A Guilt Trip to The Graveyard

Chapter 6

We explained to my mom about Bob, and Gerard's fight with Mikey, and the argument that occurred when we went to retrieve Gerard's clothing as we sat on the bar stools facing my mom standing across the island.

"You know how Donna is, she's a little much sometimes, but she's also your mother and I can assure you she cares about you, that's why she can get so upset sometimes, hun," My mother laid a comforting hand on Gerard's shoulder, "And you guys both need to stay away from Bob. Frank, you've complained about him since the 7th grade, this whole situation is just giving you the chance to leave him alone. He's not good for either of you."

Gerard and I both nodded, we both knew that. Hell, we had each other. And even if that did seem a bit gay from time to time, I didn't care. We're like brothers, aren't we? We look after each other. We take care of one another. That's what brothers do. It's a lot better than being one of the dudes who are too insecure to eat a banana, or unironically say "No homo,". 

After our talk, Gerard & I scurried upstairs. "Gerard, we really need to talk about earlier," I demanded, shutting the door to private our conversation. "Frank, Bob just likes talking shit, I promise nothing is gonna happen. You're okay." He said trying to reassure me.

"It's not just that." I sighed, wanting to bring up the events that happened the previous night. I had hickies running up and down my torso. From Gerard. I didn't care about Bob and Mikey thinking I was gay. I didn't care about Mikey possibly telling Donna. I cared about Gerard, and I cared about our friendship. 

"Oh." He dragged out, "That."

"What do you remember?" I decided to ask him, throughout the day memories came flooding back. I remember Gerard laying on top of me, and I remember him sitting up, and I remember staring into his eyes, and they were gorgeous with the glare of the TV in them. God knows what was playing, we were focused on each other. I remember how his lips touched my chest, and neck. And the way he grabbed the sides of my boxers while his hips grinded on top of me. 

But that's what I remembered, and I wasn't wasted off my ass either. And in some cases that was a good thing. In others, not so much. I knew what went on, but why didn't I stop it? Was I secretly into it? No, it couldn't have been that. You can't keep a secret from yourself. I couldn't do that, I was the only other person I had other than Gerard. 

Was he into it, or was he just being Gerard, making stupid decisions and not thinking before taking action? Surely that was it, but does that mean I took advantage of Gerard, knowing he was drunk? Would he be mad?

"I don't know what I remember, to be truthful. There's a lot, Frankie and I really just need to think on it. But I promise you, nothing is going to ruin us. No matter what happened." He held out his pinky and smiled, as if we were six again and sneaking food out of the cabinets late at night while we should have been asleep, promising each other we wouldn't peep about it. He was so optimistic around me, and he was always trying to smile to signal to me that it was okay. That I was okay. I knew he didn't always feel like smiling. I knew there was a lot more going on in Gerard Way's head than he led on, and not much of it were things to smile over. Maybe smirk over, but those were almost sarcastic. He smirked when he was in trouble, and he smirked when he didn't care, or when he was building a wall to hide his emotions and just pretended like he didn't care. That's why they're infamous. You'd see him smirking while he's looking over at something he hated and then destroyed. You'd see him smiling over something he loved and created. 

Like his art, his art was beautiful. If you caught him on good days, you could see him lean back away from his sketches and smile, but as soon as he'd see you staring he'd quickly raise an eyebrow, oblivious to his own beauty, or why you would even care to stare. Gerard was more beautiful than anything he could ever sketch up. Nothing could compare to my best friend. Nothing in the world.

I gave him my pinky, and repeated the same facial movements as he. 

"So." He began, "What do you remember?"

How was I supposed to say I remembered most, if not all of it? What if he got mad? He did promise me though, and that meant something.

I sighed, "Everything, I guess." 

"Everything?" His eyes widened, "Like what?"

I thought for a moment, "I'm sorry," 

"Why are you sorry, Frankie?"

"I didn't stop it."

"Frank, it doesn't matter if you stopped it. Just because you remember it doesn't mean you were in your right mind." He looked up to me as he sat on the edge of my bed, "It's okay, I'm the one who's probably gonna give you a fucking blood clot." He laughed.