Chapter Text
"Get out of my fucking house, Frank Anthony Iero!",
My mother screeches.
"You can go fuck yourself you ungrateful bastard!"
She slaps my face, sending a familiar buzzing wave through my skull,
I gasp in pain, clutching my burning cheek. I hurriedly stumble up the stairs to get my fucking stuff. I know she's being serious, she has always told me she would do it and she's not one to go back on her word. When I get to my room, I desperately slam the door and push my back up against it. My back slowly slides down the door as I begin to sob hopelessly. On being completely sat on the floor, I shrivel into a tiny ball, holding myself tightly. I have to come to terms with the fact that she's kicking me out.
As I look fondly around my room, i realise that this won't be my room anymore.
It all makes me so fucking angry, how could she do this to me, she raised me and yet, she couldn't give two fucking shits about me. She can just take my whole life away from me like this. In a pent up rage, I stuff everything important to me into a box, making sure dad's watch is in it before trudging back downstairs.
She seems to hear me coming and starts yelling again,
"You little fag. You're such a fucking disappointment to this family!"
I wince, that word stung, she's called me it many times before but this one hurt the most. It sends a sickening feeling into my stomach, making me want to vomit right into her face, if only I could on command.
While stuck thinking about puking, I don't notice her getting ready to hit me until its too late. I feel her angry, clenched fist knocking the box of my belonging out of my hands and onto the floor, where, the fragile items (like my watch) smash. I cry out, falling to my knees, sobbing, just praying that my watch isn't completely broken. It has a big crack through the middle of the glass but between that and the blurry tears in my eyes, I cant tell if it's still working.
Meanwhile, my mother is unsuccessfully trying to mask a cold, nasty, devilish grin, a grin that clearly expressed how little my feelings mean to her. That cow knows how much the watch means to me, she knows who gave it to me, she knows everything about me and yet here she is, kicking me out the house for nothing.
Well.. maybe not nothing, but nothing worth being homeless. Frantically, I pick up all the stuff that had fallen out and desperately stuff it back in.
Dragging myself from my knees, still clutching my prized watch, I calm myself in order to inflict as much pain as possible,
"I wish you died, not dad."
I remark emotionlessly, hoping my witch of a mother will know how much I mean it. Now, i get to watch her face contort into an expression I had never seen on her, grief. But the emotion vanishes as quickly as it had materialized. She squints her beady little bird eyes at me, crossing her arms, the corners of her lipstick-covered lips distorting into a slight smirk.
She raises an irritatingly calm eyebrow at me,
"Anything else?"
My breathing slows and I take a deep breath, before turning for the door, opening it, stepping through and sighing,
"Fuck you."
Frantically, I slam the cold, rotted door behind me, and, before she can retaliate and start to march my ass as far from that place formerly known as my home as possible. As I hold the box in both hands, I grin joyously at the fact id hopefully never see my bitch of a mother again. I'll never feel the buzz of her slap, never shiver from her hurtful comments. I also don't have to go back to that prison of a school. But, walking around in the early evening, alone, I realise i have no clue where I am going. I might have no evil mom now, but that means I have no home. I am a fucking homeless person. Me. Frank Iero.
I rub my neck anxiously, not stopping until my hand cramps and my skin flares a bright angry red.
Maybe I could stay with a relative?
No, none lived close enough and besides, most would take my mom's side if they knew what I had done.
A friends house?
why did I even suggest that? i don't have any fucking friends. Well, none that I could stay with.
As I think about who else there is to stay with I realise, there isn't anyone. There is no options left.
I sink into a nearby bench, gently dropping my box onto the floor and shaking my head.
"Fuck."
I exclaim quietly, quickly shoving my throbbing skull into my hands, tears forming in my eyes, clouding my view of my feet under me. I wipe my eyes slowly, wishing i could similarly just wipe all my problems away. When I pull my eyelids open again there's two pairs of feet, mine in the battered up once-red converse, and some unknown feet in big black combat boots.
I quickly furrow my eyebrows, slowly raising my head.
He looks like a vampire.
He has sickly pale skin that contrasts his black, grease-soaked, shoulder-length hair, it frames his (slightly rounded but sort of sharp) face.
His intriguing greenish-brown eyes are exaggerated by the deep dark circles surrounding them.
He is standing over me with a curious frown and his head tilted.
His expression, hard to pinpoint, a mixture of confusion, empathy and something else that i couldn't put my finger on.
His hair dances joyously in the wind as he chews his gum, smacking his lips, making a satisfying noise i wished i could hear forever.
His perfectly fitting leather jacket makes me remember I had left mine at my former house,
Remembering this makes me even more hopeless, I wipe my eyes vigorously and scrunch my face in doing so.
"Are you okay?"
His voice is soft but has a slight rasp to it, his whole style intrigues me. It's hard not to want to carry on the conversation, but, i really don't want him to think I'm a weirdo so i try to stay away from the whole "being homeless" subject.
"Yeah, man"
I reply, smiling hopefully somewhat reassuringly, i assume he'll carry on walking so i regain my head in hands position. I cant believe i fucked up that interaction so bad, he made me so curious, I wanted to know everything about that man, the mystery man from the day She kicked me out.
After a few minutes of grieving what could have been, I sigh defeatedly and pick my head up, only to see smoke filling the air. It causes me to cough my lungs up, half in surprise and half because of the strong smell.
He's slumped in the opposing corner of the bench, holding a cigarette and frowning slightly in my direction,
Feeling the cold tears glazing over my eyes, I quickly wipe them away and smile weakly,
"You're not giving up then?"
The corners of his mouth prick up, shaking his head before taking a slow, gentle drag of the cigarette, letting every toxin caress the insides of his, presumably blackened, lungs.
He's staring into my eyes so intensely, I can almost feel him riffling through every thought I have right now. As I'm about to start to panic, I remind my anxiety-ridden brain that telepathy isn't real and I'm getting all worked up over absolutely nothing. To calm myself down, I root around in my box until I find my watch, I put it onto my hand, trying to ignore the big crack through the glass.
"Why are you crying?"
He questions, I narrow my eyes at him slightly, not angrily but confused,
"Why do you care?"
He isn't fazed by my answer and forms a small shrug,
"I don't know, why haven't you run away from me yet?"
I smile shortly, I hadn't run away from him because maybe a small part of me wished he would stay forever. I try to push all my anxious thoughts to the back of my head and converse like a normal person with him,
"so what's your name?"
"Gerard, Gerard Way"
He inhales his cig, looking into the distance blankly,
"What's yours?"
I hesitate before answering pitifully,
"Frank Iero."
"Soo, Frank Iero, why are you crying?"
He gazes at me smiling slightly, resting his on his crossed arms, I hesitate, deciding whether to tell him.
His rich brown eyes making it hard not to cave in, sighing hopelessly,
"My mom kicked me out my house,"
He doesn't react, which somewhat angers me. His only obvious emotion is pleasure as he takes a drag of his cigarette. I wanted some sympathy, I had been vulnerable with him and he had acted as if he hadn't heard me.
Confused, I narrow my eyes at him.
His eyes are preoccupied with, again, looking blankly into the distance.
Maybe he didn't hear me?
Maybe he wasn't even real, I mean it wouldn't be the craziest thing in the world.
But why would my brain hallucinate this strange man, Gerard way? What kind of name is Gerard Way?
The idea of him being a hallucination is becoming more and more likely until he sighs slightly and scoots next to me, close enough so his thigh is touching mine ever so slightly. The contact making an agonising shiver fall down my body.
"Why?"
I furrow my eyebrows,
"What?",
I question in scared confusion.
He giggles slightly, showing his pearly white teeth,
"Why did your mom kick you out?"
The realisation makes my cheeks turn a deep shade of red,
"Oh."
I divert my eyes to the floor, I really do not want to tell him. I couldn't, he'd never understand, he'd walk away and I'd never see him again. He was the closest thing I have to a friend right now and I sure as fuck am not going to give that up.
"I- I cant tell you.."
He looks at me, emotionless. He slowly stands up, I sigh, ready for him to leave. He closely gazes at his cigarette before taking a very long drag, exhaling slowly, then flicking the short butt of the cigarette onto the ground and stomping his heel on it.
He frowns so slightly then speaks,
"Hmm.. okay" and then he sat back down even closer than he had been sat before,
"So, where are you going to live now?" he asks as his hands reaches for his bag that he had thrown on the floor.
He opens his letter bag, which is covered with pins and homemade patches, he takes out his pack of cigarettes. After lighting one and placing it delicately between his lips, his pupils return back to staring into the horizon,
"I-I'm not sure yet"
I twist my hair around my fingers and join his blank stare into the distance,
He takes a slow inhale of the cig, a steady exhale then calmly offers,
"You can stay with me if you want?" as if he were asking if I wanted a stick of gum.
I'm overwhelmed, I feel like that's way too much to ask of someone I met ten minutes ago.
"Really?"
I push my eyebrows up towards each other, questioning his sincerity,
"Yeah why not?" he shrugs nonchalantly.
I mean on one hand he's a stranger, and had I not learnt anything from all the true crime shows I have watched, plus he was quite strange.
But... he's so gorgeous and I have nowhere else to go.
My heavily formed frown loosens and my mouth twists into a hopeful smile,
"If that's okay?", I look into his eyes to seek reassurance that this was the right thing to do, alas, I get none. His expression is monotone but somehow warm and somewhat inviting, but definitely not reassuring. He peels his eyes off the spot he must have been staring at for at least 10 minutes.
"C'mon then, frank", he stands up and again flicks the cigarette butt onto the ground, making a meal of stomping on it until its definitely out.
Then, with no more words, he starts to walk, so, naturally, I hastily pick up my box and stumble after him.