me as a teenager: man it sucks to have no privacy or autonomy but i guess its for a good reason. when i turn 18 i will realise how young i was and understand why they did all that.
me as an adult: teenagers are an oppressed class, their abuse is normalised and systemic and they need to start killing people
âFrank is your part-time boyfriend, part-time pot dealer. Usually, itâs great, but when youâre arguing it means youâve not only not got a boyfriend, youâve also got no pot.â
2002
Frank Iero was a problem. A walking, talking, smirking problem who, unfortunately, was the only person on campus who sold pot that wasn't padded out with oregano. Everyone knew his was the best; everyone also knew that he was kind of a dirtbag, but you had first hand experience of it. Youâd lost count of how many times youâd sworn that you were done with himâ with fucking him, letting him convince you he gave a damn, and then finding yourself not hearing from him for weeks until he shot you a sleazy text when he found out you'd bought from someone else. You had told him the last time you saw him that you wanted out, but your friends knew you knew Frank, and had sent you on a mission to pick up from him one last time. You had agreed, knowing nobody else sold anything close to it.
You cussed under your breath as you shuffled down the hall to his dorm, mentally prepping yourself to tell him that you just wanted an eighth, that no, you weren't staying for a fuck, and yes, this was the last time you'd be seeing him.
You wrapped your knuckles against his door. No reply: typical. You knocked once more, irritably, but as your knuckles were about to hit the peeling paint, the door swung open, revealing Frank in an unfairly snug black tee and jeans. Smugness appeared on his face within seconds of seeing it was you.
"Y/N," he smirked. "Not seen you in a while." He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest.
"Frank," you nodded, meeting his gaze coldly. "Just here to pick up."
Frank took a moment, raking his eyes over you before straightening up.
"Ray's out." He disappeared into his dorm, leaving you to close the door behind you. The usual smell of boy and marijuana hit you; you sighed.
"Where've you been?" Frank asked over his shoulder, throwing himself down onto the torn-up sofa and patting the space next to him expectantly.
"Where'veâ where've I been?" You scoffed: Frank hadn't replied to you in a week. You'd stopped double texting months ago, figuring you'd keep your dignity the less you made it obvious you'd hoped to hear back. "I've been here, Frank. Same as always," you huffed, ignoring his gesture for you to sit with him.
"Cool," he mumbled distractedly, sprawling himself across the beat-up couch, legs spread, rolling a joint with lazy precision. He didnât even look up at you as he spoke. "You gonna come sit and smoke with me?" You knew from experience that wasn't all that would happen. You clenched your jaw, arms crossed over your chest, shifting your weight awkwardly from left to right leg.
"I told you last time, Frank. We're can't do that, anymore."
âYeah?â he drawled, voice low and amused.
You froze in irritation, squinting down at him.
âI'm serious, Frank,â you hissed. âIâm not doing this weird...off and on bullshit anymore. It's over.â
Frank all but rolled his eyes.
âYou said that last week. And the week before that.â You hated how calm he sounded; how sure he was.
âBecause you keep doing...this!â You threw your hands up and gestured wildly. Frank raised an eyebrow quizzically, still not looking up at you as he rolled. âOne day youâre texting me saying you miss the way I sound when I come, and then you ignore me for a week." You drew a deep breath in and dropped your hands, determined to keep your cool. "I literally asked you what we are and you laughed, so forgive me for not wanting to be around you much.â
Frank finally looked at you, eyes dark and unreadable. He licked the edge of the rolling paper slowly, deliberately.
âI think you know,â he said, voice flat with irritation, âthat I donât do dating. I donât do girlfriends. I fuck and I sell. Thatâs it.â
You felt the familiar lurch behind your chest: this conversation was going nowhere.
"Whatever," you scoffed, straightening up. "Do you have the pot or not?"
"Yeah," Frank nodded as though completely unbothered by this entire thing.
"Great," you huffed, digging in your back pocket for the thirty five dollars, extending them out to him. Normally, he would take the cash, shove it in his back pocket, and retrieve more than what you'd asked for from the table in the middle of the room, not bothering to weigh it up. That was partly why your friends had sent you: he always seemed to be generous with you. That and your friends were scared of him. On this occasion, however, Frank eyed the cash then dropped his gaze back down to his joint as though bored.
"It's fifty."
You froze, closing your eyes momentarily and clenching your jaw in irritation.
"Seriously, Frank?" you hissed. "An eighth is thirty-five dollars. Even you should remember that."
Frank leaned back on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other.
"Price went up." A smile played at his lips as he lit the joint. Unbelievable.
"Fuck you," you laughed dryly, shoving the cash back into your pocket. "I'll go and buy from Mikey, then." Last time you had bought from Mikey, Frank had thrown a major tantrum about you 'cheating on him' with a guy who 'didn't know his ass from his elbow'. You weren't sure if he meant cheating on him as your situationship or as your dealer. Either way, he was not happy.
You stormed toward the door, ready to walk back across campus, when Frank spoke.
âCome here."
You hated yourself for hesitating for only a second before turning on your heel to face him: he was looking at you, at last.
Frank raised his eyebrows expectantly when you didn't move.
"Would you sit the fuck down?" he gestured to the sofa, words muffled by the joint hanging between his lips.
Your eyes bore into his as you begrudgingly approached him. Before you could sit, Frank pulled you down into his lap, one hand sliding up your thigh under your skirt while the other held the joint to your lips.
âOpen,â he murmured.
You took the hit, eyes never leaving his. The smoke filled your lungs, warm and familiar. He watched your face the whole time, thumb stroking the inside of your thigh.
"See?â he mocked, voice rough. âMikey's doesn't hit like that, does it.â
You exhaled shakily, turning your face from his.
âFuck you, Frank.â
An hour later you were in his bed, back arched, his mouth between your legs while your fingers gripped his hair. He went for it like he was starving; like he was trying to ruin you for anyone else.
When you came, shaking and gasping his name, he crawled up your body and kissed you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
âStill done with me?â he asked against your lips.
You hated how weak your voice sounded.
âYes.â
He laughed softly into your mouth.
Later, tangled in his sheets, you made the mistake of poking the subject again.
âI don't get it,â you said, turning to face him; smoke curled around his face as he peered up at the ceiling, occasionally blinking down at you. "If you want to fuck me and get me high, great; but I'm gonna see other people, too." You paused. "Including Mikey, if I want."
He went still, then handed you the joint.
Frank watched you inhale with half-lidded eyes, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your bare hip, as you inhaled.
âWeâre whatever I say we are,â he finally answered`. âAnd right now, I say youâre mine.â
You wanted to argue; you wanted to leave, but you just sighed.
"Whad'you wanna see other people for, hm?" Frank purred, taking the joint back and purposefully brushing your cheek with his hand.
Silence settled between you two: you were dissatisfied, and Frank could sense it. He spoke suddenly.
"I'm not fuckin' anyone else."
You froze.
"Butâ"
He shot you a lazy, half-bored, half-irate look.
"I'm not fucking anyone," he repeated himself. "So I don't see why you should be."
You didn't know what to say.
"Alright," was all you managed.
"Plus," Frank began, "nobody makes you come like I do, and nobody gets you high like I do, either."
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