MURDER MACHINE;; Mikey Way, 009

I retreat to my bedrom that night with a burning inside my chest. The tears in my eyes are painful enough, and now my asthma is acting up. It also doesn't help that tonight I have to sleep alone... but I should have expected that.

I should have expected all of this. Is this really it? Was that moron by the supermarket really the last murder I'll ever commit?

I stiff up in my bed when I hear footsteps from the doorway, as if I'm doing something I shouldn't be. Frank's silhouette shines from the moon, and he says ever so quietly, "Do you need some company?"

I sigh and roll over onto my back, staring at the ceiling. "Why?"

"Because I feel bad for what Gerard and I did. You're still my friend, and you're still his brother. You know that's all that matters... whether you kill people or not. You're still Mikey. That's kind of what made you Mikey."

I blink away tears, wondering what kind of god or holy spirit could love me so much. There's gotta be something following me around, or hovering over me, or just living inside me... that somehow always makes everything okay. Or else Frank would not be saying this. He would still be in the other room, asleep, dreaming of anything but me.

I must set off some kind of aura that Frank can feel, even from ten feet away. He walks toward my bed and crawls in with me, and my stiff body, it must have turned to rock. He smells like the ocean. The strong, strong smell of ocean water. And I smell like cigarettes and blood and sweat and tears and more cigarettes. I feel bad sometimes. Frank could have beautiful sand to wash up on, but instead, he chooses me: the smell of the city, hundreds of miles from what would make sense. We don't make much sense.

I'm still laying on my back when Frank says casually, "What are you going to do now?"

I look at him and his tongue is playing with his lip ring, and he's looking back up at me, and he looks so defenseless, so helpless, like I'm the tough one. When all along, Frank has been my guiding star. My angel. I told you this from the beginning.

"Mikey, you're kind of the best friend I never had."

He pauses, and I stare.

"I don't want to see you get hurt."

Maybe if I just wait...

"You're really important, you know."

There's a really hopeful jump rope contest going on inside my stomach...

"I just love you so much."

And it's so not like me, but I cup Frank's face in my hands and roll next to him, pressing my lips to his, making sure the space between us is nonexistant. It's been filled with such angst and pressure all these years that I need to destroy it right now, in one shot. I guess I'm just the "all or nothing" kind of person.

Frank grips my hair with his fingertips, stroking the ends and gradually pulling me closer to him. I abruptly pull away.

"I love you too."

"I want to clean all your wounds."

"Frank-"

"I want to be your refuge, your safe place, your counselor. I want to make you perfect. So we can live in perfection."

I blink. "How are you going to do that?"

He kisses me, and it's enough to melt all four chambers of my heart, all of which belong to him anyway. Then he pulls away, and he takes my left arm in both of his hands, pulling back my t-shirt sleeve to reveal the gunshot scar that I'd received many years back. It's about an inch and a half wide, and the scars from the stitches are in no shape. Just kind of like scribble on my skin. That night was what could have taken everything from me. I don't have much, but that night, I was inches from losing it all. Gerard always said it was my closest call. I'm often grateful for still being here, here as in both living and as in right here, right now. Because otherwise I'd probably be in jail for life, which is just the same as hell for death anyway.

"I want to fix you," Frank says.

I sit up and move off of him a little. "There's nothing wrong with me."

I know I sound like a total moron, but with such a deranged brain, you've got to let the few words I say be just as deranged as well.

"Mikey, I love you!" Frank says persistantly, knowing I'm not going to give in. But he'll try anyway. "I don't want you to have to fight for life, every single day. You don't deserve to have to do that!"

I feel my teeth clench, not in an angry way, but in a way that I really don't feel like crying in front of Frank. All I ever wanted was to be strong, for him, and I've only turned out as a wreck. This is where I really can't help the tears. I want to tell him that everything I've ever done was for him. I need to tell him how important he is. But as always, I get what I want but not what I need...

I don't need Frank to be kissing me in my bed. I need to let him help me. But not tonight.

And my subconscious tells me "Or ever." I try to ignore it.

I kiss Frank again, running my fingers over his freshly-shaved jawline, smelling him and soaking him into the feeling in my hands. I want him to bottle him up and put him on my dresser. Because I know, I just know, this is all too good to last.
Lights will guide you home. >
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I probably lost all of your attention after that hiatus, but I promise I'll end this story with a bang. Literally :)