Honey, this Mirror Ain't Big Enough for the Two of Us.

Chapter 12- Frank
After Gerard picks me up off the floor and my adrenaline dies down, I am in shock. I just… I just had sex with Gerard. I become very shy and can’t quite meet Gee’s eyes. Walking over to the corner of my room, I grab a semi-clean shirt and toss it to the shirtless man looking at me expectantly. He catches it and pulls down his dirtied pants and boxers, cleaning himself as best he can. I blush at the sight of his nude body and busy myself with the cleaning of my own mess.
Gerard keeps trying to make eye contact with me. I look at him for a second, my cheeks burning, and then I hide my face with a flick of my head, the front of my hair shielding me.
I feel a hand cup my face tenderly. “Frankie, did I do something wrong?” Gerard asks softly, looking down at me. I nuzzle his hand, taking in his smell of smoke and sex.
“No, I just…I don’t know. I’ve never done that before.” His eyes widen. “You mean…Why the fuck didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?!? We should have gone much slower,” He says, sounding upset.
I shake my head forcefully. “No, it was perfect. I just am having trouble adjusting to this a little bit,” I say, leaning into his chest.Gerard’s arms circle around me and he pecks me lightly on the tip of my nose. I smile slightly and we stand like that for a while, holding each other.
There is a knock at the door. Gerard and I jump away from each other, frantically pulling clothes on. Ray’s voice wafts in from the hallway, muted by the closed door. “Are dicks covered?” He asks, the eye rolling evident in his voice.
I call out to him, “Uh, define covered.” Gerard smirks as he slips a shirt on.
Ray waits outside the door, sighing audibly. He gives us a warning, “I’m coming in in three seconds.”
We scramble to put the rest of our clothes on, Gerard with his shirt and me with my pants. Ray opens the door to find us both three-quarters dressed and with ruffled hair. I realize that my boxers are on backwards and my pants are on inside out. My face heats up rapidly and Gerard whistles inconspicuously. Ray makes a grossed out face at us and closes his eyes. “I leave you two alone and this happens.”
I hide my face in my hands. “What is it that you need, Ray?” I ask, mortified.
He replies, “Well, today arts and crafts has been added to your schedule, so twice a week you have to go to room 22 and be creative for 45 minutes. Self-expression is key to a successful rehabilitation. So just get dressed, the right way, and go find room 22, okay?”
He looks at both of us, and we nod. As he walks out he tosses a casual remark over his shoulder, “Hey, at least I’m not your parents who walked in on you, Frank.” He means for it to be lighthearted, an attemptto ease us in our state of embarrassment, but I immediately feel a stab of terror at the thought of what my parents would think of me right now. I swallow harshly, trying to remind myself that my parents are not, in fact, judging my every move currently.
Gee and I awkwardly put on our clothes the right way, exchanging better fitting shirts with each other. When we both look fairly normal, Gerard reaches over and gives my hand a slight squeeze. “Ready to go?” He asks. I look up at him. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply dryly. He chuckles at me and I roll my eyes, walking out the door with him.
“I am absolutely shit at drawing,” I announce as we near room 22, after getting lost in the drab corridors for what seemed like hours. He lets out a loud laugh, it echoing off the linoleum. I look up at him, equally amused and startled. “What?” I say, wondering what I had done.
He looks highly amused. “Nothing, it was just extremely out of context,” He says. I just roll my eyes at how odd he is.
We walk into the room and immediately let go of each other’s hands, remembering Ray’s warning from a few days ago. A tall woman with dark hair comes over to us and tells us to find a seat and just draw whatever we want, seeing as this is ‘a creative place free of judgment’. Okay, sure.
The only two seats left are on opposite sides of the room, the space in between blocked with figures huddled over artwork in various shades of messiness. Gerard leans over and quickly kisses my cheek as a goodbye, walking away. I turn a dark shade of vermillion and pray no one saw that while taking my own seat.
I wasn’t kidding when I said I was shit at drawing. It becomes increasingly obvious as I fiddle with various colored pencils that I have no idea with what to illustrate. I crane my neck to look at Gerard across the room. He is drawing feverishly, enthralled in his work. I heave out an exasperated sigh and lay my head against the cool surface of the table, closing my eyes and trying to sort out all the thoughts and emotions whirling through my head.
This week has been chaos. My parents hate me. But Gerard loves me. I really need a fuckin’ fix. It has been too long. Ray is still upset by Nia’s suicide, I can tell. God, how am I gay? Dad will disown me. Did he already disown me? Fuck, I don’t know. I just practically had sex. Ugh everything makes no sense. I need meth.
Realizing thinking and stewing over my problems will help nothing, I open my eyes. There is a girl with light brown eyes and short hair sitting next to and staring at me, a worried expression on her face. “Are you okay?” She asks quietly, her voice breathy and soft.
I push my head off the table and smooth my hair off my face. I say with a groan, “Yeah, I just don’t know what draw and my life is a mess right now.”
She smiles and tilts her head back, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah, well join the club,” She looks at me after a moment, her eyes scanning mine. “I’m Jamia,” She says, sticking out her hand to shake mine. She seems nice enough, and I decide I can get along with her.
“Frank.” I say simply, loosely shaking her hand.
There is a silence and we both stare at her piece of paper. She has drawn a fairly good picture of what I think is a prescription pill bottle, blood and ink swirling inside and filling it up, dripping over the side. I move my chair closer to hers, tracing the picture with my fingertips lightly. “Hey, that’s pretty good,” I say, trying to be friendly.
She looks down at it, hesitantly saying, “Really? I just drew what got me here in the first place.”
Assuming she means pills, I nod silently. She says after a while, “Just draw the first thing that pops into your head.”
Taking her advice, I empty my mind. Immediately, the image of the Jesus figurine I smashed against my wall appears in my mind’s eye. I turn to her one last time, “Thanks Jamia.”
She smiles softly. “No problem,” She gets out of her chair, leaving me alone. It is only when she is almost at the door that a small piece of paper is thrown at my head. It bounces off me and lands on the table. I glance over at the door, but she has already disappeared and left. I smooth out the note. In small, smooth handwriting is the words ‘I saw that vampire guy kiss you on the cheek. You two are cute together.’ I quickly ball the note up and shove it in my pocket, smiling to myself and shaking my head.
I grab the nearest black colored pencil and start to sketch out the smashed wall hanging, the image in my head as clear as a picture.

I tinge the broken face of the small Jesus with dark red, as if it were blood.

Notes

I'm back, bitches. (Youguysarenotreallybitchesijustwannabepunksorry)
It has been far too long, I am so sorry. New chapter up tomorrow or Monday.

Can we just have a moment of silence? It has been 365 days since My Chemical Romance has left. But they will stay in our hearts forever.

Thank you so much for reading,
XXX Mourning-Glory XXX