Gerard Way Is My Dad, and Now I'm A Mom

Frank’s POV

“Daddy, color with me!” Little Gerard cried as I continued reading an article in the local newspaper. It wasn’t exactly interesting but it was better than being as bored as I was before I started reading it. I shut the lonely piece of black and white paper and sat on the kitchen floor beside my son. “Yay!” He squealed as I helped him gather his crayons and coloring books. He loved to color, especially when I joined in.

“Do you want to color a donkey?” I asked, wrinkling up my nose at the variety of pictures we had to choose from. Little Gerard had already colored – or scribbled on – all the good ones. I would have to get him – or us! – more soon. Little Gerard nodded eagerly and grabbed a fierce red crayon, starting to mark on the donkey’s behind. I laughed, lightly, to myself and took out a yellow crayon to color the grass with. Yeah, I color the grass yellow. Don’t get mad at me because I’m cooler than you!

“Daddy, look!” Little Gerard pointed at the mess we had made on the paper once we were ‘finished’ with our masterpiece. “It’s pretty!”

“Yeah, very pretty, kiddo,” I commented, making a face. The poor donkey was four different colors – orange, red, violet, and silver. We both began working on a teeny girl wearing what seemed to be a new dress when I saw something sticking out from the side of the coloring book. I snatched it up and began to read what was written – in Helena’s handwriting – on the slip of white notebook paper.

I can’t forget all the lies I’ve spoken because they’ve become diligently me. But, you know what they say; it takes one to know one. So, who else is playing this game? I’ve conveniently fallen to the foot of the cross but not the one that comes to mind. I don’t need God, I never did. I couldn’t bring myself to come to him. And when hope takes over and onto your senses your rely, maybe this time I can take the time.

Stating is different than saying because you actually may know shit. I’ve always wanted to read something and be completely sure of it. I’m doubting my wants but needing my needs. Is this what it’s supposed to be like to be me? I can’t show my personality in so many ways. And I wish I were the person whom I was back in the old days. Just years ago, I found myself asleep, in his arms, happy. Forever happy to be me. Now I’m wishing to be that girl I was back then. You never know what you got until you lose it. I actually believe that’s the truth.

There’s only one thing I regret in this life. It doesn’t mean I’m a bad person or a good person either. I can’t help I don’t know the time. I don’t even realize that my smiles are broken and my eyes are fading. I can’t even sit in the shade and glance over at his pretty face. I want to know what it is like to have a real family. I still haven’t had that feeling yet. And I hate to say this is the end because I have so much left to confess.

I read over it a few times and got up, when I was finished. “Gerard, daddy will be right back,” I mumbled and went upstairs, trying to find Helena. What she wrote was disturbingly beautiful. I had no idea what the meaning was. It dealt with so many subjects; things that didn’t even make sense to me. I never pressured anything onto her about religion. I never even think about God. So, what could this doubt be about? Why is she so curious about this? Wait, was I even sure that this was hers? Well, she deserved to see it. But, I couldn’t find her. “Helena!” I called. No answer. I repeated her name again a couple times.

“Yes, Frank?” I heard her reply softly from our room. I opened the door to find her clutching a large notebook and a blue pen.

“What’s that?” I asked, sitting beside her.

“Nothing,” She muttered, shutting it quickly. She didn’t want me to read it. I couldn’t deal with these secrets.

“What’s this?” I questioned, handing her the paper. Helena took a quick glance at it and realized what it was. She shrugged and then looked down, panic in her eyes. “You can tell me anything you know.”

“I don’t know, honestly, Frank,” Helena whispered. “I just wrote it. Everything popped up in my head, randomly. I felt like I needed to write something like this. I don’t know what it is. It isn’t really lyrics or a poem. Just paragraphs, I guess,” She added, simply.

“It’s…beautiful, Helena,” I said, lowly. “Just kinda…scary that it came to your mind, randomly.”

“Don’t worry about me, Frank. I’ll be fine,” Helena grumbled and put the notebook away. She got up and rushed out of the room, before I could say anything back.

“Wait, Helena!” I yelled after her. She turned around in the hallway. “Are you okay? You’re acting weird.”

“I’m fine!” She said, scornfully. Why didn’t I believe her?

Helena’s POV

Oh My God, you’ll never believe this. My hands are shaking as I write this down.

Corey got out of jail and I saw him at the fucking grocery store.

You remember Corey, right? The one who tried to rape me? The drug dealer/addict? Yeah, that’s him.

I was walking down the chilled fruit with Melody and turned to get a pear. My hand touched another person’s – a man’s – hand. I moved mine swiftly and said a soft apology. Then, I looked up to face the man. It wasn’t a man at all. It was Corey Sinclaire. I shuddered, remembering his ice cold eyes and ran off, almost squeezing all the juice out of the pear I gripped in my hand. I set Melody into the car and kept her close to me. Then, I heard the worst possible thing ever.

“Helena?” Corey shouted, running up to me. “Helena…Way?”

“Helena Iero now,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes.

“Aww, is that your baby? Oh My God! It’s been so long! It’s Corey!” Corey rambled on.

“I know who you are,” I said and began to walk away.

“Please don’t be mad, Helena. I’m sorry. Prison changed me a lot,” Corey claimed.

“I have twins,” I told him, suddenly wanting vengeance. “They’re four. A boy and a girl.”

“That’s cool. So, Frank and you got married?” Corey received a nod from me. “Awesome. What happened to Ryanne? Did she really…die?”

“Yeah, Corey. She did. I…I don’t want to talk about it,” I snapped and went to the check out line. I flew home in our little black truck. Melody didn’t say a word about the stranger. I had to tell her not to tell Frank anything, too. He can’t know.

Now I’m scared to death that he might come and rape me or my kids in our sleep.

I was almost done writing when Frank opened the door. I didn’t know what to do. I just covered up the notebook the best I could.

Frank could totally sense something wrong with me. The thing was, he saw something I wrote a couple months ago. It wasn’t that crucial but…I still never wanted him to see it. It was like all my secrets were being thrown out right and left. But, there were two he wasn’t going to find out. At least not for a while.