Gerard Way: Serial Killer
I ended up sitting there the whole night, lost in thought. I checked my mind clock at one point, and it was 5:04am. I had to meet Frank at 8:30. I still had three hours and twenty-six minutes to kill. What could I do? I could draw. Yes.
I stretched out, back and legs sore from sitting in the same position for a long time. I rolled off the bed, firmly planted my feet on the floor and hobbled over to my dresser. I pulled out the top drawer and pulled out a 75% empty sketchbook. The only drawings in it were some random doodles and sketches I'd conjured up at my leisure.
I flipped it open to a blank page and stumbled over to my drawing desk, sitting lonely and forlorn in the corner of my dark, dark room. Despite the dimness, I could see pretty well. I slapped the open sketchbook down onto the desk and went hunting for a pencil. My foot found one when it was stabbed by the sharpened graphite end of the utensil. I lifted it off the floor and held it delicately inbetween my right index finger, thumb, and middle finger. I sat in the chair at the desk and let my mind wander. My imagination floated off to strange, muddled places. I started lightly sketching the first coherent image that came to mind: Frank Iero.
I started with his head. I penciled in his eyes, dark and intense, yet light and understanding. I sculpted his perfect eyebrows, his dainty nose and his cupid's bow lips. I marked where his hairline began and started filling in his black, shaggy hair. His neck came next, framed by the collar of a stark black funeral tuxedo.
Eventually, after a few tweaks and adjustments and the right amount of shading, I was finished. I tiredly dropped my pencil on the desktop, letting it roll of the edge and fall soundlessly onto the floor, fingers aching. My drawing was a startlingly accurate representation of my only friend. I held it out in front of me and just admired it for a moment.
It was now 7:59. Perfect accidental timing. I set the drawing down on the desktop and walked over to the dresser to choose my outfit for the day.
I dressed and walked down the corridor and into the kitchen, starting the coffee and fixing myself a bowl of cereal for breakfast. I finished my cereal and drank my coffee, leaving only two things left to do: my eyeliner and brush my hair and teeth. I snatched the brand new stick of black makeup and headed into the bathroom. I quickly did my eyeliner and brushed my hair and teeth.
Finally done making myself barely presentable, I grabbed my wallet from the counter and walked out of the apartment, closing and locking the door behind me. I stumbled down the stairs, nervous about meeting Frank again. Why was I nervous? Perhaps he wasn't real? Maybe I imagined Frank and he's just a figment of my insanity. I sure hope not. I shook my head, dimissing the crazy thoughts.
I continued the usual walk to the cafè, but this time was different, because I was going to meet someone. Also, I didn't even have work today, so it was strange going outside on a Wednesday.
I pushed open the doors to find the cafè halfway empty. Frank was already there, waiting at a two-person table for me wwith two drinks in front of him. He looked tired.
I arrived at the table and pulled back the chair. "Is this seat taken?" I asked sarcastically, knowing that this seat was reserved for me.
Frank looked up groggily and seemed to snap out of a daze when he saw me. "Good morning, Winston." He yawned. I flinched at the name "Winston", because it bothered me that my only friend doesn't even know who the hell I am. "I... I hope you like black coffee, cuz.. I, uh, got you one.." he droned, sliding the styrofoam cup across the table in my direction. I grabbed it and lifted it to my lips. Ah, the wonders of caffiene.
"Yes, I do. Thank you. Now tell me, why are you so damn tired?" I asked, hoping it sounded polite.
Frank just rubbed his eyes and replied: "I was up mad late last night. I was planning my party and just.... thinking."
I raised an eyebrow. "Thinking? About what?"
"Oh, uh, geez.. a lot, I guess. A certain someone."
I tilted my head subtly to the side. A "certain someone"? He was thinking so much about one person that his raging ideas deprived him of sleep? One part of me was hoping that I was the "certain someone".
"Oh." Was all I could utter without vocally embarrassing myself.
"Oh?" He questioned my remark.
"Yeah. Who is this person of such utter importance that they deprive you of sleep?"
"A new friend." Was all he said. Hm. Well, if that didn't get me thinking...
"Uh, Frank? Can I trust you? Are you my friend?" I asked. I needed to know, because I seriously needed to tell him about me- the real me. I don't want to be friends with someone because they think I'm someone I'm not. That doesn't really count as a friend; that just means he's friends with the fake personality I created.
He chuckled, as if I had asked him if the sky was blue. "Yeah, and yeah."
"Well, I need to tell you a few things. A few things that are actually true about me." I explained. I hope he doesn't think I'm freak for telling him deep info on the second day of knowing each other.
He looked puzzled, then yawned. "Actually true about you? You mean the stuff you told me isn't true?"
I nodded seriously.
"Well, do we need to go somewhere less public?" He asked, motioning to the amount of people in the cafè. I nodded again. We drained our cups of coffee and discarded them, leaving the cafè. Frank lead the way. We were headed in a very familiar direction; southbound towards the apartments. We were going to his apartment. I guess that's what friends do?
We got inside the building and took the shitty old elevator to the top floor and arrived at his room; the first one on the left. He opened the door and motioned for me to enter. I did, Frank following close behind, quietly closing his door. He pointed to a couch for me to sit on, and we sat.
He shifted to face me and sat cross-legged on his cushion. I mirrored his position.
"Alright. Vent it," he said.
"Okay," I started, uneasy, staring deep into his pools of hazel, "First of all, you must believe every single thing I utter, no matter how unbelievable it may seem," he nodded, "And second, uh, please do not be afraid of me. Please," I pleaded, grabbing his hands and gently squeezing them. Holy shit holy shit holy shit I just touched him! I mentally apologized and released his hands. He was still holding on. I looked up at him and he was smiling and nodding.
"I'll hear you out," he simply told me.
Something chemical was taking place in my heart. I couldn't quite place what was occurring, but it felt exciting. He let go of my hands and the feeling faded, but didn't vanish.
I took a deep breath and silently cursed whatever had possessed me to tell him about myself. "Alright. Uh, my name is not Winston Davis. It is Gerard Way. I am a 23-year-old serial killer. I move around a lot to avoid the authorities. I change my apperance frequently," I pointed to my hair, "My, uhh... m-my first three kills were my, um, family.. I have an internal clock/timer/alarm... I like to draw.. I have had limited contact with others of my species, I have killed seventeen people in all, and uh, I.." I stammered, regretting the next part, "I have been plotting to murder you since I saw you, but since you have been the only kind person to me in a long time, I decided that I wouldn't. Also, I adore cats," I finished, waiting for him to scream or laugh or something... anything..
He just sat there, absorbing the information like a sponge. I was afraid he was going to reject me or something, or call the police.
Instead, he leaned in and hugged me. I hugged him back, surprised.
"It must've been hard for you to tell me that, Wi- I mean, Gerard. I'm glad you did," he pointed out.
He began to retract from the hug, me thanking him for understanding, but right about when he was going to let go, he planted a soft, quick kiss on my cheek. My mouth opened in shock. He fully retracted from the hug, and I gazed at him as he shyly brushed a few black hair strands out of his face, unsure of how to react. The chemical/burning sensation returned full blast, burning up my insides with emotion.
He blushed and looked out a window. "I guess I should tell you that I'm gay."
I just sat there awkwardly silent. I didn't honestly know my sexuality. "I do not know my sexuality. I have been secluded for so long, I haven't really found an interest in anyone.. except you." I stated flatly. His eyes widened, but not in a scared way. In more like an "Oh, really?" sort of way.
"Are you, um, you know..." I stuttered, trying to spit out a coherent fucking sentence, "..Are you attracted to me? In a sexual way?" I asked, cheeks flaring red for no obvious reason. Frank squirmed awkwardly, staring down at his fidgeting hands. He looked up at me strangely, bottom lip caught inbetween his teeth.
I had no idea of what that meant. Maybe the hug and cheek-kiss and the strange look meant "yes"? Maybe not. Is he attracted to me? Am I attracted to him? Am I gay?
All of these questions were racing through my mind and I just had this blank stare on my face, still awaiting his answer. We made eye contact, and I raised my eyebrow.
"Uh, I don't... know?" He answered.
"You can't answer a question with another question," I scolded.
"You just said a contraction for the first time! You said can't instead of cannot!" He sang as if he had won a game of chess, changing the subject.
"Well, I guess I'M catching on," I grinned as I emphasized the "I'm".
He just chuckled. "You know, Gerard Way, for a sexually confused, lying serial killer, you're a pretty cool best friend."
I smiled. "Best friend". He accepted me, even though I was previously planning on cutting him open. That's friendship.