Latter Day Sinner

Chapter 9

Frank made his way to Gerard's house, his head bowed to avoid the rain drops that fell steadily onto the back of his neck. He blamed the shivers that coursed through his bones on the cold – it definitely didn't have anything to do with his nerves.
He knew the path well, like he was following the lines in the veins of his own hand. Down the road, past the row of fences, around an oak tree; then, Gerard's place, tucked neatly between two tall, green shrubs. Frank wondered, somewhat distantly, whether or not it was Gerard who took care of them, or was it the Church groundskeeper? Did the Church have a groundskeeper?
Frank, evidently, was good at distracting himself. Especially if it involved disjointed thoughts.

The rain picked up after about ten minutes, much to Frank's dismay. He wandered around the grounds surrounding the house, to see if he could find shelter besides that given, albeit weakly, by the small thatched roof that jutted out only slightly. His feet sunk into the ground, creating canyons of depressions in the damp earth.
He could practically feel the mud caking his shoes, but he kept walking. He wasn't entirely sure if he was even looking for shelter anymore – he just needed to walk. He needed to not be near Gerard's house, so he could actually think.

The trees grew thicker the further he walked, until their leaves connected above his head to create a canopy, shining a kaleidoscope of sky and earth onto the floor. The rain still fell, but Frank mostly just heard it as it slid across the leaves, rather than feeling it drip onto his hair.
Fuck. Fuck, he had it so bad. When the hell did his taste go from David Bowie to the local Priest? Was he getting desperate, or soft?

"Shit," he muttered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his rosary, his fingers trembling around the beads. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He couldn't believe he was even considering it.
Well, fuck it.
"God. I mean...yeah. God. Fuck," he shook his head, biting his lip as he looked down at his shoes, now entirely coated in the thick mud. His jeans were damp, his shirt all but see through. He shivered as a raindrop fell from his hair, sliding down his nose. He couldn't imagine a more morose situation.
"I can't do this. I can't...why him? If this is all some bullshit plan, I quit. He's pure. I don't..."
He swallowed hard, blinking fast.
"I don't wanna hurt him. I don't wanna make him hurt himself. Please. Give me strength to just...to leave him alone. He deserves better. He deserves Heaven, and purity, and all the things he vowed to protect. Please, let him stay pure," he breathed, his hands shaking.
Was that arrogant of him? To suggest to himself, and to God, that maybe he could tempt a pure man away from his vow.
But it was true. Gerard had said so. Somehow, Frank Iero, with his laugh like butterflies fluttering against a glass jar, and a wooden stake through his heart and his lip, managed to draw down the saint from his throne, to smash the cross into bits and say farewell to a good man's conscience, floating out of existence like the black smoke that billowed from a fucking funeral pyre. What a fucking joke.

There was two things that went unnoticed by Frank, for a time. The first was that he was crying. Maybe it was because his face was already wet, or because he didn't want to know that it was happening, but his mind just wouldn't recognise the action.
The second thing, was Gerard following him. In all fairness, he may have noticed, if he'd tried. If he'd looked up and turned around, he'd probably have seen the man, still in his Priest robes, struggling to make his way across the muddy terrain, holding onto his cane like a lifeline. He called out to him, but it was almost like Frank made an unconscious decision to ignore him.
He didn't respond to him until Gerard was behind him, his hair and clothes absolutely soaked from the rain, his cane drenched in mud.

"Frank. Are you okay?" he asked softly, blinking away the raindrops. Frank turned around, the rosary clenched so tight in his hand, his knuckles were white. He was shivering from the cold, his teeth chattering so he could barely speak.