It's Not a Fashion Statement

gerards pov
My heart races at a million beats per minute, my mouth is dry and my hands are shaking so bad because the love of my whole life is in danger, and I have no idea where to go, what to do… where the fuck is he?

I slump into the car seat and immediately start the engine, whilst trying to remember directions to the place of the auditions.

I shoot off to the destination, my palms sweating and clammy around the steering wheel whilst my foot taps manically against the pedal, which is probably really unsafe. But I couldn’t care less right now, because my Frankie is in danger, and he really is all that matters to me.

I find the studio block and I don’t even bother parking, I just leave the car in the center of the driveway. I rush up the steps only to try open a door that is in fact locked. I look around but there doesn’t seem to be any other doors any where around here. Great wonderful, I think to myself.


All the lights are off, and in all honesty this studio really doesn’t look like it’s been used in years. There’s a gate around the corner but it has a huge rusting padlock on, which you can tell has been locked up for ages.
I sigh and stumble back into the car; resorting in searching the one place I always seem to find him along with a certain someone that always seems to be the fucking cause.

-
I park up near the alleyways near the corner and liquor store, slamming the door shut in fury, frustration and worry, before running off into the dark, shadowed alleys.

I rush up the first alley, peering down the joined routes that attach to either side. It stinks around here, smoke, drugs and alcohol. Well no wonder, this is the place I always used to go, it shouldn’t be anything new, what did I expect?

I turn a sharp corner only to be met with a dead end, a tall brick wall of the corner store. Maybe I should ask if he’s been seen.

I walk around the block and enter through the front entrance, wasting no time and immediately asking the cashier at the till.

“This is so important, has there been any sort of violence or strange behavior around here, with a boy, about this height, brown hair? Possibly involving another man, maybe with a mask on?” I pant, slamming my fists onto the till desk to catch everyone’s attention.

People look at me like I’m deranged and completely insane, whilst my hands shake uncontrollably and my face contorts to a frown as tears start rolling down my cheeks, because fucking hell, I really need answers and I really need some help, and it’s really starting to click that this could end so disastrously, worse than anything that’s happened before.

The cashier slowly shakes his head, moving his eyes onto the woman on the till next to him, relying on her to save him from the madman shouting and crying, slamming his fists on the desk, the Gerard Way no one has ever witnessed before.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think so.” The woman replies sympathetically, before continuing to scan the items. Yeah really empathetic, you sure care; so much you frown and sigh, and get back to your job. Why doesn’t anyone understand! This is bad, this is really fucking bad.

I run my hands through my hair and pull, like I’m trying to pull all the stress and bad thoughts and images out from inside my head. I whimper whilst the tears flow down my face freely and my body feels weak and fragile, yet there’s a burning energy and fire within, making my stomach churn and flip around, whilst I still feel so angry and mad because someone, someone is hurting my Frankie and right now I can’t do anything.

“What does he look like, sir?” a man waiting for the check out asks, giving me a sudden hope.
“he… he-“ I cut myself off and show a photo of him (one of the many on my phone) to the man who asked, until the man shakes his head and apologizes.
“sorry, no.”
“We can alert the police if you like?” the male cashier asks, before I practically jump at him because no way, if it’s to do with Pete, he won’t be the slightest bit reluctant to spill everything that ever happened those years ago. Plus, what are they going to do more than me? They have more than a few crime scenes every day and they’d probably get like one officer on this case, which will know nothing about Frankie. I’m best off doing it myself. I guess I’ll give it a little while longer and if all else fails, I’ll call services.

I huff and slip the phone back into my pocket, before storming out and back into the alleys. Fucking hell, where on earth is he?



Maybe I should try calling him again to see if he answers and I can get more information off him. I don’t really expect him to pick up, but I dial the number anyway, and wait for it to ring, whilst searching through the dimly lit narrow streets.

“Thought I said to put the fucking phone down? Hu?” I suddenly hear, from around one of the corners. I’ve got it, I’ve fucking got it!


My legs carry me fast around to where the shout came from, only to be met by none other than the undeniably recognizable masked man, towering over someone’s small frame, of course Frankie’s, even though I can’t see his face, I still recognize they’re Frankie’s pleads and sobs.

Instinctively, my feet immediately take me to the man, and my hands immediately grab onto his shoulders, forcing him back and off my Frankie.
I yank him back as hard as I possibly can, using all my strength to just get him away and off Frankie, for him to just fucking stop.
I pull him away, whilst Frankie leans his bloody head against the wall, whilst he lets out and exasperated sigh of relief, his hands shaking insanely and his knees clearly giving in, his fragile body relying on the sturdy brick wall to keep him up, whilst tears roll down his cheeks freely, and all it takes is that one look at my fucking everything, the entire love of my life, one fucking glance at his broken form, which causes my heart to shatter.

And I just snap, I break and loose my fucking shit because no one, I swear to fucking lord almighty himself, no one, gets away with this. How anyone can be that incompetent to consider another being's pain and suffering, to keep fucking going on, and on, and on, not caring one bit about them, to keep hurting them, makes them a senseless, conceited asshole, that in my opinion, doesn’t deserve to even fucking breathe anymore.

A growl rips through my throat, tearing apart my insides, whilst I push the masked man against the wall with all my might, forcing him against the cold stone.
“The fuck are you doing? You fucking freak-“
I curse, tears spilling out of my eyes like waterfalls, and my hands shaking and clenching into fists.
“THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?”
I scream, throwing my fist into the masked face. That’s fucking it. No more.

I grip a hand around his throat, and use my other hand to pull on the mask.
I pull it up, but they’re holding it down with both hands, whilst choking and gasping for air, my hand tightening around their throat.

I force my knee up, hitting them in the crotch, causing them to groan in pain and free their hands from the mask they’re holding down, and I pull it off, I lift the wool mask off their head and throw it onto the floor, gasping, because fucking hell, no, why?

Mikey?

Notes

HAHAH