Lifeline

Chapter 2 - It's Not a Fashion Statement, it's a Fucking Death Wish

Gerard's POV

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I woke up to my father slamming his angry fists on my door while yelling "Hurry up you filthy faggot, you're gonna be late for work!"  I reluctantly got out of bed and got my clothes for my next day at work.  I walked into the kitchen to get a coffee, and while it was brewing  I realized that none of my family was in sight.  Not even my father, if you could even call him that, who was banging on my door like his life depended on it a few short moments ago.  Once my coffee was finished brewing, I took it outside and began to walk to my job.  I didn't own a car because I couldn't afford one. Hell, I could even afford the fucking rent for our house.  I can't even bring myself to call it a home, that's how much of a shithole our house was.  It would be fine by itself, it was the people that were in it that stopped me from calling it a home.  Before I knew it, I was standing in front of my work.  I worked for a huge business, one that many people look down upon.  To be more specific, I work at a gay strip club.  I have no shame in saying that, yet people act like I should. Their faces always turn so revolted, it's almost humorous.  One thing that I would never admit to anyone was that I loved my job.  I loved what I did, and not just for the money. It gave me confidence almost incapable of any human being and made me feel alive.  The only flaw in my career was that most of the people that came to watch were drunken old men.  I could honestly care less though, because I got to strip to my choice of music almost every night and not only get away with it, but also get paid for it.  If you're wondering what my parents think of my profession, they could honestly care less.  As long as I'm paying for their rent, they're fucking okay with it (I promise).

I got dressed for my next shift, which would be at 6:00pm sharp.  My attire was fairly stereotypical for a stripper, so I'll let you be the judge of what you think I look like.  I pick out the playlist I want to listen to and waited for people to show up.  I saw some familiar faces, but I never bothered to talk to any of them.  That would be really fucking awkward.  I didn't bother to scan the crowd for too long, I couldn't really interest myself in checking out crusty old men.  I started doing my thing without thinking much of it, but then I looked at the crowd once more and saw a new face.  A young face.  A beautiful face.  I couldn't take my eyes off of him for my whole routine, and felt kind of like a creep when I realized what I had been doing.  Right, me, the creep, in a room full of men twice my age watching me strip to Marilyn Manson.  I thanked everyone for coming and then collected the money thrown at me during my routine.  Once I finished cleaning up, I quickly changed back into my usual clothes and ran out of the building.  I had only one goal: to find the new boy, the boy that I knew I loved, and try to talk to him.

Frank's POV

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"Mom, can I go over to a friend's house?"

"Sure sweetie, just be back by midnight."

Like hell I was gonna go to a friends house.  I didn't even have any friends.  Everyone at my job hated me, but that's fine because I hated them as well.  Our feelings were mutual.  Where I was actually going was a strip club.  A gay one to be in fact.  I couldn't even dream of telling my parents, especially not my dad, about what I was doing or what I felt because my parents were very christian.  We had recently moved to Belleville from LA, which was a huge change for me.  I was used to huge cities, assholes pushing you around on the street, those kinds of things.  New Jersey was.. well.. different.  The cities were smaller, you no longer felt those huge buildings looming over you, and the people were different too.  They were more forgiving.  It was refreshing, actually.  So, naturally, when I found out there was a gay strip club near my neighborhood, I was absolutely ecstatic.  As I walked up to the doors of the club, I was told to show my ID.  I said I was here for a friend, and somehow they believed me.  I realized that I was there a bit late, and most of the people there seemed to be quite old.  Creepy.  I realized that Marilyn Manson was playing over the speakers.  I didn't expect that, but I honestly wasn't complaining.  I loved Marilyn Manson.  I looked around some more, and my eyes stopped on a boy with red hair dressed in very little clothing.  My guess was that he was tonight's show.  I tried to get a better look at him, but I couldn't see him clearly from the back of the room, so I waded my way through the sparse crowd and managed to get a pretty good view.  He was fucking gorgeous.  Godlike, even.  I guess he could feel eyes on him, because he immediately looked my way.  I looked away, embarrassed to be caught staring at him.  He kept doing his routine, but also kept his eyes on me at the same time.  Was it because I was new?  Was I making him uncomfortable?  So many questions and too little answers.  After he was finished with what he was doing, I walked out of the building.  I worked the night shift and I had to be there in about thirty minutes.  I stepped outside and decided that I desperately needed a smoke.  I pulled out a cigarette hidden in the pocket of my jeans and got my lighter out.  I took a drag on the stick of death in my hand and looked up into the starry night sky as I breathed out a cloud of cancer.  I continued to repeat this process for about a minute before the red haired boy finally stepped out of the building.  "Hey.. I noticed you're new." He said sheepishly.  He was looking down and scratching the back of his head as if he was hiding something.  "Yeah, uh.. I just moved here actually.  From LA." I replied taking another long drag from my cigar.  I offered him one because I'm not an ass and he took it.  "LA hm?" He held up his cigarette and I lit it. "I've always wanted to go to California.  It seems like it would be nice there.  Y'know, with the sun and everything?  Jersey is the most dreary place I've ever been.  I mean, not like I've been many places.  Sorry.. I'm rambling aren't I?"  He took a long drag on his cigar to shut himself up.  He had a nice voice, I could listen to him talking for hours. "No, you're fine.  I liked your performance by the way.  You have good taste in music." I finally said to break a very awkward silence.  "Yeah.. thanks.  I'm guessing you like classic rock?"  He raised an eyebrow as he said this.  God, he was so hot.  I could never say that out loud though.  That would bring shame upon my christian household.  Not like I cared or anything though.  I was the one that brought myself to this club and watched this hot fucker strip.  I was the one that enjoyed it.  I stomped out my cigarette and answered his question with a simple "Yeah."  I said something about having to go to work, we said our goodbyes, and we both went our separate ways.  Or at least, I thought that was what was going to happen.  Instead, we both ended up walking in the same direction until we reached Starbucks.  He opened the door for me and I quietly thanked him.  I walked behind the front counter and put my apron on before taking his order.  "What's your name? Y'know, so I can put it on your order?"  I don't know why I felt so humiliated asking such a simple question.  "Gerard. Or you can call me Gee. Whichever you prefer."  "Nice name.  Mine's Frank by the way."  "Frank.." he said quietly.  "I like it."  "Thanks, you have a nice name too." I said as I wrote 'Gee' on the coffee I just made for him.  I wrote a smiling face next to it and gave it to him.  He saw what I drew and smiled at me. I, of course, smiled back.  To my surprise, he stayed at the counter and we talked for about three hours.  "Shit, I gotta get home.  I'll see you tomorrow?" he asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.  "Why of course.  Same time?" "Yep.  See you Frank." "Bye Gee."  My heart fluttered as he opened the door and walked out, empty coffee cup still on the counter.  I took it and looked at it for a while before deciding to keep it.  I know, it was a creepy thing to do, but I wanted the memory of meeting him for the first time.  I set my elbows on the counter and daydreamed about what could possibly happen in the near future.  I didn't know what exactly was going to happen, of course, but I definitely had high hopes for our next meeting.