Before Killing Was Cool ➊ FRERARD

6: The Humble Abode Of A Recluse

C h a p t e r | S i x

In The Past

"Here, try this."

I press the wet paper towel against my bruised head and am relieved to find that it's cold and almost instantly soothes the headache. I'm slumped in the school corridor, letting my eyes shut as I fall back against the lockers. It's been a few minutes since the final bell rang and it hasn't been a good day.

A boy I recognise from my chemistry class is crouched beside me. I don't know how he got that paper towel so fast - the nearest bathroom is a floor above us, but I'm not complaining. It is unusual though, a stranger showing Frank Iero any sort of kindness. It hasn't been this way since I stuck a cigarette in that boy's arm and suddenly there's a brick being thrown through someone's window.

"You should leave before someone sees you helping me," I mumble.

"Everyone left. And if they hadn't, I don't care." He helps me to my feet and steadies me when I sway a little to the side. That 'fall' really did a number on my thick skull. "Do you need anything else?"

"Do you even know who I am?" I groan. I was just pushed to the ground by a group of bullies and nobody else did anything about it, for good reason. Not the math teacher making a quick escape through the fire exit, not Mikey Way. I don't know what I expect but it's certainly not this - people aren't supposed to help me.

"Frank, right? You're in my chemistry class." The boy gives me a funny look. "You have a literal bump on your forehead."

"Those guys are dicks," I seethe but quickly brush it off, trying not to lose my temper in front of my stupidly brave white knight. "Sorry, I forgot your name...?"

"Ray," he says.

Meanwhile, Mikey's receiving a stern lecture in a nearby classroom.

"Why'd you do it, kid?"

It's nearing the end of the semester and what better way to spend it than in an empty classroom with a police officer, watching his 'friends' cackle at him from outside the door like the group of witches they are. He meets the cop's gaze, muttering, "I don't know."

"Your parents aren't paying enough attention to you?" At this, Mikey can only scoff and shake his head. "Alright, then what is it?"

"I thought it'd be fun." Mikey shrugs.

"You're pretty young, I suppose." The officer starts writing things down on his notepad, flipping the pages and clicking his tongue. "I'd say you're too young to be getting in trouble with the law but I see all sorts around here. All I can tell you now is to stay out of it - but what's really bugging me is the motive." He leans forward. "You know I have to tell your parents as well, Michael."

Everyone these days just wants a motive to blame it on. It doesn't matter. "My name is Mikey," the troubled boy corrects him with a sneer, "and my parents don't need to know because I didn't end up actually doing anything. You can't call it a crime - I never got that far."

"I can call it an attempt," the cop writes down more, "and it's one that puts you in my bad books, too. Next time you decide to do it, or even think about it, I won't forget this, and neither will any employers when they take a peak at your criminal record. Let this be a lesson; you don't want to get involved in this. Trust me."