Frankie Fever

Who cares what they print as long as they spell your name right?

That's the oh-so famous saying people often use to describe celebrities and such.

I'd like to meet whoever came up with that phrase. I'd like to meet them so I can kill them. You see, I did care about what was splashed on the front page the day after my collapse.

Teen In Drug Disco Hospital Dash
Gerard Way -15- collapses at underage disco from dodgy pill deal.

Next to this offensive title were two charming photos of me. One was a huge photo of me unconscious in my hospital bed with scary masks covering my face and the other was a blurry camera phone shot of me grinding with that girl moments before I passed out. I groaned and placed the paper to one side, vowing to go to school with a bag covering my face.

Mom used the publicity as the perfect opportunity to badmouth dad, insisting that it was all his fault for leaving us and I was clearly suffering severe emotional breakdown as a result. My principal came to visit me and give me 'the drug' talk; you know, when they gently but firmly tell you drugs aren't the answer and there are a number of supportive available on hand if you ever need to talk. Mikey tried nagging me about it due to his accidental OD. Dad visited during the day, bringing me a box of chocolates to nibble on.

Frank was asked for a quote by the journalist who wrote the article. I expected him to give some sort of dramatic account of the story in which he battled vainly with me to try and prevent me from taking the 'dodgy pill' -which turned out to be some weird homemade concoction of tranqualisers- and then desperately caught me as I collapsed and called for an ambulance himself. He didn't.

Instead he said 'I saw him taking something while we were in line. I should have said something then but I didn't so I guess it's partially my fault this has happened. I don't care about anything other than the fact that he's still alive. I'm glad to still have my friend here.'

They let me out the day after my accidental near-death. I was bustled home and bundled straight up into bed where I spent the rest of that day and the next day before I went back to school. It was boring. I had nothing to do other than read. So I read Mom's old copy of Wuthering Heights; I was an avid reader, although my behaviour didn't make it seem so. It was a good read. At times I felt like I could connect to Heathcliff's character. I'd be reading along, murmering 'I know how you feel'. Okay, perhaps I wasn't quite as insanely jealous as Heathcliff but you get my drift.

Frank visited the day before I went back to school. He came over to see me, skipping gym class in the process. That made me wonder about the motivations behind his visit but I brushed it aside. At least he'd visited.

He'd stood awkwardly in my doorway, fiddling with the hem of his shirt as he looked at me. I'd smiled shyly at him and he returned it, finally coming out with a quiet:

"Alright, Gee?"

"Yeah," I replied, beckoning him in "I'll be fine."

"Good," He nodded, sitting on the edge of my bed "I was so scared."

I smiled shyly, closing my book up and placing it on my bedside table. There was a silence as we observed each other awkwardly, neither knowing what to say. I guess it's hard to know what to say when your friend was almost killed and was now sitting in front of you. Finally he found something to say.

"You're not a bad dancer when you're high."

I rolled my eyes.

"Can we, like, never talk about that again?" I requested "I'd had a really bad day and we act in stupid ways when we're upset."

"Sure," He nodded "We'll never talk about it again."

I smiled gratefully. Then my head began to spin. Frankie had dived on me and wrapped his arms firmly around my neck. But that wasn't all! He'd clambered onto my lap and was half-straddling me. His package was pushed against mine. I inhaled sharply.

"Sorry," He apologised, shifting his hips and preparing to get off of me "I know I'm heavy!"

"No, no not at all!" I replied "You're light as a feather!"

This claim earned a scoff. And then, worst timing ever, the door opened.

Frank jumped and tried to get off of me, only succeeding in falling into me and pushing me against the bedhead. I gasped again as he pressed harder against me.

Peering over Frank's black hair as he tried to get off of me was Sarah's shocked and embarrassed face, going as red as her hair. Oh God, oh God, oh God. Someone please pull the floor from beneath me.

"I'm so sorry, guys!" She exclaimed quickly "I was- I was just coming to see how Gerard was! I'll just. . . I'll just leave you two to. . . yeah. . . bye!"

Frank stared at the door for a moment, then turned to me with a smirk.

"You kept her quiet, didn't you?"

"Huh?" I blurted as he clambered off of me.

"Who was she?" He questioned.

"Sarah," I replied "She lives over the road! You've seen her at school before."

He shrugged as if to say 'probably'. I rolled my eyes, shaking my head fondly. Just like Frank. Eventually we moved on from the subject of Sarah. He was convinced Sarah was my secret girlfriend and nothing I said would change his mind. If only he knew. . .

* * *

Dude, she's NOT my gf

I hit the send button and watched as the message was sent. Frank still hadn't let it drop and was continually texting me all the things he thought I should do to Sarah. I was shivering with each new suggestion. And worse yet, picturing myself doing these things to Frank.

It wasn't having a good effect on me. My obsession was reaching its boiling point. Something had to be done about it. Look what it did to me just the other night! It nearly killed me. I had to tell him.

Whatever! =p I'm going 4 a shower now, kay?

Even though I dreaded the thought of it, I had to tell him. Before my obsession really did kill me! I felt sick to the stomach at the thought.

Kays! C u at skl!

I dreaded it.

Kay =] xo

I would phone him and tell him. . .

So why was I sitting there with my phone in my hand, not doing anything. I was just staring at it.

Call him.

Call him.

Call him!

I flipped my phone open and scrolled to his number. My thumb hovered anxiously.

This was it. I was going to fill him in. I was gonna' tell him why I never touched the girls he introduced me to. I was going to tell him about all the sick thoughts I'd had about him. I was going to tell him about how he made my head spin and my heart swoop. I was going to tell him about what really happened with Mikey and those pills. I was going to tell him what I was thinking when we top-to-tailed that night. I was going to tell him how that kiss made me feel. I was going to tell him why I was in such a foul mood the other night.

God, I felt sick.

Slowly, I lifted the phone to my ear.

"Frank?" I said gently "I-I need to tell you something. Something a-about me. . . Christ. It's gonna' sound totally mad. It is mad! God, I sound crazy, don't I? Okay, look, I'll-I'll get straight down to the point. Please, don't hate me! Promise you won't hate me. Okay, here goes. . ."

I paused.

I took a deep breath in.

"Frank, I. . . I-I love you. . ."

There was a gasp from behind me.

I whirled around, putting my phone down. Of course I wasn't on the phone to him. I was talking to my screensaver, trying to psyche myself up to it. It was the practise run before the big show.

Oh God.

Oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God.

Oh. My. God.

Sarah's eyes had widened. She wore an expression of pure shock.

She turned and ran.

* * *

I was legend at school. All the kids whispered as I walked past. They were all peering at me curiously as if expecting my nose to start bleeding and my arms to sprout needle sores. They stared deep into my eyes, waiting for them to go bloodshot and they'd gasp if I turned around to look behind me - paranoid, drug addict Gerard.

The story had escalated out of proportion. Some swore I was injecting heroin in the bathroom before I went out to dance. Others told wild tales of necking a bottle of Jack Daniels with an E pill. There were stories of smoking pot. There was a rumour I'd faked it -like I'd deliberately hospitalise myself! But the most amusing story I heard was the coke one.

The story went that I was already drunk and stoned off of my face on every single one of the drugs mentioned above. And then I met the girl I was with on the poles. Apparantly -or so the story says- she'd lay down and I'd lined up my coke and snorted it off of her breasts.

I admit it. I laughed so hard that my sides hurt when I heard that one.

As amusing as these rumours were, none were true. Frank did his best to spread the truth and I'd set anyone who asked straight. It's amazing how much the truth can be hyped up. It was also kinda' funny.

All my teachers were super quiet and sensitive around to the point that I wanted to bang my head against the wall until my brains spattered everywhere. This was ridiculous. I'd simply had a bad night and they were acting like I was falling to pieces in front of them.

Then the pathetic unoriginal names began.

Hey, junkie.

Oi, coke whore.

Crack man!

Yo, pothead!

My mood deteriorated more and more throughout the day to the point that I just wanted to crawl into bed and cry.

By the end of the day, I was so glad to hear that last bell go. I told Frank I didn't feel up to going to the gym and he nodded sensitively, promising to text me later. I'd smiled and nodded, waving him off. It was nice and cool outside, a gentle breeze blowing against my forehead.

It felt better to be outside. I could clear my head and hear myself think out here where it didn't stink of sweat a gum and I couldn't hear whispers all around me. I liked my own company too. It's nice to have a bit of time to yourself. I sparked up a cigarette, the little flame whooshing from the tips of my fingers. Maybe I'd go for a walk around the park. That'd be nice. I'd just decided I would do that and I'd pick myself up a bar of chocolate on the way when she showed up.

"Gerard!" She called from the distance.

Oh God.

I walked faster whilst trying not to make it obvious I was trying to get away. Her feet pounded behind me. Crap. I gave up on trying to walk away as fast as possible and just ran. She called me again.

I turned off for the park, running like mad. Maybe she'd give up if I just kept running. . .

How could I possibly face her?

I selected a wide oak tree as my hiding place, curling up behind it, hoping she wouldn't inspect it too closely. . .

I peered around the edge carefully. No sign of her. A sigh of relief escaped my lips and I was rewarded with a drag from my cigarette. She'd given up. I was safe. Safe for today anyway.

"There you are!"

I swore and clutched at my chest.

"Jesus, Sarah!" I exclaimed "What the hell do you want?"

She sat herself down beside me, observing me carefully.

"I just wanted to. . ." She peered around to make sure we were alone "I just wanted to tell you that. . . that your secret's safe with me."

"What?" I demanded.

"Your secret's safe with me, Gerard!" She promised.

"What secret?"

"About. . y'know."

"No, Sarah!" I insisted "I don't know."

I knew perfectly well what she was getting at. Maybe if I played dumb she'd think she'd misheard. In fact, I wasn't lying to her about anything. I wasn't gay. I wasn't.

"About you being gay," She whispered "I won't tell anyone. I promise."

"What? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I heard you last night-"

"Right, get this into your head now. . ." I spat.

The next thing I hissed at her, I hissed so violently that I scared myself.

"I'm not queer, you sad, pathetic, fag hag."

And then I ran again.

I wasn't queer.

I wasn't.