Chapter Text
“Fucking great,” Gerard muttered. The cordless phone made a satisfying crack as he slammed it into the cradle. He flopped backwards on his bed, flared skirt flapping against his thighs. Then he sighed at the ceiling, all dramatic like he was a teenager again. Not that he wished to revisit that particular trauma. Still—he was a lousy excuse for an adult. And now he was all dressed up with nowhere to go.
Instead of crying about it, he fumbled at his bedside table for his smokes. He snagged one but struggled to light it while prone. If the cheap wig on his head caught a lick of flame it would burn up like his mood. When he chucked his lighter over his shoulder it ricocheted off the table and fell to the floor along with the rest of his plans for the evening.
He pulled from his cigarette, long and deep. The mattress dipped and he startled, coughing out plumes of smoke.
“Classy, Gee.” Mikey hovered into sight, his eyebrow twitching in concern. “I hope you’re wearing underwear.”
Gerard flipped his brother the bird and threw him the look that said he wasn’t in the mood. Mikey had the nerve to roll his eyes in reply as he stole the cigarette from Gerard’s fingers. Not to smoke but to hold it ransom for a reaction.
Gerard really needed that smoke. He sat up and snatched it back, tucking it in the corner of his mouth as he tugged his body-hugging tank top back over his stomach. Suddenly, his outfit felt too tight and revealing. He took a drag and blew the smoke in the opposite direction from Mikey’s face because he was considerate like that.
“What crawled up your ass?” Mikey twirled a finger through Gerard’s hair. “Your costume is amazing.”
“I know,” Gerard complained as he yanked the dark wig off his head and crushed it in his lap. “But I’m not going out.” He rubbed a hand over his flattened hair causing it to stick up in tufts. “Everyone flaked out on me and I sure as fuck am not going out alone.”
“Seriously?” Mikey said flatly. Gerard nodded and picked at his nails. Mikey used his index finger to tuck his glasses tight to the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, sorry, Gee. You look great. You make one hell of a superhero.”
“Superheroine,” Gerard corrected. “It’s fine.” He smoothed out his skirt. The sequins caught the light, glittering like stars—he’d sewn them on by hand for fuck’s sake. Scoured thrift shops for the perfect bits and pieces. It had taken him weeks to assemble his outfit. He’d even shaved. Now he was doomed to suffer the itch of stubble on his legs and pits in vain. His friends fucking sucked.
“You only say it’s fine when it’s not fine. Cheer up. It’s Halloween.” Mikey nudged his shoulder. “You should come with me to that party.”
Gerard side-eyed him with a suspicious, “Where is it again?”
“Paterson, near the college. Ray invited me.”
“Party with students?” Gerard’s eyebrows went up. “Are you kidding me?”
“It’s a big to-do. All sorts of people will be there, not just students. And everyone will be in costume so no one will care you’re dressed like a girl. It’s a Halloween party,” he enthused, giving Gerard his best pleading look.
Gerard dragged from his smoke and fiddled with his top. Maybe no one would care. But when he had decided to go all out with nude pantyhose and a miniskirt, he had envisioned himself at a gay club in the village where men would call him fabulous and not try to kick his head in for wearing ruby-red lipstick. But a college party? There were plenty of close-minded assholes who would take a man in drag as a direct shot at their masculinity.
“I dunno, Mikey.” Gerard inspected his cuticles, fighting the urge to chew. He should have painted his nails. They looked as bare and ragged as he felt. “I’m not in the mood anymore. It’s probably an omen that I should stay home.”
“If anything, it’s a sign you need better fucking friends.” Mikey shook his head. “You need to get out of your comfort zone.”
“I’m fine in my comfort zone.”
“Fine, is not good enough. You should be out having fun.”
“It’s only Friday… maybe I’ll go out tomorrow night instead. Halloween’s not till Sunday anyway.”
Mikey gave him a flat look like he knew Gerard was full of shit. “Stop making excuses. You’re already all dressed up.”
Gerard gave him a sad shrug and flicked ash from his smoke. For a moment, they sat there quietly. Mikey shifted and Gerard thought he was leaving. Instead, he used both hands to shove Gerard off the bed. Gerard yelped as his ass hit the floor. He managed to save his cigarette from lighting the carpet on fire and counted it a small victory.
Mikey peered over the side of the bed where Gerard was sprawled on his back. “You’re coming to the party. It’s for your own good.” Instead of arguing, Gerard smoked down to the filter and stubbed it out. “But Gee, you’ve gotta keep your legs closed if you’re gonna wear a skirt.”
Gerard rolled his eyes and struggled to get up without flashing his brother. Amused, Mikey offered a hand and helped him to his feet. “C’mon. You can help me glue on my fake teeth. I don’t want them shaking loose if I get lucky.”
“You always get lucky,” Gerard muttered as he examined his pantyhose for runs.
*
Friday night on the freeway was a madhouse. Cars zigzagged across the dotted lines like ping pong balls, zipping left and right. A Dodge pickup swooped in front of him, narrowly missing the bumper. He white-knuckled the wheel and eased up on the gas. Several cars whizzed by on either side, leaving streaks of light and engine noise in their wake. The pickup changed lanes again, chasing them into the distance.
The moon hung low in the sky, marking the way like a beacon near the horizon. Streetlights lined the highway with pools of light. At least the path to Gerard’s demise was well lit, should it come to that. He let out a breath and risked a glance at Mikey in the passenger seat. He was fiddling with his camera instead of pondering his fate like Gerard.
Mikey didn’t have a car but had no problem ever finding a ride. He hated driving and possessed the charm to have his lazy ass chauffeured everywhere. Often by Gerard. Sometimes Gerard hated how easy it was for Mikey to talk to perfect strangers when Gerard had trouble with even his closest friends.
“You’re gonna miss the exit,” Mikey said without looking up.
The exit sign blew by in a blur. Dammit. He wouldn’t miss the exit. Determined, he shoulder-checked past Mikey’s head and floored it. The car lurched as the engine revved harder. Headlights were approaching and he had to swerve across two lanes of traffic to beat them to it. He hit the brakes, tucking between two cars on the off-ramp. Both of them jerked in place, seat belts pulling taught to keep them secure.
“Sorry.” Gerard readjusted his hands on the wheel. Mikey read Gerard’s stricken expression. “Calm down and show me your Maybelline smile.” He aimed his lens at Gerard’s frowning face. “C’mon, Gee—it’s a party, not a death sentence,” Mikey said pointedly.
The comment punched Gerard in the gut with guilt, as intended. Traffic slowed to a stop at a red light, so he looked at Mikey and quirked his mouth into a silent apology. Lightly, he said, “It’s gonna be ’90s dance music, kegs of beer, and frat dudes trying to feel me up all night.”
“Okay, one: I’ve seen you dance to worse. Remember Eric’s wedding? Achy Breaky Heart ring any bells? And you were sober. Two: the beer in those kegs tastes like dirty socks, so you’re not missing anything. And three: no means no. If anyone touches you inappropriately, kick them in the balls. Got any other excuses, princess?”
“Don’t call me princess.”
“You are, technically. Maybe you’ll find your knight in shining armour?”
“You mean my Steve Trevor?”
“If you find him and he gets frisky, find me and I’ll suck his blood.” Mikey bared his teeth, pointing at the extended canines as though he hadn’t shown them to Gerard like eighty times already.
“Yes, I know, you’re a vampire.” Gerard rolled his eyes and diverted them to the advancing traffic. “I still think superglue was a bad idea. You're never gonna get those off.”
“You worry too much.”
Gerard tensed as all the horrible things that could happen shuttered through his head like a filmstrip. To quiet the playback, he moaned, “I know.” Mikey barked a laugh and snapped a few pictures of Gerard’s misery.
His nerves wound tighter as he navigated the city, passing strip malls and fast food joints. The streets grew darker. He slowed as they entered a neighbourhood of towering trees and modest houses. One red brick monstrosity with a manicured lawn stood out from the rest. A dozen jack-o-lanterns lined the porch, each wearing a similar, crudely cut face. Fake spider webs were strewn across the railings. Strobe lights flashed through the curtains in time with the dull womp-womp of music spilling into the street. The volume penetrated the car windows, rattling both the panes of glass and Gerard’s clenched teeth.
He parked a couple of blocks down from the house of horrors. When Mikey hopped out, a chilly breeze filled the car and Gerard shivered. He blew out a fog of white breath and rubbed his legs to warm them up. Pantyhose was shit at keeping out the cold.
Mikey tapped on the hood and gave him an impatient look through the windshield. With a grimace, he reluctantly got out. It was fucking cold. Straight away his teeth started to chatter. He stuffed the keys in his jacket and zipped it up to contain his body heat, immediately jealous of Mikey’s oversized hoody.
“What’s with the streetware? What kind of vampire are you, anyway?” Gerard pulled out a cigarette to stall the inevitable.
“I’m a nineties vampire.” Mikey unzipped his hoody revealing the blue plaid flannel and white Henley underneath. “From Buffy the Vampire Slayer.”
“I don’t remember Angel ever wearing a hoody,” Gerard said between puffs. He tipped the ash into the air with frozen fingers.
“Not the TV show—the movie with Kristy Swanson. Pike? He was way cooler than Angel.”
"I guess,” Gerard said casually just to rile Mikey up. “You do kinda look like Luke Perry.”
Voices shrieked down the street, drawing their attention. They watched as a paisley-sheeted ghost chased two cheerleaders into the house. Gerard caught a flash of ass cheek. How the fuck were they not cold? Gerard dropped his butt, scuffing it out with the toe of his boot. He was rethinking his costume when Mikey threaded his arm through Gerard’s.
“C’mon, Wonder Woman. Let’s go in before you freeze your tits off.”
*
Mikey opened the front door and released a wave of heat. Reluctance went out with the cold and Gerard elbowed in ahead of him. Inside, it was loud and dark, people packed together like sweaty sardines, but at least it was warm.
Mikey shrugged off his hoody and tugged on Gerard’s sleeve. “Gimme your jacket.” As Gerard handed it over, goosebumps prickled up along his bare arms. He hated wearing short sleeves in public. What had he been thinking, going sleeveless with his pasty, noodle arms?
No. He flipped his wig out of his eyes. He was a superheroine, and superheroines wore whatever the fuck they wanted to and certainly weren’t insecure about it. Gerard tried to hold his head high as he and Mikey navigated the throngs of party-goers.
There were no familiar faces unless you counted Michael Myers or Jason Voorhees. Drunken nurses, dancing bedsheets, ghouls and zombies galore—everyone had a drink in their hand. Red Solo cups, bottles of beer, shots of God knows what. Radioactive green stuff in test tubes. Purple Jello shots.
They entered a dimly lit kitchen. Orange and black gels taped over the overhead lights cast a murky haze over the room. Clusters of people shouted louder than necessary and every available surface was strewn with Halloween-themed snacks. Cookies shaped like body parts, vegetables cut and arranged into a skeleton, novelty cupcakes, dip served in a small pumpkin.
Mikey made a beeline for the keg and Gerard pretended not to care. He spotted a pyramid of soda cans across the room. On closer inspection, the top layers were all sickly-sweet flavours like orange and cream soda. Gerard put his hands on his hips and considered his options.
When Mikey returned with a red Solo cup and an apologetic smile. Gerard forced a shrug and didn’t ask what was in it. Instead, he coaxed a can of Diet Coke out from the bottom of the stack.
“Admit it. I’m a Jenga champ.” Victorious, Gerard held up his prize and cracked the top. “Mmm… soda-licious!”
“You’re such a dork.” Mikey drank to hide his smile.
“Whassup, Mikey Way! Who’s the chick?”
Mikey lowered his cup and squinted over Gerard’s shoulder. “Um, my brother, actually.”
“Your what?” The man got so close, his voice rattled Gerard’s wig. His heart jumped and he spun around. When he got a whiff of beer he leaned back against the counter. The guy was short and stocky with a pale face, round like the moon. The only hint of a costume was a cheap plastic goalie mask tucked atop his head.
“This is my brother, dickweed,” Mikey said without venom. The guy gave Gerard a jolly grin and tilted his head to and fro. His eyes were bloodshot like he was stoned. It was awkward as fuck so Gerard stuck out his hand and introduced himself. The guy stared for an uncomfortable amount of time before shouting out, “Ha!” He slapped a meaty hand into Gerard’s, pumping it up and down. “Shit, dawg, fucking fooled me. What are you supposed to be? That gymnast from the Olympics or something?”
Mikey bared his fangs. “Don’t you know Wonder Woman?”
“Nah,” he replied. “Dope costume though.” Gerard thanked him, trying to halt the handshake before the guy shook his arm from its socket. His eyebrows went up. “No, seriously, I really thought you were a chick.”
The Jason Voorhees wannabe looked up and down the length of his body. His glassy eyes lingered on Gerard’s non-existent boobs—triple A's if you counted the padded bra built into the tank top. Gerard crossed his arms over his chest and shot Mikey a desperate look.
“Hambone, cut it the fuck out,” Mikey said when it became clear that he was too busy ogling Gerard to introduce himself. “Gerard, this is John. He works at Kinko’s.”
“Call me Hambone. I don’t just work at Kinko’s—I have a band,” John complained. “I play bass.”
“Okay… nice to meet you, Hambone,” Gerard said politely. “And so you’re aware, most women don’t appreciate being called chicks. It’s sexist and condescending.”
“Uh, okay,” John replied, confused. “But you’re a not a woman.”
Gerard opened his mouth to reply but Mikey spoke first. “Hey, have you seen Ray Toro around?”
“Don’t think so.” John grabbed a handful of baby carrots and started chomping away as he talked. “Lotsa people here. There’s better shit in the basement.” He motioned at Gerard’s Diet Coke. “Don’t you wanna real drink? I thought only chicks drank that stuff?”
“I’m good, thanks,” Gerard said tightly.
“Hey, Mikey, we got a gig tomorrow night. You gonna come take some fancy pictures for me to put on our website?”
“I'll check my schedule,” Mikey replied. “Saturday's a busy night and there might be someone better playing.”
John made a face. “Fuck you man, we’re the best.”
“Well, I’m not your personal photographer, so I’ll think about it.”
“Cool.” He motioned at Gerard with his eyes. “Your girl here looks bored.” He laughed at his own joke, nudging Gerard with his elbow.
Before Gerard could have a fit, Mikey hauled him away, calling out “See you later!” over his shoulder.
The next hour or two of encounters continued in the same manner. Gerard was introduced to a bunch of people and broke out in a sweat as he promptly forgot everyone’s names. Mikey snapped enough photos to fill his memory card. Tons of Gerard. He let himself enjoy the attention and sassed it up for the camera, pretending it was 1975 instead of 2004 and he was Lynda Carter getting stalked by a paparazzo.
No one tried to punch him out, although he quickly tired of the casual ass-grabs and men searching for the meaning of life in his bosom. It wasn’t the first time he’d worn a dress, but in the past, he’d taken it more seriously. Tried to convince people—strangers mostly—that he was a woman. Tonight it was merely a costume.
They explored the main floor until they found a staircase spiralling down to the basement. As they descended, the music dimmed and the drone of lowered voices took over. In a concerted effort to find Ray, Gerard and Mikey split up.
The distinctive scent of weed hung in the air, explaining the chill atmosphere. Gerard had zero interest in smoking pot. He hadn’t touched it since he was a teenager. Several trips to Paranoia-Ville and a few nights spent puking his guts out nipped that one in the bud. His demons were of a different variety.
When he discovered a bathroom, he slipped inside to piss. He locked the door and gave the handle a jiggle for good measure. Then came the production of getting his dick out without ruining his pantyhose. He gathered his skirt to keep it out of the line of fire. The flared fabric appropriately hid his manhood; he wasn’t a fan of the tuck-and-tape. Instead, he wore a pair of plain blue briefs to keep his junk in place. Needless to say, navigating his outfit was serious fucking business.
The flowery soap lingered on his hands as he dried them. When he caught his reflection in the mirror he sucked his cheeks in and turned his head from side-to-side, trying to decide if he was more attractive as a woman. Try as he might, he only saw himself, sweaty Gerard Way with smudged eyeliner and too much sparkle.
Outside, a girl dressed like Alice in Wonderland was leaning against the wall. She looked bored, so Gerard flashed her a Cheshire grin as they crossed paths. She complimented his costume before retreating into the bathroom. He continued down the hall with a lightness in his steps.
At the end was a huge rec room, the focal point of which was a big-screen television. At first, Gerard thought the people crammed on the sofas and gathered on the floor were watching a movie, but then he spotted the game controllers. They were playing some sort of shooter game. And where there were video games, there would be Mikey Way.
Gerard picked his way over beer cans and party-goers planted to the floor as he scanned the room for his brother. He grinned when he spotted not only Mikey but also his knight-in-shining-armour.
Mikey sat on the floor, cross-legged with a bowl of Cheetos in his lap and his attention focused on the TV screen. Ray stood beside him, decked out in plastic armour. He was waving his hands like he was performing an interpretive dance, his dandelion puff of hair bouncing with every gesture. Gerard snorted. He knew from experience competing with a video game for Mikey’s attention was a lost cause.
“Gerard! Oh my God, your costume is fantastic!" Ray dropped his charade and pulled Gerard in for a thorough hugging. "Mikey told me you were a princess, but I thought he was being a jerk!” Gerard pulled back with a grin as Ray continued. “I guess I should call you Princess Diana of Themyscira.” He bowed and his hair followed, flopping forward as he bent over. “At your service my princess.”
“Please, my humble servant.” Gerard tossed his head back and pressed a hand to his heart. “It’s Diana Prince, to you, mere mortal.”
“You mock me, milady! “ Ray swiftly unsheathed a plastic sword with a whoosh. He aimed it at Gerard’s jugular. “For that, you will pay dearly.”
“Save me, Mikey, you’re my only hope!” Gerard kicked Mikey in the shin. He didn’t flinch.
“You can’t mix medieval times with the Justice League and expect The Force to save you. It doesn’t work like that.” Mikey shoved his glasses back in place and gave Gerard a look of disdain. “They’ll revoke your nerd card for saying shit like that.” Both Gerard and Ray bust a gut laughing at Mikey’s expression. When he rolled his eyes and turned back to the TV, Gerard used the opportunity to steal a handful of Cheetos.
While Mikey barked unhelpful comments at the gamers, Gerard and Ray settled side-by-side on the carpet to catch up. Ray had studied film but had yet to find work steady enough to pay the bills. Everything was low-to-no pay, and as a PA, his days were long and spent standing around with a walkie-talkie. To compensate for the lack of money, he worked at a video store. And as if that wasn’t enough, he was cutting a horror movie and trying to plan a wedding for next June.
Eventually, Mikey cajoled his way onto the sofa and into the game. His gameplay was cutthroat, a steady stream of snide remarks spewed from his mouth. He sounded like their grandma when she watched WWF wrestling on Sunday afternoons. Gerard recognized the blood-thirsty look in Mikey’s eye as he sank deeper into the cushions, hammering buttons as though his life depended on it.
Gerard put his brother in a headlock. When he spoke into his ear his hair smelled suspiciously like weed. “You are dead to me, brother.” Mikey startled and dropped his controller in his lap.
“Gerard!” Mikey’s avatar crumpled to his death and his competition cheered. “Now I am dead, you fucker.”
“Sorry, Mikey. But I didn’t come to a party to watch you play video games.” When Mikey ignored him, he turned to Ray. “What’ll it be?”—he gestured at the TV—“Team Mindless-Fun-You-Can-Have-At-Home? Or Team Dance Cave?”
Before Mikey could shoot another alien, Ray had stripped off his armour and abandoned his sword. He threw his hands in the air. “Time to dance, baby!”
Mikey paused the game, garnering a round of groans from the room. He reached back and seized Gerard’s arm, yanking him over the back of the sofa. “Come and get me when you wanna leave, okay?” Gerard nodded and tried to pull away. His face heated up—people were watching. “Or if anyone gives you shit.”
Mikey released Gerard and said to Ray, “Don’t let anyone give Gerard shit or feel him up or”—
“What if Gerard wants to be felt up?” Gerard interrupted.
“Unless Gerard wants to be felt up,” Mikey amended and made a face. “Ugh. Gross, Gee. You guys are excused.” Mikey dismissed them with a wave and started the game again.
Halfway up the stairs, Ray stopped. “Why’s he all weird? Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s great.” Gerard flapped a hand at Ray. “Mikey’s being Mikey, y’know? He still hasn’t grasped the line between supportive and smothering.”
Ray nodded. “The last time he came over he spent the afternoon poring over bridal magazines with Izzy. He even went dress shopping with her and her friends. I swear, he has more opinions about my wedding than I do!”
“In the summer, he came with me to a club—to be supportive—and then spent the night telling me I could do better, every time a guy so much as glanced at me.”
Ray snorted in sympathy. With a mutual shake of their heads, they went upstairs.
Calling it a dance cave had been accurate. It was dark and dank with some Top 40 pop song reverberating off the walls. The room was jam-packed with folks adorned with rubber masks, capes and crowns and as Gerard pulled Ray into the crowd they were showered with glitter.
They fell into the abyss, getting smushed and spun around in a sea of sweaty bodies. Everybody danced to their own rhythm. With wandering eyes, Gerard tracked drunken smiles and subtle glances. Limbs loose and warm, he let the music move him. There were touches—a hand at his waist, hip-bumps, arms brushing his—all fleeting and without pretence.
He lost track of Ray, content to rave on as he connected with the strangers surrounding him. For once, he fit in as just another warm body in the crowd.
At some point, he caught the eye of a dark-haired stranger. He watched Gerard for a couple of minutes before fumbling towards him. His movements were clumsy but he danced like he meant it, so Gerard let him press into his back. They moved together and Gerard luxuriated in the sensation of another body against his own. The hard planes. The heat. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been that close to a stranger, but it was good.
They danced until the heat grew stifling and the guy started running his hands up and down Gerard’s arms. He tightened his fingers around Gerard’s biceps, reeling him in closer. Uncomfortably close. When the guy pressed his mouth to Gerard’s neck, Gerard abruptly stepped out of the embrace. Like that, his calm had been broken.
“Sorry, I need water,” he muttered over his shoulder.
Heart pounding, Gerard squeezed his way through the room, separating himself from the crowd as he retreated to the kitchen. He didn’t check to see if the guy was following him. He wasn’t sure he wanted him to.
Sweat trickled down his back under his top. He wiped a hand across his forehead and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. He downed it quickly and grabbed another, the plastic crinkling as he heaved the door shut. When he turned around, he landed face-to-face with his dark-haired dancing partner.
“Hi,” Gerard said, slightly out of breath. He offered up the other bottle. Instead of cracking it open, the guy tossed it on the counter.
“Hi, yourself, gorgeous.” His eyes were on Gerard’s throat as he drained the bottle.
Gerard choked on his water and coughed. Fan-fucking-tastic. How drunk was this guy? Wary, Gerard inched backwards. But the guy read it as an invitation and edged closer. The musky stench of sweat grew stronger as Gerard noticed the pit stains on the guy's t-shirt.
“I’m Trent. I like your costume.” He touched Gerard’s shoulder. “What’s your name?”
“Um, not interested.” Gerard shrugged his hand off. This guy was way too forward.
Trent huffed, his breath reeking of beer. He swayed, and with determination, backed Gerard up against the cupboards. “You’re a pretty girl. Don’t tell me you’re not flattered.” He planted his hands on the counter behind Gerard, effectively boxing him in.
“I’m not a girl and I’m not flattered.” Gerard grit out. He tried to side-step out of his arms, but Trent didn’t move a muscle. Unfortunately, Trent was built like a fucking tank.
“C’mon, sweetheart, don’t be like that.”
Gerard clenched his jaw as he was hit with remorse. He’d been kidding when he’d said he was worried about someone getting handsy with him, and yet there he was, cornered by some meathead who didn’t understand the word ‘no’. He considered kicking him in the balls, a message Trent might understand at a primal level.
He shoved at Trent’s arm—Trent grabbed Gerard’s wrists, pinning them against the hard edge of the counter. He pressed his body along Gerard’s. Trent’s dick was hard. When he rubbed himself against Gerard’s thigh, his vision went white and his body went cold. He bit his tongue to control his panic. He had to get out of there.
“Trent! Hey, Trent!” A couple of guys scanned the kitchen.
“Can’t you see I’m busy, bros?” Trent said over his shoulder. Gerard squirmed and Trent tightened his grip. His wrists ached when he tried to wrench them free.
His ‘bros’ moved in closer. “You know that’s not a girl, right?” Collectively, they snickered.
Gerard rolled his eyes. Duh.
Trent stared hard at Gerard, then at his buddies who had crowded around them. “That’s fucking Gerard Way”—one of them motioned at Gerard—“you know, that fucking faggot that got Ethan kicked out of school.”
Gerard’s stomach dropped. Fuck. He hadn’t heard that name for a long time. His heart shuddered like a machine gun and he swayed under a spell of dizziness. His ears started ringing and he felt floaty like his feet were no longer touching the floor.
Without warning, Trent’s hands encircled Gerard’s throat. He lost his bearings and for a moment everything went dark. Gerard struggled and scrambled to push him away, managing to smack Trent in the face. Trent squeezed harder.
It hurt like a motherfucker. His throat spasmed and he tried to cough, but he couldn't get enough air. Instead, his breath wheezed out painfully and he saw stars. Was this how he met his end? Choked to death at a party in sequins and a padded chest? He prayed that Mikey wouldn’t find him.
“You little shit.” One of them spat and a fat, foul glob stuck to his cheek like rotten fruit. “Ethan’s my cousin. He got fucked out of going to college because of you, you faggy piece of shit. He had a scholarship to Michigan State and now he’s fucking pumping gas.” He finished by cuffing Gerard upside the head hard enough to displace his wig over his forehead.
The impact hurt but it was enough to loosen Trent’s iron grip. Gerard sucked in a breath of air. If he was going down in a fucking Better Homes and Gardens kitchen, he wasn’t going down without a fight.
He fired back, “He fucked himself out of College. He went to prison because he’s a psychopathic homophobe. And if you had any sense of self-preservation you’d leave me the fuck alone before you end up like he did.”
With a snarl, Gerard clenched his fists and kneed Trent in the groin. With any luck, he'd nailed him somewhere tender and delicate. Trent howled like a dog and his grip slackened. But Gerard couldn’t escape. Suddenly, hands were everywhere, holding him down as Ethan’s cousin punched him in the stomach. He doubled over, struggling to breathe.
“Hey! What’re you dipshits doing?” A calm, but firm voice rang through the kitchen. “My dad’s a cop, motherfuckers. Are you gonna stop or should I give him a call?”
Synchronized, their heads jerked towards the voice. The distraction gave Gerard a precious moment to clamber away and out the back door.
It led outside to the deck. He straightened his wig so he could see and stood frozen, eyes fixed on the door. Waiting for it to open. His heart rattled in an attempt to escape his chest. There were some muffled noises in the kitchen but no one came out.
He inhaled and the crisp air hit his lungs sharply. He clutched his chest with shaking hands. As the adrenaline wore off they shook harder. He was desperate for a cigarette but they were in his jacket, which was still inside the house. No fucking way was he going back in there.
Swaying in the cold air, dizziness overcame him and he collapsed on the steps, counting his breaths in and out. His eyes welled up and tears slid down his cheeks, cold and wet. He made a mess of his face trying to wipe them off. Where’s a tissue when you need one? He should have padded his chest with Kleenex. He sniffled.
When the back door opened, the romping music scared the bejesus out of him. He startled, his heart racing, but he couldn’t move. The door slammed shut and someone clomped across the wooden deck, stopping right behind him. The bizarre notion went through his head, that if he stayed still they wouldn’t see him. He held his breath and tried to will himself invisible.