FRANK

Things were bad from the words “give me your phone number.”

Not only was I a stuttering mess the entire period, but Gerard was suspecting me of having his sketchbook, and he told me to stop cussing, and he put his fucking hand on my knee. Who does that?

But soon enough science was over. I’ll admit, it felt kind of good to have the beginning plans for our project, but other than that, science class was still absolute hell. I made my way to the band room for my next period, grabbed my saxophone out of its locker, and shut myself in a practice room for the whole period. I completely missed the lesson, but I didn’t care, because I had Gerard’s sketchbook.

I pulled it out of my backpack and opened it up. “Oh, cool. A skeleton,” I said. This thing was wearing a marching band uniform, which was ironic for two reasons. One, I’m in band. He knows that and hates it. Two, he’s in choir, which I’m pretty sure is the most gay thing you could possibly do. I mean, not to insult any choir kids out there, but choir is insane. What person in their right mind would ever willingly put themselves through that amount of torture? I mean, some school choirs are okay, but not ours. We have to sing songs about caterpillars.

Fucking caterpillars.

But hey, the drawing wasn’t that bad.

I turned the page and came face-to-face with some weird-ass drawing of a guy and girl. They were looking at each other and covered in blood. I’m not sure how else to describe it, other than odd but somewhat interesting. He had it titled “demolition lovers/three cheers for sweet revenge” and it left me confused.

The next couple of drawings were of a desert setting, people running around in bright colors and shooting laser guns. They looked like something straight out of a comic book. I just had no idea what to make of it. This hipster was secretly a nerd.

That’s how I spent my second hour. Looking through my enemies’ sketchbook. (They actually weren’t that bad.) Yes, that’s all I was doing pertaining to Gerard. In no way, shape, or form was I thinking about his shirt or his talent or the way his hair falls over his eyes or how much of a secret nerd he is or his giggle or anything else, okay? Certainly not.

The first half of the day was over quickly. Lunch rolled around, I walked into the cafeteria for the second time that day, and I took up my usual spot with Pete and Patrick.

“Hey Frankie,” Pete said as I sat down.

“Please, for the love of God, never call me Frankie. Nope. Don’t do it. Never ever,” I responded.

“Oh Frankie, why must you be so controlling?”

“I will hit you.”

“Oh yeah?”

I looked Pete in the eyes, then reached over and slugged him in the shoulder.

“Ow!” he exclaimed. “Frankie hurt me.”

I sighed, then rolled my eyes and pulled the sketchbook out of my bag.

“Holy smokes!” Patrick said. “Is that Way’s?”

“Um, yeah,” I responded, trying my best not to make fun of Patrick for saying ‘holy smokes’.

“How the hell did you manage?” Pete asked.

“He left it in science class yesterday. I looked through it during band.” I answered.

“And…?”

“They’re actually not that bad.”

That was obviously not the answer they were looking for.

“What do you mean ‘not that bad’?” Patrick was saying. “No! I will not let you live that way!”

“Guys, what are you talking about?” I said.

“You must not stoop down to please the enemy. You are stronger than that. I believe in you,” Pete responded.

“Guys, just because I complimented his work doesn’t mean I like him,” I retorted.

“Oh, we never said anything about liking,” Pete said. “You like him?”

“No!” I exclaimed. “I do not like Gerard Way! Especially not like that, oh my God. No. Never.”

“I feel like I should write this down,” Patrick said. He pulled out a pen and wrote down ‘I will never like Gerard Way’ on his napkin.

“Why?” I asked.

“So I can prove you wrong one day,” came Patrick’s response.

“You are never gonna prove me wrong, Patrick. I promise.”

“Ok, but just in case.”

I sighed for the thousandth time that afternoon and busied myself with the tray in front of me.

Then lunch was over, and on my way out the doors, I was shoved into somebody in front of me.

“Whoopsies,” I said, and the person scoffed.

“‘Whoopsies’?” they said, and only then did I realize that it was Gerard.

“Oh. Sorry,” I said, moving out of the way.

He just sighed and moved out of the way himself.

The rest of the day flew by, which is nice, except for the fact that when school ends I have to go home, and honestly, sometimes I prefer school to home, which is really saying something.

I stepped in the door and my head immediately started racing. Okay, my mother is in the kitchen, which means if I cut through the back way I can loop around and avoid her. Oh wait, she’s on the phone. She wanders around on the phone. Maybe if I run for it I can make a straight shot to the stairs and then I could-

I cut myself off. What kind of person has a home life so terrible that they need to map their route to their bedroom to avoid seeing their mother?

I hung my head a little and walked to the stairs. “Hey Frankie,” my mom said. I waved a little in response.

Once in my room, I took the sketchbook back out of my backpack and set it on my desk. I was planning on looking through the rest of it later. I finished my homework fairly quickly, not because I’m smart, but just because I could care less about where x is.

Who put me in charge of the stupid x? I’m not friends with it. I’m not its family. I don’t give a shit about the x. Let it solve its own problems.

Anyway, dinner rolled around and I picked at the steak in front of me. Of course my mother wouldn’t listen when I told her I was a vegetarian. ‘Get over it Frankie, the animals were born to die. Stop being such a seven year old girl,’ is what she had told me. Now I just sat there, incredibly hungry but refusing to eat.

“How was your day today?” my mother asked me as if she actually cared.

“It was alright.”

“Nobody giving you crap, are they? You know you don’t deserve that stuff.”

If I was actually eating, then would’ve been the time to choke a little. I froze. She didn’t care. I didn’t matter to her.

“Nope. I’m fine. Just ran into Gerard a couple times is all.”

Back before my dad turned crazy and walked out, my mother and I had a pretty good relationship. Of course we fought every now and again, what kid doesn’t fight with their parents every so often, but other than that I enjoyed talking to her. I told her about Gerard when we first met and the rivalry first started, and she rolled her eyes along with me and ranted about how he didn’t know what he was doing. Of course, she still had the motherly part about her, and she encouraged me to not let him get the best of me, to never insult him too much, the classic stuff. I appreciated that a lot. But now it was gone.

“Oh, Gerard Way. Yeah. How’s that guy doing?”

“I don’t care,” I responded.

“He still gay?”

“Yes, mom. You can’t undo being gay.”

“Well sure you can. If you can decide to be gay, you can just as well un-decide. Being gay is a sin. Being gay is almost the worst of the worst. In the Bible, it says that all who are gay should be stoned to death. He calls it an ‘abomination’. Don’t you ever decide to be gay, Frankie. That’s a long and bad road.”

My head was racing for several reasons. “One, being gay is not a choice. Two, who is God if he doesn’t want you to love whoever you want to love? Isn’t that the point? To love all? Three, since when did you decide to be all Christian, and four, well why don’t you fucking stone me?”

I stood up so fast my chair almost fell over. I turned to leave, but then turned back around and slid my plate of untouched steak back at my mother. “I hope this wasted meal was worth the fucking life, mother,” I snarled, before storming up to my room and slamming the door.

I knew I was over-reacting. I knew it, and I also knew that I was acting like a two year old. I knew it and I hated myself for it. I hated that I had no control over it and I hated that I had to deal with this every single day.

“Fuck,” I said as I sat down on my bed. “Fuck.”

I was shaking and I couldn’t see straight. I hadn’t been this upset in a while. One part of me was asking if I had been defending Gerard back there, and while that may appear to be true, I knew the real reason.

I had been closeted for two and a half years now. I liked boys and there was nothing I could do about it. I had been in one relationship before over the internet, but she eventually found out I was talking to strangers and shut my account down, which was disappointing, to say the very least. I hated never being able to talk to him again or explain what happened. I’m just glad she never found out about the relationship. I might actually have to live on the streets.

Every Thanksgiving I’m forced to sit through a collective family lecture about the ‘sins of homosexuals’ and the ‘wrongdoing of gay lifestyles’. Not to mention the giant dead bird right in front of me that everybody was eating.

I turned on The Misfits and fell asleep right there, at seven pm.

That was mistake number one.

After getting the adequate seven hours of sleep required that I never usually get, I woke up again. Except it was only two am. And I was wide awake.

Mistake number two was fumbling in the dark for my cell phone.

Mistake number three was turning it on, and in my upset and confused haze of sudden light illuminating from the screen, typing in Gerard’s phone number.

Mistake number four was texting him. ‘hey, you up? it’s frank.’

Only after the message had been sent did I realize what a huge idiot I was. I noticed the lack of music, and determined that my mother must have come in and turned it off.

Mistake number five was checking the response.

‘yeah. hi, cutie.’

Notes

Yay! Another chapter down!
We have literally just been sitting around for the past two days brainstorming ideas and going on twitter. Pretty eventful. But it can prove to be productive, as you see with three updates in less than twenty four hours.
Please let us know what you like, or maybe don't like, in the comments. Whenever we get notified that somebody commented we actually scream a bit and get funny looks from people around us. So please, help us freak out as many people as possible with our fangirling behavior.
The next chapter will be up within the next week. It may take a little while.
Stay alive, sunshine.

- frank-iero-is-attractive