The Untouchables

As soon as the trio arrives at Ray’s house, Gerard struts to the center of the front yard, planting his white Converses to the dirt. He motions for Frank to come over, which the boy does, tentatively so. Ray hangs back and watches from where he is perched on the hood of his car, his scratched copy of Blunderbuss blaring and granting the occasional stutter of the music.

“What?” Frank asks. “What are you doing?”

“Hit me,” Gerard orders.

“What?”

“Hit me,” Gerard reiterates. “Hard.”

“I don’t see the point of this,” Frank remarks.

“I want you to show me what you’ve got. Let me see what I’m working with. Hit me as hard as you can,” Gerard persists.

“Maybe we should go inside,” Ray suggests uneasily. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“No one’s going to be getting hurt!” Gerard calls. “Frankie can’t hit hard enough.”

“Why are you doing this?” Frank sighs, growing exasperated with Gerard.

“Because,” Gerard begins, taking his sweet time answering his friend. “I need to know that you’re willing to do what it takes to stand up for yourself.”

Frank scoffs, “I’ll hit them, but not you.”

“Okay,” Gerard says. He shoves Frank, asking, “How about now?”

Frank’s brows knit. “Quit it.”

“Quit it,” Gerard repeats, shoving Frank harder.

“Gerard, stop,” Frank warns. “I’m done with this.” Frank begins to depart, but Gerard grabs him by the back of his collar, yanking him back.

“No. You’re going to hit me, Frankie.”

Ray titters nervously, “Okay, that-that’s enough for now.”

“Right here,” Gerard instructs, tapping his jaw. “Actually, surprise me.”

“I’m not going to hit you,” Frank emphasizes.

Gerard hangs his head, and then seizes Frank, kneeing him in the stomach.

Frank doubles over, coughing and gagging. He peers up at Gerard, who is grinning. Frank gives a mighty swing, and his fist makes solid contact with Gerard’s jawline.

Gerard stumbles backwards, but just smiles even bigger. “Very good.” He launches himself onto Frank, bringing the smaller boy to the ground with ease.

The two roll around in the dirt, trapped in a blind struggle for dominance. Gerard finally ends up on top of Frank, pinning him to the grass.

“That’s all we’re going to do today,” Gerard pants, and he releases Frank, even helping him up. The two walk over to Ray, and Gerard drapes an arm over Frank’s shoulder.

“What the fuck was that?” Ray demands. “You… you guys just hit each other.”

Gerard looks at Frank and shrugs. “Best way to get stronger. Right Frankie?”

Frank nods, and Ray lets out another sigh.

“Toro, do you want to take us to the weight room?” Gerard asks.

“What for?” Ray questions.

“Um, to lift weights,” Gerard answers frankly.

“Shoot, we have weights here,” Ray informs. “You can borrow some sweats if you want.”

Ray sits afar from Gerard and Frank once again. Frank strips off his shirt, leaving him in his basketball shorts and Vans. He lay on the bench, and Gerard sets the weights onto either end of the bar. With one hand, he lifts the weight, then dropping the pressure onto Frank, who buckles beneath the bar.

“Too much,” Frank wheezes. His face reddens with effort as he makes an attempt to do a rep, upper arms trembling. The bar rises from his chest about an inch before falling again.

“Girl, this is light,” Gerard scolds. “You should be able to lift this.”

“I can’t,” Frank insists, trying again. The bar again lifts for just a second before crashing back onto him.

“Don’t say that,” Gerard orders. “Just lift it. Breathe, and concentrate only on the task in front of you.”

For once, Frank listens to Gerard. He blocks out all of his own complaints and pessimism, and gives one last try at giving the bar a pump.

And it doesn’t even leave his chest this time. “I physically can’t, Gerard.”

Gerard sighs dramatically, lifting the bar with one hand and setting it back onto its stand. Frank exhales sharply, and it feels great to actually be able to breathe normally.

“That was pathetic, Frankie,” Gerard admits.

“Hey, shut up!” Frank squeaks. “At least I’m trying.”

“Not hard enough,” Gerard insists. “Come on. We’re going to use the punching bag.”

Ray cuts in from the floor, “Gerard, I think you may be pushing him too hard.”

Gerard looks at Frank, whose face is scarlet and brow has accumulated a farm of sweat. He pulls Frank into a loose headlock, questioning, “You can handle it, can’t you Frankie?”

“Y-yeah,” Frank agrees. Gerard ruffles his friend’s hair and releases him, smacking Frank’s butt. “Good boy.”

They continue to do more grueling exercise. After Frank’s thirtieth pushup, he stops.

“What?” Gerard barks.

“Let’s see you do some,” Frank challenges. “I’m doing all the work, and you’re just standing there.”

Gerard drops to his knees, getting into his pushup form. He easily pumps out forty pushups in under a minute, and when he stands again, his face isn’t even pink. “There. Now you.”

Frank groans and goes back to his pushups, making a mental note that Gerard is completely capable of doing every assignment he sets for Frank.

The grueling workout comes to an end after about two hours, and Frank’s legs are tight, metal rods (Gerard had him run), and his arms are like jelly. He’s completely sore as he walks to Ray’s car, slipping on his shirt.

“How was it?” Ray asks. “That hurt, to watch him do that to you.”

Frank shrugs. “It wasn’t so bad. I mean, yeah it sucked, but… it feels kind of good, y’know? All of this self-improvement shit. I don’t know what the appeal is.”

Ray starts up the car, and admonishes, “If you don’t think you can handle this, you can always just report the kids bullying you rather than fighting them.”

Frank’s eyebrows perk up. “Fight? Who said I was going to fight them?”

“Isn’t that the point of this whole regimen?” Ray asks. “To be able to fight them and beat them?”

“For me, it’s just about being able to protect myself,” Frank replies. “I never really want to fight them, unless I have to. In that case, if I’m ready, I will.”

“Well, I’m just saying, think this through on what you think is the best move to make before going through this little Rocky deal you have going on with Gerard. Okay? Just… sleep on it,” Ray advises.

“Alright,” Frank responds. “I’ll… I’ll sleep on it.”

Frank goes home, showers, and goes straight to bed, it seems. He’s sore everywhere; his calves, arms, thighs, shoulders, back, everywhere. He moans out in slight pain as he lowers himself onto his mattress, and limits his rolling around to assure that he doesn’t cause himself more pain than necessary.

But still, even with his aching limbs, he feels ecstatic, and already he’s looking forward to tomorrow’s workout. And he knows exactly what he’s going to do about the boy’s picking on him day by day. When they try to touch him to do whatever torture they have in mind in a few months, Frank will unleash all of the skills Gerard will have taught him. And everyone in the hallway will feel his rage, and his hurt and they will know one thing, and that one thing will be that Frank Iero is not a kid to mess with.