Ok. So, this fanfic is not mine. It's a fic I found a few years ago (like five or four years ago) in Quizilla® -I mean, back when Quizilla was quizilla.com and not .teenick.com-. It was written by user AuroraMist, who took it down, and I don't know why.
She wrote a lot of amazing fan fictions; she's a hell of a writer. But this is definitely my favourite from her, and it is for sure the best My Chemical Romance fan fiction I've ever read. And I've read quite a few. So, I thought I'd share it -again- with the World. Cuz it's awesome, and it deserves to be read.
15
After the near-experience
in the bathroom, I couldn't stop thinking about Frank Anthony Iero, which meant
my mind wasn't on my work when I returned to it later that afternoon. Pierre complained to the producer Greg, that I was
impossible to work with and I didn't blame him, though Pierre
When I came back to the apartment to find Mom compulsively cleaning, Frank playing
with the dog and Mikey just leaving as he was going somewhere with Bob tonight,
I grabbed the nearest couch potato doing nothing but dozing off, who happened
to be a black haired, comic book collector, and dragged him off to my
apartment.
Gerard and I found some potato chips from a cupboard I was sure I hadn't seen
any furry animals nesting in, brought them into the bedroom and lay around
talking and absently picking imaginary lint off of each other's clothes for two
hours.
After a while of sleepy conversation, Gerard asked me if I was still hurting.
I hugged my ribs and told him I was still a little sore but ignored and evaded
his requests to let him take me to the emergency room. I mean, fuck off.
America doesn't have a proper public medical care system, it cost three hundred
fucking dollars just to walk into the emergency room - God forbid the amount
they'd charge me if they did find something wrong. It's fucking ridiculous and
the government could care less and is doing bugger all about it. I don't
exactly get by on minimal wage, like some have to, my pay check each week is
quite large actually but just because my parents are rich doesn't mean I can
just waste money like that, just for walking into a hospital. And I don't want
to get private care, even though I can afford it, solely because I don't think US
Politics is all about benefiting for themselves, not the country; they don't
really want to make our lives better. Politicians have a six figure
salary and get to be seen in front of media cameras in their expensive suits
while using money from the treasury to jet set around the world - why would
they want to care about the little people?
It doesn't matter how good or nice the person who’s becoming involved with
politics is, they'll always come out at least the smallest amount more selfish.
After I'd finished ranting
about all this to poor, naive Gerard, he held up his hands and said 'Fine, you
don't want to get fixed, I get it!' Even though he dropped the subject after
this, Gerard was now more aware of me and soon I became annoyed with how he
acted as if I breathed too hard I'd break a rib then pierce a lung and die - of
course, there's a chance of that happening but it's no where near likely.
Finally, after lots of fussing over me, he announced he had to go - back to his
place for the night - and hugged me 'good night' before leaving. I fell asleep,
fully clothed, not five minutes after Gerard had left and I didn't even notice,
or stir, when Frank crawled in next to me sometime later. But he was right
there when I woke up, snuggled up against my back with his arms around me. I
tensed at first from shock but then I smiled and relaxed.
Damn him, I used to think I had no feelings towards him in this sense, then all
of a sudden he started acting all caring and close and - BAM - girly emotions
giving me jittering feelings in my stomach.
I closed my eyes when I
felt him stirring and pretended to be fast asleep. Fingertips brushed lightly
over my cheek and then my temple, pushed some hair off of my face and behind my
ear, then retreated leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. He was so sweet
but he was like that so innocently, with no intentions other than being a good
friend. Aw shit, I hope I can keep this from him, otherwise I'll ruin all this
- and there's no way I'm going to sabotage all that. It's too fucking valuable.
Frank rolled out of bed and
disappeared out of the bedroom with messy, matted hair and, from what I could
see from my half-closed eyes, he was scratching himself through the fabric of
his boxers. Oh, how charming.
I waited a good full ten minutes before rolling out of the sheets myself and
going to find Frank, who was to be found in the kitchen preparing something at
the stove. I froze in the kitchen doorway, having seen the now clean, pure
white dog sitting on a chair at the table. It's butt was placed on my chair at
my table and she was looking around as if it was perfectly normal for her to be
invading some one else's home. She turned her head with her little furry ears
perked up and stared at me questioningly, as if I should be sitting on the
chair next to her, giving her lots of attention. Fat chance of that, dog.
"Frank," I called
slowly, still at a pause in the doorway, "What's a bitch doing sitting on
furniture at the table where people eat meals?"
He turned around to face me
and smile, holding an egg-flip in one hand and I saw behind him that he was
making pancakes. "She's waiting for breakfast, of course. I told her we'd
wait 'til you're up though."
My stomach flipped; God he
was saccharine. "Yes Frank, I'm sure she listened."
"Of course she did,
she always does. You picked a good stray," he said, turning back to making
breakfast.
"She picked me."
"Well she has good
taste."
Oh my fucking God. Don't do
this, please don't fucking do this. If you'd just start acting
uncharacteristically like an asshole, I could pretend I don't like you and not
set myself up for something that's not going to start, let alone last.
"Hey Carrie, are you
okay?" I looked up and realized Frank had walked over and was placing a
cool hand on my forehead. " You're still sore aren't you?"
"What? No, I'm
fine-"
"Gerard told me that
you were still in pain last night, you don't have to pretend."
"I'm not
pretending," I lied, shifting uncomfortably.
He shook his head, turned
the gas on the stove off, walked over to me and, grabbing my hands, pulled me
to my feet. "No arguments," he told me as I opened my mouth. "I
heard about the '300 dollar emergency room visit' speech and I don't give a
shit. We're going to the hospital."
"Is there anything
Gerard doesn't tell you?" I demanded, scowling, as I let him walk me out.
"Nope." He pushed me out of the door and as he was locking it I realized
something.
"Frankie, you might
wanna put some pants on."
"Oh.. Yeah." He
muttered while, unlocking the door, running in and leaving me there. He shouted
over his shoulder and back to me "Move one inch and I'll lock you in a
closet with a horny Gerard!"
Yeah, like I'm gonna move
after that, I thought, rolling my eyes and folding my arms, waiting for him to return, properly attired this time.
He placed a hand on the small of my back, once he'd come back out wearing pants
and locked the door, and we walked out to the block's (outside) car park to get
in the Cherokee. For the whole ten minutes we spent in the car on the ride to
the hospital, I tried to convince Frank that it was ridiculous to be going to
the hospital when all it was a little fall. He'd replied by suggesting he pull
over and lift up my shirt to see if my bruises agreed.
"Fine, fine," I
gave in, glaring at him. "But this had better be an in and out thing or
I'll eat you."
"Hey, if you ate me, I
wouldn't complain."
I laughed. "You're an
ass, dipshit."
Unfortunately, as we found
out three hours later still in the waiting area waiting to see an ER doctor, it
wasn't an 'in and out thing'. I'd spent nearly the whole time filling my head
with nonsense from stupid magazines over-loaded with peroxide blondes with
anorexic tendencies and meaningless movie roles no real woman could relate to.
I turned a page in 'Cosmopolitan' and tutted disapprovingly. Lindsey Lohan used
to be so pretty. Now it's like she and Nicole Richie are stick figure twins.
Even Frank - one of the most sex-driven guys I've ever met- curled his lip up
in disgust when he looked over my shoulder at the page and saw the Lohan
picture.
I poked his side playfully
and asked him, "Frankie, what would you do if I dyed my hair blond
and stopped eating?"
"Slap some sense into
you," He said without spending anytime thinking about it.
I pulled a face. "Oh
well, that's ... supportive..."
"Well, what would you
rather me do?" He snorted, looking up. "Tell you 'don't worry, if you
don't stand on the side it's barely recognizable that you're now a
skeleton'." I giggled and he continued, rolling his eyes. "Honestly,
you females and your body issues. You're perfectly fine the way you are and
then you decide one day that your hips are too big, or something, and start
ridiculous diets with unreachable goals that just make you depressed when you
don't achieve them, resulting in not eating at all."
"Easy for you to
say," I played along, flicking over a page and shoving a photo of Drew
Barrymore in front of his face, "you don't have hips, Mr.
Iero."
Frank snatched the magazine
away and threw it in a spare, nearby chair before grabbing a hold of my hands
for emphasis and to make sure I was paying attention. "Carrie, shut that
annoying mouth of yours for twenty seconds darling, and listen: you - yes you,
not the ten year old over there with a broken leg- you, are per-fect." He
let go of my hands and patted the top of my head. "Understand? Good girl."
Oh crap. What am I going to
do? And how dare he be such a sweet, adorable, caring, selfless bitch? How am I
going to be able to resist if he keeps this up?
I was saved from having to say anything when an ER nurse called my name. We
stood up and walked over to her. I asked," Is Frank allowed in with
me?"
She was young and obviously
knew who My Chemical Romance are for she looked at him and said, "Er ...
um..."
"She's my fiancée and
carrying my baby, so don't think there's anyway you can say I can't go in with
her because I wouldn't fucking listen anyway."
"Are you really
pregnant?" She asked me. "Is that what you're in here for
today?"
"She's not really
pregnant," Frank told her, wiggling his dark eyebrows," but she will
be soon enough, don't worry."
I think it's safe to say
that my choking on my own saliva was an appropriate reaction.
xo-
~ My Chemical Romance is done. But it can never die. Because it is not a band- it is an idea. ~
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