and his clothes were damp with rainwater. I couldn’t believe what I had done to him. He whimpered as I touched his shoulder gently, but he could hardly even raise his eyelids.

I took a deep breath and lifted Frankie into my arms, standing up and carrying him to the car. I got him into the passenger seat, tilting it back, and pulled the seatbelt across his slightly shuddering chest.

His eyes flickered open as the metal buckle clicked into place. “G-gee?”

“Frankie?”

“M-my dad’s outta town... I promise this time...”

I wondered whether or not the appearance of Frank’s father had indirectly caused me to hurt him, or if I would’ve done it anyway. “Baby, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry... I just-” I choked.

“It’s f-fine... I still l-love you too, Gee...” he murmured, eyes clouded with tiredness.

I hurried around to the driver’s seat. The sooner I got Frank home, the sooner things would be okay again... I hoped.

“We’re almost there. You’re almost home,” I tried to assure him, even though I’d only just started the ignition, but he didn’t answer.

The instant my rusty car was parked in Frank’s driveway, I bolted out of the driver’s seat and around to the passenger side, carefully unbuckling his seatbelt and lifting him with an arm around his shoulders so that I could help him into the house.

The front door had been left wide open, and I looked around tentatively, half-expecting to see Frank’s father waiting for us, but no one was there.

I let Frank collapse on the couch, at which he let out a ragged whimper and grasped for my hand.

“I f-feel dirty,” he murmured.

I looked him over. He was bloodstained and wet, clothing still damp from when I had left in the rain. Dirt streaked his face, mixing with the sickening crimson I had painted him with.

“You should take a shower,” I told him quietly. He looked terrible.

He nodded. I wondered how the hell he could be so trusting of me after what I had done as he tried to get up off the couch and stand. He didn’t have the energy, and fell backwards, landing with a sharp cry.

“You okay?” I asked anxiously, equally startled by the pain that had rippled across his face as he was.

He nodded, trying to swallow against the sensation. His eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, and I guessed with acute guilt that he had cried until his throat hurt.

I got his arm around my shoulders so that I could support him with an arm around his waist, and he pointed shyly towards the bathroom.

Standing beside the shower in the shadowy green and white room, I shrugged awkwardly. “M-maybe this isn’t such a good idea?”

“I m-might need a little help...” he said softly, glancing down towards the tile. “B-but I’m okay with that...”

His voice said ‘if you are.’ I nodded nervously. “Okay...”

He bit his bottom lip gently. It was slightly swollen from where I had cut it with my teeth. He pushed the curtain to one side to step unsteadily into the shower, back to me, and with a tiny attempt at a smile, raised both arms above his head.

Carefully, I peeled off the wet material of his shirt, revealing a back full of cuts and bruises, mostly from Frank’s father, but partially my doing... The long scrapes were from my fingernails, and the smeared sticky blood trailing down from his neck made my stomach turn. I really was a sick bastard.

Frankie darted me a glance, biting his lip harder now as he tried to undo his belt buckle with slightly bruised fingers.

I frowned. I’d done that too?

When he’d undone the belt buckle and unzipped his pants, he looked at me another time. I gently eased them down past his hips, eyes widening to see the fingernail half-moons, cuts, and dark bruises decorating them. I had left much more of a mark than I had even realized.

As I pulled his jeans and boxers past the very end of his spine over smooth skin, my stomach muscles tightened. Shit. It was obvious why he had cried out when falling back on the couch cushions. His lower back and tailbone, both previously covered by the material of his pants, were violently discolored by blues and purples, the contusions striking against his smooth porcelain skin. Had I... done that, shoving him against the seat or against the dashboard? I’d heard him whimper, but...

“G-gerard?” His voice sounded worried.

“G-god, I-” My own voice broke.

“You d-didn’t know,” he told me quietly. “S’okay.”

But it wasn’t.

I ran my hand gently down his shoulder and forearm, the least bruised and fingerprinted part of him that I could find, my heart twisted under my ribs. Why the hell had I gone and ruined everything? “Frank...”

“T-tell me again you love me.”

“I do, Frankie... I love you so, so much...”

He gave me a sore, tired smile, but it was still beautiful.

I reached towards the faucet handle, and when Frank nodded, turned the water on. It splashed my chest, and I took my shirt off with a slight smirk.

Frankie smiled wanly again as water ran down his face from his wet hair, washing the blood from his back in streaks. He looked so beautiful in the cool air, shadows falling across his face in the natural light from the small glass block window, highlighting his muscles beneath his skin.

I leaned into the water and kissed him softly as he turned to meet me, holding his face gently beneath his bruised jawbone with one hand. The stream from the showerhead ran down our faces, making Frankie smile slightly.

I slid my other hand around his waist, resting it just under his hipbone, trying not to apply any pressure to bruised skin. Damnit, I wanted him, wanted to show him that I wasn’t going to hurt him again, but I couldn’t. I had already damaged him, and I had to let the wounds heal- both literally and figuratively- before I could make another move. “Frankie...” I whispered, hand sliding slowly up the slope of his lower back.

His eyes flickered with sudden pain and he pulled back, stumbling against the shower wall behind him. I realized that I had hit a sore spot, and reached out apologetically. “Frankie, sweetie-”

He shook his head miserably, suddenly frightened.

I knew then that for all my sorrys and all his I-still-love-you’s, he was still scared of me, and I wouldn’t be able to fix it... And as for how he could possibly still trust me... he didn’t. Tears tightened my throat; I looked down, water droplets running over my face from my wet hair.

Frankie muttered something broken and desperate under his breath that sounded a lot like “Just fuck me.”

“What?”

“Just do it, I know you want it; whatsamatter, didn’t get enough the last time?! So j-just fuck me, it can’t hurt that much worse than it does n-now..!” The note of strangled hysteria was back in his words.

“I do want you,” I admitted quietly to the bathroom floor. “I wish I could... t-turn it off and just love you, that’s all... b-but I can’t, Frankie. I’ll try, I swear to god I’ll try if you ask me... Hell, I am trying; I’m trying...”

“I know.” He swallowed. “I know you are... I want you too, Gerard; you know that, and I’m t-trying too, trust me.”

I nodded.

“Gerard?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me again.” His face, in shadow in the dark, blue-tinged room, was unreadable. Did he mean it?

I hoped to god he did, because I was already leaning back into the shower, water splashing down my bare chest as I carefully pulled Frankie close by wrapping my hands around the less-bruised backs of his thighs. He moaned against my lips, the vibration from his vocal chords sending a shiver running through me. Suddenly his tongue was in my mouth, and I had a bad feeling about where things were headed. I could hardly even touch him without hurting him; there was no way I could safely fuck him...

“...G-gerard, is it gone, the blood?”

I let him go so that he could turn slightly, back facing me again. There were still traces of blood staining his skin. I reached out a hand and rubbed the red gently away in one spot. He flinched as my fingers brushed a fingernail scrape, but didn’t pull away again.

When he looked clean to me, I turned the water off, making him shiver, naked in the suddenly cold air. I slipped a towel off of the ring on the wall and draped it around his shoulders, making him smile slightly as he took it to dry off.

I took a second towel for myself, toweling off as best I could, ignoring the damp spots on the legs of my jeans where water had splashed.

Frankie wrapped the towel around his thin waist with another small smile at me, then nodded shyly towards the bathroom door. “I guess I’ll go find some clean pants.”

I nodded, supporting him by the shoulders as he headed to the stairs, which I had to help him ascend carefully, though he seemed to be steadier on his feet now.

I had never seen Frank’s room, and I looked around with interest as he dug a pair of torn jeans out from a dresser drawer.

“It’s not much...” Frank said, glancing around the room as I did, threading his belt through the loops of the new jeans.

His room looked pretty normal to me; I shrugged. “I like it.”

He smiled. “S’good,” he said, then the smile was replaced by a frown of worry. “Shit, I shoulda asked you earlier... Do you want something to drink or eat... or something?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” I assured him, thinking how cute his concern was.

“Okay. Um... what do you wanna... do or whatever?” He looked anxious.

I shrugged. “I... I dunno...”

“Wanna... watch TV, or something?”

“Sure,” I said, glad for the suggestion. I was feeling kind of nervous myself...

We went downstairs to the living room and sat down on the couch, in front of the television. Frank handed me the remote, and I tentatively flicked through several channels only to feel something hit my shoulder. I glanced over to realize that Frankie had curled his knees up to his chest and fallen asleep with his head leaning comfortably against me, damp hair transfering moisture to the sleeve of my shirt. I muted the television on some pointless channel and slipped an arm around his shoulders, leaning my own head gently on his. I sighed, listening to his rhythmic breathing and watching the way his warm breath ruffled his bangs each time he exhaled. Within fifteen minutes, I was asleep too.