*** Machine

I spent the good part of the next night laying in bed and formulating everything inside my head. I even considered writing it down on paper, but my weary body wouldn't allow it. Frank isn't beside me tonight. He had fallen asleep on the couch watching TV, and he looked too peaceful to disturb. So I lay here alone, plotting what could possibly be my best murder yet. Why? Because this one fucking deserves everything he's going to get. He's going to suffer just like he made Quinn and Gerard suffer, except so many times worse.

The room is quiet like it usually is at this time of night. Even when Frank sleeps with me, the only sounds are tiny whispers, unheard at all from above the blankets, or short sounds that our lips make when touching each other's skin.

The window that sits a few feet from the end of my bed drains out some barely rising sunlight into my room. It's the earth's little way of letting me be a part of it, even though the majority of its population probably wants me off of it.

But I don't know, if they all were to meet Bert McCracken, they might have a hard time deciding which one of us deserves the knife.

I ponder it, and well, yes, most people out there would probably choose me. Bert's just abusive, and I'm a serial killer. But thanks to this serial killer, there'll be one less abusive boyfriend. Eh?

I groan face down into my pillow and then turn my head so my nose is scrunched up to the side, almost touching my cheekbone. My face is used to being scrunched up like this because this is how it always ended up during all those long nights of talking to Gerard in high school. High school... Such pointlessness. I learned more during those long nights in with Gerard, or those long nights out with Frank, than I ever did during those six or so hours that I don't recall living at all. Crazy.

"Did you see what Stephanie Carls was wearing today? Ho-ly shit..."

I turn my head over on my pillow, my nose pressed against the rest of my face. Gerard is fantasizing before he falls asleep again. It's not a bad thing, it's just I'm the one who has to listen to it, when sleep is the only thing my body is craving. No drugs, no knives, just a little relaxation. "You like her?" I murmur. I forget what I say seconds after it passes through my lips.

"No...well, I mean...she's..."

"Hot?"

"That's not the word."

Both my body and words give in, and Gerard's voice drowns out.

So many nights like those stick out in my mind. Even more so than the images of damaged and mangled bodies, images that you can find only on websites with a warning. Those just fade away. But shameless, teenage nights with my brother, they're forever. A love with someone like Frank, that's timeless. Even though I've never even matched lips with the boy.

Love has no body.

I feel my abs flex as I lift my head off the pillow to look out the window, and I have to squint. The sun has risen beautifully; golden rays peak through the blinds of my bedroom and cast bars of shadows across my face. The city is an oil painting for a moment, while the sky above the horizon is a light shade of baby pink, and it turns Belleville into an enormous, living painting.

I blink, and it goes away. I have to tell Gerard.

I crawl out of bed, flatten my hair against my forehead, and throw on my glasses. I can already hear noise from the kitchen, and I kind of hope Frank isn't awake yet. I have to tell Gerard first. He's helped me with my murders through my whole career - not the actual act, but the planning. How else do you think I'm not in jail? I've got a mathematical mind right by my side, supporting me in every move I make, but not before analyzing it and giving me every possible outcome.

I round the corner, the doorway just missing my ear. Gerard's on the telephone in the kitchen. While I wait for him to finish so I can discuss my/our plans, I quietly look in Gerard's room and just as I suspected, Frank is fast asleep in Gerard's bed. The sun is almost risen now over Frank's flawless face, turning his skin a golden yellow color, illuminating off the morning's beams of sun.

After I hear a beep from the kitchen, Gerard says "'Morning, Mikey."

I swivel around, and Gerard looks at me awkwardly, asking me with his eyes what I'm acting so paranoid about. I decide I should jump right in, but not without knowing a few things first.

"Gerard..." I start quietly, walking back over to him, "what do you think of Bert?"

Gerard stops chewing on the banana he just put in his mouth. And he stares at me. "You know what happened with Bert."

"I know, but...what do you think of him now?"

He begins chewing again, and then swallows. "I have no idea... People can change, Mikey. You just gotta believe in them."

I'm lost.

"But why would you wanna believe in Bert for...anything after what he did to you?"

Gerard shrugs. "I"m just saying he might not be that bad of a guy anymore. I wouldn't know; I haven't talked to him in ages. You could probably ask Quinn."

"If Bert lets us near him..." I mutter. Gerard seems to disregard this and continues with his breakfast. His mind is obviously not following any path like the one mine's taking. I sigh and walk over to the extended counter in the middle of the small kitchen, now looking Gerard in the face. I try to control my expression so that I don't seem too stern, but also not too compassionate.

"Don't you think Bert should pay for what he does?"

My voice turns out low and raspy and neither stern nor compassionate, but full of revenge and...evil. I can tell Gerard thinks so too, because his expression is half shocked, and half scared. He sets down his slightly brown banana on the countertop and studies me deeply. And he says, "Don't you think anyone could say the same for you?"

I should have expected that but, "Come on, Gerard, after what he did to you? And Quinn? You guys don't deserve that and neither does the next guy."

I can always tell when Gerard's temper is rising because his knuckles clench unnaturally, always fearing me a little that he would hit me. He never has.

"Mikey, I know what you're suggesting," Gerard says, obviously trying to stay calm, but his voice raises. "But how would you fucking feel if I said that I wanted to kill Frank?!"

"Frank hasn't done any-"

"No. He hasn't. But you sure do love him."

I blink, startled, and I hope, pray that Gerard's unusually angry, booming voice hasn't woken up Frank. But suddenly, his voice drops to a low whisper.

"And love will always overrule hate."

I stare at him, my mouth slightly open, my eyebrows narrowed. I can see my upper eyelashes. This expression I feel on my face is indescribable, but what's worse is what I feel in my stomach. Gerard picks up his banana and walks past me but his footsteps quickly stop, and turn back around. And I dare to face him again as well.

Gerard studies me coldly. "When did your heart go missing?"

It's a rhetorical question, not because Gerard doesn't want to know the answer; he already does. The night I killed Ginger Mason was the night my heart froze over.

But then how can it still beat so hard for someone? Someone that I'd fight for for the rest of my life? Maybe one day my heart will explode with joy and love and happiness, and break through the ice. But for now, revenge is much sweeter.