For the Monsters that I've Been.

As Mikey entered the motel room again, he observed Frank, awake, sitting on the bed, his eyes glued to the television, tears streaming his face. Mikey’s eyes instinctively flicked to it as well. It was a story on the attack in Newark. He watched for a few moments as his brother was loaded into an ambulance: he looked even more pitiful than Mikey had left him. The reporter on the screen had a voice which leaked with a surely tacked on empathy as she explained that there were no suspects and asked anyone with any information to come forward immediately. That was enough for Mikey to hear and he stepped forward, causing Frank’s eyes to finally avert from the TV.

“Mikey, they were-”

“Shut up.” Mikey said as he pushed the on/off button on the television, his back to Frank.“I already know. Ray called your phone and told me-”



 “You have my phone?” asked Frank, moving forward surely in a subconscious movement to receive the object back. Mikey turned toward him and pulled out the phone, just to humor him, but he simply twirled it between his fingers lazily as if daring Frank to ask for it back. However, the boy simply cast his gaze downward, surely to hide the shine building in his eyes. “What do I do if my mom calls?”

“I dunno,” Mikey said dispassionately, “I’ll probably give you the phone then.”

There was a slight pause in the conversation in which time, Frank blinked several times and wiped his eyes before finally looking up to Mikey and asking: “What if someone else calls?”

“I guess we’ll have to see what happens.”

There was more silence as Frank carefully considered the correct words to say, but he gave up on voicing them and simply nodded, eyes focused hazily on the blank screen of the television.

Mikey pocketed the phone again, then crossed his arms, watching the boy. He was sure that Frank would have protested to his phone being taken away for some arbitrary reason, but the outcome was just the opposite. Frank simply took the treatment, in fact, he seemed almost contrite for something that even Mikey himself would admit that he hadn’t even done. Perhaps, Mikey thought, this would be rather easy.

“We’re going to go to the hospital that Gerard’s at.” Mikey stated, breaking the silence between he and Frank.

The latter looked up to the former, his eyes wide. “Why?” Frank asked, shuttering at the very thought. “I thought we were going to keep moving. I thought we weren’t going back.”

Mikey chucked at the naivety of his companion. He spoke like they were a pair of star-crossed lovers escaping together to live happily ever after instead of two men with a twisted, opprobrious relationship where the former busting the latter’s lip open or blackening his eye did not lead him to retaliate, but rather to feel penitence. “There’s no point in running anymore Frank.” He explained, shaking his head, “You saw it yourself, there aren't any suspects for the case. As long as I get to Gerard before he says anything and we play it like we’re upset that he was hurt, we’re in the clear.”

“Oh,” Frank frowned.

But Mikey furrowed his brow, taken aback by the boy’s reaction. “Did you want to live in my brother’s car and dirty motel rooms?”

“I don’t know.” Frank blushed and averted his gaze from Mikey briefly. When he looked back to him, he had those big, brown eyes widened again, almost hopefully. “I thought we could get away from Gerard. I thought we could just go somewhere else. Just us. I thought we wouldn’t be going back.”

“Oh?” Mikey crossed his arms and leaned against a dingy dresser that was in the room. “How do you suppose we could have done that?”

Frank’s cheeks tinged darker red. There could have been a multitude of reasons why, but Mikey was sure that he intimidated Frank now and he couldn’t say with certainty that he blamed Frank for possessing that feeling. In fact, it was probably a smart move on his part. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “but you would have figured it out, I bet.” They both sat, quiet for a few moments, and then Frank spoke again. “Why do you want to go back anyway?”

“Because it’s a good idea.”

“Why’s it a good idea? Why isn’t just leaving a good idea?”

“We don’t exactly have the money to run off somewhere. We need to get back to the house.”

“Why though? I don’t think we should. I don’t think it’s a good idea to stay there anymore. I don’t want to be around Gerard anymore. What do we do if he tries something again? How’re we going to-”

“Don’t talk about my brother.” This time, it was Mikey’s cheeks that flushed, however, his did not do this out of embarrassment, but more so out of annoyance. He was not exactly sure why, but the fact that Frank questioned his decisions angered him more than it should have and that, coupled with his lips forming Gerard’s name caused Mikey’s chest to swell and his lip to snarl. Without thinking, he snapped at the boy, “And don’t question a fucking word that I say.”

Frank’s face dropped and his lip quivered slightly. “I’m sorry, Mikey.” He said quietly. “I shouldn’t have-”

“And why stop standing up now?” Mikey growled. He saw Frank shrink back on the bed, bracing to be struck. “Why’re you acting so… so fucking compliant! Huh? Lost your nerve?

“I thought you wanted-”

“God, if you’re not going to fucking stand up then shut up!” Mikey advanced on the boy, and he wanted to stop, he noted, he did want to stop, but something in him kept going, and he felt the blood rush to his face as he advanced on Frank, who yelped as Mikey took his hair in his hand and pulled so that his chin tilted up. “You’re fucking pathetic.”

He felt Frank’s teeth on his cheek as he brought his fist across the boy’s face. Mikey heard the screech of pain emitting from him as his fist hit Frank’s face a second time. Then came a third and a fourth and then… “Fuck.”

Mikey let his fist diffuse in midair as he blinked down at the boy below him whose eyes were squeezed closed and his mouth was bloodied. He let the hand that was gripping Frank’s hair loosen and, instead, pushed the dark brown strands back. “I don’t even… fuck…” he moved back from the bed and stood, watching the man on the bed convulse slightly; surely aftershocks of the trauma.

Mikey didn’t say anything as Frank opened his eyes. He just stood and watched as he sat up and wiped the blood off of his lip. But his brow furrowed as Frank looked up to him, sniffled a bit and murmured, “I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong with you?” asked Mikey, shaking his head as he watched the boy on the bed.

“I don’t know, I didn’t-”

“Just shut up,” sighed Mikey. Frank winced as he advanced toward him, but the latter just sat on the bed and wiped the blood off of the former’s face before gripping his chin and pressing their lips together. Frank’s body eased up and he kissed back, groaning slightly, this time in pleasure rather than pain. He let Mikey taste the peculiar iron-y flavor on his lips, which the taller man was not entirely sure if he enjoyed or not. Mikey was not quite sure if it was the pills, the hitting, the feelings that they had shared before, or perhaps a combination of all of the factors, but something had caused something in Frank to snap. Something that thoroughly pleased Mikey.