You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison

I had been on my absolute best behaviour all week, eating when I was supposed to, sleeping all night, every night. Now Friday’s finally here, I feel rested and I find myself looking forward to the weekend like I hadn’t done in years. A tall man with fire engine hair walks through the door, later than I’d have hoped; it’s nearly evening.
“Hey, Frankie. You ready?” His smile splits his face in to as I rush to my feet.
“Get me out!”
“Okay, okay” he laughs as I bound around like an overexcited puppy. “First, put these on. We can’t have you recognized. Okay?” He pulls a long sleeved black shirt with a screen printed band logo, a pair of baggy blue jeans, some half cut skeleton gloves and leather belt from his omnipresent cracked leather satchel. He looks away awkwardly as I pull on the denim and fasten the batman belt buckle, but makes no attempt to hide his curiosity of my tattooed chest. I smile and fumble with the shirt, finally pulling it on along with the gloves and lacing my shoes.
“I got you a bracelet too, and funnily enough it matches mine.” He snaps one half of the handcuff shut around his wrist and I offer mine. He secures us together, and I frown at the obviousness, despite the long sleeves and gloves. He takes my hand.
“There” he whispers, and surely enough, the cuff is barely visible. “Ready?”
We walk, hand in hand, in perfect step down the desolate corridors and heavily armed steel doors, until we reach one of glass that refracts the brilliant light. A lady from behind an oak desk smiles her thin smile at my sheer amazement of the light breaking into millions of dancing spots. We walk through the iron gates and turn into a massive green park and climb a short hill that I didn’t know existed.
“Oh…” The park looked as if it was made of precious gems, and I was suddenly unaware of Gerard or the harsh metal digging into my wrist.
The sky is made of sapphires, an overwhelmingly large sea of a rich colour. The grass is soft emeralds, and how I had missed the long green stems waving in the gentle breeze that ruffles my soft black hair. The sun is made of fiery amber that kisses my cheeks with its warmth. I whoop and in a moment of euphoria, I run down the hill, pulling Gerard behind me to a chorus of “Frank wha- AGH!”. We collapse in a heap of giggles at the bottom of the hill, like children.
“Gerard?” I say, as we lie on our backs and admire the depth of the wonderfully liberated sky, of the fading gossamer clouds, of the sun beginning to sink into the horizon.
“Frank?”
“What are we gonna do next?”
“Hmm. By the looks of you, we’ll get you to my house.” And it was true the moment of rush had taken more of a toll than it should; I felt a little faint, from the dizziness of freedom more than anything else. We get up, my sides aching from laughing at our poor attempts to pick ourselves up with our hands still entwined, and Gerard takes me to a modest house in an ordinary street.
~
We are lying on his bed, watching a movie. I am enchanted by the vampires that grace the dusty screen; it’s been a while. He has taken off the cuff linking us, with strict warnings that if I was caught running off I would move away, far away, and never see him again. We’d eaten pizza, a wonderfully colourful meal compared to the prison’s cuisine, and we lay on opposite sides of the double. I glanced over at him. His hair had spread out on the black cotton to create a fiery halo. I’m so thankful for all he’s done; he stopped me from dying. Truth be told, the stirrings in my stomach I got when I saw him were not feelings I’d associate with just anyone. Gerard is special, and I am determined to prove it. I creep my technicolor hand over to his pale one. He looks over at me, surprised, as I squeeze it. I smile a more muted, softer smile than the awestruck ones of before.
“Can I tell you a secret, Frankie?” His lips graze my ear and I flush. “I wanted to prove that you meant something to me the moment I walked into that cell and saw a man that needed something proving to him.”
I’d experienced danger and freedom before, but this is a whole new kind. He softly presses his lips against my stubbly cheek, and I turn my face to him. He pulls away, but only for a second to pull himself over me and sit on my hips as I rest my hands on his knees. He takes my face in his hands and gives me soft, tiny kisses, running down my nose, across my cheeks, sliding his tongue a little down my jaw, peppering my forehead but avoiding my lips. I take one hand from his leg and wrap it around the base of his neck, gently. I gently guide his lips to mine, and this kiss lingers a little longer.
“I hate myself, you know” I whisper.
“Do you hate what you’ve done, or who you are, or what you look like?” He continues kissing me very daintily, each word punctuated with a brush of his warm lips against my skin.
“All of them.” He pulls off my shirt nimbly and kisses down my neck and collar, and takes one of his hands from around my neck and pulls out my hand. He inspects each ink with detail, something I can tell he’s been dying to do for a while, and leaves a kiss as he moves on. He pecks the tip of each finger, and does the same with my other arm. I watch him study each picture; examine little parts with a delicate eye and gentle presses of his lips. He comes and lies down next to me, and I snuggle up close to his chest, throwing one arm over him as he tucks one of his around me. I fall asleep to the steady drum of his heart that I knew had a place within it reserved especially for me.

Notes