The Boy Who Lives Downstairs: Frank Iero

Chapter three: As I Slowly Fall Apart

She loves the way he does his hair



"Um Okay."

"So you think you'd be okay with that?" she asked sarcastically.

"Yeah, I'd be okay with it," Frank said with a lopsided smile, not looking at her looking at something right past her. He didn’t look at her because of how he wanted to look when he did, a way he couldn’t look. I'm more than okay with it.

"Good," Katie said simply. "I was going to the cemetery. Wanna come with?" He looked strangely at her. "I know, it’s a crazy and somewhat depressing place to go but I like it there. I can draw in peace."

"Don’t get me wrong, I like it too. It was just odd, that you like it there too."

Katie and Frank spent the afternoon at the cemetery getting to know one another better. She drew and talked, told him of California and how she came to be here, in New Jersey. He told her about how he grew up around here and just ended up staying. How he wanted to go somewhere new but the pull of his home state was stronger than his ambition to leave it behind.

Several days later Frank came over to hang out, for lack of anything else to do. It was a hot day the type of days that Katie missed the most. She was sitting on the couch reading and his head was laying on her lap. Turning the page she stroked his hair.

"Don't you have anyone else you hang out with?" she asked him.

He opened his eyes. "Yeah, why?"

"Just wondering."

"You don't though.”

She smiled to herself, and shook her head. "I've got reasons."

"Really now."

"Really." There was a lapse for a few minutes, and she turned another page.

"Why?"

"Remember the guy from the coffee shop? Yeah, well those are the type of people I seem to draw toward me."

"Psychotics?"

"Yuppers."

"That's not a word."

"Sure it is, just not a proper one."

"Whatever," he tiredly said, again closing his eyes. Katie took the opportunity to stare at him.

"Why'd you stop?"

"Stop what?"

"You were playing with my hair," he complained opening his eyes.

"Good part in the book," she lied.

"You're not the typical girl."

"Sure I am."

"No, your not. You read books about murderers and hate romance novels. You're not the typical girl."

"If that is your typical girl, I don’t want to be one." He laughed at this.





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