--
He wandered the neighborhood for a bit, unable to stop crying. The streets were eerily quiet and he felt like his steps and whimpers echoed, like he was the only kid in the whole neighborhood falling apart at that time, which he figured he probably was. He'd always felt alone, but the dark night and the empty streets really cemented it. There was just him. The pill wasn't working, so he stopped and took another one in between sobs.
He ended up walking all the way downtown. It was past midnight by the time he reached the mall. Everything was closed and boarded up, and he started to feel reckless. He thought that a scrawny 16-year-old, rich kid stumbling down the streets with tears streaming down his face would probably never survive a night there, and in the back of his mind he wondered if his parents would ever get over the guilt, and there was a pang of pleasure. They deserved to suffer, because he hadn't done anything wrong and they had acted like he wasn't even someone they wanted to have around, and if that was so then he didn't want to be around them either. He really tried to take some kind of self-righteous comfort in that, but his chest hurt too much; the pain was searing, he had to stop and hold on to a motorcycle parked on the curb; he couldn't breathe. The alarm went off and he stood for a while thinking he'd explain to the owner what had happened, but then he decided to run.
By the time he got to the parking lot behind the mall, he didn't feel reckless anymore, just cold. He'd left wearing only a t-shirt and now he was freezing.
He sat down on the ground. The pills weren't helping; he was still thinking clearly. He knew he had to go home. His problem was who he could call in the middle of the night that he wouldn't mind seeing him like this.
--
When Mikey came to pick him up in his parents' car at 2 am, Pete was sitting on the curb, hugging his knees to his chest, comforted by the feel of his own body under his hands and the stars, not crying anymore. The car was a run-down Mitsubishi with no working stereo. He climbed into the passenger seat, closed the door and said, "Thanks".
"Sure," Mikey said. He put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking lot.
Mikey had only sounded a little surprised when Pete asked if he could come and keep him company or give him a ride back home. He looked like he had just rolled out of bed, his hair was messy and he had on a t-shirt that was slightly too big for him, like maybe it was something he slept in, but he'd answered the phone in a normal tone, so he probably hadn't been asleep.
Pete was feeling calmer. He didn't want to go home, but he realized he had to. He couldn't spend the night in the parking lot behind the mall. "Which way?" Mikey asked and Pete sighed and said, "Turn right here."
They were practically the only ones on the road at that time of night, and the car jolted slightly when Mikey turned onto the highway. Pete looked at him. He knew that Mikey was a freshman, and had never heard anything about him being put back a grade, even though there was something about Mikey that made it seem vaguely plausible. "Uh, you're not sixteen, right?" he asked.
Mikey threw a glance in the side mirror, then behind him. "No."
"So how – "
"Gee's been teaching me to drive."
"Right." Pete thought that Gerard had done quite a good job, even though he should probably be locked up for it. "You're pretty good." He leaned his head against the window. "I can't drive, I'm a little stoned."
"Sure," Mikey said.
Pete looked out at the road ahead. Comfortable darkness and silence filled both the inside and the outside of the car, there was just smattering and engine rumbling. Pete had been driving practically every day since his sweet sixteen and his car purred like a kitten in comparison to this piece of garbage. The road was being eaten in front of him, and Mikey was a somewhat uneven driver, but Pete liked everything about it, wanted to take notes; they were in a shitty, stolen car, he had a handful of sleeping pills burning a hole in his pocket and Mikey was driving.
"Hey," he said, "do you have to go straight home?"
Mikey looked over. "Why?"
"I don't."
"Right."
"I mean, I don't want to."
"Okay."
Pete sat up, pointed at a hill beside the road, "Take a left here and follow the tracks."
There was a make-out spot just behind the wooded area the local kids used for parties. Pete had lost his virginity there, on a grassy patch under one of the trees, on top of a jacket he didn't wear any more. It had been two months ago. He still felt slightly proud and slightly grossed out when he thought about it. He had been so fantastically bad. And he'd been everyone's best friend for two weeks after.
"Just up here," he said, pointing. The place was empty, because it was 2 am on a Wednesday. "You can park anywhere."
He didn't think Mikey knew that it was a local make-out spot. There was no real reason for him to know that.
They parked and sat quietly for a while. The moon was throwing an eerie light over the landscape, and it was quite picturesque. Pete felt pretty good, at least better, sort of at peace, but that was probably just the drugs. They wouldn't have started wearing off yet.
Mikey fiddled with the radio and Pete looked around at the worn-down interior. "Is this your mom's car?"
Mikey nodded.
"She's going to kill you, right?"
Mikey didn't say anything to that, and Pete had a sudden sharp thought about what it meant. "Thanks," he said again.
There was the hint of a smile at the corners of Mikey's mouth that Pete suddenly couldn't take his eyes off. He wondered if it was sardonic, if Mikey was thinking about how much shit he was in. Finally, Mikey settled on a radio station.
"I've never been slapped before," Pete said then. "It's weird. It was awful."
Mikey looked over. "What did you do?"
"I – " Pete started to laugh, softly at first, but then slightly more hysterically, "I really can't tell you."
Mikey smiled too, a little bemused. "Okay."
"But," Pete recovered from the fit, "I tell you what, if you tell me something terrible you've done, I'll tell you mine." He didn't have any plans to actually do it, but it seemed a fun game. "And I already know about the bootlegging."
Mikey shrugged. "I haven't really done anything."
Pete shook his head, "Come on, your parents can't be fine with the pot-smoking."
"No," Mikey looked down.
"See. Okay, now I'll tell you mine. I – um." He realized he was starting to have trouble separating his thoughts, because he'd almost told Mikey about the makeup. "Okay, once I got drunk at my neighbors house and broke their coffee table," he said quickly, instead, " And my parents found out and I didn't get smacked." He rubbed his eyes, "How's that for fairness."
He could see Mikey frown.
Pete sighed deeply. The music on the station Mikey had finally chosen was playing on low in the background and it was quite cozy in the car. It had been easier to think when he'd been cold on the street. "It's just. Sometimes the stuff they think is bad, I don't really think is. Or at least not as bad. And I don't think I should be punished for it, but they set the rules."
He glanced over to see if Mikey would get it. He figured he probably wouldn't, because Mikey's parent didn't care if he wore makeup or had thoughts he really shouldn't about people he really shouldn't, which wasn't fair either, because Pete had been fighting with those thoughts for so long now, and Mikey wasn't making it easier. He was fighting with some of those thoughts right now: he was thinking that Mikey was really sweet, and that it was nice to sit in a car with him in the middle of the night, and that he was pretty for a boy.
He closed his eyes. "Do you ever think about kissing guys?" he asked.
"Dunno," Mikey said. "Do you?"
Pete looked over. He hadn't expected the question to be shot back at him like that, in fact, he wasn't sure what he had expected. He felt his face heat up. "Sometimes I think about kissing you," he said.
Mikey's eyes widened. For a moment, they just looked at each other, and when Pete finally leaned over, he didn't dare to do more than quickly touch his lips to Mikey's. It was barely a kiss. Their mouths pressed together for just a second, but Pete's heart was racing when he pulled away.
"Sorry," he said. "I. I want. Sorry."
Mikey still had one hand on the steering wheel, and Pete hadn't pulled away completely, he was still on Mikey's side of the front seat. There was a slight blush on Mikey's cheeks. Then Mikey nodded, and Pete suddenly couldn't breathe properly. There wasn't any air in the car. They must have used it all up, he thought.
He leaned in again, and this time he tilted his head slightly. The kiss was still chaste, but Mikey's bottom lips ended up between his lips, and he opened his mouth just a little, and it was something, wetter, nicer. This time when they pulled apart, Mikey looked like he had just been kissed. His lips were wet from Pete's mouth and his eyes were wide.
Pete moved until he was almost all the way over on Mikey's side of the front seat. As he deepened the kiss, pushing his tongue into Mikey's mouth, he felt Mikey take a shuddering breath and he thought of the girls he had made out with, and how he'd always known, and he wondered if it was Mikey's first time.
Pete thought that it felt like it was his first time too. When he moved his mouth down to suck on Mikey's neck, Mikey gasped and it shot through him like electricity, straight to the hard-on he had sort of been aware of since they turned off the main road. He hardly even realized when he closed the last bit of distance between them and pressed Mikey against the seat. He touched his chest, along his waist.
"Um," Mikey said, sounding slightly alarmed.
"I won't," Pete panted, "I – I don't even – "
He kissed up along Mikey's throat and jaw until their mouths met again. Pete was 16 and this was his first real kiss. Nothing else was real.
****
Mikey was in so much trouble, Gerard couldn't believe it. It was weird; Mikey never did anything, and suddenly he stole the car and went driving in the middle of the night without a license and wouldn't tell anyone where he'd been. Gerard was intrigued.
Mikey had come home at 3.30 am and their mom had shouted at him, and Mikey had just taken it, standing in the kitchen with the car keys still in his hand. His face had been tired, but something about the way he stood made Gerard think that he was battling two opposing feelings. His gaze was fixed on the floor as she told him exactly what this would cost him, but Gerard looked at him and thought, god, his stance.
Later, when Mikey had been sent to his room and they had all gone to bed, he heard him in the bathroom and sneaked out of his room and into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
"Where were you?" he whispered.
Mikey threw a glance at him in the mirror. He didn't blush exactly, but his gaze flickered. He's about to lie to me, Gerard thought.
"I just went driving."
"Where?"
"Just around."
Gerard sighed. He knew when Mikey was going to be impossible. "Okay, fine," he said.
He watched as Mikey turned on the tap and started washing his face. Without the glasses, he looked younger, Gerard thought. He leaned over and smelled Mikey's hair.
"You're not high, right?" he asked. Mikey shook his head and he didn't smell of pot, so Gerard believed him. "Don't go driving if you've smoked, okay."
He felt he needed to say it, because he wasn't the best role model but he would never get in a car when he was fucked up. It was why he'd been into Mikey learning to drive in the first place.
While Mikey dried his face, he watched the two of them in the mirror. Look at us. We're really living up to our reputation.
A few days later he heard Mikey sneak out again.
Jesus, he thought.
*
Gerard looked up at the exact wrong moment and caught site of Ray attempting a lopsided grin and a seductive swivel in his chair that ended when he had to grab onto the desk so as not to fall on the floor; Ray was looking at a girl to the front left of Gerard, who was looking at her friend, and Gerard quickly put his head down again. Lately, he couldn't stand seeing anyone make pathetic attempts to win someone's heart. It made him want to put them out of their misery in quite a violent way. He knew why.
He was thinking about maybe buying some weights for his room, just to try to define his arms a little bit. The mirror in his and Mikey's shared bathroom was too large and the light was too harsh, and he hated how tiny and pale and fragile-looking he was. He wasn't going to make it a hobby, just keep them in his room and maybe use them a little every now and then. It couldn't be that hard - he knew that just being forced to help paint the house made a difference to the muscles in his arms and legs, it was just that he had never seen the point before. He didn't pretend the urge now was random.
Sometimes, he thought it would be easier if he and Frank weren't friends. They spent too much time together: Frank was always sleeping over, always telling Gerard secrets while they were in his bed in the dark or sitting on the patio sharing a sneaky cigarette under the stars. They had croquet practice and the band and Chemistry together. It was like asking for pain.
Prom was coming up, which was why Ray had turned the flirting up a notch. He wasn't doing himself any favors and Gerard wished he would just give up before he really embarrassed himself, even though Gerard wasn't any less pathetic. The thought of prom sliced pieces out of his heart every time he was reminded by some big, dumb purple and silvery poster or when he saw Annabelle in French. She wasn't the prettiest girl in school, but she was prettier than him and he hated her with a seething jealousy.
He wondered if maybe there was something terribly wrong with him, something with his head that was incurable and getting worse. His mom commented that he was withdrawn and moody, asking if he wasn't going to outgrow it soon, turning her eyes upwards and lamenting about having two teenagers under her roof.
She had started cross-examining him about every aspect of his life, which only reminded him what a pathetic loser he was: was he dating, did he know what condoms were, was he going to prom, why not, was he drinking, were his friends drinking or doing drugs? He assumed it was what had happened the other night that had set her off, and he blamed Mikey that he now had to turn off the music and eat dinner with them at least once a week and answer questions about prom and birth control and Frank.
Mikey was grounded for approximately forever – their mom didn't have much experience punishing Mikey so at the moment it was on the whim of how mad she was. Gerard presumed she would let him off the hook at some point, but it seemed to be far off yet, and so far Mikey was behaving, except for a few times when Gerard heard his sneakers scratching against the windowsill. Mikey had to cross the patio roof just outside Gerard's window to be able to scale the wall, and Gerard told him firmly that he wouldn't cover, mainly because he didn't want their mom to be mad at him too and he still didn't know what it was Mikey did when he sneaked out. He assumed it was illegal; Gerard had been wondering for a while how Mikey made money to buy both pot and CDs, and he figured that whatever had made Mikey start acting strangely, it wasn't something he was supposed to get behind.
"I can't believe Mikey stole your mom's car." Frank had burst out laughing when Gerard told him what had happened. "No offense, but he could have done better."
"But he's going to be able to come to band practices, right?" Ray asked. "Once we start, I mean."
Gerard shrugged. It seemed quite a distant future thing, but, on the other hand, so did the stretch of Mikey's punishment. They were sitting outside on one of the stone steps leading up to the cafeteria and Mikey hadn't joined them for lunch - in fact, Gerard hadn't seen him all day. "I don't know. Maybe."
"Wow." Frank laughed. "That's pretty harsh. How long is he grounded for?"
"I would say till he's about thirty-five." Gerard had no idea how long his mom could stay mad. But she and Mikey were pretty similar and Mikey could really sulk.
"But it's not like he crashed the car or anything."
"It's because he won't say where he took it. He's not saying anything."
He looked out over the lawn again. It was odd to think that Mikey had secrets. They didn't particularly talk to each other about things, but Gerard generally knew what was going on, because it was difficult keeping big secrets when you lived in the same house. He had never told Mikey he was gay, but he didn't kid himself that Mikey didn't know, or at least guess.
"Bob said he'd come and check us out, so we should really try to get something together," Ray said. "He's going to be in the marching band rally thing this week, if you guys want to come?"
"No," Frank and Gerard both said.
"You can check out his drumming."
"I have an art project due," Gerard lied.
Gerard couldn't think of anything worse than spending Saturday at a pep rally. The last time he'd been to one, the mascot had tackled him into a water cooler that had leaked all over Gerard's jeans, which, when the coach asked what was going on, had only been a "friendly" tackle. Their mascot was a big dumb dog; Gerard loathed the sight of it.
"We don't want to get in the way of you chatting up your new boyfriend," Frank said, and between them he tapped a finger against Gerard's thigh.
Ray always refuted Frank's teasing too vehemently and with too much revulsion, which made Gerard feel uncomfortable and seemed to make Frank prickly, so Gerard didn't know why Frank couldn't just not do it.
"He's not my boyfriend," Ray said irritably, "I barely know him. I just think he's a good drummer."
Frank rolled his eyes. The side of his knee pressed against Gerard's was too warm in the sun. "How do you know him then?"
"We did orienteering together on Sports Day."
"Wow, you saw him in shorts and now you want him to be in your band?"
"At least I didn't stay at home on Sports Day," Ray said, and looked pointedly at both Frank and Gerard.
--
Pete Wentz stopped him in the hallway when he was on his way to his locker for the last class of the day.
The hall was usually pretty empty at this time of the day and Gerard hadn't even noticed Pete. He only now realized they had lockers on opposite sides of the same hall.
"Hi," Pete said, "Is Mikey off sick today?"
Gerard narrowed his eyes. Pete was a sophomore soccer jock whose team had once put Frank in a locker - which, okay, was still funny - but he wasn't exactly someone Gerard would chat casually to in the hall during breaks. "No."
Pete looked around quickly. "I just wanted to see if he had the remake of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre on DVD."
Gerard blinked. "I don't know."
"Okay. Thanks." Pete turned as if to leave, and Gerard said,
"Did you get the albums you wanted?"
Pete turned back again, "Um?"
"When you came by our house the other day?"
Pete swallowed, and Gerard noticed that he glanced around, "Yes."
Gerard wanted to ask if their house had been as freaky as Pete and his little buddies had thought, and to tell him that downloading music was a lame excuse to get inside, he could have just asked for the guided tour, but instead he said, "I didn't know soccer players were allowed to smoke pot."
He knew he couldn't really say anything about Mikey smoking, not after Mikey had seen him falling over drunk and puking at fifteen and passed out on the tile floor in the bathroom at sixteen, but he just wanted to make Pete flinch.
Pete didn't flinch. He just met Gerard's eyes, hooked his bag up over his shoulder, and muttered, "Just fucking tell Mikey to give me a call about the fucking DVD," and he walked away without a backward glance.
Little shit, Gerard thought.
Then he thought he knew how Mikey made the money to buy pot.
--
He was relieved when Mikey showed up to practice that afternoon. Frank greeted him with a "Mikey! Does your mom know you're playing outside?" and Mikey blushed, mumbled something neither of them could hear, and hooked the earphone into his ear again.
Gerard was just happy he wouldn't be drawn into another row at home. He figured Mikey must have been somewhere at lunchtime, and between end of classes and croquet practice, but as long as it was nothing that showed, he wasn't going to start stirring things up.
"That's a hickey," Frank said, with a smirk, as soon as Mikey had sat down on the grass a bit away from them.
Frank had handed Gerard a couple of hoops, as if he expected Gerard to know what to do with them, and Gerard looked up at him surprised. "Who?"
Frank rolled his eyes. "On his neck. You didn't see it?"
"Sure, no, but – " Gerard had seen the bruise on Mikey's neck too, but that's what he had assumed it was. Bruises were normal. He couldn't picture it being anything else. "I don't think it's that kind of hickey," he said feebly.
Frank raised an eyebrow. "There are different types?"
"It could be –" He made a gesture that hopefully illustrated what he meant, but didn't want to imagine Mikey doing. "I don't know, like, from a game. Not a hickey from, uh, you know."
"What's going on?" Ray asked as he came up to them, holding a mallet and his jacket.
"Mikey's getting laid," Frank said at the same time as Gerard said, "I'm not sure where these go."
Frank heaved a sigh and took the hoops from his hands.
"Mikey doesn't have a girlfriend," Ray said.
Frank shrugged. "I'm just saying. He's really in the shit, it must have been a compelling reason."
Gerard frowned. It hadn't for one moment occurred to him that Mikey might be sneaking out for any romantic reasons, and something in him didn't like the idea. He wanted Mikey to have a slightly better love life than he'd had during high school, but not to the point where he stole cars to have sex in them, and, anyway, he couldn't think of a single girl in the Freshman class that Mikey had seemed even remotely interested in, or in the Sophomore class.
"Mikey doesn't have a girlfriend," Ray said again, slightly more desperate this time. He had started to look like he might kill himself if it turned out that Mikey was getting some while neither of them, except for Frank, could even get a date for the prom.
Frank sighed. "Fine. But I bet he'll keep that jacket on all day."
It was a warm afternoon and Gerard had already undone his tie. Frank started showing them how to set up the field again, and Gerard didn't pay attention this time either. As he watched Frank push a strand of hair away from his eyes, he was reminded why romance felt like such a distant thing that didn't happen to people that easily.
He was slightly miffed when Mikey stubbornly kept his jacket on the whole practice, even when Frank smirked and asked him if he wasn't getting hot in the sun.
--
"So, are you going to prom?" he asked Frank when they were in the library, catching up on homework. They had started staying late studying together almost every week, which was usually the highlight of Gerard's day, but didn't really do much for his grades average.
Next to him, Frank stilled with his finger on the page. He was reading the book as if he was deciphering incomprehensible code language, not Chemistry text. "No," he said.
Gerard blinked. He had just assumed that Frank was. Frank had mentioned something about his grandfather's tux the other day and Gerard had pictured him in it, had imagined him slow dancing with Annabelle, mouth against her hair. "Why not?"
Frank shrugged. "I don't want to." The large windows behind Frank showed the leafy hills in the background and Gerard had been hoping they would go to the cemetery after. He loved the peace and tranquility and morbidity of it.
"Yeah, but," Gerard looked down at his hand, "At least you would have someone to go with. You should. You should go."
"I don't want to go to fucking prom." Frank's voice was sharp and when Gerard looked over, he was curled up, looking prickly. There was something about his voice. He didn't sound angry, but there was something, an edge to it.
Gerard swallowed. "Okay." He wished he wasn't so stupid about these things.
Frank sighed. "I don't even know why she asked me," he said. "She's nice, but we never talk or anything. It's not like I like her." When he looked over at Gerard, his eyes were soft again, gleaming. The sun was setting and Frank was bathed in a warm light. "I mean, I'd rather go with you.
Gerard stopped breathing, but when Frank caught him staring, he made a small gesture.
"I just think it'd be more fun to go with a friend than with someone I don't even know," he said.
"Yeah," Gerard nodded. "Sure. I wasn't going to go."
"I know." Frank nodded. "I probably won't go either. It's just a lot of effort for something that isn't even fun." He looked at his watch and started gathering up some of the books, putting them in his backpack. "I have to go home," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Gerard tried not to be disappointed. He had packed pencils and a sketchpad to maybe draw the view from the cemetery, and maybe the outline of Frank by the ivy-covered wall, smoking.
--
"Pete Wentz asked where you were today," he said when he ran into Mikey in the bathroom that night. "Are you two, like, friends now or something?"
Mikey shrugged. "He just wanted some albums," he mumbled.
Gerard narrowed his eyes. Mikey could be so naïve sometimes. He didn't have an easy time in school, but he hadn't been through what Gerard had. Gerard knew the Petes.
He wanted to say something, but he didn't know how to tell Mikey that the only reason a guy like Pete would talk to someone like Mikey was to fuck with him.
"Do you have a girlfriend?" is what came out instead.
Mikey blinked. "No," he mumbled.
He grabbed a towel and didn't look at Gerard, and Gerard felt embarrassed and a little dumb. "Well, if you do - like, you should think about, um -"
Mikey started to look horrified, and Gerard decided he couldn't do it. If their mom was talking to Gerard about condoms, she sure as hell was doing it to Mikey too and no wonder Mikey was looking alarmed at the possibility that he might have to hear it twice. And it wasn't like Gerard knew anything about getting girls pregnant. He grabbed his toothbrush instead, and just mumbled, "It's cool either way."
Mikey seemed grateful. When he bent over the sink, Gerard could see the bruise on his neck again. It looked fresh and angry.
--
He noticed when it changed. Mikey had been buzzing around in some strange, low-key happiness, and then suddenly he got sad again. Gerard didn't know what had happened, but he sensed it. Whatever had made Mikey smile strange, soft smiles at random and for no reason, it was over now.
But Gerard had his own problems. Gerard-tag had become more brutal lately and there was the added problem of trying to hide it from Frank, because Frank wanted him to get revenge, and Gerard wanted Frank to like him, but he also wanted to survive until graduation.
Thursday afternoon, a few of the guys from the lacrosse team cornered him and dragged him into the toilets.
Gerard started bleeding almost immediately. The back of his head hit the hand dryer, and his lip caught on his teeth and split. Something about this time was different, more vicious, less like a sport. Blood seeped down his chin, and he thought that if they really believed he had AIDS, they probably shouldn't keep touching him. They called him a fucking fag and no one was laughing. Someone spit on him. Someone else kicked him in the balls and he doubled over. A few moments later he was alone again.
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