Life Is Gonna Kill You

I’ll be honest. The moment I saw Gerard Way and his fucking smirk, I knew we wouldn’t have the relationship either of us had expected, before I saw him. Simply put, I wanted him. I remember being fucking torn up about Pencey Prep breaking up, but then a producer from Eyeball recommended me to My Chem. And now, here I am, two years later, in a successful band on an even bigger label.

But really, if we’re talking about right now, I’m currently staring at Gerard through the corner of my eye and head-banging while I rock out on my guitar. Gee’s singing his big heart out like normal, even sort of dancing instead of his usual walking around awkwardly. His chin-length black hair is looking rather stringy and unkempt from all the movement and sweat I can see building up on his forehead.

And if I’m still being honest, I’ll have to admit he still looks fucking hot. There’s rarely I time I don’t end up thinking that about the older Way brother, and I do it without shame. Who cares? It’s not like anyone can read my mind—and if they did, I’m sure they’d regret that.
I’m not sure how, but I end up lying on my back on the stage, without missing one note. There’s a break in the music, and Gerard’s standing over me, staring like I’m crazy. Ha. I leap to my feet and start jumping around again, grinning over at Gerard while he shakes his head. I can hear the crowd’s screams increase as I do just that, so I keep doing it until I feel like I’m about to fall forward off the stage. As I stumble backwards, I laugh to myself, and it catches on the microphone. I see Gerard turn to glare at me while he sings, which only makes me want to laugh more.

I walk backwards towards Bob and pick up a water bottle, only to see it has “GERARD” written in large, black letters. Shrugging, I chug half of it anyways. Not like we haven’t swapped spit before. Just at the thought, I can’t help myself. It’s been too long since I’ve felt Gerard’s warm (and somewhat slimy, I’ll admit) lips on my own. On impulse—I swear—I make my way towards him during a break of his singing. And without missing a note, since I’m skilled like that, I reach up and grab a fistful of his black mane and pull his head down the five inches it takes to reach mine.

The crowd roars, though I do hear an “Ew, really?!” that only pushes me further.
Our lips crash and it takes only half a second for me to slip my tongue into his mouth and allow them to dance; or rather, wrestle. Gerard can’t hide the moan that escapes his lips, even as he coughs and mutters, “Damn it, Frank.”

With a smirk, I nearly prance away to continue dancing and jumping around like the ground’s burning hot lava. If it was, I reckon I’d probably be on fire. Hmm, what a sight.
The rest of the show seems to pass by without much distraction. It’s almost as if I’m not in my body; everything seems quieter except for the rhythmic sounds coming from my guitar. I don’t even look at Gerard, even when he walks over to my side of the stage and starts singing. A time I normally would’ve taken advantage of by grinding against him or another show of what I did earlier.

It finally ends, and I trudge off stage with heavy-lidded eyes. I manage to walk to a couch backstage with my eyes half-shut and nearly collapse onto it after leaning my guitar against a stand. I don’t really sleep—like usual—but instead, I close my eyes and listen to the rest of the band talk to some fans that found their way back here. Except for Mikey, of course; that antisocial kid’s always sneaking off somewhere to avoid most confrontation. I’d worry about him, if I weren’t always so tired or trying to have fun with Gee or Ray or Bob…
I feel as though I’m almost asleep when I hear someone say my name. They’re talking about me.

“What’s wrong with Frank?” I hear a girl ask.

“Eh, he’s just tired. He doesn’t really sleep.” Gerard replies, causing an explosion of girly giggles. Really?

“Maybe he’s a vampire.” One of the girls states in a rather smart-assed tone. If I had my eyes open, I would have rolled my eyes. People seem convinced we’re vampires. More Gerard than me, though.

“Maybe he is. You better leave, darlings, so I can get him some blood.” He replies, trying to get rid of them. It obviously works, because I can hear their voices fading and Gerard heading towards me. I can tell it’s him; his footsteps are a unique sound; almost hesitant-sounding, yet loud. I doubt Gerard could be quiet, even if he tried. Mikey, on the other hand, is as quiet as a mouse.

He sits on the edge of the sofa, where my body hasn’t managed to occupy. His hand finds its way to my back, where it starts rubbing comfortingly. Even at the gentle touch, I let out a painful groan. I’m not sure what happened, but nearly my whole body is sore and in pain. Gerard stops, but only for a minute. Next thing I know, he’s straddling me and his hands are beneath my shirt, massaging my back. You’d be surprised how good Gerard fucking Way is at giving massages.

“That feels nice, Gee.” I murmur as the pain lessens. His hands continue to massage my back. Normally, in a situation like this, my thoughts would be filled with basically everything sexual. But right now all I can think about is how effective a massage is in relieving back pain. I should start getting massages regularly like rich people…

I wasn’t sure how much time passed, but Gee eventually crawls off of me. I’d been half-asleep, but as soon as the massaging stops, I’m instantly alert. Without realizing it, I let out a whine. Gerard sighs and places a hand on my forehead, moving my hair aside. He sucks in a breath before calling for Bob. “He’s real warm, Bob. Think he’s sick?” Gerard asks the blond man.

They start talking about something, then arguing. By now, I don’t even care. All I care about was the pain that was beginning to form in my throat, and the pain that is worsening everywhere else. Then someone slides an arm beneath me, before flipping me over and pulling me onto someone’s back. Bob’s, I decide, as I weakly wrap my arms around his neck and place my head on his shoulder. God, I’m so tired…



When I wake up the next morning, I’m lying in my bunk. I’m not too sure how I got there—I suppose Bob must’ve gotten me in here, and into my night clothes, too. Well, someone did. At this point, I didn’t really care who did what. I think a night of actual good sleep really helped me out. Usually, like Gerard said, I don’t really sleep. I suppose I’m an insomniac, or just someone with extremely irregular sleep patterns. Today I feel much better; the pain was gone, but replaced with soreness.

Then I swallow. Well, I attempt to. Instead, I was met with my throat burning like the deepest part of Hell, and wanting to throw up. Rather than getting out of bed like a normal man, I roll out of bed and hit the floor with a loud thud, forgetting I’d chosen the higher bunk this time around. I lay there for a minute, trying not to wake up anyone else. The bus is stopped, but it’s still pretty dark outside. So I suppose it’s pretty early. Finally, I begin to crawl towards the “kitchen” of the tour bus for some orange juice. Only there wasn’t any.

Honestly—we’re still being honest, right?—I want to cry. No orange juice for poor Frankie? Apparently not. Somewhat dazed, I star at the open fridge with my eyes wide and a large pout on my lips.

Had I been in the right mind at this moment, I probably would be acting a bit more mature. But when you’re sick, you have special privileges to act like whatever you want. Well, I do.
After a while, I decide to just grab a beer, figuring anything was better than a burning throat. But as the burning liquid travels down my throat, I’m really starting to regret even opening this bottle. Especially because it was the stuff Gee really likes, and is in a bottle…and not a can…but I said that. Damn it.

I eventually down the bottle, just as the door to the bus opened. Surprised, I raise the bottle and was about to throw it, until I realize it’s only Gerard. Quickly, I throw the bottle behind me and grin innocently at him. “Hi, Gee!” I croak in my fucked-up voice. He narrows his eyes at me, but shrugs and starts to walk towards the fridge. That’s when I realize he bought orange juice. “Ohmygod I need that, Gee!” I nearly shout, scrambling forward for the gallon-sized Wal-Mart brand orange juice. Oddly, it’s my favorite.

But before I could grab it, Gee lifts it out of my reach and puts his other hand on my forehead and pushes me back. I sit back down on the floor and pout, making my lip tremble. He rolls his eyes. “Just let me pour you a damn glass, Frank. You can’t get everyone sick.” Gee says. Impatiently, I nod, and watch as he pours a glass of the wonderful drink. He hands it to me and puts the orange juice away.

Maybe orange juice wasn’t the best choice, either. I scrunch up my nose; it tastes brilliant, but it’s also burning my throat. Does orange juice have some sort of corrosive acid in it? Damn it. Sighing, Gee takes the glass away from me and dumps the orange juice into the sink. “Well, what the fuck do you want?” He exclaims, throwing his hands up.

“I dunno!” I reply, feeling defeated. It’s then that Mikey decides to join the party, looking rather disheveled. Even so, he looks rather hot…he must have inherited his good looks from Gerard. Or maybe they both inherited that from someone else? Oh well.

Mikey completely ignores us and reaches into the fridge for milk and pours himself a glass. Well, I thought it was for himself. That thought changed when he pushed it into my hands. “Drink.” He commands. I shake my head. Everyone knows I don’t like milk. Mostly because of where it comes from, and because everyone says it turns to solid in your stomach. What if I drink too much and my stomach explodes?

Despite this, Mikey shakes his head. “Frank, please just drink it. You’ll feel better.” He pleads.

“Mikes, leave him alone. He obviously doesn’t want it.” Gerard says in defense of me. Despite him saying that, I feel obliged to at least try it. So I do.

And goddamn, that was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted, save for—well, let’s not talk about that. But it definitely soothed my throat. Within seconds, I gulp down the glass and grin at Mikey. Impulsively, I wobble to my feet and wrap him in a bone-crushing hug. Mikey hugs back awkwardly as I exclaim, “Mikey, you’re my fucking savior!”

It’s weird. I knew Mikey was skinny, but he seriously feels like skin and bones. It normally would be worrying me, but I can’t really think. So I randomly decide to salute him and Gerard before walking towards my bunk, only to trip on something and curl up on the floor and sleep there.



I wake up again and I’m still lying on the floor. To be honest, I’m a bit upset no one bothered to move me. I guess it’s too late to fix that, though. Rolling onto my back, I glance around. Everyone’s here. Literally—Gerard, Mikey, Ray, Bob, and even our manager. They’re talking about something, about the show I think, and Gerard and Bob are arguing about something. Like usual, Mikey’s real quiet. I frown, wondering why he does talk at all. I guess I never really noticed, because usually I’m the one talking everyone’s asses off.

But whatever they’re talking about is starting to give me a headache. Not the topic, since I’m not even sure what it is. But their voices—they’re so fucking loud! Scrunching my nose, I crawl out of the way. I’m pretty sure no one has noticed. Maybe I’m dead, and that’s why they’re arguing…about whether to bury me or cremate me. Yeah.

Once I’m in the bunk area, I grab a ladder and pull myself to my feet. But I don’t go to my bed; instead, I head down the hall past all that to another little room with a couch, TV, and a Xbox with all my favorite games. I do want to play, but honestly, I can’t be bothered to turn all that shit on. Instead, I lie on the couch and hold my head.

Apparently someone noticed I’d gotten up. “Eh?” I said, peeking through my arm to reveal a more combed Mikey from earlier. “Oh, hey Mikey.” I drawl; squeezing my eyes shut as another bout of pain erupts from behind my eyes. Mikey says my name twice before pulling my arm away and placing a glass of water in it.

“Medicine.” He says. Frowning, I nod. He must’ve found those dissolving tablets. I’m not sure if I would’ve been able to swallow syrupy medicine, and most definitely not a pill. I shuddered at the thought. Letting out a sigh, I drink the medicine-flavored water. My throat still hurts, but it’s more bearable now.

“Thanks, Mikey.” I sigh, adjusting myself so I’m leaning against him. I can’t help but to reach up and ruffle his hair that’s so perfectly combed. He makes a noise of protest, but it’s much too late. “Sorry, Mikes.” I say half-heartedly; of course, I don’t mean it.

“So what were they talking about?” I ask him.

“Whether or not they should cancel the rest of the tour. Gerard wants to. Bob doesn’t, says you’ll be fine.” Mikey tells him, sounding slightly upset when he says Gerard’s name. I’m not sure why; they always seem to be so happy around each other. Maybe I’m just hearing things.

“Oh. That’s stupid. If I’m still sick, they can go on without me or have someone else play.” I say. “What do you say?” I’m curious to hear his opinion on the matter.

“Me?” Mikey says, as if he’s surprised I asked. I laugh, which hurts, and nod. “Um, well, I don’t really care. Maybe we should just cancel today’s show.” He says, looking away from me. God, what was wrong with him?

“Okay.” I murmur, feeling myself start to fall asleep again.

It isn’t long before someone’s shaking me. Actually, it’s Mikey. I’m still practically curled up onto him. And to be honest—since I’m on a roll today—I don’t want to move; Mikey is warm and actually really cuddly. Gerard isn’t. Not that we cuddle. Just, you know, when lying on the couch, I like to lie against someone. Gerard hates it.

“I need to go get ready for the show, Frankie.” Mikey tells me, prying my arms from him. I sit up, and blink. Holy shit, I feel so much better. I feel like I could fucking fly, but I’m not stupid enough to try. Probably.

Jumping to my feet, I let out a whoop and nearly sprinted down the tour bus towards the rest of the guys. There’s an unsuspected Bob turned, talking to a still angry Gee. Grinning, I launch myself at Bob and land on his back, nearly causing him to fall.

“Guess who feels fucking awesome!” I say, still grinning. “This dude!”

During the show, I’ll admit, I don’t feel my best. But I get through it like usual, but with no random acts of kissing Gerard like I’d like to. I’m that stupid; I can’t get the kid sick when he’s our singer. We still have a couple shows left before we can return to Belleview. I’d rather not be the one to ruin that.

You know, I think I’m done with being honest. Two days of honesty is enough.