Gerard Way: Artist

Toby calls out to me, begging me to help finish him off. I don't have any interest in him what-so-ever now that I realise what I was seeing was purely my imagination. I ease out of him so I can collect my clothes from the floor on way to his couch.

“Oh, come on – I need you,” he calls from the kitchen. The sexy tone he tried to inject falls flat.

“Do it yourself,” I tell him bitterly.

My body is slouched against his uncomfortable sofa. I absentmindedly flick through the cable channels, just to fill the apartment with enough noise to drown out his annoying voice. There is nothing on worth watching, so I settle for documentary about seahorses. While I know very little about Toby - because let's face it, there's nothing much to know - I am very much aware he hates any kind of program that you might learn something from.
“Do we have to watch this?” he whines dramatically.

Toby has chosen to come over to me, making it clear he is still quite hard. It only takes fifteen seconds for him to take my hand and wrap it around his length. I pull it away instantly.

“Gee-baby, what's wrong? Don't you want me?” he says in the most childish voice.

'Not particularly' should be my answer, but I don't want to burn too many bridges with him. I may need to use Toby tomorrow for some relief, and he can get quite pissed off if I reject him purely because I'm not interested.

“It's been a long, tiring day for me, Toby,” I lie. “Please, can I we just spend time together hanging out?”

He wraps his arms around me. “Aw, Gee-baby, that sounds good. We can pick this up later.”

When he turns his head back to the television, I roll my eyes. While I like that my lies are so easily accepted as truth, it just proves how easy to manipulate Toby is. That's not exactly a prize winning personality trait in anyone, let alone a boyfriend.

It's odd that I actually refer to Toby as my boyfriend, when quite often I can't stand him. I don't know him as a person, and yet I let him believe I love him. I've never said it to him, I don't think, but I'm aware that's what he thinks. Maybe I might actually be able to enjoy his company if I try to get to know him.

“How many siblings do you have?” I ask him. It's a start.

“I'm an only child,” he replies.

Why does that not surprise me? It might have something to do with the fact he's always whining, can't stand not getting what he wants, and seems incapable of understanding my devotion to my brother.

“What was that like – growing up with no one else around?”

“Great,” he replies, “I had so much stuff; it was awesome. You should have seen my bathroom! Mummy and Daddy renovated it for my 13th birthday with gold fittings and mirrored walls. You should do that for your bathroom.”

So he is also both vain and materialistic. The fact he still refers to his parents as "Mummy and Daddy" is also quite unsettling. My level of desire for him plummets with each question I ask. Perhaps a deeper, more meaningful question might restore it.

“How did your parents react when you told them you were gay?”

“They were thrilled,” he says happily. “They never wanted grandchildren to chase after, or a gold-digging bitch to steal their money when she married into the family, so being gay was everything they could ever want for their son. When I told them we threw a big coming out party and I got a Lexus. Best day, like, ever!”



Toby topples off the couch, landing on the floor as I push myself away from him. The memories make me angry, but not as angry as hearing what Toby's experience with his family was. Even if his parents excepted it, he could have stated that he was “lucky” or “blessed” to not be shunned, or sent to therapy, or told his feelings were wrong. I leave him on the floor, where he belongs, and walk to his bedroom. I need time by myself, but getting behind the wheel of my car is the last place I should be.

The bed is comfortable, and I lay there for a while on my own. Toby tries for some time to get me to unlock the door and to apologise for letting him fall – he gets neither. I ignore him as I force my mind to become vacant. Slowly, I drift off to sleep.

“I thought you were straight, Frank,” I whisper to him as he steps closer to me.

He giggles, the most adorable, beautiful sound. Standing before me, he reaches up to my face and pulls me gently to his lips. The touch sends shivers through my whole body.

“Let me show you just how gay I am,” he says against my lips.

We fall back against the bed. I land first with Frank on top of me. The view is amazing. Our lips connect again, in a soft yet passionate kiss. My hands instinctively go to his waist, caressing the smooth, porcelain-like skin. The sweetest sigh is my reward. I use my weight advantage to roll him onto his back. He looks even more perfect, especially when he smiles as I push his shirt up over his head.

My mouth falls open.

“What's this?” I ask, spying my name scrawled over his abdomen, and arrow drawn below.

A sexy smile makes its way to his face. “I told you, Gerard – I want you... a lot.”

“Is it permanent?” I ask, shocked.

He nods, still smiling.

It's all I need. My touch goes from sweet and gentle, to rough and hard. I'm going show him just how much I want him as well, just in case my hard on isn't enough to convince him.

I roll over in my barely awake state and drape my arm over his stomach.

"Morning Gee-baby..."

Oh, God - it's him.

I search the bed in hope that it's Frank, that I'm just hearing things. I'm severely disappointed... again.

“How did you even get in here?” I demand as I push him away.

He tries to do a cute little giggle, which just comes off as ridiculous and annoying. “I picked the lock silly, so we could spend the night together.”

“That's obsessive,” I say, hauling myself out of bed.

As I walk out of the bedroom, I check my Rolex for the time. It's not barely hit 6:30am. My phone has several text messages banked up from Alicia. They send me into an immediate panic as I read that Mikey's been sick all night. Toby keeps whining at me about being cruel as I try desperately to phone my sister-in-law.

“Would you shut up?” I ask crassly. “I'm trying to find out what's wrong with my brother!”

He huffs angrily. “You're always running off after him – it's pathetic!”

I spin around and snarl at him. “No Toby – you're pathetic – begging me to fund your life because I have money and you work as a fucking florist's assistant. Go fuck yourself!”

I grab my trench coat and storm out of his apartment. He doesn't bother chasing after me, which is good, because I can't guarantee I won't hit him. How dare he say something like that about my brother. I call Alicia from the elevator.

“Alicia, hi,” I say in a rush, “what's happened?”

“I'm sorry I had to message you so early, I just thought you should know Mikey's had a bad night,” she tells me with that worried tone that's laced her voice more frequently of late. “He woke up around 3am and has been vomiting ever since. Do you think you could come over later today, to lift his spirits if nothing else?”

My concern grows, but I'm starting to understand that vomiting isn't something to be overly worried about when he's been through chemotherapy recently. “Of course, sweetie. How about I drop by this afternoon, maybe around four o'clock? I just need to get some work out of the way first that I should have finished last week.”

“That would be really nice. Thanks, Gee – you're the best.”

We end our call and I proceed out to my car. I'll be home by 7 o'clock, which will give me enough time to shower and eat before putting in a solid eight hours in the studio.

As it's a Sunday, there is minimal traffic on the roads back to my home. The drive is pleasant, scenery-wise, but my mind is clogged with thoughts of what went through my head last night. Frank Iero should not have been at the forefront of my mind when I was fucking Toby. But he was. I hate that I let myself believe he was there and that I let him be the focus of my dreams. I need to sort myself out.

I head straight for the percolator the second I get home. The coffee wakes me up enough to push me upstairs. I need to force myself to keep walking when I reach Frank's bedroom. The faint sound of snoring can be heard just outside the door. It's cute, and I'm smiling as I continue onto my room and into the shower.

Once I'm dressed I check my phone, anticipating there could be an update on Mikey's condition. There are three missed calls and four text messages displayed on the screen. Guilt quickly filters in when I see they're all from Alicia. I dial her number,

"Hi, Gerard," she answers instantly.

"What's happened?" I ask.

"Mikey's throwing up blood now as well," she says, her voice breaking. "I'm scared... really, really scared..."

My stomach drops. "I'll be right over. Don't stress."

I flee from my bedroom, breaking into a run as I reach the bottom of the staircase. While I'd prefer to catch the train, I just don't have the time and settle for my car instead.

When I'm safely inside the car I let the first tears run down my cheeks. Blood is never a good sign. Although I know Mikey will get though this, I can't say this latest blow hasn't shaken my confidence in that area.

The drive to Mikey and Alicia's apartment goes by in a literal blur as I try to stem my tears before I get there. They don't subside until I step out of the elevator on the third floor. I let myself into the apartment, finding Mikey with his head buried in a bucket. Alicia is by his side rubbing his back comfortingly while she cries silent tears. I join them on the couch and support the weight of the bucket for my brother.

"H-hi, Gee," Mikey croaks when he lifts his head. Alicia hands him a tissue to wipe his mouth. "How's it hanging?"

I give him a wry smile. "Not that great, but I'll wager things are going significantly better for me than they are you."

He shrugs. "The road to death isn't so bad when you've got great people tagging along until I reach the pearly gates."

"You're not dying," I say firmly. "You'll get through this."

"Well, the odds are on my side," Mikey replies with a smile.

It stunning he is able to muster a smile after everything the fates have dealt him. As he sips the ginger ale Alicia has brought him, I take the bucket to the bathroom. I risk a glance at the contents, and sure enough, there are small drops of blood floating through the liquid. The scene isn't as horrific as I was imagining, but blood is blood. I take a picture on my phone, to show a doctor later so they can gauge how bad it is. I'm furious things have gotten to this point.

"I've called a doctor," Alicia tells me when I come through the kitchen.

"You should have done that the second you noticed the blood. Why call me? What more can I do in this situation?" I say accusingly.

She is on the verge of tears. Softly, she say, "I'm sorry... I thought... I don't know what I thought actually... I'm sorry. Mikey told me he didn't need a doctor... I guess I just believed him."

"There's no point listening to him - he's putting on a brave face, Alicia. He's just as scared as we are," I reply. "But the difference between him and us is that he doesn't want to know what's happening to him!"

Her features go hard. "I. Made. A. Mistake. Don't take your frustration out on me." Her lips wobble as she say, "I love him, too."

Alicia walks back out to the living room. I follow, keeping a healthy distance. When I enter the room I see her hugging Mikey to her. She presses her lips to his forehead and glares at me over the top of his head. The point she is trying to prove doesn't go unnoticed by me, but I was already well aware of its validity.

"I'm going to get Starbucks," I announce as I head for the door. "Give me a call if the doctor arrives before I get back."

"Can I have a hot chocolate?" Mikey asks, sounding perky about the prospect of Starbucks.

I turn around slowly, smirking as I ask with my best dad voice, "Will you keep it down?"

He pretends to ponder it for a second. "Probably not, but I'll give it the old college try."

That's Mikey's entire attitude towards life. It's refreshing, when it's not stressing everyone else around him.

"Fine," I reply, "but if it leaves your body the same way it came in, you're cleaning it up."

He puts a serious expression on his face and salutes me like a soldier. It brings a smile to my face that remains until I walk up to the counter at Starbucks. While it may sound like a long time, Starbucks is only on the corner of their block, a measly four buildings away from their apartment. It's only 8:30am, but already crowds have flooded the coffee shop. There are a few sullen teenagers, the odd mother with her baby in a stroller, but mainly the place is filled with people who have stopped in after an early morning jog. I look decidedly out of place.

Despite the crowd, I'm in and out of Starbucks in just over five minutes. I walk briskly back to Alicia and Mikey's apartment, sucking on my espresso frappaccino as I go. Unfortunately, when the doors to the elevator open, I'm met with the sight of the old man who seems to spend his days riding up and down in the steel cage.

We stop at every floor.

Every. Single. Floor. Except for the third floor - the only one I have any interest being on. He is blocking the panel, so I'm unable to override all his previous commands. However, after a gruelling five minute long elevator ride, the doors open to the third floor. I move quickly over the threshold before he has the chance to shut the doors again. Finally, I arrive back at Alicia and Mikey's apartment.

"We thought you must have decided to finish your drink there," Mikey comments as I pass him his hot chocolate.

I shake my head. "I ran into your elevator friend."

He nods knowingly, but his attention quickly goes to his hot chocolate. I watch him sip it gingerly, as does Alicia. In my head I'm counting down the seconds until the brown liquid ends up in the bucket. Alicia is most likely doing the same. Both of us are surprised when he finishes it all and places the cup on the table.

"Impressive," I say, gesturing to the empty Starbucks cup ten minutes later when its contents are still confined to Mikey's stomach.

"I feel like I'm going to be sick," he mumbles. "Totally worth it, though."

Mikey snuggles back into the sofa cushions. It's only another minute before the doctor arrives.

His visit is only short - about fifteen minutes. During that time he assesses his health, asking him various questions about how he's been feeling and what medications he's been taking. The blood in his vomit is a concern, so the doctor prescribes him with more tablets. When he's finished examining him he leaves with the usual "drink plenty of fluids and take naps throughout the day" comment.

Once he's gone I walk several blocks through New York to fill Mikey's latest subscription. All that is going through my mind when I'm waiting for the pharmaceutical clerk to find the right medication is how much I want these to be able to make him feel better.

As I'm on my way back to the apartment my phone shrills in my pocket. The caller I.D. is unexpected and I toy over whether to answer it or not. I think back to Alicia and Mikey's affectionate display on the couch earlier today. They were so happy, so perfect, the way all couples should be.

I hit reject.