Remedy

Six Feet Down Under

'Does it feel good?' Gerard whispered in the younger man's ear, on top of him, while they both lay naked in bed, except for their underwear and a blindfold around Frank's eyes. In the meantime, Frank was moaning and sweating.

'The brain is the most powerful sex organ, you know that? I can just tell you how my fingers are inside you, touching you and exploring you, and I bet you can feel that without me even touching you, huh?'

All Frank could do was let out a breathy moan, holding tight to his partner's arms.

'Or I can just moan loud until I make you come.'

'Please.'

So Gerard did, careful not to move a lot since the exercise is about turning him on without touching him. Except he couldn't help it, and reached for Frank's erection, pumping it until he came.

'Fuck, that was good. I'm grateful for whatever you've been reading lately,' Frank said, gasping, as Gerard took off the blindfold and kissed him.

'Right?'

There were some days when the pain was too much and Frank just couldn't get out of bed or move, and it was one of those, days, but Gerard tried his best to make it better for him. he cooked for him and took it to bed, and they watched movies, with the dogs around them, and they shared a joint to help Frank with the pain.

'You think I'm gonna get better?' he asked out of nowhere while they were smoking outside.

'I'm sure you will.'

'You think so? Like sometimes I can swear my legs move a little but I don't want to get excited.'

'Wait – why didn't you tell me?'

'Because what if I'm just imagining things and I want it so bad that I thought it was real. You know, like a ghost limb that you can still feel.'

'But what if it's not? Frank, this could be a huge improvement. It means it's working.'

'Do you think I could be getting better?'

'In the words of a wise man I know, keep the faith.'

'You're quoting Bon Jovi now?' And then they were both giggling and going back to random topics.

***

After calling in sick the last two days, Frank called his boss and told him he'd be at the office for the rest of the week to make up for it, despite knowing the drive would be hell.

He had to be part of a meeting, and the head of one the labels loved his input, and kept asking him questions and even offered him a job on the spot, but he didn't know what to say. 'I'm good here,' he said. 'But thank you, sir.'

He made calls for the rest of the day, and set up more meetings, and tried to get international booking agents for the artist. He'd seen Cara done it a million times, but it was even more frustrating to do it himself. And now that she was gone, he didn't have anyone to hang out with or go to lunch with, so he preferred to order delivery and keep working.

At home, Gerard would always make him dinner and give him a massage, after his exercises, and then, they'd make out before bed.

He was still getting used to this new life. Having a normal office job, living with Gerard, having the kids over on the weekends, trying to get better. And then repeat.

With the help of Gerard, the kids set up a tent in the basement, and they told ghost stories while having popcorn, and then fell asleep all cuddled up.

On Monday, Frank was back at the office, and he tried to keep to himself most of the time, not knowing how to socialize and make new friends. He ate his salad in his cubicle, while he made spreadsheet after spreadsheet, trying not to go crazy. And there were more meetings, which he had to attend. 'You're Frank Iero, right?' the assistant of one of the producers asked, interrupting the meeting.

Frank didn't know what to answer, as usual, and just stuttered. 'Yeah – I –'

'I saw you play The Troubadour a couple years ago. You were great.' He didn't know if he should be flattered. It was like shoving in his face the fact that he used to be something, and now he didn't know it he was anything.

'Thank you,' was all he could say.

'It was a shame about your –'

'Can we please not talk about it here? We're trying to get to the point and we're already late.' But he just hoped it wasn't too obvious how much it had hurt. And then, when he was in the lobby, waiting for Gerard to come pick him up, the assistant walked up to him again, and Frank hated that he wasn't fast enough to get away.

'Hey – I'm sorry about what I said,' he told Frank. 'I shouldn't have.'

No, you shouldn't have, he thought but didn't dare to say outloud. 'It's okay.'

'So – I don't know if you're still making music, but here's my card if you're interested in releasing something. Anything.'

'Aren't you the assistant?'

'Maybe, but I know people. And I'm a huge fan. Your music saved my life once, and I really believe in it.'

'Thank you,' Frank replied, taking the card. He wasn't about to admit it to him, but he had a couple songs. 'I'll think about it.' And then, his boyfriend was there, and he helped him get in the car.

A couple days later, he was in the mood for some veggie wraps from the deli around the corner, but the bad news was that they didn't have delivery, and Cara wasn't there to help him. So at first, he thought it wasn't worth it, he'd ordered something else. Though it could be his chance to dare and go outside by himself.

He thought of a million and one reasons not to, but he knew it could be a new experience. So he ventured outside, regretting immediately.

There were people everyone and he couldn't move in his chair. Plus the streets of New York weren't the best for someone in a wheelchair. But he reminded himself that he only had to cross the street and turn left .

He took a couple breaths, and turn left.

And he just had to ignore his anxiety and continue.

But there were too many people, and his wheels were getting stuck.

He didn't even noticed when the car got to close and ran over his chair as it was making a turn, sending Frank to the floor and hitting his face on the sidewalk.

It didn't even hurt. His mind was somewhere else, having flashbacks of the accident that had left him on a wheelchair years ago. Going too fast in his motorcycle, and not seeing the car, then being thrown feet away. And now it was happening again.

He just hoped this time he would at least die because it was too painful the first time.