Sequel: Gerard Way: Artist

Frank Iero: P.A.

Twenty Three

Tuesday morning comes too soon for my liking, and I find myself dragging my lethargic body out of bed at seven-thirty. I plod to my bathroom, striping along the way, and get straight into the shower, not even bothering to wait for the water to heat up. The cold stream jolts me awake, but once it heats up to the perfect temperature I find myself falling back into sleep mode. It also becomes a challenge to turn the taps off and leave the beautiful warmth.

Eventually I make it down to the kitchen. I grab a cup of coffee and prepare a bowl of cereal. I know I’m going to be late, but with my throat feeling like sandpaper and my nose running like a tap I really couldn’t give a shit about punctuality.

At eight-thirteen I walk into the office, a tissue held tightly to my nose and my second cup of coffee for the morning clasped protectively in my right hand. I look up as I come through the door; Gerard is leaning against the connecting door between our two offices, his arms folded across his chest.

“You’re late,” he says pointedly as I lower myself down into my chair.

I ignore his comment and go about shuffling papers around my desk to make myself look busy. There’s a note from Ellie stuck to the appointment book reminding me when I need to take my medicine; I smile slightly at the motherly act. Gerard seems to figure out that he’s not going to get a response from me and walks over to my desk.

“What’s my schedule for today, Iero?” he asks impatiently.

I’m not in the mood for this today, so I return the attitude he’s giving me. “Let’s see,” I pull the appointment book toward me and run my figure down today’s events, “you need to pick up your prescription for anti-asshole pills, and then you’re booked in for a personality transplant at two.”

When he doesn’t respond instantly I risk a sideways glance at him. There’s a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Do you think I should get some anti-cocksucker pills, too?” He’s referring the name I called him aloud once, and the name I call him in my head on a daily basis.

Without missing a beat, I say, “Maybe, but being a cocksucker is one of your defining features; are you sure you want to lose that?”

We meet each other’s eyes and a second later we’re in hysterics. It’s not until a minute later when Ellie comes in to see what all the commotion is that we stop. We look at her, grinning, and she stares back at us wordlessly with a perplexed expression. She ends up shaking her head and retreating from the room.

“That must have been a bit of déjà vu for her,” Gerard comments. Now I’m the one who looks perplexed. “Mikey and I used to do that to her while we growing up – we’d be laughing about something only the two of us understood and she’d stare at us just like she was doing now.”

That was very personal... so much for professionalism. I look at Gerard curiously to see if he realised what he’d just shared with me. A beat later it hits him and all previous traces of a smile vanish. He clears his throat and asks me again what his schedule is for today.

“There’s just deadlines to meet,” I say and rattle off the names of the clients he has art to finish for.
He nods. “Okay. I’ll finish up a few things in the office and then I’ll go up to the studio and put the finishing touches on those pieces.”

I watch as he heads back into his own office and shuts the door behind him. There’s a pile of work I should be getting on with, but I’m lacking the motivation to do it.

Eventually I get my head in the game and start answering all the emails that have clogged up the inbox over the past three days. Next time Gerard drags me off for a mountain adventure I’m bringing an internet connection; it’s not right for one person to get 209 emails across the span of a weekend.

After what feels like (and probably actually is) hours of typing away answering emails in between answering phone calls Gerard pages me from his office.

I pick up the phone receiver. “Yes, Gerard?”

“I left some canvases outside my studio; I need you to express post them today.”

“Okay,” I reply, “I’ll just finish up what I’m doing here and –”

“Do it now.” The line goes dead.

I take the receiver away from my ear and stare at for couple of seconds before replacing it on the cradle. Well, that was rude.

I get out of my chair and head out into the hallway. As I climb the stairs it occurs to me that that was a conversation – or command, should I say? – that could have been conducted face to face. Would it have killed the man to get off his great derriere and walk the ten feet into my office to ask that of me?

The canvases – there are three – are lined up against the wall outside the studio with post-it notes stuck to the corner of each of them. I collect them one by one and pile them up in my arms. I’m about to head back downstairs when the door catches my attention. It’s closed but hasn’t clicked into place – as if Gerard had been in a hurry and had just pulled the door behind him under the impression that he’d used enough force that it’d shut on its own. Holding the stack of canvases with one arm, I reach out to shut it properly. My hand pauses on the handle as a thought comes to mind.

He invaded my personal space when he kissed me, isn’t it only fair that I get to invade his?

I look about the hallway, checking no one is about, and place the stack on the floor quietly. Taking a deep breath, I push the door open and take a tentative step into the studio. For some reason, I flinch, throwing my arms up to protect my face. I blink my eyes open and look about me; part of me expected an alarm to go off or a net to fall from the ceiling or something considering how secretive Gerard is about his studio. Noticing no security system, I take a few more steps inside and cast my eyes across the walls.

Oh.

My.

Fucking.

God!


What I see is something I never in my wildest dreams expect to see. What I see cannot be unseen. I can barely believe it.

Around me I see my face replicated too many times to count. No, I’m not in a room of mirrors. All over Gerard’s studio are paintings and sketches of me, Frank Anthony Iero. I blink my eyes rapidly, rub at them, count to three, but nothing changes. I’m not seeing things, I’m definitely all over Gerard’s studio walls.

“This can’t be real...”

I walk toward the far wall to inspect these portraits closer. The first one that catches my eye is a lead pencil sketch of my profile. I analyse the background and recognise the living room; I remember this moment. It was a couple of weeks ago when Gerard and I had lunch together and he noticed my tattoos for the first time. I remember catching him staring at me... was he taking a mental snapshot of me? He had to have been, because my ‘Jinx Removing’ tattoo has been drawn identical to how it appears on my neck – same font, correct shadowing.

“This is so freaky...” I say, stunned, as I move further along the wall.

The next drawing that catches my attention is one done in charcoal. It’s another moment we shared. It’s the night Gerard first cooked for me, but more specifically, the moment when Gerard made me orgasm with his incredible chocolate bouchon. I’ve been captured with my head tilted backward, my mouth open, and my eyes closed – holy shit, I really do look like I’m having an orgasm! Despite the content of the drawing, I have to say the amount of talent he possesses is unbelievable – he’s even drawn my stubble.

I continue around the room, taking in every single image of me. There’s another lead pencil drawing similar to the first one to catch my eye, but this one has my eyes drawn in colour – and the colour is identical to how my eyes really are: hazel eyes with specks of gold, green, and brown. Another drawing shows the moment we first met, with me looking rough coming out from behind the seat on the train where I’d been stowing away. There’s one of me playing pansy in my room, sitting on my wooden stool, head down, fingers positioned in a G chord. Each of my visible tattoos have been replicated on separate canvases. I line my tattoos up next to each of the canvases to see if I can spot any errors in his handiwork – there are none... none.

“Gerard... you... I can’t even...”

There’s an easel set up in the corner of the studio with an unfinished canvas propped up on it. I head over to examine his current piece. I may not know anything about art, but I know everything about me, and that is most definitely me. This one is unlike the other drawings; I’m not alone in this one – Gerard is in it, too. My mouth falls open as I realise that once it’s completed it will be the moment when Gerard kissed me. Why would he want to recreate that?

“This is too weird...” I say aloud as I scan the canvas before my eyes.

I can’t be in here anymore.

I leave his studio a million times faster than I came in, shutting the door behind me. I’m breathing heavily as I pick up the stack of canvases in the hallway and head for the staircase. That room has got me so freaked out. No one wants to walk into a room of clones of themselves, and that is exactly what just happened to me. I need to confront Gerard about this – there has to be some kind of reasonable, rational explanation for what I’ve just seen.

Reaching the office, I drop the canvases on an arm chair and walk to the connecting doors. I fling them open and storm in.

“Gerard! What the hell is going on up –”

I stop mid sentence as I take in the scene before me. Gerard is on the floor in tears, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Gerard!” I run to him and drop to my knees. “Gerard, what’s wrong?” He sobs harder but discloses nothing. “What’s happened?”

I grab onto his shoulders and try to make him look at me, but he just cries harder. I pull him into me and just hold him as he shakes and sobs. That’s when I notice his iPhone on the floor beside us, the screen lit up. I reach out with my right hand and pick it up; Mikey’s name is displayed across the top of the screen.

I bring the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

“Frank?” Mikey asks, his voice grim.

“Why’s Gerard crying? What’s happened?” I ask.

He let’s out a shaky breath. Oh, no... “Uh, I’ve stopped responding to treatment. I’m dying, Frank.”

Mikey’s words shoot through me. While I don’t know Mikey very well, tears still prick at my eyes.

Gerard...

I end the call, knowing Mikey will understand why, and place the phone back on the desk. My arms wrap around Gerard and he grips me tightly as he sobs violently.

“Oh, Gerard...”
♠ ♠ ♠
I know, I know - "How could you do that to Mikey?!?!". But in my defence, you guys only gave me four comments last time :p
Let's try and get this story to 130 comments this time.

Next time on Frank Iero: P.A. ...

He lifts his head up to me my eyes. “We?”

“Well, I’m not going to leave you to deal with it on your own.”

His fisted hand uncurls and takes mine in his; his fingers rub lightly over my knuckles. The action brings back memories from our mountain get away, specifically, that moment when his lips met mine. My stomach feels queasy but I push through the feeling; right now this is what Gerard needs.