The Wrong Way - Part III
Part II
Frank hadn't had a night out in ages, and by the time Friday night rolled around he was positively vibrating with energy and excitement. It was going to be his first night out in New York and Frank was determined to have one hell of a night. Over the past few weeks all the anxiety, anger and frustration had built up and Frank was ready to explode. A night out was going to be the perfect opportunity to get rid of all that excess energy and drink the world pretty.
Frank walked alongside Gerard to the underground. By now he was more familiar with the streets in their immediate neighbourhood and even the underground system was starting to make sense. He'd even taken it on his own the other day to get to the record store Gerard had told him about.
What Frank hadn't expected was to see Ray waiting for them at the entrance to the underground, bundled up against the cold and bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Going out with a cop? Frank's night had just taken a turn for the worse.
~
"Frank, you been enjoying your time so far?"
The lights in the underground car were too bright and yellow, but at least it was almost empty. Frank and Gerard sat next to each other with Ray across from them, all smiles and friendliness. Frank squirmed uncomfortably in his seat.
"Um . . . yeah. It's been nice." Was this a trick question? Was Ray trying to find out if he'd been up to anything he could arrest him for? Frank watched closely but Ray only nodded and smiled before he started talking with Gerard about a new comic book.
Frank was on edge until they left the underground, no matter how much he tried to relax. No matter how nice Ray was, or what Mikey had said, Frank didn't think he could ever feel comfortable around him.
The walk from the underground to the club barely took five minutes and Frank was surprised to find a queue almost all the way around the block. Why would so many people want to go to the same place? Not to mention that there wasn't going to be room for them all. It gave Frank yet another thing to add to his list of why city people were weird.
To Frank's utter relief they walked past the queue and after Gerard had given the angry looking bouncer (who probably ate tiny people like Frank for breakfast) their names, they were immediately let in.
Inside it was stuffy and loud, a mass of bodies grinding under the flashing lights on the dance floor. The vibrations of the bass went right through Frank's body. Gerard grabbed Frank's hand as they squeezed their way through the crowd. People were jostling him from every side and Frank was starting to think that they'd never make it out of the crowd when they finally climbed three steps that led up to a secluded VIP section. Another bouncer stood at the top of the stairs and Mikey appeared at his side, poking his shoulder and then gesturing to the three of them. The guy nodded and let them through and Frank could actually breathe. It was beautiful.
Frank, distracted by all the people around, stumbled after the others as Mikey led them to a table in the corner where Alicia was already sitting. Frank fell more into his seat than actually sat down, staring after a girl wearing something that could definitely not be considered a dress. It was more like a towel. A tiny, tiny towel.
Gerard had let go of Frank's hand, but now he was poking Frank's knee. "What do you want to drink?" he yelled over the music. "Mikey's getting drinks."
Were the drinks different as well? Frank went with the easiest solution.
"Beer," he yelled back. Simple and alcoholic, which was essentially all Frank wanted right now. Gerard nodded and leaned over to presumably yell into Mikey's ear and Frank went back to taking in everything around him with rapt attention.
Barely half an hour later Frank couldn't quite tell how much beer he had consumed. A waiter kept bringing refills over to their table and Frank kept drinking. Everything was just a little fuzzy around the edges and Frank was leaning more and more into Gerard's side. When he put his hand on Gerard's thigh, he could feel his husband tense and heard his words to Ray falter. Frank really didn't care. He kept sipping his beer, and watched the crowd while his hand remained where it was.
Eventually Gerard relaxed and Frank took it as his cue to move his hand a little higher, fingertips digging into the inside of Gerard's thigh. Gerard, who was just taking a sip of his drink promptly choked on it. Frank only dug his fingers in more and grinned.
"Frank, what are you doing?" Gerard's voice was low, and he leaned in close, allowing Frank to hear him over the music. He had been sticking to Diet Coke, so there was no slur to his voice, no sluggishness to his movements. Frank thought that a little alcohol on Gerard's part would've helped things along tremendously.
"I'm not doing anything," Frank replied innocently, his lips brushing against Gerard's cheek when he turned his head a little more and leaned forward.
"Frank," Gerard hissed. He was a fucking killjoy and ridiculously complicated. Frank wanted to bash his head against a wall.
"What?" he replied, not even trying to be subtle anymore as his hand wandered further up. "We're married," he added.
"I told you, I have a boyfriend." Gerard stayed close, probably so Frank could still hear him, not because he actually fucking wanted to be close to Frank.
"Yes and I'm your husband." Everybody knew that husband totally had a higher priority than boyfriend. Technically, if Gerard really had a boyfriend, he was cheating on Frank. "You're cheating on me." The beer had apparently swept away any kind of filter between Frank's brain and mouth.
"What? I'm not . . . Why . . . How would you even . . . I'm not cheating on you!" Gerard nearly knocked Frank's drink out of his hand as he gesticulated wildly.
"Yes you are," Frank scoffed, knocking back the last of his beer before he put the empty bottle on the table with more force than necessary. "I'm your husband and you won't even touch me!"
"Frank, this isn't-" Gerard was clearly struggling to find the right words. "You know this isn't a real marriage."
Gerard didn't even say it in a mean way, but it stung. Not that Frank had ever had romantic delusions, but this marriage, whatever it was, was the only solid thing in his life at the moment. It was the only thing he could cling to because he had no family, no friends, and was stuck in a foreign country. He wasn't wanted here and Gerard only put up with him because he had to. This pretence, the false friendliness, was worse than being alone.
"Yeah, no, you're right," Frank muttered and got to his feet, swaying on the spot before he took a step forward, clumsily managing to step over Gerard's legs and away from the table.
"Where are you going?"
Frank ignored Gerard's question and the way Ray and Alicia watched him. He stumbled through the crowd, pushing people out of the way carelessly and ignoring their glares.
Eventually Frank managed to find the restrooms. With a sigh he leaned against the wall between the 'Ladies' and 'Gents' doors and closed his eyes. There were no people around and even the thumping of the bass was muted. Frank wished that he hadn't had so much to drink.
"Frank? What's going on?"
Frank's eyes snapped open and he regretted it the next second, squeezing them shut again when the world around him tipped and swayed.
"What do you mean, Mikeyway?" he replied slowly, eventually managing to open his eyes without keeling over or vomiting. Mikey was standing in front of him, arms crossed in front of his chest, hips cocked and lips pursed. There was a sliver of skin visible where his shirt had ridden up.
"You know what I mean. What the fuck was that with Gerard?"
"What was what?" Under normal circumstances Frank would've gotten a kick out of this. He loved annoying people and picking fights. But being sold off had maybe taught him a lesson about where and when to pick them, because instead of feeling giddy at the prospect of a fight, Frank felt resigned. Mikey wasn't the one he wanted to fight, anyway.
"Fucking stop it."
Frank was surprised to suddenly find himself pinned to the wall, Mikey's face only centimeters away from his own. He wouldn't have pegged Mikey to be the fighting kind. His fingernails were digging into Frank's shoulders and he was pushing with all his weight.
"Stop messing around with my brother. This is giving him enough trouble without you adding to it."
Frank scoffed. "Shouldn't have ordered me then. Don't blame me for that. I was just trying to make sure he had a good time and got something out of this marriage."
Mikey's nails dug more forcefully into Frank's skin. "Fine, maybe I made a mistake." Mikey's voice was tight. "It was a joke that went wrong. But we've worked it out, so just go with that and don't molest Gerard."
"Molest?" Frank blinked up at Mikey in utter confusion before his face become thunderous. "Molest?" He brought his hands up and pushed Mikey away. "I'm not molesting him, Christ's sake! But since you ordered him a whore he might as well get his money's worth, don't you think?" Frank hissed, pushing Mikey again, causing him to take a step back.
"What? Frank, you're not a wh-"
"Oh, stai zitto! Shut up!" Frank felt the tide of his temper wash over him, and he knew what little control he had over himself would soon be gone. "Of course I'm a whore. You paid for me. What's my life worth, Mikey, huh? Wanna tell me? How much did you pay? I was probably a special offer. Or a sales item."
Mikey remained silent, which only served to make Frank angrier.
"What, I was that cheap? Wow, that's really fucking awesome." He couldn't help but laugh hysterically. Everything he had bottled up over the past few weeks came bubbling up now, the alcohol loosening his tongue. Once he had started to talk he found it hard to stop.
"You know how great it feels to know that your life is worth jack shit? That you're worth less than a car? Let me tell you, it's fucking awesome!" Blood rushed loudly in Frank's ears and his own voice sounded far away.
"And then, then you're not even fucking wanted. I'm nothing but a nuisance to your brother, an annoying responsibility. I have nothing here and you know whose fault that is?" Frank narrowed his eyes and took another step forward, crowding Mikey against the wall. "It's your fault. All of this is your fucking fault. Because you thought it would be fun. You still think playing with other people's lives is fun, Mikey?"
"I haven't . . . I wasn't playing with you, Frank." Mikey glanced uncomfortably to the side. There was nowhere for him to go, his back already pressed to the wall and Frank in front of him.
"Yeah, right," Frank snorted. A mixture of alcohol and anger caused his words to slur together, his pronunciation even more off. "You bought me online. For your brother! How the fuck is that not playing with people's lives?!" Frank didn't even give Mikey the chance to reply. "No, just shut up. Don't say a fucking thing because nothing, absolutely nothing, is going to make this any better."
Mikey couldn't make any of this right, not unless he had a time machine and could go back to the moment before he clicked the "place order" button.
"I'm sorry," Mikey offered lowly.
"Doesn't help me," Frank hissed. "Keep your apologies. They don't give me my family or my friends or money or a fucking life." At the moment Frank didn't feel like he had anything he could call a 'life.' He was existing, nothing more.
"C'mon, it's not that-"
"Don't you dare tell me it's 'not that bad.' You have no fucking clue. It's worse. It's worse and you have no idea what it feels like."
"I didn't say that. But you gotta give us some credit here. We're trying." Mikey's eyes were narrowed behind his glasses.
"Right. I'm trying too."
"Trying to molest my brother."
"What? You jealous?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, his jaw shut with an audible click of teeth. He just stared at Mikey for a second as the truth sunk in. "You jealous, Mikey Way? That no one bothered to buy you a punk Italian whore?"
Mikey's silence was answer enough. Frank stared up at him for a few more seconds, then went up on his tiptoes and crushed his lips against Mikey's before he could think about what he was doing, or how it might be a bad idea. Mikey tensed, but it wasn't like he had any room to move away. At first neither of them moved, but then Mikey's hand fisted in the back of Frank's shirt and it was all the encouragement he needed. It was easy enough to blame it on the alcohol, on being lonely and starved for contact and not on the fact that Frank had been drawn to Mikey from the beginning.
It was not a romantic kiss, not by anyone's standards. Too much teeth, too much tongue, lips forcefully squashed together; all born out of sudden urgency. Mikey's fingers were twisted in Frank's shirt and he kept tugging, even though Frank couldn't get any closer physically without crawling under Mikey's skin.
Frank's brain was still fuzzy from all the beer and Mikey's fingers digging into his back; the teeth biting at Frank's lip kept him grounded. Mikey tasted like the brightly coloured cocktails he'd been drinking all night, and it really didn't mix with the leftover taste of beer in Frank's mouth. Mikey smelled like sweat and cigarettes with a small, leftover note of cologne buried somewhere underneath.
It was perfect because it was real.
Frank's hand moved up to curl around Mikey's neck and his fingers dug in, trying to get the other man to lean down further. Frank was nothing if not greedy. He had too much energy, tugging and pushing uncoordinatedly. All his senses were focused on Mikey, until a voice broke through his almost trance like state.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" Ray's voice was even higher pitched than usual and Mikey's head slammed back against the wall, his pupils blown wide as he stared at Ray over the top of Frank's head. Frank didn't bother taking a step back or trying to hide. He stayed exactly where he was, only turning his head a little to watch Ray through heavily-lidded eyes. He couldn't bring himself to care about the consequences.
Ray's mouth opened and closed a few times and Frank's mind helpfully conjured up the image of a stranded fish. A fish with giant hair.
"What . . . You guys . . . Gerard is right out there!" Ray finally managed to get out, gesturing wildly towards the door leading back to the main room. Frank wanted to laugh. Yeah, as if Gerard gave a damn.
"None of your business," he snarled at Ray. His fingernails scratched down over Mikey's neck, eliciting a small wince.
"This is not," Mikey started, but then seemed to think better of it. 'This is not what it looks like' really wasn't going to work. Instead he untangled his fingers from Frank's shirt and pushed him away, then reached up to straighten his glasses. "This was a mistake."
"I damn well hope so." Ray crossed his arms in front of his chest. Surprise had given way to annoyed concern. Not like Frank cared. His own anger had come back full force and Mikey's cool remark fuelled its flame.
"Fuck you. Both of you," Frank pressed out through clenched teeth, pushing Mikey once more and sending him stumbling back into the wall. It only brought a little satisfaction and Frank tripped his way outside blindly. It had started to rain and a couple hurried past, laughing as they huddled together under an umbrella. Frank wanted to push them into a giant puddle.
There was still a queue outside, although some people were starting to leave now. Mostly girls without umbrellas, worried about the rain ruining their hair. Frank scoffed. Fuck this city.
He smoked his cigarette down to the filter and flicked the butt away. Jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans, Frank considered going back inside. He even turned and looked at the door, but couldn't bring himself to take a step forward. He was annoyed with Gerard, furious with the cop and. Well. He didn't know what he was with Mikey. Angry, annoyed, disappointed. Something else too. Something more.
Frank turned and walked away from the club, pulling his shoulders up. His jacket was still inside, but the cold didn't seem so bad right now. Not when there was anger raging hot inside of him. Anger laced with a bit of shame. It was a rather spicy mix, but it didn't keep Frank from getting wet. By the time he got back to the apartment he was drenched, dripping all over the floor. Fumbling Gerard's spare key out of his pocket, Frank let himself in. It was dark, only a little light streaming in from the windows. Frank didn't bother turning the lights on.
He kicked his sneakers off and started to squirm out of his soggy hoodie and shirt on the way to the couch, dropping both items next to it. They hit the floor with a wet sound. His socks and jeans followed. Frank ignored the sodden pile on the floor and crawled under the blankets, forcing his eyes shut even though he knew he wasn't going to sleep anytime soon. The tap in the kitchen was still dripping and he felt dizzy.
A while later the door opened.
"Frank?"
Frank didn't answer and pretended to be asleep. There were footsteps and a prickling feeling on his neck. He could hear Gerard breathing above him.
"Ray? Found him, he's home." Gerard kept his voice low as he talked into his mobile phone, walking away. A door closed and then there was silence.
~
Gerard had put a jar with money on the kitchen counter, for when Frank needed to buy groceries or if there was an emergency. He always added money to it and it was kind of nice, even though it made Frank feel like shit. Today Frank didn't waste a second thought on it as he took some bills and stuffed them into his pockets before he left the apartment.
Frank didn't know where he was going and he didn't care. During the last weeks he'd become an expert at being lost, not having a destination in mind for his day, or his life.
During the elevator ride Frank already fumbled a cigarette out of his pocket. He'd bought himself a pack with some spare change and now he was hording them, only allowing himself to have a smoke when he really needed to. Or when Gerard offered him one of his. Some days Frank felt like he was taking advantage of Gerard, but if he considered the bigger picture, taking cigarettes and grocery money were a small price compared to having to leave your home and ending up in the epitome of a loveless marriage.
Frank rolled the battered cigarette between his thumb and index finger, watching as the numbers changed on the display above the elevator doors. When they reached '1' the doors opened with a dull 'ding.'
Outside was as miserable as ever. It wasn't raining, not yet, but the clouds in the sky looked grey and heavy, ready to burst. Frank had gotten used to the subdued roar of the city, which never stopped because the city never slept. He hadn't gotten used to the people, and once his cigarette was lit Frank pulled his shoulders up and avoided meeting anyone's eyes as he walked down the street. He should have felt free, able to make a new start in a city full of possibilities, not like the grey was closing in on him and cutting off his air supply.
Frank tried to smoke slowly, but sooner than he liked his cigarette was gone, smoked right down to the butt. He flung it down on the sidewalk with a barely suppressed huff. What did he care about adding a little more garbage to these streets?
After walking around aimlessly for a while Frank ended up in an underground station. The air was stuffy, but it was significantly warmer than outside. People were streaming past him, yet Frank couldn't bring his feet to move faster or even lift properly.
To Frank's left a hobo sat, leaning against the wall. There were a few nickels and crumpled bills in the hat in front of him. Frank slowed down even more, studying the miserable figure. For a split second Frank felt like he was looking at his future. He was most likely going to end up sitting right next to this guy. Or three stations away, if the guy was very territorial.
Or maybe Frank could manage to get a guitar somewhere and then he could sit down here and play. It'd pass the time and he'd get a few dollars of his own.
Frank sighed and shook his head. Had he really just considered becoming a sort-of hobo? And why was his brain still so interested in the idea when he should be laughing it off?
Huffing, Frank shoved his hands more forcefully into the pockets of his coat and walked faster, forcing himself to board a train.
In the end Frank found himself at the entrance of the zoo. He bought an entrance ticket and kept his head down, hoping that Bob and Alicia weren't around. Frank really didn't feel like talking to anyone today. Besides, Alicia had been at the club last night, so she'd probably ask stupid questions.
It was a dreary morning and there were barely any people around. Every now and then Frank passed a school class or elderly couples as he walked through the zoo, without a plan. He ended up on a bench in front of the penguin tank, watching them idly and smoking the rest of his cigarettes. It was freezing and Frank was worried that his ass would be permanently stuck to the bench, but he didn't want to move either. Where would he go anyway? In a strange way, this was nice. Sitting on a bench in a zoo in the middle of New York, not belonging anywhere. It felt like being in the Twilight Zone. Frank was totally an island.
Frank had no idea what time it was or how long he had been sitting there. Eventually the skin not protected by layers of clothing had gone numb with cold and if it hadn't been for his bladder threatening to explode, Frank would've probably continued to sit there until the zoo closed.
After he'd found a restroom Frank was back to wandering the streets. He didn't want to go back to Gerard's place (he refused to think of it as home) but he felt sick from too many cigarettes and too little food.
On the way to the underground station a shop tucked into a corner between two fast food restaurants caught Frank's eye. There wasn't a lot to see in the window, just a few records, an old gramophone, and for some strange reason, a red jacket that looked like a replica of Michael Jackson's Thriller jacket. The faded sign above the door read "Nostalgia."
What had stopped Frank dead on his tracks was the guitar he could see on a wall, surrounded by books and all other kinds of knick-knacks. Frank stared at it for a few seconds longer before he walked to the door and pushed the handle down. A bell sounded over his head as he entered the store.
Maybe it was time he took matters into his own hands.
~
"Frank?"
As soon as Frank had opened the door and set foot into the apartment, Gerard's voice came from the living room, followed by footsteps.
"Um . . . hi." Frank toed his shoes off, then looked up and found Gerard standing in the doorway. Strands of his hair were defying gravity and he bit his bottom lip, looking worried.
Frank's stomach sank. Had Mikey told Gerard about the kiss? Was Gerard going to ask him to leave?
Before Frank could work himself into a panic, Gerard hugged him. Frank reached up and patted Gerard's back awkwardly. This didn't look like he was being kicked out. More like Gerard was feeling guilty.
"Where were you?" Gerard pulled back and Frank thought that he tried to scowl at him, but it came out looking like a puppy trying to glare.
"Just . . . you know. Around." Frank hadn't known that he had to report to Gerard when he was going out.
"Oh. I thought you'd . . . never mind." Gerard rubbed the back of his neck.
"Sorry?" Frank offered. It felt like he was supposed to say it.
"Oh, no, no it's fine. You want some coffee?"
Frank nodded and followed back to the living room, still not sure what he was supposed to make of this.
For a while they watched TV in tense silence. Gerard kept fidgeting and Frank felt like his eyelid was going to start twitching with irritation.
"Do anything special today?" Gerard asked, finally breaking the silence.
"No, just . . . walked around. Had a look around." Frank shrugged.
"That's . . . Yeah that's good. You should, you know, walk around and see stuff."
They sat in silence again, but Frank just knew that Gerard wasn't done yet.
"You left really quickly yesterday. Did . . . did something happen?"
So Mikey hadn't told Gerard everything. Frank wasn't sure if he was relieved or not.
"Yes, I . . . ahm . . . didn't feel too well. Sorry," he mumbled, picking at loose threads on the knee of his jeans where a hole was forming.
"That's all right. I was just worried that you were having a bad time or something. Like, Mikey is much more into this clubbing thing, I'm not really . . . It's . . . You know."
"Gerard, it was fine, seriously. I just didn't feel good." Frank even forced himself to smile. Why did Gerard have to be so goddamn earnest and nice? It made Frank's skin crawl. If it came down to it, Gerard had been nothing but nice to him and what did Frank do? Turn around and make out with his brother.
"Okay, good. Good."
After that Gerard relaxed more and the tension drained from Frank's shoulders as well.
"I've got some more work to do," Gerard eventually said, almost apologetic.
Frank just nodded and curled up on the couch, giving him a tired smile. "Um. Good luck?"
Gerard nodded and gave Frank a soft smile before moving away.
Frank stared at the TV, but listened closely for the sound of Gerard closing the door of the studio. He waited a few more minutes, then got up and walked over to the money jar in the kitchen, getting out all the bills and coins and starting to count.
~
The bell chimed above Frank's head as he entered the store. He'd been inexplicably nervous all the way here and now, instead of making for the counter and asking about the guitar, Frank looked at bits and pieces that didn't interest him at all. Once he'd made his circuit around the entire store there wasn't much to look at anymore, so after taking a deep breath, he walked up to the counter.
A guy wearing a trucker hat sat behind it, reading a magazine. He looked up when he noticed Frank and smiled at him, pushing his glasses back up where they'd slipped down his nose. "Hi. I'm Patrick, may I help you?"
"Yeah." Frank fingered the roll of bills in his pocket. He'd only taken about half of what had been in the jar, fearing that otherwise it would have been too obvious. "I wanted to know how much the guitar costs." Frank pointed at the guitar in question behind Patrick.
"That one's a hundred bucks. She's in great condition, wanna have a look?"
Frank could feel his chest sinking. He should've known that it wasn't going to be that easy. All he had in his pocket was sixty dollars. It had delusional to think that he could get a guitar for that amount of money, but Frank still hadn't gotten used to the currency and how much things cost.
"Oh, no, thanks," he muttered, trying not to let his disappointment show. "I don't have that much." Frank couldn't even offer to work for Patrick in exchange for the guitar because he wasn't sure if he was allowed to get a job with his visa.
"Hm." Patrick tilted his head to the side. "How much have you got?"
"Sixty. And a few coins," Frank offered with a sheepish smile, shrugging.
"I see."
There went Frank's hope of Patrick being a saint and agreeing to give him the guitar for sixty lousy dollars.
"Yeah, er, thanks anyway," he mumbled, shoving his hands back into the pockets of his coat and turning around to leave, defeat dragging his limbs down.
"Why do you want to buy it?"
"What?" Frank turned around mid-step, looking at Patrick with wide eyes.
"Why do you want to buy the guitar?" Patrick repeated, studying Frank in a way that made him uncomfortable.
"Just . . . I recently moved here and I couldn't take my guitar and . . . I miss it."
Whatever Patrick had been looking for, apparently Frank had given it to him, because he turned and took the guitar down from the wall. "How about I give her to you for eighty and you give me the extra twenty tomorrow?"
Frank stood rooted to the ground. Was the guy serious? He was going to give him the guitar for a lot less and trust Frank to bring the remaining money tomorrow?
"Are you serious?" Frank couldn't help but ask as he took a step back towards the counter, eyes already on the guitar. It really was in great condition. Whoever it had belonged to before had taken good care of it.
"Yep. I'd want her to belong to someone who appreciates her." Patrick shrugged with a small smile.
Frank broke into a grin.
~
Frank chose an underground station far away from Gerard's apartment and the zoo. He figured chances that Gerard, Bob or Alicia would see him were practically non-existent. He didn't know where Mikey worked, but he'd have to take his chances on that one.
He was unsure what to do at first, just walking up and down with the newly purchased guitar clutched in his hands, not daring to sit down. Eventually Frank mentally yelled at himself that he was being stupid and sat down, leaning against one of the walls, guitar in his lap. He hadn't played since he had left Italy and his fingers were still stiff from the cold and the thick jacket restricting his movements wasn't exactly helpful, but he was determined.
Frank plucked a few melodies just to warm up, the soft sounds lost in the bustle of the underground. He felt small and vulnerable, sitting there, only seeing the legs of the people passing unless he looked up. He tried to focus on the guitar instead, the way the strings vibrated under his fingertips. Finally something familiar in this city.
Once Frank felt like he could properly move his fingers, he started playing a Green Day song. It was one of the first he'd learned when he'd gotten a guitar for his tenth birthday. He still knew it by heart. Singing came less easy. Frank knew he was good at playing guitar, but he wasn't a born singer.
At first his voice came out low and too rough, but eventually, when he realised that nobody seemed to care anyway Frank closed his eyes and let the music take over.
~
At the end of the day Frank had fifteen dollars, a sore throat and burning fingertips. It felt amazing. Music had always made him feel better about himself and he actually felt like he'd done something productive today. Well, productive for his standards. Normal people would hardly think of sitting in an underground station like a hobo and playing guitar for a few dollars as productive.
Frank held the guitar carefully all the way home, thinking that once he'd paid Patrick back and gotten a little more money he'd invest in a bag for the guitar. He kept looking around nervously as he walked from the underground to Gerard's apartment block, hoping not to run into anyone he knew. Gerard couldn't know that Frank had taken the money to buy a guitar.
Hiding the guitar proved to be harder than Frank had anticipated. He didn't want to hide it in the alley between buildings, because that was asking for somebody to steal it.
There was no place Frank could safely hide the guitar outside, so he ended up taking it upstairs to the apartment, hoping that Gerard was still in his studio. Frank opened the apartment door slowly and peeked inside, ready to leave again in case Gerard was there. The apartment was dark and quiet. Chances of Gerard going out were zero, so even after Frank had slipped inside he didn't turn the lights on and tiptoed his way into the living room. There were curtains that hung down to the floor on the huge window and Frank decided that the most simple of hiding places were the best. Why would Gerard ever look behind a curtain anyway?
Once the guitar was safely placed and concealed, Frank collapsed on the couch. He toed off his shoes and managed to squirm out of his jacket (it would have been simpler to just stand up and take it off, but simple was overrated), dropping it carelessly to the floor and curling up with his blanket. It had been a good day by the strangest of definitions. He was sore and cold and the couch was comfortable and it was warm under the blanket. Frank allowed himself to drift off to sleep.
~
For a few days the new routine Frank had come up with worked out well. He'd hang around the apartment until late morning, then take the underground to what he'd come to think of as "his" station. He could only stay there for a few hours at a time because Frank just knew that Gerard was going to ask questions and get all worried again otherwise. It felt a little bit like he was fifteen again and sneaking out of the house.
For a few days it was a good routine. It gave a purpose to Frank's day and kept him from thinking too much about Mikey, who never came by anymore. Not that he had reason to; after what had happened he probably hated Frank.
Just thinking about it made Frank play stupid, emo songs, so he tried to avoid it. If he played cheerful stuff people were more likely to give him money, as he'd found out.
Ironically enough it all went to hell when Frank played Freebird. Two pairs of shiny, black boots came into Frank's view, but he just kept playing. Sometimes people stopped to listen, sometimes to dig for money in their pockets. The people in the shiny shoes didn't seem to be doing either.
When Frank had finished the song the people were still standing there, watching him. Frank hated being looked down on. When he glanced up he choked on his own saliva. The shiny boots belonged to policemen.
Part IV