(c) Let Down Your Hair (PG-13)

by **rock and/or roll** Tue 09 Dec 2008, 6:51 pm

Title: Let Down Your Hair
Author: Me (currently Smashed Pumpkin)
Rating: PG-13 (for swearing)
Type: One-shot/Complete (divided into two because it was too long)
Summary:

Gerard grew up with Martha, an old spinster with a vendetta against society.
Confined to their house, he’s forbidden from venturing out at night.

A modern day spin on Rapunzel.
Written for the Once Upon a Time (Modern Day Fairytale Challenge) on mibba.
Frerard; the ages are different.
Frank is 16, Gerard is 17.
Set in the early nineties.

Let Down Your Hair; Part One.

Gerard never could persuade old Miss Martha to let him out at night. The elderly woman had lived throughout the despairing tumult of the Second World War, the Cuban Missile crisis and, as a result, her faith in humanity was slowly trickling out of her; a running tap which couldn’t be cut off. From her comfy age-worn armchair, she watched the news reports. At the spindly kitchen table, she laid out each large flimsy newspaper sheet, scrutinizing the issue from front to back – although skipping the menial and fluffy articles or film reviews that were of no interest to her. All the while with the same disheartened look on her aged face, tutting and shaking her head with each depressing story that came before her eyes. Robbery, assault, arson...the horrors of society were as plentiful as the newspapers that reported them.

She watched Gerard with weary and reproachful eyes whenever he pleaded for contact with the outside world; something more than the day in, day out routine of schooling. If he claimed he needed fresh air, she told him to open his window. If he said he needed to clear his head and think, she insisted he turn down his music. There was always an alternative, a loop hole for her to squeeze her way through.

“I’m not letting you out,” she would say, sipping at her tea, so strong Gerard could smell if from the other side of the living room. “You could get mugged or caught up in a gang or get some nice girl pregnant. And this isn’t a childcare centre. I won’t be looking after any more babies, thank you...especially not from the one I raised.”

He would stamp out of the room; silently resenting the old woman for being so out of touch and paranoid, left in the past. Of course, after a few minutes consisting of assaulting the stairs as he thudded up them, grumbling noiselessly to himself, wishing his parents had raised him, thinking they’d have been lenient, in the loop, dare he say it, even cool, letting out all that lovely teenage angst into a ball of thoughts and actions...he succumbed to shame. Shame for blaming the kindly old lady. His guardian; as she was just that, she guarded him with love that could have befitted a son, letting no scrape go uncared for.

Shut up in his room and sprawled out on his bed with nothing to do other than stare at the ceiling or watch the world and clouds drift by from his window, he relaxed, muscles unclenching and mind becoming a serene ocean, lulling gently. They didn’t live in the best neighbourhood, if there was such a thing; but he didn’t bother to point out that the chance of him getting a girl pregnant, him, when he so relished in the idea of a nicely toned man whispering honey-coated words to him in the dusk...was next to none.

The teen’s origin was a mystery to himself; he owned a few neatly preserved photographs of his parents, smiling and charming, staring up at the son they never knew, well, not anymore. But the times he could be found staring obsessively over the snapshots had dwindled over the years, as he realised that some memories belonged in the past, or in the bottom drawer of his desk. Martha was quite the reverse; the old stone walls of her vast house were littered with pictures from the past; old friends, old loves, little baby Gerard, seven-year-old Gerard and present day Gerard.

But there was a definite bare patch where happy snaps of children and grandchildren should have been hanging with pride. When seven-year-old Gerard asked, with his short scruffy brown hair and innocent eyes, where are your children?, her smile flickered like a television caught in a violent storm, and she replied to the little boy, in a defiantly strong voice that she hadn’t found her Mr Right. Gerard didn’t understand at the time; surely every woman, princess or otherwise, found their Mr Right? The fairytales that sprung from the old woman’s lips as she read Gerard to sleep claimed so. Of course this naivety had ebbed away as he grew, almost as fast as Martha’s faith.

“Society is a leech,” she claimed as she heaved a weighty rolling pin from under the sink, to spread the homemade cookie dough. The thin-framed reading spectacles clung to the end of her pointed nose and flour to her fingers.

She would have been the model housewife, Gerard thought sardonically, handing Martha the star-shaped cutter.

By dinner, the cookies were cooling atop the stove, wafting their delicious scent and hijacking Gerard’s nostrils, his mouth felt moist. Their evenings were peaceful enough, bar Martha’s frequent debates on every topic known to the world wide web and encyclopaedia combined, right the way from A – Abortion, to Z – Zimbabwe’s economic problems. His days were hectic, well, a great deal more hectic than his smooth-sailing home life. The local high school was only a few blocks away, busy and bustling compared to relatively complication-free Martha time. The teachers were competent enough, but he lacked a tight circle of friends. Others interacted happily around him, laughing, sharing in jokes and anecdotes of weekend escapades, complaining about harsh teachers and unfair grades...whilst Gerard observed from the sidelines with a definite longing.

There was Ray from English; he was friendly and the two talked during class, pairing up whenever an assignment required they work in pairs, but the curly-haired boy’s friends were less than happy to admit the dark-haired loner into their group. Except one. He was younger than the others, but had a buoyant and energetic persona to make up for it; a bit of a jokester. Frank Lero? Iro? Gerard couldn’t recall, but whenever they happened to pass each other in the halls, Frank captured his attention and smiled almost secretively, as if he and Gerard held a secret between them. The older boy just smiled back, nonplussed, before moving onto his next class, mind reeling.

It was almost a surprise when the younger boy bailed him up at the top of the stairs one morning. Almost, if he hadn’t been subconsciously wondering, maybe even anticipating, when the smiling boy would quit being mysterious and elusive and actually approach him.

“So...” He leant against the banister casually, allowing a knot of guffawing boys to pass and head along the hall. So very casual. “Gerard Way, huh?”

“Yeah...” His voice trailed off and he held onto his books tighter, not quite sure where this conversation was heading. He knew where he’d like it to head; Frank was cute in a quirky sort of way, slightly feminine facial features, and eyes that caused Gerard’s stomach to squirm just a little. “Uh, you’re Frank.” Oh god, as if he isn’t already aware of that.

“I am.” He flashed Gerard a grin; sweet, filled with teeth and not patronizing in the slightest. If anything, he appeared pleased that Gerard, loner boy Gerard, knew his name. “Frank Iero” – Iero, Gerard mentally recorded – “Anyway, you know my friend, Ray? Well, he’s having a party tonight, a little late notice I know, but I was wondering if you’d be making an appearance, and if I might be able to personally escort you?”

Gerard was quiet for a short moment, absorbing what he’d just heard; talking with Frank was like riding a bullet train, high speed...head rush. His small delicate mouth worked like a beaver to Gerard’s ears, hurtling the information into the other boy’s conscious; Gerard so stuck in shock and surprise at being talked to, even approached, by someone who wasn’t Ray or Martha or a teacher, but a fellow peer, seeking him out specifically, conversing with him of his own accord. Not only that, but inviting him to a social gathering. Social. Gerard had never been invited to anything, he could only imagine how they happened from his misguided impressions from films and television.

“Uh...you mean like...?”

“Take it as you will.” Frank shrugged. “If you’re not really up for a relationship or anything, I’m happy to just hang out. Or fool around. Whatever floats your boat.”

“How’d you know-“

“That you’re gay?” He smiled that sweet grin when Gerard dipped his head. “Speculation and some hoping. Plus, I think a lot of the straight guys here would’ve avoided me if I kept smiling at them across the hallways.” He clucked his tongue in amusement, leaning back against the wall. There was a certain relaxed elegance to how he moved, Gerard noted.

“So...about tonight, what t-”

“Starts at eight.” God, this Frank Iero was on the ball. “We can get there any time after...or before really; no doubt Ray will want me to help set up. His brother got his hands on a kick ass sound system, so I reckon it’ll be pretty awesome.”

Gerard bit the inside of his cheek, his excitement plummeting to the very depths of his stomach. He’d been so enraptured in the idea of being out and about at night in the company of other teens, not being ignored or confined to the sidelines, but now; “I can’t go. I’m sorry, I should have said straight away but...but I’m not allowed out at night. And...well...” He broke off, awkwardly rubbing at the short hair on the back of his neck.

“Overprotective parents?” Frank’s lips tweaked up at the corners in cordial understanding.

“Something along those lines.”

“Leave it to me. You, Gerard Way, are coming to this party. But for now I must leave you. Good day.”

He tipped an imaginary hat to the older boy and made his way down the stairs, leaving Gerard there quite awestruck. The prospect of attending a high school party, a real legit high school party, left him feeling elated and fluttery in the stomach. Music, dancing, conversation...Martha was always good for conversation, but it had to be said that she was extremely biased towards well...towards society in general. What a night it would be to congregate with other teens and talk about the stupid little things that make everyday interesting, maybe ask someone to dance, Frank, if he’d let him, and there’d be alcohol.

Teenage parties and alcohol mixed like the ingredients of a cocktail, Gerard knew that. Though he’d never even been tipsy before, let alone drunk. Martha kept dusty jade-tinted bottles of wine in her glass-fronted cabinet that dominated one wall of the lounge room, but a lock just as ancient as the wine made sure they remained there. Only to be rediscovered on special occasions.

Gerard smiled as he stepped up off the stairs and went down the hall. Frank had asked him out, in an extremely vague and roundabout way; to be asked out by anyone was overwhelmingly flattering to the teen, even the short strawberry blond with BO from Biology would have elicited a smile from his pale face if he’d asked in that stutter of his. But he couldn’t pretend that this wasn’t a huge upgrade to his self-confidence. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel at that moment, but all signs were pointing to excited.

by **rock and/or roll** Tue 09 Dec 2008, 6:52 pm

Let Down Your Hair; Part Two.

Martha was reading the newspaper when he bounced through the front door, teacup in her hand as she sipped disapprovingly at the strong herbal blend. Tea and the news, her favourite combination. She awarded him a smile and an “afternoon,” but immediately tutted as something no doubt appalling caught her eye in the article under her nose. Gerard didn’t bother to ask; most likely it had something to do with how “society was going to hell.” He instead headed up the creaky stairs and down the hall to the door on the left, which was branded with a makeshift sign declaring it his room. His own name and a hand print stared back at him.

The afternoon dragged on and Gerard lay unceremoniously on his bed, having showered and dressed expectantly. His hair was blow-dried and smelling of lavender. Jeans, neat save for a rip in one of the knees. Heck, he’d even used antiperspirant and blasted himself with deodorant spray that caused him to cough and screw up his eyes. He picked at his nails, digging at the skin as the television became audible, the sound creeping from the living room, up the stairs and under the door. He was silently thankful; the racket made by the television would provide some cover for his exit.

It was around six o’clock and Gerard was getting impatient, feet hanging limply off the end of his bed as he stared out his window. A tree near the house seemed to be swaying in time with his breathing. In, out, in out. Back, forth, back, forth. His hands were stuffed under his back, squashed into the mattress to stop his compulsive picking. And still no sign nor sound from Frank or Ray or any of that crowd. With each deep breath he took in and let out with a sigh, he wished...Please don’t let this be a joke.

Six thirty came, and with it, the sound of hushed whispering from beneath his open window.

“Seriously, shut up. You said it yourself...His parents will be pissed if they find out.”

“Well, we need to get his attention somehow, dumbass.”

Gerard let out his deepest and noisiest sigh by far, hopping to his feet. All the pent up agitation and anxiety seeped out through the window as he was greeted with two faces peering upwards at him. The curly-haired boy and the one with the shorter stature were instantly recognizable, even without their school uniforms. Frank grinned and waved jubilantly in greeting, the sleeve of his loose-fitting t-shirt flapping around. The older boy leant out of the window, elbows rested on the sill, the better to see and talk.

“Thought we’d whisk you away from here,” Frank called. “Give you a chance to let your hair down...we have to walk, but it’s only a few streets away.”

“That’s fine.” Gerard pressed a lone finger up to his chapped lips, the uneven nail almost pressing into his soft skin. “You need to be quiet though. Martha’s downstairs and she’ll freak.”

“Can you come downstairs then?” Frank queried in a hushed voice. His hand lifted to his mouth, and Gerard had to admit that it was cute, seeing him talk as though sharing a secret. “Climb out a window?”

“No.” Gerard sighed. “All the windows except mine and hers are bolted shut and they’ve probably like...melded together by now. It’ll make a shit load of noise.”

Frank had his head cocked to one side, apparently thinking hard from the look on his poorly illuminated face. “You’ve got bed sheets, yeah?”

“Uh...don’t most people?”

“Try tying them together.”

“Seriously?” One of his eyebrows shot up like an arrow. “Isn’t that a little cliché, not to mention potentially dangerous? I mean, there’s a fucking rosebush down there. I could fall on it.”

“I’ll catch you if you fall.” Frank grinned and Ray just rolled his eyes, sniggering.

“Look out, he could propose any second now.”

“Don’t be cramping my style here, Toro.” The younger boy shot his elder a mock glare. “Come on, Gerard,” he encouraged the other boy. “If you do fall on the rosebush, I’ll pay Ray’s brother to get us some liquor, your choice. Now get tying!”

Gerard didn’t have the nerve to confide in Frank that he couldn’t tell his Baileys from his Smirnoff, instead grabbing a fistful of bed sheet and tugging it from under his warm patchwork quilt. Oh, just another example that Martha would have made the model housewife. Through the window, he heard the other two quietly conversing as they stood out of sight, patiently waiting. It was simple enough, but Gerard still harboured nagging doubts that he’d bellyflop into the thorn-bearing roses, humiliating himself in front of the only two almost-friends that he seemed to possess, and ending his and Frank’s relationship before it even had a chance to begin...

Two minutes coupled with some insecure knot tugging later, and he’d crafted a provisional rope. It was nowhere near Boy Scout material, and barely grazed the scarlet petals of the roses when he flung it out the window, but it would have to do.

“Tie it to your bedpost or something,” Frank hissed up at him.

Gerard licked his lips as he did so; eyebrows almost touching in the middle, he wrenched at the material once, twice, thrice...the bed remained as still and solid as it ever had been and the rope, defiantly strong, almost as if to spite the boy and his doubts.

“Gerard, you still alive in there?”

With all the grace of an awkward anti-social teenager on his first date – and let’s face it, this was more or less a date in Gerard’s eyes – he let the rope slide through his thumbs and forefingers, finally gracing the other boys’ presence at the window once more. In a hurried sign of support, Ray stuck his thumb skyward.

The next few minutes were nerve-shaking as he heaved his body over the sill and struggled against plunging right down into those thorns. A few gentle coaxes from Frank and Ray, and he scrambled, finding his footing against the stone of the house. Slowly, or as slowly as he could navigate in his current vulnerable position, he grappled his way down the mess of bed sheets. The taut material dug at his skin, and he was sure that Martha would hear him abseiling so clumsily down the wall, trying desperately not to smash in a bolted window with his flailing feet. Miraculously enough, he made it. His feet struck the ground and he almost toppled over with the force, but he didn’t care. He’d made it, and all he had in way of comeuppance were a few pencil tip thin scratches from plunging his hand into a rosebush, all the result of his less than perfect landing.

“Gerard, welcome to the night life.”

The other two were grinning at him, and he couldn’t help but do the same, perplexed but delighted and flattered that these two human beings, out of everyone, had chosen to spend this night with him. He watched as Frank’s eyes drifted down to his scratched hand; the small cuts were now weeping red, and Frank took the hand in his comfortingly warm one, almost as though he meant to propose. Lips pressed into the injured skin, eliciting a few fireworks deep in Gerard’s stomach, and causing Ray to snigger, but all Frank and Gerard could hear was the delicate sound of Frank’s lip lifting off the other boy’s hand. It was almost sensual, Gerard observed, the way Frank’s parted lips closed once more, kissing Gerard’s scent onto the air.

He wasn’t done with Gerard’s hand yet, oh no; their fingers wound together, almost subconsciously, a security to rival that of the poorly made rope that now lay uselessly against the side of the house. Frank pulled Gerard encouragingly towards the pavement. Quite the gentleman.

Gerard had a great sense of excited anticipation as they walked casually through the streets, his and Frank’s hands swinging in unison and Ray not too far off. His stomach bubbled, his mind soared and his senses seemed to be multiplied as dusk crept upon them. Tonight, he hoped, tonight he might get his first kiss.

End.

(c) Let Down Your Hair (PG-13)

(c) Let Down Your Hair (PG-13)

Re: (c) Let Down Your Hair (PG-13)