Folie a Deux

The walk home from Gerard's house had been a blur- I couldn't even remember what I said to him after the kiss. I just wanted to get away from him before I passed out from embarrassment.

I slammed and locked my door the second I got home. My mom wasn't there but I didn't want to deal with her when she got back; I knew she would ask where I had been all day. I hadn't told her I was leaving- I'd just snuck out as soon as I woke up. I went to the diner, made small talk with the waitress for a while, walked around for a bit, and then ended up at Gerard's house, like I almost always did when I left home. It was either Gerard's house, or sitting at the diner until he came in for coffee, like he had done since the day we first me there. (Some days he didn't even sit with me, though. He would sit half way across the diner and if I happened to catch his eye, he would smile and nod, but then carry on like I just happened to be another regular customer that recognized him. On those days I would stare at the side of his head, wondering why he wasn't talking to me. Other days he would walk right over to me and sit on my side of the booth, a sling an arm over my shoulder. Sometimes he'd sit on the other side of the booth and launch straight into discussion, and we would talk for hours. His mood was so hard to predict.)

I considered going to the diner, just in a lame attempt to keep my mind busy and distract myself, but I was too confused and angry and sad to talk about anything right now, not even about what I wanted to eat, and I didn't exactly want to have to see the table where we first met, either.

I couldn't get what had happened out of my head.

I had kissed him.

My fingers touched my lips for the millionth time as I more or less fell onto my bed, flopping onto my stomach.

I had kissed a boy.

The thought made me physically ill. It wasn't Gerard himself, no, he was far from the problem. I liked him a lot. I liked him a little too much, sometimes. I could easily picture us keeping up a relationship for the rest of forever.

I wanted to be able to stay in a relationship with Gerard, or at least stay friends. I really did. It was just that word, that label that we're all given before we're even out of the womb that was keeping me from letting us become anything more.

It was gender, that troubled me.

"A boy," I muttered quietly.

Gerard is a boy. I am a boy.

And we kissed.

I felt my stomach lurch and I squeezed my eyes shut, stretching out on my bed, kicking my shoes off. I pressed my face into my pillow, trying to force the thought out of my head.

My second kiss, and it was with a boy.

I let out a disgusted sound, not being able to believe myself. I'm such a hypocrite sometimes...

I mean, is that all I've been freaking out over? Gender?

It didn't seem like a big deal, but I couldn't bring myself to accept it.

I didn't give a flying fuck if other people wanted a relationship with someone of the same gender, but it just felt so damn awkward when it was me on the receiving end.

I felt sick to my stomach.

It wasn't right. It wasn't fucking natural. That's what this whole issue was. I was so attracted to him, but it was just so completely wrong. I shouldn't be with a boy. I couldn't be with a boy! That's not how my mind worked now, nor how it's ever worked. I've always been 'straight,' as society has so kindly labeled my sexuality. I was beginning to re-think this whole 'pansexual' thing.

"I'm such a fucking idiot," I mumbled into my pillow.

I seemed to be cussing a lot, today.

I muttered a yet another few more curse words and ran through explanations in my head- why the hell was I attracted to a boy in the first place?

I tried to figure it out, but nothing made sense. The things I knew about Gerard weren't at all the most pleasant...

He's an insomniac, for starters. He's depressed, too. I'm guessing that he has an eating disorder that he's not telling me about, considering how he never seems to want to eat anything. He's a smoker. He has mood swings, and they happen often. He's a tad bit paranoid. Sometimes he was overly sarcastic. Sometimes he was so smart he made me feel like an idiot, and sometimes I think he knows it. He obviously doesn't give a fuck about my education, or his, for that matter, because I was always skipping school because he wanted me to come and do something with him, and he was always sneaking out when his mom was in the other room.

Now that I started thinking about it, there's a lot of things about Gerard that should be shoving me away, but most of them were doing the exact opposite. I couldn't understand why- he was everything that I'd taught myself to stay away from.

He's Gerard, though.

I mean, that's it. There's nothing more to it. The only reason I've ever been attracted to him, was simply for the fact that he was himself.

It didn't make sense, no matter how many times I tried to tell myself that.

I liked him because he was Gerard.

There wasn't one specific thing I liked, but there were a lot of things that I didn't like. Somehow the like and the dislike all smashed up in my heart and turned into attraction.

But I couldn't bring myself to think that way, no matter how true it may be.

I wasn't supposed to like boys.

I wasn't supposed to be attracted to a boy.

I wasn't supposed to find him physically attractive and I wasn't supposed to be emotionally connected to him in the way I was, and I sure as hell wasn't supposed to be touching him or kissing him. Mother nature didn't build me like that- boy's bodies are built to be with girl's bodies and girl's bodies are built to go with boy's bodies and that's that.

My cell phone rang.

I raised my head, reaching over to my bedside table, and picked it up, eyes skimming over the caller ID.

It was Gerard's house phone.

I dropped my cell phone on the pillow next to my head and stared at it. I stared at the caller ID until my eyes were dry and I had to blink to keep from screaming, and my eyes watered, blurring his name in that was neatly written out in a small, digital font. I didn't try to stop my eyes from watering. They were turning his name into a slush of off-focus, blurred light, just visible in the edge of my vision, and I didn't mind one bit. I didn't want to talk to him right now. I didn't even want to see his name on my phone. I just wanted to crawl in a hole and never have to see him or talk to him or even think about him, at least for a few days.

The phone rang again, obnoxiously loud.

I glared at it, angrily wiping under my eyes with my sleeve. I hated how watery eyes made me look like I was crying.

I wondered fleetingly why he was calling again.

Gerard didn't call twice. He never called twice.

I'd learned that about him- he would call once, and then leave it at that. If I didn't answer because I was busy, he didn't mind. If I didn't answer because I didn't feel like talking, he understood. If I just didn't get to the phone in time, then I would call him back and tell him that I had gotten there late, and he would just say, "Okay," in that sweet voice of his, and we would start talking about whatever it was that he wanted to talk about. A lot of times, though, Gerard didn't like talking on the phone. The longest we had ever talked was about an hour, but only because my mom had made me go out of town with her for the day and I had ended up sitting in the car while she was inside at whatever business meeting it was that she had to attend.

Gerard wasn't the type of person who called without a reason- he would call me mostly only to ask if I could come over, and I almost always said yes and left my house immediately.

I asked him, once, why he didn't like talking on the phone. He just said that it wasn't as personal, which made sense- I'd found that Gerard liked to touch people when he talked. Well, he liked to touch me when we talked. When we sat face to face he would touch my arms or my hand, and sometimes he would play with my fingers, moving them up and down aimlessly. If we were at the diner he might brush his ankle against mine. If we were laying on his bed, which we did a lot, then he would touch and play with my hair or run his fingers down the side of my face, or down my neck. Rarely he would touch my stomach, to make me squirm; he'd figured out that I laughed when he ran his fingers over the bottom part of my stomach, just above the waistline of my jeans. I wasn't used to people touching low on my body, so it made my skin jump, and I would burst out into this high pitched, nervous laughter that made him grin and me blush.

I realized that that's probably why Gerard liked touching so much, because he liked getting personal. He wanted a relationship like that. He liked talking- he loved talking, actually- but the closer we were the better off he was; he needed to be close to me because it was just how he got to know people.

I sighed, not really meaning to. That's why he'd always kissed me on the cheek, that's why he's always wanted an actual kiss. He needed physical contact. I don't think that he could ever have a proper relationship without it.

I needed someone to talk to and someone to remind me that I wasn't dying- someone to keep me grounded. He needed someone to think out loud to and someone to remind him that he was human, someone who could help to keep his head in the clouds.

I needed someone to pull me down to earth, to keep me focused on surviving, and he wanted someone to dream with, to be distracted by.

It worked, in some twisted way, when I really though about it.

The phone rang a third time and I glared at it again. "Piss off, Gerard," I grumbled, turning the volume down so that I wouldn't have to listen to it ring.

My bedroom door swung open and I was suddenly ambushed by the beehive known as my mother.

She talked fast, and her words stung.

"Who are you talking to? Where have you been all day? Who's 'Gerard?' Why didn't you answer your phone this morning?"

I stared at her for a few seconds, wondering if I should tell the truth or not. Would she believe that I had a friend? Would she believe that he was an amazing guy, that he made me happy? Would she believe that I'm hiding from him in my own bedroom, because I did something stupid?

"Frank?" my mother said again, irritated. She was wearing a dress, something I hadn't seen very often, and had on a lot of make-up.

"Mom-"

"Answer the questions, Frank." She folded her arms in front of her, tapping her foot impatiently. "I have somewhere to be."

"Wh-"

"Answer the questions!"

I glared at her. "Not until you tell me where you're going."

"I'm meeting a friend, if you have to know." She rolled her eyes. "You're so nosy sometimes. I don't understand. You're strange enough, can't you make your own entertainment?"

I rolled my eyes, too, trying not to take it as an insult, even though I'm about ninety percent positive that it was one. "Whatever. And I wasn't talking to anyone- I was just thinking out loud."

She just gave me a suspicious look that made me want to yell at her. "Well, where have you been all day? Why was your phone off?"

I've been with Gerard. With a friend. My phone is always turned off when I'm with him, because I don't feel like dealing with the rest of the world.

"I was at the park. Getting some fresh air. And my phone died, so that's why I didn't call."

She just huffed. "If I find out you're lying you're grounded for a month."

"Okay. Whatever."

She started to leave, but then turned back, looking at me for a few seconds. I hated looking her in the eyes- she'd passed those down to me, the color and shape and everything. I hated seeing any resemblance to myself when I looked at her. I hated how the color of our hair matched and I hated how our eyes looked alike and I hated how our noses curved the same way, too.

She just sent me a look, and then left.

It was a look that made me want to kill myself.

I waited until I heard the front door close behind her, and then I put my cell phone on the bedside table. I curled up in the center of my bed. I just wanted to sleep; it's all I've ever wanted. I love sleeping, because for a few hours, I don't have to face any of the bad things happening during the day.

　

---

　

Waking up felt like being stabbed.

The light made me squint my eyes and my stomach hurt, but I couldn't curl forward to ease the pain because I'd slept so awkwardly last night that my back hurt, too. My arm was nearly numb; I'd fallen asleep on it and now it was tingling with a lack of feeling, something that has never really made sense to me but was torture all the same.

I felt like I was going to be sick, honestly.

I sat up and tried not to cringe as I stretched myself out, my wrist popping and my arm slowly but painfully regaining feeling, and the sore muscles in my back forcing themselves to work correctly.

I glanced around my room, feeling distant. Nothing ever seemed real to me, early in the mornings when I woke up in my own room. Everything was so bright and warm that it didn't seem possible. My white walls glowed yellow with the sunlight streaming through the windows, casting a false happiness over the rest of my day.

I longed momentarily for Gerard's familiar gray dwelling- his room was all black and white and gray and simple, but it was real. It had been lived in, whereas mine had been slept in and cried in. My room was a pocket of bad energy and his was a wealth of some emotion that felt like belonging, but that I couldn't quite put a label on.

I couldn't help but wonder how long it would be until I brought myself to go back. How long could I really last on my own? I needed Gerard. I depended on him. As much as I've been scared of a relationship with him, I've always needed his friendship, and I can't deny that.

I didn't know what to do. It was Monday morning and I didn't want to go to school.

The only thing I really wanted to do was curl up in the black-sheeted bed that belonged to Gerard and nap next to my best friend. A wave of something that almost felt like homesickness swept over me, quite suddenly. I was regretting almost every thought that I had formed last night- it wasn't that I didn't want to see him, because I really did, it was just that I was too scared to do anything about it. I had been too much of a push-over to deny him the relationship he wanted, but I've been far too much of a coward to tell him that I don't feel the same way. I didn't want to be in a relationship with a boy, I knew that now, but I wanted friendship and I wanted it forever.

I picked up my phone, reluctantly turning it on, forcing my eyes to adjust to the light. I wasn't expecting there to be any missed calls, besides the three from Gerard last night, but I was wrong.

There were seventeen missed calls, all from him.

He'd only left a voicemail twice- the first time, and the last time.

I listened to them both, not quite sure what to expect.

"Um- Hi."

I blinked a few times in confusion as the recorded voice took a deep breath.

"I really hope I got the number right.This is Mikey, Mikey Way... I- uh. Well."

He paused for a while, leaving me to sit in silence for a second, still confused.

"Just call back," he said finally, voice rushing slightly. "I need to talk to you. About Gerard."

And then it ended.

I quickly fumbled with the buttons on my phone until it played the next message.

"Um, hi, it's me again. It's Mikey. I have to go to bed, mom's yelling at me, so I have to stop calling. But... I just... I really need you to pick up, Frank. It's important. Really important." There was a small pause, and some random shuffling noises in the background. "Gerard says hello." I heard someone in the background let out a loud, protesting noise, and then the message stopped.

If I recognized that annoyed sound, which I absolutely did, I would have guessed that it was Gerard.

But I didn't want to think about him too much, so I didn't make any assumptions. Thinking about him would send that strange emotion that felt like homesickness back into my stomach, and I didn't like that emotion at all.

I tried to not think about the two messages. I understood that whatever Mikey was calling about was urgent, but I also understood that the urgency had to do with Gerard.

I was not at all in a mood for urgency, or for Gerard. Both exhausted me with their ridiculousness, sometimes.

I forced myself to stand, putting my phone in my back pocket as a reminder to check it again later.

I noticed vaguely that the jeans I was wearing and had slept in belonged to Gerard... He wouldn't be getting them back any time soon. I'd also fallen asleep in a plain black shirt that fit me almost decently, but it was impossible to tell if it was one of the larger shirts that were actually mine, or if it was one of the shirts I'd stolen from his closet.

I rolled my eyes, exiting my room. Not thinking about him was hard when I was wearing his clothes.

I mulled aimlessly around my house for a good twenty minutes or so, just kind of walking around and fumbling with things until I realised how eerily quiet everything was.

I'd been awake a full half hour, and no one had started yelling at me or complaining yet.

"Mom?"

No answer.

"Mom?" I dragged out the word, making my voice as annoying as I possibly could, whining.

If there was one thing that got her attention, it was whining.

When she didn't answer, I rolled my eyes.

"If you're here, I'd appreciate it if you'd stop fucking ignoring me."

No one started screaming and lecturing me on my use of profanity.

I sighed, realizing what this meant. I hated when this happened. It's only happened twice in the past few years, but it was horrible all the same, because it had happened a lot when I was younger, and probably even more often before I was born.

My mother had gone on a date last night.

That's why she was all dressed up, that's why her hair was curled in that way that she thought looked nice and that's why she had all that make-up on.

When my mother goes on dates, she goes all the way or no way. One night stands are her speciality- it's how I ended up being born, actually. My mom had a one night stand with a friend who she thought she loved, they got married two weeks before I was born, and divorced shortly after.

Sometimes I really fucking hate the fact that I was an accident, but the rest of my life is so screwed up that I guess it kind of made sense.

I ended up sitting on the couch in the living room, watching but not really paying attention to the news. The only thing the news was good for was mind-numbing information and to hear about other people's problems. Sometimes something interesting happened- a dog saved a kid from a fire, or it's owner from a heart attack, or something cute and heartwarming like that. Otherwise I didn't really give a shit if people in Florida had been robbed or if some star in Hollywood had tragically died last night from a heroin overdose that we all knew was coming. I had enough of my own problems; the only reason I watched the news was for the weather.

"Clear skies, at the moment," the weather woman announced with a smile. "But we're heading into storm season, everyone, and it's starting later tonight."

Storm season.

Storm season...

Starting tonight.

I felt my heartbeat speed up as the television showed a predicted time-lapse of the weather for the rest of the week. Storms in the next town over, today at noon. Storms here by two this evening. They would stay all through the night, and the system would last for three to four days.

I felt myself choke on fear.

Three to four days? I could take three to four days of rain, that was no problem, I didn't give a care in the world if it was raining, or not. But three to four days of thunderstorms and lightening?

No.

No way.

No way in hell would I ever make it through this.

I was going to die. I knew it- I could feel it. Something terrible was going to happen to me, something worse than my mom going on a date and something worse than sleeping weirdly and something even worse than not being with Gerard.

I felt my heart pound with anxiety, my fingers trembled as I rubbed my temples, trying to push away the pain starting in my head.

I didn't want to die, not today, not in the next few days, and not like this. I absolutely did not.

But it was unavoidable.

I was going to get struck by lightening or our roof was going to cave in or thunder would give me a heart attack, or all three at once, and I was going to die.

My cell phone buzzed in my back pocket, scaring me half way to my already impending death.

I didn't recognize the number, but I answered, anyways. I needed to hear a voice- any voice, any voice at all would do. Just someone to let me know that everyone else wasn't struck dead by lightening, yet.

"Hello?" I said, nervous.

"Frank!"

I paused, taking a moment to process the voice. "Mikey?"

"Yeah."

I blinked for a few moments in confusion. "Who's phone are you calling me from?"

"Mom's cellphone."

"Oh."

He paused for a few seconds, but when he spoke, his voice shook slightly. "What happened?" he asked. "Between you and Gerard?"

"Nothing," I lied, even though just thinking of it was making me feel sick. I didn't want to think about it at all- I didn't want to remember the kiss. I wanted to get it out of my head completely.

"Why?"

"He's just..." Mikey took a deep breath, sighing. "He's just sad, is all."

"Sad?"

Gerard was sad, because of me?

I didn't mean to make him sad. I didn't want him to be sad. All I wanted was for him to stop thinking about me, so I could stop thinking about him, too.

I wanted to take back the kiss.

"He's locked himself in his room," Mikey said quietly. "He's barely said anything since you left."

I didn't know what to say.

"He's... He's been struggling with depression for a while, now. But you already know that, right?"

"Right..." I said quietly.

I felt like crying- I wasn't going to, but I felt like it.

"Well, yeah. It runs in our family. He- he has medication for it. But I think he's stopped taking it."

"Mikey," I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because." His voice was faint and desperate, and it broke my heart. "You made him happy. He didn't even need the medication anymore once you showed up."

"I still don't understand. What do you want me to do?"

Mikey sighed, his voice pleading. "Come over. Make him happy again."

Make him happy again?

I felt my eyes water.

How on earth was I supposed to do that? I couldn't take back the kiss, and that's the only thing I could do to fix any of this- if I weren't such an idiot, it wouldn't have happened. This was all my fault. If I had just told him no and not kissed him then I could be at his house right now, and instead of not speaking to one another we could be curled up in a pile of blankets on his floor.

"I'm sorry, Mikey," I told him, a lump forming in my throat. "But I don't know what to do."

There was a long stretch of silence, and then the faint beeping of the phone that let me know he had hung up.

I just looked at the phone for a few seconds in a state of desperate indecision.

I didn't know what to do.

I was so confused, I felt so guilty and angry and lonely and sad, all at the same time.

I didn't want Gerard to be sad, but I couldn't go back. Not today. Not any time soon. I needed to figure out what to say. I needed someone to tell me what to do to make him better, and I needed someone to tell me what to do to make myself better, too.

I glanced at the TV again, remembering the forecast, and then I quickly called Mikey back, praying that he would answer. It took him a few rings before he picked up, and when he did, he sounded so hopeful that it made my heart hurt.

"Frank?"

"Mikey," I said, trying not to sound too desperate. "Can I come over? To talk to you?"

"I-"

"Just you. Please." My fingers trembled slightly. "I just need to talk."

"Frank... Why? What's wrong? You sound scared. Did something happen after I hung up?"

"I don't want to be alone right now," I explained in a whisper, my voice cracking. I squeezed my eyes shut. "And I don't have anyone else to go to," I admitted. I couldn't go to Gerard. Not now. I couldn't face him, not after what happened.

If I had just stayed, maybe things would be different- we could have just talked it out, but no, I'm too much of a coward. I couldn't even bring myself to ask Mikey to let me talk to him. I didn't want to answer questions and I didn't want to ask them, and I was scared that one little mistake had destroyed our friendship.

"Why don't I come over there?" Mikey said, his voice sympathetic. "I don't know how well it would work out if..."

I knew what he meant. Things wouldn't go well, if Gerard and I saw each other today. It was too soon to see each other again.

"Okay," I said. "That works."

I quickly told him my address, scrambling to my feet and looking out the window, my fingers trembling again. I knew I had a few hours until it started storming, but one could never be too careful.

"I can't leave right now," Mikey said. "Mom's in the kitchen and I'm supposed to be doing schoolwork until three... I'm going to have to sneak out. She said she was going to the store later- would two work?"

"Yeah. That's good."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye."

I hung up and tried not to get too anxious waiting for him.

　

---

　

It started raining about half an hour early. I freaked out immediately- I wasn't sure if I had everything done correctly. Windows closed and locked, curtains and blinds all shut. Doors locked. All running water was off, everything electric besides the light, my cellphone, and the TV was off.

My fingers still shook every time the rain got harder.

When Mikey knocked on the door I almost cried in relief. I didn't know him as well as I knew his brother, but we'd been along each other long enough to be mutual friends.

"Thank god," I said, practically dragging the kid inside. I almost wanted to kill myself from guilt. He was only thirteen, and he'd walked through a storm just to come talk to me. I felt like an ass. "I've been scared to death. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Frank." He laughed slightly, raising an eyebrow. It struck me as a very Gerard-like movement; the Way brothers were the only two people that I knew who could raise just one eyebrow at a time. "What, exactly, have you been afraid of?"

I motioned vaguely to the TV, even though it was off, plopping down on the couch. Mikey sat in the chair, about a fourth of the way across the room. "The storms," I explained.

"Oh." He blinked a few times, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "It's just rain..."

I stared at him. "It's not 'just rain.' It's thunder and lightening and wind, too."

"That's nothing to be afraid of, though."

I felt like he was making fun of me. Here I was, seventeen and shaking with freight because of a thunderstorm, and there he sat, thirteen, four entire years younger than me, and calm as calm could be.

"Whatever," I snapped.

Mikey sighed slightly, glancing around the room. "While I'm here, I might as well tell you about the notebooks..."

"About what?" I asked, confused.

He looked at the floor.

I hadn't noticed until now, but Mikey was a small kid- not small like me, not short, but small in a different way. He was skinny, really skinny, and had a thin face. His glasses sat on the edge of his nose until he pushed them back, sighing.

He didn't look like Gerard all the time, but they shared certain expressions and from certain angles look very similar.

I looked at my feet, trying not to stare.

"I really shouldn't be the one to tell you, if you don't already know."

"Then why did you even mention it?" I said, rolling my eyes slightly.

"Because I don't know who else tell. He doesn't have any other friends, Frank. Just you. And... Well, he doesn't want to talk to me or Mom right now, I guess, but he needs to talk to someone, whether he admits it or not."

"Why?" I said, still very confused. "What's wrong?"

I didn't understand what he was trying to say.

I knew Gerard was upset, but he couldn't be that bad, could he?

Mikey ran his hand through his hair, shifting in his seat slightly. The action was so Gerard-like that I wanted to scream.

"Has Gerard ever told you... Well, have you ever seen any of his notebooks?"

I shook my head slowly- I didn't even know that he kept notebooks. I'd spent more time in his room the past few months than my own and I'd never seen a single notebook.

Mikey looked at his feet. "Well, they're not the most pleasant things in the world. I'm not supposed to look at them- no one is, really, but I was just thinking that maybe you had, since you're close, and whatnot... But, anyway, one day he left them all sitting out, and left one open."

"Why are you telling me this, what did they say? What does he write about?"

Mikey shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Bad things. Sad things."

"Bad...? Sad...? Like, what, nightmares, or something?"

"No. Well, yes. Kind of. He writes everything in his notebooks. All of his thoughts, his memories, his opinions... And a lot of them are really things that he should be seeing a doctor for."

I felt my heart sink and my eyes go wide. Gerard, at a therapist's office? Something about that scared me. It didn't seem right. "Oh."

We all had thoughts like that, though, right? I had bad thoughts sometimes. There were some days when I hated myself so much I wanted to die. I had never actually attempted suicide, though. The closest I'd gotten was going home one day, looking up what would kill me fastest, and then going to bed with the intentions of doing it the moment I woke up, only to freak out and decide not to.

Mikey titled his head to the side, grinding his teeth. A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Did he tell you about the gun?"

"Gun?" I felt my heartbeat speed up to about twice, maybe three times, it's normal pace. "What gun?"

"He has one."

I felt my eyebrows shoot up.

"It's legal, and everything- I mean, really it belongs to our mom, for safety and self-defense and all, but she lets him keep it in his room. Just because he's in to stuff like that, you know? He knows all the different types, he knows all about old Civil War and World War guns. He was really excited when Mom got one. He helped her pick one out and whatnot. Sometimes he likes to go to the shooting range downtown and just shoot a couple of rounds. It calms him down... I've never seen him so calm as after he goes down to the shooting range. It's amazing, really. It's like someone just took all of the bad stuff outta' him right along with the bullet out of the gun."

He'd never once mentioned guns to me. Never. He's never even said the word 'gun' to me, I don't think. "Really?"

Mikey nodded. "Yeah. When I asked why he enjoys it so much, he just started making metaphors that I didn't really understand."

I gave him a weak smile. "That sounds like a very Gerard-like thing to do."

Mikey smiled a small smile, too, but it quickly disappeared as he dropped his gaze back to his feet. "Anyway, one day... Well, I don't really even know. One of the drawings, in his notebook- he likes art and stuff, too, he draws a lot when you're not over- was of him, with the gun..."

I fell silent, staring at him.

Mikey looked so impossibly scared.

"It was of him, with the gun on his temple, a- and, well, I guess he had been going to, you know... Or at least he thought about it a lot. He locked himself in his room once for about an hour and when he came out the gun was on his bed, and... I think he had been..."

I swallowed, nodding. "Yeah. I know what you mean."

Mikey gave a weak smile. "It's funny, actually, what happened. I hid the gun. I'm not supposed to touch it but I hid it in my closet for a while, until I thought it was safe for him to have it again. He got really weird after that. It made me laugh- I know it's wrong, but it did. He would walk around with this really confused expression on and he kept checking cabinets and Mom's room and he looked under his mattress about a million times until I decided to put it back. He was so confused. He never once thought to look in my room."

I felt like I was going to choke on air. "You do realize that you probably saved his life, right?" I forced myself to say, staring at him.

Mikey nodded. "Yeah. I didn't put it back for like a month. Until he started acting happy and everything."

"Has he ever done anything... Have you seen any more pictures about it, or anything, I mean? Has he said anything?"

He shook his head. "Nope. He hasn't talked about it once. I don't even think he's touched the gun since then."

"So he hasn't gone to the shooting range?"

Mikey shook his head. "Not for about four months, or so... Since you two started going out, actually."

I blinked in surprise at his choice of words. "Wait, you knew about us before I told y-"

He laughed. "Don't think I didn't see you two at Christmas, Frank. It was hard not to. You were using each other as chairs, I'm surprised that you two weren't, like, making out by the end of the night."

I felt my cheeks heat up, and could almost hear Gerard laughing that little laugh that told me I was blushing again.

"That's... That's kind of why I left, actually. Because we kissed..."

Mikey raised an eyebrow. "What, did you freak out?"

I nodded, laughing slightly. "Yeah, that's a good way to put it."

He nodded, too. "Yeah... I'm not surprised. Gerard's always liked physical relationships... He and Bonnie were practically connected at the lips."

I paused for a second, thinking back to the picture in the Way family kitchen. "Bonnie... That's the redhead, right?"

He nodded again. "His first girlfriend."

"What happened with her?"

"We moved. He was too attached, but she never called after we were out of state. And that's about it."

"But Gerard talked about her like she was dead, or something..."

He laughed. "He's too dramatic for his own good. But he really did like her- like I said, they were practically connected at the lips. When she stopped calling and stopped answering his calls, he started referring to her in the past tense."

I sighed, not knowing at all what to say.

Mikey sighed, too, motioning vaguely with his hands. "He's... I don't know. He's pretty bad, Frank. I haven't... Well, I don't think I've ever seen him like this, ever."

"Why, what's wrong?"

"He's..." Mikey glanced at the window, almost like he was afraid his older brother could hear him from this far away. "He's angry."

"Angry?"

"Yeah. He doesn't get angry at much anything, but I guess you kind of know that by now. He'll get ticked off at some things, but it takes a lot to make him really mad."

I shifted back and forth. I was suddenly very uncomfortable, even in my own home. I didn't want Gerard to be mad... As much as I didn't want to see him, as much as I just wanted to forget about him completely for just a few days until I sorted out my own thoughts, I couldn't deny the fact that I still cared about him. "Do you think it would help, if I talked to him...? I could call or something."

"Maybe... He kicked me and Mom out. I'm not even allowed to write notes to him, and that's never happened. Even when he doesn't want to talk he'll at least pass notes under the door. He's completely locked himself in his room. He was in the bathroom for about an hour- all I heard was running water and then something crashed and then he came out looking really sad, and then he went straight to his room."

"Running water...?"

Mikey's face was grim. "He does this thing where he washes his hair when he's mad. I don't really understand it, but when someone pisses him off he'll just go and there and stand in the shower until he's not mad anymore. It's like the shooting range, it calms him down."

"But you said he still looked upset..."

"So it didn't work, this time."

I sighed. "I should talk to him, shouldn't I?"

"If you want to. It won't do any good if you get emotional."

I nodded, agreeing. "Yeah. That would just make things worse. Maybe we should give it a day or two."

Mikey nodded slightly. "Okay." He stood up, offering me a sad smile. "I should probably get back home before somebody notices I'm missing. Call me before you come over."

"Okay."

　

---

　

Three days later and I was still refusing to attend school. My mother didn't understand at first, when she came home from her one-night relationship, why I hadn't gone. She thought I was being an annoying brat who liked breaking the rules. She thought I was a delinquent who didn't want to get an education or talk to my peers, but truthfully, I was just too sad to focus and too lonely to re-teach myself how to connect with other people.

"Do you have a fever?"

"No."

"Then why did you skip school again? I thought you were going to go today? I got a call from your teacher right after the normal time you guys get out- she was worried. She said you've been out a lot lately and look tired in class."

"My stomach hurts," I lied, rolling over in bed. "And I don't know, I guess I just don't sleep well, or something." I didn't know why she was so concerned- it wasn't like me skipping school was new, and it wasn't like me being bored out of my mind in class was astounding news, either.

She rolled her eyes, but still adjusted the blankets higher to cover my shoulders, sitting on the edge of my bed. "Three day stomach virus? I didn't think they could last this long."

"Well, they do," I mumbled, closing my eyes and wishing that she would just disappear.

"Frank, look at me."

I turned my head, sighing up at her. She looked a lot like me, right then- well, I guess I looked like her- and it was making me uncomfortable. "Please just let me go back to bed."

She sighed. "Well, I'm going out again tonight. I'm leaving now."

I blinked a few times, wondering why she was telling me this.

"If you need anything, just call."

She patted my shoulder lightly and then disappeared.

I stared after her, confused.

Did she just not yell at me for skipping school? Did she just tell me that if I felt like whining, to call her?

Huh.

I shook my head slightly. Maybe my head was just too foggy to focus, or something. I sat up, blinking a few times, and grabbed my cell phone. My stomach did hurt, but not because of a virus or anything.

I was nervous.

Today was the day that Mikey and I agreed that I should come by and try and talk to Gerard.

I dialed the Way family house phone number, and waited.

"Hello?"

"Mikey? Yeah. It's Frank."