Killin' Before Killin' Was Cool

[gala_apples]

Part Three



January
It’s not until after the holidays that they can get a date in. Christmas is a multi-day event, cookies and present wrapping before, shopping at sales after. They lose an entire day to the Ieros buying build it yourself furniture sets for each other. And then it’s Bob’s birthday, a day which has to be celebrated. Better that than celebrating New Years, when everyone their age knows the year starts in September.

They have two days left for winter break when Frank takes Gerard out for dinner. Half the guys invite themselves, Gerard loses track of how often he has to tell everyone to fuck off and leave them alone. Of course that method can’t be taken with either his mom and dad, or Frank’s parents, all four of whom won’t shut up. The worst is mom, who didn’t give a shit that Mikey was gay, but now that he’s dating a guy is upset she’ll never get grandkids. For hours before Frank comes over she tells him stories about what Benny would have done when he grew up, or how much Michaela, named after Mikey, of course, would have wanted a cat. Thankful she manages to stop waxing melodic when Frank opens the front door. They flip off Christa and Alicia when they offer to come with and give helpful post date kissing pointers and leave holding hands.

The restaurant is one Gerard’s never been to. He orders chicken and mashed potatoes, figuring they’re both bland enough that he can make out with Frank afterwards without his breath smelling bad. The rational part of his brain that points out they’ve been making out and fucking for almost three weeks without Gerard worrying before is entirely drowned out by the compulsion he has to make their first date perfect. Without being able to date competently they’re friends with benefits, not boyfriends. Gerard needs this to go well.

They talk as they wait for the food to come out. That, at least, goes well. Talking to him from across a deep coloured wood table for two is no different than talking to him walking home from band practice, or talking to him after Frank’s just come in his ass. Well, maybe a bit different from the last, neither of them are panting, or particularly sweaty. The server actually interrupts a discussion about XMen when she drops their plates off.

Gerard’s about to take a bite when Frank reaches out and grabs his wrist. “We had a teenage server, and who knows who’s in the kitchen.”

Gerard wants to bash his head against the wood panelled walls. His first real date with Frank, the first time they’ve managed to go out without anyone needing them, and he forgets all safety concerns. If he’s gonna be that stupid he might as well forget his own fucking name.

It smells like it’s supposed to, not the almond of cyanide or the citrus of kitchen cleansers. A scent judgement isn’t always enough though, so Gerard lowers his face close to the table and inspects the chicken and the potatoes. It looks good enough too, and across the table Frank is cutting the first slice of his steak. He digs his knife into the butter and smears them over the potatoes. He likes them more butter than potato. When he starts mashing the butter in he sees a glint of silver that he’s almost certain is not his fork. Gerard forgets about table manners for a second and digs his fingers into the mash. “Son of a bitch.” There are tiny bits of straight pins. Not large enough to really be felt when he’s chewing, unless one stabs his tongue by fluke. He’s sure they’re long enough to fuck up his stomach.

“Frank I can’t eat here, I dunno if it was random or a vendetta. Are you okay with going to the diner? The staff there are all in their thirties.”

“Yeah, sure, one second.”

Frank stands. For a second Gerard thinks he’s gonna go find the manager to explain why they won’t be paying. Then Gerard remembers who Frank is. He hurries to follow Frank into the kitchen. Frank grabs the first knife he sees. “Someone better rat out who tried to kill my boyfriend, or I’m killing every teenager here.”

Gerard smiles. The word boyfriend still hasn’t gotten old, for hearing or saying. He’d ask Mikey if it ever does, except Mikey would just call him a girl, or something else that fails to be offensive, and not answer the question.

“I’d like to point out I’m twenty.” A server raises her arm to show a yellow bracelet.

“Yeah, I see your bling. Five seconds then who knows who I stab first.”

A dishwasher who is somehow even shorter than Frank breaks first. “It was Theresa. She’s been bitching for a week that you got a recommendation for your college application from the art teacher when she asked and he said her work wasn’t high enough calibre.”

Frank grins. “Thanks. I’m sure everyone appreciates your truth telling. Theresa, you wanna go to the parking lot of try this here?”

Theresa ends up being a girl with long brown hair curled under a hair net. “I’m not scared of you, Frank.”

“I’m not saying you are. I’m saying if your blood gets all over the equipment they’ll need to close tonight for sanitary reasons and some people probably need this shift on their paycheck.” He radiates confidence. It’s fucking hot. Gerard would make out with him if it wouldn’t dangerously distract him.

In response she grabs a cleaver from the meat station and runs at Frank. It’s pretty obvious she’s used to her swallowed sharps method, she’s not holding the hilt properly. Frank avoids the flailing knife by dropping to the floor and jamming his blade with as much force as he can through the tongue of her shoe. She drops as she screams but doesn’t let go of her cleaver.

Gerard understands why he’s keeping it in her foot. It’s stuck enough into the linoleum that it keeps her pinned. The major downside is that Frank doesn’t have a weapon now. Gerard looks for another knife to toss him, but he’s surrounded by plastic glass and serving trays and the aisle is too thin to move past them. Frank can’t move without being decapitated, and on the other side of the battle Theresa’s coworkers are firmly not getting involved. He picks up a tray to check but there’s not heft to it. It’s plastic, not nearly good enough for blunt force trauma. There’s only one thing to do. He turns and runs to the nearest table in the dining room and snatches a knife.

Frank doesn’t need it. In the thirty seconds it took Gerard to find a couple eating steak Frank got the cleaver. He gets back just in time to watch him slit her throat. Gerard puts the knife down and tosses Frank an apron instead.

“Sorry about the mess. I did try to get her to dance in the parking lot.”

The general reaction is a shrug. Gerard hopes that means Frank was wrong and no one is desperately needing every minute of their pay check. Frank finishes scrubbing the blood off with the dampened cloth and they leave.

“You killed her for me,” Gerard says a few minutes later, on their way to pick up food made by old and innocent people.

“Of course I did. You’re my boyfriend. I’m sure you’d do the same.”

Gerard slides his fingers between Frank’s. It’s not like they’re going to start swinging their arms and skipping and saying tralala. It’s just simple handholding. Nice, while retaining their manliness, for as much as Gerard cares.

“Of course. I’d slice them open and wear their intestines as a boa.” He thinks a second, then amends, “well, probably not. That would cover me in shit and bile. Messy as fuck.”

Frank grins, laughs. He looks fucking lovely when he laughs, mouth obnoxiously wide, lips against his teeth. “You always know the most romantic thing to say. I- Shit, is it okay to say I love you to someone on your first date?”

“We’ve known each other for about a decade, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t count as being creepy during your first meeting. As long as you don’t say we were destined, or we’re soulmates or something. I’m pretty sure that’s creepy whenever it occurs.”

“Okay, great. So, I totally love you. I love you enough that I would kill everyone in the world for you. Except James because I promised to protect him. And probably not Ray or Bob or Jamia or-”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna be asking you to kill all our friends. You didn’t mention Mikey though.”

“Like you would let me go anywhere near Mikey. Besides, he could take me. Not saying he’d win, but it’s not a sure thing on my side.”

Briefly he pictures it. Frank’s right, it’s pretty hard to imagine who would win. They both have pretty high counts. Mikey’s is lower, of course, being a year younger. Mikey might win because his methods are unique. Frank might win because he gets high on adrenaline and can fight through being hurt. They both have the same level of enthusiasm.

Thankfully he doesn’t have to imagine his boyfriend and his brother, both his closest best friends, going at each other for long. Frank uses their connected hands to tug him in for a kiss. Frank tastes like two bites of nearly raw rare steak. Gerard doesn’t care.


June
Gerard has one of the latest mentoring appointments. Everyone he knows has already completed theirs. Really though, it’s good timing. This way he doesn’t send all morning worrying about what might happen this afternoon. Last year the robotics club planted bombs every fifth seat. Graduation is a big day, the last day, which means a lot of people will be making big moves. He could spend the entire morning thinking of what his fellow graduates might do, plan routes to get away and ways to defend himself and the others, and no matter how many plans he’d make, whatever happened at four would be something entirely different. Better to focus on other things.

Gerard goes into the junior high with the intent of preparing the child he’s assigned for what’s to come without disheartening him or her. He’s thought about what he’s going to say since his own ninth grade meeting. It’s been three years of carefully crafting the best advice. When he logs in at the office he’s told he has three children to talk to. The number isn’t entirely surprising. By June a large portion of students are dead. Three is better than last year’s graduates. Pete’s year so many died it ended up being eight children to every senior.

Gerard leaves the junior high wanting to kick himself in the face. Luckily there are two things preventing the unnecessary violence. The first is his limberness, or lack thereof. The second is Frank, who is waiting outside for him. Gerard doesn’t remember telling him when his meeting was, beyond the conversation at lunch two weeks ago when everyone found out their date. Still, he’s there, waiting. He’s balanced on the top of the bike rack like a tight rope walker. He jumps down without wavering when he sees Gerard.

“Solid dismount, nine point eight.” Gerard doesn’t watch gymnastics, but he knows enough to always make the Russian judge give threes or fours.

“Thanks. Aim to please.”

“Walk me back to the house?” Presuming they make it out of school today, tonight there will be a dozen parties all over town. No matter where they end up going, it’s unlikely they’ll have the chance to cuddle and fuck the way Gerard wants. If he wants alone time with Frank it’s gotta be now.

“Of course.” Frank smiles. “On second thought, race you. First there gets to top!”

Gerard runs. He knows he won’t win, Frank is a speedy little fucker when he wants to be. He doesn’t care about top or bottom, and he knows Frank doesn’t really either. It’s just a blowing off of steam for Frank. Gerard’s not the only one concerned about what’s going to happen this afternoon.

Frank gets to the end of the sidewalk first, of course. He’s not even breathless. “I win, fucker! Or should I say fuckee? I’m totally owning your ass!”

“What did you tell them?” Frank can fuck him twice, for all Gerard cares.

“Oh, last week? Just that while it’s never too early to plan a strategy, thinking on your feet and being willing to toss your plans is important too. Remember Leslie, and how she had that fucking flowchart of ‘if he does blank I’ll do blank’? And then he did, and she did, and he did something different and she got stabbed in the eye, all within the first week of tenth grade. Plans fuck you up, if you get attached. How did yours go?”

“Oh God. I was a total prick. If we weren’t graduating I’d be worried they’d target me for being such a tool.” Gerard moans, “I don’t know. It all just went horribly wrong. I couldn’t shut up.”

Frank doesn’t take the issue seriously. “Okay, but you know what’s awesome? If you can’t shut up when I have my fingers in your ass, it turns into dirty talk.”

Gerard opens his front door and kicks his shoes off. One makes a dirty imprint on the bottom of the wall, but Mom and Dad probably won’t notice. “I definitely want to have that moment Frank, but I need to talk to Mikey first.”

“Yeah, makes sense. I’ll just start jerking off in your room. When you’re done come say hi.”

Gerard nearly falls down the stairs when he trips on Mikey’s backpack. Only Frank grabbing the back of his shirt hard enough for the collar to strangle him saves him. Gerard is grateful for it. Dying accidentally from a brain hemorrhage on the last day anyone is allowed to try and kill him would be horrendously embarrassing.

At the bottom of the stairs they split off, Frank heading for his bedroom as Gerard goes to Mikey’s. A quick look shows it to be empty, so he goes back up the stairs and into the living room. “Where’s Mikey?”

“Not sure. Maybe in his room with Pete?”

“He’s not.”

“Maybe he went back out with Pete then,” Dad offers without looking up from his word search.

Gerard rolls his eyes. It’s safe to, neither of his parents are looking at him. Mikey’s probably not even with Pete. His backpack is at the back landing. If there’d been a reason to come home and leave again his shit would be in his room. Maybe he’s building a bomb in the back yard or something. He sighs and heads for the back, not bothering to put shoes on before he opens the door. The concrete is cold under his feet, even in June.

“Sweet fucking Jesus.” Gerard closes his eyes as fast as he can, but it’s too late.

With his eyelids squeezed tightly shut he says “I’m going back inside for five minutes, then I’m coming back out. Put your pants back on.”

In the kitchen he thinks for a second before opening the fridge and pouring himself a glass of milk. Drinking it will give him something to do that’s not trying to not think of his brother fucking in the grass. Gerard’s half tempted to forget the whole thing and go downstairs, but if he goes down today there are some things that he needs said. If he goes to Frank they’ll probably fall asleep after and not get up until they’re woken up for the ceremony.

Just as he sets the glass on the table, the back door opens. “It’s cool. We both came, you didn’t cock block us.”

“Great. Because that’s what I was really worried about.”

Pete’s grin drops off, an expression Gerard’s only seen a few times. “Look, you’ll get through today. You will, because he needs you to, and you always do what he needs.”

Gerard wants to reply with great advice or no pressure but he doesn’t, just says thanks. Pete is being sincere. Mikey might get that, or Patrick, but it’s new to Gerard. It would be cruel to mock him, and a shitty potential last move.

“I’ll come this afternoon. I mean, I can’t kill anyone, but I can trip them if they’re heading in your direction?”

“We’ll see. I need to talk to Mikey first.”

“Yeah, he’ll come in when he hears my car taking off. He said he didn’t want you to have a heart attack seeing us hold hands. Bad form to kill your brother on the last day.”

True to Pete’s word, after the entire neighbourhood hears him revving his car, the back door slams open. Gerard decides he’ll start with something neutral, something that won’t piss Mikey off. What comes out is, “don’t come today.”

It’s not neutral. He is pissed off. “Fuck off!”

“Mikey-”

“You’re stupid if you think I’m not coming.” Gerard’s heard Mikey petulant and calling things stupid a hundred times. A thousand. This is just flat toned, serious.

“Mikey you know it’s the most dangerous day of the year. Why would you put yourself at risk?”

“Because you’re graduating. You and Ray and Bob and Frank and James are all graduating and I want to see it. Next year I’ll still have Alicia and Patrick, but this year your backs are the backs I watch.”

Gerard doesn’t like it, but there’s no point in arguing. If he did, it would take until three thirty when they’re due at the school and Mikey would still come. It’s time to move to the next issue.

“Just don’t start any blood wars, okay?” Gerard can easily imagine it happening. Mikey can get enthusiastic, without him and Ray to keep him settled he could easily piss off one of the popular gangs.

“I can handle it Gee.”

“I wish I hadn’t been accepted.” Christ, he’s not even going to be in the same state as Mikey. It seemed like such a good idea at the time, Seltzer University barely has an arts department.

“But you were, and it’s going to be awesome. You’re going to get famous, and then you can show everyone kill counts don’t matter, you can still be awesome if you’re a single digiter. Besides, James and Ray aren’t going to abandon me for another state.” Mikey obviously sees the guilt flash across Gerard’s face. He seizes him in a hug and says lowly into his ear “I was joking, numbnuts. Who knows. Next year I might join you in California, if I can find the money for it.”

“You could just be in horrible debt forever, like me?” Most of the students that leave for other cities have money stored up. It costs money to go to university in places other than Seltzer. It’s worth it to Gerard though, minimum wage job and loans until the end of time, to learn how to market his art.

“I dunno Gee. I’ll think about it. Pete doesn’t get his degree for two more years though.”

“Which brings me to my next thing!” Gerard disengages from the hug so he can gesture properly. “For the love of God stop cheating on Pete with Alicia. Just because he can’t kill you doesn’t mean a freshly broken up with teen won’t go on a rampage targeting all infidelity.”

“Pete knows.”

“That you’re cheating? Yeah, you’re not really good at secret keeping. Anyone that’s seen you kiss Alicia knows, meaning half the school, meaning sooner or later someone that’s been cheated on is going to be pissed.”

“No, Pete knows. It’s not just me that visits him at college.”

Well shit. Gerard could have sworn they had a great relationship. The kind that makes Pete offer to stab Mikey’s enemies, even though he’s too old for it. “Okay, just because he’s cheating on you doesn’t make it okay for you to cheat on him. Relationships aren’t a tit for tat kind of-”

Mikey sighs. “I’m starting to think you’re still a virgin, and you and Frank just hold hands in your bedroom. Haven’t you ever heard of a threesome? Me. Pete. Alicia. It’s not that hard to understand.”

“Wow.”

“Okay, so, to recap. I’m coming to grad, you’re going to get famous at your school, me and Pete and Alicia might live in your super sweet mansion. I love you, you love me, and this afternoon you’re gonna get them before they get you. Anything else I missed?”

“No blood wars.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Mikey goddamn Way! No blood wars!”

“You won’t even be here!”

“That’s my point! Next year you have five less friends to help you. No fucking blood wars!”

“Fine. Now stop being an annoying prick to me and go be a prick to Frank. I know he’s here. Someone moved my backpack and it wasn’t you, you woulda just kicked it.”

Frank writhing on his bed, cock in hand is a nice sight. Somehow Gerard can’t quite get into it. Frank is a good boyfriend, it only takes him a minute to notice and pull the blanket up so his dick doesn’t get cold when he lets go. “Lemme guess. Regrets about leaving.”

“How can I not? I mean, we’ll write letters and jerk off at exactly eleven each night, and call when we have the money for it. But you’re going to be safe. Mikey will still be seventeen.”

“Gee, your little brother is bad ass. Doesn’t have my numbers, but he’s creative. I bet if we lived on the other coast, he’d have an army of sharks trained to his command. Motherfucker not only made it out of woods last semester-”

“I dunno why they even have that class. An average of what, two survive?”

“My point exactly. He made it out, and his final project was a bladed boomerang. I wish someone had had a camcorder, I can’t believe you missed that.” Gerard doesn’t encourage Frank, but he’s right. Mikey decapitating someone in the cafeteria is totally going to get a mention in the yearbook. Meanwhile he was in the bathroom like a chump. “Trust me, your brother is gonna be fine. He’s only got a year left, and when he’s not actually in school Pete and James and Ray will be around.”

Fuck. Somehow he always knows the right things to say. Gerard replies with the only thing he can. “I love you, Frank.”

“Course you do. I love you too.”



Gerard isn’t planning on getting into it with Frank when he sees him coming out of the Leifs next door. There’s probably a totally legitimate reason, like their host kid that started the year Gerard graduated worked in the hospital with James, and Frank needs his opinion on something. Logically he knows it, even if it feels like Frank is infringing on his territory. It’s possible he’s just pissy about the hypocrisy of his parents making him smoke outside like he’s still fifteen and sneaking around when they both smoke indoors.

It’s Frank that starts shit. “Why did you come back?”

“To go to James’ funeral.”

Frank turns from his stopping place on the Leif’s patchy grass and heads towards him. “You didn’t care enough to visit the last nine years.”

Gerard crosses his arms. Frank is not the only one with questions. He knows Frank -or at least he used to- and he can see this easily turning into an interrogation. And that is bullshit. “You know what? No. Why did you come back?”

“I came back after college.”

“Why?”

Frank’s volume spikes with irritation before going back to a normal level as he continues. “What do you want to hear Gerard? That all my classes bored me and by the time I was done them I didn’t give a shit about the subject anymore? That my band crapped out? I missed being here.”

“Frank, this place isn’t like other places.”

“I know. But it’s home. My parents are here. My memories are here.”

Gerard shakes his head, disbelieving. All his memories are of murdering and barely avoiding death.

“You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here? You obviously don’t care about anyone or anything here.”

Something thin and brittle that’s been standing upright for eight years shatters in that instant. “I care about you, you goddamn moron!”

And just like that, Gerard’s kissing him. And he didn’t ask if it was okay, or if he wanted it, but Frank is kissing him back. And then he’s shoving Gerard against the front door, mesh screen grating a little where his shirt is rucked up. Gerard wants to ask if they can not fuck in his front yard, but thinks talking might kill the moment. He refuses to let that happen. He’d rather have the entire neighbourhood watch than have this stop.



Gerard hasn’t slept more than a few hours a night in the last week. There are a multitude of reasons for it. Half are physical, half are mental. All have to do with being overwhelmed with the differences university brings.

It’s that the dorm he’s in violates every sanctity rule in the handbook. His roommate Sebastian doesn’t seem to be a partier, but all that means is that it’s not in their room. If the room on the right, the room on the left, and the room across the hall are all playing loud music with open doors, Sebastian can be using the best headphones in the world and Gerard’s water glass will still rattle.

If anyone has looked at the rulebook, it’s just to find out if they’d get fined for putting tacks in the wall. The answer is yes, and so far it’s the only rule Gerard’s managed to break. He smokes outside, even though he’s on the third floor. He hasn’t attempted to cheat his meal plan. But the walls were freakin white, and some things just cross the line. Nothing in the dorm is like home. He can’t get a midnight snack when the mood strikes. He has to put clothes on before running to the bathroom for a middle of the night piss, which means he’s wide awake by the time he gets back in bed for another hour of sleep.

Then there’s that the entire concept seems unsafe. At home living in a building with two hundred people his age would be nothing short of suicide. Going to school for eight hours was dangerous enough. It doesn’t matter that he’s too old to be at risk now. You don’t forget three years of ensuring your safety over one summer. He’d be willing to bet anything Pete had been fucked up about it too. Not that he’ll ever have a heart to heart to find out.

It’s that he misses Mikey and Mom and Dad. He misses watching football with them, him and Mom pretending to care as Mikey and Dad flinch when the players get hit. It’s football season, he should be there. He misses Mom making extremely unhealthy meals for them, butter and grease dripping everywhere. He misses pooling money with Mikey to get movies or comics or books, and then arguing about who gets to use what first.

It’s that he misses his friends. Not just the obvious things, Ray being ridiculous and Bob being blunt as fuck. Bob went through a lot of girlfriends, but they all had a dry wit that made an evening better. The few times it mattered, Alicia had a way of making them all look at least ten percent hotter. Shit, Gerard even finds himself missing Pete throwing himself at, onto, and off things seemingly at random.

It’s that he’s found out why they encourage you to go to school in the city. He’s had to redefine his life. Or at least he’d have to if he thought about it. He’s been trying to avoid that trap.

With all that though, there’s one reason that shines above the rest. And that is that Sebastian has introduced him to the internet. It’s an insane system, one that you can find anything on. He lost ten hours to clicking the blue text on Wikipedia. According to Seb they’re called links. There are comic book forums, and a site that has every movie ever made, and a half a dozen sits that let you put any movie you want on your computer along with tv shows and music.

It took him three days to ask. Gerard felt bad for a minute when he realised his lack of thought; a feeling that was quickly overwritten with joy when Seb answered him. The answer was yes, he could talk to Frank using the internet. Frank had a student account with his university, once Seb found it Gerard was able to contact him. It only took a few emails for Seb to suggest getting Frank on AIM. For a day they used that, though they’d had to make do with the computer lab in the library at Frank’s school because his roommate Ranson wouldn’t share like Seb. Thankfully Frank had decided to fuck being responsible and he blew a ton of money on a laptop. All that leading them to the wonderful situation of being able to Skype.

Gerard logs on as soon as he wakes up. He could go back to sleep, all it would take is rolling over. But it’s eight, which means that across the country his boyfriend will be awake and probably on his second cup of coffee. He can sleep later. A few weeks from now, when he collapses from sheer exhaustion he can sleep for three days straight. For now there’s Frank.

Sure enough when he gets the password right -takes three tries, his fingers aren’t the most nimble in the mornings- Frank is already on. Gerard opens his mouth to say hi and ends up sneezing so hard he splatters the screen with spit. Frank starts giggling. It’s great to be able to watch his eyelids crinkle and hear the sound. Two out of five senses is more than Gerard thought he’d get until summer.

“So anything happen you to today?”

“In the three hours since I’ve talked to you?” He’s overexaggerating a bit, he crashed around half past three, not five. “But yes, actually. They killed Matt.”

“What? Who?”

“I dunno who. Someone from Setlzer, I think. He freaked out when he found out teenagers don’t kill anywhere else. That it’s so rare they made a documentary about two kids killing twelve kids five years ago, and it’s still the school where kids got killed. He told me yesterday he was gonna tell everyone. Apparently the cops found him stabbed to death a few hours later. I overheard it in the bathroom when I went for a piss. Apparently he had cocaine on him, and it was just a deal gone bad. We weren’t really friends with him, but I don’t remember him being a cokehead, do you?”

Frank shakes his head. “I mean, it’s not like I knew every dealer in Setlzer, but I knew a few, and you kinda know who uses what, ya’know?”

It’s fucked up, in Gerard’s book. Realising that Bob was right in grade ten about Setlzer being the weird place was bad enough. Googling ‘high school killing each other’ and getting just a foreign indie movie meant to be a horror film was disturbing but enlightening. But Gerard had figured if they went as far as to bring in prisoners from other states to supplement each grade then the whole thing went beyond one messed up city. And he was right. Matt was being watched, which means he and Frank and Ray and anyone else that decided to leave for university are probably being watched too.

“What if he wasn’t gonna really tell anyone? What if he was just fake ranting, and the killing was pointless?” Because that’s what it’s about. It has to be why Matt died, otherwise they would just decapitate anyone that left town limits.

“Come on, have you ever killed someone fora good reason? He tried to kill me first doesn’t count.”

Gerard can’t think of a time, and he’s only killed seven times. He was downright discriminating compared to his boyfriend. Frank’s got over four dozen on his list, one of the most prolific at JB.

“Just don’t freak out about it, Gee. Him being dead doesn’t change anything. We weren’t gonna tell anyone about it before, and we won’t tell anyone about it now. We don’t want to remember, and no one would want to know. Shutting up is the best way to handle things.”

“I know. So let’s talk about something else. Have any good dreams?” Gerard never does, but Frank might.


April
Art has always been a constant in Gerard’s life. The three things Gerard can count on to always be there are art, death, and Mikey. He has memories of being far too young to kill, sprawled on his stomach on the burnt pumpkin carpet at Grandma’s. They each had their own colouring book, but they had to share a pack of crayons, and inevitably Mikey was always using the colour Gerard wanted. He has memories of being an age that requires killing, bored out of his mind in a poorly chosen elective, mechanical pencil only allowing for light lines and heavy lines, Mikey beside him and equally likely to smother a yawn against the back of his wrist. He has more more recent memories of being old enough to learn the hidden truth that killing is wrong, mailing a C+ project to his brother, knowing it’s going to be slit open and checked for messages, but also knowing in two weeks he’ll get a letter back from Mikey telling him that his professor is brain dead and it looks great.

He can picture himself ninety years old, drawing Frank’s jowls as he socialises and plays cards during mandatory group time in their assisted living facility.

Art is a varied craft. It can channel emotions, or make a point, or spark imagination. In Gerard’s experience, it’s only when it does all three that others will take notice, and then only rarely. No one is less appreciated than an artist.

These days, Gerard’s art is of the things he experienced at Setlzer. Sometimes he doodles random crap. When Seb is pissy he appreciates a good comic about turtles, as it turns out he has kind of an obsession. And his drawings to Mikey never deal with it. Why give him more in paper form, when he’s still living it? Though, at least he still is living it. According to Mikey, he and Alicia are doing pretty well with protecting themselves and Patrick, who is like Gerard’s Ray. He can get pissed off enough to start something, but his rage always dies before they do.

For class though, it’s memories. Things he saw, things he just heard about, stories of his parents and all the other adults that lived through it and stayed in town. Not just straight gore, of course, he’s not a splatter and bodily function artist. In Gerard’s paintings the aggressor is the one bleeding. The one with the detonator, the one with the knife, they’re the ones spilling over. Not the red of blood, but every colour, a complete loss of vibrancy and strength.

The show isn’t some mind blowing honour. Every student moving to their second year gets at least one piece displayed. You’re allowed to recommend pieces you think are more crowd pleasing, or that you are more proud of, but in the end it’s the professor that decides what your best is. Half the class was pissed he got four works approved, the most of anyone taking the course. Their seething jealousy doesn’t bother him, and neither do the snippy remarks they pretend he wasn’t supposed to hear. It’s all bullshit. Gerard didn’t attempt to persuade Mr Simon to display more. He didn’t even recommend anything for the show, whatever works of his people like are their choice. Gerard sure as hell didn’t suck Simon off for the privilege. Professor Simon has a beard. That he’s got four up doesn’t mean he’s automatically going to pass next year, or even that he’s actually the teacher’s favourite. They can say whatever they want. As long as they’re not attempting to poison him it’s no big concern.

Cre8ery is decently crowded. Most of the students are standing by their hanging works, small clusters of people around them. There’s no reason to mingle when your stranger is your classmate’s boyfriend. Simon is nowhere to be seen, which means he’s in the bathroom fucking a student. Gerard doesn’t dispute the idea, after all, just that the used body is him. He doesn’t need a hairy man in his late forties, he has Frank. It’s the reason he leaves The Poisoner and The Drowner, The Beater and The Strangler. He promised to take pictures for Frank, so he could be there in spirit if not in flesh. Not that Gerard blames him for the lack of flesh. University costs money, when it’s not being paid for by city taxes.

There are three people walking around in all black. Which, granted, isn’t too outstanding considering the crowd of art students, and art students best friends. Still, they don’t belong. Most people probably notice the big indicator of a tray full of wine glasses before they notice the small things, like the three being washed, not having pastels under their nails or paint knotting their hair into lumps.

For his part, Gerard notices it all, but goes straight for the trays. Alcohol -even something as bitter and harsh as white wine- helps take the edge off just about everything. He’s not an alcoholic or anything, but sometimes you need the edges soft as butter in the sun.

It’s impossible to say how long it is until the first person approaches him. He’s not good at judging time, and being intoxicated or sleep deprived only makes the hours and minutes blur more. At first he’s not sure why the woman is coming to him. It can’t be an overbearing mother yelling at him for taking photos without permission; his camera is back in his pocket. His pictures probably aren’t fantastic. From what Frank has emailed him his boyfriend has a real gift at it, his won’t be anything in comparison. But they’ll be enough for Frank, when all Frank will do is shrug at each and say Gerard’s art is better.

Tipsy from the wine it takes Gerard a few blinks to place her as the ex-mayor of Setlzer. She was mayor when he was a kid, not that he knew or cared then. As he got older, her re-election commercials got more and more pathetic, and Gerard obviously wasn’t the only one to think so as she never got a second run.

“They wanted to kill you for this,” she says, as casually as one might discuss grocery shopping. The tone isn’t a shock. For a woman that’s spent nearly fifty years in Setlzer, arranging the deaths of talkative former citizens probably isn’t much more thought consuming than produce and cereal. “I convinced them to wait. Sure enough, you haven’t spilled a thing about your inspirations.”

“Congratulations on properly judging my character. I’d applaud but-” Gerard waggles his drink. It would be really nice if it was topped up, but there’s only about a half inch left.

“No need to get sarcastic, young man.”

“You killed Matt.”

“You know as well as I do that that was necessary. You’ve been here eight months, how much violence have you seen between adults? How much violence is there in Setlzer between adults? Whether you decide to believe it or not, deep down you know our system works better. So just keep up the silence, Gerard, and everything will be fine.”

She leaves, and Gerard finds one of the servers. He needs a drink.


May
It’s been a slow progression.

It started with finding a gallery he liked. Cre8ery was affiliated with the school, Gerard knew that from the first day he attended class. It was on the course outline. Gerard didn’t want to just be the perfect student and cozy up to the things his professors liked. He wanted to live life for himself as much as he could. That the philosophy could boil down to finding a good coffee place, a good pizza place, talking to Frank every night, and experiencing art just meant he was easily pleased, not a simpleton.

Eventually it turned into Gerard talking to the dealer of Spun Around, and discussing art. It wasn’t that the guest lecturers at school weren’t interesting. It was just that even those post-grad, This Is Real Life speakers were paid to give their thoughts to students. Gerard wanted thoughts without a filter, without a script and a role to play, whether it was ‘you can do it’ or ‘the real world is hard, folks, give up while you can still take accounting’.

Tristan liking him meant he spent a lot of his free time at Spun Around. In most places being a regular means you get to know the other regulars. The gallery was no different. Sooner or later he knows them by name, or nickname in his phone, knows them well enough to text and hang out in places that aren’t Spun Around. It was interesting, having artsy friends. It wasn’t not always fun, they could get emotional and stubborn. But it was interesting, and that fueled his art almost as much as his ‘tragic past’ did. Not that he’d ever said anything. It’s been less than a year, the lesson of Matt still stood clearly in his mind. And it wasn’t just external forces keeping Gerard quiet. It had taken a while to realise how fucked up it was to kill people, no matter what his age, and how fucked up he was that he couldn’t manage much more than simple regret, about the same level as throwing out a friend’s can of soda before they were done with it. So of course he didn’t talk about shit. But they all knew, in part because every artist was fucked up by something, and because he wouldn’t say a word about anything before September.

Their curiosity, their friendship, and the real quality of his art, it all coalesced at some point. First to rumors of a show. They chatted possibilities of what a theme could be -apart from death, that much was obvious- or if he could create something that wasn’t a signature Way explosion of murder and colour. They chatted who he could share the walls with, if he had the choice of anyone living or long since dead. It was all casual, until Tristan pulled him aside and started talking money. If a piece sold, how much she would get, how much he would get.

Great news, except Frank also has a progression.

Frank had just as many issues with gaining new friends as Gerard did, just in a different way. Not just the secret keeping thing, though Gerard had never known Frank to stay quiet about something. Rather than not knowing how to approach people, he had this stupid idea that he was somehow abandoning all their old friends. Gerard, being a good boyfriend, didn’t point out that technically he abandoned everyone in August, just told him over and over again that none of them would be upset that he was making new friends until Frank finally believed it.

Some of the guys Frank found also played instruments. Frank got so enthusiastic about Karl, his new bass playing friend that it was a turn on, and Gerard had ended up jerking off to Frank’s wide grin. That they got together to make a band was just a matter of time. Well, time and deciding what kind of music they wanted to write together.

Gerard talked to Frank every night, without fail. Some nights though, it was just for five or ten minutes before he had to catch a bus to get to his practice space. Anxious Bones was doing pretty well, though their lyrics weren’t the most interesting. Half the bands in the world knew it; college was a good time to start a musical career. Gigs were easier to get when you were young and enthusiastic, and willing to play for free or for access to the keg.

If Frank was thrilled the first night he met LizaBeth, it was nothing compared to the day he found out places all over the state would let you play in exchange for pittances and liquor. Karl, LizaBeth, Mattie B and Kunst -he said Mattie K put him back in kindergarten, and not in a fun paste eating way- were equally enthused, according to Frank they couldn’t think of a better way to spend the days until classes started again.

Great news, except Gerard also has a progression.

They were supposed to spend the summer together. Not in Setlzer, which was the plan before they left in August. As hard as it was to not see their parents, they couldn’t go back. Gerard might have attempted it, not asking Frank to come along, to see Mikey. Thankfully he’s known for a month that Mikey and Pete and Alicia are following him out. So, not Setlzer. But somewhere. Only now Frank won’t rent an apartment with him. Only Gerard won’t climb in a van with him.

It comes to a head one night on Skype. Of course it does. That’s how they communicate, through sight and hearing alone.

“We’re not important enough to each other. You’re the second most important thing in my life, and I’m the second in yours. But that’s not enough, is it?”

Gerard shakes his head. He can’t speak, he doesn’t know what will come out. He might scream, he might cry, he might laugh hysterically. He wants to do all of it and none of it. He wants to tell Frank this is all his fault, that everything would be fine if he just came with him. But Frank feels the exact same way, Gerard knows he does, and he’s not getting hysterical. The least Gerard can do is the same.

Frank breaks the painful silence after it becomes obvious Gerard won’t. “So, that’s it. We’re done then.”

Gerard nods his head.

Gerard logs off.

They’re done.



The words fall out of his mouth before he knows what he’s saying. “Come back to California with me.”

Frank shakes his head. “I can’t. Here I’m not a failure.”

That’s the shittiest excuse Gerard can think of. It’s not I like the slack of my job, or I’d miss my parents, it’s some kind of bullshit ambitious streak. “Oh for godsake Frank. Everyone is a failure. I don’t own a gallery of my own. Pete isn’t a big shot lawyer. Alicia isn’t a fetish model. Mikey doesn’t have a record label. Everyone on Earth has at least one thing they’d rather be doing. But it doesn’t matter because while you’re doing things that suck, people that love you make life better. We lived through a horror movie because Bob was sarcastic and Ray was thoughtful and James was funny and you were the best boyfriend ever. Why can’t we make it through the real world?”

“Gerard, I don’t know if I can make it out there. I’m not sure love is enough.”

He throws his hands up into the air so he doesn’t grab Frank by the shirt and shake him. “I’m walking away now. You don’t need to be sixteen to die in this place. I don’t just mean James. I mean everything you are, slowly rotting away just by being here. I’m walking away, and I’m never coming back. I want you to come with me, I can’t think of anything I’d want more. But it’s your choice, not mine.”

It takes all his courage to follow through, to walk through the funeral home parking lot towards his rented car. It’s dark irony that he has to tap into his high school self’s bravery to do it. But he does, and he doesn’t look back.

Gerard is still fumbling with the key -he rented an old model, one that doesn’t have a button to unlock the car from a football field away, in case he got caught in a deliberate accident and he had to pay for damages- when he hears steps pounding against the pavement behind him. He still doesn’t look back, just opens his door and presses the unlock button on the small panel on the door just in time for the passenger door to open.

“Where are we going?” Frank’s voice is only a little bit wobbly.

There are a lot of things Gerard could say. California, or to my tiny shit apartment. If he’s being more realistic, he needs to go to his parents house to get his suitcase, and he needs to get gas, and Frank should probably leave Setlzer with more than just the dress shirt and tie and slacks he’s wearing. They’ll have to go to a travel agent in the airport to figure out how to get a last minute ticket for Frank.

“Home,” Gerard settles on. Maybe it’s corny, and it’s entirely possible Frank will find the three square feet too cramped and wind up finding his own place to live. But if dying in Setlzer can be a layered metaphor, so can being home in San Diego.