I Can Transform You

POV: Gerard

The school day came to an end, and for the first time ever, I didn’t want to leave school. I just wanted to stay there and never go home. I couldn’t go back home with Frank in the same household… I felt trapped.

So I stayed at school an extra couple of hours. I just snuck into an empty classroom and sketched in my art book for a while, enjoying the peace and quiet. But it didn’t last long, because the cleaning lady arrived and disrupted my peace, shouting at me that school hours were over. Well, excuse the fuck out of me.

I gave up trying to avoid going home then, because I knew I had nowhere else to go. Bob and Ray lived a little way out of this area, and I had no way of getting there because I couldn’t drive yet. Plus, I didn’t particularly want to wander the streets aimlessly, because I was hungry and tempted by the food in my house.

So, I reluctantly walked back to my house; a place that used to be so safe and comforting but would never be again, as long as Frank was under the same roof. Everything was ruined.

It took me about half an hour to walk home, which is double the time it usually takes me. I just walked extra slow today. When I arrived on my street the first thing I saw was the removal van outside my house, which was proof that it was all really happening... My life was really becoming a nightmare.

Ugh, why WHY do bad things happen to good people?!

I heaved an extensive sigh as I dragged my feet towards the van and my house. My dad appeared out of nowhere, carrying a rather large box into the house. Then, I saw Frank’s mum, Linda. She was quite a small, round lady, who I must admit, was very nice. I liked her. I had met her only once about a year ago to base my opinion of her on though.

Thinking about it now, I realised it did not add up that she was a lovely woman and she had a child like Frank, who was a complete asshole… Either I had got the wrong impression of her, or Frank’s horrible nature was down to the father. I mean, SOMETHING must have fucked him up a treat.

I could see Mikey helping my dad and Ms. Iero transfer boxes into the house, but there was thankfully no sign of Frank yet. Then again, I hadn’t even stepped foot in the house yet… And the familiar black convertible car parked in the driveway - the one that he drove to and from school in every day - was a subtle clue that he was around here somewhere.

I groaned inwardly.

“Hey, son, can you give us a hand with these boxes?” my dad suddenly spotted me approaching, waving me over to the van.

I had a mini internal struggle with myself, fighting against the urge to turn around and sprint back down the street, before sighing reluctantly and going over to help.

“You can take that one up to your room, because it is Frank’s,” he added when I picked up one of the boxes.

I have a better idea… How about I go to the river round the corner and throw it in there?

I somehow resisted my urge to destroy Frank’s stuff, because I knew that if I threw his stuff in the river, he would probably throw ME in the river. So, I grumpily took it to my room, sighing and stomping my way up the stairs.

When I reached my bedroom door, I paused for a second outside of it because I could hear the sound of clutter and stuff being moved. I frowned to myself, listening closely. What the fuck was he doing in there? Giving up trying to figure it out, I took a deep breath and kicked open my bedroom door.

I was met with the sight of Frank, standing with his back to me on the other side of my room, going through my drawers.

“W-what are you doing?” I blurted out in disbelief, dropping his box of stuff in the doorway immediately.

It was the first time I had spoken to Frank Iero in years.

I had long since learnt that talking to him was a waste of time. He was impossible. It was just not worth the hurtful response.

He shot me a glare over his shoulder, and I saw the slight look of shock on his face that I had actually spoken to him. He seemed a bit taken aback. Or maybe that was because I made him jump.

His eyes locked with mine and I felt my confidence being sucked from me. I usually made an effort not to look him in the eyes because they were so full of hate… So dark and cold… It was unnerving.

After a moment of glaring at me, his eyes dropped to the floor and he looked at his box of stuff that I had just dropped carelessly.

His eyes widened and I realised I had made a fatal error.

“You dropped my stuff!” he choked, practically running over to pick up his precious box of crap. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I stood there, dumbfounded, as he turned his back on me and put the box down on my bed and started searching through it frantically.

I wondered what was so damn important in that box.

“You were going through my stuff!” I retorted in exasperation, but I remained standing in the doorway, so if he tried to hit me for standing up to him I could make a break for it.

He didn’t even seem to care about that fact that for the first time in two years I was answering him back; he seemed too distracted by the box, which he was still searching desperately through.

Then, suddenly, he stopped rummaging around in the box and pulled out something that looked like a photo frame.

My eyes stayed fixed on the photo frame in his hand as he turned round to face me, but I could feel the heat of his glare burning into me. Then, I noticed the massive crack down the middle of the frame and I gulped nervously.

Oh dear God... I broke something that belongs to Frank Iero.

A voice in the back of my head told me to run for my life... But I didn't. I stayed to endure whatever revenge he was going to take on me.

When I looked a little closer at the photo in the frame I realised the picture was of a kid that looked like a younger version of him, his mum, and some man that I assumed was his dad.

“Sorry,” I surrendered weakly, expecting him to break something of mine any second now, such as my nose, in return for breaking something of his.

I was still annoyed about him going through my stuff, because I am a very private person, but I decided to drop it because I could tell I wasn’t going to win an argument with him. I’d be foolish to even start one.

He exhaled heavily and turned his back on me again, rummaging through his box of stuff again. I heaved a sigh too, out of relief that he hadn’t tried to hit me. I hoped to God I hadn’t broken anything else because he would definitely get revenge if I had.

Thankfully, the damage seemed to be to the photo frame only. After a while, he stopped going through his box and he put it down at the foot of my bed.

“You’re paying for that,” he muttered, pointing at the broken photo frame that was placed on top of the pile in the box.

“Are - are you going to punch me?” I blurted out moronically, forgetting my plan once again to try to avoid speaking to him at all costs.

He turned to look at me again, but this time I saw the slightest glimmer of humour in his empty eyes. He seemed to find the fact that I was clearly anxious about him funny.

“No, I mean with money, you idiot,” he retorted, frowning at me to disguise that fact that I had amused him.

Well, I suppose that’s reasonable… I would be more willing to give him money for a new frame than give him the satisfaction of punching me in the face.

I didn’t say anything; I just rubbed my neck awkwardly. He stared at me for a while before rolling his eyes and looking away, his eyes darting around my room.

“This room is smaller than mine was at my old house,” he stated flatly, sounding pissed off.

Jesus Christ, my room is really big… Big enough to make room for me and Frank anyway… How big was his old room?!

I didn’t respond yet again, I just stood in the middle of my room, looking around gormlessly.

“You don’t say a lot, do you?” Frank grunted, sitting down on my bed and kicking his shoes off onto my floor casually, making himself at home. That got me talking...

“That’s my bed,” I stated bluntly, feeling annoyed and violated that Frank, the guy I’d hated for so many years, was sitting on it.

I wanted him as far away from my bed as possible.

But he didn’t take the hint to get off… He ignored me completely and actually lay down on it, resting his head on my pillow and stretching out over the whole bed. I couldn’t believe his nerve.

My eye twitched in annoyance as frustration flooded through me.

“Have you ever had a girl in it?” he asked suddenly, completely unphased by my obvious irritation. He seemed to be getting off on the fact that he was winding me up.

His question caught me off-guard. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks and I diverted my eyes to the floor, away from his curious ones that were transfixed on my face.

“Didn’t think so,” he smirked, when I failed to answer, oh-so-amused that I was blatantly still a virgin at the age of seventeen.

“Have you ever even had a girlfriend?” he continued to pry nosily, taking an unwanted interest in my private life.

Why is he asking me this shit? Why is he even talking to me at all?! We’re not friends. In fact, we’re quite the opposite. I don’t feel comfortable talking to him about this...

“Why do you care?” I mumbled, focusing on my feet, embarrassed.

He smirked again. He was definitely loving this new insight into how much of a loser I really was.

“Just wondering,” he shrugged. “And I’ll take that as a no… which I can’t say I’m surprised about, really,” he added, seizing the chance to insult me.

I sighed.

“Whatever.”

Fed up with the abuse already, I turned my back on him and started to walk out of the room.

“Your comebacks are fucking pathetic, man,” he called after me.

I stopped dead in the doorway and squeezed my eyes shut, anger pulsing through my veins, breaking down walls inside of me.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Frank,” I suddenly snapped, giving him a piece of my mind for the first time ever.

Happy now?

It felt good to stand up to him for once. I didn’t give him a chance to respond or run after me, though; I started legging it down the stairs, heading towards the front door. Unfortunately for me, I ran straight into my Dad on the stairs.

Ah, I’m so screwed…

“What was that language?” he questioned in disbelief, looking at me with a mad look in his eye.

My Dad doesn’t deal very well with swearing. (...He’s gonna love Frank!)

“I - uh… sorry,” I apologised quickly.

“I should think you are. Now go and apologise to Frank for calling him that,” he commanded crossly.

Wait, what? You’ve got to be kidding me!

“But Dad-"

“Do it! I’m not having that kind of language or name-calling in my house,” he shouted, shoving me backwards, up the stairs.

What about the way Frank always swears and abuses me? This is so unfair!

I knew arguing any further would result in harsher punishments, so I surrendered helplessly. Then again, my Dad was giving me the ultimate punishment now… He was practically giving me a death sentence by sending me back into a room with Frank after what I just called him.

I tripped up the stairs and along the hall, being ushered forward by my Dad, until I reached my bedroom door. I turned to look at my Dad pleadingly but he just pointed at the door insistently.

My chest tightened with fear as I slowly pushed it open. I tried to brace myself for what was coming, but I didn’t quite prepare myself for what I was met with…

Frank was sat on my bed, holding that photo frame and looking at the picture intently. When I came in, he jumped and almost threw it out of his hands, as if he didn’t want to be caught looking at it. My brow furrowed as I watched him acting shiftily.

I stood there for several seconds without saying anything and he refused to look at me. I didn’t understand why he wasn’t glaring at me with those hateful eyes of his. He had his head hung low, almost hiding behind his fringe. I’d never seen him look this way before... So vulnerable. I’d never seen him hide from anyone, especially me.

“I, uh… I’m sorry for what I said before,” I mumbled half-heartedly.

I was really expecting him to seize this chance to insult me or laugh at me, but he didn’t. He still didn’t look up at me with his trademark smirking expression. I wondered if he had even heard my apology.

But then, he did something that surprised me more than anything. He inhaled shakily and cleared his throat before replying in a small voice, “it’s okay.”

His voice was different; it didn’t sound like it belonged to him. He sounded… broken. A realisation hit me immediately: he had been crying.

Holy shit. Is it my fault he’s upset? Did he take my words personally? Or did I break him when I broke that photo frame?

“Are - are you okay?” I asked tentatively.

I’m overly empathetic, okay. Despite my hatred for Frank, I wasn’t used to seeing him this way and I was slightly concerned that I had upset him (which was ironic, considering every single day of my school life Frank had managed to upset me without feeling any apparent remorse whatsoever).

“Fine,” he snapped in a razor sharp voice that sounded more like his, and then he jumped to his feet so quickly it made me recoil slightly.

He started coming straight towards me and I felt a different kind of worry rise within me, thinking he was going to hit me. But then I remembered that my dad was stood just behind me, so he surely wouldn’t be stupid enough to try anything like that… Would he?

Still avoiding my eyes, he came closer to me, and I literally had to dive out of the way to avoid him walking into me. I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to push me out of the way if I continued to block his exit. My dad stood aside too, letting Frank practically run away from us. He disappeared down the stairs at record speed, and then out the front door, slamming it hard behind him.

“That boy is obviously very sensitive, Gerard. I don’t want you calling him any more names, you hear me?” my Dad spoke firmly.

I almost wanted to laugh at that statement. Up until today I would have found it hilarious that someone would use the word sensitive to describe Frank… But now I didn’t know what to think.

Is Frank really more emotional than I realised? Does he really have a heart after all?