Touched by Demons, though I fall into grace.

I forgot how awkward clothing shopping can be. Especially with someone you barely know who probably has never heard of a guy shaving his legs. So, it'll be weird when I pick up a package of razors and hand them to Frank. Of course, I could always say that it's for shaving my face, but I would need shaving cream for that. I don't use shaving cream for my legs.

As we near the small corner that sells razors, I walk ahead of him and grab a 12-pack off of the shelf, turning around to him and smiling.

“I like to shave my legs. You can take this out of my paycheck.” I say, fearing what he's going to say. I'm not sure why, though. He's never tried to hurt me. Given, I have only known him for about 24 hours. But, in those 24 hours, he's given me a job, taken me out for pizza, let me sleep on his couch, and been supportive of my sexuality. That's a lot for only 24 hours.

"Oh, alright. Do you need any shaving cream? And you're sure that you're okay with me taking it out of your paycheck?” He says. Goddamn. Him and his perfect responses, and his perfect personality, and his perfect hair, and his perfect lips, and his perfect eyes.

“No, I just use soap. And yes, I'm fine with it. You're too nice to me as it is.”

“I can't argue with that logic.” He says, stretching his arm a bit. Now I notice the abundance of clothes hanging off of his arm. I gesture for him to hand half of it to me, and he does with a bit of reluctance. I have the waxed and ripped jeans on my left arm, along with the razors. On his right arm, he has a variety of graphic tees, long-sleeved shirts, underwear, and socks. A bit embarrassing that he's holding what will soon be my briefs, but I brush it off. I remember how I still have a decent amount of money left over from all of my motel visits. 200 dollars isn't much in 2007, but it's gotta be worth at least 800 dollars in 1972. So, I'd say that I'm not completely broke.

Just as I notice that something is missing from my wardrobe, I spot a leather jacket in the corner of my eyes. I nearly scoff when I see that it costs 100 dollars, equivalent to about half of my leftover money, then see that it's on sale for only 30 dollars. 120 dollars in 2007 is quite a lot, but I can't pass up the opportunity for this. Come to think of it, for the past week, I've only had a pair of waxed jeans and a loose fitting Green Bay Packers T-shirt. I was never a fan of football, but I bought it for the style it provided my closet with.

As we pass the display, I take a medium off of its hanger, telling Frank that I'll pay him back once we get home. Speaking of, I picked up all of my belongings at the motel right as they were getting ready to evict me. Including my wallet and the shotgun which I hid in my waistband for the time being. Now, it's stowed away in the couch cushions, hidden among lost change and candy wrappers. He won't find it. I don't know what I would do if he did.

I check his watch, surprised to see that we've only been shopping for one hour. I guess it's a good thing, considering that work starts in another half an hour. Plus, I'll need time to change and time for traffic.

I hadn't even noticed that we were standing in line for checkout, and now it was our turn. I discard my items onto the conveyor belt, sighing at the loss of strain on my arm. Frank begins the transaction while I shyly wait behind him, crossing my arms and counting the scratches in the floor tiles. I get to 34 scratches and 1 red crayon mark before Frank nudges me, and I take the bag he's holding.

“We'll go home, you'll change, and then we'll go to work. I gotta get there early, 'cuz I'm the boss,” He says the last bit with a bit of annoyance, and I chuckle. “We'll use that time to figure out what the fuck I'm going to be paying you for.” We both laugh together as he unlocks the door, and we toss the bags in the back seat.



Frank fumbles with his keys as he struggles to open the back door, smiling to himself once he
finally gets it open. He guides me inside, and I'm immediately overwhelmed. Stacks upon stacks of records fill my vision, and I almost smile. Organizing this'll take me all day. Perfect. Socializing is not my favorite thing to do.

“So, the company we order records from doesn't put price tags on the packages. You'll have to label each 70¢ with a sharpie, and that's step one. Then, you need to alphabetize them,” He walks over to a few tables, pointing to a sharpie. “You've got a lot of work space, so it shouldn't take you that long.”

I nod, taking about 20 records off of the top stack. I decide to alphabetize them and then label them, but I have no idea what I'll do after. Frank mentioned something about stocking, so maybe I'll do that.

I set the records down on the table, putting them in alphabetical order by the first letter. Frank walks over, taking another 15 records and setting them down on the table next to mine. He begins organizing with me, jumping when the back door slams.

“Chill, it's just me! Also, who's the new guy?” She says, stuffing her keys back into her rucksack. She said that like she thought I wouldn't be able to answer. Normally, I would be mad, but she says it with a kind of light air that makes me laugh. Almost like a high-school girl.

“Hey, Jay. This is Gerard. He's my new stock guy,” He says, smiling at her. “Throwback to when I first hired you. Man, you were the best cashier I ever had. Now, look at you. Ya' practically run the place. Oh, and by the way, nice nose ring. It looks hella on you.”

'Jay' smiles, brushing her bleach-blonde hair behind her ear. “Hey, Candy. I'm Jordan. Give me some skin.” Jordan holds out her hand, and it takes me a minute to figure out what she means by give me some skin. I take her hand, shaking it and smiling. “Well, I'm gonna go set up shop. See ya'.”


We spent until noon alphabetizing records. The only reason that it took 3 hours because we would occasionally take a break to flirt, or check to make sure that the store was running smoothly. Other than that, work was good.

It's my lunch break now; I get an hour off. Frank (purposely, I'm pretty sure) gave us the same lunch break. The other half of employees get their break an hour later. We've decided that we'll restock the store after we get back and that we'll eat lunch at home.

"Alright, Gee. I have some leftover ravioli. We're gonna eat that, 'cuz I don't wanna use my oven. Then, maybe I can help you get a little more comfortable." I open the car door, hopping in and turning on the radio. A song called Go All The Way by Raspberries comes on, and I nod my head to the beat. It's a pretty fast song, so I end up smiling with Frank.

He begins to sing along, at first mumbling under his breath, then he starts to pick up the volume. "Please, go all the way. It feels so right..." In a bit of time, I catch on to the beat. I hum along, my head falling onto the headrest and eyes closing.

"Please, go all the way. Just hold me close. Don't ever let me go, oh, oh!" I start singing along, realizing I had it on my MP3 player back in 2007. It's been so long since I've listened to music; I almost forgot what it sounded like.

"Dude, you weren't lying when you said that you could sing. We should start a band, or something." He says, almost yelling over the music. "I feel like we could do better than Pencey Prep, if we got the right people. I know some musicians; I think some of my employees would play for us."

The idea resonates with me; the only band I've played in was the Raygun Jones, with Mikey. I have always wanted to play for a band, but I couldn't find any members back in 2007. I throw the idea (a/n-idea skskks) away, deciding to think about it later.


I dreamt tonight. Not a night terror. Though not exactly a daydream, either.

It starts the same as the first dream I had about the devil. Nothing. I can't even see my own hand at the moment, but my vision eventually clears. I'm not naked this time. I'm clothed in what I fell asleep in: Misfits t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Frank persuaded me to sleep in his guest room tonight. It's interior was nice; not exactly modern, but not rustic either.

Just like last month, the devil fades into sight. Even though I've only seen him once, I've gotten tired of this magic. He doesn't really need to do it; he just wants to assert his authority. And, just like last time, he jumps straight to the point.

"Why haven't you killed Frank yet?" He asks, picking at his fingernails.

"Why haven't you realized that I like him yet?" I retaliate, "Isn't the Devil supposed to know everything?"

He grimaces, touching his hand to his bare chest. "Please, call me Lucifer. Also, that's a lie that God--" he spat the name "--came up with to trick people into following him. Even if you don't kill him, he'll have to die some day. And, when that day comes, you'll go onto victim #67. Until you die, then you'll come back to me. So, you either kill him, or we make a deal. I promise that you'll like it."

Another deal? Because the last one turned out so great for me.

"Go on."

"Well, first you gotta tell Frank who you actually are. Then, you gotta prove that you aren't just making up this whole relationship thing."

"First of all–he won't believe me. Second of all–how will I do that?"

"You gotta figure that out. If you do this, then I'll let you live out your days with your utterly beloved Frank Iero. If not, he might just have a little heart attack in four months."

"Four months?"

"Three is negotiable."

"Fine! I'll do four months."

It goes unsaid that to 'prove my love' to Frank, we have to have sex. Four months is an incredibly short amount of time when you just met the person in discussion. Just adding onto it: I've been refraining from sex since I was 17, after something terrible happened with Jason Greenwood in junior year.

"Do we have a deal?"

Lucifer is growing impatient. Taking the deal is clearly better than not taking it. So, I agree.

Notes

i take way too long to update,,,,, what do yall think happened with jason greenwood,,,