My Theater Romance
| Chapter Three: I Bet You Five Bucks Mikey's Gay |
His lips were so soft, so pink, and the way he bit the lower one drove Frank crazy. He winked a hazel eye and, jutting out his hip, gestured, mouthing, “Come here.” That’s when Frank realized that he was wearing booty shorts. Gerard Way was wearing cutoff, shorter-than-short-bleached-denim-surfer-girlbooty shorts. Frank sucked in a breath as his insides tightened.
-
“Frank, wake up.” Frank’s mother, Linda, stood in his doorway. Frank squirmed in his bed uncomfortably, turning towards the wall to hide his blush, among other things. “I made pancakes. I’m going out and I should be back around lunch time. Take your phone if you go somewhere.” She blew Frank a kiss on crimson nails and teetered out of the door in her pointy black heels. Frank noted that they were peeling on the back. He’d buy her new ones for her birthday. It was next month. He’d also buy her a new dress, he thought. His mom deserved a new dress. She worked so hard.
Frank’s mother was, to put it frankly (NO PUN INTENDED I’M SO SORRY) a whore. She did home calls Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays, and on Fridays and Saturdays she stripped at the local bar. She actually got quite a bit of money from it, and apparently it wasn’t so bad, from what she’d said, which was very little. “Sex workers are undercredited,” she used to tell Frank. “There’s nothing wrong with sex when it’s done right. Sex is just a thing. People don’t understand it much, though, and people are afraid of what they don’t understand.” Frank wasn’t sure why his mom wasn’t an accountant, because she sure was smart.
It had been like that ever since his dad ditched them when he was little. The only thing Frank remembered about his dad was a gritty voice, the smell of cigarettes, a crooked smile, and a tattoo on his torso of a bloody white rose. His mom never talked bad about his dad. She didn’t seem tense about the subject or anything, but she refused to talk about it when he asked. “Some things are better left unsaid,” she’d told him, which just made him more curious.
Frank climbed out of bed, pulling on a Necromantix t-shirt over his pale, skinny chest, and a pair of bunny slippers that he’d die if anyone found out about. He lazily made his way downstairs, devouring the pancakes and sitting down in front of the TV, tuning into SouthPark and mindlessly cramming Doritos into his mouth when his phone buzzed. It was Bert.
Bert never called, he only texted. Frank didn’t know why. It added to the sort of mysterious air around him, and the glamour and glory of the situation, but Frank didn’t care about the glamour and glory so much as he cared about the drugs, because they made him feel a little less empty inside.
Frank wasn’t sad, at least not often, and although he was frequently angry, it was usually a mask to cover up the emptiness. Frank supposed he was lonely, but he didn’t care. The cigarettes were his friends, and sometimes he held them when they were dying and let them burn his pale hipbones, because it felt good to feel something sometimes as opposed to nothing at all.
The text read, I’ve got it. Frank clenched a fist, smiling. He’d never tried cocaine before, but the cigs weren’t working their magic as good as they used to, or maybe he just wasn’t feeling so great, and he hoped that it’d help him want to jump out his window a little less. Frank didn’t really want to die, but he didn’t necessarily want to live either.
Kay, Frank typed back. When can I pick it up? He put his feet up on the couch and resumed watching Cartman ask Mr. Garrison if he wanted to “suck his balls”.
Now, if you’re free, Bert messaged.
I am.
Meet me at the skate park in ten minutes.
In record time, Frank wriggled into black skinny jeans, Chucks and a Chunk!, No, Captain Chunk! hoodie, applied eyeliner, and stuffed his wallet and phone in his back pocket, grabbing his skateboard and, locking the door behind him, skated off towards the park.
The Belleville skate park was next to a preschool, of all places, and Frank, as usual, waited behind the huge concrete slide. The moment he turned around there was a tap on his shoulder, just like always, and he jumped about twelve feet, just like always, and he bumped his head on the slide, just like always. “Bruh!” he scowled. “Did you just melt out of the fucking shadows or something?”
Bert rolled his eyes. “Here.” He handed Frank a small, plastic baggie of white powder. Frank could feel the granules between his fingers, just waiting. He handed Bert a couple of twenties. It was expensive shit.
Usually that was when Bert left, but this time, he hesitated. “Frank…”
“What?” Frank asked impatiently. He had to get home before his mom did to hide it, because Frank’s mom was awesome, but she definitely wouldn’t approve of cocaine in the house, or cocaine in general.
Bert gnawed on his lower lip. “Nevermind.”
Frank shrugged off Bert’s weird behavior, and skated home, hiding the cocaine where he hid his cigarettes – in the back of his closet, where all his old clothes that he didn’t wear anymore were. Then he headed downstairs to watch more South Park, trying to get Bert’s weirdness off his mind.
__________________________________________________________________________
“HE’S CLIMBIN’ IN YO WINDOWS, HE’S SNATCHIN UP YO PEOPLE, SO HIDE YO KIDS, HIDE YO WIFE, HIDE YO UNCLE TOO, CUZ – ”
“Shut the fuck up, Mikey,” Gerard groaned. “I’m trying to fucking sleep, you soggy dickmuffin. Get out or I’ll stab you with a tray.”
“Whatever, loser. I’m going to Ray’s.” He flipped the switch on Gerard’s radio before he slammed the door, and ear-splitting Metallica blasted through the room. Gerard winced. He didn’t exactly feel like waking up to Hetfield shouting about how Johnny got his gun.
Grunting, the raven-haired teen rolled out of bed, hitting the floor with a dull thwack and reaching out to turn off the CD player. For a moment he let the coldness under the thin, motheaten rug seep into himself, and then he stood up, stubbing his toe on the bedframe, hitting his elbow on the side of his desk, biting his tongue, and getting a rug burn on his knee. He hobbled over to his closet and threw on a 999 shirt over his boxers, and got back in bed, snuggling under the covers and taking out his laptop, opening Tumblr and scrolling through his feed.
After some time, Gerard got dressed in a pair of torn blue skinny jeans, red eyeliner, Chucks, and his leather jacket. He made his way downstairs. It was empty – his mother was probably at work, and his father was likely still asleep. Gerard’s dad was a preacher at the church and his mother was a secretary at the city college. She often went on weekends to organize files and shit. Gerard didn’t really like either of his parents much – sure, they were nice and all, and weren’t exactly your average extremely religious Christians (i.e. they let him listen to Iron Maiden if he kept it turned down), but he doubted they’d accept that their son was a massive flaming gaylord.
Gerard wolfed down a bowl of cereal, and then grabbed his sketchbook and a pencil, setting off for the cemetery.
Elena Way’s grave was at the west end of the graveyard where the sun set. Gerard sat down next to it under the willow tree, taking out his sketchbook and turning to a blank page. He started roughly sketching the outline of a face. He didn’t bother to talk to his grandma – she wasn’t under that gravestone. She was somewhere far, far away, of that he was sure. He thought it was stupid when people spoke to gravestones and left flowers at them. They were just fucking rocks, after all.
Gerard lost himself in his drawing, sketching thick eyebrows, soft black hair and a thin smirk with a lip ring, finally sitting back, satisfied, and realizing that it was Frank. He blushed softly. He hadn’t meant to draw Frank, it just… happened. A lot of things seemed to be just happening lately, Gerard thought, leaning back against the tree and ignoring the bark scratching his back.
“DON’T WANNA BE AN AMERICAN IDIOT!” Mikey’s phone blared. He hurriedly picked it up, very ready for the unenthusiastic conversation he and Ray were having about some girl in French with a big butt that clearly neither of them cared about, but there had to be something to break the silence.
“Hey, Mikes, it’s Tay.” Tay’s cheery voice rang out. “What’s up?” Tay Jardine had been Mikey’s best friend (well, second-best, Ray was pretty much his brother, though) forever. They had met when she paid him twenty bucks to pretend he was her boyfriend so her homophobic parents would ease off. She and Taylor were an adorable couple, too.
“Not much, just hanging out with Ray. What about you?”
“Same. You guys wanna get Starbucks with me and Taylor?”
“Do we wanna go get Starbucks with Taylo?” Mikey asked Ray, covering the receiver. Tay and Taylor were so inseperable, everyone just called them Taylo, a combo of their names, as if they were one person.
Ray nodded. “Yeah,” Mikey said. “We’ll meet you there in twenty minutes?”
“Okay,” Tay said, hanging up. “See you.”
Ray had a car, the lucky bastard, and so Mikey jumped in the passenger seat, popping in a Black Sabbath CD and sticking his feet up on the dashboard. Starbucks was a short ride, but they when they arrived there, Taylo were already devouring each other’s faces in the back booth.
“Oi, we came here for coffee, not porn,” Ray joked.
Taylor detached from Tay. “Go get me coffee, then, you big lug.” She tossed a twenty dollar bill at Ray. “My treat.”
Ray wandered off towards the counter. Mikey, acting on a whim buoyed with the truth, put his hand on his chin. “I think I’m gay.”
Taylo’s reactions were identical. They both popped huge smiles, jumping up in their seats.
Taylor turned to Tay. “You owe me five bucks.”
“Do not,” Tay protested.
“I bet you five bucks Mikey was gay.”
“But I never said he wasn’t!”
“But you never said he was!”
“Please don’t tell anyone,” Mikey groaned, burying his face in his hands. His parents were major Christians. He went to Catholic school, for fuck’s sake. “I’m not sure yet. And I don’t want anyone to know.”
“Don’t want anyone to know what?” Ray returned, carrying four coffees. He batted his eyelashes, assuming a smug smirk, and jutted his hip out to the side. “Hello, ladies, I’ll be your waitress this afternoon.”
Mikey gulped, staring at Ray’s behind in his very tight black jeans. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
____________________________
I'm really sick and I feel like shit ;-;
Sorry for not updating sooner - I know I promised y'all an update - but I got in a huge fight with my mom so I was staying at my aunt's for a few days, where I don't have a computer, but I'm back now.
I am having the most hectic week in the entire universe and ewwww i feel so gross ok guys ahhfdefefrygvnyergvuyngvye
ahem anyways sorry to burden you with personal stuff. Enjoy the story! I should have a new chapter up today, tomorrow, or Friday.
Maybe it's not your weekend, but it's your year, cookies! Have a good week <3
Don't forget to comment/vote/subscribe - your feedback is my lifeblood or something
-
“Frank, wake up.” Frank’s mother, Linda, stood in his doorway. Frank squirmed in his bed uncomfortably, turning towards the wall to hide his blush, among other things. “I made pancakes. I’m going out and I should be back around lunch time. Take your phone if you go somewhere.” She blew Frank a kiss on crimson nails and teetered out of the door in her pointy black heels. Frank noted that they were peeling on the back. He’d buy her new ones for her birthday. It was next month. He’d also buy her a new dress, he thought. His mom deserved a new dress. She worked so hard.
Frank’s mother was, to put it frankly (NO PUN INTENDED I’M SO SORRY) a whore. She did home calls Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays, and on Fridays and Saturdays she stripped at the local bar. She actually got quite a bit of money from it, and apparently it wasn’t so bad, from what she’d said, which was very little. “Sex workers are undercredited,” she used to tell Frank. “There’s nothing wrong with sex when it’s done right. Sex is just a thing. People don’t understand it much, though, and people are afraid of what they don’t understand.” Frank wasn’t sure why his mom wasn’t an accountant, because she sure was smart.
It had been like that ever since his dad ditched them when he was little. The only thing Frank remembered about his dad was a gritty voice, the smell of cigarettes, a crooked smile, and a tattoo on his torso of a bloody white rose. His mom never talked bad about his dad. She didn’t seem tense about the subject or anything, but she refused to talk about it when he asked. “Some things are better left unsaid,” she’d told him, which just made him more curious.
Frank climbed out of bed, pulling on a Necromantix t-shirt over his pale, skinny chest, and a pair of bunny slippers that he’d die if anyone found out about. He lazily made his way downstairs, devouring the pancakes and sitting down in front of the TV, tuning into SouthPark and mindlessly cramming Doritos into his mouth when his phone buzzed. It was Bert.
Bert never called, he only texted. Frank didn’t know why. It added to the sort of mysterious air around him, and the glamour and glory of the situation, but Frank didn’t care about the glamour and glory so much as he cared about the drugs, because they made him feel a little less empty inside.
Frank wasn’t sad, at least not often, and although he was frequently angry, it was usually a mask to cover up the emptiness. Frank supposed he was lonely, but he didn’t care. The cigarettes were his friends, and sometimes he held them when they were dying and let them burn his pale hipbones, because it felt good to feel something sometimes as opposed to nothing at all.
The text read, I’ve got it. Frank clenched a fist, smiling. He’d never tried cocaine before, but the cigs weren’t working their magic as good as they used to, or maybe he just wasn’t feeling so great, and he hoped that it’d help him want to jump out his window a little less. Frank didn’t really want to die, but he didn’t necessarily want to live either.
Kay, Frank typed back. When can I pick it up? He put his feet up on the couch and resumed watching Cartman ask Mr. Garrison if he wanted to “suck his balls”.
Now, if you’re free, Bert messaged.
I am.
Meet me at the skate park in ten minutes.
In record time, Frank wriggled into black skinny jeans, Chucks and a Chunk!, No, Captain Chunk! hoodie, applied eyeliner, and stuffed his wallet and phone in his back pocket, grabbing his skateboard and, locking the door behind him, skated off towards the park.
The Belleville skate park was next to a preschool, of all places, and Frank, as usual, waited behind the huge concrete slide. The moment he turned around there was a tap on his shoulder, just like always, and he jumped about twelve feet, just like always, and he bumped his head on the slide, just like always. “Bruh!” he scowled. “Did you just melt out of the fucking shadows or something?”
Bert rolled his eyes. “Here.” He handed Frank a small, plastic baggie of white powder. Frank could feel the granules between his fingers, just waiting. He handed Bert a couple of twenties. It was expensive shit.
Usually that was when Bert left, but this time, he hesitated. “Frank…”
“What?” Frank asked impatiently. He had to get home before his mom did to hide it, because Frank’s mom was awesome, but she definitely wouldn’t approve of cocaine in the house, or cocaine in general.
Bert gnawed on his lower lip. “Nevermind.”
Frank shrugged off Bert’s weird behavior, and skated home, hiding the cocaine where he hid his cigarettes – in the back of his closet, where all his old clothes that he didn’t wear anymore were. Then he headed downstairs to watch more South Park, trying to get Bert’s weirdness off his mind.
__________________________________________________________________________
“HE’S CLIMBIN’ IN YO WINDOWS, HE’S SNATCHIN UP YO PEOPLE, SO HIDE YO KIDS, HIDE YO WIFE, HIDE YO UNCLE TOO, CUZ – ”
“Shut the fuck up, Mikey,” Gerard groaned. “I’m trying to fucking sleep, you soggy dickmuffin. Get out or I’ll stab you with a tray.”
“Whatever, loser. I’m going to Ray’s.” He flipped the switch on Gerard’s radio before he slammed the door, and ear-splitting Metallica blasted through the room. Gerard winced. He didn’t exactly feel like waking up to Hetfield shouting about how Johnny got his gun.
Grunting, the raven-haired teen rolled out of bed, hitting the floor with a dull thwack and reaching out to turn off the CD player. For a moment he let the coldness under the thin, motheaten rug seep into himself, and then he stood up, stubbing his toe on the bedframe, hitting his elbow on the side of his desk, biting his tongue, and getting a rug burn on his knee. He hobbled over to his closet and threw on a 999 shirt over his boxers, and got back in bed, snuggling under the covers and taking out his laptop, opening Tumblr and scrolling through his feed.
After some time, Gerard got dressed in a pair of torn blue skinny jeans, red eyeliner, Chucks, and his leather jacket. He made his way downstairs. It was empty – his mother was probably at work, and his father was likely still asleep. Gerard’s dad was a preacher at the church and his mother was a secretary at the city college. She often went on weekends to organize files and shit. Gerard didn’t really like either of his parents much – sure, they were nice and all, and weren’t exactly your average extremely religious Christians (i.e. they let him listen to Iron Maiden if he kept it turned down), but he doubted they’d accept that their son was a massive flaming gaylord.
Gerard wolfed down a bowl of cereal, and then grabbed his sketchbook and a pencil, setting off for the cemetery.
Elena Way’s grave was at the west end of the graveyard where the sun set. Gerard sat down next to it under the willow tree, taking out his sketchbook and turning to a blank page. He started roughly sketching the outline of a face. He didn’t bother to talk to his grandma – she wasn’t under that gravestone. She was somewhere far, far away, of that he was sure. He thought it was stupid when people spoke to gravestones and left flowers at them. They were just fucking rocks, after all.
Gerard lost himself in his drawing, sketching thick eyebrows, soft black hair and a thin smirk with a lip ring, finally sitting back, satisfied, and realizing that it was Frank. He blushed softly. He hadn’t meant to draw Frank, it just… happened. A lot of things seemed to be just happening lately, Gerard thought, leaning back against the tree and ignoring the bark scratching his back.
“DON’T WANNA BE AN AMERICAN IDIOT!” Mikey’s phone blared. He hurriedly picked it up, very ready for the unenthusiastic conversation he and Ray were having about some girl in French with a big butt that clearly neither of them cared about, but there had to be something to break the silence.
“Hey, Mikes, it’s Tay.” Tay’s cheery voice rang out. “What’s up?” Tay Jardine had been Mikey’s best friend (well, second-best, Ray was pretty much his brother, though) forever. They had met when she paid him twenty bucks to pretend he was her boyfriend so her homophobic parents would ease off. She and Taylor were an adorable couple, too.
“Not much, just hanging out with Ray. What about you?”
“Same. You guys wanna get Starbucks with me and Taylor?”
“Do we wanna go get Starbucks with Taylo?” Mikey asked Ray, covering the receiver. Tay and Taylor were so inseperable, everyone just called them Taylo, a combo of their names, as if they were one person.
Ray nodded. “Yeah,” Mikey said. “We’ll meet you there in twenty minutes?”
“Okay,” Tay said, hanging up. “See you.”
Ray had a car, the lucky bastard, and so Mikey jumped in the passenger seat, popping in a Black Sabbath CD and sticking his feet up on the dashboard. Starbucks was a short ride, but they when they arrived there, Taylo were already devouring each other’s faces in the back booth.
“Oi, we came here for coffee, not porn,” Ray joked.
Taylor detached from Tay. “Go get me coffee, then, you big lug.” She tossed a twenty dollar bill at Ray. “My treat.”
Ray wandered off towards the counter. Mikey, acting on a whim buoyed with the truth, put his hand on his chin. “I think I’m gay.”
Taylo’s reactions were identical. They both popped huge smiles, jumping up in their seats.
Taylor turned to Tay. “You owe me five bucks.”
“Do not,” Tay protested.
“I bet you five bucks Mikey was gay.”
“But I never said he wasn’t!”
“But you never said he was!”
“Please don’t tell anyone,” Mikey groaned, burying his face in his hands. His parents were major Christians. He went to Catholic school, for fuck’s sake. “I’m not sure yet. And I don’t want anyone to know.”
“Don’t want anyone to know what?” Ray returned, carrying four coffees. He batted his eyelashes, assuming a smug smirk, and jutted his hip out to the side. “Hello, ladies, I’ll be your waitress this afternoon.”
Mikey gulped, staring at Ray’s behind in his very tight black jeans. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
____________________________
I'm really sick and I feel like shit ;-;
Sorry for not updating sooner - I know I promised y'all an update - but I got in a huge fight with my mom so I was staying at my aunt's for a few days, where I don't have a computer, but I'm back now.
I am having the most hectic week in the entire universe and ewwww i feel so gross ok guys ahhfdefefrygvnyergvuyngvye
ahem anyways sorry to burden you with personal stuff. Enjoy the story! I should have a new chapter up today, tomorrow, or Friday.
Maybe it's not your weekend, but it's your year, cookies! Have a good week <3
Don't forget to comment/vote/subscribe - your feedback is my lifeblood or something
this is gr8
and i caught the fob references
HAHAHAHHAHAHAHA WHAT'S LIFE
5/17/16