Crash Into My ***ing Arms

I woke up completely disoriented, finding myself still sitting on the living room couch with Frankie curled against me. He was still asleep, breathing even but shallow, as every time his lungs expanded, they pressed against sore ribs.

Gently, I removed my arm from around his shoulders and scooted over, easing his head down until he was lying slumped against the armrest. I didn’t want to wake him up.

I stood up and turned off the muted television, just watching Frank for a moment. With a sigh, I went into his kitchen to find the phone.

I dialed my home number, and Mikey picked up on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Mikey... it’s Gerard.”

“Where the hell have you been?!” he demanded angrily. “Where the fucking hell have you been?!”

“I took Frank home. He-”

“I thought I told you to stay the fuck away from him!”

“I wanted to make sure he was ok-”

“I already told you, Gerard! That kid would be better off dead than with you!” he yelled.

“I’m not going to do it again!” I hissed in response, trying to keep my voice down.

“You can say that, but you don’t know it... You don’t know anything; for all your fucking promises, you might do it again tomorrow, Gerard!”

“Mikey, I love him!”

“No you don’t. No you don’t. You’d like to, I know, but Gerard... Honestly. Tell me you don’t want to just go over and fuck him right now.”

“I want him, Mikey, I’m not going to deny it! But it’s more than that, okay?!”

“You’re just going to hurt him again,” Mikey said quietly. “I hope to hell you see the truth and leave him alone, but if not... God, you really do make me sick.”

He hung up, leaving me standing there staring stupidly at the phone. Why was Mikey, the brother who had always been my friend as well, so convinced that I was going to do something horrible? Could he see something I was missing?

I turned around and walked unsteadily towards the living room, stopping just short of the couch where Frank was still asleep. I loved him, I really loved him... didn’t I?

I had been staring at him so closely that it took me a minute to realize that his eyes were blinking open.

He rubbed them, smudging the last traces of makeup around, then sat up slowly, flinching. “Hey.”

“Hey,” I answered, holding a hand out to help him up.

He took it and got to his feet, giving me a long look.

“What?” I asked, uncomfortable.

“I heard you talking.”

Shit. My stomach sank as I tried to remember what I had said.

“You were talking to Mikey, weren’t you?”

I nodded, refusing to meet his eyes with mine.

“Gerard... I’m scared.”

I swallowed. “Of me?”

“I... I don’t know what I’m afraid of. Not you, not really... I just... I’m tired. I’m scared...”

I wrapped my arms gently around him and buried my face in his hair. It smelled nice... “Frankie, you don’t have to be scared... I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

“Thank g-god...”

“Are you okay?” I asked cautiously, unnerved by this sudden change in Frankie’s behavior.

He pulled away from me and nodded resignedly, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I’m f-fine. I don’t know why I get like that... I’ m a fuckup.”

“No... you’re not a fuckup, Frankie... Don’t say that.” I was watching him rub his eyes, watching the way he moved, my gaze tracing his jawbone and neck. God, he was gorgeous, I-

“Okay,” he said, interrupting my thoughts.

“I think I’d better get home,” I said awkwardly, realizing that I was having a hard time keeping my eyes off his body. “Uh... Mikey will... uh, want me to be back soon.”

Frankie’s face fell, and I felt guilty, but I knew I was just keeping him safe by leaving. “Alright...” he said quietly, not arguing.

“Call me, okay?” I asked gently, trying to make my hurried exit seem a little less abrupt.

He nodded.

Then I left him alone.

When I got back, Mikey flat-out refused to talk to me, so I ended up going straight to my room in silence, thinking about Frank. I wasn’t sure how to unravel my emotions, so in the end, I left them just as tangled as they had started out.

-

It was three days before Frank called me. I had been tempted almost continuously to pick up the phone myself, but I told myself that since I had asked Frank to call, I had to wait until he did.

It was a pretty lonely three days.

Then my cellphone rang.

I grabbed for it, almost knocking it off the night table. It was him. “Frank!”

“Gerard... I don’t wanna say this... I don’t wanna s-sound... Look, I really need your help...”

“What’s wrong? ...Why wouldn’t you want to ask me for help?”

“S-seems like that’s the only thing I ever want when I talk to you... B-bet it’s not very pleasant for you...” His voice was shaky.

“No, it’s okay... I wanna help you if you need it... What’s wrong?” I was getting nervous.

“I’m sorta... s-sick. I think I’m gonna... Gerard... I hate b-being sick... I- Oh shit, Gerard, hold on!” There was a clattering sound as if he had dropped the phone.

“Hello?”

I heard a whimper and the sound of Frankie vomiting. Oh... shit.

He came back on the phone. “S-sorry, I... I g-gotta go-” Suddenly the line went dead.

I shut the phone with a click and left the house immediately. The sound of panic in Frankie’s voice made me wonder if he was really just sick, or if the vomiting had something to do with his father, like it had the first time I had met him.

When I got to Frankie’s house, the front door was open again, and I stepped tentatively into the house, realizing with a twinge of anxiety that Frank had never actually invited me over, and for all I knew, his dad was at home.

I walked cautiously around the couch and stopped dead with a gasp. The facedown figure stretched out on the floor was definitely not Frankie, thank god. So his father was home. Passed out, it looked like... I wondered how long he would stay that way.

I wove my way around him and walked upstairs, stopping tentatively at the bathroom door, which was closed over almost all the way. I knocked gently. “...Frankie?”

The door opened slowly. “G-gee?”

God, Frankie was a fucking disaster. There was blood trickling down his face from a nosebleed, staining his shirt, which was already wet, as were his face and hair and hands. There were traces of vomit spattered on the tile floor, though it looked like he had stopped throwing up. A clear glass bottle smelling like alcohol was lying on its side on the counter, next to a spilled bottle of red and yellow Tylenol geltabs, some dissolving in the puddles of water on the countertop.

“My god...” I muttered. “What the hell were you trying to do?”

He shook his head miserably, his eyes radiating confusion and pain. “M-make it stop hurting?”

“What hurt, Frankie? What hurt?” I stepped into the bathroom to be closer to him.

“Everything...” he moaned brokenly.

I knew that was my fault, after what I had done to him. “I’m so sorry, Frankie...”

“N-not just that; it hurts inside too, it hurts inside!” Tears spilled down his cheeks, clinging to his long eyelashes.

“You didn’t take those pills, did you?”

He looked at me blankly. “S-some of ‘em... I dunno how many, though... I’m okay... Honest.”

He was slurring the ends of his words; I could see that he had managed to empty the bottle of alcohol, but it didn’t look like he had taken too many pills... God, I hoped he hadn’t.

“Frankie, listen to me. Your dad’s passed out in your living room... I dunno how long he’ll stay wasted, though...”

Frankie frowned. “Him... f-fucker... I dunno how long he’s been home... I dunno... I dunno. I wanna get outta here, Gerard... I wanna go somewhere...”

“You sure? Maybe you should clean up and lie down or something,” I suggested, noticing how unsteady he was on his feet.

“N-no, no, you can’t make me; I wanna leave, Gerard... I wanna go somewhere.”

“Alright Frankie...” I said reluctantly, turning on the water and dampening some Kleenex to wipe the blood off his face.

He rinsed his mouth out and dried his face and hair off with the handtowel, then leaned his head on my shoulder. “Let’s go.”

We ended up at the same downtown bar where we had first met, and where I had done some things that I didn’t want to remember. I wasn’t sure how Frank could stand to even see the place.

I parked, and we got out of the car, walking into the building and over to the bar to sit down.

“F-fuck it,” Frankie slurred. “I wanna beer.”

The bartender gave him a quick look over, but had likely seen a lot worse, then looked to me.

“Beer,” I said, even though I knew it was a stupid idea.

“A’ight,” the bartender said, turning to get our drinks.

Two beers later, I glanced over at Frank, who was slumped over the bar, head buried in his arms. His beer bottle was tipped over beside him in a little puddle of amber liquid. I hadn’t been paying him much attention; we had both been wrapped up in our individual thoughts, and I wondered how many beers he had been through. The bartender had been clearing the empties away pretty promptly, as the bar was nearly deserted.

“I dun feel so good...” Frankie slurred as he lifted his head up from the wood of the bar and, I assumed, barely realizing what the hell he was doing, pushed the beer bottle off the edge of the bar, where it shattered against the hardwood floor with a crash that sent a shock up my spine.

“Damnit, Frankie..!”

The bartender shot me a raised-eyebrow look, but turned away without saying anything. Again, I was sure that he had seen worse.

“Whythefuck is the fucking floor spinning?” Frankie muttered blankly, wrinkling his nose as he tried to stand up but wavered on his feet.

I got up and took his elbow, dizzy myself. “Do you wanna go to the bathroom or something..?” I asked him tentatively. He looked like he might be sick all over himself any minute. Made me feel really responsible all of a sudden; taking Frankie out so that he could get entirely wasted and pass out on the floor just like his father...

When he nodded belatedly, I led him into the men’s bathroom, one hand on his back and the other gripping his elbow as support.

With a sudden whimper, he grabbed my hand tightly and looked up at me, trying to form words. He looked scared and unnaturally pale under the fluorescent industrial lights. “Fucking d-dunno what’s happening, b-but the room is f-fucking moving... God, Gerard, p-please help me...”

“You’re just wasted, Frankie... You’ll feel better soon, I promise...”

“I t-trust you.”

He leaned into me, frightened, and I wrapped my arms around him. “It’s okay; it’s okay...”

‘‘I l-love you...” With that, Frankie twisted his head up and looked me in the eyes with his dilated ones, and though I honestly hadn’t been planning it, the instant our lips touched, I knew that there was no going back.

He was leaning into me hard, and I held his shoulders tightly, shoving him around so that his back hit the wall with a soft thud. I pressed him up against the tile as I kissed him, both his hands sliding up beneath the material of my shirt. He couldn’t talk, only whimper as my breathing got faster and harder.

Though the bar was almost empty, the possibility of someone walking into the bathroom was very real, and the adrenaline that knowledge brought heightened the intensity of everything I was experiencing.

“Sonofabitch,” I moaned, shoving him back against the tile so that I could hold him there as I pressed my lips into his, tasting alcohol and suddenly blood. He had bitten his tongue and couldn’t even feel it. The sticky liquid trickled from the corner of his mouth; I wiped it away, smearing red down to his jawbone.

A noise outside the bathroom door made Frankie’s body tense, but no one came in, and he started to relax again as our hips bumped gently on accident and our mouths met.

Suddenly Frankie’s knees buckled and he tried to pull away, his eyes flashing panic. All he could manage was a desperate moan, but I let him go in time for him to run for the toilet and throw up.

I pulled the stall door open farther and followed him as he doubled over, one hand on the toilet rim, the other holding his stomach. His body pitched forward and he vomited with a little whimper. His shoulders were shaking, and it looked like he had the chills. His skin was feverish and sweaty. I pushed his damp bangs out of his eyes with one hand and wrapped my arms around his waist to hold him steady and keep him from collapsing. Why the hell had I let him get so hammered in the first place?

“G-gee,” he moaned pitifully between ragged breaths, “I dunno which way up is...”

I held him tighter as his stomach muscles clenched under my hands and his head and neck pitched forwards toward the toilet bowl again.

“I can’t t-take this anymore...”

“Frankie, baby, it’ll all be over soon, I promise...” I kissed his hot cheek gently. I knew how it felt to be piss-drunk and violently ill all at once, and I held Frank close, not wanting him to go through it all alone.

“C-cocaine whore, ‘m-member?” Frankie gasped out, retching and choking on vomit as he pressed his hands to his face desperately.

My heart missed a beat and crash landed as I realized what Frank was trying to tell me. He hadn’t just washed pills down with the alcohol before he had called me for help... He’d been snorting cocaine. Oh fuck, and I’d let him drink after that?!

There were tears on his face now, smeared all over his cheeks as he pulled his fingers down along feverish skin, then grabbing the rim of the toilet seat for support as his body whisplashed again.

His head bounced back against my chest and I held him there, feeling him shudder against me, waiting for the next wave of sickness. “G-gee-” He squirmed uncomfortably in my arms, breathing quickening, one hand going to his throat.

I knew what was coming, and instead of letting him jerk forward violently towards the toilet, I let him bend weakly at the waist and gently eased him down so that when he threw up, his body didn’t spasm so wildly. “I gotcha. I gotcha.”

He moaned, knees shaking so hard that I had to hold him up to keep him from collapsing onto the tile. He reached one arm out to the side of the stall to steady himself, but his sweaty fingers slid down the metal.

I took the hand and wrapped his fingers tightly in mine, bringing his arm back around his waist as I held him up. “You’re gonna be okay. It’s almost over, I promise.”

Frankie let out another whimper, still shivering uncontrollably. He was burning up, even the skin of his tattooed forearms was hot to the touch.

I let him bend again as he vomited. Almost nothing but bile was coming up now; I knew how horrible he was feeling. “Oh sweetheart... Just hang on, okay? I love you, I’ve got you.”

Suddenly straightening and turning to face me, he flung himself into my arms, knees giving out as he fell against me. I hugged him tightly to my chest, keeping him from slipping to the dirty floor. He was still shaking hard, tears running down his flushed cheeks, eyes bloodshot now, weak and whimpering miserably.

He buried his face in my neck as I rubbed his shoulderblades comfortingly and flushed the toilet with one foot, slightly off balance and leaning momentarily against the graffitied side of the stall.

“P-please don’t let go...” Frankie mumbled into my neck, clinging to me as if he would dissolve without the connection to my body.

His skin was damp and feverish, unnaturally hot to the touch, and I kissed his neck gently, certain that my warm lips would nonetheless feel cool to him. “I’ve got you, you’re okay now, baby.”

I could feel his body go unexpectedly limp against me, and I almost dropped his dead weight in surprise. I realized that Frankie had closed his eyes and quietly passed out against my shoulder. I gave his burning cheek one last soft kiss, then shifted his weight and heaved his finally relaxed form into my arms with a grunt.

The bartender gave me a funny look as I carried Frankie through the bar to the exit, and I wondered with a small smirk if it was so obvious that we had been fucking around, or if maybe he was just naturally suspicious.

I got Frankie out to my car and laid his limp body across the back seat. I couldn’t take him home; didn’t know whether or not his father was awake, but I wasn’t relishing the idea of bringing him home with me, either. It was really the only reasonable choice, though, so I turned the key in the ignition and started for my house.

When I had parked the car unevenly in the driveway, I carried Frankie up to the porch, grimacing as I tried to reach for the doorbell without dropping him.

Mikey opened the door and stopped dead, face going still. He gave me a grim look over, stepping aside to let me into the house without a word.

I brought Frankie up the staircase to my room and laid his limp form across my bed, turning around to face my brother, who had followed me silently upstairs. “What do you want?”

“You find him like that, or you have something to do with it?” Mikey asked me quietly.

I considered lying, but in the end, I didn’t even try. “I let him get drunk. I didn’t know he’d been snorting coke before I got to his place... I didn’t know he’d get so hammered... I made a mistake, I didn’t watch him... God, he threw up for twenty minutes, maybe more. I fucked up, and I know it, okay, so don’t yell at me, Mikey.”

Mikey glanced over at Frankie, his body completely motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. “I believe you,” he said finally. “I don’t know why I even care so much about the two of you, it’s just that he’s so... innocent. You know what you’re doing, Gerard. You’ve had guys before... But he has no idea what the hell he’s getting into, you have to be able to see that.”

“I’m being careful, Mikey...” I answered slowly. It was one hell of an awkward subject. “I fucked up, but just that one time, I swear. I knew it was his first time when we... I tried to keep that in mind...”

“I don’t just mean sex, Gerard... It’s everything. You told me he said he loves you... Well, I don’t want to say that he actually doesn’t... but I’m not sure he even knows what love is. God knows he’s never really felt it from anyone...”

I nodded, looking down. What Mikey was saying made some sense, but there was no way I would believe that Frankie didn’t mean what he said. Without him now, I’d be totally lost.

Mikey sighed. “Just keep that in mind, okay?”

“I will.”

He started for the door, briefly touching my shoulder as he passed me. I knew things were okay between us now, but I also knew that it was a delicate balance. I had to try not to hurt Frankie... and I was going to have to try really hard.