Novocaine

by jatty

Summary:

Part Two of my "It All Goes Back to the Dogs" rewrite!

Gerard strives to make a world and life for himself outside of Frank's protective arms, and Frank struggles to make sense of the cryptic postcards he keeps receiving from across the country. Is Gerard done with him or not?

Notes:

Welcome back! This version is very different from Dogs Part Two--Rust. I really wanted to do more with Bert and make him a better character. Let me know what you think!

Chapter 1: A Friend For The End Of Time

Gerard passed a wary look over his shoulder as he was led into the crowded house party. A man at the door had stopped them, asked them who they knew, then ushered them quickly inside with embarrassment when he was told who the gentleman was.

Not that Tommy was really much of a gentleman at all. He was rich, though, and the party was apparently in his honor—or so he kept telling Gerard as their cab took them into Salt Lake City.

Gerard had met Tommy at a hotel bar in Jefferson City, Missouri, and let the man be his ticket out of his two month stint in MO to get to Utah. One step closer to California, Gerard guessed—not that that had ever been his ideal destination.

When he left Jersey however long ago it was, he didn’t have a plan. He didn’t have a mission or a goal or a dream...he had the clothes on his back, the whiskey in his pocket, and the black sketchbook under his coat.

He got himself into New York City, homeless and on the streets for a week before he found a man named Irvin or Ivan or something who took him in. It was alright at first, the fucking half-decent and the booze coming non-stop, but Gerard grew sick of the bed bugs and cockroaches infesting I’s apartment and decided to leave. He hooked up with a drug dealer who wanted to be called Pezz on the streets and Daddy in bed.

The booze came non-stop and so did the cash allowances. Gerard was allowed to buy whatever clothes he wanted, whatever shoes he wanted, whatever watches or sunglasses or art supplies he wanted. Even though Pezz had a wandering eye, a wicked temper and a vicious tongue, he only seldom put his hands on Gerard when he spoke out of line or showed his jealousy. The beatings were quick and short, and followed with a plethora of apologies and, of course, more cash and gifts. If Pezz hadn’t gotten shot in the head, Gerard probably would’ve stayed with him forever.

After Pezz died, Gerard quickly packed anything worth money into a big black duffle and hit the streets again. He pawned what he could to get by and ended up on the streets for a few nights before he met a guy whose name he can’t remember—or never learned.

Maybe he’d been spoiled by the kind treatment he’d gotten from Frank and I and Pezz, but he only lasted a few weeks with Asshole before trashed the man’s apartment and left him high and dry with no one to fuck and no one to beat.

Gerard hitchhiked for a while after that, fucking in exchange for transportation and getting beaten almost every time he switched drivers. That was how he’d ended up in Jefferson City. He screwed a few dealers in exchange for a bed, but the coke dealers in Missouri were far more brutal and intense than Gerard could handle—and paranoid, too.

He was tempted, but he never touched their drugs—he was happy to drink all their booze and smoke all their weed, but didn’t want anything to do with their rocks or lines of powder.

That didn’t stop him from getting beaten by his lovers’ gang members or threatened at gun point by his lovers themselves.

He couldn’t take it, and he couldn’t bring himself to fuck any more truck drivers who’d just beat him half to death and leave him stranded in the most remote stretches of the interstate.

He decided he wanted a man like Master—someone rich and not through drugs.

So he cleaned up nice, pawned what was left of his valuables, and started drinking in the hotel bar. He made eyes at Tommy, Tommy made eyes at him, and they fucked for a week straight while Tommy was in town for business. Gerard pretended he was sad to see Tommy go when it came time for him to leave the city and Tommy, loving that a “young” guy like Gerard wanted to pay attention to him, flew them both to his next business stop—Salt Lake City.

He had something to do with publications and the entertainment industry. He snorted a lot of cocaine and forced Gerard to take ecstasy any time they went out together—including this shitshow of a party.

There were too many people here, all writhing together to the blasting rock music on the stereo system. The house reeked of beer and marijuana, and the air itself was so smoky that the flickering party lights all made lines like laser beams between the rooms. The pill made him jittery and he wanted to take off his coat, but remembered that he needed to keep it with him. His sketchbook was in the lining of his leather jacket along with all his money and the valuables he’d been quietly stealing out from under Tommy’s nose.

Tonight he was finding a new mark and he was getting the fuck out of this awful city.

It took a long time to get out of Tommy’s grasp. They fucked in the bathroom while about ten other people tried to beat down the door so they could take a piss. Tommy left as soon as he was finished, not bothering to see if Gerard had gotten off or even giving him time to fix his clothes before another man came in. He was still on the bathroom floor when that guy started yelling and Gerard feared he was about to get beaten to death by the swarm of people in the doorway—but he wasn’t. He was pushed out, barely dressed, and able to zip his jeans as he stumbled into the crowd to find his mark.

He’d gotten good at telling straights from gays after his time in the city. A lot of guys didn’t try to make it known, but there was always something in the way they looked at him that gave him away.

Unfortunately for him, this hell-hole party seemed to be dripping with pure, heterosexual testosterone. Every guy had a girl he was grinding on—and the single ones were playing beer pong with their bros and not bothering to pass Gerard a glance or a ball to play with when he loomed close by watching.

He stood out here with his long hair and tight jeans. Everyone here had baggy pants and backwards hats.

Where the fuck had he gotten himself this time?

Giving up on the beer pong, Gerard found his way into the kitchen—the only well-lit space besides the bathroom—and helped himself to more liquor. A few girls tried to talk to him, but their advances made him uncomfortable and the pill in his system made him want to simultaneously scream at them and kiss their makeup off.

He did his best to keep quiet.

Which was good because his mark showed up a few moments after all the girls fluttered away.

“Hey! Pour me some of that if there’s any left. I’m dying here,” the guy said.

Gerard felt his face heat up as soon as he looked at him, hating himself for it and unable to stop it as he laughed at himself and poured the stranger a drink.

“What’s that look?” The guy asked.

Gerard couldn’t face him again, just kept staring at his own cup and laughing. God, he hated Tommy for crippling his charms with this god-awful pill. He couldn’t think straight—he couldn’t focus enough to form a strategy.

Maybe that was Tommy’s fucking plan.

“My name’s Bert—what’s yours?” The guy screamed over the blasting music.

“I can’t tell you,” Gerard said, finally looking up to meet his eyes and laughing harder at the bewildered look in the black-haired man’s eyes. His hair looked so filthy and stringy and Gerard didn’t know why, but he wanted to touch it.

“Can’t tell me? Witness protection?—Wanted by the CIA?” The man asked, smiling back at Gerard and laughing before swallowing down the shot of Jack he’d been poured. “We need more liquor. This party’s dyin’!”

“Know a place we can buy some?” Gerard asked, smiling horribly and letting his eyes trace the man up and down. The look in the man’s eyes as soon as Gerard met them again was almost frightening…

Gerard backed up a step from him and felt the blood rush from his face.

He looked irritated. He looked...confused.

“Yeah, I know a place,” he said—still giving Gerard that cold, was it mistrusting?, stare.

Gerard couldn’t think of anything to say for what felt like an hour. He was left staring at this gorgeous man’s face—then started thinking about touching his hair again.

He really wanted to run his fingers through that mess…

“I-I really...want to buy you...drinks,” Gerard said, as if reading from cue cards.

Somehow, it worked because the man’s smile came back and he burst out laughing.

“You want to buy me drinks?”

“I will buy you drinks—we should buy drinks! Let’s buy drinks!” Gerard started proclaiming, smiling at him even though he was still kind of nervous. Something felt wrong and he began to fear that this man was just going to take him outside and thrash him the way some of the truck drivers had.

“Well, let’s buy drinks!”

Gerard caught Tommy kissing some woman’s exposed breast as he and the man left the party together. It sent a bolt of jealous rage through him that he kept in the pocket of his chest the whole time he and Bert walked to the liquor store eight blocks from the house party.

They talked about nonsense the whole time, or at least that was how it felt to Gerard. True to his word, Gerard bought three bottles of liquor—using up most of what was left from his stash—and then followed Bert to an apartment building not too much further away.

“How did you get into the party?” Bert asked as he unlocked a first-floor apartment door.

“I went with Tommy,” Gerard said. “Well—I mean… I-I didn’t go with Tommy. Tommy got me in. I’m on Tommy’s list. I know Tommy.”

“Shit! How did you meet him? I thought you said you weren’t on his label?”

“Label?” Gerard asked, not remembering that part of their conversation at all. He must’ve still been thinking about Bert’s hair…how absolutely sweaty, filthy it was and how much he wanted to touch it.

“Yeah—me and my band are on his label right now. He helped us produce our first record. Where’d you meet him?”

“Uh… Missouri. Hotel?” Gerard asked as he followed Bert into the dark apartment. He clipped on a light and the small, filthy place lit up.

It was a one room apartment—literally one room. There was a mattress on the floor covered in a heap of pillows and blankets, a couch stained with God knows what, and dressers and coffee tables littered with papers, food wrappers, and a beer cans.

“It’s a mess. My girl kicked me out last month.”

Gerard felt his heart sink a bit and had to force out some kind of automated, sympathetic reply.

“It’s whatever. Just glad I can afford my own place this time around, you know? Though I bet she’d like to see me back on the street.”

“Back?” Gerard asked, watching Bert’s hands as he took their bottles of liquor out of the plastic bag and set them on his cluttered counter.

“Yeah. I ran away from home when I was a teenager. Lived on the streets for a little while—mostly couch surfing but, you know. Life’s not a fairy tale. Sometimes you end up sleeping at the bus stop til the cops come and shake their dicks in your face to get you to leave.”

“Homeless,” Gerard said, thinking far more words than what ended up coming out.

“Yeah.” Bert was getting cups out of the cupboard and finding places on the counter for them between all the empty beer cans and used plates.

“I ran away at fifteen,” Gerard said, coming over to Bert and taking the bottle from his hands so he could pour them drinks himself. Jack and warm Coke… Not ideal, but it’d keep the party going.

“Really? That’s crazy!” Bert’s face lit up again, and Gerard realized the man must think he’d found someone like himself. Gerard could build off that. Maybe they wouldn’t ever fuck, but the man might let him stay here until he could find a man to take him in…

“It was...nine years now. Nine, I think...maybe ten years. On my own,” Gerard said, his words getting twisted as he tried to form sentences.

“What happened that made you leave?” Bert asked as he led Gerard over to the couch. They say side by side and Gerard made up a little sob story about not getting along with his father and his mother not understanding him.

Bert shared a story as well about being raised in a religious house that he didn’t agree with. He said he knew he didn’t fit in and was tired of his family trying to “fix” him when he wasn’t broken.

Gerard said nothing about being gay—worried for a moment that it would lead the man to attack him—but, like an idiot, let himself be moved by Bert’s story and fucking kissed him once it was over.

Bert shoved him, immediately, and Gerard recoiled to the other side of the couch, picking at the wet spot on his jeans where his Jack and Coke had spilled.

“Sorry—sorry, that was… Dude. Did you just fuckin’ kiss me?” He didn’t look mad, Gerard noted. He didn’t look angry—just confused and cold, like he had been in the kitchen at the house party.

“Sorry. I… Felt something,” Gerard said. God he hated this fucking pill. He had no tact, no ability to think... He just wanted to touch Bert’s fucking hair...that was all his stupid head could think about.

“Felt something?” Bert asked, laughing and taking a big drink from his cup. “Man, I need a little more of that in my life.”

“More of what?” Gerard dared to ask, feeling like he didn’t want to know. He knew it wasn’t the same thing he wanted more of…

“More of...I felt like it, so I did it. Impulse! Spur of the moment. Spontaneous. I wanna be more like that.”

“Aren’t you already?” Gerard asked cautiously. “I mean...we just met and now we’re here drinking.”

“Yeah! We just met and now we’re here drinking—but you take it up to level, like, ten thousand! We just met, I don’t know shit about you, I’m gonna suck your face even though we’re both dudes. Aren’t you even scared? Somebody—somebody could kill you for doing that. You do that to the wrong mother fucker and, shit…he’d beat you to a pulp. He’d kill you.”

“Are you going to kill me?” Gerard asked, forcing himself to look Bert in the eye.

If he held his head a certain way, if he parted his lips a little...if he blinked just right...

“Nah,” Bert looked away quickly, his face heating up now.

Pill or not, drunk or not, Gerard still had it.

“I’m not like that, man. I mean—I’m not about to go to jail over some dude I don’t know kissing me on the mouth.”

“That’s good. You know what they do to guys like us in prison,” Gerard said, settling back into his drink.

Bert started chuckling, then laughing. Gerard passed him a sideways glance and smirked at him around the rim of his cup.

He liked this guy… He liked him differently than how he’d liked Tommy and some of the drivers who were actually kind.

“Sounds like a fuckin’ song or something. I oughta write a song and call it that.”

“I bet it’d be awesome if you wrote it,” Gerard said. “I’d love to see your work. I-I know Tommy, but… I don’t know your band or your songs. Do you have any CDs I could listen to?”

“Oh, man. You don’t want to do that,” Bert said, looking bashful now as he finished his drink. Before he could get up, Gerard took his cup from him and made a show of sauntering over to the filthy counter and mixing him another Jack and Coke—a stronger one this time.

“I’d love to your work. You don’t have to show me, though. I know...you’re probably worried I’m just some spy or something.”

“Yeah… Yeah, you and your not having a name—on the run from the CIA.”

“It’s Gerard,” he said, blushing from the way Bert looked at him when he said it. “I didn’t want to say it and make an ass of myself at the party and have...Tommy hear about it. My name’s Gerard.”

“I like it,” Bert said, accepting the cup Gerard gave him with a smile. “So Gerard who drinks with strangers and kisses men he doesn’t know on the mouth...what is it you want, if not all my musical secrets—if you’re not some spy.”

“What do I want?” Gerard asked, feeling the alcohol a little more strongly in his system. He poured himself more Jack into his cup and took a swig of it before adding just a touch more Coke. “I want...to fuck...fuckin’ play with your hair. That’s what I want. But that can’t happen, so I guess your music secrets are gonna have to do.”

Bert started laughing so hard that tears came to his eyes. Gerard returned to his seat on the couch, feeling a little more secure at this man’s side since he’d shown no signs of hostility besides his occasional, cold stare.

Gerard liked him. Shit, he actually liked him…

“You wanna do what?—Man, I ain’t showered in like two weeks. This is my first time getting home in like...a month.”

“I can’t help it! I just want to...” Gerard gave himself permission to reach over and entwine his fingers in a few greasy strands of Bert’s hair. It surprised him that the man didn’t pull away or comment—he just sat still and let Gerard touch him, comb his fingers through the dyed black strands and then move to massaging his scalp.

“Fuck that feels good… I’m gonna sound like a liar, and I don’t usually fuck with dudes, but shit...that feels nice.” Bert took another long drink from his cup and Gerard was sure once it was finished, they’d be seeing what else Gerard’s hands could do. “You really like doing that?”

“I love it…” Gerard got to play with his hair a little while longer, then Bert decided it was time to listen to music—not his own music, but bands he liked that Gerard came to quickly enjoy. They talked about music, then art, then Bert’s tumultuous past relationship that he clearly wasn’t over despite claiming he slept with “at least” thirty chicks after the break-up to get her out of his head.

She said he was too much for her to handle, too wild—too unreliable. She didn’t like the idea of being alone when Bert went to the studio or the fact that he valued time in the studio over the shitty part-time job she forced him to have. She didn’t see the big picture, Bert said. She didn’t see the life he had planned for them and she kicked him out, no matter how much he begged her to reconsider.

Gerard couldn’t help it… He felt so bad for the other man. He kissed him again and Bert laughed at him again, then he finally put on his own record and turned the volume down as if he was self-conscious about anyone else hearing it.

It was rough around the edges, but Gerard found it amazing. He told Bert so—pointed out every lyric he liked, every melody he loved, every song title he felt an attachment to. The more he listened, the more he liked Bert—and the more it seemed that Bert liked him.

They partied together until about four-thirty when Bert crashed on the mattress with his pants half-off after coming out of the bathroom. Gerard helped get him situated on the bed, making sure he was on his stomach and not his back in case he started to feel nauseous again, and covered him with the blankets. He also made sure to re-do Bert’s fly in case he woke up in the morning with no recollection of what happened and came to the conclusion that they’d fucked or Gerard had tried fucking with him…

As much as Gerard wished it had happened, the opportunity didn’t present itself. It didn’t feel right with Bert so wasted drunk and himself half-high.

So while Bert slept, Gerard started cleaning. He found trash bags under the kitchen sink and started filling them with all the bottles and cans he could find. It took a few hours, but he’d successfully gotten all the trash put away and even cleaned out the refrigerator of all its spoiled, rotting food.

Gerard helped himself to a shower after that in the studio apartment’s tiny bathroom. The bathroom wasn’t as gross as Gerard expected it to be, but it needed cleaned desperately and he didn’t have the energy tonight.

Not really paying attention, Gerard used the first towel he could find and folded up his clothes before carrying them out to the couch and setting them down. He found a shirt hanging in Bert’s tiny closet and pulled it on along with a pair of boxers he found after snooping through a few drawers. They were smaller than his own, but his had blood and stains from the lube Tommy had used when he’d gotten rough in the bathroom and he didn’t feel like wearing them. He put his jeans back on and used his leather jacket and T-shirt as a pillow on the couch.

He wanted to sleep next to Bert, but felt it would only bring him trouble in the morning. Bert may have been amiable last night, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t wake up pissed—couldn’t wake up looking for a fight and bash Gerard’s face in with the lamp next to his mattress.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank didn’t do much outside of work these days. He didn’t have the energy to visit Ray on his days off and music had no interest to him now that...that things had changed.

Eight month’s ago, he’d taken his dog for a walk and came home to find Gerard and all of his money gone. All the notes his Master had given Frank were in a pile on the floor shaped like a heart with a slash through the middle—ripped into thousands of pieces.

Frank didn’t realize he’d hurt Gerard that badly. He didn’t even realize he’d been robbed until he got back from frantically driving around the city in search of his partner...or whom he thought had been his partner.

He had to call Mikey and let him know that Gerard had disappeared…had to tell Gerard’s parents their son was missing again and that he was so sorry.

He was so, so sorry…

It had been eight months and he still couldn’t get over it. He felt like he should’ve seen it coming—like he should’ve realized what Gerard would do and should’ve caught it, stopped it… He felt responsible for Gerard and now he was terrified of what had become of the man out there on the streets.

Was he dead? Was he hurt? Was he homeless? Did someone take him in?

Why was the thought of someone taking him in even more terrifying than the thought of him being homeless?

God, what sort of monster would he meet out there and move in with?

Frank had been forced to borrow money from Ray to pay his rent after realizing Gerard stole literally every dollar and coin in his wallet. He didn’t dare ask Gerard’s parents to replace it since they’d already tried to sue him for involvement in Gerard’s disappearance.

He didn’t know how, but he managed to avoid going to jail. He told the cops everything—every single detail he knew—and gave them the shredded up papers Gerard had left behind along with the paperwork from the hospital where he’d taken Gerard.

Mikey, thank God for him, had vouched in Frank’s defense when the police asked him about the situation. Gerard wasn’t ever in danger with Frank, he said. Gerard was happy with him and was free to come and go from Frank’s apartment as he pleased.

An investigation had been launched, but that was the last Frank had heard of anything. A month after Gerard vanished, Gerard’s family left him alone—Mikey included.

Frank tried to move on, but it was hard… Gerard’s comic books and movies had all been taken back, but they left his clothes. Frank wore some of them, kept others out of sight so he wouldn’t get emotional…

Why did he go?

Why did he run away without saying anything?

Frank worked himself to death in an attempt to get his mind to stop throwing up the questions.

He dated someone else for a little while, but it wasn’t the same it ended almost as quickly as it had started.

Other than Sweet Pea, his life was empty—it was back to the way it was before he met Gerard, only this time he could feel how empty it was. He could feel what he’d been missing and didn’t know what to do to get it back—or if he could do anything. Maybe he’d had his once in a lifetime chance and he’d ruined it. Maybe he’d gotten Gerard killed in the process…

Why, oh why, did he have to push it that night? Why couldn’t he have just told Gerard he loved him and that he’d take care of him no matter what? What right did he have to try pushing him back home when he was hurting so much?

Eight months passed without Frank having the slightest clue about what was happening to the man he’d come to love more than anything else in the world...and then he got a post card.

It was from Salt Lake City, Utah with “xoxoxo I don’t love you anymore” written on the back.

At first he thought it was a prank, some cruel joke from Mikey or Gerard’s parents. But when he called Mikey to ask about it (call him out on it), Mikey’s response had been: “Oh, you got one too?”

His parents had gotten the exact same message as Frank, but Mikey’s said “Wish you were here. You’d love it. See you soon someday.”

Utah…

How the fuck did he get himself out to Utah?

The police were no help since Gerard was a legal adult and could choose where he wanted to be and where he wanted to go. Frank couldn’t afford to go to Utah to find him, nor could the Way family.

At least they knew he was alive, but it wasn’t enough. Not really.

That message, too, hurt like a punch in the gut.

XoXoXo I don’t LOVE you ANYMORE

After eight months, that was all Gerard wanted to tell him...the same cold words he wanted to say to his parents. He was hurt and almost wished Gerard would’ve just stayed quiet about it. He was off living his life, fine… But did he have to stab Frank through the heart to do it? He had to know everything Frank did was for his own good...he had to know that.

Two months after the “I Don’t Love You” postcard, Frank received another.

This one came from LA, had a picture of a dog on the front and on the back a sketch of the same fucking comic strip character Gerard had drawn for him at the diner.

Mikey had gotten a postcard as well, but he was reluctant to talk to Frank about it over the phone. Frank didn’t put much weight in Mikey being secretive, but a week later the boy showed up at his diner and gave him the postcard he’d received. It had a photo taped to it of Gerard with another man. He’d drawn a little frame around the picture and wrote “happy happy happy Bert Bert Bert” across the bottom of the card.

It made Frank want to cry, but he forced himself to laugh and hand the card back.

“He does look happy,” Frank said. “It’s good for him. Did your parents get one?”

“No. I’m surprised he sent you anything,” Mikey said.

“Me too,” Frank said, trying to be dismissive so the tears wouldn’t well up again.

“No, I mean...if he really didn’t love you, why would he send you anything? Why wouldn’t he send you a picture of this guy or—”

“I don’t know. If there’s anything I learned from living with him, it’s that I don’t know who he is or what he thinks. He’s not...he’s not rational. He does what he wants. There’s no point trying to read into it,” Frank said.

Mikey looked hurt and left.

( ) ( ) ( )

Bert loved his fucking weirdo.

Gerard stumbled drunkenly into his life and managed to find a home there in Bert’s shitty little corner of the universe. He didn’t care that Bert spent most of his time in the studio tweaking his album with his friends, didn’t care if Bert wasn’t able to bring him to parties he and his friends were going to. He was so laid back—so chill.

It was refreshing after having a woman ride his ass for eighteen months and then kick him out to the streets.

Gerard cleaned up the apartment and kept it nice even when Bert would throw parties or have video game nights with Jepha and Quinn. He kept to himself, didn’t stir up trouble...just liked being in Bert’s presence it seemed.

To be honest, Bert really wasn’t much into guys. He didn’t care what other people did and he was never one to discriminate, but dude didn’t typically do it for him until Gerard came around.

But then again, Gerard was like a fucking porn star or something. The stamina that guy had—the slutty mouth he had… God, Bert wished he could just live in bed with the guy. He didn’t care if his bandmates passed him sideways glances or how many times they pulled him aside to ask him if he was sure about what he was doing. Gerard made him feel things he hadn’t felt in years—in his life, really.

Sure, he didn’t know much about him at all, but...did it matter? Gerard clearly cared about him. There was no way he didn’t. He cleaned up so well, made sure Bert actually ate real food and not just pizza and beer. He did laundry, he listened when Bert talked—then got in this great habit where he’d ask Bert about his day and listen to him while sucking his cock.

The only downside was every time Bert had something happen at a party or saw something crazy happen out on the street and thought “I can’t wait to tell Gerard about this,” he ended up popping a boner in public. Because any time he settled down to tell Gerard about his day, that man was going to be on his knees putting that slutty mouth of his to good use.

Then there was the day Bert got to come home and tell Gerard that he and his band had been signed to a real record company, not just an indie label. He’d been slowly teach Gerard more and more about the music world and the process to actually achieving success. So once he got to confess that they were actually with a real label, actually about to go on a tour and get paid for all their efforts, Gerard was quick to start the celebration party early.

They must’ve gone at it three times that night—and two more times in the morning.

Bert wasn’t much attracted to guys, but he couldn’t deny that he digged the way Gerard was so into him.

Jeph and Quinn didn’t trust him at all, and Dan liked to pretend it wasn’t happening. Bert told them countless times to trust him and that he knew what he was doing, but when he suggested taking Gerard with them on their tour, Jeph looked like he was going to have a heart attack.

“You can’t bring him! You don’t know him!”

“He’s right,” Quinn chipped in. “I know you like him, but he could be a junkie—a psycho. What if he’s just spying on us? He could ruin everything we’ve worked for.”

“Talk to him!” Bert had responded. “Just talk to him. He’s not a psycho, he’s not a junkie, and he’s not a spy! He’s just a dude that’s really into me.”

“Since when are you into dudes? Since when is that a thing?” Jeph asked, looking at Bert like he was implying something astounding—like he was suggesting Gerard had slipped him Love Potion No. 5 or some shit.

“Since I met him. It’s none of your fucking business, but if you want me on this tour—we’re taking him with us. I’ve written ten times as much since he moved in.”

“He’s a muse,” Dan said from his seat on the crumbling leather couch in their practice studio. He was reading a magazine, but listening enough to chime in.

“Right. He’s my muse. He helps me write and he keeps me sane. I want him to come with us. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Just leave him in your apartment.”

“He doesn’t have any money! He’d starve to death.”

“Here’s a crazy idea—make him get a job. You know, a real one, not just sucking you off,” Quinn snapped.

Bert fought with them longer and louder until he finally got his way. Gerard was coming with them and that was final.

And Gerard seemed so happy to be extended the invitation. He’d been drawing when Bert had told him—too distracted in his little fantasy world “behind his head” to get on his knees like a good boy—but quickly abandoned his sketch pad to wrap his arms around Bert when he was told he was allowed to come on tour.

“Don’t let the guys get to you, okay? Jeph and Quinn are...not too excited about it.”

“Well they don’t like me, so that’s fine,” Gerard said, still smiling.

He just understood things so well and Bert loved it. He wasn’t like a jealous broad who got her knickers in a knot if one of his friends didn’t grovel at her feet. Some people didn’t like him, and Gerard was okay with that.

Bert loved him for that.

They didn’t say it to each other, but Bert felt like it was understood. The way Gerard would look at him—the way he’d try to rip the pants off him any time they drank or got high together—it said enough.

They fucked twice that night, then Gerard went back to his little sketchbook, hiding his doodles from Bert until he begged to be allowed to see. A while back he’d found Gerard’s black notebook hidden in under his mattress and had flipped through it while the other man slept. It had all kinds of sketches in it, and all kinds of pages torn out and missing. There were drawings of birds and of curtains, drawings of fruit in bowls, a sketch of a man named Marcus, little super heroes and scary aliens...then there were sketches of Bert tucked into the last few pages. Some were rough, others more detailed and accurate as if he were trying to work out how to perfectly capture the lines and angles of his face.

Bert didn’t know when Gerard would’ve worked on them, not able to remember a time that Gerard just sat and stared at him drawing… Was he doing it from memory?

It showed how much he cared, Bert thought. It showed how much Gerard actually liked him—and how much he thought about him.

Bert had put the sketchbook back under his mattress, then woke up the other man by kissing him.

He told him he was a weirdo as soon as he opened his eyes, and after a flash of pain crossed his face, Gerard just started smiling and kissed him back.

“Pretty sure you’re the weird one,” Gerard said back, then tried to cuddle him and go back to sleep.

He was always tired, it seemed. Bert understood it, though, because most nights that they didn’t pass out drunk together, Gerard ended up having night terrors.

The first time it happened, Bert thought it was fake—thought it was a stupid attempt to get his attention because Bert had been out all night at a party he couldn’t take Gerard to.

He’d just gotten into bed and started spooning up next to his lover when he realized Gerard’s whole body was twitching. He started making these awful, choked sounds and then sat up gasping for air and sobbing. Bert tried to shush him, but Gerard shoved him away—smacked himself into the wall and started screaming. Bert didn’t know what to do with him, but once he turned the light on, Gerard seemed to remember where he was and calmed down.

He apologized about a thousand times, then threw up in the bathroom from a while before crawling back to Bert. He was abused for a long time—and that was his only explanation. He’d been abused for a very long time and sometimes he had nightmares about it.

Pretty much every night he had nightmares about it, but the frequency of those waking terrors decreased the longer Gerard stayed with him. Bert made him feel safe, he said.

Bert couldn’t fathom how when they were both pretty scrawny, but he let the compliment warm him. It was just another one of Gerard’s weird quirks. He liked eyeliner and lip gloss, drawing in his little sketchbook, and thought Bert was big enough to protect him from the world.

He was weirdo, and Bert loved him for it. He was so unapologetically himself and it gave Bert confidence just to be seen with him—whether in Utah or California.

“It’s too bright here,” Gerard kept saying after mailing off a couple postcards.

Who still used postcards these days? What a weirdo…

“That’s just because you’re a vampire,” Bert said, making Gerard carry his own iced latte as they walked up and down the boardwalk again.

“I hate the sun. It hurts my eyes...” He was wearing a pair of Bert’s sunglasses, but still complaining. Bert had the feeling Gerard really just hated being outside—hated being around people. It was obvious that crowds made him nervous, but being exposed to the open air seemed to make him nervous too…

Maybe it was from being homeless. Bert could sympathize with that, though he didn’t know how Gerard managed to be homeless for as long as he made it seem. He ran away at fifteen, he said—then never got his own place? Never got a job? Never did anything with himself?

He had a fake ID for a man named Roger Something-or-Other that he didn’t talk about, and made it seem like he had no family worth mentioning—except when he needed money from Bert to buy a few postcards and stamps.

That was the first time Gerard ever asked him for money. It turns out he’d spent all of his on the liquor he gave Bert and the groceries he bought their first few weeks together. Then he wanted to send a friend and his family a couple postcards and needed five dollars.

He asked in front of Jeph and Quinn who were over for game night, Bert remembered, and his friends hadn’t liked it. Jeph asked why Gerard didn’t have a job. Gerard looked at the floor like a toddler caught in a lie. Quinn asked why he thought it was okay to ask for money—Bert told them all to shut up.

Gerard apologized and wouldn’t accept the money Bert tried to give him after that. Bert went out on his own the next day and bought three postcards and some stamps—told Gerard not to bitch about it—then went to the studio to practice.

He had no family worth mentioning, but wanted to send them postcards wherever he went. Weirdo.

“Are you excited for my show tonight?” Bert asked, just to watch how fast Gerard’s face went from a pout to a wide, toothy grin.

“Yes! I’ve never been to a concert before! It’s gonna be amazing!”

“You gotta stay backstage, though, alright? No jumping in the mosh pit.”

“God, no! I don’t want all those people touching me,” Gerard said, smiling as he sipped his latte. He looked so happy and Bert couldn’t wait to perform for him. He couldn’t wait to find out what kind of sex he got as a reward for it either—even if it was just in a filthy venue bathroom or in the backseat of the van before the rest of the band caught up with them. “This is going to be so awesome!”

Chapter 2: Not The Life It Seems

Gerard realized quickly that he hated concerts.

Everything about the venue Bert led him to reminded him of the auction house, and all the people rushing past him reminded him of the guards. He found himself shaking horribly and tried passing it off as jitters from excitement and caffeine.

He tried desperately to cling to Bert’s side as the carried in equipment and set up their things backstage, but something about Bert’s demeanor changed after the other artists started to arrive. Gerard knew not to touch him or kiss him in public, but it hurt when Bert refused to make eye contact with him and started bossing him around like one of the techs. He didn’t argue at all—just did as he was told—but Bert didn’t seem pleased with any of his efforts.

After being told to “just stop helping,” Gerard found himself trying not to crumble in a tiny space he found behind a discarded piece of plywood in the back of the room. Bert was going to abandon him, just like Master, and all his hard work would be for nothing.

How stupid could he be?

How foolish could he be to believe someone cool and talented like Bert would ever want a damned thing to do with him?

Bert just wanted attention until it was time for him to be a star… Now he was a star and Gerard was in his way. Now, Gerard was nothing.

He sat behind the tall scrap of wood and cried, picking at the VIP Access badge Bert had given him. There was so much noise and motion going on outside his little hiding place and the chaos made it so much harder for him to keep himself together.

Maybe if he just stayed here the whole show, maybe if he didn’t come out, he could sleep here for the night and try to find a new man in the morning.

He heard Bert’s band do their soundcheck and found himself sobbing over missing it. He wanted nothing more than to cheer Bert on and show his support, but the man didn’t want him. What use did he have for Gerard now that he was surrounded by adoring fans and gorgeous women? Bert wouldn’t even want him to hear the soundcheck, Gerard bet. Bert wouldn’t even want him around to know it was happening…

Gerard hid as the crowd filed in to the venue, hid the whole time the first opening band played—hid through most of the second as well.

But despite his best efforts to stay out of sight—to stay out of the way—Bert’s friend and bandmate Quinn found him hiding and called Bert over.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bert asked, looking pissed off.

Gerard couldn’t look him in the eye, but staring at his scuffed shoes seemed to make things worse.

“I got you a pass so you could watch us backstage. Why the fuck are you hiding back here? What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry.” It was all Gerard could think to say.

“If you don’t want to be a part of this, you can just fucking go. I don’t need you here if you’re just going to make a scene and ruin this for me.”

“I didn’t mean to ruin it—I just wanted to stay out of your way. I just didn’t want to be in your way, that’s all. You told me to go away… I didn’t think you wanted me here. I’m...an embarrassment to you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I told you to quit helping because you were shaking like a junkie and you were going to get yourself hurt. I’ve been looking for you all night!”

“I’m sorry,” Gerard repeated, looking him in the eye and hoping it showed how sincere he was.

“Have you been crying this whole time?” Bert asked, his face softening as he squatted down to be on Gerard’s level. “What are you crying for?—Come on, stop it. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I just...not good with crowds. Not...not good for this.”

“There’s no crowd back here. It’s just us and some of the crew—it’s not crowded. C’mere. Come out.”

Bert grabbed Gerard’s hand and started pulling him up, holding back the piece of plywood so Gerard wouldn’t hit his head on it. Gerard hurried to dry his face and pulled his sunglasses down from on top of his head to cover his eyes.

“Now you’re just making it look like I beat you,” Bert said, chuckling and forcing the glasses back on top of Gerard’s head. “See? No crowd. Just noisy. Why are you so scared of crowds, huh? I won’t let anybody touch you.” Then he leaned in to say into his ear, “That precious ass belongs to me.”

Gerard felt his face heat up and he turned away again.

“Come here—I wanna talk to you. Come here,” Bert said, grabbing Gerard by his upper arm and leading him into a small sitting area where the rest of his band was sitting—drinking and smoking as they waited to go on. They didn’t look pleased when Bert told them to get out, and Jeph—who clearly hated Gerard more than the others—passed him a filthy look on his way out.

“I-I really didn’t mean to upset you,” Gerard said quickly, hoping if he apologized fast enough and sincerely enough that Bert wouldn’t have to scold him.

“I’m just really confused. We were doing great until we got here. Now you’re hiding from me like I beat you up. Did I really hurt you that bad with what I said?—I didn’t mean anything by it.” He looked so sincere it hurt Gerard to make eye contact with him. He looked sorry and he had no reason to be. Bert never did anything wrong… He was perfect—he couldn’t do any wrong.

“I-I just… I don’t know. I really wanted to be here with you, but I don’t want to give us away or make you look bad. I know I got in your way earlier. I know I pissed you off… I just wanted to make sure I didn’t ruin your night.”

“I wasn’t pissed! I don’t care if these fuckwits know I’m with you. What do I care? They don’t mean shit to me. You want to stand close to me, stand close to me. You want to suck my dick in front of all of ‘em, go ahead! I don’t give a shit. Where did you get the idea that I don’t want seen with you?”

“I don’t know,” Gerard mumbled sheepishly, staring at his feet instead of Bert.

“I never said you were in my way. I was just nervous and no one let me have a drink yet when we were moving all that shit. I’m sorry if I snapped at you, Babe.”

“Don’t call me that,” Gerard hissed, barely catching himself even after the words came out. He was remembering flashes of the auction house again and this horrid back room was making it so much worse.

“Oh, fine! Now we’re not together because—”

“No! Just don’t call me that—don’t call me that name. Don’t ever call me that name. I don’t like it.” Gerard looked at him desperately, swallowing hard. Bert must’ve understood him because his eyebrows shot up and he just nodded.

“Okay… Can I ask you something?” Bert asked, giving Gerard his cold, confused look. It appeared so much like anger, but it was never followed by rage. Gerard hadn’t really ever seen Bert mad before…

“Anything,” Gerard answered.

“Are you...on something right now? Like did Dan or...Jeph give you something? You’re not… You’re not being yourself. I’m worried. Should I be worried?”

“No,” Gerard said, shaking his head quickly. “I-I have anxiety. Crowds...new places. You know that.”

“I mean, you were all excited earlier and now this? Crying—saying I told you I didn’t want seen with you? Telling me not to call you my Babe. What… What are you talking about? What’s happening?”

Gerard felt awful for him. He saw, behind that cold look, pain. He was hurting the man he cared so much about and he hated himself for it. He hated himself for not understanding how it was happening.

“Bert, I…” Could he tell him? Could he really tell him the truth?

No. It would hurt him. It would ruin everything. Bert would leave him stranded here—he’d see how damaged Gerard was and deem him not worth the time.

“What?” Bert asked, reaching out and stroking Gerard’s cheek. Gerard leaned into his palm, tilting his head to kiss Bert’s thumb.

“I don’t want to lose you… I think you’re really great and I scare myself sometimes. People don’t...keep me around very long and I… I-I get worried I’m going to ruin it somehow or that—that I already have. I don’t want you to leave me here all alone.” He started crying again… Fuck, he started crying again and Bert was laughing at him.

“You little weirdo. Don’t worry so much. I just get snippy when I haven’t had a drink.” He kissed Gerard on the mouth and bit his lip when Gerard didn’t reciprocate fast enough—then giggled at Gerard’s squeak of pain.

It was playful. Bert kept kissing him and nipping him—on his lip, on the ear, on his neck—until Gerard couldn’t help but smile back.

“I gotta go get ready. You gonna come watch me play?” Bert asked.

Gerard nodded and followed him out of the greenroom, keeping his head ducked as he walked past the other members of the band. He knew they didn’t like him…

He faked his smile better this time, pretended the techs rushing around backstage didn’t bother him, and laughed through the awful memories tugging at the back of his mind. He watched Bert get drunk and then get high with his bandmates, only accepting a bottle of beer for himself and the last bits of a joint before Bert’s band was about to go on stage.

It did nothing to soothe him, but he pretended to be as happy as the screaming fans as Bert winked at him and made his departure to the stage.

( ) ( ) ( )

After three bad episodes, three shows in a row, Jeph had had enough.

Gerard was cowering again and Bert couldn’t find him—and for whatever fucking reason, when Bert didn’t have Gerard, he couldn’t think of anything else. He was as addicted to Gerard as he was to the bottle and Jeph was sick of it. There was nothing special about that guy, nothing worth fussing over.

All he did was drink their booze, smoke their weed, wake everyone in the van up with his nightmares, and fuck their singer. That was it—aside from cry and hide and shake like a junkie going through withdrawal. Jeph didn’t see what was so great about him.

So this time, when he found Gerard hiding outside the venue by their van, he pushed him on it.

“What are you even doing with Bert if this is how you’re gonna act?” He snapped. “He never shuts up about you. He spends his whole fucking night looking for you, and here you are hiding from him like a little bitch. What the fuck is your game?”

The man stared at him—looking like he thought Jeph was going to punch him—and said nothing.

“Talk! What is your game? What the hell do you want with Bert? He’s been through enough shit. He doesn’t need you fucking his life up any worse than it already is.”

“I-I just don’t want in the way,” the man stammered.

Jeph could’ve laughed in his face if he weren’t so pissed.

“Right! So you run off and hide while he wastes all his time and energy running around looking for you before our set—so he plays like shit because he’s distracted trying to figure out if you’re alright.”

“No...”

“Yes,” Jeph mocked, imitating Gerard’s pathetic tone of voice. “I’m sick of you. I wish Bert would realize you’re no better than one of those drama queen groupies trying to screw him every night. If he’s not paying attention to you, then by God you’ll find a way to make him—won’t you?”

“No!”

“Yes! That’s why you do this! That’s why you go hide, so he can come find you and kiss you and make it all fuckin’ better—instead of practicing! Instead of getting in the zone for our show. If this band fails, it’s on you! If his dream gets wrecked, it’s on you!”

“I didn’t do anything!” Gerard said, keeping that pathetic tone—that helpless look on his face—as he stood up from the pavement.

Jeph didn’t know why he did it… Maybe it was the booze.

He shoved him hard back against the van—and regretted it instantly.

It was like a switch went off. He watched Gerard’s eyes go from helpless and pathetic to murderously cold. Gerard shoved him back twice as hard and Jeph ended up on the pavement—terrified of what the man was going to do next.

“Don’t touch me,” he growled in a voice Jeph had never heard him use before. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

Jeph waited for Gerard to kick him or stomp on him, but he never did—just glared down at him with eyes threatening to kill and went back inside the venue.

When Jeph found him again, he was sharing a joint with Bert and sucking down a bottle of beer like nothing happened between them. Bert was staring at him with that puppy love look in his eyes and Gerard was cuddling up to him on the greenroom couch.

This man is insane, Jeph thought, passing a glance to Quinn who nodded at him as if to ask what was wrong. He looked at Gerard and Gerard shot him another one of those murderous glances as he passed the joint back to Bert. This man is fucking nuts...

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey stared at his latest postcard and laid it down on the coffee table next to Frank’s. He was at Frank’s apartment, checking in on him since Ray told him in a late night phone call that Frank hadn’t been acting himself.

He’d put off the visit as long as he could, not sure how his presence could possibly help, but when the latest string of postcards came in, he decided to bite the bullet and show up unannounced.

The postcards came from Portland, Oregon then Seattle, Washington—back to back.

Mikey’s first card (from Portland) had another photo of this Bert guy on it with a little blurb saying “Show was great. Wish you were here. Bert says hi” with an arrow pointing at Bert’s face in the photo as if Mikey didn’t already know who he was from the Los Angeles postcard.

Frank’s Portland card said “Wish you’d let me hear you play. How is Sweet Pea?”

No return address for Frank to answer him… No phone number to call, no clues about where he’d be. It was as if Gerard were taunting him—asking him about his dog because that was all Frank had left.

The Washington cards seemed to spell a different story than the “happy happy happy Bert Bert Bert” everything is perfect tale.

Frank’s had a drawing of different drug paraphernalia and a monstrous looking creature lurking behind all of it. Mikey’s had a caricature of Gerard on it sporting a black eye and what looked like stitches on the cheek.

Frank’s postcard read: “I don’t like what they do to him.”

Mikey’s postcard read: “I don’t like what they do to me.”

“Do you think he’s getting beat up by that guy?” Mikey asked, staring at the postcards.

“Probably. That’s what he knows. That’s all he knows—he expects to be treated that way. I don’t know what you want from me… I was nice to him and he didn’t want it. If he’s happier out there traveling the country getting beat up, then...fine. It’s what he wants.”

Frank didn’t mean it and Mikey could tell. The cards disturbed him as much as they did Mikey, and they were both helpless.

“I wish I knew...what he was doing,” Mikey said.

“He’s touring with someone,” Frank said. “That’s why he’s sending cards from all these places. It’s easy. He talked about my guitar, he said it was a great show—he’s surrounded by drugs. He’s touring with someone.”

“Do you think… Do you think we could find out who? We know where he’s played shows, right? We know this guy’s name. Maybe we could find out the band.”

“Whose to say he’s in the band, Mikey? Maybe he’s part of the crew. Maybe he’s just a fan. There’s gotta be hundreds of bands playing in LA and Seattle and Portland. We don’t even know what night they played.”

“Well this one is postmarked for the nineteenth… and this one’s the twenty-first. The LA one is from the seventeenth...” Mikey took his phone out of his pocket and started researching, typing in tour dates, the cities, and the name Bert.

He found nothing.

“I wish he’d quit sending them to me,” Frank said, staring at his blank television screen. “He left me. I don’t care what he’s doing. I don’t care about this dude—I don’t care what drugs he’s on or what he got himself into. He stole all my money and he left. I don’t care what he’s going through.”

Mikey didn’t believe him.

( ) ( ) ( )

If Bert ever got his hands on the dumbass, mother fucking punks who beat up his boyfriend, he’d kill them. He didn’t care if he went to jail, and he didn’t care about what would happen to a guy like him when he was in there. He’d break all their hands, bust all their kneecaps, and bash out all their teeth.

Fuck, he’d set them on fire if he ever got ahold of the shit heads who beat up Gerard.

They’d been having a good time partying after the concert, meeting up with one of the local artists’ family who hosted a big event at their house. All kinds of drugs were being passed around for free, all kinds of booze and perks. Gerard wasn’t much into the hard stuff besides liquor, but he didn’t say a word when Bert helped himself to some lines of coke and a little tab of LSD—not much, just a little.

Everything was going fine. Gerard was drunk and clingy—scared of the crowd and needing Bert to protect him—then he was gone.

He was just gone… Not like when he would hide at the venues. He was gone, gone.

Bert remembered the party where he’d met Gerard, how Gerard had left with him instead of the man he’d come with. Gerard went to that party with the owner of the company being celebrated, and left with Bert… Now, Bert had thought, he came to the party with Bert and left with someone else.

He couldn’t help it. He went into a rage and started trying to knock back his feeling with shots of whatever he could get. He didn’t remember much besides being pissed off and banging some chick in a miniskirt with no panties on…

Then a little while after that he was being led out to the backyard by Dan who said he needed to see something. It was cold and raining and Bert didn’t want to be outside. He probably tantrumed about it, though he couldn’t remember.

The next thing he knew, Quinn and Jepha were pulling Gerard up out of the mud. He’d been beaten to a pulp and was barely hanging on to consciousness. Bert vomited in the grass beside them, thinking of all the awful things he’d just done because he’d gotten jealous.

Dan cleaned Gerard up in the bathroom while Quinn and Jeph held Bert back as he tried to pick a fight with a random group of guys just trying to smoke their weed on the covered deck outside. After that, they all went back to their shitty motel for the night and Bert was left alone in a room with Gerard that he was supposed to share with his entire band.

They never showed up again until the next morning and Gerard had spent the whole night trying to apologize to Bert for getting injured.

It fucked with him then and it fucked with him now.

Bert left Gerard alone and he got beaten up...and Gerard was the one apologizing?

He just wished he could remember at what point they’d gotten separated. All he remembered was doing cocaine and accepting the little tab of LSD. Then Gerard was gone…

There was a moment he was afraid he’d been the one who hurt him—maybe he did find Gerard and thought he’d been cheating and, tripping out, beat him for it—but his hands had no marks on them other than his knuckles where he punched a table. And he remembered punching a table…

Plus Gerard kept kissing his scabs, trying to make them better, as they lay in bed that next morning. He wouldn’t kiss the hands of a man who beat him, right?

Bert found no peace that night and no peace the next day… Gerard needed help walking because his ankle was fucked up but he wouldn’t go to a doctor. He didn’t feel like playing their show in Salt Lake City and barely went through the motions before he could hide backstage and try kissing his partner better.

They had a few days to recover in Utah, and Gerard mostly stayed in Bert’s bed mumbling little details about the men who grabbed him. He’d gone outside for fresh air after losing track of Bert in the crowded house, then bummed a cigarette off a guy he thought was Dan but turned out to be somebody else. He didn’t remember what he said, but he made the man angry and he’d punched him. After that guy hit him, the guys friends came and attacked Gerard as well, thinking he’d thrown the first punch at their buddy and deciding to exact revenge.

Bert hated himself for letting Gerard get hurt.

He stayed in bed with him, not even drinking he was so upset. Gerard had always prattled on and on about how Bert made him feel safe and how Bert was his protector…

Yeah, Bert felt like the biggest letdown in the entire fucking world. He was surprised Gerard hadn’t run away yet. He had no reason to stay now that Bert exposed himself as a pathetic fraud—too busy getting high and jealous to rescue his lover in his moment of need.

What if Gerard had been a woman? What if, instead of beating him to death, some men had raped him and left him for dead? Bert couldn’t stand the thought of himself...jealous that his partner was missing and cheating on them instead of trying to find them. If Gerard had been a woman, she would’ve kicked him to the curb that night...

“I have to tell you something,” Bert whispered as they lay face-to-face.

“Hm?” Gerard’s eyes fluttered open, the swelling finally gone in his left cheek.

“At the party...at the party, I slept with someone else.” He closed his eyes immediately after he said it, unable to face Gerard—unable to handle the look the other man would give him. God, how had he become so pathetic? He shouldn’t care so much about it, he shouldn’t have said anything about it. They were really dating, were they? Did he have to say it?

“It’s okay. I wasn’t around. It’s not your fault,” Gerard said. And he said it so calmly, so sweetly, that Bert felt like he would cry.

What the hell was he saying? What was wrong with this guy?

“It is my fault! You were getting beaten up and I was banging some woman—”

“A woman?” Gerard asked, finally a different emotion coming through besides that apologetic tone Bert had been hearing for days now.

“Yeah… I’m sorry.” He made himself open his eyes and found Gerard staring at him with a weird...smile on his face. “What...what are you laughing at?” Bert asked, sitting up. This was the part where Gerard would say he was cheating too, that he’d been seeing someone else the whole time they were together on tour.

“Bert, you’re...you’re straight. Of course you’re sleeping with women. I can’t compete with that! I can’t get mad about that. It’s not cheating… I want you to have anything you want—whoever you want. If it were a guy, I’d be jealous, but I can’t compete with a girl.”

“You’re a weirdo,” Bert said, feeling sick to his stomach. Why wasn’t Gerard upset? Why did he genuinely look happy to hear that Bert slept with a woman? “What is wrong with you?”

“I just want you to be happy,” Gerard said, finally taking on the expression Bert wanted to see—confusion, hurt.

“Even if that means you getting screwed over?”

“I didn’t lose anything,” Gerard said. “I’m here. Not her. Right?”

He was right...but it was wrong. Why was he okay with it? Why was he okay with Bert getting high and screwing someone else?

“Do you ever...sleep with anyone else?” Bert asked him.

Gerard looked sickened by the thought—genuinely mortified.

“No. Gross. No one compares to you.”

“You’re a weirdo,” Bert repeated before kissing him on the forehead. Gerard smiled at him and closed his eyes, going back to sleep. His nightmares had been so bad since he’d gotten attacked...he could only sleep when it was light out.

Bert let him rest a little while, then slipped out of bed and got himself dressed. He felt anxious just sitting in the apartment and his skin was crawling with all the bad thoughts he’d been harboring since the night of the house party.

He passed one last look at Gerard whose exposed face and wrists were still marred with bruises, then grabbed his wallet and keys and left.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard was scared when he woke up alone.

He knew Bert still wasn’t in his right mind and he was afraid of what state the man would be in when he came home. Gerard hadn’t realized it before the tour started, but Bert had an awful affinity for drugs and booze. He was a fun drunk, but when he started in on the hardcore drugs, he just got mean. He was afraid now that Bert had left to get a fix somewhere and it brought him down to fear his lover was really just another addict…

He didn’t want someone like that. He wanted someone stable, someone safe and sane. He would put up with it on the road, but he didn’t want the parties to start happening here… But what right did he have to reject the idea if Bert proposed it? It wasn’t his house...he had no place here.

Gerard made himself take a shower when he woke up and cleaned the small bit of the apartment that had gotten messy since their return. There wasn’t any food to make himself a lunch, so Gerard settled for drinking stale coffee.

Bert was gone a really long time…

Gerard was starting to worry that Bert wasn’t actually going to come back a few moment before he heard the doorknob rattle and his lover appeared, carrying grocery bags on one arm and a big plastic bag in the other.

Quickly, Gerard went over and helped him unload the groceries, taking them from his hand so Bert could shut and lock the door.

“Hey! Glad to see you up,” Bert said, setting the big bag down on the floor and coming up behind Gerard at the kitchen counter to hug him around the waist.

Gerard pressed back against him out of habit and let out a quiet moan, lifting his chin so Bert could kiss his neck if he wanted—apparently he didn’t want to, because his invitation was ignored.

“I got you a present,” Bert said, smiling against Gerard’s ear.

“Why? I don’t—I didn’t do anything to deserve a present,” Gerard said, trying to hide how excited he actually was at the thought. He thought of the big bag by the door and looked at it out of the corner of his eye.

Was that whole thing for him?

“Of course you did! You put up with my stupid ass twenty-four seven. Come here—check it out.” Bert let go of him and walked over to the bag, smiling in a way Gerard hadn’t seen in a while. It made him blush and he looked at the floor before scurrying over and letting Bert coax him into opening the bag.

“This is all for me?” Gerard asked, his face heating up even more.

The bag was full of art supplies—little sketch books and bigger ones, colored pencils and charcoal pencils, plus a little bag to keep it all in.

“What do you think? The dude at the store said you’d like this kinda stuff. I didn’t know. If you hate it, we’ll take it all back.”

“No! I love it! Thank you! Oh my God—thank you so much! Thank you so much, Bert—this is incredible!” Gerard felt like he was going to start crying and try as he might, he couldn’t get the dumb smile off his face.

“I saw you drawing on napkins at the last concert,” Bert said.

“My sketchbook is full. I really get to keep these?” Gerard asked, looking at Bert again.

The man laughed at him and then knelt beside him to take the different items out of the bag.

“Yeah—I want you to bring them with you so you don’t get bored in the van and you have something to do while we’re working with the equipment. And...I wanted to say sorry for...for letting you down,” Bert added, his face looking serious for a moment as he reached out to touch the bruise on Gerard’s cheek.

Gerard instinctively turned and kissed his hand, a gesture he’d learned after living with Pezz. Anytime he got beaten, it calmed Pezz down if he just kissed the hand that struck him. Bert didn’t make the bruise, but he felt guilty for it—Gerard wished he could kiss it away, keep him happy.

“So is this good stuff? I didn’t get ripped off, right?”

“No! These are great! I’m so happy! Thank you!” Gerard forced himself to drop the pencils and wrap his arms around Bert instead. The man held him so close, so tight… It reminded him a little bit of Frank.

Gerard held him tighter and shut his eyes, trying to push Frank out of his mind and just live in this moment. Frank had been trying to throw him out. Frank didn’t love him… Bert did. Bert clearly did.

After failing to get Bert to take their kisses any further, Gerard made a point to lay out all his art supplies on the coffee table, then fixed them both something to eat before settling in and starting to draw. He drew little comics to keep Bert amused while the other man watched television, then they started a drawing together where Gerard would add an element then hand it off to Bert to add something else. What started as a vampire ended up looking more like a haggard old woman with a straw hat on at the beach—at night, with a walking stick and several other indecipherable accessories that Bert added on.

Gerard couldn’t quit smiling at him.

It was dangerous, he thought, to let himself love this man so much. Didn’t he know Bert was going to get bored and leave him? Didn’t he know that one slap at the party in Seattle was just going to morph into dozens more when they left for the tour again? Didn’t he realized he didn’t deserve the kind of affection Bert was giving him?

He didn’t care, Gerard realized. His love for Bert was probably going to end up killing him, and he didn’t care at all.

Notes:

Thank you guys so much for your continued support! I'm so happy you've all seemed to like the new changes and I can't wait to show you what all is in store! :)

Chapter 3: What's In A Name

Frank wished he didn’t give a shit. He really wished he could just stop caring about Gerard as quickly as Gerard had stopped caring about him, but when he saw that drawing of Gerard beaten up, his heart started pounding and he felt so sick to his stomach.

What was that idiot doing out there? Who had he gotten mixed up with? If he was back into drugs and getting beaten up by some guy...Frank didn’t know what he would do.

As soon as he realized Gerard was on tour with someone, he couldn’t stop trying to figure out who. He checked everywhere, searching non-stop for any artist who performed in LA, then Portland, then Seattle.

And he found some. The dates matched, then the face did too.

Bert. The Used…

There wasn’t much info about the band besides a blurb on the venue pages. Based out of Utah, alternative rock… That was all he had to go on. They were touring with a larger band, slowly making their way across the US until the Spring when they’d reach NYC.

Frank stared at the website for what felt like hours before he called Mikey, waking him up at three a.m.

“I know where he’s going to be,” he said.

“Who?—What are you talking about? What time is it?”

“Gerard. He’s going to be in New York in April. There’s a show. I know who he’s with.”

“What? Shit—really?”

“The band’s called The Used. The guy in the picture, Bert, that’s their lead singer. They’re playing concerts in every city he’s sent us cards from. We didn’t get one from Salt Lake City again, but he’s there now—or was—and he’s going to be in Tuscon tomorrow night. I bet we get a card soon from Tuscon.”

“Where did you find this out?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I can’t now… I can’t find anything on that band, though. They’re just some little act from Utah. I don’t know how he found them.”

“He’ll do anything when he’s desperate. I just...hope he’s not on fucking coke again. God, don’t let him get mixed up in that shit again. We won’t get him back.”

Frank hummed, scrolling through the pages while listening to Mikey breathing. Any time Mikey said he was going to try going back to sleep, Frank found himself saying anything he could to keep the other man on the line.

It was hard for him to admit that he didn’t want to be alone anymore.

Eventually, though, they’d hung up and Frank spent most of the week sleepless until his postcard came from Tuscon.

“We live like animals,” it said with a drawing of a three-headed dog trapped in a too-small cage.

What the hell made him write the things he did? Frank wondered. What the hell was he trying to say? Was he just sharing for the sake of sharing? Did he mean anything by it or did he just want someone to complain to? Was staying in touch Gerard’s way of getting back at Frank, or was he…

Was he just trying to stay in touch? Letting Frank know he still through about him in every single state he passed through?

Shortly after he received his postcard, Mikey called him to let him know he’d gotten one as well.

“Did you get one?” Mikey asked.

“Says he lives like an animal. Guess touring the country isn’t as glamorous as he wanted to think.”

“Mom and Dad got one again.”

Frank didn’t know why, but he felt his stomach tighten at the thought.

“Do I want to know what it said?”

“He said ‘sorry. You hurt me. I miss Grandma. I had to go. See you soon someday.’”

“Yeah, sounds like he’s had enough. Good to see he finally came to his senses. Did your parents take it alright?”

“Dad said some stupid shit, but just because he’s hurting. Mom cried a lot but she’s happy he wrote them again.”

“Did you get one too?”

“Yeah… I didn’t tell my parents about mine.”

“What was on yours?” Frank asked, grabbing Sweet Pea and putting her in his lap despite her snort of disapproval. Something felt wrong this time. Mikey was hesitating and it wasn’t like before when he didn’t want Frank to know about Bert. “What was on yours?” Frank asked again.

“A phone number...”

“Did you call it?”

“Yeah. I got Bert… That was fucking awkward.”

“You talked to the guy he’s with?” Frank had to set Sweet Pea back down on the floor and started pacing the apartment. Mikey got the man’s phone number—Gerard was trying to get back home. He had to be!

“He sounds alright. Wanted to know who the fuck I was and then yelled at Gerard for a few minutes while I just waited there… Guess Gee didn’t bother mentioning he gave out Bert’s number. I got to talk to him for a little bit, but he didn’t say much. I don’t know why he gave me their number.”

“Well what did he talk about? What did he say—what did Bert say?” Frank asked, his heart beating so hard he could barely even breathe.

“Uh… Gerard said he’s fine, asked about Mom and Dad. Told me about the tour a little bit. He didn’t really say much, to be honest. Bert wanted his phone back. I don’t blame the guy.”

“Did he sound dangerous at all? I mean, you said he yelled at Gerard—”

“Yeah, for giving his number out. It wasn’t like...scary, you know? He didn’t sound threatening. It was early there so I think I woke them up. I only talked to him for a minute—long enough to say I was Gerard’s brother. Bert was just yelling at him to think before doing stupid things and ask him first. It was kind of funny,” Mikey paused to chuckle, “I could hear Gerard whining the whole time. It was like when we were kids. He was just complaining the whole time Bert yelled at him. I don’t even think he said sorry. Oh, God… Don’t hate me for this, but…they sounded good together. He sounded normal for once.”

“I’m glad he’s happy then,” Frank said, his heart sinking. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fucking fair!

Why would Gerard keep writing to him if he was so happy with that other guy? Was one man not enough? He had to have one in person and one laying in wait for his return?

Fuck Gerard.

Fuck him!

Frank wished he could punch him.

 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard wished Bert would quit sticking stuff up his nose…

He didn’t mind him drunk and he didn’t mind him stoned, but goddamnit he wished he’d stop snorting shit up his nose.

The first time he did it while on tour was at that awful house party. Gerard had been okay with it—not comfortable by any means, but not willing to bitch—but that didn’t stop Bert from smacking him and telling him to basically screw off. Gerard knew it was the drugs and not his lover, but he ran away to hide out back for a while—considering finding someone else and letting this life go.

He couldn’t leave Bert though… Even when he got high and got mean, Gerard loved him. He was in love with him. He loved the way Bert gave him confidence in his sketches and the lyrics he’d started writing. He loved the way Bert would kiss him in the mornings and stick up for him when the band tried to push him out of their group… He loved Bert.

He was thinking about that when he got jumped out there by the trees. He loved Bert—and he got his ass kicked for it.

He would never tell Bert who it was, just like he’d never tell Bert that he went outside because Bert had slapped him—or that it broke his heart into a thousand pieces when Bert confessed to sleeping with a woman that night when Gerard was missing.

Gerard would never tell Bert what to do because it wasn’t his place, but he really wished he’d stop putting shit up his fucking nose!

“I feel so fucked! I’m fucked! Where the fuck are we!?” Bert screamed as Gerard led him back and forth through the parking lot, trying to get him to calm down so they could get in the van and drive on to New Mexico. “I want to go home! I’m sick of this—are you sick of this yet? I’m fucking sick of this!”

Gerard tried agreeing, tried disagreeing, tried everything to get him to calm down. It didn’t work. He wasn’t like Pezz when he’d been high, wasn’t like any of the truck drivers or anyone else. Bert was just a mess when he got like this and Gerard wasn’t equipped to fix it.

He offered sex, Bert spluttered that there wasn’t a bed and they weren’t animals and doing it in the street. Gerard tried flirting—Bert shut him down, then started talking about his ex-girlfriend again and how awful she was.

They’d been together for months now and he still wasn’t over that dumb bitch.

Gerard guessed she was kind of like Frank…

“You know what I don’t get?” Bert asked, finally coming down from the drugs in his system after hours of just pacing around and around and around.

“What, Sugar?” Gerard asked, gesturing to Quinn and Jeph who were leaning against the van looking exhausted.

“You like me.”

“Of course,” he said, smiling at Bert in the yellow lamp-light.

“That’s just it!”

“Is that bad?” Gerard asked.

“No! But… But you—you like me. You fell into my lap and you just...you just like me. What for?”

“What for? Like, why?” Gerard asked, chuckling. He really wished Bert would quit sticking shit up his nose.

“I don’t get it! She was with me for almost two years! You knew me for five minutes and you’re just sticking around through all this shit. I let you get beat up—I screwed some bimbo. What are you still doing here? Why aren’t you gone!?”

“Because I’m not a bimbo,” Gerard suggested. “Because I take you as you are and know you’re doing what you have to do to...to make a name for yourself.”

It was just like with Master. He’d come home from work and scream and shout about how someone made some mistake that made him and his department look bad—he’d shout and yell and Gerard would come up with any bit of knowledge he’d heard about the business in the past and try to use it to calm the man down. “Wasn’t it your idea for the big merger? How could Kevin try to steal your thunder?” He had no clue who he was talking about or what, but it made Master calm down. He would just scream “exactly, exactly!” until it was time to fuck…

“See, why do you get that and not her? Why do you see that when she couldn’t!? Why wasn’t I good enough for her?”

“You’re more than good enough for me… She just didn’t want you to succeed. She was afraid you’d go off and meet someone better. And you have.”

“You know what? You’re right! She missed out on something great. You’re so fucking right!” Bert grabbed him by the face and kissed him hard. Gerard made himself kiss back and nuzzled him until giving the signal for Bert’s friends to help guide him back to the van and get him inside.

It was a long night and Gerard barely slept because Bert kept going on and on about his ex, and if he was quiet then his whole body was jerking and twitching from the after effects of the drug. It didn’t help either than whenever Bert would settle down, Jeph or Quinn would say something to get him going again—either about his ex or about how he was lucky they let Gerard come because if he were to act like this without him, they’d leave him behind and tour without him. The empty, childish threat just served to get Bert more agitated and he’d yell for a while, then try to cuddle up to Gerard would be forced to accept his touches even though the guys were all right there.

He never got handsy in the van—never! Gerard hated being put on display like that, but didn’t know what to do to make him stop. He worried if he tried to refuse or push his hand away, Bert might smack him.

And Gerard just knew Bert’s friends were waiting for the opportunity to use Bert’s intoxicated rage as an excuse to abandon Gerard somewhere along the highway.

It went on like that for weeks and weeks until they finally reached the end of the tour. Well, the first leg of the tour. They got about a month off to put the finishing touches on their new album, then they’d be back on the road again to tour up the East Coast.

Gerard had constructed a little fantasy world in his head as they made the long trek back to Salt Lake City. He imagined how it would be when they got home—how he’d get to go back to caring for Bert’s apartment and making everything nice for him.

Then, not even two days after they arrived, reality—a thing he’d been hiding from for over a decade—smacked him hard in the face.

“You need to get a fuckin’ job,” Bert said one morning over breakfast.

Gerard had just gotten off the phone with Mikey, happily telling him all about the tour and what he and Bert were up to, and all of the good feelings fled him as he took in the death glare Bert was giving him.

It was so sudden, so unjustified, and Gerard almost started crying from that look alone.

“B-But we’re only home for a month,” Gerard stammered. “I-I can’t get a job that fast.”

“Do it. Or you’re out. I’m sick of you using my phone. You have to get your own—I’m tired of him calling me all the time. I don’t know what trouble you got yourself in back home, but I can’t afford to keep paying for it.”

“Paying for it? What do you mean—what are you even talking about!?”

“Paying for it! I buy everything! You do nothing—you do nothing all day. I work! I put a lot of work into my music, into my records and you don’t do anything!”

“I take care of you! I do my job—my job is to take care of you! I-I do everything you say! I make sure you’re fed, that your clothes are clean. I even took your friends’ shit to the laundromat in Tuscon for them! Don’t say I don’t do anything...”

“That’s fine on the road, but here—I need help! I need help with bills. I can’t keep buying all your booze and your art shit.”

“I never asked that of you!” Gerard cried. He knew the art supplies had been a trap. He fucking knew he should’ve told Bert to take them back, not accept them graciously like a stupid, naive child.

“All I’m saying is go get a job for a few weeks! Flip burgers, do lawn work—I don’t care. Do something. Get Jeph and Quinn off my back.”

“Of course this is about them,” Gerard muttered.

He forgot himself. He realized it two seconds too late. He should’ve just bitten his tongue. He should’ve kept his mouth shut.

Gerard didn’t even get a second to apologize before Bert really laid in on him.

“I’m asking you to get a job! Be a fucking adult, Gerard! It has nothing to do with my band! It has to do with you being selfish and lazy! When you first got here, you had money—did you steal it? Is that what you do? You travel around the country, taking advantage of people and robbing them before moving on to someone else? That’s why all you have is fake IDs? Who the fuck are you, anyway!? Gerard? Rodger? You have a driver’s license for Rodger and you can’t even drive!”

He screamed and screamed and screamed until Gerard...broke.

Gerard crumpled in on himself, his fingers gripping at his hair and ripping at it—clawing at his scalp, at his face, at his neck. He didn’t hear Bert anymore. He heard his Master. He heard the words “worthless” and “lazy” and “fucked up.”

He didn’t realize he was the one screaming them at himself.

( ) ( ) ( )

Bert...loved his weirdo.

He really did.

He loved that Gerard wanted to devote all his time to Bert, that he only seemed to think about Bert and nothing else.

So when Gerard crumbled to the floor saying “I’m sorry, Master! I’m so sorry, Master! I don’t mean to be so worthless. I’m sorry I’ve been lazy. I’m fucked up—I’m fucked up! I’m so sorry, Master!” Bert felt like he’d been shot in the heart.

There was his little weirdo, literally tearing his skin apart, begging forgiveness through the heaviest sobs Bert had ever heard...and nothing he said made him stop.

Bert sat down on the floor in front of him, tried to hold him—tried to stop him from clawing himself. He tried shushing him, kissing him, telling him it was alright, but Gerard didn’t stop.

He knew someone, somewhere, had hurt Gerard in the past. He knew he’d been mistreated, but never saw the mental scars like this. Usually it was a night terror or a detail that would slip out in a panic attack. Usually Gerard just cried “The Bad Man, The Bad Man” over and over and whimper something about a table… He never said anything about what the Bad Man did or who he was. Bert guessed it wasn’t hard to imagine, really.

But he’d never said Master before. He’d never collapsed like this before, no matter how high or how drunk he got.

Bert was left watching him helplessly, holding onto Gerard’s wrists hard enough to leave bruises because he wanted Gerard to quit attacking himself.

It felt like hours before Gerard finally calmed down and Bert could let him go—and by that point he didn’t want to discuss it anymore. He didn’t want to say anything about Gerard finding a job or ask him who this “Master” was. He just wanted Gerard to go back to the way he had been, smiling and walking around in circles talking to his little brother on Bert’s cell phone.

Anything was better than this…

Gerard wouldn’t even look at him. Bert honestly didn’t think Gerard could hear him offering words of comfort.

Gerard just kept crying over and over that he was trash, that he was useless—that he was sorry but knew “sorry isn’t good enough.”

Who did this to him?

Jeph and Quinn, if they saw it, would say Gerard was faking it for attention. They’d say he was playing the victim card to get out of an honest day’s work—but Bert knew that wasn’t true. Gerard sounded like he was quoting someone, like the words had been beaten into his head by someone. Some old boyfriend, maybe.

Or maybe…

Gerard said he ran away at fifteen because he didn’t get along with his father. Maybe his father had abused him—Oh, God. What if his father molested him?

Bert wanted to get sick…

After what seemed like hours, Gerard finally stopped talking and just cried—quietly.

He sniffled and stared at the floor in front of Bert while Bert held his wrist still, and made no other motions at all. There was a hazy, distant look in his eyes—the same one he got when he had night terrors—and Bert waited until the fog lifted in his gaze before trying to talk to him again.

“Hey, hun… You feelin’ alright?” Bert asked, his voice shaking a little as Gerard finally looked up at him.

“I-I don’t… I don’t know what just happened,” he said before looking around as if he just noticed they were sitting on the floor.

“I...don’t either,” Bert said, letting go of his wrists and frowning at the dark red marks he’d left behind. Gerard stared at them too, then looked back at Bert sadly.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked, like he really had no memory of what had just played out.

“No! No, you didn’t hurt me. You scared the shit out of me… We need—we gotta talk. You’ve gotta tell me what’s happening so I can...so I can fix all this. So this doesn’t happen again,” Bert said, gesturing to the space between them.

“I… I need to get you money,” Gerard said, his speech slurred and fractured as he slowly started to stand up. “You needed money, right? That’s...that’s the last thing I...”

He was wandering over to the mattress and Bert thought for a moment “good, he’s going to lay down and relax,” but then Gerard was digging around in a hole that hadn’t been in his mattress before Gerard came into his life, and pulled out several bills and that fucking black sketchbook.

He came back over to Bert who had gotten to his feet, and handed him the cash with a shaking hand.

There was barely fifty dollars and he acted like it was some sort of jackpot.

“I kept some… For a bus ticket or food when you kick me out,” he said, looking at the floor. “You can have it.”

Then he started walking toward the door like he was going to leave, grabbing his leather jacket off the arm of Bert’s couch.

It felt as if everything were happening in slow motion, and he didn’t mean to grab Gerard as hard as he did when the man started opening the door. He snatched his wrist again and squeezed it so hard Gerard collapsed onto the ground, clutching at his arm just beneath Bert’s fingers to fight the pain.

Bert let him go, but stayed between him and the door.

He loved his weirdo… Gerard was the first person who really seemed to understand him. He was the only person who didn’t judge him for talking too much about the scars from his last relationship, or for taking too many drugs at a time, or for trying to fix his issues with alcohol. Gerard couldn’t just leave.

“I don’t want you to go,” Bert said, then tossed the dollar bills aside onto the floor. “I don’t want your bus money… I just said to get a job. Why does that scare you?”

“I’ll get you money,” Gerard said, staring at the floor.

“Why are you afraid of having a job?” Bert repeated.

“I-I told you, I’ll go get you money,” Gerard said, looking up at him desperately.

He didn’t mean a job, he either meant selling his ass or robbing someone. It made Bert sick. That was how he’d lived on the streets for so long—trading himself for a place to sleep. Ever since he was fifteen…

God, the kind of monsters he must’ve met out there. No wonder he had night terrors, no wonder he stammered about Masters and “The Bad Man.”

“Why won’t you get an actual job instead of selling yourself?” Bert asked, staring Gerard right in the eye. Gerard didn’t dare look away from him, either. He opened his mouth, whimpered, and then started to cry again.

“I’ll get you—”

“Answer me!”

“Because I can’t! I don’t like people, Bert! I can’t be alone out there!”

“You’ve been alone since you were fifteen! What do you mean?” Bert asked, desperately trying to understand. He wanted to fix this. Whatever was broken in Gerard, he wanted to fix it together. “Do you even know what you’re saying?”

“I-I… I take care of you. That’s my job. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Gerard, you’re an adult man. You’re not a housewife…”

“I know, but… Isn’t it better that way for you? I-I don’t see anyone else, I don’t talk to anyone but you. I’m yours. All day—just yours. I don’t have any problems or anything to distract me from you and what you need. That’s what I’m for...”

He looked so sad, and still Bert didn’t know what he was talking about…

Bert swallowed hard and stared at the floor a minute before forcing himself to ask it.

“Who is ‘Master’?”

“You are,” Gerard said. Immediately.

Bert shot him a look and Gerard didn’t even blink—he just stared.

“I… I am not,” Bert said, laughing uncomfortably. “What are you...what are you getting at? What are you even...talking about,” he finished, sighing heavily and rubbing his face. “I’m not into that kind of shit,” he said, helplessly. “I just want a partner—I liked you because we’re equals. Because you’re like me—you get me. I don’t want so freaky S and M shit going on...I just want us. Is that...not going to be enough for you?”

“Anything you give me is enough. Anything! I’m sorry—I won’t say it again… I-I don’t know what happened. I… I’ve never had a job. Not...not really. Um—Bert?” He was starting to sound frantic and when Bert looked at him again, he saw a frightened animal staring back.

“Yeah?” Bert was exhausted, but still afraid of what the man would say.

“I-I was… I-I…” He looked like he was choking on the words he was trying to say. He was trying to confess something—say something real—but the words wouldn’t come out. It looked like he was trying to cough up razor blades. “A-At fif-fifteen…h-he took me. H-He took me a-and...and I c-couldn’t get out.” Gerard took in a shaking breath, tears still running slowly down his cheeks.

Bert wanted to ask more, but he couldn’t. It hurt him too much to see Gerard in so much pain.

“Forget I said anything,” Bert said, grabbing Gerard and pulling him into a hug—just to shut him up and make him quit stammering. “Forget it. Just stay. The past is the past, right? Let’s just...have now. Let’s just be us. Like this. I want it to just be us.”

Gerard started hugging him back and buried his face in Bert’s neck, shivering and trembling even after Bert led them over to the mattress and laid down with him.

“I don’t want things to change,” Gerard whispered after a long, long time.

“What’s gonna change?” Bert asked.

Gerard didn’t answer… That was fine; Bert felt he already knew.

Chapter 4: Swallowing The Blue Pills

Notes:

Thank you guys so much for showing interest in this story so far! In my original, I was really afraid to write Bert the way I wanted to (the way he is in this version), because I worried people would want him and Gerard to end up together or that they'd be disappointed in how their relationship progresses. I know their partnership is very toxic and it can be hard to read sometimes, but I appreciate all the feedback you guys have been offering and I'm really excited for the rest of this story! Thanks so much, everyone! Much love!!!

Bert let Gerard have two days to simmer down before he decided he couldn’t wait any longer. The day after his breakdown, Gerard spent the whole time cleaning—picking at even the tiniest specks of dirt in Bert’s bathroom—and if he wasn’t cleaning, he was huddled up against the side of the couch with his head buried in his knees.

Bert left him alone about it, not wanting to stress him or trigger him again, but when the next day was much the same, he couldn’t take it.

This wasn’t Gerard. This wasn’t his little weirdo who smiled all the time and drew sketches and asked Bert’s opinion on lyrics. This was something else…

It was a side of himself he’d never shown Bert before and Bert was afraid of it. Afraid of him…

On the third morning, Bert invaded Gerard’s shower and helped him wash up—hoping the gentle intimacy might bring back more of the man he’d grown attached to. He washed Gerard’s hair for him, let the man press back against him and moan in the seductive, soft little way that he did, but didn’t take things any further. He wouldn’t let Gerard get on his knees and didn’t accept the invitation when Gerard braced himself against the wall and sent a particularly erotic look over his shoulder at Bert.

It felt like a con. Bert felt like he was being played when Gerard acted like that now.

He’d seen something in the other man that he’d been trying to keep hidden this whole time, and now he didn’t know what to believe. It drove him mad not knowing if this man that he was so enamored with was even who he claimed to be.

Or if he was even interested in Bert and not just using him as a stepping stone onto someone more his style.

After all, he had that outburst about Masters and Bert had taken note of the faint white lines than ran horizontally across Gerard’s upper thighs like scars from a cane...or a belt.

Was he into that kind of freaky shit? And if he was, why didn’t he ever mention it to Bert? Why didn’t he ever imply he liked it or ask Bert to play rough with him some nights? He knew Bert was out of his element screwing with another guy—he had to understand it was his job to let Bert know what he was comfortable with and if there was something more he needed.

Or was he wrong in assuming that and the scars were from something else—something traumatic?

“I want to talk,” Bert said after drying Gerard’s hair with one of the fluffy gray towels.

“Should I get my pants on first or are we talking body?” Gerard asked, trying to avoid the issue in his own way.

That was his game, Bert realized. Any time anything ever happened between them, he tried to get Bert turned on and change the subject.

“Probably get pants on,” Bert said. He watched Gerard’s face in the bathroom mirror—and watched Gerard watch him as he heaved a disappointed sigh.

They both got dressed, then sat side by side on the mattress because Gerard refused to walk over to the couch when Bert asked. He seemed to know already what their talk would be about, and he was picking at a tear in his jeans as Bert tried to come up with what to say.

“You know, you really scared me the other night...when you acted like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Gerard said. It was automatic. He didn’t discuss things, Bert realized. He just apologized now.

“I didn’t know what to say to you or how to help you. I still don’t… I don’t really understand what happened.”

“I had a panic attack. They happen sometimes, but I’m fine now. Really,” Gerard said, looking at Bert briefly before going back to the white thread he was pulling out of the knee of his jeans.

“But why did it happen? I want to understand so we can work on it. I don’t like seeing you that way and I don’t like you trying to play it off like it’s no big deal. It freaked me out. It was a big deal for me.”

“I…” Gerard took a deep breath and glanced at Bert again before returning his focus to his jeans. “I lived with a guy for a long time. His name was Les… I didn’t call him Les—I called him Master. He owned me...for a really long time.”

“Like—Like S and M owned or...or what? What are we talking about here?” Bert asked, glad there was a name now. Glad there was actually a person and not just this ambiguous title of “Master.”

“Um… I-I don’t...I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why?” Bert asked, feeling almost frustrated at Gerard’s complete inability to open up to him. Bert had told him literally everything about his life, but Bert didn’t even know Gerard’s last name…

“It’ll change things,” Gerard said, his shoulders dropping suddenly. “I guess they’re already ruined anyway, though. Aren’t they?”

“How? What’s ruined? I never said anything was ruined, Gerard! I just want to understand you. That’s why I wanted to talk—so we could build this relationship. I want you to trust me with these things. I don’t want you to be afraid to share things with me because things might change.”

“I wasn’t homeless at fifteen,” Gerard blurted out, like he didn’t hear a word Bert said to him.

“Okay,” Bert said, feeling that like a slap to the face. The first thing they bonded over...a lie.

“I lived with Les.”

“So you just...ran off to be a with a boyfriend? You hooked up with that guy and things weren’t good?” He tried to hide his irritation, but he knew Gerard could sense it and the other man scooted a few inches away on the mattress.

“Um… I was bought by him. I-I was sold to him… They—They sold me to Les and I lived with him and… And I lived with Marcus and Adam and then The Bad Man showed up and everything was ruined.” Gerard started crying as he said it, but was defiantly staring at the wall as the tears rolled down his cheeks—trying to bite back the sob Bert could see ripping at his throat.

“Bad Man? From your nightmares?”

“I-I can’t talk about this,” Gerard said, squeezing his eyes shut and starting to tremble.

“That’s fine. I-I think I get it… You—You were, like, pimped out to him? Like a...like a sex ring? Like child...porn or something?” Bert asked. He didn’t really believe it. He wanted to, but he didn’t… It didn’t make sense. Weren’t kids groomed for that from birth? Weren’t they usually immigrants or orphans? It just didn’t seem feasible for Gerard’s parents to wait until he was fifteen to sell him to some weirdo creep. And what about Mikey, his little brother who he called all the time? Did they choose not to sell him? Why was he spared? It didn’t add up.

“I didn’t tell you because I don’t want you to treat me differently. I… I just want a partner who doesn’t beat the fuck out of me every day.” He sobbed then and Bert believed that part. “I am so tired of being afraid of everything—being afraid that you’re going to get high one night and beat me to death or that your friends will. Tired of thinking you’re going to get bored of me and push me back out on the street. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d be like him and try to make me go home. I don’t want to! They look at me like I’m filthy—like I’m ruined and I’m not! I’m fine! I’m perfectly fine—I can be a good partner to someone. I’m still useful,” he cried. Bert couldn’t get a word in the whole time to comfort him or shush him.

Where was this coming from, he wanted to ask. Where did he get off saying he was afraid Bert was going to get high and beat him? He’d never laid a hand on him!

But the more he talked, the more Bert started to believe—the more he started to trust—that whatever Gerard was saying had to be true. Maybe it wasn’t feasible, but...he seemed genuine. He didn’t know what guy Gerard was talking about who tried to send him home to his family, but he probably had a point...a reason. If he was sold…

The cleaning, Bert thought. The obsessive fucking cleaning. The way he prepped meals—the way he always waited by the door for Bert to get home. Never complained, never left the apartment alone… Bert always joked he was like a housewife, now he felt he’d been looking at it wrong.

A house slave… All he knew how to do was take care of the house and the master of the house. He was afraid of crowds, he was afraid of strangers touching him, he was okay with Bert cheating on him with a bimbo in a drunk rage… A house slave.

“How long were you with that guy?” Bert asked, taking Gerard’s hand and pulling it away from the hole he was ripping into the knee of his jeans.

“Most of my life,” Gerard said, slowly—like he was really thinking over the words. “Since I was fifteen until...The Bad Man.”

“What did the Bad Man do?”

Gerard’s entire body shuddered and Bert squeezed his hand tighter.

“You have nightmares about it all the time. It’d be better if you just let it out… Scream it if you have to. Write it if you have to...” Bert said, feeling his heart start to pound as Gerard scooted closer to him and gripped his hand like a vice.

“Master—Les, I’m sorry! Les—I meant Les… Les went away on business and sent...sent the Bad Man to watch us. I guess so we wouldn’t leave. He wasn’t allowed to touch us… Fuck!” Gerard let out the most pained noise Bert had ever heard from him and he buried his face in his free hand. “I wasn’t supposed to… H-He wasn’t—Master shot him for it. Master shot him for it and then threw me away like trash. I didn’t do anything wrong! I-I fought so hard. I did everything right and—and the Bad Man...”

Bert was torn between wanting to know and telling Gerard to stop before he went into another panic attack. He was crying so hard now and Bert felt like his fingers were going to break in the other man’s death grip. Gerard might be lying about being sold into some pedo ring, but whatever he was living through behind his eyelids at that moment had happened. The Bad Man was real and it only gave Bert a small bit of satisfaction to know that man had been gunned down.

“You...you slept with the Bad Man?” Bert asked, thinking that had to be it. There was nothing else for him to have done that would’ve made Gerard’s lover kill him.

“I didn’t want to! He had me strapped down! I couldn’t move—I couldn’t fight him. I tried! I tried and it didn’t make a difference...”

The table—he always mumbled about the Bad Man and the table… He’d been strapped down to a table and raped? That was what he was saying? That was what he had nightmares about every night?

Bert couldn’t handle it. It was too much—too much that didn’t make sense and too much that fit so perfectly with how his little weirdo behaved. He wanted so badly to understand, but he couldn’t take anymore. He didn’t want to hear anything else about it. He wanted Gerard to be quiet.

“I wish Les had shot me too… He thought about it. I know he did—I know he wanted to. I wish he just did it. I want this all to be over,” he cried, pulling his hand away from Bert and covering his face completely.

Bert couldn’t think of anything to say. He just watched Gerard fall apart and hated himself for being silent and helpless as it happened.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard didn’t send any postcards for over a month and Frank was getting anxious, even though Mikey insisted it was because of a break in the tour. He got to talk to Gerard on the phone, but for Frank those postcards were his only connection to the other man. He wished he didn’t care about what happened to him—but he did. And for him, Gerard’s silence was something to fear.

Then when Gerard and Bert were slated to be in Texas for a concert, Mikey got a postcard and Frank received nothing.

“It’s just got a drawing on it,” Mikey explained. “I think it’s him with a bag on his head—or supposed to be him. I don’t know. It’s like a little cartoon guy.”

“Embarrassed about something, maybe,” Frank said, trying not to let on to how disheartened he was not to have gotten anything this time.

“I keep looking it over to see if there’s any clues, like little hidden letter or something, but...there’s nothing. I don’t get it. Bert ignores it every time I try to call.”

“Strange,” Frank muttered. He was exhausted after a seventy-hour work week and just wanted to sleep—especially now that it appeared his and Gerard’s bond was well and truly broken.

He didn’t know whether to be relieved that the messages stopped or disappointed. In a way, he kind of wanted to stay in touch—just to know if the man he saved was still alright, but at the same time he could barely stand the pain it caused him to think about it.

Maybe it’d be better if he could just forget—take Mikey’s name out of his phone, move apartments, and never think about it again.

He thought long and hard about that for the next few days and probably would have made up his mind to change phone numbers and block Mikey from ever getting into life again...if not for the box waiting outside his apartment door when he got home.

It was mailed from Houston, Texas and dented all to hell with a clearly made-up return address of Gerard Way, Saxton Hotel, Room 1111, 1212 E Left Rd., Houston, TX 77003.

The box was small and light, and Frank hands shook as he carried it into his apartment. As soon as he closed the door, Frank started ripping the tape off, both terrified and intrigued at the thoughts of what would be inside.

On top of the contents was a postcard and a sealed, blank envelope—a letter. Under that was a T-Shirt for a band Frank had never even heard of before, a notebook, and sketch of Sweet Pea done in charcoal.

What the hell was wrong with him? Frank wondered. Why the hell did he start off with sending postcards saying “I don’t love you anymore,” and then do something like this?

Frank grabbed the postcard that had been in the box and flipped it over. Just like the one Mikey had received, this one had a drawing of a cartoon man with a bag over his head. Only Frank’s had a noose around its neck and its feet pointing down as if the character had hanged himself.

Why do I even bother talking? The postcard read.

Frank carried the box and its contents over to his couch, then sat down to open the letter.

He didn’t know what to expect from it, whether it would be nonsense or coherent. He was scared to see what it would say, but he didn’t hesitate. It scared him then when the first thing he saw in the envelope were two tickets to a concert in NYC along with a folded up sheet of notebook paper.

Frank,

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken all your cash. I hope one day I can repay you for your kindness and make it all up to you. I’ve been with a lot of people since I left. Some ok, some not so great. I’m sure if you still talk to Mikey at all he’s told you about Bert. He’s good to me most days. I love him, I think.

He won’t keep me around though and I’m so afraid of what’s going to happen when he decides he doesn’t want me anymore. I’m afraid all the time now. I haven’t felt safe since I left you, but I had to go. I knew you didn’t love me anymore and it’s not your fault. I’m sorry I took all your cash. I was just mad because you didn’t love me and I was too blind to see that it was my fault and not yours.

The same thing happened with Bert. I told him the truth about me and he hasn’t looked at me the same way since. I know he doesn’t love me. I know it’s not your problem and you probably don’t want to hear it. I shouldn’t bother you, I know. I just miss you. I feel so alone out here. I wish I never came out here. I wish I didn’t leave you. I just loved you too much for you to not love me back. All I wanted in the whole world was to be with you and I pushed you away. Just like I did with Bert. The only people I don’t push away are the ones who beat me. I guess they just know how to keep the monster in me from lashing out.

I know I’m the last person in the world you want to talk to, but I’d really like to see you again. I’ve been trying to get some money together to pay you back for what I took. I should have more soon if Bert doesn’t take it. I got you and Ray a ticket to the concert in the city. I didn’t know if he’d want to come or not.

Please don’t tell Mikey. Don’t bring him to Bert’s show. I can’t face him. Assuming you come. I will pay you if you do, in cash. I’m so sorry.

Gerard

Frank had to have read the letter three times over before letting it fall back into the box along with the tickets.

What in God’s name made him think Frank quit loving him? Frank knew he was unstable, but there was never a minute of their time together that Frank could place where he’d ever said anything or done anything to suggest that he hated Gerard or wanted him gone for good—or that Gerard had pushed him away with affection. Sure, he could act crazy sometimes, but Frank didn’t resent him for it. So why did he think Frank asking him to move home was out of hatred? All he’d ever wanted was to see Gerard get better—not chase him off.

Frank returned his attention to the box, picking up the notebook that was left in the bottom. He anticipated more sketches, but the lined paper all held little poems—lyrics, Frank realized—some scratched out, some circled. There was a sticky note on the back saying “Please hold this for me. Quinn thinks it’s Bert’s and keeps taking it away.”

For the next two hours, Frank did nothing but turn over the pages of the completely filled notebook—taking in every word and every line, deciphering them, imagining them if they were to be sung.

He’d never heard Gerard sing...he’d hum sometimes or murmur to himself, but never outwardly sang.

He wanted to call Mikey, but decided against it. Instead, for the first time in months, he called Ray.

“Hey! You’re back from the dead. Everything alright?” Ray asked.

“I got a package from Gerard,” Frank said, wondering if he should’ve instead made small talk first or at least asked Ray if he was busy before unloading his baggage onto his only friend.

“Oh… Is everything alright?” Ray asked again.

“He wanted you and me to come to a concert he’s going to be at in the city. It’s in a couple months. Do you...want to go? It’s a...I think it’s a Wednesday night.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean...he kind of left you high and dry, Frank. I don’t want you to put yourself in another bad situation.”

“No, I know. He wrote me this letter saying he’s sorry for everything and that he wants to pay me back for the money he stole.”

“Do you really believe him?”

“I want to. His letter… I-I don’t know,” Frank said, rubbing his forehead. He was letting himself be drawn back into Gerard’s web again. Like a moth to a flame. “He sounds different. I think reality finally had a chance to catch up with him and...I think he’s figuring out the world isn’t as forgiving as I was.”

“Ah, I don’t know, Frank. I’m worried about you. You’re my best friend and you haven’t been yourself since he disappeared on you. I don’t want you to cut him out if you really think he’s changed or learned his lesson, but I’d hate to see you get hurt again. I mean, what if he just pays you some cash and disappears again? He’s dating someone else, right?”

“Gerard’s unstable. He doesn’t date,” Frank said, avoiding the question. What did he hope to accomplish by seeing Gerard? Or would he even get to?—They were just plain tickets, not backstage passes. How did Gerard even expect to find him? Wait by the doors when they let everyone in?

“If you want to go, I’ll go with you. Don’t get me wrong. Just...take care of yourself, okay?”

“Yeah,” Frank said, looking at the letter and the tickets again.

All I wanted in the whole world was to be with you and I pushed you away.

That line struck a chord in him. He felt like Gerard had it all wrong… Frank was the one who should’ve been saying that. Frank was the one who loved Gerard so much that it hurt to see him in pain so he pushed him away...and lost him.

“Yeah, I gotta go,” Frank said.

“Okay. Well...Let’s hang out soon, okay? Have a game night or something next time you’re off,” Ray said, sounding desperate.

“Yeah. I’m off...Tuesday. I’ll text you,” Frank said, and ended the call.

( ) ( ) ( )

Bert wouldn’t lie. Things had changed. The way he saw Gerard changed, the way Gerard acted had changed… Things were different.

He still loved his little weirdo, but he couldn’t help but see him in a different light now that he knew the truth. After the night Gerard confessed everything, they never spoke of it again. Gerard didn’t add any more details and Bert never dared bring it up. He never mentioned looking for a job or told Gerard to work on his issues. He just let it be.

He let Gerard clean his apartment and cook his meals and draw in the little sketchpads all the time with the supplies Bert gave him. It took a while before Bert was able to sleep with him again, but once they got past that awkward “first time in a while” stage, things went back to being somewhat like they were before.

Bert just wished he never asked—never pushed it. He didn’t want to know. He wished he didn’t know. It was too much for him to handle because he hadn’t the slightest clue how to cope with that sort of trauma. His ex had never had any of the issues Gerard did… He knew how to handle Daddy issues and body image issues and “my best friend is a such a total bitch” issues, but he didn’t know how to fix rape trauma. He didn’t know a thing about sex trafficking or the horrors Gerard must’ve endured. He didn’t sign up for that…

But Gerard acted as if it didn’t bother him when Bert had nothing to say on the subject and if he wasn’t freaking out from a nightmare, he acted as if there was nothing wrong with him at all. Maybe, Bert dared to think, he and Gerard could pretend none of it ever happened…

When it came time for the tour to start up again, Bert was increasingly nervous about how the guys would take being stuck in a van with him again—hoping they wouldn’t start a fight with him or bully him about not working. Now that he knew the truth about Gerard, it made his friends’ words against him that much more difficult to stomach. He wanted to scream the truth at them, but knew it wouldn’t fix anything. They’d tell him Gerard was lying—that he was full of shit and playing with Bert’s emotions.

And maybe he was… Maybe he was, but Bert wasn’t willing to risk it. If Gerard was lying, eventually the truth would come out. But if he was being honest and Bert called him a liar...there’d be no recovering from that. There would be no “I’m sorry, I was a dick” followed by kissing and making up—Gerard would just be gone. And Bert didn’t want that to happen.

It wasn’t easy keeping it in his head though. Especially not after the horrific experience they all had to endure because of Gerard at the airport…

Bert didn’t know why it happened, not sure how a crowd at an airport was worse than a crowd at a concert or at the grocery store—but as soon as they stepped into the airport, Gerard’s calm and placid demeanor vanished. He’d been fine up until they arrived. He never once mentioned being afraid to fly or having anxieties about the security there despite his weird ID with a name that wasn’t his.

The IDs got him through the first round of security, but something happened—something Bert didn’t catch—as they sat in the plastic chairs waiting to get in line to stand in line some more. One minute Gerard was sketching and Bert was playing a game on his cell phone, then Dan was nudging him and when he turned his head, he saw that Gerard’s face was completely tear stained and he was crying as silently as he could while his pencil shook violently against his paper.

“What’s the matter?” Bert asked him, putting a hand on his shoulder gently. Gerard just shook his head and acted like he was going to keep trying to draw, but his pencil lead tore the paper he gasped as if it’d been his skin that was ripped instead. “What’s wrong?” Bert asked again, looking around to make sure security wasn’t watching them or about to intervene. He did not want that kind of attention right now. He did not want asked why he was traveling with someone using false IDs… Or maybe they were his real IDs, maybe he lied about his name…

God, Bert wished he had a fucking clue.

Gerard let Bert take his sketchpad away and tuck it back into his carry-on bag with some of his other art supplies, then buried his face in Bert’s neck to cry it out while Bert’s friends looked at him with disgust and confusion. His behavior didn’t get any better, and as they were called to wait in line to go through the next round of security, he started to break down even further—barely keeping it together as the TSA agent patted him down.

“First time flying?” The man had asked, like he saw this kind of thing all the time.

“Yes,” Gerard answered, his voice shaking so much Bert really was impressed that security wasn’t called over.

“It’ll be okay. The odds of anything going wrong are slim to none. Worse comes to worst and you end up stranded in some other airport because one of the censors went bad and sent up a false alarm.”

Gerard tried to reply, but whatever came out of his mouth didn’t sound like words.

It was worrying Bert to the point that he felt like he’d have a panic attack if something didn’t change. Then, while they waited in the busy lobby to be called to go wait for their terminal to open, Bert’s tour manager—Brian—came to him and handed him a small blue pill and a bottle of water.

“Give him this. It’ll shut him up,” he said, then walked away before Bert could say anything back to him.

He guessed it was worth a shot, and he knew it wasn’t like Gerard would turn down a pill he was offered for free. The guy would take just about anything so long as it didn’t come in a needle and he didn’t have to snort it.

“Here. It’ll help,” Bert said, pushing the pill into Gerard’s shaking hand.

“What is it?”

“It’ll help. Just take it.”

“What is it?” Gerard asked again, looking at Bert nervously, then glancing around in a way that was too fucking suspicious for an airport.

“Just take the damn pill. You need to chill out. You’re attracting all kinds of attention.”

Gerard looked at him sadly, then did as he was told—finishing most of the bottle of water as he did.

Bert didn’t know which horrid behavior he preferred, honestly—the crying or this doped up idiot. That was the only word to describe him… A fucking idiot.

He kept touching people after the pill kicked in and when he asked Brian why the hell he thought that would cause less attention, Brian just shrugged and pointed out at least three other people who seemed to be almost as out of it as Gerard. He wasn’t sobbing and he wasn’t screaming, so security left them alone.

If only Gerard would leave Bert alone. He was chatty now that Brian had doped him, but nothing he said made any sense and he’d take short micro-naps on Bert’s shoulder. They’d last anywhere from ten minutes to half an hour, then he’d sit back up and act like he wanted to get up for something before the cycle started all over.

By the time they finally got on their plane, Gerard collapsed in his seat next to Bert and passed out. He woke up a few hours later in time for their layover, and Brian was quick to make him take yet another blue pill...then another when they arrived in Florida.

By that point, Bert was scared his boyfriend was going to die of an overdose even though Brian kept ensuring him Gerard would be fine. He’d sleep it off in the hotel and be fine.

So when they got to the hotel and Gerard could hardly walk straight and kept trying to put his hands on Quinn when they got to the hotel room, Bert was irritated and felt he would’ve rather handled the crying.

“If he touches me one more fucking time, I’m going to break his hand!” Quinn snapped, slamming his luggage down onto the floor.

“He can’t help it!” Bert argued, guiding Gerard over to one of the queen-sized beds in the room and laying him down. Gerard pulled Bert down with him, but instead of offering a kiss or anything worthwhile, he just hugged Bert weakly and then passed out again.

“I don’t care! If he puts his fucking hands on me again, I’m breaking them! I’ll do it, too! Don’t fucking push me,” Quinn yelled.

“Yeah, what the fuck is Brian feeding him anyway?” Jeph asked, coming out of the attached bathroom while wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Xanax I think...or something,” Bert said, unwinding himself from Gerard’s arms and sitting up. He wanted to change clothes—get a shower. He’d hoped on taking a shower with Gerard to get a moment alone with him, but that was obviously out of the fucking question.

“You know, he asked if I’d trade him shoes in the airport bathroom,” Dan chipped in.

“Well he’s high as a kite. He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” Bert said, making his way into the bathroom and slamming the door.

It was embarrassing, he realized. Having to dose his boyfriend until he was completely incapacitated just to get him on a plane was one of the most humiliating things he’d had to put up with. It wasn’t like drunk antics backstage or at a party—that was the airport! With officers and the media around every corner. One fuck up from Gerard and his band’s image could be ruined—they’d never escape the bad publicity if a doped-up groupie traveling with them made a scene at the airport. Why couldn’t Gerard just be normal!?

When he got out of the bathroom, Jeph and Dan were already passed out in the spare bed while Quinn was nowhere to be found. Bert watched Gerard sleep a moment, then tried to wake him up to see if maybe he could get him in his shower after all—get some fun out of him while he was high as hell.

Gerard willingly got out of the bed and followed him, but kept sinking to his knees in the shower cube whenever Bert would get ready to stick it in. He tried to get a blowjob and Gerard just kept giving him these filthy looks, like the idea offended him in some way.

What a fucking waste…

Bert ended up having to jerk himself off while Gerard sat on the floor of the shower either staring at him or playing with the beads of water on his skin.

“You know what?” Gerard said, his words slurring as Bert started washing off.

“What?” Bert asked.

“You only like me when you’re drunk,” Gerard said, ignoring it when Bert snapped that that wasn’t true at all. “But I like you all the time.”

“You don’t sound like it,” Bert said, biting back the impulse to ask if this was how Gerard planned to break up with him—high as shit on the floor of a shower in Florida. He was just messed up from the pills, Bert told himself. He was just messed up and he’d be fine in the morning.

“I think...” Gerard chuckled to himself and slumped against the wall a little more. “I think I’d stay with you forever. But everyone gets rid of me when I think that. Everyone sends me away… I don’t want go away.”

“No one’s making you go away,” Bert said, groaning as he made himself sit on the shower floor so he could soap up Gerard’s hair and clean him off. Gerard leaned forward against him and sighed.

“I was in love before...but not like this.”

“Yeah?”

“He wanted me to go home to my parents after my grandma died. I couldn’t.”

“Well, fuck him. Whoever he was,” Bert said, the conversation making him uncomfortable.

“Do you think...I could sing with you someday?” Gerard asked as Bert stood him up from the floor to rinse him off.

“You can sing with me any time you want. You never want to come out to karaoke at the bar, though. I’m not sure what else you want.”

“I mean on stage… Could I sing with you someday?”

The thought made Bert burst out laughing.

“Hun, you can’t even handle an airport. How the hell are you going to sing on stage?”

“Master wouldn’t be at a concert… He was at the airport, you know? He saw me. He saw me watching him. I wonder what he’s doing in Utah. Master never said he traveled that far away.”

“Don’t start making shit up,” Bert said quickly. He refused to indulge the delusions. He didn’t know what game Gerard was playing right now, but he wanted no part of it.

“Maybe...it was someone else. I thought I saw Frank in Tuscon...at the laundromat. I’m not sure if I’m okay anymore.”

“You were never okay. Let’s just get you back in bed.”

Gerard whimpered as Bert dried him off with the towel and dressed him in some clean pajamas. The sound of him complaining was starting to set Bert on edge, but he was too tired to go looking for booze and the hotel room lacked a mini bar. He was forced to sleep next to him, Gerard not wanting to touch him for once, and had nightmares about the stage catching fire at his next show.

It was the beginning of the end.

Chapter 5: Epiphany

Frank was equally convinced that he wasn’t going the concert as he was convinced that he would go. He had requested the time off work, had gotten Ray to agree to come with him, but he didn’t know if he wanted to go or not… What would it matter either way, he wondered. He probably wouldn’t see Gerard—and if he did, what would it matter? What would change for the better?

Gerard promised to pay him back for the money he stole, but Frank wasn’t even sure he wanted it. He’d had over a year to think things through and the curse of love had been lifted from him. He cared for the other man, but...not like before. He was just a set of memories now—and a collection of notebooks, sketches, and postcards.

Frank received another few in the weeks leading up to the Spring concert in New York.

He got one from Tallahassee with a bottle of blue pills on it (Xanax, Frank assumed) with the message “the blue ones help me fall” scrawled across the bottom. Mikey didn’t get a postcard from Tallahassee, but received one from Miami that had a normal “wish you were here” sort of message on it.

After Tallahassee and Miami, Frank and Mikey both got a postcard from Savannah, Georgia. Mikey’s had a drawing on it of a woman with hardly any clothes on with no description whatsoever, and Frank’s had a prescription bottle of red pills spilling across it with “red ones make me fly” written in strange, swirling text.

He was getting worse, Frank realized. Before long, he’d be back to doing lines of coke—if he wasn’t already. Then what? This party lifestyle wasn’t going to last forever. Sooner or later, this Bert guy was going to drop him and move on to the next best thing...or maybe that’s what Mikey’s naked woman postcard had been about.

Frank hated that no matter how hard he tried to distance himself from the other man, Gerard stayed in the back of his mind. He just remembered how he’d looked that night on the stage—how he’d cried and pleaded and choked with his broken voice. He remembered how timid Gerard used to be, how afraid of the world he was...how he tried using a bottle of fucking salad dressing to tell Frank what his name was so he wouldn’t have to be the one to say it.

And now that man was out on the road with some rock star who couldn’t possibly give two shits about him if he was letting Gerard self-medicate with blue pills and red pills and God knows what else.

The thoughts infected him like a fucking disease.

“He’s going to end up dead,” Frank would think as he tried to sleep. “One of these days, he’s just going to take a bunch of pills and not wake up. And no one’s going to know who he is. And no one’s going to say anything. He’s going to die, and we’re never going to find out about it.”

It drove him mad that he still cared. He’d give anything, at this point, to go back in time and stop himself from going into that bar—stop himself from setting Gerard free of that hell because Gerard couldn’t cope outside of it. He was safer with those men… They wouldn’t let him hurt himself like this Bert guy…

God, Frank just wished he didn’t care…

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard hated it. He tried to go along with it, but he hated it so much.

They were at a party in Charleston and Gerard was forced to watch as Bert chatted up some girl in the kitchen. It was just like how he and Bert had met, only this girl was petite and blonde and had big tits that Bert kept glancing at.

Gerard couldn’t compete with her. There was nothing he could do.

It wasn’t the first time Bert had found a girl he liked. It wasn’t the first time they’d come to a party together and Bert had found a pretty little girl that caused him to pass Gerard the most pathetic puppy-dog stare Gerard had ever seen. He was asking permission to fuck her—that’s what was behind that look. And Gerard wasn’t allowed to say no.

So he would smile and pretend he was into it—ask stupid questions and talk Bert up like a wingman only to watch heartbroken from the sidelines as Bert chatted with the girl before disappearing with her.

He had to stand awkwardly by himself, hoping girls didn’t try talking to him—hoping men wouldn’t talk to him because the last time that happened, Jeph ratted him out to Bert and the asshole thought he had the right to get jealous. He could fuck whoever he wanted, but if Gerard so much as glanced at another man, he had hell to pay...

So he’d stand alone and drink and smoke, sometimes swallow down a couple of the pills Brian gave him. Not the blue ones though—he saved those for concerts. He liked the red ones a lot. They kept him awake, kept him interesting and energetic for Bert to play with and do as he pleased.

Bert quit liking him after the truth came out, Gerard realized, and the only thing that kept his interest (besides fucking at every opportunity) were the red pills. They made it so he didn’t give a shit. He barely remembered his own name when he took two of them—and if he took three… God, he was the life of the party and everyone wanted to be around him.

But even now, after taking a couple pills and downing a few drinks, he still had no one to talk to and Bert wasn’t back from getting laid. He didn’t have a sketchbook and the music was too loud for him to be able to think. People kept bumping into him and spilling things on him and he hated it.

He hated it here.

It felt like years had passed before Gerard realized they were back at the hotel, Bert was in the shower and Jeph and Dan were in the second queen bed. Quinn was rooming with Brian and some techs…

When did they leave the party? He couldn’t remember coming back to the hotel at all...

There was whiskey in the mini bar, but Gerard knew if he took it he’d never hear the end of it from their tour manager. Well, Bert’s tour manager. Brian had nothing to do with him, really, except the pills he provided to keep Gerard sane.

So Gerard forced himself to lay back on the bed, his head spinning horribly and his heart still pounding. There was no way in Hell he was going to be able to sleep tonight, but when Bert came and plopped down beside him—fixing to pass out—Gerard cuddled up closer and tried his best to hold still.

It was hard, though...feeling Bert’s body so close to his own. Gerard still loved him, he really did…

So he nuzzled into the base of Bert’s neck and kissed it gently, even when the other man told him rather firmly to stop.

Gerard just held him tighter and kissed his neck, thinking back to how much better things were when they were back in Bert’s shitty apartment—about how much better things were when Gerard was back at Frank’s tiny place…

“Quit,” Bert growled again.

Gerard snuggled close and buried his face between Bert’s shoulder blades.

“Stop,” Bert barked.

Gerard, not really thinking he was doing anything at all, laid as still as he could and shut his eyes—hating how fast the room started spinning whenever he did.

“I said fucking quit!”

The vicious words were followed by a sharp sting across Gerard’s cheek—and then a dull ache in his forehead.

“Get off me!”

He’d been punched, Gerard realized, cradling his left eye which throbbed horribly. He’d been smacked, then punched.

Bert hadn’t ever punched him before…

Gerard didn’t realize it until morning that he spent the entire night pressed up against the headboard, clutching onto his eye as blood dried and hardened the front of his t-shirt. The drugs were finally wearing off and he made himself get washed up in the bathroom before finding Bert’s room key and going out in search of ice.

He did his best to nurse his own wounds, doing everything in his power to get the swelling to go down in his eye before Bert woke up and saw. It didn’t help, though, that the blow had been strong enough to break the skin on his cheekbone. It was hard to keep the bleeding from starting back up whenever he tried cleaning it, and the hotel room lacked a first aid kit.

He could probably ask Brian for something, but Gerard didn’t feel like waking anyone. Truthfully, he didn’t feel like talking… So he laid back down in fresh clothes, holding a towel full of ice to his aching cheek, and accidentally fell asleep.

( ) ( ) ( )

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Bert didn’t know why things had to change because, not even six months ago, he would’ve been happy to plan at least some semblance of a future together with his little weirdo. He didn’t honestly expect them to last forever and the very last thing on his mind was some same-sex marriage ceremony, but he thought they’d at least make it a year or two.

But as soon as Gerard started falling apart on him, Bert couldn’t keep up. He couldn’t cope. He tried his hardest to be there for Gerard and show him he still cared, but it never seemed like enough.

Tour was stressful for all of them and Gerard used to appreciate that. He used to be the one who always asked Bert if he was doing alright, let him vent and never judged.

Now, all Gerard seemed to want to do was pop pills and get drunk while Bert sang his heart out every night. And yeah, Bert knew it took a toll on Gerard when he would sleep with girls at parties or backstage at the venues, but what was he supposed to do? Gerard barely put out anymore and the sex had been his greatest charm.

Bert didn’t know if it was the stress of being on the road or the pills or the secret Gerard had let spill—but it wasn’t the same this time around. He felt his intrigue in Gerard slipping away little by little every night and it broke his heart.

He’d been so sure that he loved his little weirdo...now he wasn’t even sure if he liked him.

That being said, he never meant to punch him in a groggy, drunk haze.

For that, more than anything, he felt truly awful.

Gerard had tried to lie about it, tried to do anything to imply it was an accident or that someone else at the party had caused the injury—but everyone remembered Gerard leaving the party uninjured.

Bert didn’t really know how it happened, and Gerard was unwilling to speak on the subject at all, but Jeph said he remembered hearing Bert yell at Gerard to stop followed by the unmistakable sound of knuckles being crushed against someone’s face.

Bert woke up with no recollection of that dispute, only to find Gerard passed out with a soaking wet and bloodied towel in his hand with a black bruise spreading across his cheek and temple—blood smeared down the side of his neck.

It twisted Bert’s stomach and that image was branded in his brain every time he looked at Gerard now.

Bert wasn’t a violent person… He wasn’t a bad buy. Gerard just brought out the worst in him.

“You know what you have to do,” Jeph said as he and Bert smoked outside a rest-stop in Virginia. Gerard was sleeping in the van while the rest of the band were stretching their legs and using the restroom.

“What’s that?”

“Ditch him. Leave him somewhere. He’ll get by. It’s what he does, right? Makes up a new identity for a while and moves on. You don’t have any reason to feel like you have to bring him with us. You’re not obligated to keep him. He’s getting under your skin and he’s gonna ruin us. I can see it.”

“I can’t just ditch him in the middle of nowhere. He could die out here. I don’t want him to get hurt...I just want things to be like they used to be. He was fun.”

“He was just different,” Jeph said. “You liked him because he was the complete opposite from your ex. I’m sorry to bring it up, but that’s all he is. He was a rebound and you just… You got caught up in his game.”

“I guess.” Bert didn’t want to think that was true. He didn’t know why he was with Gerard or why that man was able to make him feel things he hadn’t for so long, but he didn’t want it to go away. He wanted back what they’d had in the beginning and couldn’t see why it was gone.

He didn’t want to accept that the moment Gerard spilled his secret, revealed the heavy baggage he carried with him, Bert couldn’t see him the same anymore. He couldn’t...handle that kind of information being thrown at him the way that it was.

“Bert, you’re straight. You like women—you’ve been fucking girls left and right since we left Tallahassee. What is he still doing on tour with us?”

“Well where else is he going to go? He’s homeless.”

“He gave your number to somebody. Just drop him off with them.”

Bert knew it would be for the best, but he couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to just give up on everything… He’d spent so much time with Gerard, let the other man so close that it would be a waste to see it all disappear into the unknown.

But then again, break ups were never easy, were they?

“I hate what he’s done to you, man. I know life out here isn’t easy, but he’s making everything twenty times worse. This is your time, Bert. You don’t have to share it with him when all he does anymore is bring you down.”

Bert finished his cigarette, staring at the van in silence. Jeph was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow. He kept remembering the Gerard from before—the way he’d get excited at the smallest thing, the way he’d laugh and grin and seem happy about everything. He wanted that back, not this drugged out zombie.

Hell, ever since the plane ride to Florida, Gerard hadn’t gone a day without swallowing down a bar or two of Xanax. He’d turned into a fucking junkie…

And it was Bert’s fault.

He was clean when he met Bert. He was clean and happy and wanted nothing more than Bert’s attention and good coffee.

Bert just wanted him back…

After he finished his cigarette, Bert went back to the van and woke Gerard up in order to re-position them so he could lean against the window while Gerard slept on his chest. Bert kissed the bruise on his cheek while Gerard blinked awake and groggily snuggled up closer.

“Where are we?”

“I don’t know. How are you feeling?” Bert asked.

“Tired,” Gerard mumbled, kissing Bert’s neck and settling back down to sleep.

“Does your cheek hurt?”

“It’s fine,” Gerard said, placidly—like he wasn’t upset about getting hit at all. Bert felt like that should make him grateful, but it didn’t. It scared him somehow. Consequences didn’t seem to exist with Gerard. He bet he could knock his front teeth out and Gerard would still crawl back to him like nothing even happened… It left him feeling so guilty—so sick.

He could do anything in the world to Gerard and it was like the man wouldn’t care at all, so long as he still had Bert’s attention.

( ) ( ) ( )

Something was going to happen.

Gerard could feel the monster in him growling the moment he stepped out of the van that morning in Richmond, Virginia. His cheek was throbbing from where Bert had punched it several days before, Jeph had been passing him dirty looks non-stop since he woke up early that morning…

He wasn’t wanted here—not by Bert’s band, not by his touring manager, and probably not by Bert at this point anymore either. He was sick to death of having to test the waters before making a move—sick to death of worrying about what the evening was going to bring him, about whether or not he’d be able to get close to his lover as the night drew near or if he’d have to keep his space. Pezz had been moody, but not like Bert.

Pezz would have nights where Gerard’s mere presence was enough to send him into a fit, but Gerard could usually tell when those explosions were coming. Bert was a different matter all together.

In the mornings, he was fine. He was usually hung over and grouchy, but he liked to cuddle and sit close in the van so long as Gerard didn’t fidget too much. Mornings were the only thing that kept Gerard functioning on the tour.

But the afternoon was always hit or miss—either Bert would be excited for his show or he’d be anxious. If he was anxious, Gerard needed to keep his distance merely to keep his own heart safe. Bert would snap at him, say cruel things he didn’t mean or simply tell him to go away.

The backstage rush before and during the concert was always the same. Bert was busy with his band and Gerard knew well enough not to bother him. He would either hide out in the green room or watch Bert’s show from the private areas screened off from the rest of the guests. If his anxiety was too bad and he didn’t feel up to taking one of the blue pills, Gerard would simply hide in the van until everything was over.

It was after the concert that he never knew what to expect. Bert could be ecstatic—high out of his mind and drunk, wanting to play around and be affectionate with anyone and everyone he could get his hands on—or he could be frustrated and angry and looking for a fight. Gerard never knew what to do with him when he was like that—he didn’t know whether to try getting close to calm him down or whether to run for his life.

Sometimes if he tried to hide, Bert would only get angrier at being ignored… Sometimes he’d punch Gerard in an irritable, drunken daze like their last hotel night.

Gerard just didn’t know what the fuck to expect and it was making him crazy.

He was tired of it. He was so exhausted—emotionally drained and physically spent. He did everything in his power to be accommodating to Bert’s ever-changing needs and the man repaid him with occasional bouts of love and endless nervousness. Gerard was living on eggshells hoping Bert’s mood stayed pleasant, hoping his concert went well and that the shit he swallowed or stuffed up his nose wouldn’t make him hostile.

Every day he felt tense, from the moment he woke up to the moment Bert exploded with either ecstasy or rage.

Something was going to happen, and Gerard was getting sick of waiting.

“Can anyone do their job right? Literally! Can anyone around here just do their fucking job!?” Bert was yelling, anxious for his show tonight.

“Bert, calm down. You’re acting like a child,” Brian said, scolding him like a parents while managing to sound indifferent at the same time.

“Well if they would act like adults and do their jobs, I wouldn’t have to!”

“Everything is going to be fine,” Brian said, smiling at Bert as if he were amused by the other man’s discomfort.

“It’ll be okay,” Gerard offered, touching Bert’s arm only to have the other man shrug him off. Bert didn’t say anything harsh to him or shove him, but it hurt as much as if he had. Gerard had enough. He was sick of this. Sick of being carted around, pushed to the side until he was wanted, and then thrashed for requesting the simplest of touches.

All he wanted in the fucking world was to touch the person he cared about. Why the hell did Bert have to make it so damned difficult?—This constant giving and taking of affection. Gerard couldn’t keep up. He wanted all or nothing. He was so sick of feeling compelled to reach out and fearing rejection whenever he did.

“If you don’t love me would you just come out and fucking say it!?” Gerard snapped, barely registering it as the words left his mouth.

Brian looked at him in confusion and Bert looked so caught off-guard, his mouth hanging open a little bit as he paused from his never-ending bitching spree.

“What are you even talking about?” Bert asked, finally finding his tongue again. “I’m not even talking about you! This has nothing to do with you! God, you’re such a—a diva! You’re a Goddamned drama queen!”

“Me!? You’re the one always whining! Always giving everyone a hard time!”

“Okay—that’s enough!” Brian yelled, getting between them and putting a hand on each of their chests as if he really believed the fight would turn physical.

“You’re the one who always complains! ‘Oh, Bert, you don’t love me enough!’ ‘Oh, Bert, you only love me when you’re drunk.’ Give me a fuckin’ break.”

“You won’t even touch me unless you’re wasted!” Gerard screamed, not caring who heard—not caring if Brian went deaf from standing in between them. Something needed to happen. Something had to change, because if he had to keep living like this it would be the end of him.

“News flash for you—I don’t like guys! I don’t fuck guys! Sometimes it helps to get wasted so I can forget who the fuck I’m fucking!”

The words hurt more than Gerard wanted to admit, and he felt the tears sting his eyes and he swallowed hard against them. He wanted to scream something back, something hurtful about Bert’s ex kicking him to the street, but words wouldn’t come. All he could do was swallow and blink—fight back the tears so he wouldn’t look as weak and pathetic as he felt.

“God… Why do you have to do this?” Bert said, pulling back and rubbing his eyes hard. “Not everything is about you—why do you have to make every little thing about you?”

“You two need to stop,” Brian said, finally getting out from between them and backing off a few paces. “Figure this out because one way or another, I want this done before you go on tonight,” he said gesturing to the air between Gerard and Bert before walking away from them.

“You can’t keep doing this, Babe,” Bert said, finally lowering his hands from his eyes. “It’s not about you. You make me say all this shit I don’t mean… Why do you have to get under my skin like that? Don’t you know I have enough people attacking me? I don’t need it from you, too.”

Gerard couldn’t say anything. He was still hurt, not believing Bert’s excuse that he didn’t mean what he’d said. He meant it… He had to.

If a saint like Frank couldn’t stay in love with him, a sinner like Bert couldn’t either.

“Why are you acting like this?” Bert asked.

“Why did you punch me when I tried to hold you? Why do you yell at me all the time?—Why won’t you touch me anymore!? I do everything you ask me to. What did I do wrong? Why don’t you love me?”

“I do, weirdo!” Bert said, laughing and looking at Gerard pitifully. “You know I’m just anxious for tonight, right? You know it’s not you… A-And about the punch...I-I was asleep, Hun. I didn’t mean it. It was a dick thing to do, but I didn’t mean to. I’d never hurt you.” He took a step closer and put his hands on Gerard’s shoulders, stroking both side of his neck with the pads of his thumbs. “Baby, I’d never hurt you on purpose.”

Gerard felt his bottom lip start to tremble, his heart wanting so badly to believe what his lover was saying. But it was all a lie. Bert was frustrated with him—tired of him. He’d say anything to get Gerard to shut up and go along with whatever he said.

“Come on… Please don’t cry,” Bert said, sighing heavily. “Please don’t cry. If you cry, I’m gonna cry.”

Gerard’s chest felt so much tighter it was almost impossible for him to breathe, his heart aching as Bert leaned in and kissed him in front of everyone backstage. Usually he wasn’t one for PDA in front of other bands or at the venues and rather than comforting him, the intimate gesture just left Gerard feeling even worse.

Either Bert was kissing him in a desperate attempt to shut him up, or he really felt compelled and genuine—which would make Gerard an ass for causing him to blow their cover at the venue.

Gerard didn’t know what to believe anymore. He wanted loved. He just wanted love that didn’t bring with it pain and beatings. He loved Bert, but he didn’t want to have to pay for his affection with black eyes or have to spend his days on egg shells waiting to be snapped at and pushed aside.

When Bert broke the kiss, Gerard buried his face in the other man’s neck—crying silently as Bert held him, sushing him and rubbing his back.

“I’ve gotta get ready to go on, Honey… We’ll talk later, alright?” Bert tried to push him back, but Gerard wrapped his arms around Bert’s waist and held him tight. He wanted to stay like this. He wanted to stay safe in someone’s arms… He didn’t want Bert to walk off and start getting high. He wanted them to stay like this.

When Bert was holding him like this, he didn’t have to worry about what it meant when his partner said he needed to get wasted in order to forget who he was fucking…

No matter how tightly he clutched onto Bert, the other man managed to pry him off and left him alone to finish getting ready for his show. Despite the kiss and the gentle words Bert offered, Gerard still felt uneasy—especially as he watched from a distance as Bert got himself loaded and high in the green room. Gerard decided to stay sober that night aside from a couple beers. He didn’t want the red pills and wasn’t anxious enough to warrant taking a Xanax. He stayed sober and forced himself to think.

Think about himself and about Bert.

People cheered for Bert and he sang his bleeding heart out while Gerard stood out of sight and watched. Women cheered for Bert and reached up to touch him when he stood at the edge of the stage, right above the barricade.

People wanted him…

People Gerard couldn’t compete with wanted him.

It just wasn’t fair to know he belonged to Bert while Bert was free to come and go as he pleased.

He didn’t to share his partner. It wasn’t like the house with Master and Marcus and Adam. He wasn’t some little toy to be kept and used.

As soon as he got off stage, Bert started puking into a trashcan and Gerard kept his distance and watched for once instead of immediately going to comfort him. When he stood back, he realized how disgusting this whole affair had become.

Bert would puke his guts out, chug more booze, then go in search of his next fix or someone to screw. It wouldn’t be Gerard.

Gerard wasn’t ever his first choice anymore—not unless he was sober.

How fucked up was it that he wasn’t even his own boyfriend’s first choice?

Gerard wanted more. He wanted more than half of a man’s attention. He wanted someone to love him as much as he loved them… He loved Bert. He’d give Bert the world if he asked for it. But his world wasn’t good enough for Bert. His world wasn’t enough.

Again, as they piled into the van and Bert blacked out with his head against the window, Gerard found himself thinking about Frank.

Why couldn’t he have just gotten out of bed? Why couldn’t he have just shown Frank how much he truly meant to him instead of giving in to his own weakness? He should’ve read more of the comics Frank brought him from home. Should’ve just worked on some sketches to prove he was still with it—still present in the relationship.

If he could go back and do it all over, he would try so much harder to prove his worth and his love—make the other man see that Gerard’s home was with him and not his parents. If only he could go back…

There were just so many things he could see now that he hadn’t realized back then. He could see the difference between a Master and a lover...and between a lover and partner.

It wasn’t enough for himself to be committed to another man. That man needed to commit as well.

Bert would never do that. Pezz hadn’t done it and Tommy hadn’t done it.

Frank did though. Frank, who had no reason to keep Gerard at all, had been faithful.

He’d been faithful and Gerard had ruined it.

Chapter 6: Home is Where the Heart is

Frank didn’t understand why the postcard he’d gotten from Kentucky left him close to tears, but he had been staring at it for close to an hour while his emotions swayed back and forth inside of him.

On one hand he wanted to rip it up, and on the other he wanted to hold it to his chest like the leading lady in a chick flick would with a letter from her boyfriend overseas.

The words “I took you for granted and I’m sorry” were written across the bottom of the card, and above it—taking up all the white space—was a nearly perfect color drawing of himself. There was so much detail in every aspect of it. The way his hair clumped together, the different shades in his eyes, the tiny scar on his forehead, the shape of the scorpion on his neck.

He didn’t know what Gerard was trying to tell him and he was damned near close to begging Mikey to ask the next time the two talked on the phone.

The words, the drawing… Gerard was proving that Frank was still very much on his mind, but why? Did he want them to get back together?

He had to know that was impossible, right? Not just because of the theft or the fact he’d been gone over a year… They couldn’t pick up where they left off because Gerard wasn’t even going to be the same person anymore. Frank didn’t even know if they’d even be able to be friends if Gerard was as hooked on the pills as his previous postcards implied.

Even so, the fact that he still remembered Frank’s likeness enough to draw him so perfectly was touching.

He couldn’t help but wonder, though, what was bringing all of this about. Was he not happy with Bert anymore? Had something happened between them? Or was Gerard finally coming to terms with the realities of partnerships and relationships outside of the slave and master culture he’d been brought up in?

Compared to what he’d had with his Master and the dysfunctional nightmare he had to be living out on the road with Bert, his life with Frank had to seem perfect. Frank never held him accountable for anything, never asked anything of him, never raised a hand to him or cheated on him with women. Yeah, Frank imagined Gerard was probably missing that now.

“I took you for granted and I’m sorry.” How honest. No excuses this time—no “I wish you hadn’t stopped loving me.” Gerard realized what he’d done and took responsibility for it.

Frank guessed that meant Gerard was growing up.

Frank carried the postcard into his bedroom and leaned it against a bottle of cologne on his dresser so he could look at it from the head of his bed. He kept all the others in his kitchen junk drawer, but this one felt like a piece of art.

The message on it somehow bringing Frank a sort of closure he hadn’t known he was waiting for.

He took a picture of the card and sent it to Ray (who quickly replied with “glad he’s finally figuring it out”) then to Mikey.

“Lucky. Mine just says wish u were here,” Mikey replied.

Frank felt a built guilty when the comment made him smile.

He’d gotten something special. Mikey may have a phone number to reach Gerard, but Frank had gotten a portrait—a portrait done from memory and an apology he didn’t know he’d needed.

But what did it mean… What did it all mean?

Frank knew if Gerard tried to come back, things would be different. Gerard would be different… He might look the same and sound the same, but he’d gotten his chance at freedom and must’ve learned how to express himself beyond the awkward and explosive gestures Frank had gotten used to. Gerard was going to have opinions—maybe ones that just didn’t mesh with Frank’s at all.

Maybe they wouldn’t be a good match—not that they ever really were, Frank guessed. He must’ve been pretty sick himself to take in someone like Gerard and try to keep him, try to love him in that way. He had known Gerard knew nothing other than serving a partner… Hell, having sex with him could even be considered coercion, taking advantage of him—even if Gerard had come onto him first.

Frank had been lonely back then, and desperate. He may not have ever intended to, but it was clear his actions did more harm to Gerard and his family than good. If he’d just turned him over to the police right away, he would’ve gone home. His parents could’ve supported him. Mikey could’ve supported him… He would’ve gotten to spend more time with his grandmother before she passed and could’ve been better prepared for it. Maybe it wouldn’t have devastated him so badly if he’d been able to have more time with her…

But no, Frank had let himself get attached—had let himself believe the other man understood what it meant to be in love and have a partner. Selfishly, he kept Gerard close so he wouldn’t have to come home to his lonely apartment and his lonely life again. He had Sweet Pea, sure, but it wasn’t the same. He worked so much... There hadn’t been time to meet anyone let alone fall in love. Gerard had been a pleasant escape from the hole he’d dug himself into. Gerard loved him easily...because Gerard didn’t know any better.

With those thoughts in mind, Frank’s good feeling started to fade away.

The New York concert was just under two weeks away and Frank was afraid he shouldn’t go—that it might just cause more problems.

But what if Gerard was expecting him? What if Gerard needed Frank to get out of the situation he’d fallen into? Frank guessed it wouldn’t hurt to go and try to save him one more time…

Go back to New York and pick him up from the man who was mistreating him again. How ironic for it all to spin back to where it started.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard sat on the steps outside of the Brooklyn hotel, smoking a cigarette while his hands trembled.

He felt so gross right now… He felt so disgusted with himself—even more so than he had when picking up truck drivers in greasy rest stops and gas station diners.

The things he’d been doing the past four nights left him wanting to rip his skin off. So many filthy, filthy things to get Frank the money he promised him.

Bert and his band had gone out exploring the city earlier. Gerard tagged along for a little while, pretending everything was fine as Bert strolled with him through the art district and took him into the different shops in China Town. Gerard wanted to feel in love with him like he used to—wanted to feel that old warmth bubble up inside of him as they walked together—but he couldn’t. Not with Jeph and Quinn glaring daggers at him any chance they got.

He wasn’t wanted here, and he didn’t want to be here any more. It felt good to have Bert walk with an arm around him and it was nice to have him offer to buy Gerard little souvenirs—but it was too late.

So what if Bert was faithful tonight or the next three nights? He’d been cheating since Tallahassee and Gerard had started sleeping around once they reached Kentucky. He needed money to pay back Frank for what he stole, and though he knew the pills he took were worth more than his body, he couldn’t bring himself to sell them.

He needed them.

He fucking hated himself for how much he needed them.

He was a mess most of the time and the Xanax knocked him out—forced him to behave. They made him sleep when the red pills made it impossible to sit still, they made him feel relaxed after the worst nightmares of his life woke him up in the van. He couldn’t bring himself to sell them, even though Brian seemed to have some sort of limitless supply to pour down his throat.

Once he took the Xanax though, or the Clonazepam, it was almost impossible to get motivated into doing much of anything other than sleeping or laying by himself in the van or a hotel room. If he wanted people to even consider liking his company, he had to take the little red ecstasy tablets or the orange capsules of Adderall.

He couldn’t sell his drugs...they were the only thing keeping him human.

So he sold himself.

He was used to doing it once or twice a week out on the road, finding a new person and screwing them to get from one city to the next. He was out of practice, but it wasn’t unheard of.

What he didn’t like was being used four times in one night by different men whose names he’d never learn, whose faces he already couldn’t remember. They’d been willing to use condoms, but that was about it...and it’d be hard to explain away the finger marks on his throat from the last man who decided to make it rough.

His body hurt. His chest was tight… The alcohol in his blood seemed to be the only thing keeping him warm as the downside to his cocktail of uppers was starting to settle in.

He needed to get upstairs and shower before Bert got back, but the thought of standing made him want to scream...so he lit another cigarette and cried behind his sunglasses as he smoked it down to the filter.

The room was still empty when he finally did make it to the fourth floor of the hotel. He took his time stripping off his clothes, wincing at the bruises he could already see forming around his hips and his knees and his neck. As he stepped into the shower, the water swirling around the drain was tinted lightly pink and he hardly felt the pain and gross feeling was worth the six hundred bucks he’d made.

What if Frank wouldn’t even take it?

What if Frank didn’t come to the concert at all? After all, why would he? Why would he come see the man who robbed him? The man he hated?

Gerard sank down onto the floor of the shower, crying like a child as the sick feelings bombarded him. He was dirty now… So filthy an animal like Bert didn’t even want to touch him. How was he supposed to win Frank back? How was he supposed to convince Frank to take a chance on someone as worthless and gross as him?

He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting on the floor of the tub, but he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder that caused him to flinch away—curling against the cold, plastic wall.

“Hun, what are you doing in here? The water’s freezing. Come on… Get out.”

Bert was there, wrapping him up in a dingy towel and pulling him onto his feet. Forgetting, maybe, that he was soaking wet, Gerard wrapped his arms around Bert’s shoulders and sobbed into his neck.

“Now what’s all this about?” Bert asked, his voice sounding so gentle.

Why couldn’t it be like this all the time? Why couldn’t Bert just stay sober enough to still want him when they were out on the road?

“Babe, you’re gonna make me cry if you cry like that. Come on… What is it?” Bert started rubbing Gerard’s back through the towel—heavy, strong motions up and down until Gerard’s breathing finally slowed down. “Was I gone that long? Did you think I wasn’t coming back?”

“I love you,” Gerard whimpered, not able to form any other thoughts or words. Bert wouldn’t want to hear them anyway.

“And that makes you cry?” Bert asked, chuckling anxiously as he pulled Gerard in a little closer despite how soaked his clothes were getting. “Little weirdo… What’s the matter?”

Gerard couldn’t think of anything to say to him, just relished the brief time Bert let him cling before he pushed their bodies apart and helped Gerard get dressed.

Only then, after Gerard was dressed in night clothes, did he ask where the bruises on his neck came from.

“Did you fuck somebody?”

“No, Bert,” Gerard lied. He wasn’t sure why he held the truth back, really. Bert cheated constantly. Why did he have to be faithful?

“No?” Bert asked, looking at Gerard a bit worried then. He tilted his head to the side in the lost puppy-dog way that he did—the way that always left Gerard feeling weak—and frowned.

“Got grabbed in the subway trying to get back to the hotel,” Gerard stammered out. “He knocked me over and grabbed my throat. He was trying to rob me but I left my wallet here. I had nothing for him to take.”

“He just let you go? Did he have a gun or something?” Bert asked, looking equally distrusting and concerned.

“I don’t know. Some woman started screaming. I got him off me and I ran. Made me think of the Bad Man...” He knew once he mentioned that, Bert would leave it be. He hated it when Gerard mentioned anything from his past that wasn’t related to music or art or drinking.

“Well are you hurt anywhere?” Bert asked, rubbing his fingers over the bruises on Gerard’s neck. It felt so strange to feel a gentle touch there after how hard the man had been squeezing as pulled Gerard back against him by his throat.

“No...” Gerard whispered, sniffing back his tears and burying his face in Bert’s neck for a few more moments.

Bert sighed heavily and started hugging him again. Gerard was quick to return it, squeezing with all his might as Bert kissed the side of his head.

“Why are you crying?” Bert asked again, his voice much softer this time around.

“I don’t think you love me anymore,” Gerard said, nuzzling the stubble on Bert’s neck while the other man stroked his back.

“I’m always going to love you. You’re my little weirdo.” Bert kissed the side of his head again, then pushed him back by his shoulders. “You need to stop this… I don’t know where it’s coming from. We did good today, right? We walked around, I got you that coffee you wanted… I know I get tense at the shows, but it’s not me, you know? It’s not me…”

“I’m just a junkie anyway,” Gerard said, not sure what he was implying or who he was talking to—whether the words were directed at Bert or himself.

“You’re starting… You’re starting to have a problem, but you’re not a junkie. It’s not that bad. I’ve been in this business a while. I’ve seen people worse than you. It’s not like you’re out snorting coke or shooting up heroin. You’re not out doing meth. It’s just pills. You and those fucking pills Brian keeps giving you… If you’d just quit taking them—”

“I need them,” Gerard argued, trying to get another hug only to have Bert hold him back by his shoulders.

“Babe, you don’t… That’s the pills talking. I know what I’ve seen, okay? I know I’m not one to judge—and I’m not! I’m not judging you. I wish you didn’t take all that Xanax shit and pass out on me every night, but we all do what we have to in order to get by, right? I’m not going to stop you and I’m not going to give up on you because you need pills to unwind at the end of the day. I just wish you didn’t take so many.”

It was a conversation Gerard didn’t want to have. Who was Bert to tell him to cut back? Honestly! The man couldn’t get by without sticking shit up his nose or knocking back liquor.

And maybe that was just it. Maybe that was the whole reason why they stayed together. They could destroy themselves together and have someone there to numb the pain, someone to offer empty and unconditional love.

He could survive off it, Gerard guessed, but not for much longer. He needed more… He needed what Frank had offered him. Real love—if there even was such a thing.

“Lets go to bed, Hun. You need to some sleep,” Bert said, guiding Gerard over to their queen bed. Jeph and Quinn weren’t back yet, it seemed. Gerard wondered if Bert was going to head back out as soon as Gerard’s eyes closed.

Gerard wanted more than this…

When they lay in the bed together and Bert made no motions except to kiss him on the forehead, Gerard made up his mind. One way or another, this was going to be their last night together. He refused to spend another night like this, laying beside the person he loved and getting nothing—absolutely nothing—back. He didn’t care how filthy or gross he’d become. He didn’t care if he tried to win Frank back only to have the man spit in his face. He wasn’t staying here.

( ) ( ) ( )

Bert couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to happen. Something was going on with Gerard and it scared him… It had him petrified.

From the moment they woke up in the morning, Gerard seemed to be a completely different person. There was a heaviness in the room that hadn’t ever been there before, a strange aura between them that Bert couldn’t place.

He got dressed and the whole time, Gerard had stood so close to him, touching him in a strange, gentle way—caressing his shoulders down his arms, stroking his ribs down to his hips.

Jeph and Quinn left the room first, carrying their bags with them down to the van waiting in the parking lot, but when Bert made a motion to follow them, Gerard resisted. He got between Bert and the door and looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead he just pressed their lips together and started kissing him far more intimately than any kiss they’d ever shared before.

It wasn’t hungry or lustful or wild—it was passionate.

Gerard had one hand on the back of Bert’s neck, holding him still as their tongues caressed each others. The next thing Bert knew, they were in bed again. Gerard was holding him, gripping onto his shoulders as if he feared Bert was going to disappear.

They were gentle with one another, nothing rushed or clumsy. In a way, it was like how they used to be back in Salt Lake City, before the touring and the drugs and the girls. Gerard kept kissing him the whole time, breaking away only to moan or gasp. It was so tender, so much more than just fucking and it made Bert feel like trash for how he’d been treating Gerard the past few months.

It was so clear to him now how much this other man actually loved him, how much Gerard had been trying to show it all along. He felt awful for every indiscretion, every time he’d give Gerard the cold shoulder at a venue, or think ill of him because of the pills Brian got him dependent on.

When it was over, Gerard just clung to him—panting and shivering a little as he came down from his climax. Bert stroked his hair and pressed gentle kisses onto his neck, letting Gerard stay close—loving the feel of their bodies pressing against each other.

He could honestly say he’d never had it feel this way before—not between them or anyone else he’d ever been with—and it scared him as much as it soothed him. He didn’t want to leave the bed. He didn’t want to go to the venue and start working on set up with his bandmates and friends. He wanted to stay here. He wanted to spend more time with Gerard—maybe ask him what was going on or just let the comfortable silence go on unbroken.

He wanted time to just stop for a minute because he felt as if he was on the cusp of some great revelation, but Gerard started pulling away from him and got dressed. Bert followed suit and they kissed again, just as gently, before leaving the room together.

Bert felt like he should hold Gerard’s hand as they walked, but he didn’t.

He really should have.

In the van, Gerard sat with his head on Bert’s shoulder for the short ride to the venue. Bert wanted to follow him when he went to hide in the greenroom as set up started, wanted to kiss him and maybe go for a round two, but he didn’t.

As soon as he was done setting up, however, he hurried back to the greenroom and found Gerard curled up on the sofa acting as if he were asleep.

“Are you okay, hun?” Bert asked, sitting down at the foot of the couch by his legs.

“Tired,” Gerard whispered, sounding far away.

“Did you take one of the pills?” Bert asked cautiously.

“No… I really need to just...feel what I’m feeling right now.”

“What are you feeling right now?” Bert asked, reaching over to start stroking Gerard’s hair. “I really liked getting to be alone with you this morning,” he added when Gerard didn’t reply.

“I want that all the time,” Gerard said quietly.

“I’d fuckin’ love that,” Bert said. He wanted to smile, try to show some warmth, but he felt like something was wrong. Gerard didn’t act like this… Gerard was always a nervous wreck or clinging close. He didn’t just lay on filthy venue couches and act like he was trying to nap. “Are you sore from when you got mugged yesterday?” Bert asked when Gerard still didn’t speak, eyeing the bruises on his neck that had only gotten darker.

“I guess. Do you want to lay with me, Bert?” Gerard asked, his voice sounding so unlike his own as he pressed himself back into the couch to make a narrow sliver of space for Bert to lay down.

They got to lay side by side and hold each other for all of two minutes before the rest of the band burst in and interrupted. Bert tried telling them to get out, but they wouldn’t and the whole time Gerard just stared at him with this loving, sad, hazy look in his eyes.

That was when he realized something bad was going to happen.

He didn’t know what, but he could feel it.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard anxiously paced up and down the queue, his hood pulled up over his head in the misty, April rain. He had Bert’s sunglasses on even though it was overcast, afraid someone might recognize him from the night he spent out on the street trying to make cash.

He’d swallowed one of the red pills and his whole body was jittery—his mind hyper-aware of everything going on around him. Girls in too short of skirts and cropped tops, ripped up band tees and short shorts. Boys with colorful hair, faces full of piercings, tight fitting jeans… A couple of them were exactly the kind of boys Gerard wished he could meet.

Maybe one of them might take him home, but he doubted it would last more than a night.

So he avoided them and moved on—back and forth, back and forth.

It was only five-thirty and doors opened at seven, but the line was long and Gerard was searching for Frank. He kept his eye out for Ray as well, focusing on anyone who seemed taller than the rest of the crow, but didn’t see him.

He would come, right?

Frank would come see him. Frank would save him, right? Just like he had before?

They would meet up in New York, in the city, just like last time and Frank would save him from this awful place.

“Hey, Bert’s looking for you inside,” someone said, startling Gerard and pulling him away from his repetitive, racing thoughts.

“What?”

“Bert. He’s waiting for you inside,” the man said again, looking at Gerard with concern.

“Oh… Tell him I’ll be in in a minute. I’m...looking for someone.”

The man looked confused, but made his way back into the venue while Gerard resumed pacing.

Come on, Frank. Come on.

Please, please, please…

“Babe, what the hell are you doing out here? You’re soaking wet. Shit, take my coat. Take my coat, Baby. What are you doing out here in the rain? You’re gonna get sick.”

The next thing Gerard knew, Bert’s warm jacket was draped over his shoulders and he was being pulled back into the venue by his left hand.

“The staff was thinking you were some homeless person, Baby. Have you been walking around out there this whole time?”

“Wanted to get out… Wanted to stretch my legs,” Gerard muttered. It felt like the right thing to say as Bert sat him down on the couch in the greenroom.

“They told me you were just walking around the people in line. Were… Were you trying to pick someone up?” Bert asked.

When Gerard looked at him, he saw fear in the younger man’s eyes. It felt good to see him upset for once. It felt good to see him worried and jealous instead of just enraged. Gerard knew how to play this game and how to win, he just wished he didn’t have to.

He wished he could keep Bert on this hook every day, not just a night or two before the drugs and partying took away his attention again. It would happen. It was a cycle, and Bert was a slave to it. As handsome and wonderful and creative as he was—as good in bed as he was—Gerard just didn’t see Bert being worth the pain and suffering anymore.

It was Bert’s turn to be in pain. It was his turn to suffer.

“God, you’re soaked to the bone… Let me go get you one of our t-shirts.”

“I’m fine,” Gerard said, nuzzling Bert’s jacket.

The noise outside the greenroom seemed to explode, the venue blasting rock music just before the doors opened.

Gerard had been pacing the queue for hours and Frank never came. There was a chance he’d come later, maybe stuck in the awful city traffic, but Gerard just didn’t know. Bert wasn’t going to let him stake out the front door and he had nothing to help the staff identify Frank if he asked them to.

“Baby, what were you thinking? You’re soaked…”

“Do you still love me?” Gerard asked, sniffling from the cold more than his sorrow at losing the third man he’d come to love.

“Of course I do. More than anything.”

“More than drugs?”

“More than drugs! Of course!” Bert said, his eyes starting to look bleary. He was drunk already, wasn’t he?

“More than your ex?”

“Where is this coming from? What’s wrong? Things were so nice this morning. I fucking felt things I haven’t gotten from you in a long time. Why… Why are you so upset?”

“You know...the night I got beat up at the house party? It was Jeph and Quinn. They did it. They wanted me away from you. Said I was bad… Said I was distracting you, using you.” Gerard loved the way Bert’s face widened with shock. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t believe me. But you deserve to know.”

“Why are you telling me now?” Bert stammered, his voice cracking a little as he began to look frantic. Gerard was destroying his little fantasy world, making him see the reality of the hell Gerard had been living in for months on end. “Did they say something to you? Did they threaten you?”

“I just wanted you to know.”

Bert didn’t say anything, but Gerard got to watch all the different feelings swirl through Bert’s eyes while his own remained hidden behind the dark sunglasses.

The first band started playing and Bert didn’t leave to go watch. He sat with Gerard on the couch, holding his hand and looking conflicted and hurt.

“Quinn wouldn’t do that,” he said after a very, very drawn out silence. “Jepha might, but Quinn would never hurt anyone he knew I cared about.”

Gerard didn’t say anything, Bert yelled at him to say something, and then Bert had left the greenroom. He had to. His band came on next.

His nerve endings still tingling, Gerard slid Bert’s jacket off his shoulders and stood up from the couch. He checked his jacket to make sure his two small sketchbooks were secured inside the lining of his jacket, made sure he had his wallet, and then left the greenroom. He paused at the side of the stage to watch Bert scream into the microphone for a little bit—his song not tainted at all by the conversation they’d just had—then he walked out and around to the general admission floor.

He scanned the bar for Frank, stared at the crowd in the flashing lights in hopes of spotting Ray among the group of people, then made his way outside to the deserted street. The booming music inside shook the pavement beneath his feet and Bert’s voice still reached him as he started off down the black, rain-slick streets.

Frank didn’t come.

It felt like a knife in his heart.

It hurt worse than any of Bert’s punches or slaps, worse than anything Pezz or the truck drivers had ever done, worse than the man the night before who had gotten violent...worse than Master. Worse than Trainer. Worse than the Bad Man.

Frank didn’t come rescue him.

He’d been so certain Frank would be there, and he couldn’t go back to Bert now—not now that he’d pitted himself again Bert’s best friends. They’d never laid a hand on him, but it felt better to leave it on that note—better to lead Bert to think Gerard had run away in fear while Bert’s friends tried to convince him Gerard was a liar. Bert would never know the truth, so he’d always wonder about it.

He’d always want to know what happened the night he pushed Gerard away and left him to get hurt. He’d always want to know where his “little weirdo” went when he disappeared into the night.

His mind had started racing too much and Gerard forced himself to swallow down one of the blue pills with a cup of cheap, decaf coffee. There were grounds in the cup and that became all he could think about as he became woozy, coming down from his rushing high.

There were grounds in the already disappointing coffee cup.

Gerard just wanted to go home...

Chapter 7: Homesick

In the moment, Frank had felt that the best thing to do was skip the concert. In the moment, he’d convinced himself that going to see Gerard would either end in more heartbreak and disappointment, or ruin all of the progress Gerard had made in his recovery. Maybe he was in a bad spot because of the drugs and the environment around him, but if he’d gotten himself that far, it was in his own best interest he learn how to get himself out of it.

He couldn’t expect everyone to save him from his own mistakes forever.

At least that was what Frank had told himself as he backed out of going to the concert at the very last minute. He’d been in Ray’s car, ready for the drive to New York, then the doubt took over him and he changed his mind.

He expected it to result in another postcard or a letter—maybe even a wordless sketch. Instead, he got nothing. No postcard from New York City, no letter from the next show or the city after that on the tour… He figured Gerard had given up on him and chose to quit writing.

Then he got a late night call from Mikey pleading to know if Frank had heard anything or gotten anything in the mail. He’d tried going to the show in New York but didn’t make it, and since then he hadn’t been able to get Gerard on the phone. Bert wouldn’t answer him and without postcards to go on, he was afraid something bad had happened.

Frank couldn’t bring himself to admit to having tickets to the show or that he’d been planning to drive there with Ray. He played the role of a lost and confused friend when in reality he felt like the biggest coward alive.

He didn’t go to Gerard when it was so clear that the other man was pleading for help. He wasn’t there for Gerard and it was very possible that he could’ve overdosed and passed away—or could’ve tried getting home on his own only to be murdered by some thug or psycho.

Frank knew Gerard wasn’t his responsibility, but if anything happened to him, Frank felt like it would be his fault.

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to say to Mikey or how to even word it to go to Ray for advice. Gerard could very well be dead, all because he was too afraid of getting his heartbroken again to go to the fucking concert.

A month passed and neither he nor Mikey received any correspondence. It got so bad Mikey left a voicemail threatening to call the police if Bert didn’t answer him.

All he got in response was a text message.

He left me in Brooklyn. IDK where he is. Sorry.

Frank tried to encourage Mikey that that was a good thing—Gerard had gotten away from him and was probably trying to make his way back home—but Mikey wasn’t having it. Gerard should’ve been home by now if that was the case. He should’ve made it back, even if he was walking it shouldn’t have taken so long.

The thought that Gerard just might not want to come home didn’t comfort him. He believed something bad had happened and he and his whole family was torn apart by it.

All Frank could do in his attempt to hide from the mistake he’d made, the decision he’d made, was throw himself even further into his work—picking up any shift he could, all the shifts he could. He didn’t sleep, he barely ate… He worked himself to the bone until his body finally broke from it—until his immune system failed him and he finally got sick.

His muscles ached, his head screamed any time he moved, and all night his body was soaked in sweat to the point that his blankets became heavy and waterlogged. He had to have Ray take Sweet Pea, just to ensure someone was able to take her for walks and get her fed since he could barely moved from the couch into the kitchen.

It was the flu, his boss told him, and he wasn’t allowed into work until it had cleared up. So far, he’d been sick a week with no signs of getting better. Though his savings account had grown enough in the passing months to cushion the blow, the thought that his job was still on the line left him even more stressed.

Some nights, he would just lay awake worrying that he was going to die if he managed to fall asleep. He could literally feel himself wasting away in the night sweats and aching bones. It got so bad—the sleep deprivation, the hunger, the pain—he’d start hearing things and seeing things. Sometimes he’d think his mother was in the kitchen fixing him a cup of herbal tea and he’d wonder what was taking her so long—why wasn’t she hurrying? Sometimes he’d think he was back in his childhood bedroom, but would somehow think he heard Gerard talking to him from the other side of the bedroom door.

“I’ll take care of you, Master. That’s my job,” he’d say. And then he never came in the room either.

The visions tortured him, but he didn’t have the strength left to make it to the doctor...so he stayed home and suffered, praying that in another week the fever would break and he’d be fine.

He repeated the thought over and over as he struggled to find sleep.

In another week, the fever would break and he’d be fine. He’d be fine.

He’ll be fine…

Only he wasn’t.

He could still make out the familiar lines of his bedroom in the dark, could still tell he was in his apartment and not his childhood home, but there was someone bustling around his kitchen. Keys jingling like his mother’s used to when she’d get home late at night from her job. They’d clink on the counter top, she’d rustle through the cupboards looking for something to make to eat before showering and going to bed.

Frank could hear it all playing out. The keys, her purse thumping down onto the floor. The door closing, locking… The cupboard, the sink running as she filled a glass with water.

From far away, he could hear humming—soft singing as his mother flitted around the kitchen.

God, what he wouldn’t give to actually just go home—have her make him tea, have her take care of him just for a day or two. Maybe he never should’ve left home at all. Maybe if he’d tried harder, she would’ve accepted him as he was and accepted Sweet Pea.

Frank listened to the distant noises, his eyes half open because closing them made the room spin as if he were drunk.

It sounded so real…

And that singing… It wasn’t his mother’s voice at all, was it?

No…

No, what was that? Whose voice was that singing? He couldn’t tell… He just couldn’t tell.

( ) ( ) ( )

It was harder this time than it had been when he first left Jersey. It was harder to give up on the idea of Frank, harder to give up on the fantasy he’d been building of going home to a lover he sorely missed and starting over…

It was hard to accept that if he wanted a warm bed to sleep in and food in his stomach, he was going to have to settle for the men with wicked tempers. He got a couple one night stands with men who were kind—disinterested in keeping him, but kind enough to let him sleep in their apartments after fucking. But his luck quickly died...and so did his pill collection.

Going through withdrawal was hard enough on its own, but going through it alone on the streets without food or a place to lie down was hell. Pure hell.

He tried as hard as he could, but never found anyone willing to trade pills for his body. He refused to spend the money he’d earned for Frank, still grasping at the faint hope that if he found Frank and paid him, everything might be fine. He couldn’t give up the money…

He went hungry. He hid in alleyways behind dumpsters while tremors wracked his whole body, while his stomach screamed in horrific pain. There were times he’d go into convulsions the cravings got so bad. No one helped him. No one called an ambulance, no one stopped hustling down the streets to ask if he was alright.

No one gave a shit about him. No person in this whole damned world gave a shit about him…

He didn’t deserve it.

Gerard had screamed in pain and cried and pleaded to God to kill him—just kill him and end the pain—but he survived. It took a long time, it took a very long time, but eventually the pains faded and the tremors became less violent. He was far from recovery, but he was able to put on a mask and go about his business on the streets—fucking in exchange for food or a warm place to sleep. Sometimes it even felt like he was going on dates.

Nothing seemed to last, though, and he was tired of being used—tired of not knowing if the man who screwed him was going to actually wear a condom, not knowing if the man was going to bludgeon him to death once it was over or rob him or keep him hostage.

He was sick of living hungry in fear and in pain and alone.

He got desperate...and moved into a hotel room with a man named Greg who treated him to Ramen noodles every night and beat him at least twice a day.

He was a gang member and Gerard wasn’t allowed out of the hotel room for anything—because if the other guys saw him and knew, Greg’s reputation would be ruined and they’d probably both get killed.

Greg reminded him of his Trainer and somehow that became easier to swallow than before when the truck drivers would get rough or when Asshole had beat him and Gerard wrecked his apartment. Greg was like a trainer, reminding him of his place in the world—reminding him that he was worthless and that no one else would ever bother to waste time on him.

Gerard let it go on for over a month before he just...snapped.

Greg came home from whatever it was he did (Gerard knew better than to ask) and started yelling. Gerard had been cowering by the bathroom door, no chores to complete and no cooking to do in the hotel room that lacked anything close to a kitchenette. He sat on the floor shaking while Greg screamed and hollered about god knows what in his thick accent, then he stormed over and grabbed Gerard by his hair and yanked him toward the bed.

He’d never gotten forceful about sex. Not once. He never hit during sex, never yelled, never even choked him.

“Baby? Baby, don’t!” That was the last thing Gerard ever said to him—and Greg would’ve done well to listen.

Because as soon as Gerard realized Greg was going to fuck him whether he wanted it or not, whether he cooperated or not, Gerard snapped.

Greg wasn’t his Trainer. Greg wasn’t his Master.

Greg wasn’t shit.

Greg wasn’t worth shit and Gerard was not going to let that awful thing happen to him again.

When Greg shoved him forward onto the bed, he expected Gerard to stay down the way he did when he was slapped or pushed. He shoved him forward then left him to lay there as he started undoing his belt. In the split second after his body hit the bed, Gerard felt the monster in him that had been numbed by all the drugs for so long open its eyes and roar—he felt it scream using his throat until it burned.

He flung himself backwards and crashed his skull into Greg’s nose, then attacked him when he stumbled backwards clutching at his face. He knocked him to the ground for once, delivering blows to his face and his neck and anywhere else he could reach while Greg clawed at his arms and tried desperately to kick Gerard off of him.

The monster in him kept howling, tossing up images of his Trainer and his Master and all the men he’d encountered on the road who had treated him wrong. He saw their faces turning bloody under his fists. Saw their bodies laying lifeless underneath him. He crushed each and every one of them until there was nothing left in him.

The monster quit roaring and everything in him was silent. He felt peace for the first time in months. It was the same calmness he’d had when he and Bert had first started fucking and he knew he had a home for a while… Only this time he was alone.

No one gave him that peace of mind—he’d earned it. It wasn’t Bert or Frank or even Marcus making him feel at ease.

He’d won.

He didn’t fucking need them.

Greg was moaning in agony when Gerard stood up from him. He thought about stomping his throat or his face—thought about actually killing the worthless little worm—but chose not to. What was the point? He’d just end up in prison.

Greg was too out of it to retaliate, so Gerard did what he did best. He cleaned himself up and put his bloodied shirt into a plastic bag to be thrown away in a dumpster somewhere, then he grabbed Greg’s gun, his leather coat, his entire wallet, and his favorite t-shirt just to rub it in. The whole time, Greg just laid there moaning and turning his head back and forth the slightest bit—like he couldn’t figure out what was happening or how to move his limbs.

He left the hotel room with two hundred more dollars than what he’d had when he went in and used it to get a cab driver who was willing to take him back to New Jersey.

It was a long drive, an expensive drive, but it gave him a safe place to wind down and let the adrenaline wear off. After fifteen minutes, his whole body started shaking and the driver put up his window and turned the heat on thinking the tremors were from the chilly air coming off the shoreline.

He thought about how he’d left Greg laying there, clearly injured very badly if he hadn’t even tried to get up or go for his gun the whole time Gerard had washed up and collected the things he wanted to take. He wondered if Greg was going to die and if they’d even be able to trace the murder back to him or if they’d give it up as a gang related attack.

He wondered about Bert and what the other man was doing now—back in Utah, no doubt, probably trying to get back with his ex. Gerard missed him, missed the pills, and found himself thinking about all the things he could’ve done differently to save them so this didn’t have to happen.

Then he thought about Frank and how Frank never came to the concert. Sometimes he blamed himself for Frank losing interest in him, sometimes the memories of how Frank had given up on him made him so angry he wished he’d done more than just rob him—but now, as he shivered in the backseat of a stranger’s taxi, he found himself making up excuses for the other man.

Maybe he didn’t come to the show because it was too far of a drive or because he couldn’t get off work. Maybe he had tried and got into an accident. Maybe he moved and never got any of the postcards or the letter. It had been over a year, surely his lease ended and he would definitely want to find a better place to stay.

It was that thought which spurred Gerard into asking the taxi driver to pass Frank’s old apartment building and have him drive to the diner instead. He knew Frank worked at two locations and worked strange shifts—assuming he still worked there after all this time—but he felt he had a better shot of finding Frank or information about him there. If it really came down to it, though, Gerard knew his way back to his mother and father’s house from the diner. It was a walk he’d made once before and really prayed he wouldn’t have to again.

His heart was pounding as he paid the cab driver and stepped out onto the pavement in front of the diner. He had on one leather jacket and carried Greg’s in his arm, hoping he didn’t look suspicious but feeling twice as self-conscious with the weight of Greg’s gun inside the lining of his coat.

He made it inside and felt his spirits sink when he didn’t see Frank, but managed to order coffee and a sandwich before casually asking if Frank was working tonight.

“Frank? Oh! Frankie, no… No, he’s been out for a couple of weeks now. I haven’t seen him at all,” the waitress said, looking a little concerned but not about Gerard’s question. “Yeah, the regulars are really missing him. I know Mrs. Kowalski asks about him every day when she comes in for her coffee and eggs.”

“I guess I didn’t hear he was taking time off to move,” Gerard said, trying his hardest to fish for more information.

“Move? I didn’t know he was moving. He told all of us he was sick. I know Paul was really worried about him. He told Frankie to take as much time as he needed. He was, like, dead on his feet the last time I saw him. I hope he’s not trying to move when he’s still that sick.”

“I hope not,” Gerard said, trying to backpedal now so if somehow word did get around, no one would think he was trying to get out of working. The last thing Gerard wanted was to reemerge and get Frank fired. “It’s just the last time I saw him a couple months ago, he said he was thinking about moving. I just assumed… I didn’t know he was sick. That’s too bad.”

He tried not to dwell on it as he drank his cup of coffee, pleased to find no grounds in the bottom this time. He ate his sandwich and tipped well before leaving, his tremors coming back as he made his way to Frank’s apartment.

It felt strange being here. It felt like a dream… His mind was still hazy and images of Greg’s battered face kept popping up in his mind as he made his way down the cracked sidewalks and empty streets. It was so nice after being in crowded, noisy New York. Finally, even though he was alone at night in a less than ideal neighborhood, he felt the tension leave his shoulders.

He didn’t feel as anxious here, didn’t feel the need to walk faster or cower off to the side. He just moved at his own pace down the lonely roads trying to simultaneously call on and push back the feeling of hope in his chest.

He hoped to find Frank home… He hoped it went well, he hoped Frank took the money and forgave him.

And he feared all of that at the same time. Feared he’d find Frank, feared he wouldn’t… Feared the other man would take the money and then ask him to leave.

Oh, God… What if he got there and Frank had found someone else?

I guess that’s what the gun is for, Gerard thought, then shuddered at his own sick joke.

He could never hurt Frank like that and it disgusted him that he dared to consider it.

His heart was pounding as he reached the front door of the apartment building and had a moment of panic as he dug around in the lining of his jacket for the spare keys he’d stolen the night he left Frank. It had been so long since he’d really looked for them, so long since he’d taken them out and stared at them wondering what could’ve been or what could be. He feared he might’ve come this far just to have lost them and be left out in the dark.

He dug through the crumpled papers, moved his fingers past the gun, past pens he’d stashed inside his jacket, past empty pill bottles and wads of folded bills—and finally closed his fingers around the metal keys.

He let himself into the building, then began the slow ascent to Frank’s floor.

He remembered how terrifying it had been coming here the first time, how hard his body shook then compared to his faint shivering now.

He’d been so afraid of Frank, so worried about what was going to be done to him once they got inside. He really had been preparing himself for the horror of being used in porn. He’d been crying and scared and so...resigned to whatever Frank would’ve had in mind for him.

All he would’ve had to do to end it was shove Frank down the stairs and kill him. If he really had been a master, all Gerard had to do was push him down the steps…

He’d never even thought of that, never even realized he could do such a thing—even if he had smothered Nick with a pillow once and smashed Adam’s face into a bathroom mirror, he’d never once understood that a master was no different than a slave. They could all bleed. They could all die equally.

Gerard made it to Frank’s door, and then froze.

He didn’t know how long he stood there with his mind completely blank, but it felt like hours. He felt fear again, worrying about what could happen if the key he had still worked in this door.

Frank might scream at him to leave—probably would. It was after three in the morning.

Frank might ask him why he left, why he robbed him, why he thought Frank would actually come to Gerard’s lover’s concert.

Or the key might not even work. Gerard made himself dwell on that thought so long he started to believe and so it scared him when the key fit perfectly into the lock and the door clicked open when he turned it.

( ) ( ) ( )

He couldn’t fall back asleep. His mind kept straining to comprehend the words and sounds in the next room—the disembodied singing that droned on and on.

Frank had no choice. He pulled himself out of bed on his shaking limbs, the room dipping and swaying around him as he fumbled toward the beam of light spilling in around his bedroom door.

It almost felt too real to be a fever dream, and yet too distorted to be real.

Real or not, there was a man walking around his kitchenette, busying himself with dishes and singing in between sips of water and bites of a sandwich.

Frank stood in the mouth of the hallway staring at him, watching with hazy eyes as the person stooped down to begin sifting through the contents of Frank’s refrigerator. The person looked so strange, yet somehow familiar. His voice was familiar…

“Gerard?” Frank wasn’t sure if sound even came out of his mouth. He didn’t feel his own lips move, but the person stood up and stared at him.

“Hey! You’re up. Did I wake you?” That voice. That smile…

Why was this happening? It was unfair of his mind to play this trick on him.

“You look awful. Go back to sleep. I’ll finish up here and… Frankie? Oh, Sugar...you look so bad. Come on. Let’s get you back to bed. God, you’re burning up...”

The next thing Frank knew, the man was guiding him back into his bedroom and turning on the light.

“Frankie… This is so bad. Your bed is soaked—you’re sweating like crazy. Do you want to change clothes?”

Frank merely shrugged, the whole room seeming to dip as he did. His balance wavered, but Gerard appeared to catch him before he tipped over. It was the first time one of his fever dreams had been so vivid. He hoped it didn’t mean he was dying…

“Let me help. You can’t be comfortable.”

Frank took off his soaked t-shirt and changed into a dry pair of pajama pants and one of his looser fitting t-shirts. Gerard appeared to fluff his blankets and then had laid dry towels over the sweat-soaked mattress before motioning for Frank to lay down.

“I’ll get you ice. We have to get your temperature down.”

Frank tried to say something, but his lips didn’t move. He was feeling cold and didn’t like the idea of being surrounded in ice, but Gerard didn’t seem to notice the way he pulled away from the plastic bags of ice being pressed to his forehead and under both of his arms. Next, a glass of water was being pressed to his lips and he drank it down only to have another placed before him.

“Call me if you need anything—anything,” Gerard whispered as the lights went out again.

Frank stared at the other man’s retreating form, wanting to ask him to come back—wanting to tell him to keep the light on—but unable to speak. The singing started up again and Frank let his eyes fall closed yet again. He rather liked this fever dream…

He fell into a deep sleep, not waking up two or three times with the need to change out of his soaking clothes or move over to get off of the sweat-soaked patch of blankets underneath him. He woke up still laying on the dry towels his fever-induced hallucination of Gerard had laid down for him—with a cold cloth on his forehead and a bag of ice underneath both of his armpits.

Wait…

Frank sat up slowly, his head for once not pounding as he moved.

How had he managed to find the strength to get himself ice multiple times throughout the night? Surely the ones he’d gotten before would’ve melted, and he distinctly remembered having ice on his forehead, not a cloth.

He couldn’t deny that he felt better today than he had in a while. It wasn’t a miraculous healing, but his head wasn’t screaming yet and his balance was better as he got to his feet and made his way into the living room.

This is bad, he thought, as he realized his kitchen had in fact been cleaned. He knew he didn’t have the strength to have done in the night before. There was no way in hell he’d managed to clean the place and get himself to bed.

The kitchen was clean, there was a hamper full of folded laundry next to his apartment door, and there was a man sleeping on his couch.

Frank stepped slowly closer to him, his stomach twisting into a tight knot. Long black hair was curling around such familiar features… Much longer than it had been the last time Frank had seen him—Gerard.

He had a bruise on his cheek and scabs on all of his knuckles… As Frank stared at him, Gerard shifted a little, turning his head a little as nuzzled the pillow under his head.

His lip had a scab on it as well, and Frank didn’t know why that injury made his heart drop. He’d known for a while that Gerard was being kept in bad company, but it still hurt to see him injured—to know that a split lip and a bruised face meant someone had been beating him again.

No matter what Gerard had done to him, no matter how much money he stole or how big of a hole he’d left in Frank’s chest when he walked out, Frank couldn't bear the idea of someone hurting him again. Gerard had been through enough… He didn’t deserve more pain.

But he didn’t deserve a place in Frank’s apartment anymore either—whether he was trying to help or not.

Frank watched him sleep a moment longer, then carried himself back to the bedroom and laid down again. There were two glasses of water beside him on the nightstand. One was mostly empty and the other full. He grabbed the full one and took a long drink before pulling the blankets back over his shoulders and closing his eyes.

He just didn’t understand how he was expected to cope with this…

How had Gerard gotten in? How did he find his way back and who brought him?—Who came with him? What troubles did he carry and what did he expect Frank to do about them?

His heart ached now instead of his head. It was too much… He wasn’t ready for Gerard to come back. He wasn’t ready to face him and didn’t know what to tell him when they were both rested. Gerard had to know he couldn’t stay here… He had to understand that.

He had to…

Chapter 8: Giving's not Enough

Notes:

Long chapter is looooong yet nothing is really accomplished. I feel so ashamed )':

When Gerard woke back up, his entire body was sore and his throat ached—his mouth painfully dry. It was dark in Frank’s apartment and he struggled a moment to find his way around to the kitchenette to pour himself a glass of water.

He hadn’t intended to sleep for so long and he hoped Frank was doing alright. After quenching his thirst, he hurried into Frank’s bedroom to discover his ex-lover fast asleep on top of the covers, a damp cloth on his neck instead of his forehead. He’d changed clothes, Gerard noticed, and put away the bags of ice Gerard had tucked under his arms to bring his fever down.

A gentle hand on his forehead proved Frank’s fever appeared to have broken and that was a relief. He was still warm, but much better than he had been before.

Gerard took the wet cloth into the bathroom and wetted it again with cold water before draping it over Frank’s forehead.

It worried him that the little dog was nowhere to be found, and he wondered if Frank had let go of his health because the creature had died. There was still a food bowl on the kitchen counter and a partially filled water dish on the floor, but that didn’t mean anything. Her crate was gone…

As jealous of that little rat as Gerard had always been, he knew how much she meant to Frank and he never wished any ill-will upon her.

Gerard busied himself with a little more cleaning, then checked on Frank again before returning to the couch to sleep. He hoped if Frank had already woken up once, the other man had seen him. And if Frank saw him and left him to sleep, didn’t wake him and immediately order him out, that tomorrow morning might go well. Maybe they’d talk. Maybe they’d just pick up where they’d left off and everything would be fine.

Gerard hoped for that much.

He slept a few hours longer, then woke up at dawn with Frank sitting on the couch by his feet. He heart seized up in his chest when he noticed the man staring at him—remembering the first night he slept at Frank’s place and how he’d no less than begged Frank to stay with him on the couch. Frank had sat exactly where he was now, and then he’d placed his hand on Gerard’s calf. Frank had been so desperate to touch him then—like a new pet owner wishing to stroke their new, timid dog. This time, however, Frank wasn’t touching him, wasn’t making any moves to caress his leg or comfort him.

He was sitting there looking tired, looking upset, while Gerard stared at him in fear.

“What are you doing here?” Frank asked. His voice was so rough and broken, his illness making the tone almost unrecognizable. Gerard bet it hurt him to talk and it saddened him.

“I… I wanted to apologize. I—”

“You don’t need to. It wouldn’t mean anything,” Frank said, getting up quickly and swaying over to the table where he sank down. His body was still so weak and Gerard panicked the very moment Frank moved away from him, worried the other man might fall and get hurt.

“Frank, I’m sorry,” he said, stumbling up from the couch on sleep-stiffened legs. He stood by the table, not feeling like he deserved to sit across from Frank the way he might have before. “I just came to pay you back and I saw you were sick—”

“I don’t want your money. I don’t even want to know how you got money. You don’t owe me anything. Just go.” Frank wasn’t looking at him and was trying hard to keep his emotions off his face.

“Please listen… I-I know I… I know I messed up. I know what I did was wrong—”

“You robbed me!” Frank snapped, finally looking at him again. “I had to have Ray help pay my rent. I had pick up more hours. Why?”

“You were trying to kick me out,” Gerard said, looking away in shame. Frank had been trying to kick him out and money was the only method he had to get back at him.

“You weren’t with me anymore! What was I supposed to do? I was giving you everything I could and you wouldn’t even get out of bed! I couldn’t help you, Gerard! I couldn’t take seeing you like that anymore! I wanted your family to help you! They could afford to get you help!”

“You were trying to kick me out,” Gerard repeated, hating the sting that bit the back of his eyes.

“I would’ve seen you… I would’ve visited, Gerard! I wasn’t breaking up with you. Mikey and I explained that to you. We told you over and over that it was to get you help—so we wouldn’t lose you! Do you think I wanted to come home to find you dead? To see that you committed suicide while I was at work because I couldn’t be there for you? No! I was trying to save you! We told you that!”

Gerard stared at the floor, not knowing what to say and afraid that all he’d do was sob if he tried to speak.

“So what do you want from me now? To pay me back? You can’t.”

Gerard still couldn’t talk and couldn’t bear to look at him. He kept his head down, remembering too many bad things at once—thinking he shouldn’t have come here, thinking he should’ve just stayed with Bert and been his punching bag.

“And what the hell was up with those postcards? Do you realize how fucked up that was for me? ‘xoxo I don’t love you anymore.’ What the fuck was that?”

“I was angry,” Gerard said, his voice meek. Pathetic…

“You had no right to be mad at me! I gave you your life back and you spit in my face! You robbed me—you broke my fuckin’ heart. Are you happy? Are you satisfied now that you hurt me back?—or do you need to cause more damage?”

“You were trying to give me away. I didn’t know what I was doing—”

“That’s bullshit! You knew exactly what you were doing!”

“I didn’t want to go with them! I loved you! I wanted to stay with you! It’s not fair to me to just throw me out when you’re done! Yes, I hurt you! Yes, it was on purpose! You don’t understand.” Gerard couldn’t help the tears that started falling and he tried in vain to hide them by covering his face. “Everyone throws me out when they’re done. I didn’t want that from you… Something bad happens and they give me away. It’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair,” Frank spat. His tone was so harsh, his words cutting like a knife so deeply Gerard felt he’d bear the scar forever.

And then, as if realizing how much pain he’d caused, he spoke again—his voice much softer.

“Did you really think I wasn’t going to come see you anymore?”

“My parents wouldn’t let you… I know them. You don’t. You really, really don’t know what they did to me growing up,” Gerard said. There was no use keeping barriers now, keeping secrets. His past had started coming back to him more and more as he lived out on the road, and his time with his Master and Trainer had subsided into bad dreams. “I wanted to die. I’ve always wanted that… They just remind me that I’m useless, that I don’t try enough—that I’m not trying on the right things or… I don’t know. I always felt like a mistake they made, like they were disappointed with everything I did. Never good enough… It would be the same with this. Why remember it? Why talk about it? Why was I stupid enough to get caught by them? That’s what they’d want to know. Why was I stupid? I would die there. That night, I… That night it felt like you were trying to kill me.”

“I was trying to help you. That’s all I ever tried to do,” Frank said.

“It didn’t feel that way. No one was listening to me. No one cared what I wanted. You… You didn’t care about what I wanted.”

They were both quiet for a very long time, Gerard trying to hold back his tears while Frank apparently thought of something else to say.

“What drugs are you on right now?”

“I haven’t been.”

“Haven’t been what? What does that even mean? You haven’t been?”

“Since Bert, I… Just pot I guess. Liquor when I can get it.”

“I don’t believe that,” Frank said, rather bitterly.

“I can’t afford drugs right now. It was never anything stupid. Just pills. I hate the other shit.”

“Yeah… The red ones make you fly, right? Definitely sounds legal,” Frank scoffed.

“Bert made me… His band made me. I always said no,” Gerard attempted. “I didn’t want to end up like that again, but...I would have panic attacks and the Xanax would help or…or I’d be awkward and nervous and Bert would say I was embarrassing him and if I took the red ones, everyone was nicer—they said they liked me better on those.”

“God, you’re like a kid…” Frank muttered, covering his face with his hands and rubbing his eyes. “You really don’t know how anything works, do you?—Taking that shit so they’d like you. He could’ve gotten you killed.”

It simultaneously irritated Gerard and warmed him to know that Frank was clearly bothered by what he’d done. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t react. He would keep telling Gerard to just leave and get out. But he wasn’t… He was asking questions and trying to understand.

Gerard doubted Frank would ever take him back, but he was hopeful that maybe they could be friends—or at least civil. Gerard had missed him out on the road and hoped beyond measure that he wouldn’t lose the person who meant the most to him.

“Does Mikey know you’re back?” Frank asked abruptly.

“Not yet. I wanted to see you first… I-I wanted to pay you back and then I was going to go, but I saw you were sick so...so I thought I should take care of you first.”

Frank was quiet for a long time, staring at the wall with his hands laced in front of him.

“Yeah, I haven’t been working for a couple weeks,” Frank said, casually. Like he was just making conversation. “I think I have the flu.”

“It seems like it. Marcus had that once… Where’s Sweet Pea?”

“Sweet Pea?” Frank asked, looking distant for a moment before leaning back in his chair. “Oh, she’s just with Ray. I haven’t been able to do a whole lot so I asked him if he could watch her.”

“I was worried,” Gerard said, looking around nervously before deciding it might be a good idea to get Frank something to drink. He poured him a glass of water since there wasn’t juice or anything decent besides beer in the fridge, then rummaged in the cupboards looking for something to serve as a meal. All he could make was oatmeal, but Frank started eating it regardless and didn’t seem to mind when Gerard made a serving for himself.

“So what brought you back to Jersey—other than trying to give me money.”

“You,” Gerard said, trying to make eye contact as he said it only to have Frank ignore it. “I missed you.”

“Guess you would after things didn’t turn into a fairy tale with Bert, huh?”

“He hit me. He...he started hitting me when he was drunk and then...whenever he was hungover in the mornings. I didn’t like it.”

“If you don’t like it, why do you keep getting with people who do it?” Frank asked, gesturing to the bruises on Gerard’s face.”

“That was Greg,” Gerard said, his lip curling into a sneer. “I just needed somewhere to sleep.”

“You could’ve called Mikey. Your family has been worried sick about you. They tried having me arrested after you ran off.”

“They didn’t!” Gerard cried out, dread lacing every word as his heart dropped. That was the last thing he ever wanted. “Nothing came of it right? Y-You didn’t go to jail…?”

“No. But, like it or not, there’s an investigation now. They’ll want to talk to you about what happened. Maybe you can clear my name for good because it feels like shit to have them investigating me.”

“I’ll do whatever I need to to make this right,” Gerard said, trying to reach for Frank’s hand only to have him pull away.

“You can’t.”

“I’ll do what I can… Frank, I...I was just confused and hurt. So much happened in that short period of time. I didn’t know, really, what I was doing or thinking… I wasn’t thinking.”

“I just want to know why you sent me those postcards…”

“I don’t know,” Gerard whispered, staring at his half-eaten bowl of oatmeal.

“And why you sent me tickets to Bert’s show.”

“I wanted to see you.”

“You wanted me to save you is what it was.”

“I didn’t want you to forget about me. I tried to move on, but… Bert isn’t you. He’s not even half the man you are. Please… I know I don’t deserve it, but what would you have done if you were me? I-I lost everything because someone hurt me and my Master didn’t want me after that. Something I had no control over… Then I found you and you said you loved me. I believed you...but you don’t love me like Master did. I…” Gerard found himself at a loss for words. He knew what he wanted to say, but doubted Frank would understand. Why would he? Why should he even have to hear Gerard’s pathetic excuses?

“I don’t think you really loved me, Gerard. I don’t. I think you just… No, you know what? I don’t think you know what love is at all anymore. I think he ruined it for you. And that’s sad...but it’s not my fucking problem.”

Gerard felt his chest grow tight and all he could do was stare down at his unfinished oatmeal, trying not to cry again.

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey felt like he was about to burst out of his skin with anxiety as he waited for Frank to open his door. He’d gotten a text saying Gerard was there and immediately left work to go see them. He didn’t tell his parents in fear it might trip whatever switch in Gerard’s brain made him act crazy, but going there alone made him feel nervous.

His mood wasn’t helped in the slightest when Frank opened the door, looking like death.

“Shit. You have the flu or something?” Mikey asked, backing away a bit from Frank’s gray-looking skin and bloodshot eyes.

“Yeah. It’s been kicking my ass,” Frank said as he backed away to let Mikey inside.

Mikey was quick to notice Gerard sitting on the couch, his back to the door and clearly no intention of acknowledging Mikey until he sat down next to him.

“Hey,” was all Mikey could force out. His mouth going dry as he stared at Gerard’s turned face. He was hiding under long strands of black hair—the crown of his head dyed burgundy in an odd little patch—and kept turning his face further away the more Mikey tried to get a look at him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Gerard whispered. “H-How… How have you been? How’s Mom?”

“Fine,” Mikey said, afraid he was going to see something awful whenever Gerard finally decided to look at him. Maybe he’d gotten one of his eyes gouged out or maybe his face slashed up. God only knew what he’d gotten himself into out on the streets since he left Bert in the city.

“I’m sorry I didn’t… I-I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. Money’s tight, I guess.”

“Yeah… You disappeared on us again. I was worried. All of us were pretty worried when you quit sending cards.” Mikey paused, hoping Gerard would start speaking again, but he didn’t. “I spoke to Bert a while back. He said you left him in Brooklyn. Is that true?”

“Did he sound upset about it?”

“I don’t know. I just got a text. He said you left and he didn’t know where you went.”

“Yeah. He wanted to fuck other people. I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“You could’ve called me. I would’ve driven to Brooklyn. It’s not that far,” Mikey said, fidgeting in his seat. He wished Gerard would just look at him.

“I… I need to sort some things out first. You didn’t need to see me like that, Mikey. I… I couldn’t forgive myself if I let you see me that way.”

“I tried getting tickets to his show. I really tried. I wanted to be there—to meet him and see you.”

Gerard shook his head and finally turned so Mikey could see his face. He was offering a weak smile with a scabbed up lip and a bruised cheek.

“Did he do that to you?” Mikey asked, even though he knew Bert couldn’t have. They’d separated too long about, but he didn’t know how else to ask.

“No. That was Greg,” Gerard said, shaking his head and laughing a little like he thought the abuse was a joke. “He was a mistake, but...I taught him.”

Mikey didn’t know what to say to follow up, and when he looked around the room for a distraction he noticed Frank had disappeared into his bedroom.

“You know...he was really tore up when you left,” Mikey whispered, still looking at the closed bedroom door. Gerard followed his gaze with a frown, his eyes looking pained for a moment before he started staring at the floor instead. “Why did you leave?”

“Because I didn’t want to go home. And he was kicking me out.”

“We were trying to do what was best for you...and best for him. It was killing him to see you like that, Gerard. Couldn’t you tell?”

“Not at the time,” Gerard whispered, hiding behind his hair again.

“Where did you go?”

“The city… Slept around. I met this one guy at an airport bar in Missouri. He owned this indie label company that Bert was signed to for his first record.” Gerard smiled when he talked about that and Mikey didn’t know why. He was still hung up on how casually, how shamelessly, he mentioned sleeping with strangers to get himself to Missouri—to Utah. “I left him for Bert at his own party. He was trying to fuck some bitch anyway. It was good at the start but...” Gerard looked back at the bedroom door and sighed. “He’s not Frank.”

“You know you can’t stay with him again, right?” Mikey asked, cringing as he waited for his brother’s answer. Gerard was different now—different from who he’d been as a kid, who he’d been when he came, even from who he’d sounded like on the phone when he’d call. He had none of his previous nervous energy about him. No jerky movements or quickly spoken sentences as if he were afraid of something. He was almost tranquil.

It was almost unnatural how calm he seemed.

“I know. I didn’t plan to. I hope he doesn’t think that… I know what I did. It was a mistake.” He rubbed at his eyes with both his hands, then offered Mikey a limp smile. “I just want to stay until he’s better.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Mikey said, looking at Gerard sternly. “You’re just stressing him out, okay? Give him some room. Come home. Just come home.”

“He needs taken care of. I promise I’m not leaving again. I know I can’t stay… I know he doesn’t want me—he shouldn’t. I’m worthless, but I have to pay him back for all he did. He took care of me. He didn’t have to.”

“He doesn’t want you to,” Mikey said, as gently as he could. This was going to end badly if Gerard tried to stay.

“Just for tonight… Maybe tomorrow. I’ll come home and I’ll never bother him again.” His face twitched with the most sincere look of pain Mikey had ever seen—as if a bullet had ripped through Gerard’s chest as he made the promise—and then he was back to that blank placidity. “I just don’t want him here all alone. If he gets better, he can at least have Sweet Pea back.”

“Gerard, he doesn’t want you to stay. I don’t know how else to tell you that. He called me so I would take you home. Okay?”

“I’m not leaving yet. He already hates me. What else can he do?”

“Call the fucking cops and have you arrested? I don’t know! Come on… Don’t do this. I know you want to help him, but you can’t. Okay? You can’t...”

Gerard was quiet for a long time and Mikey felt compelled to stare at their reflections in the black TV screen instead of looking directly at his brother. They stayed that way, in silence, for maybe over half an hour. Every now and then, Frank’s coughing in the next room would ring out, the only other sound in the whole world it seemed. When Mikey looked to Gerard again, his older brother was steadily—silently—crying.

“Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?” Gerard asked.

“I-I don’t know.”

“No one else is going to love me like he did… I wasted it, didn’t I? I didn’t know what I had and I lost it.”

Mikey wished he could be honest—tell him like it was, tell him yes, you did ruin it—but he couldn’t. Not with Gerard looking so heartbroken. He couldn’t say any of the things he’d planned to say, any of the angry words or heartfelt word he’d thought up whenever he was alone and would play out scenarios in his head. Sometimes he’d fantasized about screaming in Gerard’s face for being so selfish and thoughtless. Sometimes he’d imagined telling his brother how much he missed him and loved him—words he never would smart enough to say eloquently on the spot.

Now, all he could think to do was shrug and put his hand on Gerard’s slumping shoulder.

“Give it time. Frank’s...a rational guy. He knows you weren’t really thinking back then. I mean, hell… You were putting your fist through the wall at home and scaring our parents—”

“I hit him,” Gerard sobbed, scrunching up his face in pain again. “I-I hit him—of all the people in the world… I’ll never forgive myself.”

“It was an accident,” Mikey said, struggling a moment to remember what Gerard was talking about. It had been the day they broke the news to him that Grandma had died. He’d panicked—he’d shoved Mikey and either punched Frank or slapped him, Mikey couldn’t remember. It hadn’t been bad. It wasn’t deliberate…

“Bert started hitting me,” Gerard said quietly, wiping his eyes on the heel of his hand. “He’d get drunk or whatever and...smack me to get me off him or… I was just trying to hold him the one night and he punched me. I never wanted to make Frank feel like that. I don’t want him to feel like I had to.”

“You never told me that fucker hit you,” Mikey snapped.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does! What are you doing with a guy like that? I knew he was on drugs but I didn’t think he was fucking prick! That asshole!”

“It’s fine—It’s over.”

“You need to stop it with these losers! That Greg guy, Bert—who else?”

“Everyone,” Gerard said, shaking his head and rubbing at his eyes roughly. “It’s what you get. That’s what you get for being a whore on the streets. It doesn’t matter what they do to me. It’ll never be enough to make up for what I did.”

“That’s bullshit! Gerard, are you fucking crazy!?” Mikey couldn’t decide if he was hurt or just mad. It frustrated him to know he could say nothing to fix this. Nothing he said would change what Gerard felt or make him realize that hitting Frank in a blind panic didn’t make him deserving of abuse from his lovers.

Gerard’s only experience with love, besides Frank, was his Master. And that man trained him to accept pain as a form of affection. Nothing Mikey said was going to fix that.

“It’s what I get,” Gerard said bitterly. “I had something good. I ruined it.”

“You got depressed. Our grandma died. You went through hell. No one was blaming you for that. Stop beating yourself up over it—literally! Stop! Frank was trying to help you. You didn’t ruin anything until you walked out on all of us.”

“He was giving me away,” Gerard whimpered, his voice suddenly back to the shrill tone he used to have back when they first been reunited—back when he was afraid of his own shadow. “My Master was giving me away again. I didn’t know what to do.” He started crying again, burying his face in his hands this time as he sobbed.

Mikey didn’t know what to say to him. He was exhausted, already, and frustrated and trying not to show it as he rubbed his hand gently up and down Gerard’s back. After a while, he gave in and leaned over—putting his head on his brother’s shoulder and sighing when Gerard tipped his head against his own. Mikey guessed there really wasn’t much else they could say to each other at that point…

“He can stay the night...or whatever.” Frank’s voice rang out over the silence despite how rough and strained it was. When Mikey looked over at the doorway, he saw Frank standing there shaking his head, looking up at the ceiling irritably—like he was kicking himself for even talking.

“You don’t have to do that,” Mikey said, knowing it was bad. Knowing just how bad it was going to be on all of them. He didn’t want this whole nightmare to start over again.

Gerard’s place was at home. It was time he came home, and Frank didn’t deserve to suffer anymore. And as much as Mikey hated to admit it, that was all Gerard was going to do to him. Gerard would wear him down just like he had the last time.

As much as he loved Gerard and as much as he wanted to defend him, Mikey couldn’t deny that what Gerard did to Frank had been inexcusable. He robbed him knowing full well just how tight money had been for Frank, and then left him with nothing but postcards boasting about his new relationship. What good could come of him worming his way back in?—Even if he seemed sincere in his quest for forgiveness.

“You can tell your parents or whatever...I don’t care if they come over. He can stay tonight if he really wants to, but that’s...” Frank didn’t even finish the sentence. He shook his head angrily and went back into his room, shutting the door loudly behind him.

“Gerard, don’t!” Mikey snapped as soon as Gerard got up from the couch. He was going to chase after Frank now, stress him out even worse—make things even worse.

But there wasn’t anything Mikey could do. He was rendered completely helpless, torn between letting his brother do as he pleased and sticking up for the friend he’d made in his brother’s absence.

This was just going to be so...bad.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank couldn’t stand it.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t sleep no matter how hard he was trying, and he couldn’t tune out Gerard’s voice in the other room.

“I ruined it,” Gerard cried. He sounded so sincere and so broken up about it. Frank wanted to scoff at it—managed to force a cruel thought or two into his mind where it didn’t belong—then Mikey responded.

“You got depressed. Our grandma died. You went through hell.”

That was true, wasn’t it? Frank remembered those days so vividly. He’d played them over so many times, trying to see what went wrong—trying to figure out if he’d said something or missed a clue that would’ve hinted at what Gerard had planned.

He remembered how Gerard tried reading his comics, how he’d listen to music on his headphones and sit huddled up on the couch in the blankets… Then he’d crawl back into bed and sleep for hours and hours because he was too depressed to even read. He remembered how Gerard was trying so desperately to hide how depressed he was so Frank wouldn’t worry. He would scatter his comic books around to make it look like he’d read, and then sleep more.

Frank had been so afraid he’d come home to find Gerard dead that he convinced himself that sending the other man home was the only way to keep him safe. He didn’t know it would set Gerard off.

“He was giving me away! My Master was giving me away again. I didn’t know what to do.”

Gerard’s sobs cut into him like a knife and Frank let out a groan.

He was falling back into it. He was getting sucked into Gerard’s little trap and he knew the only way he could go on living with himself was if he relented. He wanted to stay mad—he had every right to tell Gerard to get the fuck out of his apartment and the fuck out of his life—but he couldn’t. Not with those memories swirling around in his head.

He remembered seeing Gerard on that stage… He cried and cried and begged that man not to sell him. He wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t screaming in terror or fighting to get away. No, he stood there and took it—knowing what he was about to have happen.

Given away like an animal—auctioned off like livestock without having any say or any clue about what would be done to him. He’d sincerely believed Frank was pretending to be ordinary, believed Frank’s lie that he filmed porn and wanted Gerard as his model. Back then, he was so broken and naive—so afraid of everything.

Of course he lashed out when Frank told him he decided it was best they parted ways.

Of course he didn’t understand Frank wanted what was best for him.

All he knew in the world was that he had a Master who didn’t beat him for once and that Master was bored with him and wanted him gone.

A Master.

Frank had never been anything more to him than that, no matter how well he pretended to be adjusting. It was Frank’s fault for sleeping with him. It was Frank’s fault for not getting the police involved right away…

If he hadn’t fucked Gerard, none of this would’ve happened, Frank decided.

He was pissed off and tired, and he knew everything that happened was his own damned fault.

Groaning, Frank kicked off his blankets and got out of the bed, shivering as the cold chills rushed down his spine. He couldn’t take any more. This needed to stop. Something had to just fucking stop!

Pacify him, Frank thought. Shut him up. Tell him what he wanted to hear so he stopped crying and reminding Frank of that night at the auction and the weeks that came after.

“He can stay the night...or whatever,” Frank said, looking at the ceiling so he didn’t have to see their faces staring at him.

“You don’t have to do that,” Mikey said.

“You can tell your parents or whatever...I don’t care if they come over. He can stay tonight if he really wants to, but that’s...” up to him, Frank thought, going back into his room and bitterly slamming the door. He was playing into a stupid game, wasn’t he? He was letting Gerard jerk him around, just like always. He’d come this far, he’d gotten the balls to skip that concert, and now he was going back on all of it. Undoing everything.

“Gerard, don’t!” Mikey called out in the other room.

Oh, God… Here he comes, Frank thought. Here he comes—going to try grabbing me.

Only when Gerard got in the bedroom, he made no other advances.

Frank laid down and shuffled under the blankets while Gerard stood with his back to the closed door, looking anxious.

“What?” Frank asked. “Isn’t that enough for you? Isn’t that what you wanted?—To stay?”

“Frank, I—”

“Don’t you mean ‘Master’? Isn’t that all I am?—One of those people?” He didn’t know why he said it, but the words left a bitter taste in his mouth. Why did he have to say that? Why did he have to bring that up? God...his head was killing him again.

“I won’t stay… I just want to make sure you’re better. It’s all I can do if you won’t let me pay you. So you can get Sweet Pea back.”

“Yeah, I heard you out there. Do whatever you want. You will anyway. You always have...”

“I want to be better for you.”

Frank sighed heavily, squeezing his eyes shut in irritation.

“Do whatever you want, just go away… I’m exhausted. Let me sleep.”

“Can I get you anything?” Gerard asked, his voice meek the way it used to be whenever Gerard would ask permission to do things around the apartment when Frank first brought him home.

God, this just wasn’t fair.

“Some more water… Then please just leave me alone.”

It really surprised him when Gerard disappeared from the room and returned moments later with a cool glass of water which he left on the nightstand without a word, and without trying to touch Frank at all.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank managed to sleep for a couple of hours after telling Gerard he could stay. When he woke up, he could still hear Mikey talking in the other room along with the television playing softly. He didn’t particularly mind that Mikey was still at his apartment, knowing the brothers had a fair amount of catching up to do, but it made him feel like he was intruding when he stepped out of the bedroom to go to the bathroom.

Mikey paused in whatever he was saying and looked over at him, and Gerard stared at Frank curiously—like he was expecting Frank to say something to him, and then disappointed when he didn’t.

“I’m going to text Ray and see if he’ll bring Sweet Pea home tomorrow,” Frank said as he was returning to his bedroom. “You’ll help look after her, right?”

“Of course,” Gerard said quickly, nodding as well to show just how eager he was to prove his worth again.

It was hard not to soften up to him again, but Frank bit back anything else he might’ve liked to say and went back to his bed.

In the other room, Gerard and Mikey spoke to each other quietly before, after another hour or so, Mikey said he was going to leave. Gerard saw him out of the apartment and then, shortly after the door had closed, turned off the television. Frank waited in silence, watching the beam of light filtering under his bedroom door disappear. He expected Gerard to come try crawling into bed with him the way he used to, but Gerard never did.

He was listening for once and Frank had to quickly squash his budding thought that “maybe this time it’ll be different.” There was no “this time,” no “next time.” He and Gerard were over. Gerard was just toxic. He was bad…

Even so, Frank’s mind kept spinning with “maybe he learned his lesson” and “maybe he got it all out of his system.” He’d been gone over a year, out there in the world by himself with no one to try protecting and smothering him the way Frank had.

Maybe this time they’d have something to talk about other than whatever tortures Gerard had been put through by his Masters

Frank groaned as the thoughts continued creeping up on him.

Yeah, they could talk about Bert instead, and drugs and all the people he slept with for money and drugs. Frank had to force himself to remember just what Gerard had chosen to become when he left Frank’s apartment. All because he didn’t want to go home to his parents.

Was life out on the street really better than being home with them?

That was the one big mystery Frank couldn’t solve. Mikey seemed well adjusted enough… Sure, he’d fallen into a similar path when it came to drug use, but Frank always assumed that had something to do with Gerard disappearing. He’d relapsed for a bit when Gerard disappeared the second time, but seemed to have cooled it on the hard stuff a few months after the postcards started coming in.

Mikey always eluded to the idea that their parents had been hard on Gerard, pushing him to “be someone” maybe a bit too hard, but they’d never been abusive. They’d never really hurt him, so why the big fuss about going back home? Why was he afraid of them?

And if he really was that afraid of them, was he actually going to leave this time when Frank asked him to? He couldn’t stay… Not until Frank had figured him out again. It was too easy to get caught up in a fantasy, pretending nothing was wrong and that life was one big great fairy tale wherever Gerard was concerned. It was easy to think that he’d learned his lesson and came home ready to be an equal partner, capable of showing love without lashing out in a rage whenever things didn’t go how he wanted. It would be easy to delude himself into thinking that, but Frank refused.

Gerard had burnt him, had robbed him, had sent him a letter accusing him of being the reason Gerard had left the second time… It wasn’t a far stretch to believe Gerard simply came back to see what else he could steal to fuel his drug addiction.

Frank lay in bed, feeling the disappointment like a heavy weight crushing his chest. His throat was starting to hurt again and he’d already finished the water he’d had in his glass from earlier. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to get up for anything in fear Gerard might try talking to him or following him back to bed.

The frustration of not being able to move freely through his own apartment helped Frank keep the wall up around his heart. Gerard was a burden. He had always been a burden—from day one to now.

Especially now, Frank thought as he heard Gerard getting up from the couch. Here it comes. Now he’s going to try getting in the room, getting in bed with him like nothing ever went wrong between them…

He listened as Gerard approached his bedroom door and started forming a rebuttal in his mind as he waited for the knock or for Gerard to just barge in—but the other man passed his door and went into the bathroom instead. He washed his hands when he was done, then seemed to hesitate for a while.

Frank’s heart pounded as he listened to the silence, knowing Gerard hadn’t gone back to the couch yet. What was he doing? Was in the bathroom snorting something? Shooting something up? Frank was about to get out of bed to catch him in the act of whatever he was doing, unable to stand not knowing what the other man had brought into his house, then he heard Gerard start gagging—heard him choking and vomiting into the toilet.

Great…

Was it stress or withdrawal, or did he have the flu now as well?

Frank really didn’t want to find out.

( ) ( ) ( )

The following morning, Frank was almost positive he had the answer to his question. Gerard’s skin had turned a sickening gray color and though the man was still trying to cater to Frank’s needs—bringing him a glass of water halfway through the night and making sure he took some Ibuprophen that morning—it was clear that he had little to no energy of his own.

Frank immediately regretted the text message he’d sent last night to Ray, asking him to bring Sweet Pea home. It was too late to call him back though. Frank had gotten up because Ray said he was on his way over.

“You should drink some more water,” Frank said, standing next to the couch where Gerard was laying down, looking like death.

Yes, definitely the flu.

“I think…I’m going to go home today. If that’s okay,” Gerard answered.

It caught Frank off guard, it really did, and he wasn’t expecting the words to sting as much as they did. All that effort to get back in Frank’s life, all that effort in the past to avoid going home, and all he really needed was to catch the flu and he was ready to pack up and walk out a second time.

“That bad, huh?”

“I don’t want to make you sick, too,” Gerard said, staring at the blank TV screen instead of Frank.

“I don’t think I’ll catch it again, but if you want to go—”

Before Frank could finish, there was a knock at the door. He was surprised that the noise didn’t even seem to register with Gerard who used to go into a panic almost any time someone knocked at the door.

“That’ll be Ray,” Frank said, going to get the door. Gerard didn’t say anything or show any interest at all, leaving Frank to feel almost a bit guilty. He guessed it was inevitable that Gerard would get sick because of him, but he never expected it to take so quickly. Two nights with him and Gerard’s energy was completely zapped. It made him worry about Mikey…

“Hey, you don’t look like Night of the Living Dead anymore!” Ray said cheerfully, holding Sweet Pea under one arm. She wriggled like crazy when her buggy eyes landed on Frank and he happily pulled her into his arms so she could lick his face, her whole body shivering with excitement.

“Yeah, I’m still not one-hundred percent, but I feel a lot better today.”

“Don’t stress yourself out too much. If she gets to be, you know, too much to handle, just call me. I don’t mind taking her.”

Ray didn’t seem dead set on coming into the apartment at first, and for that Frank had been grateful. He didn’t feel up to explaining why Gerard was on his couch or why Gerard now looked like Night of the Living Dead, but when he set Sweet Pea down on the floor, she was quick to run over to the couch and start yapping.

“You have someone over?” Ray asked, looking a bit perturbed. He knew Frank had been practically dead for two weeks and the likelihood of him finding a lover to stay the night while barely able to get out of bed was impossible.

“Yeah… It’s a long story,” Frank said, cringing as he watched Ray’s face fall with a stern, disappointed look.

“Don’t tell me he’s back…”

“Okay, then I won’t,” Frank said, trying to force a weak smile to show how irritated he was. He just wanted his dog back—not to have this discussion.

Behind him, he could hear Gerard sitting up on the couch as Sweet Pea jumped up to join him.

“How did he get here?” Ray asked, his voice a quiet whisper.

“He walked or something. I don’t know. He showed up a couple nights ago. Mikey know—he was here last night. He says he’s going home today. Isn’t that right?” Frank asked at a volume that commanded Gerard’s attention. The other man turned around on the couch to look at Frank, his bloodshot eyes looking meek as he stared at Ray. “You’re going home today?”

“If you can call Mikey for me…I think I should go.” He looked at Ray the whole time he said it. A year later and he was still afraid of Ray for no real reason.

“What brought him back here?” Ray asked, still whispering as if he didn’t want to acknowledge Gerard.

“He said he wanted to pay me back since I didn’t come to the show.”

“Pay you back? Sounds like an excuse to me…”

“It is,” Frank said, shrugging. “Don’t worry. He’s not staying,” he added on when Ray’s expression never changed from that almost fatherly disappointment.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I can…I can take him back to his place if you want me to. You don’t have to wait around for Mikey.”

“Trust me, Mikey will be here the minute I call. I’m not worried about it.”

“Well, check your wallet before he goes,” Ray said, passing Gerard one final look before saying his goodbyes to Frank and leaving. Frank came over to the couch to pick up Sweet Pea and get her to leave Gerard alone.

“I have your money,” Gerard said, his voice horribly rough as he started digging around his back pocket in order to produce his wallet.

“I don’t want it. I told you that before.”

“Well I want you to have it, so please…” Gerard took out a large stack of bills and set it on the coffee table when Frank refused to move his hand to take it from him. “I don’t want this between us. What I did was awful. I can’t make up for it, but…please, just take it.”

Frank looked at the wad of money, then back at Gerard who was staring at him desperately.

“If you want to pay me back, it’s going to cost about five thousand bucks. Because that’s what I spent on you. This is nothing compared to that,” he added, gesturing to the bills before walking over to the kitchenette where he set Sweet Pea down by the counter in order to start fixing her a bowl of food.

“I don’t have five thousand,” Gerard whispered, looking ashamed of himself again as he leaned back against the couch.

“Yeah, I know you don’t,” Frank said, setting the bowl down on the floor in front of Sweet Pea. After giving her a few quick pats on the head, he took out his cell phone and typed a message to Mikey, letting him know Gerard was sick and that he’d been asking to go home.

“If I got you five thousand, would you…maybe consider—”

“I don’t want money from you sleeping with other men. That’s disgusting. Have some self-respect before you go out there and catch something…or get killed by someone.”

“I was thinking…I’d try a job. Mikey and I talked about it last night—”

“I’m going to take a shower,” Frank said. “Mikey says he’ll be here in a little bit.”

Gerard stared at him sadly, then laid back down across the couch, visibly disheartened. Frank tried not to feel bad for him as he left the room to wash up. The whole time he was in the shower, his mind kept playing over the question Gerard had been asking—the one Frank interrupted.

If he gave him five thousand, would Frank consider…what? Taking him back in? Being friends? Forgetting it all ever happened?

Frank guessed it didn’t matter. He wasn’t ever going to see that money again and it had never been his intention to make Gerard or his family pay up. He’d won the cash in an odd twist of fate—an odd twist of fate that led him to saving Gerard. As far as he was concerned, it may as well be considered divine intervention.

When he thought about it, though, it made it that much harder to just let Gerard walk away again. He was reminded of how he’d looked that night at the auction and of all the other victims there—the children in particular. Gerard had been a young teenager when he’d gotten taken. He’d been living in a nightmare for years and Frank knew he was the first person who had actually ever helped him and showed him kindness with no demands for something in return.

The thoughts were still buzzing around his now-aching head as he finished his shower and went back into his bedroom to change clothes. As soon as he’d pulled on a clean shirt, there was a loud knocking on his door and he sighed as he hastened his pace and hurried to the door before Mikey kicked it in.

And not just Mikey, it seemed, but his father as well. Because that wouldn’t set Gerard off.

Frank sighed as the man stared at him, not even able to think of some pleasantry to say to the man who’d been trying to get him arrested and sue him a year ago.

“Well where the hell is he?”

“He’s on the couch. I’m not keeping him,” Frank said, grabbing Sweet Pea who was barking and bouncing backwards a bit each time she did. He took her with him into his bedroom and closed the door, not wanting to deal with anything that was happening. Let Mikey and his father repossess Gerard like a soulless object…

He could hear them all talking—all of them except Gerard whose rough voice was a mere whisper from the pain in his throat—could hear Gerard’s father trying to argue while Mikey said to “keep calm—don’t start. Please, don’t start.”

Meanwhile, Frank just sat on his bed petting Sweet Pea as she yapped at all the noise. Gerard was supposed to stay here and help him take care of her until he was better… But he guessed that wouldn’t have been possible even if Gerard did stay. He was sick now, too, and Frank knew he couldn’t take care of Gerard—even if he wanted to, which he didn’t.

“Well, can I at least say—” Gerard’s broken voice rang out in distress, but was quickly cut off by his father’s impatient rage.

“Let’s go!” The man boomed. Gerard whimpered something Frank couldn’t distinguish, his voice sounding pained enough that Frank almost wanted to get up and go check on him, and then the door slammed.

The door slammed and his apartment fell silent and Frank knew, once again, that he was on his own.

Chapter 9: Back from the Dead

Notes:

I found this chapter in a dusty old file in the back of my brain. I think there might be more in there but I am battling off the dust bunnies still.

Is there anybody still out here? It's been a looooong time.

Gerard guessed that everything he’d been through, he just didn’t have the fight left in him anymore. Being sick with the flu didn’t help, either.

He could hardly breathe, he was freezing cold, and all he wanted was to go home and go to sleep.

If answering these peoples’ questions got him home and warm and in bed faster, then fine. He’d tell them anything they wanted to know—anything they wanted to hear.

Hell, he’d make shit up if he needed to—say whatever they wanted him to—just to get back to bed.

“Okay… Go over this part for me again,” the detective said, tapping the corner of his blank notepad against the table. Every time the cardboard backing banged against the plastic, Gerard felt it in his teeth. “You said you were at a house party doing drugs with a buddy of yours—”

“He wasn’t exactly a ‘buddy.’ He was just a dude I knew who dealt drugs… But if you want to call him my buddy then...whatever. That’s not how it was, but whatever.”

“Okay, so he was just some drug dealer. And this had been your first time at his house?”

“No. I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

According to his family, the detectives were trying to bring down the people who had “Done This To Him.” To Gerard, though, it felt like he was about to be booked into federal prison. If he so much as mixed up the order of events, this asshole detective picked him apart on an almost personal level.

“You don’t think so...”

“It was, like, ten years ago, man. I don’t remember that shit. I worked hard not to forget shit from before… I already told you that.”

Regardless, the detective made him go over that night two or three more times, like he was trying to catch Gerard in a lie. What did he want Gerard to say? That he went and sold himself on the black market? That he locked himself in a psycho’s basement and split his own skin open for fun? For attention? For pity?

What a fucking joke.

“So once you were abducted by Carlos…then what happened?”

“I’m not talking about that,” Gerard said. Okay. Maybe he did have a bit of fight left—even if it was just enough to keep him from slipping back into those awful memories.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to remember that shit.”

“Well, here’s the thing—”

“I already told you everything I know. What else do you want? Just tell me what you want so I can go home—or go to jail.”

“Why do you think you should go to jail?” The detective asked, his piercing gaze fixed on Gerard who was getting so dizzy he could hardly even sit upright.

“I don’t know.”

“Why do you think you deserve to go to jail? Did you do something?”

“I don’t know, man. If going to jail gets me to bed faster, then...fuck.” Slowly, Gerard lowered his head down onto the table, resting them on his crossed arms.

They were silent for a long time, as if the detective thought it would get under Gerard’s skin. If anything, it seemed to bother the cop more.

“Alright, Gerard… What can we discuss about that part? I mean, it’s a pretty important part of the story. If we’re going to put a stop to all this so it doesn’t happen to somebody else, we need to catch this guy. Right? And right now, you’re the only one who can give us an idea of who or what we’re looking for. Right?”

“I don’t know. Just tell me what you want me to say,” Gerard answered, not lifting his head.

“Well, what did you notice about this man? Carlos. We don’t have to talk about what he did. Alright? Just, lets go over his description.”

“I don’t want to do that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to remember,” Gerard answered. It was too late, though. He was already remembering that awful man and that awful place.

“So you’d rather just stay comfortable and let a man like him walk off scott free?”

“I wouldn’t call this comfortable,” Gerard said. Slowly, he straightened himself up and looked back at the detective. His eyes were burning, stinging unbearably, and all he wanted was to go home and go back to sleep.

“Did he have an accent? Carlos?”

“No.”

“No accent?”

“Not that I noticed. He just sounded like...” a monster… “Like any other guy from Jersey.”

“So he had a Jersey accent?”

“Not really. Just… I mean, I guess. He sounded normal to me. He didn’t talk like...like Les or Marcus. He...he just sounded like a normal guy. A guy from around here.”

“Did Les have an accent?”

“I wouldn’t call it an accent. He just… Les was educated. You can tell when you talk to him that he’s really smart. He was always using big words and talked politics a lot. Talked about things I don’t even understand now. Trainer—Carlos… I-I don’t think that was even his real name. I think he was trying to seem like someone else. Makes sense, I guess.”

“Do you think Carlos had another job?”

“Not like a nine to five. Or if he did, he was on an extended vacation,” Gerard answered, forcing a laugh. He wished Trainer had worked a nine to five. At least then the beatings would have a consistent schedule instead of a round the clock series of abrupt torture.

“So you don’t think Carlos was Hispanic or Latin American? He didn’t have that kind of accent?”

“I wouldn’t know… He didn’t exactly fill me in on his family heritage.”

“So I could be looking for someone who is White, Black, Hispanic, Asian… You’re not really helping me narrow it down.”

“Next time I’ll ask to see their driver’s license,” Gerard snapped.

“Why are you antagonizing me here? I’m trying to bring the men that hurt you to justice.”

“No, you’re trying to catch me in a lie when I’m not telling any. You’re treating me like I’m making this shit up and it’s exhausting. I just want to go to bed.”

Again, the detective went quiet and Gerard set his head back down on his folded arms. Minutes passed and then he started tapping the corner of his notebook onto the table again.

“You draw… Do you think you could draw them?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Not right this minute. In your own time. If you could just draw us a picture of these men, that could give us something to go off of until you’re feeling ready to talk… Like the one you showed of us Marcus. If you could give us something like that, it would really help identifying these men.”

“I can draw Les… I don’t know if I can for Trainer—Carlos. Sorry. I don’t know about him.”

It seemed to satisfy the detective and within another twenty minutes, Gerard was laid down in the backseat of his parents’ car going home.

“We got an appointment set up with a different psychiatrist,” his mother said. “He said there’s normally a wait, but he was able to make a special appointment for this coming Tuesday.”

“Great,” Gerard answered. Ever since he’d been home, all anybody wanted was to make him talk. Never mind the fact that he was sick as all hell and just wanted to sleep. He’d been fighting the flu for almost a month and wasn’t getting any better—and he was positive it was from the stress of being made to relive all that bullshit for different “professionals” every other day.

“This one might be a better fit for you. I read some of the reviews for his office online and they looked favorable.”

Gerard just grunted. This guy would be no different from that last one. When Gerard refused to spill his guts, the psych would deny him any medication that might help him feel more relaxed. Truthfully, he just wanted his pills back. If he wasn’t going to have any sort of friendship or relationship with Frank and he was going to be constantly forced to relive all of horrors from the past, he wanted his drugs back.

Once he was home, Gerard retreated to his awful basement bedroom and folded himself into bed with the lights still on. His parents had done a lot to make the basement bedroom less offensive for him, including his dad installing more lights overhead. It could be as bright as daylight down there now, and he’d even put some drop tiles in the ceiling to make it look more like a regular room. There was even talk about getting together some money to build him a private bathroom down there so he could have his own space.

Sometimes it felt like they just wanted to stick him down there and forget about him, but then whenever he did try to enjoy the peace and quiet, his mom was always coming to invade his space and remind him that she was happy to have him around. Even if he was fucked in the head, she was happy to have him back.

And if not her buzzing around his personal space, then it was Mikey. He, at least, could entertain himself when Gerard would rather draw in silence or try to sleep off his flu. Sometimes, Gerard would wake up from a fever dream to find his little brother sitting in the deflated beanbag chair in the middle of his room, headphones on and reading comic books or horror novels. Sometimes it felt like Mikey was babysitting him, other times it just felt nice to have the unobtrusive company.

“You know what’s really fucked up?”

“I was just about sleep,” Gerard groaned, pulling his pillow over his head as Mikey descended into his room. So much for unobtrusive…

“Well, I bought you some Nyquil like you told me, so sit up and take it. Shit’s expensive.”

Gerard groaned again, but forced himself to sit up. He tried to catch the bottle when Mikey tossed it to him, but it ended up tumbling onto the bed beside him. He fumbled around for the bottle, then peeled the plastic off the cap before struggling a good minute or two with the child-safe lid.

“You know what’s fucked up?” Mikey repeated.

“Me?”

“Other than you,” Mikey said. Gerard would’ve laughed just to humor him—show him he was in on the joke and okay with it—but he was really struggling with the stupid child-safe cap.

“You.”

“Other than me!”

“I don’t know then,” Gerard answered, finally getting the cap off the bottle and taking a swig of it without bothering to use the little plastic measuring cup it came with. A mouthful was probably too much, but if it knocked him the fuck out, he didn’t care.

Mikey began a rant about his college classes and how he’d finally gotten his schedule how he wanted it for the new semester only to find out that one of the classes he needed was being dropped unexpectedly due to “scheduling issues.” It was going to force him to take an extra semester just to get all of his required classes now, he complained. It was going to force him to waste money on a random class he didn’t want or need to take, just to be at full-time.

Gerard let Mikey vent, propping himself up against the headboard with his pillows behind his back and neck. He wanted to sleep, but he liked these moments where they just talked like normal—moments where nothing was forced and he wasn’t being tiptoed around. Mikey seemed to be the only one who felt comfortable around him. His parents sometimes did, but they would give each other cautious looks if a conversation took a turn or if a movie on TV started showing more graphic content. They were afraid to set him off, but Mikey wasn’t.

Mikey was just himself and let Gerard be himself.

It was better this time around. It was easier.

Gerard wished things hadn’t gone the way they had out on the streets and with Bert, but he was glad it had at least gotten him back in touch with his own humanity. He could think for himself now. He could form opinions and share them. He could be around someone worked up and angry without feeling like he had to diffuse the situation or suffer the consequences. Mikey could tantrum about his shitty college for hours and could even throw comic books around if he wanted and Gerard could just sit and watch without feeling any compulsion to try to make him better—without fearing that the rage was going to be directed at him.

And knowing, of course, that if something did get directed his way that he could hold his own in a fight if he had to.

“We could try setting the school on fire,” Gerard offered, yawning and slumping further and further down his headboard.

“Don’t even tempt me,” Mikey said.

“I could do it. Even if they caught me, it’s not like I’m going to jail.”

“Trust me. Psych wards are worse than jails. Don’t even joke about it. Dad hears and off you’ll go.”

Gerard made a hacking noise and settled back down to sleep. Mikey kept talking to him for a bit, then settled into his beanbag chair with a set of comics. It was easier with him there to drift off to sleep. Gerard would never say it out loud, would never try to make his little brother feel pressured to supervise him every time he fell asleep (or even more pressured if their parents were forcing him to babysit), but he was happier sleeping near someone else than he ever was sleeping alone. It wasn’t nearly as nice as sleeping side-by-side with Bert or Marcus or Frank, but it was okay. It felt safer. Warmer… It tethered him to the present at the time his mind was most tempted to race backwards to his worst memories. It was hard to forget where he was when he could hear Mikey sighing or turning pages or shifting around in his seat. Even if he would start having nightmares the second he was fully asleep, at least he could wake up knowing he wasn’t alone.

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey would never say he was glad Gerard had gone missing the second time. It wouldn’t be true even if he did. However, he couldn’t deny that he liked Gerard more this time. Gerard was more himself this time around. He could have conversations. He had emotions besides anger and fear and sadness.

He was struggling to overcome his flu, but he was somehow still more human than the first time they’d met back up. How being homeless and on the road getting beaten up by his loser rockstar boyfriend gave Gerard room to start recovery, Mikey didn’t know.

The Gerard he’d seen before couldn’t even hold a conversation with him let alone a stranger. How had he made it as far as he did? Out of pure necessity alone?

Maybe one day he’d get up the courage to ask for more details about what all Gerard did while he was on the run. For now, though, Mikey was content to sit in silence and speculate.

Over breakfast the morning after yet another failed interview with the detectives, Gerard was halfheartedly trying to sketch portraits of the monsters from his past. He would shade out another feature—a crease, a lip, a nose—then grimace and cast his pencil aside and pick at his food for a while. Then he would sigh and return to the sketches. He was flipping back and forth between the two portraits, not seeming to want to spend much time on either one.

Mikey couldn’t say he blamed him. It was cruel, what they were asking him to do. It was cruel of their parents to keep forcing Gerard to talk to the detectives. It was so clear that he wasn’t ready to relive all of that shit. Yeah, it was important that the men responsible faced justice, but Frank had already given up the information on where that auction place had been—that shady ass bar. Frank’s info alone should have been enough to bring it all crashing down, but it wasn’t. No arrests had been made. The bar was still there…

Mikey had driven past it once before, one drunken night while Gerard was gone. He just wanted to see it… Part of him wanted to park in the lot among the other cars and go in there—make a scene. Maybe set it on fire… Maybe drive his car right through the front doors and smash the place to bits.

It was probably for the best that he didn’t. Frank had mentioned seeing fancy cars in the parking lot when he’d been there, but when Mikey drove past, there was hardly anything nicer than a Cadillac. With his luck, the bar would have only hosted the depraved auctions once a year and he would have killed a bunch of innocent people who had no idea what the business got up to.

“Guy has a fat neck,” Mikey said as Gerard once again set his pencil aside.

“Yeah...”

“Gross.”

“Yeah.”

“Which one is he?” Mikey asked.

“Trainer…” Gerard took in a sharp breath and squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t want to remember all this shit. I don’t care… I don’t care if they never get caught. I don’t care.”

“You don’t have to talk to them if they don’t want you. You gave them the names you knew. If they can’t even identify a guy with a first and last name, then this isn’t gonna help them either.”

Yeah, maybe he was supposed to encourage Gerard to push through his suffering to help law enforcement, but he didn’t see the point. Why push him so hard now? Who was to say he wouldn’t bolt again as soon as his flu was gone, just from the pressure alone?

“The guy keeps treating me like he thinks I’m making it all up. I just…” Gerard sighed and closed his sketch book, then shoved it an arm’s length away across the table. “I just want to shut them up. I wouldn’t even testify if they caught ‘em. I wouldn’t say a word. I’d probably say they got the wrong guy…” He looked so forlorn. “I only want them to find Master so they can get Marcus…but whose to say he isn’t already dead? I don’t see why he wouldn’t be. I don’t know why I bother acting like it’s all some fuckin’ fairytale.”

“I don’t think you’re acting like anything is fairytale.”

Gerard just shook his head and grabbed for his cup of coffee.

“Really. I mean, you told me before that he’d had Marcus and that other dude since before you were there. It seems likely to me that they’d still be there.”

“Yeah, but he’s killed so many others. I’m the only one...” Gerard choked on his coffee, grimacing against some memory. “I’m the only one he sold, Mikey. He killed the rest. And whose to say he doesn’t have friends on the inside? I’m sure he does. I’m sure if he gets word I’m out here talking then...then all of them are dead. Doesn’t matter what I do. They’re dead. They might as well be dead...”

Gerard sat covering his eyes for a long time, not crying and hardly breathing.

“Can I really just quit talking to the cops?” He asked, not moving his hands away from his face.

“Yeah. I mean, Mom and Dad are gonna pitch a fit, but you don’t have to talk to them if you don’t want to. I’d rather you just focus on getting over this fuckin’ flu before you give it to me, to be honest.”

Gerard gave a small huff of a laugh, then lowered his head to the table, crossing his arms in front of him to form a pillow.

“I’d rather just leave it alone and pretend it didn’t happen.”

“We’ll have to come up with a cover story then. Maybe you spent all that time in a superhero training camp.”

“More like vampire training camp. Fucking hate the sun…”

“So you turned into a vampire and went on the run because you were afraid you might drink our blood.”

“Yeah, I like that version better,” Gerard said. He stayed there with his head down for a while longer, then pulled himself up and reached for his sketchbook again. He skipped several pages past the portraits he’d been working on and began drawing out comic book panels, finishing two or three pages before going back to the first one and beginning to fill them in. Then, out of the blue, he asked, “Do you think Bert would answer if I called?”

“Why would you wanna call him? Didn’t he beat you up?”

“He hit me a couple times, but I wouldn’t call that a beating…”

“I would...”

“Well, whatever. I didn’t ask your opinion on that.”

“I’d rather you try making up with Frank again than wasting time on that creep.”

“You never even met Bert.”

“Are you already regretting leaving him?” Mikey asked. He wasn’t surprised that the only answer Gerard gave was to shrug. “Look, from what you’ve told me, he didn’t give a shit about you.”

“He did for a while… I fucked it up. It’s what I’m good at doing, I guess.” He was still filling in his panels as he complained about losing his relationship with Bert—as if he weren’t the one who walked off.

“Still doesn’t give him a right to hit you.”

“He was drunk. He was high—it wasn’t his fault.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you were there with a gun to his head making him drink and do drugs.”

Gerard looked at him then, a strange expression on his face. “You don’t know that.”

“Where would you get a gun?” Mikey scoffed.

Gerard just kept looking at him, something in his expression raising the hairs on the back of Mikey’s neck.

“Do you have a gun?”

Gerard finally looked away and shook his head. For some reason, that didn’t feel convincing but Mikey didn’t push it. He would never forget how violently his brother had acted when he’d been confronted and pressured at Frank’s apartment that one night. Gerard snapped—he’d seemed completely blinded by anger and pain and fear. Of all the people on this earth who shouldn’t have a gun, Gerard was one of them.

“I need a cool vampire name…” Gerard mumbled, scribbling in some shading and then setting down his pencil.

He and Mikey talked nonsense for a while longer, but Mikey could tell by the look in Gerard’s eyes that he wasn’t really present in the conversation. He was gone somewhere else—either with his Masters or with Bert or with Frank.

Chapter 10: Starting Over Fresh

He wasn’t worth shit, his Trainer had told him. He wasn’t worth a damned thing. No one was missing him. No one was looking for him. No one wanted him to come home…

For the longest time, those thoughts had just been truth. To Gerard, nothing else could possibly have made sense.

Who would ever want someone like him? Something like him?

It was hard to move past those thoughts. It was hard to begin seeing his own worth, to build even the smallest sense of self-worth. Being with Frank had kept him in a sort of protective limbo. He could just recycle old thoughts and behaviors and get away with it. Frank wasn’t one to call him out on his bullshit like Bert was.

No one wanted to admit it, but Gerard did more healing on the streets than he ever could have staying with them or with Frank back then.

Out there, Gerard saw the real trash of society—the real scum. Maybe Gerard was a second-class citizen, lesser than men like Master and Trainer and Frank, lesser than his own family. Maybe all that was true, but he wasn’t a piece of shit like the junkies and wannabe gangsters he met on the streets of New York. He dabbled with the substances, sure, but he held on to himself enough to not completely lose his way. Maybe he was only one step away from being the same sort of person he scorned, but at least he could say to himself that he wasn’t that pathetic. And if he wasn’t that pathetic, then that must mean he wasn’t complete trash. He wasn’t entirely worthless…

Yeah, Gerard knew he had his issues and that those issues kept him from ever really being one with the people he loved. Even then, he would see more and more people and situations that showed him just how different he was from the ones around him. Bert was talented and beautiful and warm—but he just had to keep sticking that shit up his nose and going off on violent tangents about his ex who couldn’t move on from. He was weak…

It made Gerard resent him more than anything else that he could’ve done.

Slaves couldn’t show weakness like that. Gerard had and it made him the lowest of the low—so worthless that his established and powerful Master had been willing to sell him off to a nobody, because a nobody was the only one willing to pay out for him. Gerard showed weakness to Frank and it ruined everything.

Gerard learned to lock that weakness away. Marcus and Adam and the others, all of them had learned long ago to lock that weakness away for good. You couldn’t dwell on the past. You couldn’t cry and scream and beg for things to go back to how they were before. The more Bert drank and smoked and snorted, the more he pissed and moaned about the things he had before…

He couldn’t move on.

Sure, Gerard felt those things, but he wasn’t about to dwell on them or make them someone else’s problem. He missed being safe and secure in his Master’s nice house, not knowing any better. He missed being shielded and warm in Frank’s arms. He missed writing lyrics and singing songs with Bert. But he wasn’t about to go crying to anyone about that.

He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t pathetic.

He was better than that. He was worth more than that.

That was something he never would have realized if he’d just stayed with Frank.

It was also something he probably wouldn’t have accepted or believed if it had been told to him by his family or by this shrink who was trying to get him to open up even though he’d just met her a week ago and this was only his second time seeing her since.

Yes, Gerard now had a team of people committed to invading his privacy. He had a psychiatrist, a therapist, a case worker, a physician, an annoying detective, a tutor even! He was surprised he didn’t have a fuckin’ Catholic Priest lined up to perform an exorcism on him, too, all in the name of acclimating him to “daily life.”

Like he hadn’t been acclimating to daily life while out on the road with Bert…

Apparently, no one thought that experience counted for much, even if Gerard felt like it was learning by immersion. What better way to cope with reality than to jump in feet first? Apparently, doing drugs and touring the country wasn’t reality, though. Reality, it seemed, was getting an education and getting a cushy little office job somewhere being a good little cog in the machine.

“You seem frustrated,” his therapist said.

Gerard shrugged and kept his eyes on his sketchbook where he was working on his vampire comic.

“Is there anything you’d like to discuss today?”

“Not really,” Gerard answered. He wasn’t going to sit here and relive all his nightmares for her amusement. It wasn’t like their discussions were even really confidential. Why the fuck would he tell her shit? Mikey had given him the heads up that his parents were wanting to have him deemed “at risk” or incompetent so they could get legal guardianship over him again. That way they could do whatever they wanted to him and he wouldn’t have a say. If he acted up in any way they didn’t like, they could shove him in the psych ward and wash their hands of him.

Gerard wasn’t going to give them so much as a word they could twist around to use against him. He wasn’t some poor, helpless idiot who couldn’t take care of himself. He could cook, he could clean, he had hobbies, he could read people… Yeah, he didn’t even have a high school education, but he wasn’t dumb. Who needed to pass fuckin’ Algebra or Geometry to get ahead in life anyway? He was an art kid. He’d always been an art kid. Math wasn’t going to help his drawing any and he wasn’t about to get himself worked up and frustrated trying to get good grades all over again.

Shit was a waste of time…

“You’ve been working on your art?” His therapist asked.

“Yeah. I’m making a comic for Mikey.”

“What’s it about?”

“Vampires.”

“Do you like that kind of fiction? Darker stories?”

“I guess. It’s not like that’s anything new. I always liked horror movies and Bram Stoker… H. P. Lovecraft. Edgar Allen Poe...”

“Do you enjoy reading?” He was surprised she didn’t seem shocked he could read.

“Not as much as writing.”

“What kind of writing do you do?”

“Well, I’m writing a comic book right now. So...”

His therapist hummed and jotted something down. “Do you usually work on one project at a time or do you work on several at once?”

“Depends.” Did it matter? He was doing his best to bite back his irritated comments, knowing that appearing ‘uncooperative’ could just as likely get him forced into a legal guardianship if someone decided it was a personality disorder.

“Does your comic book have a title?”

Gerard took a deep breath, trying to keep himself from saying anything he shouldn’t. She didn’t give a fuck about his comic and he wasn’t about to have her twisting his art around as a way of sticking a label on him.

“I know sometimes the idea comes first and the title comes later.”

“Yeah. I didn’t get there yet.”

The therapist nodded but didn’t say anything else for a moment, allowing Gerard to sketch away in peace. A while later, she tried picking his brain to see where he got his inspiration, how he came up with his characters, and all that bullshit. It seemed she didn’t have a creative bone in her body and Gerard didn’t feel up to discussing it with someone who didn’t understand art or the cosmic universe behind his head that gave and took inspiration at will. He had an idea, a motivation, for this little vampire story right now and he was going to work on it as the threads of inspiration were reeled to him, and when those threads went too tight to weave or snapped or ran their course, he would stop. It was simple as that…

“Have things been going alright at home?”

“I guess. Mikey’s been buying me Nyquil so I can actually get some sleep with this shit going on,” Gerard said, gesturing to his face. His flu had finally settled down into a mild cold. He slept in a nest of tissues and spent most of his days hacking up balls of phlegm, but it was better than feeling like he was immersed in a bucket of ice and waking up in bed sheets soaked with sweat.

“You’ve been getting Nyquil?”

“Yeah. Everyone seems to think I’ll turn it into a fuckin’ drink mixer, but I really just want to be able to fucking sleep.”

“It would be very frustrating to be sick and have someone tell you they don’t trust you to take your medication.”

“You think?” Gerard snapped, clicking his tongue.

“Do you feel that—”

“That I’m being punished for what I got up to when I was fifteen? Yeah. I do, actually.”

“Would you have abused Nyquil when you were a teenager?”

“Probably not. Shit doesn’t exactly taste good… Look, all I’m saying is if I wanted to get high, I wouldn’t fuckin’ need Nyquil. If I were fine, if I weren’t coughing up my lungs or blowing my fuckin’ brains out through my nose all goddamned day, and I was asking for Nyquil or Benadryl, then yeah—maybe then you can start getting suspicious. Maybe then you could ‘bring my intentions into question.’ But I feel like literal dog shit and it’s obvious. No one’s faking this shit. If I wanted to go get high, I wouldn’t do it with Nyquil. I’m not a fuckin’ preteen.”

“I see…”

“And anyway, I hear they have Dayquil now? Maybe get me the kind that doesn’t knock you out if they’re that worried about it. I just want to stop drowning in my own fucking snot.”

“Do you feel like your needs aren’t being met at home?”

“Yes, actually. I’ve been sick, like, two months and the only thing anyone wants to give me is Tylenol. Like what the hell is that supposed to do? Yeah, I did drugs. I did drugs a lot as a kid. I did drugs a lot on the road. But I’m not on them right now. And if I was I wouldn’t be doing fuckin’ Nyquil!”

“I can see that—”

“And of course when I tell my parents that, they get all defensive. ‘Oh, that’s not what we think.’ No? Then why is Mikey the only one willing to buy me the drugs that actually fucking work? If that’s not what it’s about? You can apparently afford to build a new bathroom for my room, but Nyquil is over budget? What a fuckin’ joke… Just say it to my face. Don’t fuckin’ lie to me about it.”

“Would this be something you would feel comfortable discussing with your parents? Maybe in a mediated setting?”

“It wouldn’t change anything.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I’m not an idiot. I’d say what I know, and they’d come in with all the excuses and everyone would just try to convince me of why they’re right to do what they do. So what’s the fucking point? Once I’m over this fucking bug it won’t matter anymore anyway...”

His therapist wrote something long down on her notepad, giving Gerard some time to fix the face of the vampire that he’d messed up while in the midst of his irritated rant.

“Would you say you feel that you’re capable of meeting your own needs?”

“Probably.”

“Any particular areas that you feel stand out?”

“I can cook… I can clean. I know when I need medicine… I’m fuckin’ toilet trained. Like, what do you want me to say?”

“Are there areas that you think might be lacking?”

“What, like not having a job?” Gerard scoffed. His mind raced back to Bert demanding out of the blue that Gerard find somewhere to work for the few short weeks they were home in Salt Lake City, and how intimidating and uncomfortable that request had been. A job? He didn’t exactly want a job. Maybe he missed that part of societal indoctrination when he was yanked out of school… It just didn’t appeal to him.

All Gerard really wanted was to keep house and work on art—the things he’d had with his Master. What he could do without were the beatings and abuse that came with it, the not knowing whether or not he was going to get affection or torture when his Master came into the room.

“Having steady employment can seem, to some, like an essential part of having their independence.”

Get a job or end up in a guardianship. Is that what they were all planning? Go to work and help pay the bills or end up having to ask permission to buy a cup of coffee? No thanks. Gerard would rather work the fucking streets at that point. He wasn’t going to be tied to a desk, sucking his boss’ dick in exchange for a paycheck. That wasn’t freedom. That was slavery all over again, just wrapped up in a different package. Obey or lose everything. Obey or we’re taking this paycheck and you can just starve. Or worse—follow every rule and lose the paycheck anyway because the company tanked or they wanted to cut down some departments.

No. No, Gerard wasn’t going to risk that. And he wasn’t going to go stocking shelves or take abuse at a cash register. No… No, all of that sounded miserable. He would rather be back at home with his Master than that…

“Others may be happy to settle down into a marriage or partnership and assume the care-taking responsibilities for the home.”

“Tell that to my parents and they’ll shit bricks,” Gerard muttered. “It’s not like all I want in life is to be a fucking housewife. I just don’t see the point of getting a job I hate just for the sake of having one. I can make it on my own. I did for a whole fucking year. Yeah, it wasn’t pretty, but I did it. I could draw whenever I wanted. I could eat when I wanted… I definitely didn’t have to ask my boss permission to take a piss. I’m my own boss.”

“Perhaps that could be a better route for you, Gerard. Self-employment is a rapidly growing trend in the job market these days. If you enjoy making art, you could make your own shop online and sell prints or take commissions. There lots of avenues you could explore with your kind of talent.”

For the first time, the woman had Gerard completely speechless. On one hand, he wanted to immediately snap that he didn’t make art for profit, On the other, though, it was an idea he just hadn’t ever thought of before. He looked from his therapist down to the page of his unfinished comic. Would anybody want to pay cash for it? Maybe… Maybe not this one, but a different piece.

He would ask Mikey about it. Mikey knew how things in this world worked better than Gerard did, and would say more than his parents would. They’d tell him not to waste time and effort on art, just like they did before. Why couldn’t he just put his “stupid drawings” away and pay attention in math class for once? Gerard wasn’t going to be a fucking accountant. He didn’t need Algebra. It frustrated him and he just wanted to draw… He just wanted to make art for people like him who understood how he felt—or to express how he felt on the inside to the people who just couldn’t comprehend it by themselves.

“As long as I don’t end up selling portraits at the fair,” Gerard mumbled.

“You could submit some of your pieces to the fair. Sometimes the prizes come with cash awards.”

Okay, Gerard thought. Okay. Maybe this lady wasn’t going to be so bad.

( ) ( ) ( )

Mikey had known for a while that Gerard could benefit from some intense therapy, but at the same time he’d also been extremely aware that his brother wasn’t about to cooperate with anything like that. He wouldn’t even open up to detectives about his experience, and now he had a therapist, as psychiatrist, and a case worker all bothering him about the memories he’d rather forget. Mikey felt he could understand that.

He’d seen Gerard in those vulnerable states. He was so...broken inside. So damaged. Of course he didn’t want to recall how he’d gotten that way. Their parents seemed to think it was just something Gerard needed to cry out with the professionals before logically explaining it all to the cops, but it wasn’t going to work that way. Gerard didn’t want to participate in any of this.

He’d had two therapy sessions and two psychiatry meetings. The first psychiatrist was a fail, and the second had resulted in Gerard getting two prescription medications for anxiety and depression. One was a mood stabilizer, the other was a tranquilizer to help calm him down quickly if he started to swing one way or another when he was having a fit.

So far, though, it was too early to tell if the meds were going to make any difference. At least Gerard was taking the daily one as prescribed, even if he was washing it down with Nyquil.

His flu had mostly cleared up, and Mikey made sure to bring Gerard different meds based on whatever symptoms seemed to be the worst. Recently, he’d made the switch to Mucinex and seemed content with that during the day.

He was getting more energy, which unfortunately had the adverse side-effect of making him and their father argue on an almost daily basis. They stayed pretty mild which was at least one plus, but Mikey knew already that it was going to get worse and worse the longer it went on.

They’d never gotten along, and they sure as shit weren’t going to start now. Especially not since Gerard wasn’t about to alter his personality to fit in with his parents.

“Oh, ‘we just want what’s best for you,’” Gerard mocked, scribbling away angrily in his sketchbook while Mikey clicked around on his laptop beside him. They were sitting together in the living room, Mikey using the coffee table as makeshift desk. “Why does everyone on this fucking planet think that it’s a matter of life or death if I learn fucking Algebra?”

“Just another level in the game of life,” Mikey said.

“Well it’s bullshit and I want the magic flute from Mario to skip it.”

Gerard was supposed to be getting set up for some equivalency courses so he could get his GED and their parents were, as Gerard described, treating it as if it were a matter of life and death. He’d hardly been home eight weeks and they pushing education down his throat. Maybe they just wanted to keep him busy or make him appear “productive.” Either way, all they were doing was pissing him off and giving him something to rebel against.

And though they were pressuring Mikey to get Gerard to go along with it, Mikey was instead helping his brother to set up a few online profiles where he could share his art. Gerard wasn’t going to focus on schoolwork if he didn’t see the point. Gerard wanted to do his artwork, and artwork didn’t need math and science classes. It didn’t need structured reading courses when Gerard already liked reading and writing for himself. Yeah, education was important, but for Gerard it wasn’t as big of a deal as they were making it out to be.

If he wanted to focus on his art, Mikey felt that the most important thing for him to do was art. It made him happy. Wasn’t that all they wanted? To see him healing and happy?

“Did you have a title for this yet?” Mikey asked, gesturing to the draft pages of the comic that Gerard had completed which they’d scanned in the night before.

“Uh…”

“If not, that’s cool. We could call it, like, Project One for now or something.”

“No. I was thinking something like...Vampires Will Never Hurt You.”

“That’s sick,” Mikey answered, nodding as he typed in the title. On the web page, it showed up as its own little gallery. Vampires Will Never Hurt You. Inside were each of the pages. Vol. 1 Ch. 1 Pg. 1 all the way through page 10.

Every now and then Gerard would set his sketchbook aside and lean over Mikey’s shoulder to see the progress he was making on the profiles. He really seemed excited about them—computers seeming to be an endless source of fascination for him in general. Televisions and modern media he understood, but handling newer tech seemed to blow his mind. He saw a lot of computers and equipment while out on the road with Bert, but it wasn’t like he was allowed to touch any of it. He played Xbox with Frank sometimes, but exploring the world wide web—to Gerard anyway—was like holding a piece of otherworldly, alien technology in his hands.

He picked out a character from the comic to use as his profile picture across both sites, and seemed happy with his new digital identity, even if the pages were too new to have any traffic or views.

“Do they have sites like this for writing, too?” Gerard asked.

“Yeah. You want me to set one up?” Mikey asked. He would make profiles all day if it kept Gerard in good spirits.

“Uh… Not right now. I don’t have a lot I want to share. That’s cool though. That’s really fuckin’ cool.”

Mikey scooted over so Gerard could scroll through the pages he’d set up for him, watching with satisfaction as Gerard got more and more excited.

“This looks so awesome. I feel like I need to write about twenty more pages.”

“Well, don’t rush anything. If you rush it, it’ll just look like shit.”

“Got that right...” Gerard went back to his sketchbook and resumed working on the panel he’d left unfinished. “I need some new stuff if we’re going to make this into an actual thing. I bet I could get Mom to buy me some.”

“She’ll want to see you finish one of your packets first,” Mikey said.

“I’d rather die. I’ll just tell her I won’t eat if I can’t draw right. That’ll probably work.”

“Work to get you stuck in a guardianship… I wouldn’t pull things like that right now.”

“Fine… I just can’t get my brain to focus on those stupid things. They’re fucking dumb. It’s a waste of time. Why would I want to concentrate on something that’s just wasting my effort and time?”

“Because it could get Mom to buy you the stuff you want? Think of it like a bartering system or something.”

“Bartering would be giving her a portrait in exchange for some decent pens. Making me do those stupid packets is fucking blackmail.”

Mikey chuckled at him. It was pointless to argue, just as it had always been. Gerard was going to do what Gerard wanted unless something scared him or forced him into to doing something else.

“I’m just going to ask… And if she says no then I’ll figure something else out.”

“I spent all my money on your Nyquil, so don’t look at me.”

“You’ve done enough. I don’t expect you to buy my shit, too.” Gerard shook his head like the idea repulsed him. “All I’m saying is if they want to push this shit on me, then they can at least get me some art supplies to make up for it. Bert even bought art stuff.”

“I bet he did,” Mikey answered.

“Fuck off,” Gerard said, laughing a little. “He was nice when he wanted to be.”

“I bet he was.”

“Fuck you, man.” Gerard was smiling, genuinely looking happy as he worked on his comic.

“We could try telling Mom it’s like an art therapy thing… That might work.”

Gerard perked up at that.

“She’s not good at finding symbolism and stuff. Let’s just tell her your comic or something is your way of processing your trauma or something and she’ll go along with it.”

“I mean, it’s kind of about Bert,” Gerard said, looking down at his page and screwing up his mouth. “Kind of. Not a lot...”

“In that case, draw me in there kicking him in the nuts.”

“I’ll make it a bonus chapter,” Gerard said.

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“I’ll make it a full-page action scene.”

“Good. I’ll have it blown up and make it a poster and hang it in my room.” After that, Mikey went to brew a fresh pot of coffee, leaving Gerard to draw. For a while, it felt just like old times. Exactly like old times.

He just wished it could stay that way.

Notes:

If I'mma be completely honest, I miss Gerbert. I might have to rewrite all of the Gerbert sequences and make them longer some day just to get it out of my system. I could do it more justice. Don't worry. Frank will be back soon.

Chapter 11: Never Let You Go

Frank didn’t know what to expect when a new detective called to set up an appointment to speak with him about Gerard. The first thing he’d asked was if Gerard had gone missing again. After all, what more could they want from him? He’d told them everything he knew. He’d shown them the auction house—sat in the back of their cruiser and guided them right past it and pointed it out.

It was the nagging thought of “what more could they want” that made Frank agree to meet with the woman who’d called, even though he expected another rundown of the same old shit.

Perhaps subconsciously, perhaps fully aware, Frank dressed in his darkest clothes—his thickest wool coat even though it wasn’t cold. He didn’t feel like being pressured and pushed around by the cops again. He’d admitted his mistakes. He’d admitted fault where it was due.

He should have gone to the cops that very first night. And if not that night, then the next. He’d gotten caught up in it. He’d gotten himself tangled in Gerard’s little world and all sense of logic and reason had gone flying out the window.

Every time he spoke the detectives on Gerard’s case, he was reminded that he was “damned lucky” he wasn’t being charged for his crimes. He was “damned lucky” he wasn’t behind bars, having this interview in handcuffs.

Yeah. He’d fucked up. But he’d paid the price for it, too.

So what did they want to rub his nose in this time?

At the police station (notably a different, and much larger one than he’d gone to before) Frank was almost immediately ushered into a carpeted room with an over-stuffed sofa, love seat, and arm chair. It looked like a bland, mismatched living room—a break room—more than it did an interrogation room. Frank chose to sit on the sofa, leaning back and propping his ankle up on his knee as he settled in to wait.

Of all the times he’d been interviewed and questioned, they’d left him to stew in his thoughts for a fucking eternity before giving him the time of day. This time he hoped it would be a little bit quicker given that he’d figured out their games. He wasn’t going to sit there and fidget and squirm. He wasn’t going to pace around to try staying awake. He wasn’t going to anxiously check his phone and text anyone he thought might answer just to distract himself.

No. This time, Frank sat with his arms crossed and watched the door...waiting.

Perhaps his plan worked a little better than he’d expected, or maybe this station just operated differently. Not even five minutes of him sitting down in the room, the door swung open and a woman with short, gray hair popped her head in. She introduced herself, apologized for making him wait, and then told him she would be with him in just another minute because her bladder was about to burst. After she walked away, a man came to the door and asked if Frank wanted coffee or water or anything to eat.

He said yes to the coffee and a short time later the first woman reappeared with two paper cups in her hands and a binder stuffed with notepads and folders under her arm.

“Sorry about that. It’s a longer drive than I thought.” She handed Frank one of the cups of coffee, then shook hands with him before seating herself in the overstuffed chair across from the sofa. “Thank you again for meeting with me on such short notice. As I mentioned before, my name is Susan Neilson. I’m a criminal investigator with the FBI—”

Frank could feel the blood drain from his face, his body going involuntarily limp at the realization. She’d never said FBI before. She said she was an investigator—not that she was with the fucking feds.

“Before you freak out and start demanding an attorney, you are not under arrest. You’re free to leave at any time. The door is not locked. Right now, you are a witness to a crime. Okay? Not the perpetrator—not the one I’m trying to nail to the wall. Alright?”

“I already told the other cop everything I know. I have nothing else, alright? I don’t know anything else. I don’t even talk to Gerard anymore, okay? We don’t talk. We don’t see each other. I don’t know what else you want from me.” Frank hated the way his insides felt like they were writhing. Her words didn’t reassure him and he still felt like he was the one under the microscope. Only an idiot would believe he wasn’t.

“I can appreciate how frustrating it is to go over seemingly the same details again and again. I have reviewed the files from Detective Morse, but I wanted to go over them one more time and then ask some additional questions. Is that alright?”

Frank shrugged, and shook his head. What choice did he have?

So, once again, he told his tale from start to finish—from winning the lottery ticket to driving to New York, to going into that awful place and seeing all those awful things. Again, he relived his first sight of Gerard, how pitiful and sad he’d looked on that stage, begging for his Master not to sell him off. He regurgitated it all up to the point that Gerard robbed him and vanished into the night, only to send him post cards from around the country as he traveled with his lover Bert.

He hated reliving it. He hated seeing those images flashing bright and bolder behind his eyes.

Neilson made him go over the events in the auction house three or four more times, nitpicking little details about the faces he’d seen, the names he’d heard. How many people did he see getting sold? What gender? What ages? Were there any women selling these slaves? How many children had he seen.

“I was kind of checked out for most of it, if I’m being honest. Like, I didn’t want to see that shit. I was trying to figure out a way to get the hell out of there. I didn’t want to look.”

“Can’t say I’d blame you for that. It takes a lot of strength to keep composure in a situation like that. When we have agents going under cover, they have to go through extensive training to make sure they don’t crack in moments like that. It’s very impressive that you managed to make it out of there alive.”

“Just give them your money. That’s all they want,” Frank said, trying to focus on a speck of paint that was hardened on the top of the carpet fibers at his feet—trying hard not to think about that place any more.

“See, that’s what catches my attention the most with this...situation, we’ll call it. The night you went to the auction, what you thought was a club—a bar—you were able to just walk in?”

“I kind of argued with the bouncer for a second, but basically. Yeah.”

“Do you know what you said when you argued?”

“I don’t remember exactly. No.”

“Any part of it. Did you tell him he was in your way and that you were looking for a drink? Did you tell him, you know, ‘fuck off, I’ve got money to burn’?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember,” Frank said, squirming to get comfortable in his stiff, uncomfortable seat. “I think I just told him I had money to spend, or asked what the cover charge was. I don’t remember exactly. I kind of just acted like he was getting between me and where I wanted to go.”

“See, the reason I ask you that is these people...these ‘sellers,’ they form a sort of underground network. For them to pop up en mass at one place, at the one time, and pull off something like this right under our noses is… It’s risky. Right?”

“Yeah,” Frank said, waiting to hear how this woman thought it all actually went down. The detectives who’d drilled him before insisted that none of it added up and insisted he must be lying. Why would she be any different?

“Usually we’d see invitation cards or maybe even code words in order to show that you’re meant to be there—so things like what happened with you and Gerard couldn’t ever happen.”

“Well, if their code word was “money to spend” then I guess they’re not as sophisticated as they think.”

“Or they had the wrong man for the job.”

“I don’t know,” Frank said. “I argued with him and he let me in. He kept his eye on me, but—like I said—I just played it cool, acted like I wasn’t seeing the shit I was seeing. Then once I started...once I bid on Gerard, it was like they just accepted me as one of them. I played the game so...”

She went over it again, then opened the binder she’d brought in and took out a purple folder that was stuffed with pages.

“If you saw any of these men, do you think you would recognize them?” She asked.

“Probably,” Frank said, his eyes locking on the folder as Neilson leaned forward and offered it to him.

“We’ve collected these profiles from several underground networks. Each one has its own...specialty, I guess we’ll call it. All of them circle back to a server we recently gained access to that has been hosting forums and pages for these individuals to share their content with one another. I want you to look through this and tell me if you recognize any of the men.”

At first, it felt like a wasted effort. He went through dozens of pages just shaking his head. Mug shots, head shots, all these pictures of men he’d never seen before in his life. Then, toward the end of the packet, his eyes fell on Gerard’s former Master.

“This is him. This is the guy. This is Les,” Frank said, tapping the photo.

“Who is Les?” Neilson asked.

“He’s the one who sold Gerard to me. I only remember hearing the name Les. That’s all I know. They made it out like he was some kind of big shot, too. It was apparently a big deal that Gerard was from his ‘private collection.’ I remember them saying that. Like that was a really big deal.”

“Did they say what it meant, that Gerard was part of his private collection?”

“Something about how long he’d had him or that he didn’t share him. I don’t really know. I was just trying to keep my cool that whole time. Something I said had them freaking out. I tried to say that I was buying him to make movies and they didn’t like it. It was like… It was like that guy didn’t want him any more, but he was worried that something bad would happen to him, or he’d be tainted. That part always fucked with me. Why are you acting like you give a shit if you’re putting him through this? Gerard was a wreck. I mean, Gerard would’ve done anything to just go back home with Les. And if cared so much about what his buyer was going to do with him, then why sell him in the first place? I don’t get it.”

“I may have an answer for that, but if you could finish looking over the photos first...”

And so Frank went back to the book, pointing out five more faces he recognized in the last few pages. Once he’d finished describing where he’d seen them and what the role had been that night, Neilson took her folder back and pulled another out of her binder. This one, she did not hand over right away. Rather, she took a drink of her coffee and let out a heavy sigh.

“As I mentioned, through our investigation we have gained access to a private server where these individuals have been communicating. The man you identified as Les is a very, very high-tier member of that community. He has what they call a Platinum Tier Membership and he works as a moderator for that server.”

“So have you caught him? Have you figured out where he is?”

“We have an idea, but I can’t share any specifics on that at this time.” She tapped the folder in her lap and took another sip of her coffee. “We uncovered a substantial amount of content that he’s produced from what seems to be closed-circuit surveillance recordings from inside his home, inside his bedrooms, his bathrooms, his basement...”

Frank felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach, chilling him to the core as if it were a ball of ice.

“These videos from within his home are all cataloged as volumes of his Private Collection.”

“They’re of Gerard,” Frank breathed.

“And several others.”

How sick… How sick.

“There has been quite an uproar that no content from you has been uploaded,” Neilson said. “Everyone at the auction that night had come from that server. Everyone on that server has to be invited by an active member, and has to provide a certain amount of content in order to get accepted and to keep that membership.”

He sold Gerard off thinking he’d still get to see him in videos uploaded on some sick fucking site… He sold Gerard off fully expecting to keep getting off on the sight of him in servitude to some other sick freak.

“One of the trends we noticed is that after an auction, a lot of what they call ‘Breaking News’ get shared. And I’m sure you can imagine what that entails.”

“How many others are in Les’ collection?” Frank asked, his mind caught in the horrible realization. It was one thing to know Gerard was tortured the way he had been, but knowing that all that pain and misery had been shared with thousands of others…maybe hundreds of thousands… For their own sick enjoyment, his misery…

“We’re not certain at this time. It does appear that he is more often a buyer than a seller, but as to how many he’s personally kept or transferred, we don’t know at this time.”

“Marcus?” Frank asked, thinking of that delicate, perfect sketch Gerard had in his little black book.

“Yes, we’re aware of Marcus.”

“Is he still in the collection or is he dead?”

“Off the top of my head, I’m not sure.”

“Well, if you’re going to talk to Gerard about it, you’ll want to be sure,” Frank said, letting out a heavy sigh. “He loves Marcus.”

God, Gerard… What was he going to do when he heard?

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard was annoyed to be back in another police station interrogation room, sitting on an uncomfortable loveseat with Mikey beside him and his parents on the sofa adjacent to them. While this room was more inviting than the grey, sterile cube he’d been meeting Detective Dickhead in, he didn’t like it much better. Gerard had been having a good morning, playing old Nintendo games with Mikey, when all of a sudden they were both being ushered to the car with little to no explanation about where they were going. Gerard had tried to say that he wasn’t going to be talking to any more cops, his dad harshly retorted that it “wasn’t up to him.”

After that, Gerard had settled into sulking. At least he’d had the forethought to grab his sketchbook so he would have something to stare at besides the blank walls. For once, his parents didn’t even try to scold him or tell him to put it away—not even when the woman detective came into the room to join them.

She brought coffee and a small bag of chips which Gerard immediately handed off to Mikey. Yeah, he was hungry, but he wasn’t going to get oil all over his hands and ruin the pages of his comic just to have something to eat.

While the woman explained who she was, apparently repeating it for Gerard’s parents who had already spoken with her on the phone to set this whole bullshit meeting up, Gerard kept his eyes trained on his page. Even when the woman addressed him directly, Gerard didn’t look up. He didn’t want to be here and he wasn’t going to act like he was just to appear polite. He’d been having a good day at home hanging out with his brother. He didn’t want that cut short to rehash his old living nightmare yet again for someone new.

“So, Gerard, if at any time you start to feel uncomfortable or overwhelmed, just know—”

“Am I under arrest or not?” Gerard cut in.

“No. You’re not,” the woman said.

“So we can leave right now then. Because I don’t want to be here. I didn’t sign up for this,” Gerard said, looking up at his parents who were scowling at him with disapproval.

“And that’s absolutely your right. If you don’t want to talk or you don’t want to hear what we have to say, that’s completely acceptable.”

“See? So we can leave. Can we go now?” Gerard snapped, not caring if he sounded like a petulant little kid. Everyone wanted him to just go back to normal like none of that shit ever happened, but at the first opportunity to force him to remember it, by God they dragged him through it with smiles on their fucking faces.

“Gerard...” His mother said, that disappointed look remaining on her face.

“What!? What do you want from me? I already told them everything I know! I did the stupid sketches they wanted me to do! What more do you want!? A fucking play by play? A reenactment? What?”

No one said anything, and the woman seemed content to let Gerard scream at his parents.

“And to bring Mikey here for it? What is wrong with you?” Gerard asked, shaking his head and refocusing on his sketchbook.

“I did ask to meet with your family simply for the purpose of updating everyone on the investigation,” the woman said. “If you would rather they step out of the room while we talk, that is acceptable. I understand this is uncomfortable for you.”

Uncomfortable? Try unbearable…

“I already told Dickhead everything. Why don’t you just go over all of it with him?”

“You told who?”

“Dickhead. Detective Whatever-The-Fuck. I already told him what I know. I’m not repeating myself anymore. I’m fucking sick of talking about it.”

“Ah. I see. Well, you may be relieved to hear that Detective Morse is no longer handling your case. You won’t have to have any contact with him again, and I hope that maybe we can form a better working relationship so I don’t end up being Investigator Horse’s Ass to you. What do you think?”

“I think...nice try,” Gerard muttered, closing his sketchbook after his lines had started to become shaky.

That was one good thing, he guessed. He hated that other cop. He hated how the man made him feel like a liar, like a suspect. He doubted this woman would be any better, but deep down he knew he didn’t have a choice. Not really. The more he resisted his parents and railed against them, the more likely he was to end up in a fucking guardianship where he couldn’t even step out of the house without permission—not that he really went out anyway.

“The reason I asked you here today isn’t to make you go over anything you’ve already talked to Detective Morse about. I read the files, I’ve watched the interviews, I’m up to speed. I don’t see any purpose in making you go over it all again for my benefit.”

“So what do you want from me?” Gerard asked, looking at the floor. He didn’t believe her. He didn’t trust her. They always said they wouldn’t make him relive it and then they dug their claws into any tiny detail or story that they though didn’t add up…

“I have an update on the investigation into—”

“So tell them about it. I don’t care,” Gerard said, gesturing to his parents. “It doesn’t matter to me.”

“You may not feel that it matters, Gerard, but it does. We need your help. Gerard, we need your help identifying some of the individuals—”

“I already told you what I know! I don’t know anything else! I can’t identify anyone! I don’t even know if the names I’ve heard are real or not. Les Holman! Les Holman—that’s all I know. That’s all I know.”

“If I showed you a photograph, could you identify him?”

“I already gave you people a sketch! Use that.”

The woman’s face remained blank as she stared into him—stared through him. Gerard just wanted to leave. He wanted to go home… He wanted to get on a bus and go to Utah and try to hide with Bert where none of this shit ever happened.

“If I showed you some pictures, could you help me to identify Marcus?”

“Marcus?” Gerard asked, his mouth running dry.

“Yes.”

“You… You found Marcus? Is he okay?” His skin prickled with goose flesh, his mind rushing back to the last time he’d ever seen Marcus—the other man avoiding looking at him as Master dragged him out of their home for good. Marcus got to stay…

“We can’t be sure without your help. Will you help us?”

“What do you mean? If you found him he would tell you… He—He’s dead isn’t he? It’s a fuckin’ body. I don’t want to see that shit!” Gerard snapped, horror tearing through him.

“It’s not that, Gerard. We don’t have any bodies. We aren’t investigating his death. We just need help identifying him from photos we have—to make sure he is who we think he is based on what you’ve told us in the past.”

“Then fucking...fucking show me then,” Gerard said, trying to avoid his parents’ gaze.

The woman opened the binder she’d brought with her and pulled out a folder. She held it in a way to prevent them from seeing anything inside of it, then pulled out two or three pages that she then extended to Gerard.

He stared at them a moment, then reached forward to take them—still fearing that it was going to be an autopsy photo or a crime scene photo of his only friend’s dead corpse.

But it wasn’t.

The images were a bit blurry, pixelated, like they were stills from a video. Each page had photos of Marcus—undeniably Marcus—at various ages, with his various hair-lengths and styles.

“Where did you get these?” Gerard asked, hands shaking as he flipped back and forth between each page, staring too long at Marcus’ face.

“Can you identify the individual in these pictures?” The woman asked.

“This is Marcus… It’s Marcus,” Gerard repeated, looking to Mikey, showing him the photos.

“What can you tell me about Marcus?”

“He’s… Is he dead?” Gerard asked again.

“I don’t have any reason to believe that is, or any proof that he isn’t. We don’t know. That’s what we’re trying to find out.” Gerard looked down at the photos again, trying to tell which one was the most recent, as if he’d be able to tell through the ink on the paper whether or not his friend was okay. “Would you like to speak in private about Marcus?”

The question was odd, but Gerard found himself nodding. He didn’t look up as his parents and brother were shown out of the room. The woman left with them, then returned with bottles of water, one of which she set on the little table beside the loveseat.

“From our phone call, your parents made it seem like you were more apt to speak with them present, but that’s not the case. Is it?” The woman said, settling back down into her seat.

“They’re just fucking nosy. Where did you get these?” Gerard asked, looking up at her.

“Before we get into that, could you look at some more pictures?”

“Where did you get these?” Gerard repeated, emphasizing each word. He wasn’t playing any more stupid games with these people. He was sick of it. All they did was torture him for every detail he knew and gave him nothing in return but nightmares.

There was a website, she told him, that the Masters all used. It was some private, secret website that only people given the link and given a special code could even access or find. No one could stumble across it or into on accident. They had to go looking and be told where to look. They had to give up new, thrilling, quality videos or photos in order to be given an account to use—like a fucked up job application. They had to share graphic, violent porn to apply to join, and had to keep sharing it and making it in order to stay.

Master used the website. Master was one the men who ran the website.

Every word she said felt like a knife being twisted in his guts, in his chest.

From her binder, she pulled out a folder that held images of the website’s bland homepage, its messaging boards, its picture and video galleries. She showed him the profile that they thought belonged to his Master—a profile that had been uploading thousands and thousands of photos and videos of the prisoners he kept in his house.

Some clips were free, some photos were free, and others were sold as complete films or even collections.

Gerard felt like he was going into shock the more and more she told.

Somewhere online, somewhere deep, deep down in some secret place, there were men buying and trading and selling pictures and videos of him.

The woman showed him a transcript of messages from one of the forums on the website that was organizing the meetup where Gerard had been sold. Almost a dozen men were excited to see one of Master’s slaves in person—in the flesh. Some begged to have Gerard sold by the hour, just so they could “get a taste.”

If he was so fuckin’ special, then why hadn’t anyone wanted him but Frank?

“Frank’s not one of them, right? He’s not… He’s not this guy?” Gerard asked, tapping at one of the messages.

“No. We have no evidence that Frank is or has ever been a user of this website. We have had agents watching him off and on for the past year or so and nothing he’s done has given any indicator that he is the sort of man who would be a part of this network.”

“Cause he doesn’t own anyone,” Gerard said.

“Because he doesn’t produce or even possess this sort of content,” the woman said, nodding.

The content, of course, being the videos of torture and abuse and death.

“There’s… There’s videos of me?” Gerard asked, staring down at the stack of pages.

“Yes, there are.”

“But… But when would he… I never saw any cameras. I cleaned all the time. I never saw anything in his house… I don’t understand,” Gerard whispered, looking from the awful pages to the pictures of Marcus he still had in his lap.

“Can you tell me if you recognize any of these places?” The woman asked, taking out another set of photos. These he was thankful had no disgusting words or mutilated people on them, but they were somehow still as unsettling.

Master’s bedroom, his bathroom, the bedroom Gerard shared with Marucs and Adam and whoever else Master brought home, their bathroom...his living room, the kitchen, the foyer, the hallway, guest rooms, the fucking basement. God, the fucking basement!

“I never saw cameras,” Gerard choked. He was fighting back tears, not wanting to fall apart—not wanting to look that weak. He should’ve expected it. He should’ve known. If he’d ever done a good job cleaning, he would’ve seen the cameras.

“It’s likely they were disguised very well or hidden in every day objects. Smoke detectors, maybe, for these angles,” the woman said, pointing to the photos that showed the full space of the rooms. “Maybe built into art pieces or light fixtures for these more...level shots.”

The shots of the beds and furniture… There were more than seven angles of the table in the basement.

The fucking table.

That fucking table here his life was ruined by the Bad Man.

“How much...how much of it is me?” Gerard asked, stomach churning.

“I’m not sure, Gerard.”

“But… But you’ve seen it?”

“I have reviewed hours of content. But, Gerard, it is to identify the people in the videos. Right now, you are one of two people we have identified from this house.”

“Who is the second?” Gerard asked. “Marcus?”

She again brought out more pictures, but these were all rows of portraits, three pictures across.

“Can you tell me if you recognize any of these people?”

Gerard wanted to ask her again who the second person was that they’d identified, but knew she would just pressure him to keep playing her game. Quietly, Gerard gave up the fight and did what she asked, wiping his nose on his sleeve despite having a wadded up tissue in his hand.

“Master… Les Holman. Lester, maybe. That’s me. Marcus. Adam… That’s Joshua,” Gerard said, eye twitching just at the sight of the irritating boy. Even now, even out, he still resented that boy. “Nick… I don’t remember. I don’t remember. I don’t know this one.” Nor did he recognize any of the face after until the last few pages. Friends of Master. Friends who had watched them while Master was away. Some he knew by first name, others he didn’t know at all. Then there were the men Gerard faintly remembered fucking him when he was strung out on drugs Master had slipped into his wine—the men who got to try him to see if they wanted to purchase him before the auction.

“There’s video of them?” Gerard asked. The woman only nodded. “With me?” Again, she nodded.

No wonder… No wonder he’d let them. He made money off it. He filmed it. He sold it…

Then, the very last photo, was the Bad Man.

“You know I recognize him,” Gerard hissed, his entire body starting to shake just at the sight of that evil man’s face. “Why are showing me him? You know I know him. I don’t—I don’t want to fucking look at him. I’m not looking at him!” Gerard lunged for that page and began crumpling it and tearing it, shredding it—as if he could tear apart the memories just as easily.

The woman let him do as he pleased and watched him in silence as he shuddered and cried and tore the picture into confetti-sized bits.

“Is that photo the person you referred to in your statements as the Bad Man?”

“What do you think?” Gerard whispered, rubbing harshly at his face before tangling his fingers in his hair and tugging—hoping the sting on his scalp would ground him, stop him from flying back into that helpless place.

“In your statement you told Detective Morse that Les shot the Bad Man. Did you witness the shooting?”

“No… I was upstairs. I heard it. Marcus went to look—I couldn’t even walk.” She already knew that. She had to. Him bleeding and crying in the tub was probably top tier fucking content for all those sick fucks.

“We have identified this man using facial recognition software. His profile matched a missing person out of Rhode Island.”

“Well he’s not fucking missing—he’s fucking dead.”

“Would you like to take a break?”

“I’d like to go home,” Gerard cried. “I want to leave. I want… I want to go home. I want Frank. I want...Bert. I want to go home. I just want to go home. Can I go home now?”

“I have just a few more questions for you. Questions to help us pin down Les and maybe help get Marcus out of there. Does that sound okay?”

Gerard shook his head no but didn’t speak. He didn’t have a say. They were just going to force it out of him whether it ripped him apart or not.

She turned back to the first page of the photos, making him repeat that the first one was Master, the second was himself and the third was Marcus.”

“What can you tell me about Marcus? Was he there when you first came to live with Les?”

“You already know that.”

“I don’t know that.”

“Yes you do,” Gerard whispered. “Marcus has been there since the beginning. I think he’s the first. I don’t know.”

“The first? Like Les’ first victim?”

“Yeah. Him or Adam. I don’t know. They were both there first. I just know he never took things to far with them. He never talks about—or talked about selling them or killing them. I guess he liked them more than me.”

He wasn’t good enough… Master shared Marcus and Adam with his friends and yet they got to stay. Gerard was taken one time by the Bad Man and he was kicked out like a piece of trash.

“What role would say Marcus or Adam played in the house?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did either of them have any special responsibilities or special tasks that only they could do?”

“I don’t know… Marcus was like...he’d be like the nurse. You know? He always took care of everyone’s cuts and stuff. Helped us when we’d get sick. Adam was just a fucking snitch.”

“Adam was what? A snitch?”

“If you did anything out of line, he was telling Master the second he got in the door.”

“What about Marcus? Did he ever snitch?”

“I don’t think so… He’d come my defense sometimes if Adam and I got into a fight. He’d tell Master that Adam provoked me or started it. Things like that.”

“So Adam might’ve called him a snitch.”

“Probably.”

“Did you and Adam fight a lot?”

“Almost every day once we were the same size. He picked on me a lot when I first got there. He’d terrorize me. Tell me all kinds of awful shit… I couldn’t do anything. If I went to hit him, he was bigger then me. Then when I was about the same height, I just dished it right back. Put his fucking face through the bathroom mirror once. Master didn’t like that...”

“Did Adam ever get in trouble with your Master for the things he did to you or said to you?”

“Sometimes. It was like… It was like when I first got there, Master didn’t care. If he heard Adam say I did anything wrong, I was getting punished. And I’d get punished hard. Like, he didn’t even care if I was bleeding or not. I would get beaten for hours… Adam would get, like, one session with the cane or something stupid and then he was fine—then it was all over. But I got the shit beat out of me for not wanting to help set the table or for...for stupid shit I did because I was scared. I was just fucking scared...”

“What would Marcus do when Adam was tattling on you like that?”

“He didn’t say anything. Not at the start. Later when I was bigger he stood up for me, but only...only certain times. He could read Master better than any of us. He knew, I guess… He knew when he could talk Master down and when he couldn’t.” Gerard stared at the picture of Marcus on the page, missing him. Hating him… Jealous of him, maybe, too. “He’d clean me up after Master was done. Make sure I didn’t get infections and all that. I guess you could say that was his job.”

Gerard felt himself slowly going numb as they went through the photos, one by one, the woman picking his brain for every single detail he knew or remembered. He knew he was crying, he knew his voice was shaking, but he didn’t even bother with wiping his nose or trying to stifle his sobs. When it came down to the sweet, innocent boy that Gerard himself had strangled the life out of, he didn’t bother to lie. He knew from Frank’s violent reaction to the story he’d told that it wouldn’t go over well, that no one would see it for the act of mercy that it was. He knew admitting it was enough to drive the final nail into the coffin of his freedom in this world, but if as much footage was out there as she suggested it was, then she probably already knew… That would be top tier content, too, wouldn’t it? One jealous slave strangling the life out of another…and the horrific punishments that followed.

“You took his life?” The woman asked, no shock or surprise in her tone at all.

“I… I had to. I couldn’t take it.” He felt utterly broken, hollowed out and raw. He wasn’t going to get to go home after this, was he? Not to his parents, not to Mikey, not to Frank or Bert or anyone. It as a jail cell waiting for him, or a sterile room in a psych ward. He wanted to feel angry or defiant or repulsed, but nothing filled him. Nothing more than the empty numbness and despair.

“What was it about him that you couldn’t take?”

“He had something wrong with him,” Gerard cried, just as he had to Frank those many, many months ago. “He didn’t understand what was happening. He was… He was like a little kid. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand… It was sick, what Master did to him. So fucking sick.” Gerard sobbed and brought his hands to his face. He waited for her to condemn him, to shout at him that he had no right to do what he did—call him a monster, call him sick. But she didn’t. And she didn’t need to… They both knew what Gerard was. A jealous, simple, stupid whore who didn’t like sharing his Master’s attention with the new boy who had immediately become the favorite.

“Do you feel you did the right thing?”

Gerard violently shook his head. No… No. He didn’t mean to.

“At the time, did you think you were helping?”

“He didn’t deserve that shit,” Gerard wept. “What else could I do?”

The woman let him cry, repeatedly pushing the box of tissues closer and closer to him until he grabbed a fistful and held them to his face to soak up all the snot and tears.

And she’d wanted his parents here for this!?

“When you say he didn’t deserve it, what do you mean?”

“He didn’t deserve to fucking die!” Gerard sobbed. “He didn’t deserve to have some fucking asshole tattling on him and getting him in trouble because he didn’t know how to wash dishes no matter how many times you showed him. And I showed him a hundred fucking times! He just didn’t understand things. There was something wrong with him. And you just know Master loved that. He loved that. Raping someone who didn’t even know what his parts were for...”

“That had to be extremely distressing for you. To see that and hear it going on.”

“It was horrible… I felt bad for him. I really wasn’t jealous of him. I just felt bad.”

“Do you know how old you were when that happened?”

Gerard shook his head.

For nearly ten minutes after that, she let him sit there and cry as the horrible memories plagued him. She let him weep until his body felt like it was going to give out. Then, without hardly missing a beat, she asked him about Joshua.

“He seems young, too.”

“Yeah.”

“But cognitively, nothing was ‘wrong’ with him?”

“No.”

“Okay. I know it isn’t consolation, but right now our investigation has no interest in pursuing any charges against you for what happened in that house, alright? From where I’m siting, you’re not a cold blooded monster. You’re a victim of circumstance. I can sincerely believe that in that moment, you knew there wasn’t another option for him and that it was the kindest thing you could do.”

It made him feel no better.

They went over the remaining photos, Gerard repeating that he didn’t know the other people until the last couple of pages—relieved he didn’t have to see the Bad Man again because his photo was still in pieces on the carpeted floor.

After that, she started packing up the photos back into their folders and held out her hand for the final page—the pictures of Marcus that Gerard still had in his lap.

“Can… Can I keep this? Please?”

“Unfortunately no. That’s evidence in an investigation.”

“But… It’s just a picture. Just for me. I won’t show anyone. Please? Just… Just one of them? Just part of the page? He’s my friend.”

He pleaded with her, but the woman didn’t relent and his photos of Marcus went back into the folder with the rest.

After that, Gerard sat slumped over in his seat as the woman told him their plans for the case, and what information she’d really like for him to provide if he could remember any details after their meeting. She asked if he was okay with his family coming back into the room, if he was okay with them being filled in on just the basics of the developments they’d made in the case.

Gerard only shrugged, his eyes staying fixed, out of focus, on the floor.

Before his family came into the room, the woman picked up all the little tiny pieces of the page Gerard had ripped up and put them in the folder as well.

As soon as Mikey was in the room, he sat down at Gerard’s side and put an arm around him—pulling him in to a comforting, undeserved hug. Gerard shut his eyes and turned his face into his brother’s shoulder, blocking out the light and trying his best to block out the sound in the room.

All he wanted in the world was for this to be over. Why, why, why wouldn’t it just let him go?

Notes:

A really, really long one this time! Just to flesh out the underbelly of the cruel, dark world that Gerard escaped.

I'm thinking a Frerard reunion next chapter. What about you?

Chapter 12: Self-Isolation

Notes:

This chapter took waaaay too long to write. Sorry about that. It was a bit of a roller coaster, but I hope it was worth it.

Let me know what you think!

Following the meeting with the investigator, Gerard had begun closing himself off again. Mikey watched it happening, helpless to stop it. Whatever he had been shown or whatever he and the investigator had discussed, it broke him again. All Mikey and their parents were told about the conversation after they’d left was that there were new developments, that people of interest had been identified through their torture porn/CP website, and Gerard was helping them to identify some people based on images from that site.

Unlike his parents, Mikey wasn’t stupid enough to push Gerard for more detail. What he’d heard was already enough to make an educated guess. If there was a website and Gerard’s abuser had been a part of it, Gerard’s face and body were probably all over it, too.

It was a crushing blow to Gerard, and Mikey could see it in how Gerard began to speak, how he carried himself, how he dressed. Gerard had never been much for flashy clothes or strutting around, but now he covered himself in a pair of their dad’s sweatpants and a hoodie that drowned him. He kept his head down at all times, even when he was talking to someone…even when watching TV. He barely tilted his chin up enough to see the screen, watching it through his eyelashes—looking like a sulking child with his arms crossed defensively over himself.

He stopped drawing. He stopped writing. He stopped talking with Mikey about his comics and ideas.

What frustrated their parents above all else though, of course, was that he’d stopped working on his school packets entirely. He didn’t even pretend to flip through them or fill anything out. He just stared at them, closed in front of him at the dining room table where their mom forced him to sit to work on them (under her “supervision”), and didn’t move. He would sit there for hours, staring off into space. Mikey would see him there at the table when he left to work a shift at his part time job, then find Gerard in the same place with the same packet in front of him when he got home.

Mikey tried explaining to them that this tactic wasn’t going to work. Gerard wasn’t a fourteen-year-old who was going to obey them just to be allowed to leave his seat at the table. He wasn’t a kid refusing to eat his fucking vegetables. When he sat there at the table staring at the carpet and not his coursework, he was reliving a nightmare—over and over again—and leaving him there to do it was cruel.

Gerard wasn’t some brat who didn’t want to do his fucking homework… He wasn’t going to give up on this “game” and do his worksheets when he finally got bored of sitting there because he wasn’t playing a game with them. He wasn’t going to get bored because he wasn’t even fucking there.

Mikey felt so bad for him… It was like all of Gerard’s defenses had been stripped away leaving nothing behind. All of his sassy comebacks and tough guy attitude were just gone. When their parents scolded him and talked down to him, he just sat there and took it.

Was this how he was in that monster’s house, Mikey had to wonder. Silent, empty, submissive… In that house, he probably would’ve followed the orders he was given, but otherwise...was he any different?

It was lunchtime on Sunday and Mikey was sitting at the table across from Gerard, watching him watch the carpet in the same vacant way he had been for days before. Their mother set a plate down in between them that had cold sandwiches and potato chips on it—a portion large enough that they were meant to share.

“Your dad and I are going out to the store. Do you need anything?”

Mikey shook his head. Gerard shrugged his shoulders—present enough to be dismissive, but not there enough to really communicate his needs.

“Nothing? You don’t want new pens or anything?” Their mother pressed.

Gerard silently shook his head.

“Alright. Well, Mikey, you’re in charge. Make sure he eats something… Maybe try opening the book.” Her temper reared its ugly head at the end. She couldn’t just leave it at that. No. She had to grab the pencil off the table, grab up the booklet, angrily flip it open to a random blank page, then slam both it and the pencil down in front of Gerard. “One page! Do one page! It’s basic math! It’s not even hard!”

Gerard’s only response was to cringe away from her, turning his face further away as she scolded him and then left after demanding that Mikey not let him up from the table until he finished his work.

As if…

Mikey scoffed and leaned back in his seat the moment their parents were both out the door.

“Wanna make a deal?” Mikey asked, not expecting anything more than the tired shrug Gerard gave him. “If I order us a pizza and you play one round with me in Mario Kart, I’ll do the first two sections in this dumb booklet.”

“I don’t know.”

“Fine. Three sections.”

“I’m not even hungry, Mikey. Don’t waste money on me.”

“Four sections.”

Gerard let out a heavy sigh and focused on the page in front of him. For a moment he seemed to try to concentrate on it, then shook his head and sighed again in absolute defeat.

“You think I’ll get committed if I leave again?”

“Yeah, to the hospital. Because if you walk out and leave me here alone with them again, I’m going to be the one who beats your ass.”

Gerard’s lips curled into the smallest smile—the most emotion Mikey had seen in days.

“Where do you even want to go?” Mikey asked.

“I don’t know… Anywhere else.”

“You wanna go and, like, see a movie?” Mikey suggested. “Go to the comic store?”

“I don’t want you wasting money on me,” Gerard repeated.

“Do you want to go hang out at Frank’s?” Mikey said. He wasn’t sure where the thought came from, but it served as his last ditch effort to get a real reaction from his brother—to prove his big brother was still in there somewhere.

“Frank doesn’t want to see me,” Gerard said.

“You wanna bet?”

Gerard clicked his tongue and shifted in his seat.

“If I was gonna go somewhere, it wouldn’t be his place. I’m the last person he wants hanging around. I still owe him, like, five grand or something.”

“Bullshit. He owes you his fucking life. That’s just it. He had no business being in that place to begin with. His stupid ass got himself in that situation. If he didn’t leave with you, he wasn’t leaving alive.”

“That’s what the FBI lady said, too.”

“See? So fuck all that ‘you owe him’ shit. Do you wanna go over there and see if he’s home?”

“Why? So he can tell me to fuck off? He doesn’t want to see me.”

“We can invite him over here.”

“What for, Mikey?”

“I don’t know. To piss you off enough to talk to me again. You’ve been a fucking zombie all week. I worry about you.”

Gerard let out a sigh and closed the workbook, shoving it away and grabbing one of the chips off the plate in between them.

“I’m just...dealing with some shit, man. I don’t know what you want me to tell you. Bringing Frank around and dragging him back into it isn’t going to make a difference.”

“Okay, well, he texted me yesterday so I’m not ‘dragging’ him into anything.”

“He texted you? Why did he text you?”

It worked. Gerard’s eyes finally got some life in them as he scanned Mikey’s face.

“To ask about you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”

“Because you were at the fucking table all night with mom over your shoulder. Did you want her involved?”

“No,” Gerard scoffed.

“So...do you wanna go hang out over there?”

“What did you set up a fucking play date for me?”

“No. I didn’t answer him.”

“Then why bring it up? Frank works all the time. It’s not like he’d even be home or awake if he is.” He looked genuinely disappointed, then sighed and began to settle back into the same blank, sadness he’d been showing for days.

“I don’t know. It sounds better than sitting here waiting for Mom and Dad to get home.”

“It’s just going to cause trouble,” Gerard said, reaching for the chips again only to stop and pull his hand back—like he reminded himself that he wasn’t supposed to be hungry.

“Do you want me to do some of your work for you or not?” Mikey asked.

“Why? They’re going to know I didn’t do it.”

“How? Both of our handwriting is shit.”

“Probably have fuckin’...cameras everywhere. How should I know?”

“You think we have money for that? These aren’t even real Ruffles. We can’t even afford name brand chips.” Mikey reached for the workbook and after a short game of tug of war with his brother, got it and the pencil in front of him. “This is fucking Algebra.”

“No… Didn’t you hear Mom? It’s Basic Fucking Math.”

“She didn’t even give you a calculator. What, does she think you’re Rain Man or something?” Mikey flipped through some of the pages, filling in what answers he could without using a calculator.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I took Algebra II last semester in college. I got this.”

“Yeah, you already served your time. I can do it… I can. I just…”

Mikey let Gerard snatch the booklet back, watching his expression change as he struggled to come up with an excuse. One never came.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard couldn’t stay attached to the present. No matter what he did, no matter what he tried, his mind kept slipping further and further back into the past. Sometimes he would be looking around his parents’ house and see it the way it had been years ago. He’d look at his mother and wonder why she looked so old. He would look at Mikey and hardly recognize him. He would look at his father and feel cold dread in his stomach—resentment and fear all twisted together with the instinctive urge to hide. But hide what?

Hide what?

He felt like he had a dark secret, even when he had nothing left that his parents didn’t know. Especially not now that they knew...everything.

Like Master.

Master knew everything and it made so much more sense now. He saw everything. He didn’t need Adam or Marcus to tattle about things that happened in his absence. He just had to check his cameras.

It made Gerard feel so hollow and stupid… How had he never figured it out? Did the others know?

Gerard found himself going over every memory he had of that house—that life—in horrible, vivid detail. Sometimes, he would even see himself moving around the house. He saw himself younger, meeker, smaller… He could see himself moving from room to room as if he were one of Master’s many hidden cameras.

He would see his first nights in his Master’s clutches playing out over and over again. He spent almost every hour of every day strapped the awful metal table being cruelly berated and poked and prodded in every way imaginable…and not just for his Master’s eyes, but for the eyes of his viewers, too.

It almost made more sense with that in mind.

Gerard wondered if his Master had been taking requests…

For days on end, Gerard was subjected to much of same brutality his Trainer had put him through, just in a different position and in a different space. He was whipped. He was choked. He was electrocuted. He had his head shoved into buckets of ice water. He was slapped across the face until his lips were bloodied and split. He’d had things done to him that he didn’t even know people could do…

He was fifteen. He was only fifteen.

He was hurt and he was scared and he was pushed past his breaking point again and again and again, not even realizing until it had happened that he had further still to fall.

Gerard had thought his life would be spent forever in that basement on that table, just as he’d feared his life would be spent tied to the pillar in Trainer’s basement. Dark, damp spaces with no natural light...always cold, always isolated and terrified. Hearing creaks and groans upstairs and worried it was someone coming to do him harm—and then desperately hoping it was, just so he didn’t have to be alone.

Trainer had broken him… Master had pulverized any little piece that was left—then shared it with strangers online.

When Master finally let Gerard go upstairs, his legs were so weak from lack of use that he’d hardly been able to walk, even with his Master’s help.

Gerard had been bathed by his Master after that… Scalding water, then freezing water, then scolding—over and over and over. He was so exhausted he could hardly even whimper by then. He submitted. He was taken to bed and fucked. He submitted. He did whatever his Master told him to do—moved however he was told to move, just grateful to be laying on a soft bed instead of the hard table.

For weeks on end, Gerard never knew if his Master was going to beat him or fuck him or ignore him completely. He would try to adjust to his chores and responsibilities, but he was always on edge, always out of place. Trainer hadn’t prepared him for anything remotely like the home that Master had. Trainer had threatened torture dungeons where he’d be used and discarded. Trainer said he’d be lucky if he got a mattress on the floor to sleep on…

Trainer said a lot of things that Master proved to be untrue.

A lot of his first few months with Master were spent unlearning the rules his Trainer had viciously beaten into him. If Master told Gerard to look him in the eye, he meant it. It wasn’t a trick… That was very hard to learn. It took being beaten bloody to learn to just do as Master commanded and look him in the eye. Trainer told him doing that would get his eyes put out… He’d been willing to take the horrific beatings to prove he wouldn’t dare look…

“There now… Was that so hard?” Master had hissed.

Gerard knew to answer when spoken to—never to make the man ask twice. Hurting and confused and scared, he’d croaked out, “Yes, Master.” It was the truth. It was hard to obey that order. Trainer said daring to look a Master in the eyes would have him blinded. Gerard knew Masters were cruel enough to do it, too.

“If it’s that hard for you to follow orders, maybe we need to go back downstairs, then...”

Gerard had already been weeping. All he could do hearing that he’d be sent back to the cold and the pain of the basement was shut his eyes and wish it wouldn’t be true.

“Look at me.”

Obediently, Gerard complied—looking his Master in the eye despite how painful and terrifying it was, completely convinced that he’d just sealed his fate. He would be blinded now. Either with boiling water or acid or hot metal…

“Why is that so hard for you?”

Gerard had already been taught not to speak about his Trainer. Master didn’t care about what another man did to him. Master didn’t want to hear about someone else touching what was his property now. But Gerard couldn’t disobey—he was torn between lessons, but realizing that his fate was sealed with pain either way. Obey and be hurt, disobey and be hurt… There wasn’t even a difference in how badly when it came to Master like there had been with Trainer.

“Trainer said you’d blind me...if I ever looked. I don’t want Master to put my eyes out,” Gerard cried, twisting against bindings because he wanted to cover his face and hide.

“Why would I put out your pretty eyes?”

Master paired it with a warm, soft caress to Gerard’s cheek.

“Trainer said...” Gerard started, only to be shushed.

“Do I take orders from him?”

“No, Master.”

He’d kept stroking Gerard’s cheek, soothing him until the tears stopped. And all the while, there had been camera directly over head watching it all… And one by the dresser, too. Maybe more. Probably more.

There had been so much of that—breaking and then comforting. Crushing, loving. Hurting, fixing…

Master did tell him he was pretty when he cried… He liked it so much Gerard knew when it was coming. Any gift was followed by horrible pain, and pain would be followed by affection if he was good and took it all without breaking any rules.

It was like that forever, but it had been worse when he was young. Master had put him through brutal torture sessions when he was young, but the older he got, the less it happened. Was it because Gerard was behaving better or was it because the people consuming the videos were less interested in him when he was of age?

Gerard wanted to know… He wanted to know everything that those people saw.

He wanted to know if it was his Master who was coming up with the horrible things or if someone was putting the ideas in his head. It just seemed so unlike his Master to obey the requests of others… Right? Master was always in control of everything, wasn’t he? No one else was going to call those shots, right?

Gerard went over everything—anything that seemed significant replaying more and more in his head.

There was a time he’d felt utterly empty and hopeless in his Master’s house. All slaves were trained to know they were worthless, unlovable, but Gerard had felt down to his very core that his miserable life wasn’t even worth pursuing in the most basic of ways. He ate when he was told to eat. He drank what was put in front of him that he was told to drink. He did the chores he was told to do… But much like a toy, much like a soulless object, Gerard sat off to the side, unmoving, when not in use.

Marcus and Adam had moved around in their worlds around him, Master ruled his house, and Gerard existed… He didn’t cry, he didn’t let out heavy sighs of boredom. He didn’t feel boredom. He felt nothing.

He was a toy waiting for his turn to be played with or broken. When he caught sight of himself in the mirror, he saw dingy hair and gaunt, dry skin littered with scars and spots of bruising. He didn’t even know how his Master could bear to fuck him without burying his face in a pillow or covering it with a plastic bag.

Then one day Master approached him after dinner and ordered him into his office—a room he was never allowed to go in, not even to clean with Master’s supervision.

Gerard obeyed, head ducked down as he trailed behind his Master. He didn’t examine the room. He didn’t scan the desk or the shelves. He kept his eyes cast down and stood in front of his Master’s desk while Master settled in behind it.

“Look at me.”

Gerard did. Seeing something close to concern on his Master’s face. It was the closest thing to concern his Master ever showed.

“You’re not eating enough.”

“I’m sorry, Master—”

“I didn’t ask you a question. Speak when I tell you to speak.”

Gerard lowered his gaze, subconsciously making a tally of the mistake. One slip up had an almost fifty-fifty chance of going unpunished. Anything after that guaranteed a beating.

But what did it matter? He was in here to be scolded and punished. Nothing else made sense.

“I leave you with instructions every day. Do I not?”

“You do, Master,” Gerard mumbled.

“Speak up!”

“Yes, Master. You do, Master.” Gerard shuddered. Two… There was no hope for him now.

“What is on that list?”

Gerard recited what he could recall. One of the things on the list was the snacks he was permitted to eat at certain hours during the day.

“So why have those not been touched?”

“I...I haven’t been hungry, Master. I didn’t know it was—I… I didn’t realize I was supposed to eat them. I’m… I’m sorry.” Sorry wasn’t good enough. He knew that…

“You’re underweight. It’s repulsive to me. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, Master...”

“Do you understand that you exist in this house to please me? That your whole entire being right now, disgusts me!?”

The first tears came along with the flood of disappointment and shame. Maybe the end would come, Gerard thought. Maybe Master would kill him now. Set him free…

“What is it that’s gotten you like this? Have I not been good to you?”

“You’ve been perfect, Master. I’m sorry,” Gerard whimpered.

“Clearly that’s a lie. Do you want to try again or should I get the strap?”

Gerard’s voice broke with a sob of fear. He didn’t even have words for what he felt. How was he meant to explain it to his Master’s satisfaction?

“Speak!”

“I-I just feel worthless, Master. I’m sorry!” Gerard cried. He was worthless. What a dumb thing to say… Surely the beating would be worse if he left it at that. “I-I do my chores. I do what you say, but...but what do I do then? I don’t know what to do. When you’re not with me and I don’t have more chores, I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”

Older, Gerard understood what he meant. Just as his Master had then. Humans were simple things. Survival Mode could bypass a lot of the heart and soul, but Gerard’s instincts for self-preservation were broken long before his Trainer even got a hold of him. A life with no purpose didn’t feel like one worth living—and when his Master wasn’t around and the chores were done, Gerard had no purpose.

“You have books here to read,” his Master told him. Gerard kept his mouth shut except to sniffle. “Do you not?”

“I didn’t know if I was allowed to read them, Master.”

“You haven’t asked.”

“I don’t ask Master questions,” Gerard said, knowing he’d spoken out of turn but desperate to explain himself.

“Do you even think for yourself?”

“No, Master,” Gerard answered, making his Master laugh as though he’d told a joke.

“No?”

“No, Master.”

“You can read any of the books in my library.”

“Thank you, Master,” Gerard answered, automatic.

“You don’t look happy… So that’s not it then. What is it? What do you want?”

“I don’t want anything, Master.”

“You do.”

“No, Master.”

“I’m telling you you do. Spill it.”

Gerard shook his head, not even able to fathom what his Master was asking of him. His distress and sorrow must’ve shown because Master didn’t beat him for refusing to speak.

“Marcus has cookbooks and reign over my kitchen. Adam has his little latch hook rugs and repair projects. What do you want, Gerard?”

Master spoke his name and Gerard looked at him—meeting his eyes. He always felt it was a privilege for Master to speak his name.

“A… A new vacuum, Master?” Gerard offered, unsure what he was supposed to suggest. Marcus made the meals most days, Adam fixed little things that broke in the house or needed patched up. Was he asking what part of the home Gerard wanted to oversee? Cleaning was all he was really good at.

Again, his Master laughed in his face.

“If I told you to give me a gift, what would you give me?” His Master asked, leaning back in his seat and still smiling with humor from Gerard’s last answer.

“I… Nothing I could give would be even—”

“Answer my question. I don’t want to hear about how worthless you are. What will you give me for my gift?”

“I could make you a picture, maybe,” Gerard choked. “I could draw something?”

His Master’s smile had become so twisted.

“You are my little schoolboy, aren’t you?” He sneered.

Days later, his Master had given him his first of many sketchbooks. Gerard had been so happy, even if artists’ block had him paralyzed. His skills were poor and had a lot of catching up to do, but in time he made progress again to get back to how he used to draw. For Master, Gerard made all kinds of sketches—filling any downtime he had with doodles and projects that he eagerly showed his Master who either praised them, ignored them, or ripped them to pieces.

Was that a video, too?

Private Collection Volume 109: Little Schoolboy Cries Over Shredded Art Project, Gets Pieces Shoved Down Throat?

If Master liked to see it, others probably did, too.

So many things like that happened that Gerard now saw in a different light. He was given art, not to keep him alive and give his life purpose, but so Master could use it to hurt him even worse. It wasn’t enough just to beat him and make him cry. Master wanted to break his spirits again and again, all for the pleasure of himself and his audience.

Was that why he’d given Frank the sketchbook? Not as some kind gesture for Gerard to still have his artwork and a piece of his past, but so he could watch more videos of Gerard’s artwork being destroyed in front of him? It shook him to his core… It devastated him to think that he’d misunderstood so much. How hadn’t he realized it sooner? How had he thought that Master had ever done anything for Gerard simply for the sake of being “nice”?

Gerard couldn’t even pick up a pencil without feeling violated now. For years he had happily made little pictures for his Master, not realizing the whole thing was being broadcast—that nothing he did for his Master was ever really just for Him.

Gerard hated himself for ever being so naive… He was repulsed by himself.

Much like before, much like he had been when Master was at work and Gerard was a toy cast aside, Gerard felt crushed by the hideousness that he’d become—the worthlessness.

No matter where he went or what he did, nothing changed. Bert even saw it in him… It was like a joke everyone was in on.

Everyone but Mikey, maybe. Because that kid wouldn’t give up. No matter what Gerard did or said, Mikey was always trying to convince Gerard that there was value in his company. Sibling bias, Gerard guessed. Either way, it was impossible now for Gerard to even entertain him. He just lacked the energy, the motivation. He didn’t even want to eat…

Hell, if starving himself made him completely unattractive to his Master and those monsters He made videos for, then Gerard was fine shedding the extra pounds. He would turn himself into a fucking skeleton if it meant no one would look at him again.

In fact, taking his own advice literally sounded better and better with each passing day…

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank knew it was a stupid idea and tried to talk himself out of it with every step he took—every step from the diner to his car, from his car to his apartment, from his front door to his shower, from his shower to the front door, back to his car, out of his car and up the sidewalk to the Way Family’s front door.

Gerard wasn’t doing well, Mikey kept telling him. Gerard needed support—he needed a friend. He needed someone to get him out of his head.

It was a stupid idea, but Frank agreed to come over and sit with him for a while. If things went sideways or it proved to be a waste of time, he’d leave. He’d finally be able to wash his hands of Gerard for good if it went wrong.

And Frank desperately ignored the nagging voice in the back of his head that worried things might go wrong.

Neither of their parents were home which had Frank feeling his arrival had been set up in secret. Maybe if they came home and caught him there, they’d kick him out and ban him from seeing Gerard ever again—also washing Frank’s hands of him for good.

Frank found Gerard sitting at a desk in his basement bedroom. He was drawing lines of varying thickness in his sketchbook, his gaze holding none of the concentration or focus Frank usually saw when Gerard had been drawing while at his apartment all those many, many months ago.

“Practice?” Frank asked, not sure what else to say to break the ice.

Gerard let out a sigh and glanced up from the page, looking at Frank with a sad, defeated look.

“He roped you into this too, huh?” He asked, setting down his pen. “You didn’t have to come here.”

“Yeah, well… I only had one shift today so I figured I had nothing better to do.”

Gerard clicked his tongue and looked away. He glanced down at his sketchbook and picked up his pen just to set it down again immediately after.

“They tell you all that stuff too? About the website?” Gerard asked. Frank hadn’t expected him to bring it up so soon, but what else was there to discuss?

“Yeah. I heard about it.” Frank realized his arms were crossed over his chest and let them drop to his sides, looking around at the floor as if he would find something more appropriate to talk about. “I keep waiting for them to do a bust or something but I guess they’re waiting for all of us to die of old age first.”

“Makes me wonder what else they’re trying to find,” Gerard said, sighing.

“Hopefully they can get something done before they hurt anyone else.”

“They hurt someone else every second of every day. Doesn’t matter if they bust the ring or not… I just want to know if Marcus is still alive. They won’t tell me that though. They don’t tell me anything.”

“I think the investigators figured out I don’t know anything else. They don’t call me anymore.”

“But Mikey does...apparently. Because he can’t mind his own business.”

“Hey, you can’t blame him for being worried.”

Gerard rolled his eyes. For a while they were both quiet, Frank still looking around the room for something, anything, to comment on. There were comic books and dirty clothes laying in piles on the floor, but not much else. It didn’t look like Gerard had been doing much artwork or much of anything. A layer of dust coated a set of colored pencils and markers that were on the bottom of a bookshelf.

“There’s a gnarly fuckin’ spider in the corner over there if you wanna check it out,” Gerard said, moving in his seat.

“Fuck no!” Frank said, shifting a little further away from the corner of the room holding the bookshelf.

“What? He’s cool though. He makes these, like, funnel tubes. Like cotton candy.”

“I don’t want to think about spiders every time I look at cotton candy, dude!”

Gerard chuckled, his eyes lighting up just the slightest bit.

“I’m thinking of naming him.”

“No! Get a dog. Don’t name fucking spiders in your room, dude!” Frank shuddered and Gerard, seemingly pleased at the discomfort he was showing, started to smile.

“Come on; I’ll show you.” Gerard got up from his chair and made his way over to the bookshelf, gesturing for Frank to follow him.

Hoping it was all some dumb prank and that Gerard was going to pull out an old Halloween decoration, Frank followed him just to be terrorized at the sight of a massive cobweb and a two giant fucking legs poking out of it.

“See?”

“I’m gonna puke,” Frank said, pulling back. “Crush that thing!”

“No! He’s my buddy. He eats the centipedes and the ants.”

“He could probably eat fuckin’ mice, dude!”

“Even better,” Gerard said.

“So that’s what you’ve been up to? Raising tarantulas in your bedroom?”

“If you can call this a bedroom. It’s more like a prison. I swear, if my mom knew how to do anything with technology she’d have this place rigged up with alarms to make sure I don’t go anywhere.”

“Jesus. What for?” Frank asked, as if he didn’t already have a pretty solid idea.

“I don’t know. She’s obsessed with this fucking schoolwork they have me doing. These, like, GED courses or something. I think she forgot I fucking sucked at school the first time around and now they expect me to fucking teach myself math? Like...can I get some of the crack she’s smoking? It must be pretty good.”

“How long has that been going on?” Frank asked, cringing at the thought.

“I don’t even know. Every day’s the same,” Gerard said, still peering at his spider while Frank backed a couple more steps away—trying to make it appear casual.

“Do you get time to do anything else or do you just...do workbooks?” Frank asked, looking at a stack of educational materials that was partially covered by a pile of dirty clothes.

“When she’s not around I can, but...” Gerard shrugged and left his spider to go sit back down at his desk. “I don’t know.”

“Do you ever get to go out and do anything?”

“Yeah. To therapy and the fuckin’ police station every other week.”

“That’s it?”

“I quit trying to go to the store with my mom. It just turns into an argument.”

“But otherwise you just stay inside?”

“Yep… Just like old times.” He looked haunted when he said it. How depressing it had to be to end up back down in a basement, locked up inside, and forced to do schoolwork he didn’t care for or understand with nothing else to interact with besides his family and himself…

“If you ever want to get some fresh air, we can always go to the park and walk Sweet Pea.”

“I’d probably burst into flames if I went in the sun that long,” Gerard said, forcing a laugh.

“That’d get you out homework at least,” Frank said. Relying on the darker humor seemed to work since Gerard’s laugh at that sounded genuine.

Slowly, carefully, Frank had Gerard agreeing to go on a walk around the block for fresh air—a walk around the block that ended up being an impromptu lunch made of convenience store junk food and a hot dog for Gerard. They ate together at a bus station bench, making small talk about the weather and how much Gerard hated the rain. For a while, Frank was able to pretend that they were just two strangers making conversation while waiting for the bus—he was able to look at Gerard and see someone new—someone different.

His mannerisms and patterns of speech had changed from how they’d been when Gerard had been staying in his apartment. He always had his head up and was looking around, scanning the streets as if looking for someone or searching out a threat. He asked about Frank and Ray and even Sweet Pea, apologizing offhand for anything he did that ever made the dog feel afraid or in danger of him. He said he didn’t remember much about his first few days with Frank, but remembered enough to know he didn’t “act right.”

“Bert always called me his little weirdo… Always, like, interrupted me to tell me I was being weird. It took being around him all the time to figure out how to act normal again. It probably sounds dumb, but I think it helped.”

“Sounded like an adventure,” Frank said, not really wanting to discuss Bert or Gerard’s time on the road with him. All he thought about were the postcards and the drug binges Gerard no doubt had been on with that man. In his mind, Bert wasn’t that much different from Gerard’s master. He just kept Gerard at his side with drugs.

“It was cool sometimes. I don’t miss all the stress though… Even if being home is boring, it’s better than having all those people around me all the time. I don’t know. It was weird,” Gerard added dismissively.

“It sounds like you can’t win either way,” Frank said.

“What do you mean?”

“On the road with Bert, too many people. Home with your family...not enough interaction with the outside world.”

“I don’t get any interaction. Just the therapist, the doctors, and the cops. It’s fuckin’ miserable but...it’s not like I can do anything about it. Mikey says our mom is trying to get like...legal custody of me or something. Or… No! Guardianship. They call it like a protective guardianship or something. It’s for crazy people who can’t take care of themselves. Like...I can feed myself. I can make money when I need to. I don’t need my parents having control of literally everything I do.”

“That seems really excessive.”

“It is! Like, yeah—I have issues. And you know what? They raised me. It’s their fault. I don’t want to live with them for the rest of my life! I… I hate it. I hate it. Not to sound like a spoiled fuckin’ brat, but I hate it there.”

“Well, yeah. It doesn’t sound like you have any more freedom there than with that guy...” Frank was almost positive Gerard had way more liberties than he was implying, but he let Gerard vent.

“It’s depressing. Like, I want to just hang out sometimes and then here comes Mom with the workbooks, shoving them in my face. If she thinks that’s keeping me from wanting to get back on the drugs she’s out of her fucking mind. If it weren’t for the fucking guardianship thing I would be packing a bag and getting the fuck back out.”

“It sounds like someone needs to tell her that school is only eight hours a day and not a twenty-four seven ordeal,” Frank joked.

“Seriously.”

“Do you guys ever go out to movies or—”

“No. I don’t go out. They lost their mind when Mikey took me to the comic book store once without asking them. You’d think I’m five or something. After that it’s just not worth it to deal with the arguing, you know? I want to go do things. I want to go see stuff, but not if it’s just going to lead to a shouting match. It’s exhausting. I just stay in my room or sit at the table. Sometimes I just sit there and pretend I don’t exist.”

“Maybe I can get them to let you hang out at my place sometimes,” Frank said, feeling his chest tighten once the words were out. Was he stupid? Did he not remember all the chaos and trouble Gerard brought into his life the last time? “At least to walk Sweet Pea every now and then.”

“I don’t think my parents want you teaching me Phys-Ed,” Gerard said, chuckling and looking off down the street. “They’re going lose their shit when they find out we left the house. Mikey told them we were just going to play X Box.”

“Uh-oh. Sounds like you’re gonna get grounded,” Frank joked.

“As long as my dad doesn’t start trying to give me the belt…”

“I think that’d be a bit much,” Frank said.

“I don’t know. They seem pretty convinced that I’m a toddler who can’t look after himself. It’s irritating. I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t think they can accept that.”

“It sounds like they need the therapy.”

“Yes!” Gerard proclaimed, tipping his head back. “Finally someone else gets it! I’m over all that shit. I don’t need to relive it every day. I’ve moved on. They won’t. They still want me to be their little pet teenager and I’m not...I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t want treated like one.”

“That’s reasonable. I mean, I’ve been on my own for a while because of that. And Sweet Pea. My mom hates dogs.”

“Maybe that’s what I ought to do.”

“I don’t think a dog’s enough to make your parents ready to let you go.”

“That’s true… Maybe I’ll just try bringing home a ton of guys. That’ll get my dad to go off at least.”

“If you’re trying to avoid having alarms set up in your room, maybe don’t do that.”

Gerard chuckled again and looked at Frank with a sort of wild spark in his eyes.

“Does it make you jealous to think of me with other guys?”

“I think the time for that is way, way in the past,” Frank answered, fixing Gerard with a stern look that did nothing to get the little sneer off Gerard’s face.

“I supposed,” he said, still grinning.

Something in that look had Frank’s stomach doing flips. In that moment, he had a feeling their time together wasn’t even close to being done.

Chapter 13: A Special Kind of Poison

For Gerard, it had become clear that he didn’t have the privilege to disconnect himself from reality anymore. Whether he was fantasizing about better days with Master or reliving the horrors of the Bad Man or his Trainer’s basement, his endless, hazy daydreams were only pushing him closer to a fate worse than death: the General Guardianship his parents wanted over him.

Thinking he was an utter moron, his parents didn’t think he noticed the steps they were taking to trap him completely. His mother kept insisting they wouldn’t need to “do all this” if he just completed his GED coursework showed “at least some” interest in leading a normal life. Gerard knew the coursework was irrelevant. Him doing chores around the house was irrelevant. They had been trying to get guardianship over him since he’d come home from New York. They wanted him under lock and key so he could never leave them again.

They wanted to place themselves in the position of Master over him, but with legal protections to keep him secured.

The very idea made him sick.

He hadn’t wanted to live in this house when he was a child and he didn’t want to be trapped here for the rest of his pitiful life—hardly able to do more than take a piss without permission.

He was dragged to a new psychiatrist and a new therapist—ones who no doubt supported his parents’ ideas that he needed to be in a protective guardianship. He was too damaged to work. He was too damaged to learn new skills. He was too much of a danger to himself to be allowed his own money or his own autonomy.

“He’s catatonic most of the time!” Gerard heard his mother shouting behind the closed door of their attorney’s office. “How can they say he’s not disabled? Didn’t they read his files!? Didn’t they look at any of the paperwork we filed!?”

That was step one, Gerard realized. His parents hadn’t been trying to secure him a disability check so he could have access to some money to pay for his own food and supplies. They needed him to be deemed incompetent so they could take over everything.

So far, he’d been diagnosed with PTSD and a major depressive disorder. He’d been prescribed medications he didn’t care to take—safe meds that wouldn’t “lead him back on destructive paths.”

Pills that didn’t work, as far as Gerard was concerned.

With a guardianship, he wouldn’t have a say in what pills were crammed in his mouth. If he wouldn’t take them, his mother threatened, they would just have to hold him down and inject them.

Maybe if she hadn’t threatened him with what she knew was his greatest fear, he would’ve let them take control. After that, though, he fought with whatever strength he could muster. He made sure to put on a good performance with the attorneys, with the psychiatrists, the physicians, the social workers, the analysts. He would be pleasant and charming and just the slightest bit obstinate—just enough to give them the idea that his parents were over-reacting with this plan of action.

Still, every time he won over a professional, his parents just found another who “saw through him.”

After that, Gerard decided he needed to do more than just play along.

The plan wasn’t to make himself completely insufferable, but it appeared to be an unfortunate side-effect of Gerard’s latest attempt to readjust to his life “After.” After Trainer, after Master, after Bert...after Frank.

His latest therapist was the one who kept encouraging him to break himself down into “parts.” There was Gerard “Before,” and Gerard “After.” And apparently he was supposed to start making more of a complete person out of Gerard “After.”

To Gerard, the entire concept was stupid. There was no Gerard “After.” There was hardly even a Gerard… That was how he wanted it to be. But he knew if he didn’t make himself do something, he was going to end up in a protective guardianship with no freedom and only his mother calling the shots. And that meant he was going to end up dead, because he wasn’t about to submit to doing workbooks for the rest of his life. No amount of medication was going to make him comply with that.

Like the old days—like he used to in his childhood—Gerard began sneaking out. Mike gave him a little bit of pocket change out of his own paycheck, and Gerard used it to buy himself a drink or two at least four times a week at the different bars around town. He would walk for hours trying to find the perfect place—trying his best to find someone who might take him home. Most nights, he just drank by himself while listening to shitty live music or watching drunk people do karaoke. One night he actually won a prize at a trivia game he hadn’t known was going on and he displayed his new, black cowboy hat with pride. He had it hanging on the wall over his bed and made up a new story every time his parents asked where it came from. (He told Mikey the truth, though, just so he wouldn’t burn it thinking it was from some man.)

The night he’d won at trivia, a woman had tried flirting with him and Gerard had been so out of his element and uncomfortable that he’d nearly ended up at in her apartment because he hadn’t known what to say to her to turn her down. Being gay in Belleville wasn’t exactly something he wanted pinned to himself like a target. He had actually walked the woman home under the guise of making sure she got there safe, then ended up trapped in an intimate kiss goodbye which nearly got him sucked into the woman’s foyer.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry. I can’t. I just can’t,” Gerard had said, nervously pulling away from her. She had eyed him suspiciously, waiting for his excuse of a girlfriend or wife. Gerard, as out of his element as he was, only managed to apologize again before sprinting off like he was being chased.

He stayed home the rest of the week after that, but once he’d recovered, he found himself back out on the prowl.

If he found a man to take him home, Gerard always took the opportunity—no matter how ugly or unpleasant the man. All of them followed the same script. Nearly all of them told him he was “a catch.” Some of them gave him drugs, all of them bought him drinks, and more than a few of them left him with parting gifts he didn’t care for. Bed bug bites, scratches, hickeys, a couple of STIs he was sure… (Eventually he was going to have to get those checked out, but for the time being he just dealt with the burning when he peed.)

Every time he came home the morning after, or a couple days later, Gerard was faced with his parents’ wrath. He was screamed at, he was berrated, he was told he was ungrateful, he was called names… He was “childish,” he was “immature,” he was “reckless” and “stupid” and a “fucking idiot.” The longer his antics went on, the nastier the names got.

It was like being a kid all over again. His mother was always upset with him and disappointed, and his father was always looking for new ways to try to knock him down. The only difference this time was the after his father called him everything short of a worthless piece of shit, Gerard would go to the bar and find a guy who called him a catch and told him how gorgeous he was.

It wasn’t a good life, but it was the only thing Gerard could do to make living at home bearable. If he went back to being a “zombie,” he was going to end up in a guardianship faster than he could say “syphilis.” The only thing keeping those old demons at bay were new ones.

New men, faceless and horny. None of them were as good to him as Bert, and none of them would ever, ever compare to Frank…

Still, even if he knew he was acting out and being childish, he didn’t expect it to push his father as much as it had. He thought maybe the old man had changed. He thought maybe they’d learned their lesson the last time when he’d disappeared or the time before when he’d been snatched away…

Apparently, he was wrong.

Apparently, getting drunk and high and trying to bring a stranger home was where his father drew the line. Really, Gerard should have seen it coming, but he was so off his tits on booze and coke that he hadn’t really remembered he lived with anyone—or that sound traveled.

He’d met the stranger at a karaoke night and let himself get coerced with a line of cocaine off a bathroom sink to sing a duet with him. It had been the first time in a very, very long time that he’d slipped far enough to go back to sticking shit up his nose. Maybe he was trying to self-destruct. Maybe he was trying to punish himself… Maybe he was looking to get beaten down again.

Gerard had gotten so much attention after singing that one little duet at the bar that he’d been feeling kind of important. People cheered from him and clapped him on the shoulders and asked him if he was in a band. Couples came over to talk to him and strangers besides the one trying to fuck him bought him drinks. He was riding that wave a little too high and asked the man to come back to his place because it was “closer.”

“I don’t wanna walk, Babe! I don’t wanna walk that far! No, no! Come to my place. Take me home. I wanna show you my hat. I have special hat. You have to see it.”

“Oh, I have to see it?” The man said, his words slurring as much as Gerard’s.

“Yeah! Yeah, you gotta. I’ll wear it. I’ll show you. ‘M a cowboy. We’ll… We’re gonna ride like cowboys,” Gerard had said, cackling at his own stupid lines. He’d been feeling as great as he used to with Bert—just a little less affection fluttering in his stomach. He didn’t even remember this dude’s name let alone want to make plans to see him after tonight.

So he lead the man back to his home, unlocked the door, and completely forgot to keep quiet after that. He slammed the door open because his balance was shit, then burst out laughing as he pulled the stranger in with him. They started making out right by the open door—the doorknob having put a massive dent in the drywall—the porch light and the dim glow of the kitchen night light making everything look mysterious and sexy.

Gerard tried closing the door but kept getting distracted, wanting to get laid and not even caring if it was in the doorway or on the steps just outside the door. The man seemed to be having much the same idea as he had Gerard’s pants and underwear already pushed down past his half-hard dick.

He was still cackling—if not even harder—when the overhead lights turned on and his father burst into the room.

Gerard didn’t really know what his father was screaming at him, but the man he’d brought home had turned away and started fumbling to fix his own clothes while chanting out “shit, shit, shit” like a mantra.

For Gerard, the room was swaying and twisting around, and all the different noises and different shades of light made it feel delightfully unreal. He knew he was laughing and that his father was shouting and the man was apologizing.

Then the man was gone and Gerard was still standing there leaning against the wall—laughing and swaying himself around to the noises only he could hear inside his head.

“You’re on drugs! You’re on drugs again!”

“Yeah!” Gerard said, giggling with childlike glee. He didn’t realize his dick was still hanging out until he looked down at his feet. It took him way too many tries to get his pants back up over his junk and he had to give up on his zipper after snagging the front of his underwear in the metal teeth.

His father was shouting at him and scolding him, and all Gerard could do was smile and laugh. At some point, his dad had grabbed both of his wrists and was squeezing them—maybe trying to help Gerard keep his balance, maybe hoping the pressure was enough to hurt.

Gerard, not really sure anymore what was real and what was a trick of the swaying, pulsing lights, forgot for a moment who was squeezing him. Wasn’t he just with a man?

“No—No, Sugar. Don’t get angry,” Gerard slurred—his tongue feeling too heavy in his mouth. “C’mon, Sugar. I’ll do what you want—I’ll do whatever you want. Don’t be mad, okay?” He felt his head banging back against the wall before he realized he was being shaken—the grip now crushing his upper arms and not his wrists.

Maybe he drank more than he thought.

How many people bought him drinks again?

Gerard tipped his head forward and stared at the quivering floor. The yelling was getting worse. He was being scolded.

Master was upset he’d had more than his share of the wine with dinner.

“Oopsie,” Gerard said, laughing again at the heavy feeling of his tongue.

A sharp sting radiated across his cheek and he could only laugh harder. A second blow struck him in just the same place, pushing the ache and the stinging a little deeper. The room around him bounced in time with the sharp crack of the blow. Still, Gerard couldn’t stop himself from giggling.

“No—No, ‘m sorry! I’m not sorry—Not sorry,” he cackled, tears running from his eyes and making the already hazy room that much harder to see. “I’m not sorry!” He positively screamed with laughter. He felt so good. Everything felt so good. Even the next strike—and the next and the next.

He couldn’t make out the words being hurled at him—he just let himself be berated as his body swayed with each strike to his cheek. He had secured his fingertips in the elastic waistband of his Master’s sleepwear to keep himself upright, having just enough sense not to pull them down without permission—at least not on purpose.

“Stop it! You need to stop! Stop this! Stop!” The rage was unmistakable and Gerard felt himself being shoved back into the wall with each command. His head hit the wall over and over and over with a dull, lovely ache, until it was hanging limp—his chin touching his chest.

Then, all at once, he had that crushing pressure all around him and his face was buried in a hard, bony shoulder. He didn’t know why, but the contact left him sobbing and desperately trying to hug the person back. Was the punishment over? Was he done being a worthless, stupid mistake and back to being his Master’s favorite toy?

He was crying so hard he started coughing, his throat raw.

Maybe he’d never been laughing that whole time. Maybe he’d just been sobbing from the fear and the confusion and the hurt. All Gerard could do was struggle to keep his fingers twisted up in the fabric of his Master’s shirt while his body buzzed and shivered.

No, not Master… Mikey.

Gerard recognized the smell.

“Mikey—Mikey, he’s mad at me,” Gerard wept, tongue so slow and heavy that he bit it when he spoke, just making him cry harder.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. You’re okay now. It’s okay.” Mikey held him tighter and Gerard struggled to do the same. His body just wasn’t working.

As his tears and his spit soaked Mikey’s shirt, his brother just kept telling him he was alright—that everything was okay.

Gerard just didn’t believe him.

( ) ( ) ( )

The morning after Gerard had sent their father into a blind, seething rage, he remembered nothing.

Mikey had stayed with him in his bed, stuck holding Gerard through the night—making sure he didn’t stop breathing from the alcohol poisoning or the a drug overdose. He didn’t resent Gerard for it. He didn’t even blame him. What else did Gerard have to do besides try to cope with this whole mess in the only ways he knew how?

Mikey just wished it didn’t have to cause such a mess.

Gerard didn’t get up from the bed until after noon, hung over but with nothing left in his stomach to puke up—though he did try. He just kept asking what happened the night before, holding his head in his hands and groaning as Mikey tried to force more and more water into his system.

Finally, Mikey got Gerard to take a shower and put on fresh clothes. Even after that Gerard wasn’t fully with it, but after a hot meal and more water, he finally came around.

“Why is face so sore?” He asked, holding his mug of hot coffee up against his left cheek.

“Because you tried pulling Dad’s pants off last night.”

“Don’t fuck with me right now, Mikey. I feel like shit...”

“I’m not fuckin’ with you. I’m just telling you what I was told.”

“Fuck off,” Gerard moaned. “Did I trip on the stairs or something? It hurts...”

“No. Dad lost his temper and...you were in the way.”

“I am the way,” Gerard mumbled, pressing the coffee cup harder against his cheek as if that was going to give him any sort of relief. “Where is Dad?”

“Mom and Dad went out for a little while.”

“What for? Groceries?” He almost sounded hopeful.

“I don’t know, Gerard. They just needed to go out for a bit. Dad needed a break.”

“A break from what? Being my prison guard? My principal? How many workbooks did Mom say I have to do today?”

“I don’t think they care about the workbooks right now, Gee.”

“Good. I feel like my fuckin’ eyes are going out. I need your glasses.” He passed Mikey a pained, lopsided smile and took a drink from his mug. “So what did we do last night again?”

“I don’t know what you did, but I was on OD duty all night.”

“OD duty? Why?” Gerard grimaced. Slowly, he seemed to be waking up and putting two and two together. “I went out, didn’t I?”

“Yep.”

“I think I did karaoke…” He grimaced at that. “I sang fuckin’ Back Street Boys, Mikey… Someone needs to put me in a guardianship just for that.”

“Well, you didn’t make a good case against it. You came home with your pants down and tried taking off Dad’s.”

“No… No, don’t tell me that,” Gerard said, cringing. “Last thing I remember is Back Street Boys… Did I really do that?”

“According to Dad...” There was no point in being evasive or overtly disappointed. Gerard was clearly mortified enough—and sincerely.

“God… I need to quit drinking.”

“You think?”

“I think I did coke last night… Fuck. I hope it wasn’t coke… Maybe it was Adderall. Oh… Please just be crushed up Adderall.” He sounded disappointed in himself and looked absolutely miserable. “I just wanted to have a good night. I just wanted to hook up. Did I even hook up with anybody?”

“I don’t know what you did,” Mikey repeated. “But you and Dad are going to have to have a talk when he gets back. He’s had it, Gerard. He’s really, really had enough. I know you’re going through a lot. I do know that. Believe me. But… You—You need to quit acting like this.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Gerard argued, immediately stiffening up his posture and going on the defensive.

“Yeah, you are. And if you keep it up, you will be in the Guardianship. And they’re going to stick you in some state run hell hole until you’re so doped up you can’t move. They already think you’re a lost cause. Quit making it easier for them.”

“That’s not true,” Gerard said, passing him an angry, hurt look.

“No? Then why are there pamphlets for psych wards on the fridge, Gerard? You think the only thing at stake here is your ability to get a bank account? Get a job? You keep swinging back and forth and I get it. I really, really, get it, Gerard. I know it’s not easy for you right now. But when you get in these moods and you do all this shit, it just pushes Mom and Dad further into this idea that you can’t take care of yourself… And they can’t handle you when you’re like this. They’re old, Gerard. They can’t handle you.”

“I didn’t ask them to! I didn’t ask for this shit! I just wanted a place to sleep. They’re the ones who keep shoving all this shit on me, expecting me to be their perfect little schoolboy! Newsflash! They hated me before and they can hate me now. I don’t care.”

“They don’t hate you.”

“Oh, God. They got you, too. ‘We just want what’s best,’” Gerard sneered, putting on a stupid, petulant little voice. “They don’t know what’s best for me.”

“Neither do you.”

“Don’t say that,” Gerard moaned. “Don’t… Don’t say that. You’re not supposed to say that. Not you...”

“I care about you. I don’t like seeing you like this. I’m worried. Don’t roll your fuckin’ eyes at me!” Mikey snapped. The anger in his voice seemed to be the only thing that made Gerard actually listen. “Do not roll your fucking eyes at me when I’m telling you you’re scaring me! I don’t want to lose you again. I don’t want to go downstairs and find you blue and bloated and dead! I don’t need to fuckin’ see that shit. I had nightmares about that shit for nine fucking years, Gerard. I don’t want to lose my brother again. And I don’t want to visit you in some psych ward or in jail or under a fucking tombstone.”

For once, Gerard had nothing to say. He just sat hunched over his coffee mug and looked ashamed of himself.

Good, Mike thought. He deserved to feel ashamed.

“So did...did you do all this?” Gerard asked, looking to Mikey and gesturing to the marks on his swollen left cheek.

“No, but I should have. Keep up with the attitude and I’ll make the other side match.”

Gerard cracked a small smile at the joke, but his eyes remained nervous. He knew he’d pushed the boundaries too far.

“So it was Dad then?” Gerard whispered.

“Yeah.”

Again, he turned away and pulled his shoulders in a little closer.

“Probably deserved it… I’ll apologize. When they come home, I’ll… I’ll apologize. I’ll do better.”

“Yeah, that’s what you say every time.”

Gerard didn’t answer because he knew it was true.

“I’m not giving you anymore money either,” Mikey said. “I didn’t care if you went out for drinks once in a while. I really didn’t. But you keep pushing it and I’m not letting you do this to yourself again.”

Gerard let out a heavy sigh and leaned back in his chair. They were both quiet for a while, Gerard seeming to be lost in thought. He didn’t ever stop looking ashamed, or trade that expression for one of annoyance.

“What if I got a job?” He asked.

“So that’s your first thought? How you’re gonna get more beer money?”

“No,” Gerard answered. “I just… I don’t want to do schoolwork all day, Mikey. I just want… I just want to feel normal. I’m not meeting anybody. I’m not doing anything… Frank doesn’t want to fuckin’ talk to me unless you beg him to. Maybe I could make some actual friends or something… I’m good at cleaning. Maybe I can go clean some hotel toilets or something.”

It wasn’t an awful idea and Mikey found himself thinking it over, analyzing different ways to get their parents on board.

“Maybe I could learn to be normal for once.”

“I don’t think you can be normal,” Mike teased.

“Probably not...” He looked so sad to admit it.

When their parents finally did come home later that evening after a day out to themselves to decompress, it was Gerard who nervously approached their father first. It was his first time seeing how bruised and swollen Gerard’s face was from how many times he’d been hit the night before, and it was evident he was feeling sorry for it—even if Gerard had it coming.

Their mother brushed past Gerard without giving him so much as a glance, but Mikey stayed in the doorway—prepared to intervene if anything took a turn for the worst.

“Dad, I’m… I’m really sorry about last night,” Gerard said, glancing at their dad in between his staring contest with the floor. “I was… I was stupid. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” The longer their father stayed stone faced and silent, the more anxious Gerard became. “I shouldn’t have been disrespectful. I… I know I shouldn’t be going out. I… I’m sorry. I don’t want you mad at me.”

“I think that’s exactly what you want, if I’m being honest.”

“No...” Gerard murmured, sounding like a kid caught in a lie.

“No? You just bring weird men into my house and come home high off your ass, smelling like a brewery for fun? That’s your idea of fun?”

“I don’t know,” Gerard mumbled, staring at the floor, shrinking in on himself.

“I don’t know what to do with you, son. I am...so tired of this disrespectful behavior. Do Mom and I ask that much of you? Do we even ask you to pick up around the house? To do your own laundry? No. And how do you repay us?”

“With disrespect,” Gerard whispered, seeming to catch their father off guard. He was talking to Gerard the way he used to when he was a child, and he expected Gerard to react the same—to shrug or argue or make up excuses.

“I shouldn’t have lost my temper last night, but you really can’t keep doing this to us. It is unacceptable.”

“I know…and I’m—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He was cowering, even when their father didn’t raise his voice.

Mikey moved from the doorway to stand at his brother’s side, putting an arm around him. Gerard almost immediately pressed himself against Mikey’s shoulder—squeezing as close as he could without turning away from their dad.

“We’re going to have to have a discussion about this. You know that, don’t you?” Their father said, voice firm.

Gerard looked completely defeated. He wanted this to just go away, so he didn’t answer—and then he flinched when their father moved forward to hug him. Still, Gerard hugged him back, almost frozen in the man’s embrace no matter how hard their dad tried to comfort him by rubbing and clapping his back.

“I love you, Son.” Their Dad pulled away but kept hold of Gerard by his shoulders. “You know that, right? That your mom and I love you?”

“I know,” Gerard said, not looking him in the eye.

“Now, you and Mikey are on your own for dinner so...I’m sure you can figure something out. If you need money for a pizza or whatever, just ask...” With one final pat to Gerard’s shoulder, their dad pulled away from him and went to sit down in his recliner.

Gerard just kept standing where their father had left him, like he was expecting one last blow or insult. Maybe he was waiting to hear what his punishment would be like a child...or like a slave.

“If you get a pizza, order a two liter of Pepsi. I forgot to get more when we were out,” their father added, clearly as unnerved as Mikey by Gerard’s refusal to move from where he’d been left standing.

“C’mon,” Mikey said, trying to pull Gerard by his wrist only for his brother to resist. “What?” He whispered. Gerard just had that same, sad and lost look on his face that he usually did when staring at his workbooks. “Gerard… C’mon. We’ll go pick up a pizza. Come on.”

It took a moment or two more before Gerard finally let himself be lead out of the room. He was quiet as Mikey put in the order for their food, not even confirming what sounded good—if anything. Mikey wasn’t really in the mood to eat either, but to him, the pizza didn’t sound optional. He ordered what their dad usually got and paid for it himself instead of asking the man for money.

Gerard hardly ate a bite of it, but their dad enjoyed nearly half of it himself while their mother scolded him for lying about not being hungry when they’d gone out to whatever store or restaurant they’d gone to earlier in the day. To Mikey, the pizza was some sort of a peace offering, and after the meal was done, he and Gerard went to sit in his bedroom downstairs.

He was checking out again and all Mikey could do was watch it happen.

They were in the downswing again.

Notes:

Sorry for taking over a year to post this. I was taking a long nap with writers block, but I have some new ideas I am really eager to pump out. Fingers crossed I can get some more done ASAP. And to all my readers still hanging in there, I love you!

Chapter 14: They Call It A Collision of Worlds

Notes:

What? A back to back update from Jatty? What year is it??

Sorry if anyone was a big fan of the Amnesia Arc of Dogs 1.0 but I'm hitting fast-forward and going straight for Legal Drama/Band Arc. I just need Gerard and Frank to fall in love again before I try to retreat back into Gerbert as my one true love of this universe. Truthfully, part of my writer's block comes from missing all the Gerbert fluff I had to cut short before the two of them became the story's true pairing. They were just too darling and I hated to break them up. But what better way to get them back together than press forward into the band arc?

Hopefully this chapter and the last are satisfactory. I am trying to ride my inspiration high as far as it will take me while I still have it in my system.

Frank was trying to enjoy a night in with Ray—playing around with Ray’s acoustic guitar in between rounds of games on Xbox. Ray had brought over pizza and wings and Frank had supplied the beers. All in all, it was a great night—one of the best he’d had in months. He and Ray finally had the same day off work and it was so good to catch up and just unwind together. It felt normal again, even with Mikey popping up in his texts with unsolicited Gerard updates now and then.

Ray was telling stories about work while Frank shared some of the pizza crust with Sweet Pea who shivered with excitement between each bite.

It was going great up until someone came pounding at Frank’s apartment door. He and Ray passed each other a wary look before Frank hauled himself up from the floor to go see who it was. In the time it took him to reach the door, the person began knocking again—even harder. A cop knock.

Warily, Frank went up on tiptoe to peer out the peep-hole, only to see one of the last people he expected standing there with arms crossed.

Mikey…

Shit. Dread filled him and while his first instinct was to pretend he wasn’t there, he knew it was no use. Mikey would just start calling and probably camp outside if he was determined enough to show up unannounced.

With a heavy sigh, Frank unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“Hey, what’s going on, man?” Frank asked, preparing for the worst of the worst sort of news. Gerard was missing or Gerard was dead or Gerard was in jail.

That’s what he’d prepared for at least. Instead, Mikey fixed him with most overwhelmed, desperate expression.

“Do you have beer?”

“Uh… Yeah? Why?”

“I need some.”

“I don’t have a lot,” Frank said, moving back a step so Mikey could come in. He entered at a speed suggesting he was being chased.

“I’ll pay you back for it. I just need it. I need a fuckin’ beer.”

“Right… Uh, Mikey you remember Ray?”

“S’up, man?” Mikey said, making a bee line right past him to go to the fridge. He immediately got his hands on one of the bottles of beer and cracked it open. He downed it before he even stepped away from the fridge—gulping around the mouth of the bottle and then belching and groaning once it was down. Then he went for another which he thankfully took with him to the couch and sat down.

“You want some pizza?” Ray asked, gesturing to the coffee table.

“No…. No, I need to drink. I need to drink.” Mikey shook his head like he was trying to shake away a bad memory.

“Everything okay?” Frank asked, resuming his place on the floor where he’d been sitting next to Sweet Pea who was chowing down on what was left of Frank’s pizza crust.

“No… No. I just saw some shit I didn’t want to see.”

“Gerard bring someone home again?” Frank asked. He’d heard about the last time and how their father had lost his shit again.

“No,” Mikey said, scrunching up his face like the idea was unbelievable. He took another huge drink from his beer. “No, we just left the fucking investigators’ office. I just...saw some shit. So much fuckin’ shit I didn’t want to see.”

“Should… Should I go?” Ray asked, looking awkward and uncomfortable.

“No—No, just… I don’t want to talk about it. I just need a drink and I can’t drink at home—and I don’t trust myself outside right now. I just need a drink.” Mikey started rocking back and forth a little bit in his seat, wringing his hands around the cold glass bottle.

“I can go get us more,” Ray suggested, looking to Frank who shook his head. No way was he trying to have either of the Way brothers drunk in his apartment.

“I just need a drink. What are we playing? Madden? Mario Kart? What are we playing?” He was staring at the TV, still rocking back and forth.

“Um, we’ve got a few games. Pick one,” Frank said, leaning over to grab the cases.

“Anything. Whatever. Just… Whatever. What…Whatever you were doing just...pretend I’m not here.”

That was a hard request to accommodate when Mikey just kept rocking back and forth before tears started to silently roll down his cheeks.

“Are you okay, Mikey?” Ray asked, his soft voice seeming to break Mikey’s concentration. The tears fell a little faster as he shook his head and began angrily rubbing at his eyes beneath his glasses, his empty beer bottle laying sideways on the floor by his feet.

“Yeah, just… Why? Why do they show him that stuff? You know? He’s—He was getting better and then they want to show him all this shit. I didn’t want to look. I didn’t even mean to look at the pictures. Just...they show him that! They show him all that shit… What are they trying to do to him, you know? I just need a drink—I just need to drink. I need a drink and if I drink at home, my parents are going to lose their shit on me, and I’m going to go off on them, and they’re going to kick me out, and then Gerard is going to run off…and I just need a drink.” He buried his face in his hands, his glasses now on the floor beside the beer bottle. “I saw so much shit I didn’t want to see… And he just sat there like it was a normal fucking Tuesday.” His voice faded into a low wail.

Ray shifted awkwardly on the couch, then stood up silently to retrieve the last of the beers—giving one to Frank and the other to Mikey.

“Yeah, I saw some of that stuff, too,” Frank said. “Gerard’s pretty desensitized.”

“For five fuckin’ minutes,” Mikey snapped. “Then next week he’s going to be staring at walls talking to people who aren’t there again.”

Ray and Frank shared a look, both accepting their complete helplessness in the situation. For a while, they just turned back to their game and their old conversation—Ray talking passionlessly about his awkward coworker romance drama. A new girl liked him and kept making obvious, awful passes at him, not realizing that Ray had a crush on one of his regular customers who came in sometimes with a guy who could likely be her boyfriend though Ray was too shy to ask.

“Is your store hiring?” Mikey asked abruptly, straightening up in his seat after fumbling to find his previously discarded glasses. “Like...at any capacity? Like...a day a week or anything?”

“Uh… Maybe. I guess. Why? Are you looking?” Ray asked, looking to Frank who just shrugged. Last he checked, Mikey had a job. Whether or not he’d lost it again, was up for debate.

“Gerard… Gerard’s looking for something. I thought it might be easier for him if he knew somebody there. I know food service is always hiring, but I don’t think Frank wants Gerard following him around the diner again.”

“Hell no,” Frank mumbled.

“I could get him an application. I work tomorrow night if you guys want to stop in. Does he have...any experience?” Ray was basically cringing as he asked.

“No, but he can clean stuff. I mean…he isn’t stupid.”

“I can’t guarantee anything, but he can apply. It doesn’t hurt to try,” Ray offered.

Frank just shook his head. He couldn’t imagine Gerard trying to hold down a job. Even if he had more of a personality after spending all those months on the road with his lover, Bert, Gerard wasn’t ever going to be a fully functional adult. A job would just give him a new setting to melt down within.

After another forty minutes or so, Mikey began settling in. He had finished his final beer and then attempted to eat a slice of pizza, but mostly just picked at the crust. Ray and Frank resumed their video games, half-ignoring their impromptu guest until Mikey finally asked to play a round in Mario Kart once the Xbox had been swapped out for the old, reliable GameCube.

Whoever sat out the race took their turn with the acoustic guitar—including Mikey who strummed halfhearted tunes in between glances at the screen.

“Are you in a band, Ray?” Mikey asked him when it was Ray’s turn with the guitar.

“Uh… I used to be. We’re on a hiatus again, I guess.”

“You need to get a new one together. You’re good.”

“You should hear him actually play,” Frank said. “He does shit with a guitar I didn’t even know was possible.”

“I’m not that good,” Ray insisted, shaking his head.

“Bullshit,” Frank said, laughing. “We’ve gotta go back to your uncle’s garage sometime so he can see you actually jam out.”

“I’ll bring my bass. We can make a show of it!” Mikey suggested, looking a little drunk and little optimistic. “I haven’t been able to play in...years. Probably years…”

“Then you need to crack off some of the rust, huh?” Ray said.

Frank didn’t expect the two of them to bond the way they were, but he was content to let it happen. He left for a while to walk Sweet Pea and sober up, and when he returned to the apartment, the other two men were laughing over stories about a local band they had both seen in the city. Mikey was showing off pictures of his guitar while Ray shared photos and short clips of his old, on-and-off-again band.

Maybe it was the drinks, but Mikey started pressuring Frank to bring out his guitar to “share with the class.” Frank put in the effort to drag is guitar case out from under his bed and hauled it into the living room. It had been a long time since he’d brought out his guitar, even to look at it. He hardly had time to eat let alone play guitar or focus on any of his passions. Any free time he had, Frank mostly spent trying to catch up on sleep or clean up the mess that slowly took over his apartment.

Just looking down at Pansy made him sad, made him long for a past that felt as if it were decades ago—trying to sneak off and play late night shows with his high school friends when his mom told repeatedly not to go.

Mikey asked him about the stickers and Frank told him the old stories—old friends and old nicknames. It filled him with a longing and a nostalgia he hadn’t realized he’d been so forcefully pushing down.

“We’ve gotta play together sometime,” Mikey said, leaning his head back against the couch. “We’ve gotta. I haven’t played in so long… I miss it. It’s like...therapy. It’s like...for two hours I can just be someone else, worry about something else. I can just focus on music. Like nothing else exists...”

“That does sound pretty nice,” Frank said, absently plucking at Pansy’s strings.

“So why don’t we pick a date?” Ray asked. “My uncle only uses his garage for practice on Wednesdays.”

“You didn’t say your uncle was in a band,” Mikey said, not lifting his head from the couch.

“He does drums, but...it’s for a blues kind of band. He isn’t too big into rock.”

“Remember the time he kicked Bill off his drum kit because he said our music was an insult?” Frank asked, laughing at the old memory.

“He said it was ruining his drums,” Ray corrected, smiling and strumming his acoustic guitar. “What ever happened to Bill anyway?”

“Uh… I think he went to jail,” Frank answered, shaking his head. That was the hazard of being in a band. People either moved on, skipped out, or got locked up—and then they left everyone else high and dry.

“Well, if we get together, I’ll try not to go to jail,” Mikey said.

“Just don’t insult his uncle’s drums,” Frank added.

“I won’t touch them! I can’t do drums to save my life… My arms just don’t work that way. I’m...I’m about as good at drums as Gerard is at guitar.”

“Gerard can play guitar?” Frank asked, furrowing his brow with skepticism.

“Oh, God… He’s awful. He’s fuckin’ tone deaf or something. He knows music so I know he knows the chords, but he sucks… He sucks so bad and I have to try so hard not to tell him how much he sucks.”

“Do you think he’d want to hang out while we’re playing?” Ray asked, looking from Mikey and Frank. His tone was hesitant and Frank was surprised Ray would even make the offer.

“Maybe… He sings. He writes a lot.”

“I think I still have his one notebook,” Frank said, carefully setting Pansy back down in her case. “I forgot about it. He sent it to me when he was in Texas...”

“A notebook?” Mikey asked.

“Yeah...” Frank pulled himself up from the floor and made his way to the kitchen junk drawer where he’d stuffed the notebook months ago. “He said Bert’s band mates thought he was stealing it from Bert or something… I forgot about it,” Frank repeated. He brought the notebook over to Mikey who immediately began flipping through it.

“Well, the handwriting is definitely his,” Mikey said. As he turned the pages, Ray leaned over to look at them, too.

“Oh—That line… That...page. Hang on.” Ray pulled the book from Mikey’s hands, not seeming to realize that Mikey didn’t want to let go and was playing a short game of tug-of-war. Ray had taken the notebook and laid it down in front of him on the coffee table, staring at it while plinking at the strings of his guitar. In a matter of seconds, Ray had written a tune to go with the lyrics in Gerard’s little notebook. “Yeah, we’ll need to find a time you guys aren’t working. I’m always off Mondays.”

“I would make myself off on Monday just to get to play again,” Mikey said. Then the two of them were looking at Frank.

“Uh… I work every Monday, so...”

“Well, can’t you request off?” Mikey asked. Something in his expression or the tone of his voice reminded him of Gerard.

“No?”

“Ah, c’mon! Tell them you need Mondays off from now on. Mondays are slow anyway!”

“The diner is never slow!” Frank argued.

“C’mon...” Ray pressed. He looked like he was about to get on his knees and start pleading.

“Fine… I’ll ask but they’re going to say no!” Frank said.

As it would turn out, they didn’t. As it turned out, Frank spent so much time accommodating work that they were happy to oblige him with any request he had to keep him from getting sick like he had before. If having a consistent day off work each week made him happy, they would even let him take off for the Sunday church crowd. With that offer on the table, Frank realized an average Monday was the very least they would be willing to do.

And so, just like that, Frank found himself thrust back into close quarters with the one man he didn’t think he would ever be spending quality time with again…

Gerard.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin.

He’d always hated going out in public, and now he felt he had lost his already weak social skills when Bert’s manager began feeding him pills. The only people he spoke to on the regular were his family and the social workers and investigators—professionals who were paid to deal with him.

He had no idea what to expect from anything or anyone else.

So how in God’s name did Mikey of all people expect Gerard to go through a job interview and make it through in one piece? He thought the job application was just a ploy to get their parents off his back. After all, who was going to hire someone with no high school diploma, not experience, no nothing?

He was sure it was just one of Mikey’s off-the-wall schemes to chill their parents out.

It was never supposed to end with Mikey coming home and telling him to change clothes because he needed to go in for an interview.

Change clothes? Go? Interview?

“With the cops?” Gerard asked.

“No. The record shop. You know? Where you applied?” Mikey asked, looking at Gerard like he was stupid.

“They don’t want to hire me!” Gerard argued, embarrassed at how pleading his voice sounded.

“How do you know that until you’ve had an interview? Now come on. Get dressed or I’ll dress you.”

Something about his matter-of-fact tone had Gerard thinking Mikey had called in a favor in this interview. Maybe one of his friends from college worked there. That just meant Gerard had to go...he couldn’t leave his little brother looking like a fool, even if he didn’t ask for the employment help.

So, Gerard got dressed in the clothes Mikey flung at him—a black t-shirt and a pair of his dark-wash jeans that barely fit anymore. Since he’d been essentially grounded, all Gerard had to do to pass time was eat and sleep and stare at his workbooks. Mikey wasn’t giving him any spare cash to go out to bars anymore and Gerard realized very quickly that entering a bar with nothing in his wallet got him absolutely nowhere.

“What am I even supposed to say to these people?” Gerard asked, pulling on the pair of sunglasses he’d stolen from Bert before following Mikey up out of the basement.

“Where are you two going?” Their mother asked.

“Interview,” Mikey said, not stopping in his path for the door.

“Interview?” Their mother repeated.

Gerard just followed after Mikey a little faster, not trying to get caught up in that discussion.

“Can we at least stop for coffee first?” Gerard asked as they got into the car.

“No.”

“Why the hell not? My mouth is gonna be all dry,” Gerard complained. “What am I even supposed to say? ‘What’s this gap in your education?’ Oh, that’s when I was getting fucked by a grown ass man...”

Mikey didn’t answer him and somehow the silence made Gerard feel self-conscious.

“What do I say?” He asked again.

“You say what they wanna hear, Gerard. You’re good at that, right? Isn’t that what you did all the way from New York to Utah?”

“Wow… Low blow, Mikey Way,” Gerard muttered, fastening his seat belt and crossing his arms over his chest. This was going to be a disaster.

They were quiet the majority of the drive, Gerard only asking again what he was supposed to say to his interviewer as they pulled into the parking lot of the small, red-brick building.

“You just say the truth, Gerard. Just...try. Okay? Can you just try?”

He seemed so impatient and Gerard wondered how big of a favor Mikey had really called in for this interview for him to even be stressed about it.

“Okay, but they’re gonna hate me,” Gerard said.

He dragged his feet getting out of the car and subconsciously tried to hide behind Mikey even when his younger brother was the one who held open the door for him. As soon as they were inside, a man greeted them and before Gerard could try to eke out an awkward “hi,” Mikey snatched the sunglasses off his face that he’d forgotten he was wearing.

Smooth…

“Hey. Here for the interview,” Mikey said. The guy nodded and disappeared, leaving Gerard wishing he could do the same—just turn and run.

“Who do you know at this place again?” Gerard asked, looking around at the shelves and racks. There were cassette tapes and CDs everywhere. Large bins in the middle of the floor full of rows upon rows of albums. There were collectible figurines stacked on top of the tall shelves—towering overhead.

“Ray,” Mikey answered.

Immediately, Gerard’s blood ran cold.

“What?”

“Ray,” Mikey repeated, irritated.

“You didn’t tell me that,” Gerard said. “You didn’t tell me he was here. He hates me! I can’t work with him!”

“Just deal with it, Gerard. Alright? Just...deal.”

“Easy for you to say...”

Gerard continued scanning the store as they made their way to the front counter. There were comic books around this part of the shop and Gerard found himself gravitating over to the bins to peek through the issues while waiting for the man who had greeted them to come back from the office door behind the counter.

Unfortunately, the guy came back too soon—and with a woman trailing behind him.

“Hey! I recognize you… You were in my accounting class last semester,” the woman said, absolutely beaming at Mikey.

“Oh, shit! Yeah! How’d you do on the final?”

Gerard stared at the woman while she and Mikey shit-talked their professor. She looked like someone Gerard would have seen out at one of Bert’s shows. Her black hair was tied back into pig-tails and her eye makeup was dark and overstated—making them into deep wells that pulled him in, even when he didn’t like looking at anyone in the eyes.

“So is it you I’m interviewing? Ray didn’t really say?” The woman asked, looking doubtful and unsure—smiling uncomfortably like she thought that was a terrible idea. He must not have made a good impression in accounting class.

“No—No, uh...my brother. Gerard—Gerard, what are you doing?”

Gerard, somehow not expecting to be called on, was left standing there holding open a comic book like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Oh, an X-Men fan. Okay. Well, cool. Gerard?” The woman said, smiling at him with her bright, blood-red lips.

“Put the book down,” Mikey mouthed, fixing Gerard with a stern look. Gerard awkwardly complied, trying to figure out where the book went in the rack to keep them all in order. “Just put it down!” Mikey came over and took the book from him then and shook his head.

Gerard, for what it was worth, kept his cool as the woman gestured for him to follow her back into the office.

“Well, my name is Lindsey. And you’re Gerard. Right? You go by Gerard?” The woman asked, leading him over to a small card table with folding metal chairs on either side.

“Yeah—yes. Um… Gerard’s fine.” He found himself scanning the office, taking in every detail he could—like the fact that there were no windows and only one way in and out.

“Cool. So Ray’s told me a little bit...but why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

That was not a question Gerard was prepared to answer. Just tell them the truth, Mikey had said. Yeah fuckin’ right.

“Um… Well, I-I do...art and stuff. I like writing and stuff. Um...Just looking to get back out in the world, I guess.” That sounded horrible. At least after this dumpster fire of an interview, Mikey would never put him through this kind of thing again.

“Okay! What do you write?”

“Just… I don’t know. It’s lame. Just poems and...songs. Comics and stuff.”

“Oh, yeah. Songs and poetry are super lame. And comics? Fuck those! Who even sells those these days?” She was smiling at him and Gerard just wanted to sink into his seat and die.

“Yeah...”

“Well, you can read and write then, so you’re already a step ahead of my last applicant. How are you with organization?”

“Good, I think,” Gerard said, trying to find a way to explain his affinity for tidying without bringing up his life as a hostage. “I mean, I like to keep things orderly and...not dirty.”

“And you haven’t had any prior work experience? Volunteer work or anything?” The woman asked.

“I did house cleaning. Um...not references though. It was… I don’t know. I cleaned houses. I cleaned a lot,” Gerard said, swallowing hard and staring down at a rust stain on the tabletop.

“Okay! Well, cleaning is a big part of what we do here day-to-day. Obviously an average day is coming in, waiting on customers, stocking shelves—putting things where they go—and then cleaning up.”

“I could probably do those things. I could definitely do the cleaning part.”

“That’s the part most people struggle with,” Lindsey said, quirking her brow. “How would you say you do with customer service…?” She looked pained to even ask it.

“Um… I-I don’t know, really. I haven’t… Like I said, I just did house cleaning. I didn’t really talk to anyone. I just...cleaned stuff.”

“Well, if you get this job, you will have to do some customer-facing work. Ring people up, answer the phones… Is that something you’d be willing to learn?”

Gerard nodded even though the idea made him sick to his stomach.

“Okay, cool. Do you know much about music or games or...comics?”

“Yeah! I mean, a little. I… Actually, I used to...to do some road crew work—”

“Like road crew, road crew? Tarring roads?” Lindsey asked, pulling a face that said she didn’t believe it.

“No! Like… Like with a band. I traveled with a band for a while. I learned a little bit about the rock scene then. I mean, it wasn’t a big, big band, but...I know rock. And I like music.”

“What band?”

“Um, The Used. The band was called The Used.”

“Never heard of them,” Lindsey said, smiling at him in a way that made it so he couldn’t tell if she was serious or fucking with him.

“Yeah… Well, they’re...they’re from Utah. I traveled with them for...a while.”

“That’s pretty cool. Being a roadie is pretty cool… Do you play any instruments?”

The interview, it seemed, was more about finding someone who was a personality-fit with the store and not about the person’s actual ability to do any work. What started with Gerard wanting to turn tail and run back to the safety of Mikey’s car ended with him getting a small tour around the store where Lindsey pointed out her favorite albums and different ones she said Gerard just needed to hear, then insisted on scouring the shelves to see if anyone had exchanged one of The Used’s CDs for her to listen to.

“Nope, I don’t see any here. I didn’t think so. Maybe we can order some.”

Mikey, who was waiting by the door pretending to look at something on his phone, passed Gerard a glare when he realized Gerard and Lindsey were looking for Bert’s record.

In the end, Gerard was handed a lanyard and told his first day would be the following Tuesday. He almost felt excited until Lindsey added on, “You’ll be working with Ray. So it should go pretty good!”

Ray was probably the last person on earth he wanted to see. And Ray was going to have him in the store alone? At his mercy?

Ray would rip him a new one of Frank’s behalf, and even though Gerard knew he deserved it, it didn’t make it any more pleasant.

As soon as he could, Gerard got his sunglasses back from Mikey and pulled them over his face to hide his eyes. He waited for his brother to lay into him for bringing up Bert, but it never happened.

“So, what did you think?”

“Seems cool. Lindsey is cool.”

“She got in an argument with our accounting professor on the first day of class. She’s kind of rad.”

“What was the argument about?” Gerard asked.

Mikey shrugged. “Something about saying someone’s name wrong too many times. Real social-justice warrior type. She plays bass too.”

“Really?”

“Yep. I haven’t seen her band or anything, but I’ve heard her talking about it.”

“You know...I wish you’d told me that this was where Ray worked before you made me fill out the application.”

“Why? Because you have hundreds of other competing options?”

“Why are you mad at me?” Gerard asked, not used to the attitude coming from Mikey. Usually it was his parents picking at him, expressing their disappointment at every opportunity. Mikey was supposed to be his friend.

“I’m not mad at you,” Mikey said, his tone clearly saying otherwise. “I just want you to apply yourself more—”

“Okay, Mom,” Gerard scoffed, rolling his eyes and turning to look out the window.

“Just… Just shut up and listen to me! Would you?”

It was hard to pretend the words and tone didn’t sting.

“Mom and Dad are getting closer and closer to putting you in that fucking guardianship. Do you want that? Because if you want to have any chance of ever moving out of their basement, you’re going to have to apply yourself to something. Whether it’s work or school—something. You hated being at home when we were kids. I don’t believe that you really don’t care if Mom and Dad trap you forever.”

“Well, I wish my only job option wasn’t working with Ray… Who does hate me, by the way.”

“If he hated you, why did he suggest his store? I didn’t ask him, Gerard. He offered.”

“Probably so he can get me alone and yell at me some more.”

“Whatever, Gerard.”

“Whatever? You weren’t there! You don’t know!”

“I talk to people. I do know, actually. The only thing has done to you is hold you accountable for shit.”

“You weren’t there! He yelled at me! For no reason! I’m not the one who made Frank sick. I didn’t do anything. I never told Frank he had to buy me! Ray blames me for everything, and nothing that happened with me and Frank was my fault.”

Mikey let out a sigh and shook his head, not speaking for the last half of their drive.

“Well, since you and Ray hate each other so much, I guess you’re not coming with me on Monday.”

“Coming with you where?” Gerard snapped, his chest still tight from the argument. This day was going horribly and he just wanted to go back down to his room and go to sleep.

“Me and Frank are going to meet up with Ray at his uncle’s house and play guitar. You were invited. But I guess since you and Ray hate each other, you won’t be coming.”

“When did this happen?” Gerard asked, heart skipping a beat at the mention of Frank’s name. Would his parents even let him go to see Frank?

“It’s been happening, but if you don’t have a job, where am I telling Mom you’re going?” Mikey fixed him with a cold, unflinching stare that made Gerard feel like a little kid.

“Why didn’t you start with that?” Gerard mumbled.

“So are you done hating Ray?”

“I don’t have a problem with Ray. Ray hates me.”

“Yeah, whatever, Gerard. Whatever you say.”

When they got home, Mikey was first out of the car—moving as if he were trying to put as much space between himself and Gerard as possible. Immediately, it left Gerard scrambling after him—following his little brother up to his room despite being told in no uncertain terms to give him space.

“Did you tell them I can’t play guitar?” Gerard asked, fidgeting as he took his usual seat the foot of Mikey’s bed.

“I told you to fuck off.”

“Yeah, but—but you were the one with the big ideas here. Did you tell them I suck at guitar? Those are your words. Not mine.”

“I didn’t say you suck at guitar, I said you sucked at practicing.”

“Well, yeah. Because I suck at guitar and practicing doesn’t help. So did you tell them that?”

Mikey fixed him with another one of his cold stares and ordered Gerard again to leave the room and give him space.

Before Gerard could give in, their mother appeared in the doorway and demanded to know what interview Mikey and Gerard had run off to. Mikey looked at Gerard with a nasty smirk on his face.

“You’re up,” he said, then turned on his computer—pretending to involve himself in his coursework.

If Ray didn’t kill him, Gerard was almost certain that his mother would.

Notes:

Anyone else particularly fond of Brat Mikey? Because I enjoy bad mood Mikey more than adorable little brother Mikey. I think he's been around Gerard long enough now to be able to show it when he's had enough brother time.

Chapter 15: A New Center of the Universe

The first get-together at Ray’s uncle’s house, Gerard spent the entire time curled up in a folding lawn chair just watching the other three men talk and show off their guitars. He was having flashbacks between old memories with Frank and memories of being on the road with Bert. The men all knew guitars and Gerard didn’t dare try to chime in. He would either look stupid, or he’d upset Mikey or Frank by bringing up information he only knew from Bert.

Not a lot was accomplished in that first meeting, but they did play a few covers with spotty vocals in between. Mikey wasn’t singing—that was for sure. Every time they’d pick a song to play that he knew Gerard also knew, he would look at him expectantly—like he really thought Gerard was just going to jump up and start belting out lyrics.

No way that was happening without some booze—and drinking was off the table since his mother thought it was his first day at work.

Which made it that much harder the following day—his actual first day at work. Lindsey, who had interviewed him, was only there long enough to pass Gerard off to Ray for training. To say Gerard’s nerves were wracked was a massive understatement. He was terrified to be on his own with Ray—afraid the man who rip him apart for all the things he’d done to Frank in the past. He deserved it. He knew he did, but it didn’t make taking the punishment any easier.

The longer the night went on—Ray discussing nothing other than work tasks Gerard was expected to remember to complete—the more nervous Gerard became. By his lunch break, Gerard’s entire body was shaking and the other man ended up bringing him a cup of soda from the fast food place across the parking lot.

“Blood sugar low?” Ray asked as he gestured for Gerard to take the cup.

“Y-Yeah. I guess so,” Gerard said, nearly crushing the paper cup in his grasp before catching himself and setting it down on the card table in front of him.

“If you ever need a break, just let me know. If you can’t tell, it’s pretty laid back here. If we’re not doing a special release day, you can pretty much take a break whenever you want. Just don’t, like, leave without telling anybody. We’ve had too many people just dip mid-shift and act like it didn’t happen. Like, c’mon. We have cameras. I know you left for over an hour. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Gerard just nodded along with whatever Ray was saying and sipped at the cola he’d been brought. He had a small packed lunch in the mini fridge, but he had no appetite. He was sick to his stomach with nerves and the soda wasn’t helping him any.

“So what do you think so far? Something you can see yourself doing?”

“I guess so,” Gerard answered. “I mean, the cleaning and sorting stuff I can be good at. I really just don’t like talking to people.”

“Yeah, that’s understandable,” Ray said. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.”

Gerard wasn’t so optimistic, but he kept his fears to himself.

As the night dragged on, Gerard was made to wait on several customers back to back, Ray hovering over his shoulder to make sure he didn’t fuck anything up and offering guidance on what buttons to push on the register to get it to do what he needed it to. As soon as Gerard started to think he had the hang of something, a customer would tack on something else and throw him for a loop—like adding a protection plan to a stupid portable CD player, or wanting to return a stack of games he claimed didn’t work.

When it came to the cleaning and sorting, Gerard had that down. He could do that all day every day. If only the job could be that easy… Every time the door dinged or the phone rang, Gerard’s blood ran cold and he had to fight the urge to hide.

If he didn’t do his best, if he didn’t keep this job, he was going to end up trapped in the guardianship and he would make himself look even worse to Ray and Frank. Perhaps worse than all of that, Mikey would be disappointed in him. Gerard couldn’t handle disappointing him on top of everyone else in his life…

So, Gerard did his best to learn and participate in his training—even if the word made him sick to his stomach every time he heard it. He wished there was something else they could call it besides his “Training Week.” He hated it when anyone referred to him as the Trainee or Ray as his Trainer.

That idea just filled him with dread and anxiety. How did people just use that word so casually? Didn’t they understand what it meant? Or was Gerard really just that broken?

By the end of his shift, Gerard was completely exhausted and hardly had any appetite for the Taco Bell Mikey had picked up for him as a reward for his “hard work.” He was exhausted and irritable and he didn’t want to eat and he didn’t want to retell his entire day to Mikey and then to his parents. He just wanted to go take a shower and change out of his clothes and wash off all the people whose hands he accidentally touched while handing them their change.

Once he was back in his room, Gerard changed into his skeleton pajamas and tried to make himself comfortable under his blankets with the overhead lights still on. The work hadn’t even been hard, and yet Gerard just felt like crying. He didn’t want to go back the next day. He just wanted to stay in his room and hide. He just wanted to be alone—be somewhere he knew what to expect, where he knew he was safe.

All he wanted was to feel safe.

( ) ( ) ( )

Ray had noticed it first. Frank was a close second. If you asked Mikey, though, Gerard was just sulking about having to work—both at the record store and on his high school equivalencies. Gerard was depressed again. He’d been working at the record shop for two months, his days steadily increasing at Mikey’s urging. For just as long, he had been coming to the Monday Music Nights at Ray’s uncle’s house—apparently pretending he was at work in order to get his parents’ permission to be out.

Gerard just seemed so tired and deflated, even when they were all supposed to be having fun. For the first few meet-ups, he just sat in an old lawn chair as far away from everyone as he could get, but then he slowly began moving the chair closer—and the eventually came to sit in the middle of the floor between the three of them while they played their guitars.

To Frank, it was kind of like a stray dog warming up to the people giving it food.

Whatever was going on with him, he wasn’t happy. Frank wasn’t even sure he wanted to be at the music nights. He just looked uncomfortable and out of place—and still, even after working with Ray for as long as he had, Gerard still cringed away from Ray any time he spoke too loud or moved to close. Frank didn’t get it. Ray was one the least intimidating people he knew. Frank had yelled at Gerard way more than Ray ever had and yet Frank still caught him looking up at him from the floor—passing him these sad, longing little glances.

Eventually, it was Ray who had had enough of it. As soon as their Monday night got started, Ray broke out the booze.

“Here,” Ray said, handing Gerard a solo cup full of red wine.

Gerard stared at him a second, then reached for the cup.

“Hey—No! No, what are you giving him?” Mikey asked, nearly dropping his guitar when he noticed the exchange.

For a moment, Gerard seemed almost human again. He got a wild smirk on his face and immediately pulled the cup to his mouth and started chugging it before his little brother could snatch it away.

“Dude! I told you our mom thinks he’s at work! What is she gonna say when he comes home drunk?”

“It’s one drink, Mikey!” Gerard argued, fighting to get his nearly-empty cup back.

“Bullshit! I told you guys he wasn’t supposed to be drinking.”

“Relax, Mikey. What’s the worst that’ll happen?” Ray asked. “He’s with us. Let him just...be part of the group.”

“Yeah, Mom. Let me be part of the group.”

“Can you try being part of the group without the wine?” Mikey asked. He gave Gerard a look which his older brother returned tenfold—some unspoken argument passing between them. “Fine. You wanna get drunk and explain it to Mom, go right ahead.”

“Thank you. Jesus Christ… Ray, can I get a new cup? He broke mine.” Gerard showed Ray his cup which was now sporting a long crack down one side.

“Sure. You good with the wine or do you want something else?”

“What all do you have?” Gerard asked, getting up from the floor and immediately following Ray to the fridge inside the garage.

“Just wine and beer. Nothing crazy. Sorry.”

“What, no blow?”

Ray chuckled. “Nope. None of that here.”

“Well, what good are ya?” Gerard accepted another solo cup and filled it to the brim with the same red wine Ray had poured him. Frank, who had been watching the exchange with some humor—and some relief at Gerard and Ray finally getting along—was almost startled when Gerard’s eyes turned to focus on him. “You want anything?”

“Huh? Oh. Sure. Beer’s good. Thanks.”

Gerard grabbed one out of the fridge and held his cup of wine with his teeth as he opened the bottle and carried it over to Frank.

“That’s a fun little party trick,” Frank said, gesturing to the cup Gerard somehow managed not to spill.

“Itch a hampher trick,” he said, cup still between his teeth.

“What?”

Gerard took the cup out of his mouth and smiled at Frank, the red wine staining his upper lip.

“It’s a vampire trick!”

“Oh, okay,” Frank said, laughing. “So you’re a vampire then?”

“Well, yeah. Didn’t you know that? It’s why I only go out at night.”

“I thought it was because Mikey couldn’t drive you to work for morning shifts because he has class,” Ray chimed in.

“Hey, I told him I could drive myself. He just said no.”

“You don’t know how to drive,” Mikey said, still sounding irritable over the entire situation with the wine.

“Uh, yes I fuckin’ do. Just because I don’t have a license doesn’t mean I can’t drive.”

“I think that’s exactly what that means,” Ray said before taking a sip of beer.

“Who taught you to drive?” Frank asked, realizing after he asked that he really didn’t want to know.

“Probably fucking Bert,” Mikey muttered. Gerard passed him a dirty look, then took another long drink of his wine.

“Actually, Tommy Klein taught me. Bert didn’t drive… I never saw him drive.” Gerard screwed up his face as if he were pondering whether or not his ex could drive a car, then shrugged and took another long drink.

“You say that like I’m supposed to know who that is,” Mikey said, apparently giving in and making his way to the fridge. He took out a beer and opened it, then in a petty display of brotherly frustration, threw his bottle cap at Gerard—striking him on the forehead.

“He’s an executive for Bert’s record label. I told you all about him, asshole. Good to know you were listening.”

“What label was it, Gerard?” Mikey asked, seeming to enjoy watching Gerard get flustered. “Good to see you were listening...”

Gerard focused on drinking his wine, filling his cup back up entirely too soon while the Frank and the other two began working at the tune they’d come up with. As he had been the last few Mondays, Gerard made himself comfortable on the concrete floor between them all, looking around at them while drinking his wine.

Frank noticed Gerard watching him quite a bit more intently than he usually did, but made the same amount of effort not to let on that he was aware of the staring. Before long, though, Gerard was very clearly tipsy and seemed to have finally, finally relaxed for once. He had found a scrap of cardboard and a half-dead Sharpie marker and was drawing something while nodding along to the music they played.

When it came time for them to take a break, Frank was surprised to see Gerard get up from the floor—not just to get more wine from a second bottle Ray had—but to approach the man himself and initiate a conversation.

Finally, Frank thought. Finally, Gerard was able to see that Ray wasn’t out to get him.

“Do you think you could play something—Like, play something I hear in my head?” Gerard asked him, his words slurred just a little bit.

“Uh… Maybe. Probably, I could,” Ray answered, opening another beer for himself. “What do you have in mind?”

“Wait, really?” Gerard asked, staring at Ray with something like awe on his face.

“Yeah! Why not? If you can give me an idea of what you’re hearing, I can give it a shot.”

For the first time, Gerard set his solo cup aside and scurried back over to the little scrap of cardboard he’d been doodling on, grabbing it up and hurrying back to Ray to show him a little blurb he’d written on the back.

“So the...the lyrics are kind of like this, but in my head I hear something like...” He started humming and vocalizing a tune, moving his hands in time with the notes.

“Hang on. Hang on,” Ray said, setting aside his beer bottle and picking back up his guitar. Once he’d readjusted the strap, he started trying to play along with the tune Gerard was vocalizing. Frank watched them, starting to pick up on the idea Gerard had in mind. Absently, he started strumming a few notes of his own, but Gerard’s attention was entirely fixed on Ray.

“What are they doing?” Mikey asked after coming back from a trip to the bathroom.

“Gerard came up with something,” Frank said. “Guess he needed some liquid courage to come out of his shell, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s what I was trying to avoid,” Mikey mumbled. “He can be really fun when he’s not drunk, you know? There’s more than one reason I didn’t want him drinking.”

Frank backed down after that, knowing he wasn’t going to get Mikey to cheer up for anything. He was pissed at Ray for buying the alcohol and upset with Gerard for drinking it. Frank didn’t see the harm in him cutting loose once in a while—especially if it helped him relax and make friends for once.

It was no wonder he stayed depressed when the only people he saw were his family, the ex-boyfriend he’d robbed, and Ray who he was terrified of. If a few drinks helped him see that it was okay to have a good time and relax, what was the big deal? It wasn’t like Ray bought coke for Gerard to snort or as if they were going to let him get plastered.

Or at least that hadn’t been the plan…

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard was having such a good night. Such a good night. He didn’t think Ray had cared much for him at all, even when Mikey kept insisting that it was Ray who had gotten him hired at the record store. It all felt like it was just done for Mikey’s benefit—that Ray liked Mikey so he agreed to hire Gerard and put up with him at their music nights as a sort of favor to him.

Now, though, after collaborating with Ray for about two hours straight, Gerard was on cloud nine—if not afflicted with a new, small crush.

Though that, he thought, was likely just an effect of the booze.

Maybe…

Sometimes it was hard for him to discern the difference between the affections he felt. Ray was paying attention to him, though, and Gerard liked it. He kept moving to sit closer and closer and Ray allowed it. At one point, he’d started resting his head against Ray’s knee and the other man didn’t make any gestures to push him off or shoo him away. The warmth of his body heat mixed with the swirling intoxication of the wine had Gerard feeling some kind of way, and all he wanted was to see how close to Ray he could get before Mikey dragged them home.

Any tune he came up with, Ray would play—and whenever Ray played something long enough, Frank started coming up with another layer to go along with it. For once, Gerard felt important. He felt like he was a part of something bigger than himself—even if it was just noise in a stranger’s garage. He was happy to have Frank near him again. He was happy that Ray no longer hated him. They were making music based off what Gerard imagined… He never thought he’d ever be so lucky.

Mikey, who Gerard could easily tell was upset, spent most of the evening tapping his fingers angrily on his bass and passing Gerard displeased looks.

Because of that, Gerard just did his best not to look at him. He focused entirely on Ray and Frank. He was happy. He felt so, so happy. It was almost like it had been with Bert, except instead of swapping lyrics, they were swapping sounds—and everyone (well, except Mikey) wanted to join him. He wasn’t being pushed out of the circle like he had been by Bert’s band mates. He was included—he was being listened to. Ray seemed to like what Gerard came up with and Gerard loved how Ray made his one dimensional thoughts burst with life.

And then there was Frank… Every time Gerard turned to look at him, Frank would pass him this small, soft smile that had Gerard’s stomach fluttering just like it used to around Bert. Frank was playing along to his music—his ideas.

Frank was smiling at him so genuinely. Gerard didn’t think he would ever see that again.

He knew he couldn’t get close to Frank, though—too afraid he’d ruin what little progress he’d made in repairing things between them. So, instead, he attached himself more and more to Ray. Frank had always wanted them to get along, hadn’t he? So many he would be happier with Gerard if he and Ray got closer.

Or maybe it was just the wine.

Gerard loved the feeling of it. His head was spinning just a little and he could feel his heartbeat in his head as he rested it against Ray’s knee—nuzzling it now and then. Maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe he needed to behave better and keep his distance. (Bert’s band had always been so critical of him if he showed Bert any sort of physical affection around them.) However, Gerard just didn’t find it possible. He was feeling too warm and giddy. He just wanted to see if he could make that feeling grow stronger and stronger by pressing his way further into Ray’s personal space.

At one point, Ray laughed and even patted Gerard on the head like one would a pet. Frank was smiling at the situation and shaking his head. They were amused with him, not angry. He was doing a good job and he was having fun.

Gerard had the nerve to feel proud of himself.

So when Mikey declared that the night was done, Gerard’s heart dropped. It was an hour earlier than they normally called it quits and Gerard couldn’t hide his disappointment.

“You sure?” Ray asked. “It’s still early.”

“Yeah. Someone needs to sober up before going home to Mom,” Mikey said, passing Gerard the same dirty look he’d been giving him all night.

“I’m not going,” Gerard said, lifting his head from Ray’s knee.

“Don’t start, Gerard.”

“I don’t want to go. I’m—I’m having fun. We’re writing a song. Just...Just stay a little longer. I’ll put the wine away. I’m sorry. I’m sorry—Please? Please?”

“No,” Mikey said, mocking Gerard’s tone.

“I don’t know why he can’t just pour out the rest and sober up here. We’re just playing,” Frank added, looking to Ray who seemed even more uncomfortable than Gerard.

“Because we need to go home.” Mikey had begun packing up his things. Suddenly, Gerard began to fear that if he left now, there would be no more Monday Music Nights.

He’d let himself have fun and it was never meant for him to enjoy. He’d broken an unspoken rule and now he was going to be excluded for the rest of time.

But he’d been having such a good time. He’d been getting affection—and even if it was from Ray and not from Frank like he really wanted, Gerard didn’t want it taken away.

“Mikey, please? I’ll put the wine away. I’m sorry. I was having fun—I’m having fun. Please? I don’t want to go.”

“C’mon, man. We’ll put the drinks up,” Frank said, looking to Ray who pulled away from Gerard in order to get started grabbing the empty bottles and chucking them into the trashcan. “Just hang out.” The loss of his warmth instantly had Gerard feeling anxious and sick. He was having a harder time keeping himself propped up than he’d realized and he wanted Ray to come back over to him and stand still—let him get his balance before he left him on the cold concrete again.

Gerard stared at Mikey, pleading until his brother finally turned to look at him.

Why was he so mad? It wasn’t like he didn’t get to out and have drinks whenever he wanted. Gerard fucked up and snorted coke one time at one bar with one dude and now he wasn’t allowed to have fun?

“Please, Mikey? I won’t drink anymore. I’ll be good. I’ll…I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll do your laundry when we get home. Please?”

“Fine,” Mikey said, slamming his case shut. “But I’m done. I have a headache and I’m going home. You can either stay here and figure out how to get home yourself, or you can come with me.”

Gerard helplessly looked from his brother to Ray who glanced down at the amount of beer bottles in the trash, then looked to Frank who had much the same reaction. Neither of them had planned to leave the garage any time soon—let alone within the next hour.

“I’m gonna stay. Tell Mom you went to pick me up and I just wasn’t there,” Gerard said, stumbling embarrassingly back up onto his feet and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, that sounds like a great idea,” Mikey said, facing Gerard and returning the same, crossed-arm posture.

“Well… Then give me your phone and I’ll call her when I want to come home.”

“You’re not getting my phone.”

“Then how the fuck am I supposed to get home, asshole?” Gerard snapped.

“That’s for you to figure out! I’m offering to give you a ride now. We need to leave.”

“Why? Because I’m having fun without permission?” What was his problem!? Gerard just couldn’t figure it out. Was he jealous that Gerard had been cuddling up to Ray and not him? Mikey always made it clear he didn’t care for that much physical touch, so why was he jealous of Gerard for getting close to Ray? Why wasn’t Gerard allowed to get close to anybody without someone getting pissed off?

“Because you’re drunk.”

“So what? Who cares! You drink.” All he wanted was someone to love him, for fuck’s sake. All he wanted was a man to touch him and not leave him with bruises and scars. Ray’s hand on his head for those brief few seconds was more comfort than Gerard had felt in months and he didn’t want to go home and lose the chance of it ever happening again.

“You know, maybe we should stop for the night,” Ray said, fidgeting.

“I don’t know why you’re mad at me,” Gerard pleaded, letting his arms drop to his sides. “You’re the one who kept dragging me here. I finally have fun and now you want to make me leave… I don’t get it.”

“Did you ever think maybe I wanted you to have fun without being drunk? Or have you enjoy making music without having to be wasted?”

“I’m not even wasted! I just had some wine. I’m fine! I just want to hang out… Please, Mikey… Please, don’t be like this. I don’t want you disappointed in me.” Slowly, Gerard found himself falling into an old routine.

Assuage his Master. Calm him down. He wouldn’t avoid the beating, but he’d lessen the number of blows.

Gerard grabbed Mikey’s wrists, pulling them close to his chest and trying to get his brother to look him in the eyes even as his brother tried to twist away from him.

“I don’t want you mad. I didn’t mean to make you mad. I won’t do it again. I won’t. I promise… Please just stay? It won’t be any fun without you. I thought we were all hanging out together. It’s not the same if you leave...” He pleaded and pleaded until Mikey finally sighed and dropped the tension from his shoulders. “You’re my best friend. Please don’t go… I just want to keep hanging out with you. You know? Without Mom and Dad around the corner listening in.”

“Fine…” Mikey said, looking more defeated than annoyed. “Fine, but you’re explaining to Mom why we’re getting home late. I’m not bringing you home smelling like booze and getting my ass kicked for it. Okay?”

“Okay,” Gerard said, squeezing Mikey’s wrists gently and offering him a nervous smile. “I’ll tell Mom I shit my pants at work and you had to help me wash them in the bathroom sink.”

“Oh, God,” Mikey said, grimacing and pulling away.

“We could pretend I got written up for drawing on all the receipt paper and had to stay late to clean.”

“That’s not how jobs work, Gerard. It’s not like you get detention.” Mikey went back to his case and shook his head as he removed his bass.

“We could say it was inventory night,” Ray suggested, still looking a bit guilty himself.

“Whatever,” Mikey said, plugging back in and letting out a loud sigh.

Gerard, still nervous but pleased with himself, scurried back over to his abandoned solo cup of wine. He took a quick, large gulp from it while Mikey wasn’t looking, then made a show of dumping the rest of it out and replacing it with a bottle of water from the fridge.

“See? I can be good,” Gerard said, a little unsteady as he made his way back to his special little spot by Ray’s feet.

“Well, just keep working on your great excuse, because I’m not answering to Mom,” Mikey muttered.

Their mother was the last thing on his mind as Ray started strumming at his guitar. Gerard had his head rested back against Ray’s leg again, immediately back in heaven. He listened to them play and had started scribbling on his piece of cardboard again, elated that new ideas were flowing through—even if he wasn’t sure their quality would hold up under a sober eye.

It was like being back with Bert but better.

He was part of the group. He was at the center of the room—the center of attention. Frank was here and smiling at him, and Ray was here, occasionally patting his head. His little brother was here, looking out for him—keeping him safe.

Gerard didn’t think he’d ever been happier.

Notes:

Sorry, maybe some self-serving, one-sided Rayrard in this chapter. I just want some of the van days Gerard/Ray platonic cuddling to prepare for what's to come. Hopefully I'm not bogging you down with updates! I just want to get on to the good stuff, but we need a little fluff to carry us on our way, right? I promise there will be some Frerard coming in hot!

I also forgot to mention that everyone is still pretty young in this story, so while it seems obvious as an outsider that Mikey is trying to protect Gerard from his substance abuse issues, he isn't exactly forthcoming with Ray and Frank about how bad it's gotten. So to them, it's just a normal guy's night with some drinks. For Gerard, there is no normal amount of drinks and it will take them a while to figure that out.

Chapter 16: A Softer Touch

Notes:

Gerard gets to have a fanboy moment and then proceeds to have a heart-to-heart with Mikey. What can go wrong??

Four months into his employment at the record store and the guardianship his parents sought to get over him was dead in the water. Gerard was able to force himself to carve out time to do his GED work in the mornings—finally freed from his prison of the dining room table—and made a big song and dance out of showing his therapist and psychiatrist that he was “getting back into his hobbies.”

According to all the professionals, Gerard was “getting so much better.”

And “better” meant no need for a guardianship—much to his parents’ disappointment. Gerard hadn’t realized there was a financial incentive to their schemes, including a nice, fat check if they got the courts to deem him disabled and in need of their constant care. After their plans came to an end, Gerard felt like life had picked right the fuck back up where he’d left it at fifteen.

He had to beg for anything he wanted—beg to get rides to the store, beg for free time to do his art instead of his schoolwork, beg to go see Ray on nights other than the secret Monday Music Nights. His parents wanted him under lock and key, trapped in their little prison where they could control his every move and siphon off part of his paycheck under the guise of “rent.”

Fuck that, Gerard thought. He didn’t want to be in the house. Why did he need to give up his hard earned money for rent?

The only true freedom Gerard had was his cell phone. Mikey took him to buy it and Gerard hid it from their parents, knowing his mom would like nothing more than to take control of that too. He didn’t have many numbers, but it was his lifeline to the outside world. He could text Mikey, he could text Ray, he could text his manager Lindsey, and he could text Frank.

He and Ray chatted music, and every time Ray was quick to answer his messages, Gerard’s heart fluttered. He was one step away from being a school girl kicking his feet and twirling his hair while staring at Ray’s pixelated contact photo in his phone each time he sent a message, waiting for that near-instant reply.

When it came to Frank, Gerard knew the other man spent most of his waking life at his job—still serving people food at the diner and barely scraping by. His texts would eventually come through, but with much less frequency than Ray’s and spaced out with hours in between.

Gerard made sure to ask him about Sweet Pea, knowing the little dog was the fastest way back into Frank’s good graces and his heart. Frank would send him pictures of the dog, but never any pictures of himself no matter how many times Gerard fished for selfies. He would keep trying and sending pictures of his own, but made it a point to gush over the dog he didn’t really like that much—just in hopes Frank might not see through him.

For now, he could only get his fix on music nights when he could just pass looks to Frank while hanging out next to Ray.

As for the music nights themselves, Gerard had gotten Mikey to agree to one drinking night a month where they could both loosen up. Mikey wasn’t the most happy with the arrangement, but he had yet to throw another tantrum.

Gerard was learning to unwind with the group now that the ice had officially been broken, but he still preferred it when they could have drinks. Mikey just didn’t understand how much better he felt when he’d had some wine. Even one cup was enough to quiet the negative thoughts that swirled in the back of his head. Yeah, maybe three or four cups had him acting a bit stupid, but where was the harm in that? It wasn’t like he was hooking up with strangers anymore or getting offered blow between songs.

When it came to work, though, Gerard guessed he was settling in as well as could be expected. He worked a regular shift, just under full-time, and spent most of his time cleaning and organizing while someone else handled the customer service skills. Gerard liked the closing shift best, the predictable dwindling of the customers and the chats he got to have with his coworkers.

Lindsey, he was surprised, was his favorite to gossip with, even if he didn’t know half of the people she talked about. Ray was, obviously, a very close second.

“So, Ray told me you guys get a little weird during rehearsals,” Lindsey said, cleaning the glass display case next to the rack Gerard was re-organizing.

“Rehearsal?” He asked.

“Yeah—your little band rehearsal thing. Whatever you guys do on Monday.”

“Music Night?” Gerard asked. Was it a rehearsal? He guessed it kind of was. They’d written some of their own songs, but mostly they just messed around and played covers.

“Yeah. I hear you guys get weird.”

“I don’t know about that,” Gerard answered, chuckling nervously.

“Ray told me you bit him on the leg last time,” Lindsey said, pausing her cleaning of the glass until Gerard met her wily gaze.

“Uh… I plead the fifth.” Yeah, sometimes he got weird if he went past four solo cups of wine… Mikey had already laid into him about it.

She giggled at him and went back to cleaning. “Uh oh. Does someone have a crush on Mr. Toro?”

“What? No! No. No, that’s...stupid.” Gerard did his best to keep his face blank, mortified that she would even ask. Was he that obvious? He didn’t think he’d ever told her about his situation with Frank and he’d never specified how he’d been “part of the road crew” for The Used. And why the heck did Ray tell her about the bite? He was drunk! He was just playing the part of the vampire—that was all it was.

“Hey, I’m not judging! He’s not exactly my type, but if you’re a leg guy...he’s your guy.”

“He’s not my guy,” Gerard said. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, c’mon! Every girl goes through a biting phase. In middle school, I even had a boyfriend convinced I was actually a vampire.”

“I’m not a girl!” Gerard exclaimed, the tips of his ears even starting to burn from the embarrassment.

“Okay! Okay… You left a heck of a bruise though.”

“Why do you know that!?” Gerard asked, his stomach starting to twist into an unpleasant knot.

“I saw him at the mailbox this morning. He had his gym shorts on.”

“Mailbox?” Gerard whispered.

“Yeah. We live in the same complex. It was kind of hard to miss.”

“For the record...I was really drunk,” Gerard said, shuffling away to begin sorting another rack. He couldn’t believe Ray would tell their boss he did that. If it was meant to be a wake up call, it worked. Gerard was never drinking that much again.

“So… Is Ray your type?”

“No,” Gerard said, not at all convincing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about anyway.”

“Oh, right. Because straight dudes totally give love bites to their guy friends.”

“I was drunk!” Gerard declared.

“And?”

He passed Lindsey a helpless look and she continued to smile at him. She wasn’t going to get off his case…

“It wasn’t a love bite. I was just fucking around.”

“Okay…” She kept passing glances at him until Gerard broke the tense silence.

“I’m not trying to hook up with Ray. And, no, he’s not ‘my type.’”

“So what is your type?”

Gerard rolled his eyes.

“Oh, come on! You’ve heard about all my exes. What’s your story?”

“It’s nothing! It’s boring!” Gerard said helplessly.

“See, I thought that was the case because you’re so fucking shy—but then I saw the number you did on Ray’s leg.”

“We were all just screwing around. I was drunk. I bit harder than I meant to. Believe me. I’ve already heard about it from everybody else.”

For a while, it seemed like Lindsey was willing to drop it. Gerard started to relax back into his work, his mortification receding as he pushed the biting incident to the back of his mind.

“So you probably won’t be going to the show this weekend then, huh?”

“What?”

“Ray’s show. His band is back together again and doing a little gig. He didn’t tell you?”

“No… I’ll probably be working, won’t I?”

“It starts way after we close, Hun.”

The pet name sent a bolt down Gerard’s spine. The mention of a show, the pet name Bert always used to call him...it brought back a longing Gerard had been fighting down for months.

“Are you going?” Gerard asked.

“Of course! I can’t stand their singer, but Ray’s great to watch live. He puts on a good show.”

“I want to go,” Gerard said, almost speaking to himself.

“It’s Friday night. I’ll drive if you really want to go.”

Gerard very nearly said his mother would not allow it, then realized how much like a child that made him sound. He was a grown man. He made his own money. He could go to a fucking live music show without asking.

“Just promise you won’t jump on the stage and bite his leg while he’s shredding,” Lindsey teased, immediately making Gerard cringe.

He was never, ever drinking that much again.

( ) ( ) ( )

Frank felt his heart skip a beat when he spotted Gerard just paces down from him at the dim venue bar. He was standing next to a woman who was excitedly talking to him as they waited for their drinks. Gerard had his eyeliner on and what appeared to be smeared red lipstick on his neck, making him look like he’d been cut. Gerard was smiling at the woman and laughing, combing his fingers nervously through his hair while she talked to him.

If he was here, was Mikey? He and Ray had made a point not to involve the Way brothers with the show since it was at a bar and they knew how passionate Mikey was about Gerard’s drinking. So how had Gerard found out? Or was it just a coincidence?

The bartender set a couple of bright red cocktails down in front of the couple and Frank watched as the woman picked up both glasses and handed one to Gerard. The two of them clinked glasses in a mock toast and—as Frank expected—Gerard nearly finished his cocktail in that first gulp.

The woman laughed, but pulled a face as she turned away from him and called the bartender back, gesturing to her glass to ask for another. Frank must have spent just a second too long staring because the woman turned her hear sharply in his direction, catching him in the act. All he could do was freeze, resisting the urge to drop to the floor and hide. He wasn’t being a creep, he reassured himself. This lady was just there with someone he knew. He wasn’t being creepy.

So, Frank forced himself to lift up his hand to wave. This finally caught Gerard’s attention and Frank’s mouth ran dry when the other man lit up just at the sight of him. He waved back, then turned to the woman and said something to her which got her to smile as well and start motioning for Frank to join them at their end of the bar. Still anxious, Frank clutched tightly to his bottle of beer and made his way over to Gerard.

“Hey! I didn’t think you’d be off work,” Gerard said. “I thought that’s why you guys didn’t tell me about the show.”

“Uh—No, well… Shit. Sorry. Ray and I were kind of worried Mikey might lose his shit so… But it’s good you’re here! It’s awesome.” Smooth… Frank was mentally kicking himself all the while eyeing the definite lipstick smear on Gerard’s throat. What was this little stunt?

“Oh… Well, I guess that makes sense.” Gerard said. There was no denying he looked hurt. “Frank, this Lindsey. She’s our manager at the store. She told me about the show.”

Lindsey greeted him and held out her hand, looking at Frank with intrigue—like she knew there was a bigger story here and wanted to be let in on it. “Sorry. I didn’t realize it was a secret performance,” she said.

“No. It’s not. Just… Mikey can be...” Frank looked to Gerard for help, but the other man seemed pleased to let him suffer. He was fully distracted by the fresh cocktail the bartender had set down for him. “So you’re his manager, huh?” Frank asked, making a gesture towards his own throat and glancing at Gerard.

The woman burst out laughing and put her hand on Gerard’s arm, squeezing it affectionately.

“It was supposed to look like a vampire bite but this guy can’t hold still for five seconds,” she said. “You smeared it already, by the way.”

“I did?” Gerard said, coughing as choked on his cocktail. His hand immediately went to his neck and immediately made the smeared lipstick mark even worse. “Fuck!”

“Next time, I’ll bring a lip pencil. How about that?”

They had no reason to lie about it, but Frank wasn’t buying the excuse. A vampire bite drawn on in lipstick right on his pulse? No…

“Probably a good idea,” Gerard said, ducking his head a little. He looked nervous and his eyes kept scanning the bar as if he were looking for other people he might know. “So, Frank… You knew about the show?” He asked.

“Yeah. I wasn’t sure I would be able to come, but I got the night off. I’m glad you could make it. And...no Mikey?”

“Yeah, no Mikey,” Gerard said, looking sheepish. He reached into his pocket and brought out his cell phone. A moment later he was showing off the number of missed texts and calls he had from his brother like they were some badge of honor. “He’s worse than Mom sometimes.”

“Did you at least tell him you were going out?” Frank asked.

“Yeah...” He was lying. Lindsey caught it, too.

“You need to tell him you haven’t been abducted and murdered. Come on.”

“If I tell him, it’ll be worse than getting abducted and murdered. He’ll go to every bar in the city until he finds me!”

Lindsey, apparently underestimating Mikey, laughed like it was an average joke.

“You probably should tell him where you are,” Frank said, only to get a disappointed look from Gerard—a look almost like a pout. “But at least let him know you’re still alive and not getting murdered.”

“Fine. I’ll text him.” Gerard made a show of sending Mikey a selfie, then put his phone back into his pocket.

“I didn’t realize I was helping with a prison break,” Lindsey said, looking to Frank and shrugging playfully.

“Mikey’s just...a lot,” Gerard answered.

“If he’s your brother, I can imagine…” Lindsey said, waiting until Gerard made eye contact with her before adding, “Does he bite people too?”

Frank couldn’t help but laugh.

“You know about that, too, huh?”

“I’m here to protect my employee’s legs. That’s all,” Lindsey said, holding up her hands and chuckling.

“I was just messing around!” Gerard pleaded.

“The bruise says otherwise,” Lindsey teased.

“You left a bruise?” Frank asked, cringing on Ray’s behalf. Gerard had gotten way too drunk at their last get together and had decided to play up his vampire character that he was working on in his prospective comic book/rock opera idea. Ray, seeming to be Gerard’s favorite sounding board for all of his music ideas, just happened to get in the way.

“I didn’t mean to,” Gerard said. “Can we...stop talking about it? I was really drunk.” He said this as if he wasn’t nearly through his second cocktail already.

“I think he likes Ray,” Lindsey leaned in to whisper.

She didn’t know the half of it. Gerard liked anyone who gave him positive attention. Frank couldn’t pretend he didn’t notice how Gerard lit up when Ray would oblige him with a pat on the head—like he was a literal dog. He didn’t even see how patronizing it was. He just liked getting touched by people who didn’t hurt him.

Gerard was on his third drink as the three of them made their way into the small gathering at the front of the venue. It was a tiny crowd, but Frank had a feeling it was better that way with Gerard here. He was peering around like he was taking in every detail of the dark, cramped space, but didn’t seem overly nervous—other than the fact that he was sucking down drinks as quickly as he could.

He had another cocktail finished and was onto a bottle of beer by the time the music started. Ray’s band wasn’t up first, but Gerard seemed to be enjoying himself and behaving a lot better than Frank could have imagined. Frank was so used to seeing Gerard anxious—seeing him scared and half-catatonic. Watching him smile and nod along to the blasting metal band had him wondering just how much progress Gerard had really made while out on the road with Bert.

A venue like this was so much like that auction where they’d first met. Frank could feel the shadows of it looming over his head and he hadn’t even been the one suffering that night. How was Gerard just smiling and drinking and standing right there at the front of the pit?

“I gotta say it,” Gerard shouted, leaning over to Lindsey as the guitar and drum noise blasted through the tiny crowd. “This is not my kinda sound.”

“Me either!” Lindsey shouted back. They both turned to look at Frank then—Frank who was kind of enjoying the show, even though the singer wasn’t quite up to snuff.

He just shrugged at them and Gerard responded by tilting his head curiously. Frank had to come closer to him so Gerard could shout in his ear over the music.

“You like this?”

“Yeah, kind of,” Frank shouted back.

“Why!?” He looked so genuinely confused and all Frank could do was laugh and shrug. “It’s awful! When’s Ray up?”

“Aw! Gerry wants to see his crush!” Lindsey teased, shouldering Gerard playfully.

Whatever Gerard’s words of protest were got drowned out by the screaming of the band as their music got impossibly louder.

Eventually, Ray’s band did come on—and while Gerard was on to a second beer, his excitement was unmatched. He was like a kid, bouncing up and down and trying to get Ray’s attention before the music could even start. Ray noticed Frank first and gave him a quick nod and a thumbs up, then spotted Gerard. For him, Ray smiled—all warm and friendly—and looked away just in time to avoid the way Gerard practically swooned over it.

Maybe Lindsey was onto something…

The entire time Ray’s band was playing, Gerard’s eyes were fixed on Ray. No matter where Ray moved on the stage, no matter who crossed into his line of vision, Gerard tracked Ray’s every move. Frank had to wonder if Gerard even heard the songs that were playing.

Even though there wasn’t much of a crowd and even though this gig wasn’t really much of a show, Ray still indulged Gerard by flicking him a guitar pick that no one else seemed to notice or care about. It had Gerard scrambling around on the filthy floor to grab it, though—and nearly toppling over when he straightened himself up too quickly.

“Okay—Okay, we need out of here. We need out! Out!” Gerard started calling as soon as Ray’s band left the stage. Lindsey looked at him like he was nuts, then glanced to Frank who passed her a dutiful nod and wink as he grabbed Gerard by the arm.

“I’ve got him. I’ll get him,” Frank said, allowing Gerard to push his way through the small swell of people in order to head back toward the bar. “We’re done drinking. Gerard, we’re done drinking.”

“Okay, but then I gotta piss,” Gerard said, words slurred. “I gotta piss. Where’s the...where….”

“This way. Come on. Where’s your pick? You got it? Okay, good. Let’s go. Bathroom. This way.” He had to keep reassuring Gerard that he was leading him to the toilets and not trying to take him outside to leave in order to keep the other man moving. Thankfully, he was able to stand still in the small line outside the bathroom and kept himself upright as he relieved himself and washed his hands.

“I feel better,” Gerard said as soon as he’d rejoined Frank.

“That’s good. How about some water?”

“Diet Coke,” Gerard said.

“Okay. Diet Coke. Let’s go get that.” Frank patted Gerard’s arm and led him back over to the bar, ordering the soda along with a couple of ice waters. “Water first, then your Coke. Alright?”

“Fine...” Gerard took the plastic cup of water and turned to look toward the stage where the third band had started playing. “Is Ray gonna come out and like...see us? Is he gonna sign stuff?”

“Uh… This—This isn’t that kind of a show, Gerard,” Frank said, giggling at him. It was cute. The way he was looking around for Ray was cute and Frank made a mental note to tell the other man about it later.

“So he’s not coming back?” Gerard asked, looking so disappointed.

“He’ll be coming out, but… This isn’t like a concert. It’s just an open mic night. No one’s signing stuff.”

“Well he can sign my stuff,” Gerard mumbled, quirking his brow before finishing off his water like it was shot. “There. I had my water. Give me my drink. Gimme.” He was making grabby hands for the cup of Diet Coke and Frank enjoyed the game of keep-away far more than he should have, watching as Gerard’s brow furrowed with frustration as his poor reaction time kept him just inches away from his cup. “Gimme!”

“Okay, okay.” Frank handed it to him and turned to look back at the stage. The third band had a much better singer than the first, but their drummer was drunk and clearly out of time with the beat. Gerard seemed to notice it, too. He just kept shaking his head. “So what do you think so far? Having fun?”

“I think Ray’s too good for this place,” Gerard said. “We’re too good for this place.”

“We’re too good for this place? I didn’t know we had a band,” Frank teased.

“Then what the fuck are we doing on Mondays?” Gerard asked, looking at him like he was dumb. Frank just giggled.

“So what’s our band name, then?” Frank asked.

“Uh… Frank and Ray’s Big Adventure,” Gerard slurred.

“Okay, I’ll let Ray know,” Frank said.

“Good. Because I don’t want him playing here anymore. He’s too good. Too good.”

At least with the soda, he drank a little slower. Still, the drink was gone before Ray came out from backstage and Gerard was angrily drinking the second ice water Frank had gotten for him.

“Uh, oh. Here he comes,” Frank said, pointing out Ray to Gerard who was back to looking around the venue like he didn’t remember where he was. “Watch out, Ray. Your number one fan is here.”

“Hey! I didn’t know you were coming out tonight,” Ray said. As soon as he was within reach, Gerard extended his arms out—clearly gesturing for a hug which Ray awkwardly obliged, thumping Gerard on the back a few times before Gerard finally let him go. “No Mikey?”

“Nope! No babysitter.”

“Hey, Gerard—tell him our band name,” Frank said.

“We have a band?” Gerard asked. He paid Frank hardly any attention at all, immediately attaching himself to Ray who was ordering himself a drink at the bar. “And one for me. One for me, too. Please? Just one. Just one more.”

“Coke!” Frank shouted, making sure Ray heard him. “Diet Coke!”

“Just one beer. Just one more.”

Despite his pleas, Ray listened to Frank and the only thing Gerard got for his pleading efforts was another cup of watered down Diet Coke.

“So what did you think?” Ray asked, looking at Frank but keeping his arm around Gerard so the other man would stop demanding his full attention.

“I think your singer needs some work,” Frank offered. “Other than that, you guys played great.”

Gerard was saying something, but neither Frank nor Ray caught it. Frank thought to ask him to repeat himself, but he was already busying himself with crunching a piece of ice from his cup so Frank passed it off as drunken babbling.

“Yeah… I’m just glad he showed. He wasn’t going to come. We almost didn’t play.”

“Gerard would’ve been disappointed,” Frank laughed. Ray still had his arm around the other man’s shoulders, partially to keep him from wandering off and partially to keep him from demanding any more attention than he already was.

“No Mikey though?” Ray asked.

“No babysitters,” Gerard chimed in.

“Lindsey brought him,” Frank said. “Mikey’s gonna be pissed.”

“He’s always pissed!” Gerard said, turning to bury his face in Ray’s shoulder. “He’s always pissed at me for something.”

“Aw. There, there,” Ray said, patting Gerard’s shoulder and briefly tipping his sweaty head against Gerard’s.

Frank thought about warning him against being too affectionate, but kept it to himself. Ray would have to learn on his own if Gerard started pushing boundaries the way he used to with Frank.

Gerard managed to behave, though. Ray and Frank talked music while the next couple of bands played, the two of them taking turns buying Gerard more soda and accompanying him on trips to the bathroom. Eventually, Lindsey rejoined them and Gerard immediately tried to get her to buy him something other than soda.

“Honey, they cut you off. Just drink in Ray’s radiant aura,” the woman said, chuckling as Gerard stood next to her and pouted.

Slowly, he was starting to sober up, but it did nothing for his clinging. Once Ray’s band mates had joined them at the bar, however, Frank noticed that Gerard immediately shrank back. He pulled away to the far wall, as far from them as he could get while keeping Ray in sight, and anxiously tapped his fingers on his plastic water cup.

That was the cue Frank didn’t realize he’d been waiting for.

“Ray, I’m gonna get him home, alright?” Frank said.

“Huh? Oh! Okay. Is he… Is he good?”

“I don’t know,” Frank said, shaking his head and offering a shrug.

“Do you want me to take him? I brought him here. I feel bad,” Lindsey said. “You shouldn’t have to leave.”

“It’s fine. Trust me, you don’t want to be there when Mikey sees him,” Frank said. “I have to get to bed before work anyway.”

Lindsey apologized again, then waved as Frank led Gerard out of the bar.

“It’s cold out! When did it get cold!” Gerard said, shivering and hunching in on himself.

“It’s nighttime. It’s always cold at night,” Frank said. “We’re parked this way. C’mon.”

“We’re leaving? But I didn’t say anything to Ray. I didn’t get to tell him goodbye!”

“Yeah you did,” Frank lied. “You don’t remember?”

“No… I didn’t get to say anything… Aw, man. He’s gonna be mad at me.”

“No. Just text him when you get home.”

“Okay,” Gerard muttered, following Frank dejectedly.

“Did you have a good time tonight?”

“Yeah...”

“Yeah? You seem upset. Do you just miss Ray?” Frank asked, smiling to himself.

“I want to see you play,” Gerard said, sighing heavily. “Do you have any cigarettes?”

“Not on me, no. What do you mean you want to see me play?” Frank asked, opening his car door for Gerard who sank down into the passenger seat. When Gerard didn’t answer, Frank went to shut the door, only to have Gerard snag him by the pocket of his jeans. “What?”

“You’re not mad at me for coming, right?” Gerard asked, head ducked low. “I know I wasn’t invited… I know you didn’t want me to come.”

“Hey—No. It’s not that we didn’t want you to come, we were...Ray and I were kind of afraid of Mikey. Let me get in and we’ll talk about it,” Frank said, trying to pull away only to have Gerard tighten his grip on Frank’s pocket. “Gerard… It’s cold. Let me get in.”

Gerard hesitated, then sighed and let go, his hand dropping into his lap. Frank hurried to close the door and braced himself for whatever Gerard had in mind as he made his way around to the drivers side. Once he was seated in the car and the doors were locked, he hesitated to move—part of him waiting to Gerard to grab him again or try to force some kind of affection on him.

Nothing happened.

“Why do you think we didn’t want you to come?”

“You didn’t invite me, Frank… What am I supposed to think?”

“The way Mikey acts when you have a drink, we just didn’t want to risk it. And we didn’t want you to lie to him about where you were going. It was… I guess it was easier to just keep you both in the dark. I’m sorry.”

“Am I really that awful?” Gerard asked.

“I don’t think so. No.”

“I really just wanted to see him play, you know? It’s nice to get out and see people. It’s nice to feel normal for once.”

“I get that,” Frank said, daring to reach over and squeeze Gerard’s shoulder. “Next time, we’ll just tell you. I’m sorry. We wanted you to come, just...Mikey’s a buzzkill sometimes. You know?”

“I’m the buzzkill,” Gerard muttered. “Drink too much… Act like an idiot… It’s nothing Bert didn’t tell me before…”

“It’s not that bad,” Frank said, starting the car. “I just didn’t want you and Mikey fighting all night at his show. Okay? That’s all. Next time, we’ll just deal with it if it happens. Okay?”

“No...”

“Then I don’t know what to tell you,” Frank sighed. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“Ray’s too good for that place,” Gerard said, resting his head against the window. “You’re too good for that place.”

“Me? You’ve never really even seen me play, Gerard.”

“I see you every Monday.”

“That’s just messing around. It’s not really playing.”

“It could be,” Gerard mumbled. “I bet… I bet I could sing better than all those other people tonight. They sucked.”

“Just because you don’t like their sound doesn’t mean they sucked, Gerard.”

“Trust me… They sucked.”

Frank scoffed at him and let the ride fall into silence as he drove toward the Way household, trying to come up with what he’d say to Mikey—or worse, Gerard’s parents.

At least he’d sobered up a bit, Frank thought. At least Gerard wasn’t completely shitfaced.

“Ray was happy to see you,” Frank tried as they rounded the corner to Gerard’s block.

“Really?” Gerard asked, tipping his head back against the seat and smiling. He sounded so pleased with himself.

“I didn’t see him give anyone else his guitar pick.”

“He’s so cool… It’s like… It’s like we’re on the same wavelength,” Gerard said, imitating the flow of a wave with his hand. “It’s like he can hear exactly what I hear in my mind, you know? The music… He hears it just like I do.” Again, Gerard repeated, “He’s too good for that place.”

( ) ( ) ( )

To say he was pissed was an understatement. Mikey was waiting outside the house with his arms crossed, watching as Frank’s car approached down the street. Ray had been good enough to give him a heads up. Frank, apparently, was too chickenshit. The car idled in the street for a moment, but when Gerard didn’t get out, Frank turned it off in order to come around and open the passenger door for him.

Mikey half expected his brother to need help walking considering he’d spent the whole night a bar, but his brother just seemed ashamed of himself. He walked across the lawn toward the house with his head ducked and his arms crossed—looking every bit like a kid doing the walk of shame out of the principal’s office.

“Have fun?” Mikey spat.

“Yeah,” Gerard answered.

“Sorry,” Frank said, starting to prattle off some excuse.

“Oh, save it!”

“Mike—” Gerard tried to come to Frank’s defense, but Mikey just didn’t want to hear it.

“No! You couldn’t fuckin’ tell me where you were? You didn’t think maybe I wanted to get out too? Or that I’d want to be there for you in case something fuckin’ happened? Fuck you, Gerard.”

“It’s not what you think,” Frank attempted. His excuses were cut off when the door opened up behind Mikey and their parents emerged—ready to lay into Gerard twice as hard.

“Of course it’s you,” their father said, eyeing Frank.

Gerard, threw his arms down and looked around exasperated, like he didn’t understand why everyone was upset with him.

“I’m just the driver,” Frank said. “I just brought him home—”

“I was on a date!” Gerard shouted, cutting off their father before the argument between the men could start. “I was on a date! I was on a date with Lindsey! That’s why I didn’t want you to come! That’s why I didn’t want you to know about it because I knew you’d all be up my ass. Oh my, God. Get out of my way. I just want to go to my room...” Gerard shoved past all of them, leaving them all behind passing confused looks.

“Who is Lindsey?” Their father asked.

“Isn’t that his boss?” Their mother asked, looking to Frank then looking to Mikey.

“A date?” Mikey asked, scoffing and looking to Frank who just shrugged and shook his head. He looked as caught off guard as the rest of them.

There was no way in fucking hell he was on a date let alone one with a woman… But it worked. The crazy fucker found a way to shut their parents up without having to plead his case. Their son on a date with a woman? Well, it may as well have been a fucking Christmas miracle.

“I’ll call you later,” Mikey said, passing a glare to Frank before following his parents back into the house and shutting the door. Whatever it was, Frank wouldn’t be the one to give him a straight answer and he didn’t feel like dealing with him or his sad, pathetic looks.

Down in his room, Gerard was using a wet wipe to scrub at the smear of what looked like lipstick on his neck—trying to ignore the questions his parents were throwing at him.

“Why do you have eyeliner on?” Their dad asked him, immediately getting elbowed by his wife and told to drop it.

“Because it looks fuckin’ hot?” Gerard spat. “I told you I wanted left alone. I wanna change. I want to take a shower. Are you trying to get a strip tease or what?”

They bickered with him for a while but eventually seemed to accept that he was too combative to give them any details about his “date” or pay any attention to their scolding of him for going out without telling anyone.

Mikey, however, wasn’t so easily pushed aside.

“A date, huh?” He asked, sitting on Gerard’s bed while his brother made a futile display of stripping of his shirt and undoing his pants. Mikey wasn’t going to let him get his way.

“I just wanted them to shut up. I knew it would shut them up,” Gerard said.

“So were you ever going to tell me about this show or did you all just agree to leave me out of it?”

“I didn’t know about it until Lindsey invited me.”

“You just said—”

“I lied about the date part! I still went with her. I didn’t know Frank was gonna be there...” He had his jeans halfway down his thigh and finally gave up on the game of Strip-Chicken he’d been playing in his attempt to get Mikey to go away. “I guess I kind of knew he would when she said Ray was playing but… I don’t know. I was a plus one. I can’t invite people.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. It’s a bar, not a fucking wedding.”

“Well, then why didn’t you just come on your own?” Gerard grumbled.

“Because I found out ten minutes ago from Ray. You just sent me a stupid fucking selfie, remember? Are you that sick of me already?”

“No...” Gerard looked ashamed again and slowly pulled his pants back up. Quietly, he started looking for a new sweater to put on.

“So why didn’t you just tell me where you were? I could’ve come. We could’ve all hung out.”

“Because I was drinking and I know how you get. That’s why no one told you. They didn’t invite us, Mikey. Ray and Frank didn’t invite us… They knew if you went, I’d wanna go. And if I went, you’d want to go. And if we both went, we’d just start fighting… Because of me. It’s me, not you. It’s my fuckin’ fault.”

Mikey couldn’t even feel glad to hear Gerard admit it. He looked hurt—genuinely hurt.

“Am I really that bad?”

“You get out of hand,” Mikey said. “You bit Ray the other night for no fuckin’ reason. I think you’re pretty bad when you drink.”

“I was just messing around,” Gerard said, raising up his shoulders defensively.

“Do I even wanna know what you got up to at the show?” Mikey asked.

“I didn’t do anything. I just...had a few drinks with Lindsey and watched these people suck at playing guitar. Except Ray… Ray was pretty good.”

“Cool. Wish I could’ve seen it,” Mikey said bitterly.

“You know what? I know you’re just worried about me. I know you get worried when I drink too much and when I do stupid shit… But I wish you’d just be my brother and not another fucking Mom and Dad. I don’t need parents right now. I need my brother—I need to know you still like me even if I fuck up sometimes… Not like them,” Gerard said, glancing at the ceiling. “They hated me before I even went missing and now…sometimes I feel like it really was my fault. You don’t even like me.”

“What do you—What are you talking about? Of course I like you.” Was this some scheme to get Mikey off his back? He wasn’t sure, but Gerard’s sadness looked so honest—not like drunk tears.

“Do you?” Gerard asked.

“Of course. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t give a shit how fucked up you get. I just don’t want to watch you make the same mistakes over again. Someone could kill you, Gerard. You can only go down the same road so many times before something else bad happens.”

“And you think you yelling at me makes it any better? It doesn’t feel like love, Mikey. It feels like you’re ashamed of me, like you don’t like me...that you’re embarrassed of me… And it makes me not want to go places with you. I wanted to feel normal for a night and I knew if I told you where we were, you’d just come and get upset with me. It’d be like inviting Mom… And I don’t want us to be like that. You’re supposed to be my friend. Why can’t you just be my friend?” The look Gerard gave him had Mikey wanting to throw something.

Where did he got off making himself the victim in this? He wasn’t the one stuck at home worried. He wasn’t the one left behind hoping the next call he got wasn’t from the police or the morgue or Frank saying they didn’t know where his brother had gone.

How was Mikey supposed to just take the back seat and watch as his brother ruined his life all over again in the exact same way he had before?

“So what do you want me to do?” Mikey asked. “Hold your hair back while you puke up a lung?”

“That’d be a start,” Gerard said, forcing a smile. “Maybe yell at me a little less. Stop telling me to go fuck myself… That would be nice.”

Mikey almost told him to quit making him feel that way then, but Gerard cut him off.

“You sound like Dad when you do that… Friends don’t talk to each other like that.”

Again, Mikey wanted to remind him that brothers weren’t just friends—that family was supposed to hold each other accountable—but he realized just before he spoke that all Gerard was asking was for Mikey to let him fuck up and love him anyway. Just be his friend and quit trying to save him. He wanted to go out and make his mistakes without feeling like he was letting Mikey down.

How was he supposed to just let that happen?

“Fine.” Mikey let out a sigh and clapped his hands on his knees. He was frustrated and still hurt, but realized there was nowhere else for him to go. “But if you guys plan another night without me, I’m done. I’m not carting you around to Music Nights if you guys don’t even want me at the shows.”

“I didn’t plan anything,” Gerard argued. “Lindsey told me about it. They didn’t tell me either.”

“Well, if someone told me and I was planning to go, I would’ve invited you. Maybe keep that in mind next time.”

Gerard looked like he wanted to say something snarky back, but he held his tongue.

“So did you bite him again?” Mikey asked, deciding it was for the best to let the serious discussion drop before his brother retreated into isolation to escape the conflict.

“No,” Gerard said, clicking his tongue.

“Well, that’s good. He probably wouldn’t be able to live that down if you did it around his band.”

“His band sucks,” Gerard muttered. He was flipping through stacks of papers and books on his desk until he found one of his many notebooks. “All of them sucked.”

“You’re just jealous.” Mikey watched Gerard’s face, amused at how he curled his lip with disgust at the accusation.

“You don’t get it.”

“Maybe I would if someone had invited me…”

Gerard nodded, seeming to realize that he had deprived himself of something by not letting Mikey tag along.

Notes:

Someone let me know that my frequent misuse of the Em Dash is a clear sign that I have resorted to using Chat GPT to write. I am here to say that I have been writing extremely long fanfics under many pseuds for so many years that I AM the reason Chat GPT uses Em Dashes. No AI here, folks! Just an ADHD hyper fixation and some free time to burn.

Chapter 17: The Devil Walked in and Said...

Notes:

Slight TW in this chapter for Gerard having some weight-related body image issues. Nothing crazy intense though.

We're getting ready to kick it back into high gear so hold on to your butts!

Ray couldn’t deny that Gerard’s increasingly affectionate behavior toward him was starting to set him on edge. Both Frank and Mikey reassured him that Gerard didn’t mean anything by it, but sometimes it was hard not to get his defenses up when Gerard started pressing close to him—especially when they were working a shift together at the store.

Music Nights were one things, but work was another.

In some respects, he was happy to see Gerard coming out of his shell at work. He was glad that Gerard felt comfortable enough and safe enough around him to hug Ray around the shoulders whenever Ray came in for his shift or whenever he was clocking out to leave. He was happy Gerard felt safe enough to touch him on the shoulder when he needed help with something instead of spending an absurd amount of time trying to get his attention in a roundabout way they way he did with Lindsey and the other staff.

Even after going to Ray’s show with Lindsey, Gerard struggled to ask her for help with anything. Ray, though… Gerard would just seek him out and tap his shoulder or bump their arms together—whatever he could do to command the attention of his new “favorite friend.”

Ray really worried that he was taking Frank’s place in Gerard’s little world—worried that he was going to have to put his foot down and give Gerard a stern talking to about boundaries and what was and wasn’t acceptable between platonic friends. He wasn’t going to put up with the things Frank had when he’d first brought Gerard into his home. He wasn’t going to have Gerard clinging all over him and invading his personal space at every opportunity.

Especially not at work.

Though, as it was, Ray was doing his absolute best to keep his cool while Gerard was cozying up to him at their latest Music Night. It was a sober night so Gerard was less clingy than when he was drunk, but he was still pushing his luck—and after getting teased by two separate coworkers the day before at work for how Gerard was attached to him—Ray couldn’t take much more.

The bruise Gerard had bitten into his leg had just finally started to fade, and it was obvious that Gerard was getting hyped up enough to think about attempting it again. Ray could see it in Gerard’s eyes when the wild called for him.

He was getting more confident and that was a good thing. Gerard was actually more of a person now than he’d ever been in the time that Ray had known him and it made him really proud.

But that didn’t mean he wanted Gerard hugging on him and clinging to him because Frank wouldn’t allow it.

“No—No, no. It’s gonna cause hurt feelings,” Frank would say when Gerard would climb on him for a change. “Nope. Nope. It’s gonna gonna give you feelings. Nope.”

Frank would push him away playfully and Gerard would pout and then he would immediately bounce over to his brother or—more often—Ray.

Ray would hug him. Ray would let Gerard rest his head on his shoulder or sit at his feet and rest against his legs (or he did so more readily before Gerard bit him on his inner thigh). He didn’t mind Gerard being close to him—he really didn’t. In a way, it just reminded him of a toddler. He was used to dealing with his relative’s kids at their large family get-togethers. Ray didn’t care because he had always figured that, a, Gerard really didn’t know any better, and b, Gerard’s romantic interests were focused on Frank. Even with Frank keeping the space between them, it was obvious Gerard still had feelings. He would stare at Frank and not in the same way he would stare at Ray or at Mikey when they played.

Ray had been so confident that Gerard’s interest in him was based solely on their music. Ray could interpret Gerard’s artistic babblings and nearly manic reciting of fragments of tunes.

But then Gerard just had to keep pushing it… Starting with the stupid bite to Ray’s inner thigh, just above his knee. Yeah, his relative’s kids had bitten him while pretending to be dogs or just because they were being bratty—but Gerard was a grown man and even with his tiny teeth, it hurt like hell. And he didn’t even immediately let go!

Ray managed to keep his cool and blame it on the drinks, but Gerard had continually invaded that space between Ray’s legs—starting with what could be passed off as accidental grazes to his upper thigh, then going further inward.

Ray didn’t want to shout at him or draw too much attention to it when he was certain he could handle it himself, but Gerard was pushing his luck.

Especially tonight…

Ray had already grabbed Gerard’s hand and put it back into his own lap twice while they were sitting together on the ratty old sofa pressed against the wall of the garage. Gerard had been showing him song lyrics while Frank and Mikey argued about whether or not a certain part of a song should be in one key or another. Ray was used to Gerard pressing into Ray’s side whenever they were next to each other, especially when he was sharing pages from his notebooks—as if he thought his ideas could pass through their bodies by touch.

Ray didn’t care if Gerard put a hand on his shoulder or grabbed onto his knee. He did care, though, when Gerard tried petting his thighs or dipping too far inward. He did care when Gerard leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth without any warning.

Gerard had drunkenly kissed his cheek before and that had been fine—Ray could deal with that—but this was different and he knew it. His knee-jerk reaction was to flinch away, wanting to shout something or push Gerard back, but a quick glance showed that no one else had seen the exchange.

They could deal with it privately. Good. That was how Ray would prefer it to go. He didn’t need Mikey getting upset and coming to Gerard’s defense or to have Frank take him aside later and say, “See? See, this is what I kept warning you about!”

So, instead of pushing him away or scolding him like a child, Ray just leaned away and turned to face Gerard with the same stern, hard expression he used on his younger relatives.

“None of that,” Ray said, fighting the urge to shake a finger at him like an upset parent. He could tell by the look on Gerard’s face that he understood exactly what Ray meant, and the way Gerard immediately flicked his eyes toward his brother and Frank showed he was afraid of who else might join in the reprimanding. “No kissing, and stop with this,” he added, gesturing to his groin and inner thighs.

“I’m sorry,” Gerard mouthed, looking so completely heartbroken it was hard for Ray not to soften his face.

“We’re friends, Gerard. Let’s just...behave like good friends. Okay?”

“Okay,” Gerard whispered, looking down at his little notebook and pulling slowly away.

“Thank you. Now… What were you saying about this part?” Ray put his hand on Gerard’s shoulder and squeezed it gently, trying to show him he wasn’t angry and he wasn’t trying to punish. Gerard still flinched, but slowly went back to explaining the sounds he was hearing in his head—his energy coming back little by little, though never getting quite as impassioned as before.

It was clear his message had gotten across, but Ray began to wonder just how much Gerard’s affection had been morphing from admiration to an actual crush when he began to notice how sad Gerard seemed to be about keeping space. It was as if Ray had shot him down in an elementary school “Do You Like Me? Check Yes or No” letter.

After Music Night, they worked a couple shifts together which were business as usual (with some awkward distance between them that only Ray really noticed), then Frank invited the three of them over to his apartment for a pizza and game night. Ray was actually surprised Gerard was able to come over seeing how tight of a grip his parents kept over him.

They acted like he was a little kid, Mikey had explained. Gerard had to get permission to go anywhere or else face emotional blackmail from his parents as soon as he got home. Most often, his parents didn’t want him to go anywhere—even when Gerard had somehow convinced them he was going on regular dates with Lindsey. (That was a story Ray still didn’t fully understand, and wasn’t sure he wanted to.)

So, having a game night was an especially rare treat and Ray had expected Gerard to be on his worst behavior. There were beers and glasses of wine being passed around and Ray had his guard up—ready to lay down the law again if and when Gerard crossed the line.

For the time being, though, Gerard was happily eating Chinese takeout he’d brought for himself while everyone else was enjoying pizza, watching them play video games. For once Mikey wasn’t complaining about Gerard’s drinking, and for once Gerard actually seemed to be slowly enjoying his wine instead of inhaling it a cup at a time.

To Ray, it actually felt normal. An outsider looking in would never be able to guess any of the history between them. Even as the night went on and the effects of the alcohol were starting to show in Gerard’s behavior, they all continued having a good time.

“Did you guys—well… Mikey knows, but, Ray—Ray, did you and Frank know that I’ve gained thirty pounds? I’ve gained thirty pounds since Frank adopted me. That’s a whole, like...thirty bags of coffee. Can you believe that?”

“No,” Frank said. “Mostly ‘cause I didn’t know I adopted you,” Frank said, laughing.

Ignoring his comment, Gerard tacked on, “It’s all in my butt though. Like...my ass got huge.”

“Well, it looks great,” Frank said, before seeming to notice what he’d said and backpedaling—though the damage was already done. “You look great. You look better.”

“Yeah, you looked like a skeleton back then,” Mikey chimed in.

“I did not,” Gerard muttered. “Master would never… Psh, he had rules about what snacks I had to eat every day. If I got too thin, he was pissed off.”

“Okay, but to me, you looked like a skeleton.”

“That’s because you used to be fat,” Mikey said, looking uncomfortable as he reached for another slice of pizza.

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” Ray said, making a point to pat Gerard on the shoulder. Touch was still Gerard’s love language and even after their conversation the week before, Ray wanted to make sure the other man knew there were no hard feelings.

“No, he was,” Mikey said. “He used to get bullied for it.”

“Imagine if they could see me now,” Gerard said. Then paused. “Or...then. When I was on the Slim Quick diet. Basement Edition.”

“That’s gross, Gerard,” Frank said, pulling a face.

“Well, I’m still waiting on my congratulations,” Gerard said, talking with his mouthful of Sweet and Sour Chicken.

“Congrats on your thirty bags of coffee,” Mikey said, getting a gleeful laugh from his brother.

“That’s like a whole three-year-old,” Ray offered.

“I wanna dye my hair again, though. Mom won’t let me. Frank, can I use your bathroom to dye my hair?”

“Why do you wanna dye your hair?” Mikey asked.

“Uh...so I look less like you.”

“Dick.”

Gerard giggled again, and looked at Frank expectantly.

“I mean, I guess. Good luck getting in though. I’m always at work.”

“Well, take a night off and be my hairstylist,” Gerard said.

“Uh, maybe next week,” Frank said, shaking his head. He made a point not to be alone with Gerard if he didn’t have to be. Ray knew it. Mikey knew it. It was still a fifty-fifty chance that Gerard hadn’t figured it out yet.

“I’d do it myself, but I always miss, like, a whole chunk and everybody makes fun of me.”

“Just make an appointment somewhere. I’ll take you and you can tell Mom your girlfriend did it,” Mikey said. Gerard cringed.

“Ugh… I still can’t believe I did that,” Gerard muttered.

“I still can’t believe your mom came into the store to spy on Lindsey,” Ray said.

“That’s so fuckin’ funny, dude,” Frank said, laughing and clapping his hands like he’d been told the greatest joke. Perhaps he enjoyed it too much when Gerard got his just desserts.

“It’s embarrassing,” Gerard muttered. He took the chance to lean his head over onto Ray’s shoulder for a moment, then straightened back up. He placed his fork into his take out container of food in order to reach for his glass of red wine. “But you guys don’t think I look too much like a fat fuckin’ slob?”

The question was so out of left field, his tone sad, that the other tree all seemed to scramble to come up with the right thing to say. The room was full of the same tone of “no”s they were all familiar with giving their girlfriends and moms and other women in their lives. Does this dress make me look fat? No! God, no! No way. No!

“”Why would you ask that, Gerard?” Frank asked, taking it a step further than Ray and Mikey.

“I don’t know. I almost weigh what I used to and...I know what people said about that.”

“Yeah, but you’re taller than you were…” Mikey said, the concern evident in his face.

“By, like, two inches,” Gerard muttered.

“What, in your pants?” Frank scoffed. Mikey looked mortified but Gerard cracked a grin and ducked his head. “You look great, Gerard. I mean it. You look a lot better now than you did when we met. I’ll take this look any day. And if you need me to dye your hair for you in order for you to see it, then fine. I’ll do it.”

Gerard, seeming pleased with the answer, tipped his head against Ray’s shoulder again—presumably because Frank was out of reach. Ray, for what it was worth, tilted his head to rest it against Gerard’s briefly in a show of affection.

He was relieved that even with wine flowing, Gerard kept his hands to himself.

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard hated to admit it, but he was struggling again. It seemed the more freedoms he got, the more he felt he wanted—the angrier he got about how much he’d been missing. He’d rebelled against the control his parents wanted over him when he’d been a young teen. Hell, their mother didn’t even want him and Mikey listening to music or watching television. He hadn’t had time to focus on the freedoms he’d lost after being taken… He had to put all of his focus on surviving the abuse. It wasn’t until he really started working that he realized what freedom actually was.

Gerard had money. Gerard could buy his own clothes, his own makeup, his own food, his own art supplies, his own music… He didn’t have to beg. He didn’t have to ask… He didn’t have to offer up a piece of his ass or infantilize himself to get little trinkets or treats. Maybe he had to beg for a drive to the store, but most often Mikey agreed without much of a fuss.

Still, it depressed him. How much of his life had he lost? He felt empty and resentful and bitter. His coworkers were able to answer calls and ring people up and chase shoplifters down the street, and Gerard was terrified the second the bell over the door chimed—worried he was going to have to talk to someone. He had problems that other people didn’t and he hated it.

Even more so, he hated that he couldn’t show it out of fear his parents would reignite their efforts to place him under their guardianship.

He just wanted to be as free as everyone else. He just wanted to be like Frank or like Ray…

And when that couldn’t happen, Gerard found himself picking apart the things he did have control over. His looks, his clothes, his drawing style, his lyrics, his poems… He tore himself apart.

It started with little things like his skin. He had acne and blemishes he hadn’t had to deal with the entire time he’d been with his Master. Master could afford all kinds of fancy treatments to keep him looking perfect. Yeah, an outbreak came here and there, but nothing like his skin was now…

Sure, it had been worse when he was out on the road with Bert, but no one else looked much better so he hadn’t cared. No one but Bert was really close enough to see anyway, so what did it matter?

Now, though, he felt like he was on full display as he stocked the shelves and worked the register at the record shop. The makeup he bought to fix his complexion just got him weird looks until he learned to do it right—and even then he just started leaning into more dramatic eyeliner and even lip pigments.

He felt better once Frank had agreed to help him dye his hair. Black was how Master had liked it, and whether Gerard cared to admit it or not, that man’s image of him was always the most important.

He’d gained too much weight, he felt. He didn’t look right in the mirror. He didn’t look like who he was supposed to see.

He didn’t look like the person in the photos and videos that investigators had shown him.

That should give him peace, his therapist had insisted. He could distance himself from who had been before…

She didn’t understand, though. Gerard wanted that look back. He wanted to look perfect. Master had made him believe that he looked perfect…

So Gerard tried to lose the weight, only to drop a pant size or two and then immediately go back up to where he’d been before once he lost the willpower to starve himself. Resisting the urge to share in the food that they ordered for Music Nights and game nights was the hardest… Usually, that was when he lost his resolve. He could only pick at his own carefully selected portions for so long before Frank would start taunting him with breaded wings or cheesy pizza—garlic bread… Frank knew…

Gerard could see it in his face that Frank knew what was going on.

Still, even if Gerard suspected that Frank’s words were empty manipulation, he couldn’t resist the impulse to do what the other man wanted—to look how the other man liked. Frank said he looked good at the higher weight. Frank said he looked better than ever before…. Was it true? Did he mean it? And if he did, in what way?

Gerard was lonely. He didn’t like being single—having no one to focus on but himself and his own problems. He’d tried to let himself become more attached to Ray, hoping that even if nothing romantic happened that he would play along. As it turned out, Ray was not willing to go along with the charade and had pulled the plug on Gerard’s attempts to win him over as more than a friend.

It was probably for the best though, Gerard thought. Any romantic involvement with Ray would likely eliminate any chance he ever had at getting back with Frank… And even if Frank seemed just as adamant as Ray to keep Gerard at arms length, Gerard just couldn’t give up.

He didn’t want to think of himself as being that unlovable. It left him fearing that he was just too old...and that was one thing he couldn’t change.

One thing Gerard didn’t realize about the condition he was in was how vulnerable he’d made himself.

That was, at least, until he’d met Hunt.

It had been a typical Tuesday evening. Gerard was tired from spending the night before drinking and playing music with his friends, making him less capable of believably hiding from guests in the store until he coworkers took care of them.

“Hey. Welcome in,” Gerard absently called out when the doorbell chimed. He glanced up just to see how many people he’d have to deal with and noted two men in professional style jackets coming in from the rain. Businessmen weren’t their typical clientele, and in a way Gerard felt relieved. They usually just poked around, bought some old rock album or some movies and left. They didn’t ask a ton of questions or ask for a dozen cases to be unlocked just to not purchase anything.

The two men talked to each other and wandered around the bins of albums, flipping through them casually. While they shopped, Gerard sketched on the back of an old bill of landing and listened to the music coming through the shop’s tiny speakers. He let out a sigh, wishing he had thought to bring some Tylenol from home to aid with his throbbing headache, and when he glanced up from his sketch he noticed one of the two men looking at him from across the shop.

It was a look Gerard recognized right away from his time out on the streets. It was a mixture of intrigue and predation. At first, Gerard looked away. Then, the longer he thought about the man’s strong features and intricately trimmed facial hair, he looked back up and met the man’s gaze.

He said something the other businessman, then started walking towards the counter where Gerard stood. Immediately, Gerard’s heart started pounding and he felt his chest constrict around it. It was different from his usual nerves, and Gerard chocked it up to the way the man never broke eye contact with him.

He was just so intense.

Gerard could tell by the way he carried himself that the man was wealthy and well-connected. He moved like Master. He was a man used to getting what he wanted with his almost movie-star looks. He had black and gray speckled hair, tanned skin, and only the faintest of lines settling into his brow above his intense, brown eyes.

“Now what are you doing in a place like this?” The man said, speaking like a man in a film. Gerard’s mouth had run dry, his tongue sticking to his palate and his teeth as he fumbled to find any sort of response in his brain. “My name is Hunt.”

Gerard could hardly stammer out his name. He ducked his head and shuffled his sketch away when he noticed the man glancing down at it.

“Have you been working here long?” Hunt asked.

Gerard glanced up, checking to see that the other man he’d come in with wasn’t shoving any albums into his coat while Gerard was distracted. “Uh… A while. I guess,” Gerard said.

“A while you guess...” His voice sent a shiver down Gerard’ spine and he easily convinced himself it was from arousal and not anxiety. Master always repeated answers like that. “You like working here?”

“I do. Yeah, it’s… I like music a lot,” Gerard said, flushing so hot his ears burned. “Are you...a music buff?” He asked.

“You could say that. I have rather...particular taste. Do you like jazz, Gerard?” The sound of his name on the other man’s tongue had Gerard’s knees going weak.

“Uh-huh,” Gerard answered, praying the man wouldn’t ask him to list any favorites. He couldn’t remember the name of his own favorite bands let alone albums for Jazz singers he’d never listened to in earnest.

“Well, if you ever want to come over to my place and listen to some of the greats, you’re more than welcome. If you’re allowed...” Hunt was so straight-forward—so direct. It took away any bit of doubt in Gerard’s mind. He loved it. Immediately, he loved not having to guess or wonder or think.

“Okay, but...I-I don’t—I don’t have your address.”

“Hm. That is a problem, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question and Gerard just looked at him bashfully, waiting for an answer. “Are you allowed to run off to strangers’ houses at night? Isn’t anyone looking after you?”

“No,” Gerard breathed, then shook his head and laughed nervously. “I mean… I—I don’t know.”

“No? You don’t know?”

“I do,” Gerard said, face burning bright. “I can go out. I’m allowed to go out. Just might have to tell someone when to expect me home.” His nerves had him laughing again and he struggled to meet Hunt’s rich brown eyes.

“I’ll tell you what, Gerard...” Hunt reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his wallet. Gerard half expected to be handed a twenty and asked to meet him in the backseat of his car in the parking lot, his stomach even beginning to sink. Then the man pulled out a business card and laid it on the counter before putting his wallet away and replacing it with a pen. “How about you go home and see if you have permission to come out and play this Friday night.” He flipped the business card over and wrote a different phone number on the back. “Or are you working?”

“I’m… I’m working until nine that night, but...” He almost said he could call off, but it was a shift he worked with Ray and he didn’t want to leave his friend hanging. “Maybe after?”

“You let me know. I’ll be waiting.” Hunt pushed the card across the counter toward Gerard, then backed off to rejoin his friend at the bins. Gerard quickly put the card into his pocket and tried to steady his breathing.

The men left without buying anything, but Hunt paused at the door as was on his way out to give Gerard one final, burning glance.

Despite the way his stomach had twisted itself up in anxious knots, Gerard wished it were Thursday night instead of Tuesday. He wished it was Friday. He wished he could book it out of the store and follow after the man with the commanding presence.

He wasn’t Ray and he wasn’t Frank, but he was absolutely Gerard’s type.

Notes:

Raise your hand if you think this new tryst is going to end well...

Chapter 18: Old Dogs, Old Tricks

Notes:

I didn't wanna do this, but I had to. It's for the plot. T_T

Gerard was practically vibrating out of his skin with excitement. He was waiting outside the record store with Ray waiting for Hunt to come pick him up for their date. Ray refused to leave until he “got a glimpse” of the guy Gerard was going out with. While Gerard had been excitedly sharing the plans he and Hunt had made, Ray continually asked him if Mikey knew, if he had a safety plan, if he was sure he didn’t want a ride to the restaurant instead of taking a drive with the “stranger.” It was as if he didn’t realize Gerard had hooked up with countless men already. It was how he’d survived after leaving Frank. It was how he stayed sane living with his parents.

As far as he was concerned, Gerard’s safety plan was his own instinct for danger. In his mind, Ray was treating him like a girl and Gerard didn’t care for it.

When Hunt finally pulled into the parking lot, Gerard’s mouth was nearly filling with drool at the sight of his car. It was a pretty, shiny black sports car—nicer than Tommy’s. Nicer than Master’s…

“Gerard, I don’t like this,” Ray mumbled, shifting his weight back and forth as the man parked his car. Gerard had tried to go for the car, but Ray grabbed his arm and stopped him. “Gerard...”

“What is the matter with you? Did you and Mikey switch bodies?” Gerard grumbled, pulling away. It was too late though. Hunt had turned off his car and was getting out. Gerard had to fight back the urge to spit out, “Now look what you did!” Though it was easy to lose his words when he realized the car doors opened up vertically—rising into the air like wings.

The nerves were still twisting up his stomach and Gerard was terrified that one wrong move was going to push Hunt away. It was his first time since coming home that a man had asked him on a proper date. And what a man Hunt was…

He was dressed in a black sports coat and beige slacks—looking he’d just left an important, cushy job on Wall Street.

“I see you brought your Keeper,” Hunt said, walking up to them. He extended his had to Ray who managed one of the sternest, coldest looks Gerard had ever seen. It rivaled the looks Trainer would give Gerard down in the basement and Gerard found himself shifting subtly away from him in fear. He never thought he’d see a look that cold on Ray’s face. “I can’t say I’ve seen you around before. I’m Hunter.”

“I’ve been around,” Ray said, practically forcing on this gruff, cold voice that didn’t fit him at all.

The two shook hands and Gerard stood there awkwardly, feeling every bit like the girl Ray made him out to be—like Ray was his daddy on the front porch with a shotgun waiting to scare off Gerard’s boyfriend.

“What time should I have him home by?” Hunt asked, turning to Gerard and passing him a wink that had him weak in the knees.

“Midnight,” Ray said, no smile—like he wasn’t even joking.

“Ray,” Gerard hissed, scowling at him. Both Ray and Hunt looked at him with nearly identical displeased glances. It had Gerard shrinking in on himself self-consciously. He very nearly said he was sorry.

“Midnight’s so early,” Hunt said, looking back to Ray and smiling. His movie star grin did nothing for Ray.

“Midnight’s better than ten,” Ray said, quirking his brow.

“I can’t argue with that, can I?” Hunt said, chuckling in the same low, smooth way that Master would. A rich laugh. “Well, we should get started then. Gerard?” Hunt backed up a step from Ray and gestured toward the passenger side of his car.

Gerard gave Ray one last giddy look, then scurried over to the car excitedly and getting in. By far, it was the nicest car he’d ever ridden in. It was the nicest car he’d ever seen in person! He was still ogling the leather interior and all the lights and dials on the dashboard when Hunt got in and started up the car.

“He runs a tight ship,” Hunt said, letting out a sigh as he began backing out of his parking space.

“Yeah. He’s protective,” Gerard said absently, still peering around at the car. “What kind of car is this? It’s so cool!”

“Oh, it’s cool?” Hunt repeated, chuckling again. His voice had Gerard melting into the heated seats.

“It’s so cool…” Gerard turned to face him, doing his best to turn on the charm to make up for Ray’s less than warm welcome.

“You don’t know cars?”

“Uh-Uh,” Gerard said, glancing at the steering wheel in search of the insignia. Even if he did recognize the car, he would’ve still played dumb. Men loved teaching him things.

“It’s a Pagani. Do you know what that is?”

“Uh-Uh,” Gerard said again.

Hunt chuckled and passed him another movie star smirk.

“Such a simple thing, aren’t you?”

The veiled insult had Gerard tilting his head a little, hurt.

“Oh… I didn’t mean to make you upset.” His tone was almost condescending, but his warm hand reaching over to briefly cup Gerard’s cheek and caress his bottom lip had Gerard pushing the bad feelings away. “I like simple little things...”

“Are we… I-I mean, I hope we’re not going anywhere too nice for dinner. I didn’t get to change clothes really...after work,” Gerard said, looking down at his outfit. He’d tried to wear his nicer skinny jeans and had pulled on a soft, black knit sweater on his way out of the store, but compared to Hunt, he felt extremely under-dressed. He missed the clothes his Master used to buy him.

It wasn’t until much, much later he’d learned that he’d been wearing designer brands. It wasn’t until the sweater he’d been wearing when his Master sold him was stolen from him that he realized Burberry was luxury. For him, it was just the kind of clothes Master provided… Now, he was lucky if he could afford discount Calvin Klein.

And he bet Hunt could tell the difference…

“We will have dinner at my house. It’s already prepared.”

“Oh… Okay!”

“That’ll save us on time anyway since we only have a few hours before your Keeper wants you back.” Hunt passed him a stern look and Gerard shifted back in his seat.

“We don’t… We don’t have to listen to Ray,” Gerard said, looking down at his shoes. His beat up Converse looked so bad on the floor mat of the fancy car… “We can stay out late.”

Hunt didn’t answer him right away and the silence left Gerard squirming. It was already after nine o’clock. Why did Hunt think Ray’s opinion mattered? It wasn’t like Ray was picking him up or taking him home. Gerard didn’t answer to him… It irritated him.

“It’s not like I’ll turn into a pumpkin or something if I’m out past twelve,” Gerard offered. He tried giving Hunt another smile, but it was ignored. Dread started taking over the good feelings Gerard had had and he began fidgeting more in his seat.

It was a long drive to Hunt’s place—close to an hour. Most of it was spent in uncomfortable silence before Gerard dared to start charming him again.

“I can stay the night, you know? It’s… It’s what we talked about. Remember? I told you I could stay the night… If—If you wanted me to. You don’t have to—I mean, I—I don’t have to.”

“Aren’t you worried you’ll be in trouble?” His tone was so flat…

“No,” Gerard answered.

“Well, if you’re not worried about it, then I guess I won’t be either.” Finally, Hunt smiled at him again and Gerard let out a tense breath. “We’ll have all night to play then.”

Gerard had to fight to keep the happy smile on his face. Something about the way he said it made his stomach sink.

Maybe, he realized as the black supercar pulled into a below-ground parking garage of a New York City high rise, his sense of danger had become slightly skewed.

Gerard followed Hunt closely as the man led him through the parking garage, past the other luxury cars in the lot, and into an ornate, massive lobby. He was led over to a row of elevators and watched as Hunt swiped a key card to access one of them.

He’d never stayed in a place like this before, and he kept craning his neck at every new sight and sound as he was carried up to the twelfth of fourteen floors. He expected to exit the elevator into another massive lobby. Instead, they stepped into what seemed to be a small, confined foyer with no windows and two doors on either side. There were potted plants sitting on a marble table with an ornate, golden mirror above them—the number TWELVE written in big, black, box letters under the mirror.

Hunt swiped another key card and held open the door for Gerard.

The entire floor was his…

“Come on. Dinner’s going to be cold.”

“Did—Did you make it?” Gerard asked dumbly. Hunt laughed and placed his hand on Gerard’s shoulder as he guided him inside.

“Of course not. My chef makes all of my meals. I told you have little time for myself.”

The apartment—or condo or whatever he wanted to call it—was modern and sleek and shiny, just like Hunt’s car. It was fitted with black and white leather sofas and chairs, black glass tables with stainless steel or chrome legs. Everything was shiny—everything was spotless. Gerard felt uneasy even leaving his shoes on the black and white checkered rug in the entry way.

He was led to the black table and guided into one of the stiff chairs. Gerard had only a moment to be confused when Hunt sat down across from him instead of going to get plates or their food. Before he could work up the courage to ask, a small man came in the doorway carrying a tray like a server in a restaurant—only the tray was shining silver.

Gerard’s heart plummeted when he laid eyes on the man. He was dressed in designed clothes—much like the ones Gerard used to have. This wasn’t a butler. This wasn’t a helper…

This wasn’t a date… Hunt wasn’t just a man.

He took in a shaking breath as his plate was laid before him. A rack of lamb, potatoes, asparagus… Red wine. The bones sticking out of the meat made his stomach churn.

“Thank you, lovely,” Hunt said as the other man laid a napkin on his lap for him—then Gerard’s. “Off to bed then.”

Gerard took in a shuddering breath and turned to look over his shoulder—through the living room, toward the doorway out. Could he leave? If he ran, would he make it?

“Oh, don’t look so alarmed. Eat. You’ll be disappointed if you don’t try it.”

“Wh-Who was that?” Gerard asked, gesturing toward the doorway where the man had disappeared.

“No one for you to worry about. Eat.”

“I… I didn’t know there’d be someone else,” Gerard said, picking up his fork.

“There isn’t. Eat.”

“You—You just told him to go to bed,” Gerard said, trying to force on an innocent smile to hide his fear. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Hunt was older than he thought. Maybe the guy was his son… Or maybe he was in an open relationship. He wouldn’t have been the first man Gerard had met who was.

“We won’t be joining him if that’s what you’re afraid of,” Hunt said, smirking at him. “Eat.”

Gerard wanted to run. He wanted to bolt for the door. Something was wrong here. Something bad was happening…

But where would he go? He didn’t want to insult Hunt or the man or the chef—was the man the chef? He didn’t want to look like a fool.

So he set down his fork and reached for the glass of wine. Everything in him screamed that he needed to run, but something much, much stronger told him to sit still and obey.

( ) ( ) ( )

Ray woke up to the phone call at a quarter past three in the morning. Blinking awake past the stinging in his eyes, he realized as the call slipped away to a red, missed call sign, that he’d missed four others before it.

Gerard.

He sat up quickly and swiped his phone open to unlock it, but before he could dial Gerard back, a new call came through again.

“Hello?” Ray felt sick even before he heard Gerard’s panicked, shaky voice.

“I-I’m ready now. I’m ready to come home please.”

“What?” Ray heard Gerard sniffing loudly, someone in the background speaking firmly.

“I’m ready to come home. Please come get me, Master. Please come. Please.” His fear was unmistakable.

“Where are you? I-I’ll be right there. Where are you? Are you at the store?”

“No, Master. I don’t know. I don’t know, Master. Please come. Please. Please come.” He just kept repeating it over and over, voice shaking and going a higher and higher pitch as he was strangled with tears.

“Where are you? Gerard, tell me where you are. I’ll come. Tell me where you are. Tell me where to get you.”

Gerard’s voice fell into inconsolable sobs—deep and gut-wrenching.

Ray was stumbling through his room with the phone held to his ear, pulling on clothes while trying to come up with a way to find Gerard. Did his phone even have location capabilities? It was such a small, cheap phone…

“Gerard, it’s okay. I’m coming. Tell me where you are. What—What do you see around you?”

Suddenly, Gerard’s crying sounded further from the phone and a loud crack echoed down the line, followed by a piercing wail.

“Quit that! I’m sick of it!” The voice was vicious and Ray felt his hands beginning to shake with anger. It was that man. It was that same rich fucker who had picked Gerard up from work. Son of a bitch.

“Tell me where you are!” Ray shouted, praying Gerard would somehow answer him before this man inevitably ended the call. It came as shock when the man instead picked up the phone from wherever it had been discarded.

“I have the files you wanted saved to a thumb drive,” he said. His voice was cold and matter-of-fact, even as he was panting from the seething rage he’d had while screaming at Gerard. It had taken Ray aback. He’d expected the man to end the call—to demand to know who his date was talking to, to scream at him the way he’d screamed at Gerard. “I’ll provide additional payment since we ran over, but...I really think these videos should be payment enough. You’ll have to tell me what you think. I left you a couple gifts as thanks for your generosity. He is everything I thought he’d be.”

“Where can I get him?” Ray asked, ignoring the countless other questions swirling around his mind—focusing only on the most important: Where was Gerard?

“The Massimo Diner. I promised this one some dessert, hmm?” He was suddenly speaking in this sickeningly sweet voice, talking to Gerard who was still sniveling in the background, though much quieter than before. “I’ve given him some clothes. I figured you’d want him back dressed. I don’t expect them back.”

“Where are his clothes?” Ray asked.

“I can give you the scraps. Maybe they can serve as a lesson for him, hmm?” Again, he assumed that sick tone of voice. Ray could hear Gerard whimper as the man addressed him—maybe touched him. “We’ll be leaving now. At this hour it shouldn’t take long… Maybe thirty minutes. But don’t feel the need to rush. I promised him some cheesecake and he’s been such a little treat. Such a simple little thing...”

“Massimo Diner,” Ray repeated, sick to his stomach. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Say goodbye now,” the man said, passing the phone back to Gerard whose soft crying filled the silence.

“Are you coming, Master? Please? Please? I-I… I need you to. Please.”

“I said, say goodbye.”

“I’m—I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Goodbye. Goodbye, Master. I’m sorry. Please. I’m sorry. Goodbye.” The call disconnected and Ray was left shaking in his dark bedroom.

Keys. He needed his keys.

He wanted to call the cops—he wanted to call Mikey—but all he could get himself to do was gather his keys and a utility knife before leaving his apartment. It was dumb to go alone, he thought. He could just as well be walking himself into a trap, but what else could he do?

Something was so, so wrong. The man talked to Ray like they knew each other. Gerard sounded worse than he had when Ray first met him at Frank’s apartment.

It was one of those men…

That was all Ray could think as he sped to the diner. God only knew what Gerard had been put through that night. Those men were sadistic… They weren’t even human. And he sounded so scared. And his clothes.

Ray found himself angrily sniffing back tears, punching the steering wheel every time he was stuck at a red light until his fist was aching. He’d known something was wrong. He knew and he still let Gerard go with that guy…

He should’ve called Mikey. He should’ve done something.

Ray made it to the diner and was left waiting for nearly twenty minutes before that same luxury car pulled into the back lot of the restaurant. He watched it in silence, heart pounding as he watched the headlights turn out and the driver’s door open toward the sky. Moments later, the man had sauntered around to the passenger side door and opened it.

Gerard had to be helped out of his seat and he stayed hunched over with his arms curled around his stomach. He’d had a blanket draped over his shoulders, but the man pulled it off of him and chucked it back into the car before closing the door. Ray scrambled to get out of his car, the sound of it opening in the nearly deserted lot attracting the attention of the man who raised his hand in a sickeningly casual wave.

Without waiting, Ray realized the man was guiding Gerard around to the front doors of the diner—and Gerard moved in step with him, still hunched over with his head held low. Ray hurried to catch up to them, grabbing Gerard’s arm to stop him following this man. Did he still think he had to? Didn’t he know Ray had come to save him?

“I owe him a cheesecake. Join us.”

“No,” Ray said firmly. The man honestly looked disgusted and shocked that Ray would dare contradict him.

“Come eat and I’ll give you the files. Or do you not want the encryption code?” He looked at Ray sternly, his voice a low hiss. He was offended, Ray realized.

Gerard was just staring emptily at the ground, not crying, not blinking, not moving until the man put an arm around him and began pulling him toward the diner again. Ray wanted to yank Gerard back toward him, but he was afraid to hurt him. Gerard’s bottom lip was split and his face was slightly puffed up and swollen from having been crying.

He looked a mess and this man wanted to take him out for cheesecake? In public?

“He’s not going!” Ray said, getting in the way of their path to the diner. “He’s coming home. Do you understand what time it is? He’s not getting cheesecake. He’s not getting anything. Give me the files and we’re going.”

The man stared Ray down but he just returned the look tenfold, then stepped closer to him when the man didn’t back down. Ray had a good two inches of height on him and it seemed to be just enough to get the man to back down.

“Well, maybe next time, sweet thing,” the man said, patting Gerard’s shoulder before finally letting him go. “He is a doll.”

The man reached into the pocket of his sports coat, the same one he’d been wearing earlier in the night, and pulled out a flash drive, then a folded stack of bills.

“It’s all raw footage, but I know you film junkies can make art out of anything. Even this simple little fool.” He reached for Gerard then, swiping his thumb against Gerard’s lower lip—smearing the blood from his cut. “Do you have a paper for the encryption?”

Ray didn’t, so instead he forced the man to spell it out and typed it absently into the Notes app on his phone. The other man didn’t seem to like that, but he allowed it.

“Here’s that compensation for the extra hours. He was worth every penny,” the man sneered, handing Ray the stack of cash—nicely clipped and folded hundred dollar bills.

“That should cover it,” Ray said, swallowing thickly. Considering their business done, Ray pocketed the cash and the flash drive, then put his arm around Gerard’s shoulder in order to guide him towards his own car and away from this place—out of the cold.

The man followed.

“You have to tell me...where did you get him? You’re not the one who bought him. So where did you get him?”

“I bought him,” Ray said, his chest tightening. He did his best to keep his face blank as he walked to his car with the strange man at his side, shielding Gerard as much as he could.

“Where?”

“What does it matter where?” When they reached his car, Ray helped Gerard into the passenger seat, then closed the door as quietly as he could before standing in front of it—blocking Gerard from the man’s laser focus.

“Lester has been desperate to see him. The last one said he made videos, but...he never shared them to the forum. And you don’t either. Honestly, we all figured he was dead... What boards are you using? I have missed him so much. We all have…”

“If you don’t know, I’m not telling you. If you don’t know, there’s a reason for that.” Ray was doing his very best to keep his cool, even though he was so nauseated it was a miracle he wasn’t hunched over as badly as Gerard.

The man looked annoyed, but seemed to accept Ray’s answer. He shrugged and quirked his brow before crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, our links are all in the files. We would all love to see him again. I especially can’t wait to see him again. Though I’m sure he’ll need time to recover. I’ll let him have all the rest he needs. I can be patient. But I would love to have him again. He has always been a favorite of mine. Lester didn’t know what he had. You don’t know Lester,” he added, not missing a beat.

“No. I don’t. Gerard will text you. He has your number. Now I need to get him home and washed.”

“Oh, no. He’s already showered.” The man said, casually waving his hand in dismissal. It was as if he were returning a borrowed car… A piece of unfeeling property. “I wouldn’t return him covered in filth. We’re not animals.” He laughed in the same sick way he had when he’d picked Gerard up that evening.

“Then he needs to go to bed. So excuse me. It’s late. We’re leaving.”

“Of course. Well, it was amazing. Thank you for sharing. He is such a treat.” The man held out his hand and Ray forced himself to shake it in parting. He waited for the other man’s car to leave before getting back into his own. As soon as he was seated, he let out a shaking breath and turned to look at Gerard who hadn’t moved a muscle since he’d been placed in the car.

He was frozen like a statue, all hunched over on himself with his eyes fixed on the dashboard.

“Gerard?”

“Master?” Gerard said, almost automatically. His voice was so quiet Ray could hardly hear him. His face didn’t change. He didn’t even blink. Frozen.

“Do you need the hospital? Are you okay?” Of course he wasn’t okay—and soon as Ray asked him, Gerard’s face crumpled and he started sobbing again, just as loudly as he had been on the phone. It made him regret speaking at all. In the car, it was all-encompassing. It was so, so loud and heart-wrenching.

“I want Frank. I want to go home!” He wept. “I need to go home. I need my Master. I want Master.” He brought his hands up to cover his face and sobbed while Ray sat in the driver’s seat feeling utterly helpless.

“We can get you home! Let’s get you home. Do you wanna call Mikey? Do you want to talk to Mikey on the way?” Ray asked, desperately trying to think of something to calm Gerard back down or at least console him a little. He scanned the parking lot, half expecting cop cars to pull in and surround them with how loudly Gerard was crying.

“No!” He screamed it like he was terrified. “I-I want Frank. I need Frank. I-I need to—to talk to him! I need my Master! Please? Please? I need my Master. I need… I-I...” He was crying so hard he was choking and a trail of blood ran down his chin from his busted lip.

“We’ll—We’ll go back to your place and we’ll get Frank. Okay?”

“I can’t! I can’t! No. Not there. No. No. I need Frank. I can’t… I can’t.” He just kept repeating it, getting more and more distressed until Ray lied and said they were going to Frank’s apartment. Instead, Ray ended up taking him to his own apartment out of desperation. When Gerard recognized the streets to his home, he started getting more upset and made gestures like he was going to try opening the car door and falling out.

“We’re going to meet Frank here, okay? Frank’s coming over here to my place. Let’s go in. Okay?” It took a lot of coaxing to get Gerard out of the car and to move toward the apartment building. When it came time for them to climb the stairs, Gerard just began moaning in absolutely agony as he staggered himself up the steps—stopping after each one to fold himself over and shudder.

They should’ve gone to the hospital. He should’ve called someone…

All at once, Ray was starting to see why Frank had made the decisions he had back then. It was just easier to get him somewhere safe to calm him down. He didn’t want to stress Gerard out any more than he already was.

Finally, Ray was able to get Gerard into his apartment. In the light, he could see how badly Gerard’s face was battered. He had more than just a split lip. His eyebrow was cut, too, and there was blood crusted around his nostrils like he’d had a bloody nose. He had red rings around his wrists and dark red bruising around his throat like he’d been strangled.

And that was just what Ray could see over his clothes…

“We’ll call Frank now, okay? Do you want to lay down on the couch?” Ray had to coax Gerard further and further into the apartment. Their trip up the stairs seemed to have taken all of his strength and he was left as a shaking, crying mess. “I’ll get you a blanket. Does that sound okay?”

“Okay,” Gerard whispered, slowly sinking down onto the couch. He grimaced as he sat down and slowly laid himself across the cushions in the fetal position with his arms wrapped around his stomach.

Ray hurried to grab the blanket from his bed and draped it over Gerard who pulled it over his head as soon as he could, like a child hiding from the boogeyman. Ray watched him cower a moment longer, then stepped away into his bedroom, closing the door, in order to call Mikey.

Even though he knew he was calling the right person, Ray felt guilty for deceiving Gerard. He doubted Frank would be eager to skip his job in order to clean up another one of Gerard’s messes… Still, he decided he would try Frank after getting Mikey on the phone.

“What’s going on?” Mikey asked, sniffing awake on the other end of the line.

“Hey, Mikey… Uh, there’s—there’s a problem.”

“What? Where?”

“It’s Gerard.”

Ray heard Mikey let out a heavy sigh before sniffing again. “Figures… What did he do this time?” Mikey asked.

“It… He—He needs help. It’s bad, Mikey. That guy he went with for his date was...”

“Fucking figures,” Mikey muttered, clearly not understanding the weight of the situation. Ray didn’t even know what to say to get it across. “Is he drunk? Drugged up? Where is he? I’ll come get him. Sorry he dragged you into it.”

“He’s at my place. Mikey, I mean it. It’s bad.”

“Bad like...hospital bad?” Mikey asked, his tone finally changed.

“I think so… He won’t go. I can’t get him to talk to me, really. He just keeps saying he wants Frank… That guy he went with was one of those people. One of those...” People was the wrong word for them. They were monsters. They weren’t human.

“What do you mean?” Mikey asked.

“You just need to come here. I-I don’t know how to help him. I—I don’t know what to do.”

“Should I bring Mom and Dad?” Mikey asked.

“If you think that would help. I don’t know, Mikey. He’s scared. He’s hurt really bad. He didn’t even want me to call you. He just wants Frank. I don’t know why, but he just keeps asking for Frank.”

“Shit… I-I’ll come. I’m just going to come by myself. If he wants Frank then...call him to. If he doesn’t answer, call me back. I’ll go wake him up. I’ll go drag him out of work if I have to.”

Mikey ended the call and Ray stared at his phone a long time before finally taking a deep breath and calling Frank. The first call went to voicemail, but the second finally go through and Frank’s exhausted voice answered.

“Yeah?”

“Hey… I need you to come over if you can,” Ray said. In the other room, he could hear Gerard starting to sob again. It ripped at his heart and all he could do was stand there helplessly—knowing nothing he did was going to make any difference or take away any of the pain his friend was in.

“What? It’s… I have to be at work soon.”

“I know. I know—and I’m sorry.”

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“Uh… Me, yeah. It’s… Before you go off on me, just let me finish.”

“Why would… Okay?”

“It’s Gerard. He’s at my apartment. Mikey’s coming… He keeps asking for you and...I need you to come here and be here for him.”

“Ray!” Frank sounded so upset and frustrated—like he thought Ray had forgotten the grief Gerard put him through and how desperately he’d been working to keep space between himself and the other man.

“Just let me finish! Fuck… This is all just so fucked. I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think it was important. Okay? He went out with some guy and that guy… Frank, he was one of them. He was one of those people and he… It’s like he’s been tortured. He just wants you. Can you please, please come.”

“What do you mean one of them?” Frank asked, his voice lowering with fear. He knew.

“He knew Gerard. He knew the guy who sold him to you. Shit, Frank—He knew everything.”

“Wait… You talked to him? How you did talk to him?”

“I don’t know! Gerard called me and asked me to come pick him up and...it was like the guy thought we were doing an exchange or something. I don’t know what Gerard told him. He thought I bought Gerard from you. He knew about you. He knew I wasn’t the one who bought Gerard before.”

“Did—Has anybody called the cops? What the fuck, Ray!? They probably followed you home!”

“I didn’t know where else to go! He wouldn’t go to the hospital. He just wanted you. He just wants you… Please come over. If anyone can get him to listen it’s you.”

Frank let out a shaky sigh and paused a moment before speaking again. “Okay. Let me get… Let me tell my boss. I’ll be there. Tell him I’m coming.”

After the call, Ray sent a text to Mikey and then braced himself to go back into his living room where Gerard was still laying under the blanket and crying.

“Frank’s on his way. He’ll be here soon. Okay?”

“Okay, Master,” Gerard choked out. “Okay. I’m okay. I’ll be okay. I’ll be o-okay?”

“Do you want water or anything?” Ray offered, trying to keep himself composed as Gerard crumbled in front of him.

“No. No, no… No.” His voice broke into more weak cries. Ray felt so utterly helpless…

He never expected to end up in the middle of this.

Notes:

Hold on tight! The past is creeping up faster and faster than anyone could predict. But sometimes you have to close old doors to open new ones, right? Right???

Don't hate me!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Dogs 2.0