You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison

Gerard had seen me every day for a month, never skipping a meeting and often overrunning. We didn't talk about my past, or future; he just made me feel loved, as cliche as it sounds. He spent the daily hours listening, and did it make a change, to be listened to. I twigged that this was the equality he talked about when we first met. All though I still had this overwhelming urge inside of me to kill, to kill anything, anyone, myself, Gerard, the fly that buzzed around the light fitting, I ignored it. I don't know how. I just thought of the warmth of those muscular arms wrapping around me and I felt this rush of inner peace. I had become a lot stronger in this month. I eat now, three meals a day, and although they force fed me for a week or two now they bulk up the portions and my ribs don't show through my shirt so much. He hadn't kissed me again. I wonder why. I sit on my bed, my back leaning against the wall, and a short knock broke the trance. Gerard enters and sits next to me.
"How are you feeling today, Frankie?" He stares at the white wall opposite, as if something is bothering him.
"Good. Bored."
"Ah, I thought that might be the case. Would you care to accompany me on a walk?" I'd been outside of my cell once during the month, and that was for a medical, nothing exciting. My chapped lips broke into a smile.
"Yeah I would." He pulls out a pair of handcuffs from under his customary black shirt tails. I didn't know he wore such a belt, and whats more, I don't think this is the first time he'd worn it to see me. He sees the expression on my face, and his own is like a mask.
"I'm sorry. I tried to protest against them, but you're strong again now. Rules are rules, and if I made 'em, I'd break 'em." He secures one metal bracelet around his wrist and captures my own. I don't want to go out any more. I want to sob in a heap and cry my lungs out and scream until a nurse with immaculate red lipstick and disposable gloves comes in and slips me an injection to stop the world from moving for me. He was one of them, after all. All I can do now is wear the emotionless mask Gerard wears too.
He opens the door and we walk in step, in silence. He turns me into a corridor I've never seen, and opens a door, unlabeled, same as any other. We sit on a sofa of hard black leather.
"Gee? What's going on?"
"Mr. Iero, please be patient." Mr. Iero? Something is seriously not right. There is not much in the room; a desk and four hideous brown walls that close in, covered in posters explaining what is wrong with a clueless, blunt stab in the dark. A man walks in, and I start. Gerard gets up, and shakes his hand. I look down at my wrist, and to my surprise, he has chained me to the wooden frame of the sofa. That sneaky bastard. I can't make out the other man's face, but he turns in my direction. My eyes widen and suddenly the metal and wood are nothing; I tear free as if it were mere hair ribbons holding me. I take the man's shirt, and I punch him with my left hand as hard as I can, with Gerard shouting at me to stop in my ear, but I'm not listening, I'm feeling the hot flow of blood and the grind of his bones against mine, and him writhing and hitting me although they feel weak, like a child, like he's a fucking baby, and I smile and hit and then I see the handcuff swing and realize I use the metal and smash with each blow. Everything is getting louder and fuzzier and red clouds my vision and I smile and I scream and I let out everything that's been pent up inside, every injustice and hypocrite and demon escaping me until the strong familiar arms pull me back and I can't see anymore until I'm back in the white room.


~


We lay in the bed for hours until he had no tears left to cry or blood left to bleed. Cain killed Lucy Jones, but he was also Frank Anthony Iero Sr.'s second cousin's son. Frank Jr and Cain had played as boys until Frank's twin brother was killed. Frank didn't remember his brother, or Cain. As far as Frank knew, he grew up perfectly normally. But something in his subconscious didn't forget how both he and his identical brother were snatched, until Cain hit the twisted bastard over the head, how Frank had wriggled away, how they ran but left his brother behind. Something that had grown and it made monsters of men. Guilt. Of how it consumed and overtook everything, until the only memory he had of the hazarded patchwork past was of Cain and of a killer and of a hole where there used to be a boy. When Frank was older of course, he saw what Cain did to that girl of his. The brain made the connection, like a plug to a socket, and electricity sparked. I hold the broken man, the scared and confused man who the whole world believes is evil in my arms as the world rotates groggily and the mundane carry on believing everything that they are told.

Notes

So I made Frank a twin. And that's the reason why Frank kills. Obviously fictionally. Also, I did comment but Frank tweeted me and I did scream/shamelessly fangirl.
Anyways, there is still more to come my lovelies, so sit tight and enjoy the ride.
Em xo