Before Killing Was Cool ➊ FRERARD

15: I Brought You Bullets, Now Give Me Love

"You're not," I tell Gerard weakly who's put his head in his hands, refusing to look at me.

"I'll leave you to sort this out, okay?" Bob, who was all but forgotten, announces and goes to the kitchen where Ray is.

"Gee—" I stop, reaching for him again since I'm longing for that physical contact but he makes a whimpering noise and recoils. I feel like a bullet is lodged in my heart like the one we were sure was lodged in his torso. "Gee, baby, I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry. You don't feel regret," he argues and it all comes pouring out without mercy. "Because I am just a plaything for you. You'll use me until you're bored then decide you've had enough and - and—"

"I don't know what to tell you," I say quickly to stop his babbling, "except that I'm trying, okay? It might not look obvious from an outsider's perspective but my brain is messed up and - and I'm not going to utilise that excuse for my own benefit, because you know what? I'm ashamed. I'm ashamed of myself for not trying harder to treat you like the human being you are."

Gerard shakes his head and falls back on the sofa. "You're a murderer. You're a sociopath and you don't even hear the words coming out of your mouth right now. They're not true!"

"I may not regret killing five people but I repent ever laying a finger on you."

"How romantic," he sasses sarcastically, "I don't believe you. You get off on hurting people, Frank; it's in your nature and it's not going to change."

"I can try, though, to change. For you. I won't do it again."

"Yeah, that's what they said." He sucks in a breath with wide eyes, realising his mistake.

"Gerard." I say slowly. "Who are they?"

He shakes his head again without meeting my eyes. He's afraid to let his secrets show and I'm afraid of what I'm about to hear. Should I pressure him into opening up to me or is it too soon?

"Please," I ask of him, and get down on my knees below him on the sofa, taking his hands. Frank Iero, begging. I never in a million years pictured myself here, now, with him like this. For once, he doesn't pull away.

"Frank..." He starts.

I start to feel emotional. There's a funny sensation in my chest that I hate, like a dam bursting open to overwhelm my senses. I don't know how to cope with this except keep pleading.

"I'll tell you about my parents. I'll say whatever you want me to say." I can't stop rambling now that I've started and I don't know where it's all coming from except the deepest parts of my heart. "Not now but one day, I promise. I'll never hurt you again. If I ever touch a hair on your head, you get the shotgun and you blow a damn hole in my chest, okay? I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

I'm crying.

It's something I haven't done since I watched my parents being slaughtered in front of me over a year and a half ago. The tears are hot and quick to fall from my eyes and I bury my face between his knees, not wishing him to see them. Sobs wrack my body. It hurts, realising what I've done to him, but it's worse knowing he won't forgive me for it.

As much as I hate this, like another personality has invaded my body and life lately, I welcome it too. I want to feel again. I want to remember what it's like to be frightened and vulnerable and human, because what's the point of my life if I don't have that? And what's the point of anything if Gerard is in pain?

That's when I know what this is; that's when I know that he's changed me and there's no going back.

"I-I just - I just want to - to m-make this okay, p-please let me m - make - make this okay," I cry, "tell me - tell me who hurt you and - and I'll m-make it right."