Goody, Like Two Shoes

Frank and I ended up fighting on the bus - over who paid the bus fare. Frank insisted on paying for mine, I hit him, he swore, the bus driver impatiently took the money from Frank's hand, and I stormed to a seat for one while Frank clomped his way to a seat at the back.

It didn't take long for Frank to come over and squish up beside me, though, which ended in me being shoved off my seat and pulled onto his lap.

He nuzzled his nose against my arm, looking up at me with huge puppy-dog eyes, "You don't love me 'cause I paid for your bus fare?"

"I had my own money," I scowled, "And, anyway, I didn't love you in the first place."

His bottom lip quivered cutely, "But you're my girlfriend."

"'I am not."

"'My iccle baby-waby." he grinned, batting his eyelashes.

"Call me that again and I'll hurt you." I hissed, trying to hide my smile.

"Oh, you fucking feminist."

"Shut up, Frank."

"Okay."

The silence only lasted half a minute.
"Are you feeling adventurous? You know, being out of the house, and all?'

"Hm, yeah."

"You're such a party-virgin." he laughed, "And I am going to take your party-virginity."

I shuddered, "You make it sound like we're gonna -- like we're going to do it in a dirty restroom in a club."

"Ahahahaha! Dollface, it's the 20th century; it's not a crime to say "sex"."

I shoved him, "Frank, be quiet for once in your life."

He wrapped his arms around my waist, smiling up at me, "Okay. Prude."

I'd never noticed how adorable he was when he smiled; dimples on either cheek, his nose scrunched up, the smallest creases around his eyes - the hazel irises sparkling intensely in the bright light that came through the windows from the streetlamps.

"You're staring at me..." Frank pointed out, looking directly ahead, the smile still on his features, and a small breeze that came in through one of the top, open windows rustled his hair.

"Was not." I could feel my cheeks warm up, probably turning a light shade of pink, and I changed the subject quickly, 'How much longer to go?'

Frank smirked knowingly, but answered my question nonetheless, "Twenty minutes or so... Not too long."

"I'm not -can't - go in there, Frank."

On the side of a dingy, grubby street, outside of an also dingy, grubby club, I grasped Frank's arm, trying to block the loud music - that was coming from the depths of the dark club - out of my thoughts.

Frank looked at me concerned, stamping on the butt of a cigarette he'd dropped onto the sidewalk, "What's wrong?"

"Did you not see those boys that went in? They looked like drug dealers..."

"Don't overreact, Sash. There's drug dealers everywhere, and they're not going to go into hiding just because you're out for the evening. You've just gotta make sure you don't get in with the wrong crowd. Plus, anyway, you've got me with you; I know who's okay ... and, well, not."

His little speech calmed me somewhat, and I reached for his hand, "This is a big thing for me, you know? I've never been to a place like this, never been around people who look like that."

Frank followed my eyes to a man with a turquoise mohican, and he chuckled, "That guy's harmless. Just because he looks like that doesn't mean he's some serial killer."

"Promise?"

'Of course, he's a nice guy, seriously. I wouldn't bring you to a club full of druggies and rapists, would I?"

"God knows, knowing you."

Frank mock glared, "I'll just pretend I didn't hear that."

With that, he dug his hand into his pocket for his wallet, giving me a glare that read "I'm going to pay for your ticket, so ya boo sucks to you."

We got our tickets and Frank stopped me before we went into the main area where the bar and concert were.

"You just tell me if you want to leave, okay? I know you're shy around people, but just give it a go."

I nodded, letting him lead me into the smoky, jam-packed club; the neon-like lights playing havoc with my already buggered eyes.

Frank pushed his way through the crowd, holding my hand tight, and, eventually, we made it to a booth at the back of the room, up on the elevated part, drinks in hand.

Frank took his jacket off, revealing a red and black striped t-shirt, and he scooted over to me, talking loudly to be heard over the music, "What do you think of it so far?"

"I think I'm going to have a major headache tomorrow!" I winced, "But it's okay ... I guess."

"Would you feel comfortable going down there?" he flicked his hand in the direction of the stage where there were people acting like idiots - or, as Frank called it, "moshing".

"You're kidding me, aren't you?" I stared at him, "We'll get murdered."

He chuckled, "Bullshit. The worst injury I've had in a pit was a black eye."

"Yeah, right..." I said sarcastically.

"Okay, so maybe two black eyes." he corrected himself, sipping his cola.

"I'll think about it. Let me just finish my drink first."

So we continued to sit in the booth, huddled together, and Frank told me about the band who were up on the stage. Apparently they were a local Jersey band, but not as good as the band who'd be playing next, the headliners; Mechanical Wrenches, or something like that - I couldn't hear him properly.

"I'm going to the bathroom before the next set starts." Frank announced, standing up, "Stay here; I don't want you getting lost, okay?"

I nodded, trying to think confident about being by myself. But it didn't take long for my worrying to cease; the singer of the headlining band, who were onstage, seemed quite familiar, as did the tall, lanky bassist.

That definitely could not> be the oddest art teacher to walk the planet; wearing ripped black jeans, a baggy, blue t-shirt ... and make-up.

Just wait 'til I tell Millie...

Oh, but she's not talking to me ... And she'll definitely loathe me more if she finds out that I've left the neighbourhood with the "spawn of Satan".

When Frank came back, he found me laughing so hard that I thought I'd cry.

"Are you okay?" he snorted, "Breathe, missy, you're turnin' blue."

"Is that -- erard wi-- oa?" I managed to blurt out, clutching to the front of Frank's t-shirt.

He waited for my face to return to its normal hue, laughing, "What did you say?"

"Is that Gerard Way," I began, pausing to wheeze, "pulling a boa back and forth between his legs?"

"Ah," Frank hummed, "You've just seen the dark side of The Way. You'd have never thought that a quiet, comic book loving, art teacher would like to wear boas and hump monitors, would you?"

I shook my head, enthralled by Gerard's antics, and I pulled Frank down next to me, "This has got to be the best entertainment ever."

Gerard's band played half of their set before taking a break, which was the cue for Frank to wave wildly at them and call their names.

The four of them came over, bottles of water in their hands, and slumped onto the stools around our table, none of them taking any notice of me until they'd wiped the sweat from their foreheads on the back of their hands, or taken long gulps of water.

"Frankie," Gerard began, eyeing me, "Who's this?"

"You're telling me you don't recognise her?" Frank asked, smirking.

That's when I remembered that I obviously didn't look like my normal self.

"Uh, no?" Gerard shrugged.

"It's Sasha, moron!"

"Rape-buddy!" Gerard squealed, throwing himself over the table, that separated us, to hug me, "You look so pretty and different. Wow!"

I ended up getting my face squashed in his neck, practically choking on the smell of man-sweat that I definitely wasn't accustomed to, "Hi, Gerard."

When he pulled back, flopping down onto his chair, he grinned widely at me, "What are you doing here, Sasha?"

I shrugged, "Frankie wanted me to come with him."

"Having fun?" Gerard asked, smiling at me.

I nodded.

"Good, good. Now then, let me introduce you to these guys. Well, you know Mikey. This is Ray," he pointed to a man, who look around the same as Gerard, with an extremely large afro, "And this is Matt."

The man with a small beard, Matt, waved his hand at me, and Ray squashed me in a hug, "Nice to meet you!"

My Chemical Romance -not Mechanical Wrenches - began the second half of their set, and Frank linked his hand in mine, leading me down to the pit at the front of the stage.

"Hold my hand tight," he warned, waving his other hand, that held a pint glass full of cola, "And, whatever you do, don't let go."

It was a bit of a squish towards the front, and we were getting jostled about a bit, Frank's drink regularly slopping over the side of his glass.

I had to admit that the sensation of being at a concert with Frank - no matter how small it was - was an amazing feeling.
I felt so daring and energetic and alive, that all I wanted to do was dance on the tables - Frank seemed to sense that, too.

He threw his arm over my shoulders, and, instead of bashing around like the majority of others, he did thecutest funniest of bunny hops, grinning at me like a fool when I joined in.

Time past.

Everything was going fine.

Until thelardass fat man in front of me stepped backwards, knocking my legs out from under me and I was sent sprawling backwards, Frank tumbling down on top of me, his glass hitting the side of my head with an almighty crack.

The pain didn't even register in my brain as I looked up at Frank - who seemed to have multiplied tenfold - and realised that he was staring down at the fingers of his right hand that were covered in a sticky, red liquid.

Frank became even blurrier, and I was scared now.

I could hear the word "ambulance" being called out, and I whined, "Fraaaankie".

"It's okay, Sasha," the hazel of his eyes was the only thing I could see, and his voice - the only thing I could hear - was quavering, "You'll be okay."

The last thing I saw was Gerard hopping down from the stage, pushing through the crowd and staring over Frank's shoulder, looking scared.