Stop Playing Around

“What’d he need?” Pete asks.

“Would you mind if I just, like, take some counter and cry for a little bit?” Gerard asks, grabbing a stool and leaning on the kitchen counter. He kicks Pete’s shoes off into his direction and Pete nods his thanks.

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” Pete says. “You okay?”

“No, I wasn’t kidding. Gimme a few minutes,” Gerard says folding his face into his arms, after he takes his seat in his usual counter space.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Would you buy the kid a PlayStation?” Gerard asks, muffled by his arms.

“Can you even buy a PlayStation at seven at night?”

“It’d better be possible, or I’ll get reprimanded. Or fired, you never know,” Gerard answers. “I don’t want to do this Pete. I don’t want to write a fucking speech, and I don’t want to follow that bitch around Los Angeles with a coffee and a cheat sheet with the names of all his coworkers. I don’t want this fucking job, but I don’t want to be fired.”

“Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

“I need an income! It’s my fucking birthday, I don’t want to be fired on my birthday,” Gerard exclaims, “Just give me a few minutes. I need to sort myself out, so that I can make it through my next all-nighter.”

“Gerard, it’s really not healthy to go one day without sleep, how can you expect to make it two days?”

“What do you mean by two days?” Gerard asks, looking at Pete like he’s lost, “I have to write this speech which will put me at two, and then I have to go to a fucking business conference for the weekend. That’s four days, Pete. That’s four days of no sleep.”

“You can’t do this to yourself. Sooner or later you’re going to run out of steam, and it’s all going to come crashing down around you,” Pete says.

“I have put three fucking years into this job. Three years. I am not going to let that turn to dust because I’m having a bad week.”

“A bad week implies that it’s only seven days. Seven days does not cover the length of how long you’ve been in hell.”

“I just, gah,” Gerard says, ruffling his hair, and trying to focus his eyes. He’s starting to feel the sleepiness in his limbs. His arms and legs both feel like they’re pulsing, but at the same time they’re numb. His head is banging with one of his many stress induced headaches. He can’t remember the last time he didn’t have a headache.

“I’m so sorry man,” Pete says, “The kid wants a what? A PlayStation? I’ll go try to find you one, relieve some of the weight you’re going through.”

“No you don’t have to.”

“It’s my birthday present to you,” Pete says.

Gerard sighs, “I can’t even tell you how much that means to me, Pete. Thank you so much. I still have to write a fucking enormous speech, but this does help.”

“No problem,” Pete says, taking the credit card Gerard hands him. It’s all Mr. Iero’s money, but Gerard is the one who has to buy just about everything that enters the house. Sometimes he’s tempted to just buy a fucking beluga whale and put it in the bathtub. Pete gives him another empathetic stare before he saunters out of the kitchen.

Gerard actually does stick his head further in his arms for about five minutes, trying to get the frustration to go away. Sometimes you have to cry to help you sort out your thoughts. Or at least, Gerard tells himself that. It’s pretty much unsuccessful, and all it does is cause him to become even more tired. He does eventually pull himself up, and shake it off. The rest of the kitchen staff have all begun to start packing things up for the night, and they’re trying their best not to bother Gerard.

Since Gerard has no real office, the kitchen counter on the right side of the room has informally been given to him. No one ever questions it, because they know that Gerard works harder than anyone else in the fucking house.

Gerard gets started on working on Satan’s speech, spewing off shit about things he doesn’t care about. He has to write it on paper, because his boss refuses to buy printer ink. For some reason, Satan got into a debacle with the head of a printing company several years ago, and ever since then, he refuses to buy ink, making his printer pretty much useless. Gerard has tried in the past to explain that there are different brands of ink, but he won’t listen. Because of this, Gerard starts handwriting the rough draft of the speech.

It’s at least half an hour later when Gerard’s phone rings and he groans long and outwardly. Gerard does however retrieve the phone from his pocket and picks it up.

“Gerard where are you?” Mikey asks.

“Hey man, it looks like I’m not going to make it,” Gerard says.

“What? Did the trains stop working? Did you fall into a giant hole? Are you in Belgium? Those are the only acceptable reasons for why you’re not here.”

“No I’m at work,” Gerard says.

“But you said you got off!” Mikey complains.

“I know, and I did, but I got called back in. I’m sorry that I can’t make it. I really am, you have no idea what I would give to be there instead of here.”

“Why can’t you just tell him you’ve got to go?” Mikey asks.

“Because he’s my boss, and I can’t do that,” Gerard says, “You just have to face it.”

“Well, that sucks. It really sucks. I guess it helps that you don’t have any friends anymore since you got this job, so there’s not that many people to disappoint.”

“Please, Mikes, would you not rub it in? I’m pretty miserable right now. I know I don’t have any friends. I know I don’t have a life. You don’t need to tell me, I’ve got it. I am acutely aware of how I’ve driven everyone away, and I’m sorry, okay? I’m fucking sorry!” Gerard says angrily.

“Whoa, just calm down, Gee,” Mikey says.

“Calm down? Mikey, I haven’t been calm in three fucking years! I am literally suffocating. This fucking job is fucking shit, and I hate my fucking boss, and my fucking boss’s kid. I just hate it. I hate it so fucking much, and I don’t need you to fucking shove it in my fucking face, okay?”

“Gerard! I’m not mad, just calm down, we’ll reschedule for tomorrow or the weekend-”

“Except you fucking can’t, because I have to go to LA and follow my boss around with a mug of coffee that he’s not going to fucking drink. I have to watch him butcher the speech that I have to write for him that’s going to take me twelve hours to fucking write for him. So no, Mikey, I can’t reschedule. I can’t do anything at fucking all, because I have the worst fucking job in the world!” Gerard screams into the phone.

Honestly the rest of the kitchen staff aren’t even surprised by his mental breakdown. It’s happened to all of them at least a few times, so it’s nothing new. They just hear Gerard screaming, on the verge of tears, and just pity the guy because they know exactly what he is going through, except not maybe to the same extent. They all have hard jobs, but it’s literally nothing compared to Gerard’s.

“Are you alright?”

“No, I’m really not, Mikey. I feel like I’m going to drown, and it’s because of this stupid job. I hate it so much.”

“Just breathe in and out, man. You’ll make it through this. It’s all fine,” Mikey says, and Gerard makes a squealing sound of irritation.

“Do not treat me like I am a child, Mikey!” Gerard says. “I will get off of work for about two hours hopefully sometime in a week. Then I’ll get called back in, and it’ll be fucking hell. Do not even think about making fun of me for this, okay? You have no idea what shit I have to put up with on a daily basis, and I am not going to hear it from you too, okay? Yes, I know that everyone I know fucking hates me, because I’m a workaholic, and I know that we’ve barely talked in three years, and I know that I’m an irresponsible, negligent piece of shit. You don’t have to tell me, Mikey. I know. I know perfectly well, I hear it every day.”

“I wasn’t even going to say that! Gerard, would you stop yelling at me, I’m not trying to give you a hard time. I’m just really worried about what this job is doing to you,” he says.

“Oh great, I’ll add your name, name number 635, to the list of people who think Gerard has the worst job in the entire world. It’s really nice to hear, thanks Mikey.”

“Okay, I’m not going to take anything you say to heart because I know you’re stressed out right now, Gee, but you need to stop and breathe. Stop and ask yourself if this is worth it, okay?”

“Please don’t tell me to think it through. Mikey, everything you say is a cliché that I’ve heard a thousand times. I know. I know, and I’m so sick of being pestered by it that it’s making my hair fall out,” Gerard says, and as if to exemplify how stressed he is, he actually does pull a small chunk of hair out from the back of his head. If that keeps up he’ll be bald before he’s thirty. It’s not like it’s never happened before, but only in the most recent months has it been a real problem.

At this Pete steps in holding a box, and smiling. “Couldn’t believe they had one, but they did! Here you go, Gerard.”

“Thank fucking god,” Gerard says, letting Pete set it down in front of him, “Pete you are a lifesaver.”

“Nah man,” Pete waves his words off absently.

“Mikey, I’ll talk to you later. Have fun without me, okay? Just because I’m not there, doesn’t mean you can’t party on my behalf,” Gerard says, trying to calm himself down, a little bit.

“Yeah, alright. We are going to postpone though,” Mikey replies.

“I don’t know if that’s going to be possible, because I never fucking have free time. I have to go now,” Gerard states, “tell everyone I’m sorry and that I say hi.”

“Okay,” Mikey says somberly, and Gerard hangs up.

“Thank you so fucking much, Pete,” Gerard says, picking the box up. It’s not small enough to hold in one hand, but he can tuck it in with an elbow and keep it aloft using just the one arm.

“Don’t mention it. You needed to be treated like a human at least once today.”

Gerard is so close to hugging the man, but Pete was just out in the rain as made obvious by his wet clothes, so he decides against it. The kitchen is the only place in the house that the Satan’s never enter. It’s because apparently the kitchen is unclean, and should be left behind the scenes. This just means that the staff can get away with dripping onto the floor or making a few messes, as long as they clean it up later. That’s usually the way it works, because they’re all a big team, unless you’re having a really rough day, in which case you’re pardoned from the responsibility. So Monday through Sunday for Gerard usually, he has no obligation to clean up messes, but he usually does anyway.

Gerard rushes up the stairs and knocks on Satan’s spawn’s door again. Frank doesn’t even look up when Gerard pushes it open slightly. He’s switched from his phone to his laptop and is now typing away at something with his feet hanging off his bed. Gerard’s almost surprised that the devil child can read or write at all. It’s not that he’s ever displayed any sort of unthinkable stupidity in front of Gerard, he just assumes that about the guy based on his personality. Gerard doesn’t know how smart the kid is, and he doesn’t care either.

“Frank, I got you your-”

“It took you long enough, set it up will you,” He says, but there’s no question in it. It’s a demand.

“Would you say thank you at least?” Gerard asks.

“Why? For doing your job?” he asks.

“My job description is not to pamper you’re scrawny little ass all day. My job is to assist your father, not you, Frank,” Gerard snaps at him, and surprisingly he doesn’t even feel regretful. The kid needs to be talked to like that, but since he’s a rich little gremlin child, he never has been.

“Excuse me?” Frank says, turning to look at Gerard. He’s probably not used to being insulted, and he doesn’t seem to like it.

“I did something inconvenient for you, on today of all days, and I deserve a thank you,” Gerard says forcefully.

“I can’t believe you’re talking to me like-”

Gerard fucking explodes at this, “don’t you dare say that to me, Frank. Don’t you dare fucking insult the way I talk to you. I am a human being, I deserve to be treated with respect, and you are not going to be held on a different standard then me.”

“Watch your-”

“You watch your fucking mouth! For all the time I have known you, I have been nothing but polite. I have been courteous, and done what you asked. I have treated you respectfully. You are the most uncivil, despicable person I have ever had the misfortune of meeting, and I will not put up with this anymore. I’ve had it up to fucking here with your horrendous behavior. Do you know where I’d be if I acted like you? I’d be in a fucking homeless shelter asking for more bread. I have never met anyone who was more cavalier with their impertinent conduct. They’re called manners, Frank. Learn them.”

“Are you actually-”

Gerard interrupts him yet again, “yes I am actually saying this! I do a lot of things for you, kid. I do everything for you. All I’m asking is for a fucking please and thank you. Not a sarcastic thanks, not an occasional please, I want you to say please and thank you like you fucking mean it. I want you to say please when you ask for stuff, and thanks when you receive what you’ve asked for. That’s it. That’s all I fucking want.”

“In case you haven’t forgotten,” Frank says condescendingly, “my dad is your boss which means I treat you how I want, and you do what I say.”

Gerard sees red, and if he’d lost it before, it’s nothing to what it is now.

“I’ve been biting my tongue for so long now, I can’t believe it hasn’t fallen out of my mouth. There are so many thousands of things I want to say to you, Frank, and my stunning array of vocabulary would probably send your shriveled little empty brain into a coma. I know some colorful words, Frank, most of them are four letters, and every single one of them describes you.”

“I’m going to tell my dad about this.”

“Oh really now? You’re going to run and tell daddy about how his assistant had the nerve to tell you the truth about you? Are you actually Draco Malfoy? A spoiled little rich kid who has everything handed to him on a silver platter? You are shit at being a human being, Frank. Utter shit,” Gerard says, standing in the exact same spot in the doorframe the whole time. He hasn’t moved at all except to try and gesticulate to Frank how moronic he is.

“It’s not my fault that you’re incompetent,” Frank says, and Gerard doesn’t know how that’s relevant. When was that a topic of conversation between them? Well a few times, but when in the last few minutes?

“Has it ever occurred to you that some people have to work for a living, Frank? You can’t do anything that I do for you and your dad. You can’t do fucking shit, which is why you are a twenty year old man living with his father! You’re a fucking idiot, Frank. I have to work for a living. I have to order your father a venti non-fat soy cappuccino, one shot espresso, double shot vanilla syrup, one and a half shot hazelnut syrup, no cream, with half the foam, double the whip cream, at precisely 117 degrees, no not 118 degrees and absolutely not 116, every goddamn day. Do you know how hard it is to get a coffee that specific from the Starbucks to here? If it changes temperatures between the ten minute walk from there to here? Do you know what happens if even the slightest thing is off, Frank? I have to go get another one! Could you do that? Do you really think you could do that? And that’s just a fucking coffee. It’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Frank declares.

“Oh am I? When I walk into Starbucks there’s an audible groan! Everyone in the fucking building, goes ‘oh no it’s the guy with the most complicated order in all of humanity.’ It’s not fair to me that you get to sit on your ass all day while I am working myself into the ground. I once contracted what might as well have been the black fucking plague because of how hard I had been working, and I still had to go into work. You probably don’t even know what the black plague is, because you had your whole life done for you by underpaid aliens from Cuba!” At this point Gerard is stereotyping which is something he really tries not to do, but it’s too late to take it back.

“What the fuck are you trying to say?”

“I’m asking you to say please and thank you!” Gerard screams at him. Frank does nothing but make a contemptuous face, and leans back where he sits.

“That’s it. I’m not going to do this anymore. You’re not going to say thanks? Fine. I don’t care! Fine. I will not put up with you, and I will not put up with your fucking attitude. I quit, Frank. I fucking quit. I said I wasn’t going to get fired today, but I didn’t say a fucking thing about quitting. I quit. I quit! IquitiquitIquitIquitiquitIquit! I quit.”

“What?”

“Tell your dad that I quit! I quit, I fucking quit! I hate you, and I hate your dad! I hate all of you fucking Iero’s! I want you to fall off the edge of a fucking cliff, because I hate you that much! Actually, no I take that back. I want you to die slowly, and painfully, the same way that you’ve tortured me for the past three years!”

“Dude, shut-”

“Don’t you dare tell me to shut up you fucking dipshit,” Gerard says, eyes wild, “I have put up with you and your stuck-up behavior for way too long. Frank Iero, you are the most pretentious, rudest, insufferable, disgusting, wretched, shit-spitting monster I have ever met. I hate you. When I say that I hate you, I don’t just mean that I hate you the way you hate that kid who steals your juice box at recess, I hate you. Like, I dream of sticking pins in your eyes, and watching you scream for your mommy. I hate you in a way that is reserved for the utmost scum of humanity, which you are a prime example of.”

Frank just stares at him in silence saying nothing, while Gerard’s face turns redder and redder by the second.

“So yeah, I fucking quit. I hope you have truly, the most horrendous life that a person can possibly have, because you deserve it,” Gerard is in a rage, he probably wouldn’t say half of this if he weren’t so pissed off. He doesn’t really believe in treating people like shit, but it’s just words. It’s not like he’s going to make Frank buy him a million and one different things because his daddy said he could boss the assistant around.

Gerard takes the box in his hand with the PlayStation that Pete had gotten, shows it to Frank and then tosses it down the stairs. He feels a little guilty about it, but not enough to stop the box from tumbling down, making a rattling noise as it goes.

“That’s what I want to do to your head, Frank. You can take it out of my paycheck.”

Gerard says nothing more before he turns on his heels and stomps down the steps. He looks at the scattered pieces of a very broken PlayStation, and smiles to himself. It was a good throw.

It’s not like this was the direction he’d thought his day would be turning. Waking up at 3 am to his phone ringing, trying not to curse at his boss. Walking to work in the fucking hurricane blooming outside. Having to explain to his boss that Starbucks is not open at that time of the day, for the millionth time. Doing all the menial tasks for the most overpaid human being on the planet, and getting no recognition for it. Now he’s gone and made such a huge sacrifice, but it had felt so good to swear at Frank like that. He can’t muster up the energy to repeat what he said to his boss, but he’s sure that the message will be passed on.

Gerard walks back into the kitchen where people look at him kind of strangely. Presumably, they could hear him shouting from upstairs. He grabs his wet clothes where they’re hanging on one of the hooks, and folds them over his arm.

“I’m done guys. I am absolutely done,” Gerard says as an explanation. “You’ve all been good to me, but I have had it.”

“You quit?” Pete asks, the hint of a smile appearing on his face.

“Damn right,” Gerard replies.

“Well happy birthday to you,” Spencer says.

Gerard nods, pulling on his jacket. He quickly walks back through the kitchen, making sure to drip water everywhere. He exits the house again today, leaving behind a final holler of the words, “Peace out bitches. I am out for good!”