The Light Behind His Eyes (Frerard)

“Frankie, are you really sure you wanna do this?” Gerard asked me for the seventeenth time as we drove to my parent’s house in the outskirts of Newark, New Jersey. This time he’s actually the one driving instead of me, and good lord...I thought I was a bad driver. I think Gerard has run through a dozen stop signs and has been flipped off by a ton of drivers passing us by since we left the cemetery. I don’t know if I’m more anxious and on the edge of my seat from either seeing my mom and dad for the first time in months, or the fact that Gerard could get us into a head-on collision at any given moment, landing the both of us in the hospital hooked up to a bunch of machines and being fed through a fucking tube. “I don’t really know if this is a good idea-”
“I don’t care, I wanna do it, damn it!” I nearly screamed, hanging on to the handle bar above me for my dear life as Gerard slammed on the brakes, nearly hitting the car in front of us at the stop light. “Goddamnit, Gerard. Where the hell did you get your driver’s license at, a Cracker-Jack box?”
“Geez, calm down, will you?” Gerard scoffed, not at all seeming to care about the reckless way he’s driving. “I told you it’s been awhile since I’ve last driven a car! Where’d you say your parent’s house was at again?”
“It’s on Thomas road, in the Cedar Valley subdivision near the golf course. There’s a welcome sign on the right, hard to miss. I’ll tell you where to turn,” I said, the foul memories of the middle upper-class neighborhood I’ve grown up in coming back to me. Right outside the polluted, crime-ridden heart of downtown Newark lies the small town of Pencey Park, home to luxuries only the wealthy can afford, as well as a plethora of gold-digging spouses, nosy neighbors, hardcore bible-bashing conservatives, or people that are either any combination of those three or all of them. Pencey Park is where I’ve lived for all my life, raised by my mom and dad who shunned me from the forbidden land known as Newark, a city that’s obviously the polar opposite of the high-class money pit known as Pencey Park. They’ve always warned me of the danger that lurks there, the large vicinity riddled with nothing but crime and poverty. They talked of the place like it was another form of hell, this one on earth rather than in the fiery catacombs of...well, the actual hell where Satan and his demons reside. Although they were right all along about how downtown Newark actually is, seeing the pure desolation and depravity we’ve been driving through here, passing by a mass of run-down buildings and skimpy-clothed prostitutes standing out on the crumbling sidewalks, Pencey Park, in my eyes, is also hell, but in a different, more expensive form. It shouldn’t be hard for someone with even an ounce of common sense to know why a person like me would say such a thing about the town he’s been born and raised in for the past several years.
It was around the time where we got stuck in moderately heavy traffic where Gerard slowed down and actually drove more decently, since the traffic-jam here right now is slower than molasses. When we did eventually get out of it, we were already crossing into Pencey Park territory before we knew it, driving past the giant welcome sign greeting us in an empty fashion. The big sign may as well say welcome to hell, because we are definitely there right now. I can already feel myself cringing in disgust as we passed by the many shopping centers, golf fields, and high-class restaurants. This place has barely changed. It still reeks of nothing but money. I can tell by the unpleasant look on Gerard’s face that he’s not happy with what he’s seeing either, the expression mixed with utter confusion and shock as well.
“Jesus, Frank...this is just...fucking ugly. This is where you lived?” he asked, eyeing around the place as we slowly pulled up to stop light.
“Yeah, unfortunately,” I sighed, lacking even a shred of dignity admitting the truth. “It’s a real shithole, as you can see,”
“A shithole filled with money...and if this place is the shithole, then the people that live in it are the shit,”
“You couldn’t have said it any better, Gee,” I laughed. Seriously, what a perfect analogy to describe this godforsaken place. We are surrounded by shit. I can already see the shit people in their shit luxury cars as they passed by us, staring at us with their shitty eyes, giving us shitty looks. Mom and dad were wrong. Newark wasn’t the forbidden territory, this place is, and we definitely are not welcome here. I could give a rat’s ass what these people think of me. They can give me their stupid glares all they want.
Gerard went from smiles and laughs to dead silence, his hazel eyes wide and frantically scanning his surroundings. His whole body began to visibly tremble as his hands clenched tightly on to the wheel, with beads of sweat running down from his face that had lost what little color it had. It’s like something in his head just clicked, like the panic switch on his brain was turned on without warning.
“F-frankie,” he gulped. “I...I don’t know if we should be here…,”
“I know, I hate this place too. It’s okay, though. We’re almost at my parent’s house. The next turn is just a few blocks down-”
“N-no Frankie,” he shook his head, lowering his voice to a cautious whisper. “That’s not what I mean. I think that...I-I-”
“What?” I furrowed my brow. “You think what?”
“Frankie...someone’s watching us. We’re being spied on. They all keep looking at me…,” Gerard suddenly gasped, his voice full of paranoia-stricken fear. “Oh, god...oh my god...what if...wh-what if...what if there's spies here? What if...they sent them out to spy on me?”
“Woah, woah...what? What are you talking about?” I asked, ironically already knowing the truth behind this sudden paranoia Gerard is displaying, but just not wanting to believe it. We’re not being spied on, but in Gerard's sick and delusional mind, we are. I know what's happening. The voices in his head are taking to him again, feeding him lies.
“Don't you get it, Frankie? The authorities are out to get me, and you know it! They-” Gerard paused, his whole self coming to a screeching halt, including the shaking throughout his whole body. He shut his eyes, breathing in and out slowly, as if meditating himself in an attempt to make those obnoxious voices go away. “Never mind, baby. Forget I said anything. I’m sorry,”
I didn’t say anything. I know I should get to the bottom of what was eating at him, hearing him talk about all this mumbo-jumbo with these so-called “spies” that are out to get him, but decided it's best not to bother. I can tell by the overall discomfort displayed in Gerard that those voices are still talking to him. I know damn well they are. It's like I can see through his discontent eyes that there's a constant war going in his head between his own self and the voices. I know deep down he's trying his hardest to keep himself from succumbing to them, but he can only do so for so long. Right now he has to keep driving and manage to not get us collided into a street light or someone's expensive car. We’ve got family to visit; more specifically, my family, who threw me away out on the streets, leading me all the way to the man taking me to them right now. I need to have them see how far their disowned gay heathen of a son has come since that dreaded day so many months ago.
_ _ _
The anxiety I experienced earlier at the car rental center came back to me twice as strong when we pulled into my mom and dad’s neighborhood, each mansion-like house with perfectly-mowed lawns looking almost the same as the house next to it. We are only a short distance away from my mom and dad, and I am fucking terrified. It’s gonna be so strange seeing them again, this time with my long-haired, not so straight boyfriend named Gerard. I don’t even wanna think about how my parents will react seeing me with another man. They could both end up dropping dead from utter shock, for all I know. After all, one of the last things they wanted for me was to be gay, hence the reason why they permanently kicked me out of the house. It’s not like I can just keep Gerard hidden in the car while I’m inside the house with them; they’ll know something’s up if they take a peek out the windows to see a strange man sitting in the front seat of a car that’s not ours. I also don’t wanna risk the possibility of Gerard getting himself hurt or in deep trouble behind my back. But how is Gerard gonna be around my own flesh and blood parents? I’ve got a bad feeling that letting them meet each other can possibly be just as foolish to do, even though at this point I have no other choice. It’s now or never. There’s no turning back.
“You alright, sugar? You really don’t look so good. You look like you’re close to a heart attack,” Gerard took a good long glance at me with a great amount of concern as we turned on to the street of my parent’s house.
“No, I’m fine. Just nervous, that’s all,” I breathed out deeply, trying in vain to recollect myself before becoming a mental wreck. All the effort I had built up to do so blew up in my face when we soon pulled into the parking lot of their blue house with white trim, all the memories of the past several years spent in it coming back to me all too fast. I buried my face into my shaking hands, my breaths growing heavy and painstakingly frantic as I felt my ribcage constrict around my hyperventilating lungs and racing heart. This is it. We are here. It’s all right in front of me, and I can barely get myself together.
Oh my god. Maybe Gerard was right. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. I know I’m not dying, but it feels like I am. Holy fuck. I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. I can’t even think straight. I can’t-
“Oh, baby…,”
Every part of me was put on pause when I felt Gerard take me into his soothing embrace my body so desperately needs, his arms holding me tight up against his chest and stroking my hair. I know this familiar, almost unworldly feeling I always get when I’m this close to him. It’s like I almost forgot how good he feels, as well as how warm he is. I smiled, welcoming every ounce of it as I felt the chaos going through my mind and body slowly vanish, just like magic. I missed this feeling so much. It’s been too long. Gerard slowly took one of my hands into his, which I held on to for my dear life.
“Be strong and hold my hand…,” he sang softly into my ear, reminding me of something familiar; it’s a part something he has sang to me before. “Time becomes for us, you’ll understand…,”
“I’m sorry,” I said weakly, squeezing Gerard’s hand tighter as I felt the sting of tears come to my eyes. “I’m scared, Gerard. I’m fucking scared. I don’t know if I can do this,”
“Yes you can, Frankie,” Gerard replied, wiping at my tearful eyes with his free hand. “You can do this. You’ve got this, baby. I believe in you,”
“Are you sure?” I sniffled. “I don’t know, Gee. I don’t know if I’m as prepared as I thought I was. What if they haven’t changed their minds about me? What if they end up hurting me more? I can’t do it alone…,”
“Well, that’s why I’m here,” he smiled warmly. “You don’t have to do it alone, Frankie. You don’t have to face them alone. I’m scared too, but you know what? That’s okay. At least you’re right here for me, just like I am for you. We’ll take this on together. I’ll be right here. I’ll never let them hurt you…,”
“You p-promise?”
“I promise,” he said, his face slowly inching closer to mine, his lips leaving a long kiss on mine. I sure as hell also almost forgot how much his lips are a true blessing, how amazing they feel to be touched by. When our lips parted, our eyes locked, his hazel ones staring deep into that one sacred thing behind mine that’s also radiating within his. “Remember what I told you, Frankie. I’ll never let them take that one thing from you. You do know what that one thing is, right?”
“Yes, I do,” I smiled back at him, knowing exactly what he means. He won’t let them take the light behind my eyes. “Alright, Gerard. I’m ready. Let’s go,”
As we both stepped out of the car and on to the asphalt of the front driveway, I immediately rushed to Gerard’s side like a moth to the light, grabbing his hand and holding it tight. He needs to be here with me, just like I have been for him. I’ve helped him through so much in the past, always holding his hand every single time. Now it’s his turn to help me. He’s gonna take me to them, never letting go of my hand.
I took one last deep breath as we both made our way to the front door, my sweaty hand still hanging on to Gerard’s. I’m surprised I didn’t break it with how much I’ve been squeezing it under my shaky and tight grip. What baffles me just as much is how calm and collected Gerard looks compared to me. I was honestly expecting him to be as much of a nervous wreck as I am right now, if not worse. If anything, he looks only a bit on edge. I can see it in his slightly wide eyes that are constantly shifting uneasily from me, to the door, then back to me.
“Should I knock?” he asked reluctantly, seeing me standing still like a shiftless dunce. I can’t even do as much as move a finger. I am still way too terrified to do anything, even with Gerard right beside me. I nodded silently, knowing that standing here and doing nothing will only delay the inevitable. It’s best to just do it and get it over with already. It was when I heard Gerard knock on the door, followed by the clicking of my mom’s heels from beyond, that I knew for a fact that there really is no backing out now. Everything, including time itself, seemed to have come to a complete halt when she turned the doorknob and opened up the door, our eyes meeting for the first time in what seemed like years ago. My still heart nearly burst right out my chest when I got a good look at her; it’s clear as day to me how much she’s changed so much. Her once well-kempt black-brown hair is now a disheveled greying mess. Her cream-colored youthful skin is now nothing but sags and wrinkles, and her previously lively hazel eyes now look as lifeless as the mounted deer heads from dad’s hunting trips hanging up on the living room walls behind her down the hall. Those eyes of her’s instantly changed when they came into contact with her one and only son, no longer alone and living in the slums.
“Frank…,” she gasped, covering his wide open mouth with both manicured hands. “Oh my lord, Frank...my baby…,”
“M-mom…,” I choked out, once again feeling the tears come back to me. I forgot how much I missed my mom...at least, the mom I knew and loved; the one that saw me as her son and not as a heretic. She nearly tackled me to the floor when she leapt forward and hugged me into an almost suffocating grip, the scent of her perfume so overpowering, flooding my mind with a countless amount of memories of us together, during the good days before her religion overstayed it’s welcome into her life.
“Oh, Frank,” she cried, her sobby voice muffled in my shirt. “I thought you would never come home. We were worried sick about you...we thought we would never see you again...we thought that you were-”
“Linda?” an annoyed and deep, masculine voice called out from the house, that said voice belonging to my father. I saw his tall figure emerge from down the hall behind us, his jaw nearly dropping to the floor when he saw all three of us at the front door.
“Oh, honey,” my mother exclaimed to her husband in a mixture of joy and desperation, her tears smearing the mascara on her eyes.“He has come home. He’s come back to us, Frank! Our son made it home safe!”
“Well, I’ll be damned…,” Frank Sr. said, walking up to us with his eyes as wide as his gaping mouth, turning to his son Frank Iero Jr. “Welcome back,”
“Hi, dad,” I muttered uneasily, feeling on edge from everyone crowding around me. I can barely speak. I didn’t expect this kind of welcome home from my own mom and dad. Did they seriously miss me this much? I guess I was right. Maybe they really did regret what they did to me. It’s almost clear to me that they’ve been waiting for their son to come home to them for so long, despite how much they’ve cut him out of the family and left him to rot. Now that he’s home, this is their chance to say they’re sorry.
“Where have you been all this time, Frank?” my dad asked in an interrogating matter, raising his voice. “We were worried sick about you! We thought that we’d never hear from you again! We were almost starting to think that you were dead! Where have you been while we sat here worrying about you-”
“Now, Frank,” my mom cut him off, laying a hand on his tense shoulder. “Don’t overwhelm him. He just got here. We’ll get to all that later. Let’s just welcome him and…,” her voice trailed off as she turned to Gerard standing next to me, who thankfully didn’t explode into an anxious mess the whole time he stood face to face with my parents. “Who’s this young man right here?”
Wait a minute? What does she mean by “all that”? All what?
“I’m G-,” Gerard paused nervously, stopping himself from giving out his true identity, the last thing that he needs to do in front of outsiders. “I’m Jacob. Jacob White,” he said, giving out the name on his fake ID that also displays a fake photo, date of birth, and so on. Gerard/Jacob held out a rather forced hand to my parents, both of whom reluctantly shook it, knowing for a fact who this man really is to me, much to their inner dismay. Maybe I’m wrong about that, though. Maybe they did have a change of heart towards guys like me that aren’t attracted to the opposite gender, ever since they realized what they let themselves do to me. I want to believe that’s the case, but something deep down inside me says that it’s not. Something here just doesn’t feel right, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Something about this household hasn’t changed; something I’m familiar with and have avoided for the longest time like the plague.
“Nice to meet you, Jacob,” my mom said, flashing possibly the most forced and artificial smile I’ve ever seen on anyone. She turned away with dad, the both of them walking down the hall, prompting us to follow them inside the meticulously tidied up and decorated house excessively adorned with anything related to their Christian beliefs, from crucifixes to pictures of Jesus and the disciples, to bottles of holy water and statues of angels and the Virgin Mary, and so on. “Please, come inside. Make yourselves at home,”
The both of us hesitantly followed them, my stiff and shaking body following Gerard/Jacob right behind him, my hand still in his. I can tell by his slightly awkward and shy body language, as well as the discontent behind his dulling hazel eyes, that he’s desperately trying to keep his cool through the whole ordeal, but is faltering as a result. He knows something’s up too. I can see it in him.
“Frankie,” he whispered to me as my parents turned the corner into the living room ahead of us, leaving us two alone. “I don’t got a good feeling about this. Something’s wrong here,”
“Wh-what do you mean?” I stuttered, wanting to know exactly what he means. I can’t be the only one here that doesn’t feel all too well here in this place. It’s not the voices in Gerard’s head telling him that this place isn’t all that safe. It’s his gut feeling. I can’t just be way too paranoid about this whole thing. No fucking way.
“Frankie...your mom and dad...they want something from you. They want us to-”
“Boys?” my mom called out, her head peeking from the entryway leading to the living room. “You coming?”
“Y-yeah, sorry,” I uttered, the two of us picking up the pace and following them into the massive family room to quell any suspicions they may have. My mother motioned us to sit down at the large black leather sofa aligned with three loveseats around it, all of them encircling a coffee table. We both did so, our bodies sinking into the cushions of the couch. Behind us stands a large stone fireplace, the wood inside of it kindling and crackling loudly within the flames. Right above it hanging up high is a decorative relic I’ve always kept my eyes away from ever since my parents decided to grace the vicinity with it--a desolate, bloodied Jesus nailed to a cross, his upturned face wailing in despair and agony. I immediately turned my face away, feeling bile build up in my stomach, as well as the handfuls of unpleasant memories it brought to me for more than two decades. I remember always being afraid to look at it ever since I was a little toddler, when my mom and dad first got the fucking thing from their honeymoon in Rome, Italy. I remember always screaming and crying, running away from it and cowering in the corner from crippling fear as I always felt it’s malevolent dead eyes beaming at me. I always feared that it would come to life in the middle of the night, crawling off it’s cross and sneaking up to my room to kill me in my sleep, but that fear of course grew off with age. It still gave me the chills as I grew older, though. Even to this day it nearly scares me shitless. I’ve gone several months without my eyes being cursed by it’s presence, and now that I’m back in it’s home, I’m starting to feel that nostalgic fear from my childhood come back to me, slowly but surely. Even Gerard doesn’t look to comfortable seeing his devastated eyes upon the godforsaken thing, not only because it likely reminds him of those dark times living with the Bible loonies dubbed the Richardson family, but because the crucified Jesus itself just looks that fucking creepy.
“Would you boys like something to drink, like water or something?” my mother asked, pouring herself and dad glasses of what looks to be very high-class and expensive white wine over at the kitchen next door.
“I’m fine,” I said, turning to Gerard. “How about you?”
“No thank you,” he shook his head, his dismayed eyes still glued to the mangled Jesus hanging on the cross above the fireplace, his hand still tightly wrapped around mine. I should have known better that Gerard would react this way upon entering my family’s home that may as well be a very pricey-looking church rather than a casual fancy home. What amount of confidence he may have previously before entering my mom and dad’s house seemed to have vanished in the blink of an eye when he found himself in a rather unpleasant territory, filled with a plethora of religious paraphernalia that remind him of all those dark memories of his past of abuse and deprivation.
“Well, my son…,” my dad said abruptly in his low voice, returning to the couch with my mom, glasses of wine in their hands. “We’ve got a lot to discuss here. All four of us,”
”O-oh...really?” I gulped, feeling my hand tighten around Gerard's, as well as his around mine. Now we’re both scared shitless. Why do my parents wanna involve Gerard in this “family discussion” so much? They’ve barely known him for a half-hour! I've never even stated to my parents who Gerard is to me exactly, even though the sight of us holding hands kinda gave it all away. This isn't good. What if they start asking questions to Gerard/Jacob some questions right off the bat about his personal life? What if they make him uncomfortable, triggering him to have a psychotic episode in the process? Oh, I hope to fucking hell none of that can and will happen. The last thing that needs to happen is another one of those, let alone in front of my closed-minded and bigoted parents. I can't even begin to imagine the millions of horrible outcomes that can happen right here upon the wake of Gerard's trauma-induced psychosis.
”Of course, Frankie. We want to know what happened to you while you were gone all these months! Why wouldn’t we wanna know?” my mother exclaimed, to which I sort of shuddered a little inside, holding back my inner profound annoyance. No one calls me Frankie. Not even my own mother. Only Gerard, and no one else. He’s the only one that can call me that name without making me wanna hit something.
“Please, son. Tell us. Tell us where you’ve been,” my father commanded, rather than pleaded in that familiar deep, yet intimidating voice he has. I know when he uses that tone of voice that he wants something done, and done now. I know what both my mom and dad want; they of course want to know how I’ve managed to not die out on the streets, but they also want to know who the hell this man is I’m holding hands with, this “Jacob White” (a.k.a Gerard Way) that’s in their house. They already know what he is; they already know he’s more than just a mere friend of mine. Now they want to know more about him. They want to know what kind of man--instead of woman--has been kissing and sleeping with and sodomizing their one and only son, even though that last bit is not true...at least, to me I know it isn’t, but of course, that’s not what their ignorant gay-hating minds believe. I sadly know my parents all too well that way.
“Tell us everything, Frankie,” mom joined in, the both of them practically ganging up on the two of us with how much this has changed into an interrogation rather than a harmless family get-together. I can feel their eyes on me, even though I can’t even bear to look at them. I am just too scared. I’m too scared to even look at mom and dad. I’m too scared to even speak. I’m too scared of everything.
Fuck, what can I tell them? Do I tell them that I really have been homeless, living out in the armpit of New York City until my cross-dressing (and very likely also gay) friend Ray/Ramona decided to pick me up and have me live with him and his pals back at his house, working a full-time job at a rock concert venue, having a relationship with a mentally disturbed basement-dweller and sociophobe, who also so happens to be an escaped mental patient and serial killer with a never-ending hard-on for revenge? No, of course not. No way in hell can I tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, especially about Gerard/Jacob. Where do I even begin here? I really didn’t come prepared for this. Maybe Gerard was right after all. Maybe I really didn’t think things through about seeing mom and dad again, face to face. I can already feel that inner anxiety just eating at me from the inside of my head, ready to throw me into a complete mess of shaking and sweating and stuttering and crying. Oh, no. I’m such a disgrace. I can barely even say anything to my own mom and dad. I can barely face them, despite telling myself before that I can. Do they even see how hard this is for me? Do they even notice how much of a mental wreck their son is right now? Do they even care? Goddamnit. What the fuck is wrong with me? What do I do-
“He’s been living with me, as well as my younger brother and a couple of friends,” Gerard/Jacob said suddenly, his hand once again giving mine another tight, reassuring squeeze. He squeezed it to let me know that he’s right here with me, just like he told me earlier in the car. He knows I can’t speak for myself...so he’s gonna do it for me. He is defending me. He told me he’ll never let them hurt me, just like he promised. “He was homeless, living in New York City until Ray, a friend of ours, picked him up and offered to have him move in with us. He also got himself a job working at a local concert venue, where there’s shows and all that kind of stuff. I remember it was somewhere in November he moved in...and well, that’s how we met, pretty much,” Gerard flashed me a brief reassuring smile as he turned to face me, his thumb stroking the top of my hand that he’s still holding in his.
“I see,” dad nodded, not looking pleased in the slightest. At least, to me he doesn’t. He’s never looked impressed with anyone, myself especially. He then suddenly turned over to me with a raised eyebrow. “Frank...do you like it there?”
“Well…,” I sighed deeply, knowing sooner or later I’d have to speak up. I know Gerard can’t do all the talking for me. They’re my parents, after all. “Yeah, I do. I really like living there. Everyone is so chill there, especially this guy right here,” I playfully nudged at Gerard/Jacob next to me with my elbow, trying my best to cover up my obvious awkwardness and social anxiety. “It’s just like living in my own home, y’know? Job’s really good too. Pay is good and all, especially since I have to help pitch in for rent, but it ain’t much. It’s hell of a lot better than the last job I had over at that department store, too,”
“So...does that mean you like living there better than here, with your own family? Must be like living at the Taj Mahal over there, huh?” My dad asked in possibly the most condescending tone possible with just as much weight as what he just said to me. I am just absolutely floored. Gerard looks the same way too, like he couldn’t believe what my own father just threw at me. There’s no way I can take something like that with a straight face. Of course I like living with Gerard and the others back in Jersey. At least there I’m not scrutinized for my sexuality, constantly being put down by my Bible-brainwashed parents. At least there, in the eyes of everyone else living there, I am good enough, unlike what I’ve been told by the two others living here, those words mainly coming from my father. I am still not good enough for him, and I never was. He’s pushing my fucking buttons, something he’s done to me far too many times in all the years I’ve lived with him and mom.
“Now, Frank,” my mom sighed, turning to her condescending pain in the side of a husband, laying an apologetic hand on his tense shoulder. “No need to be so offensive-”
“No, Linda,” dad swatted mom’s hand away, venom spewing from his sharply loud voice. “We need our son to come back home. There’s so much that needs to be fixed here, and you know it. We need to correct where we all went wrong,”
That’s when I felt my heart sink into my stomach. Me and Gerard may as well have walked out in the middle of the road, waiting for a semi-truck to hit and smash us to pieces. Now I know for a fact he was right. This really was a bad idea. What the fuck was I thinking? I came here with the intention to look back at what went wrong, but not like this. I also came here for closure from what’s happened, but of course, there’s no sign of that ever coming, not at this rate. Above all that, I came back home to mom and dad to show them how much I have risen above where I started when I was thrown away out of the house that dreadful day, but what’s the use?
“Frankie, what we’ve been wanting to tell you is…,” mother paused, looking defeated and caving in, taking another gulp from her wine. “We want you to come home. We want to start over. We want to me a happy family again, and...we can’t do it without you,”
“What? What do you mean?” I asked, completely dumbfounded how such a thing can possibly happen; just as how dumbfounded Gerard looks from seeing how much of a mess of a family I’ve been living with before meeting him. “What do you mean ‘without me’?”
“Don’t you get it, son?” dad waved his arms out, nearly spilling over his glass of wine. “We want you to come home! We want you to return to us so we can be a whole family again! What we did was irrational, and...we’re sorry. That was wrong of us. We just want you to come back to us so we can start all over from scratch,”
“We want our son back, Frankie!” mom chimed in, her and dad not at all seeming to absorb anything I just told them before about me living with roommates, one of them being my (pretty much official) boyfriend. I’ve already started my life all over again there, and they don’t seem to notice or even care. “So much has changed since you left. Your father and I haven’t been getting along lately, and we realized it’s because...we knew something was missing, and it was you, Frankie,”
“Wait a minute…,” Gerard/Jacob’s head shot up from the silent trance of utter shock and disbelief he was in just seconds ago, his hazel eyes beaming with as much bitter disgust as he has in his raised voice. “Frankie didn’t leave the house...you both threw him out like he was a piece of garbage, and now you want him back?”
Oh no...oh god...please, no….No, Gerard. Don’t get involved. Please, for the love of fuck, don’t get them started. Just stay out of it-
“Excuse me, young man!” my father roared, slamming his glass of wine hard down on the table, nearly making it shatter all over the place. “Just who the hell do you think you’re talking to-”
“A bigoted piece of shit that doesn’t accept his own son for who he is! You two only want him back so that you can mold him into the perfect straight son you’ve always wanted!” Gerard snarled, his whole self slowly transitioning into full-out rage mode, his hateful gaze piercing right through my mom and dad. “Frankie told me everything! You both never loved him for who he really was! You only cared about what you wanted him to be in your own fucked up image! You treated him like a dog rather than an actual fucking human being!”
“Gee, stop it!” I lunged for Gerard, grabbing at him and begging him to just stop, even though I know in the back of my mind it’s too late; the damage has already been done. My mom and dad have already been exposed and called out for what they’ve done, and it’s easy to see, especially in dad, who by this point is literally red and fuming.
“Just who in the hell do you think you are, punk?” he screamed, looking ready to tackle Gerard to the floor and start a full-out fistfight with him. “All we wanna do is save our son and bring this family back together!”
“Honey, just calm down-” my mom attempted to reach out for dad again, only to have her fragile hand swatted away again, this time much more violently, so much that it made her drop and spill her wine glass all over her shirt, as well as the leather couch they’re sitting in, She gasped, wincing and backing away in defeat from her unstable and raging husband.
“Shut up and stay still, Linda! Let me do the talking!” he hissed, his eyes focused on his next target sitting in front of him, that said target being the man sticking up for me as I sat there silently, feeling the faucets to my eyes being turned yet again to pour out more tears.
“M-mom...is it true?” I turned to her, barely able to even speak a word under all my sobs. “Is that all you two want me for, just to...change me?”
“Frankie…,” my mom frowned. “All we wanna do is help you. This...thing you have with being...well, homosexual...it’s a sin, and we need to get you some help. We found a counselor for you that can do just that for you,”
“That’s right, son. We need to take you back from this...this venomousfilth you’ve put yourself in!” my dad said, turning his head to Gerard as he called him such a thing. “We need to fix you, Frank,”
“How can you fix something that’s not even broken?” Gerard stood up tall from the couch, his body guarding over me like a mother wolf protecting her pups with all her life. “You’re the ones that broke him when you threw him out and left him for dead, and I’m the one that fixed him from that. We gave him a home when you took that very thing away from him. He was broken from all you’ve done to him, treating him like he was a worthless piece of trash, like he wasn’t good enough for you! He wasn’t broken because of him being...well, different. In fact, that’s what made him beautiful, and you didn’t see that in him. You know what Frankie did for me after I fixed him? He…,” Gerard paused, bravely not even attempting to hold back the tears running from his eyes. “He fixed me! He gave me a reason to not be afraid to keep on living. He gave me a reason to keep running and keep fighting! Your son is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Mr. and Mrs. Iero. How can you two not be proud of him for that? Well? He doesn’t need some fucking counselor to help him pray the gay away. He doesn't need to be straightened out. He doesn’t need to be fucking fixed anymore. He’s beautiful just the way he is in this ugly world!”
I think Gerard just won the fight against my dad, seeing how he’s left him speechless, losing his steam. He’s literally ripped him apart from all the layers of shield his prejudiced and spineless self has been hiding under all this time, leaving him weak and at a loss of words. My mother next to him is sobbing, covering her made-up face in her hands. She knows she’s failed to bring her one and only son back to her, but what would she be attempting to bring him back to? Something I sure as hell wouldn't want to come back home to. There’s no point. They haven’t changed their minds about me. I am still nothing more than a low-life queer to my father, and Gerard helped me open up my eyes to that. As for my mother, she’s no better. How can she really love her son if she’s willing to stick by what her husband says? If she really cared for me, she would know that I am not a broken gay mess, unlike what dad sees me as. I honestly feel pathetic for abandoning her, considering what might be happening to her behind closed doors, but what exactly am I abandoning? I really am nothing to them. I’m insignificant. So much, that it makes me succumb to my own tears that I’ve barely been able to hide.
“You know what? Get out! The both of you!” father angrily shouted, forcing us out the front door with his venomous words as Gerard scooped me up in his arms, walking me out the door with him as father’s words continued to boom throughout the whole house, stabbing me in the chest again and again as I continued to cry in defeat. “You are nothing to us, Frank! You’re hopeless, just an ugly and pathetic lost cause! If you want to keep on following Satan’s path with this...this freak of yours that you love so much, then by all means, go ahead! Just don’t come back to us when you finally realize what it’s done to you! You can drop dead and rot in hell for all I care!”
Gerard stopped dead in his tracks when he heard my father call him that certain five-lettered word he’s been called too many times; a five-lettered word that really gets under his skin. He turned his head back to face him one last time, his eyes wide and bloodshot from all the rage building up within them.
“I’ve already been there, actually. I hope you like it hot, because I'll be seeing you there one day, asshole!” He growled before forcing me out the door with him and into the car. He then proceeded to rev up the engine of the car to life, speeding out of Pencey Park like a bat out of hell.
_ _ _
I couldn’t stop crying the whole ride back. That’s all I did the entire time Gerard drove. Every fleeting moment of what went down in my mom and dad’s home has been wired into my memory, playing over and over again in my head, making the tears never come to a halt. Every time I would close my eyes in a vain attempt to sleep the pain away, it would all just play again right in front of me, like something straight out of a horrid nightmare. I can’t fucking believe it. All I wanted to do was to see my mom and dad, just to be slapped across the face and pushed back down to the ground by their bigotry and distaste towards me. They still haven’t fucking changed after all this time. I’m still not good enough to them. I’m still the same old worthless faggot in their eyes. I am still an unloved, unwanted queer of a son. They still want me to change for their benefit, because in their eyes, I am nothing more than a heathen and a man-loving shitstain on the fabric of the family. Me being gay tore this family apart. It hurt me even more to see Gerard look at me with such remorse, seeing me weep like a cry baby. It’s all my fault that I made him upset again. I dragged him into this mess. I wanted to be strong for him in front of my own parents, just like he was for me. But I was far from that. I am too weak. I really am pathetic.
“Frankie…,” he sighed, saying my name for the hundredth time on our drive back to the motel. “I am so sorry…you didn’t deserve any of that…,”
“Why are you sorry, Gee? You didn’t do anything!” I nearly screamed, still unable to hold back my cries after all this time. I still can’t stop crying. It’s just too much. “I’m the one that should be sorry, Gerard! I’m sorry I put you through all that! They really do hate me, Gerard! I’m fucking nothing! I’m-”
“Frankie!” Gerard slammed on the brakes, veering to the side of the road and away from traffic. I gasped, feeling my heart skip a beat. Oh, no. I made Gerard mad. What the fuck is wrong with me? I can’t do anything right.
“Gerard...I’m sorry,” I curled up in the corner of the car and covered my tear-drenched face with my hands. “I’m sorry, Gerard. I’m sorry...I’m sorry...I’m sorry!”
“Stop it!” he raised his voice some more at me, clearly annoyed. “Stop saying you’re sorry, Frankie. You did nothing wrong!”
“How?” I refuted, feeling myself shake. “Give me one good reason, Gerard! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t be sorry! I should be sorry because I’m a goddamn idiot and a disappointment to everyone! I-”
“Frankie! Stop it!” Gerard put his hands on my shoulders, shaking me as if trying to knock some sense into me. I froze, knowing I should just shut up when Gerard is this irritated. I looked into his eyes, putting my mind on pause. “I want you to stop right now! No more of this, okay? I want you to listen to me, okay? Do you understand?”
“Y-yes…,” I sniffled, doing as he said.
“Frankie…,” Gerard tightened his grip on my shoulders, his nails nearly clawing at my skin. I can see he’s close to tears. It’s clear in his faltering voice and his watering eyes. “You are not a lost cause. You are not pathetic. You are none of those things your parents told you you are. If I had another good and valid reason to hate your mother and father, I have one now. They’re nothing but a couple of fucking liars that can’t see how amazing their own son is!”
“Gerard...I’m sorry,” I whimpered, my shaky voice still full of sobs I can’t hold back. “I’m sorry I put you through all that...I-”
“Frankie, listen to me,” Gerard said, cutting me off. “This world...is an ugly fucking place. The world is an ugly place full of ugly people. The world is ugly...but you’re beautiful to me,” he whispered, silencing all the self-loathing calamity within me as he once again blessed my quivering lips with his. That’s when I felt my heart inside of me explode into a large mushroom cloud, my hands holding on to him with my dear life as our lips kissed each other’s again and again. I don’t think I’ve ever cried this hard kissing someone, but that doesn’t matter, because goddamnit, it feels so good beyond words. These aren’t the same tears I was crying before; these are tears of joy, and I’m not even gonna try to hold them back at all. I am a heathen and a queer, and I’m not ashamed of that.

Notes