Whilst everyone else is moving on with their lives, Frank is still stuck in the past. Will he ever be able to change the future? FRERARD.
Also, a little note about my fic, the format of it may seem slightly strange at first, I really hope you guys get it or at least stick with it if you don’t, hopefully as the story progresses it will become... better. Argh, haha I think that’s everything! Immy xo.
It always rains in LA. There’s not a week that goes by without it happening. I’m serious, all the time. And when it arrives, it’s near torrential. The raindrops pelt at car windows, pavements or innocent members of the public like cold, wet bullets, attacking anything in their path. It’s a nightmare getting anywhere in the rain here, even the largest, strongest umbrella fails miserably under Mother Nature’s wrath. They will often blow inside out or shut down in some other way that makes them, all in all, completely useless. Maybe it’s my bad luck, but every time I brave the outside in this weather, I get completely assassinated until I am a shrivelling, pathetic little figure of misery and am trembling by the nearest radiator. Every. Time. Then, as a result of my absolute drenching I’ll receive from walking two metres down the road, I’ll get sick. Within the day, hell, within the very hour of escaping to a dry area, my eyes will start watering, my nose will run and soon I’ll just curl up in a sweaty, pathetic ball, winging to anyone who’ll listen because it really is always me who this happens to. It’s why I drive everywhere; I’d turn into some sort of zombie if I let the rain get to me, really. It’s raining now, that’s what put the thoughts into my head in the first place. The crystal raindrops are plummeting down the window in their own little races with each other, just like they’ve been doing for the past hour or so. I sighed as yet another snake like trail was left in the glass, making the view of the city blur and warp if you looked through it. If I’m inside, the rain automatically turns from the devil’s spawn to something magical. The sound it makes, the reflective puddles, I even love the dark clouds mingling like black sheep amongst the white flock in the sky. It’s beautiful to watch, especially from so high up. I think this is floor 30, and you get such a great view of the city from here, each grey, spire of a building acting as a safe house for the dots of people to run into.
As I looked at them all scampering from the dreaded LA rain, my fingers touched the pale bed sheets, grazing over the soft cream fabric and kneading little marks in it. It was raining inside as well, my lap and t shirt now damp with it rolling down my cheeks, one drop after the other. I could barely feel anything anymore though, my whole face had become numbed a while ago, but my eyes continued to water and slowly release more tears. I could taste the sharp tang of salt on my tongue and poked gently at the duvet, shivering as an outbreak of goose bumps erupted over my bare arms. It was cold in here; my brain could just about register that. Moving my hands to rub my biceps and forearms slowly felt like pure physical labour as it was the only movement I’d really done today. I hadn’t gone for a meal, I hadn’t changed from my pyjamas, I hadn’t even got up off the bed. Though, I have to say it was no different to every other day I’d spent in this room. I hadn’t even noticed the television or mini fridge filled with complimentary drinks here, this bed was my own safe house and I wasn’t planning on leaving for a long time. I’d dread to think what people would say if they came in here. I’ve been wearing the same t shirt for four days now, even Batman looks like he wants to fly away off my chest from pure disgust at how pathetic I look. A thin layer of stubble is growing around my chin and jaw line from where I’ve just not been assed to shave it, if I went out in public now people could very easily mistake me for some kid on Halloween. But I don’t plan to go out. I just want to sit here. To sit here and think.
The little clock on my bedside table reads ‘Thursday, 6:30 pm.’ Thursday. That means I have about three more days here before we’re due to leave again. We’re in the thick of our touring and have been given the week off to relieve stress, get to see the city and generally just relax, and I seem to have taken this to become some sort of hermit. The moment I put my case down here, my guard completely dropped and I retreated straight to the comfy bed to curl up sobbing like a little child. I couldn’t face the outside world at all on the first day or two, and decided going down for meals was really not something I enjoyed whilst in a state like this. So I’ve just stayed here, making use of the time I have to try and get myself together. I watched as the little black tile flipped over from a ‘0’ to a ‘1,’ a quiet ‘click’ sounding as the incessant ticking started up again. That had been the only other sound in the room for a while now. It felt sort of comforting at first, but is now just a cruel reminder that yes, everyone else in the world is moving on with their lives and you aren’t. At that thought, I pushed myself up off the bed, practically hearing the creak in my joints, and walked over to it. I unclipped the little box at the back and pushed the two batteries out, dropping them on to the floor whilst the clock remained dead on the bedside table. There. A soft sigh escaped my lips as I looked around now, wiping my eyes once I realised my tears were finally stilling. Wow, I never realised how big this room actually was before. I ran a hand through my black locks and left the space from the bed, walking to the centre of the room. Easy chair, dressing table, fridge. My eyes scanned over everything until I was met by my own gaze in the mirror opposite. God, I do look terrible. I walked closer and touched my stubbly cheek, groaning quietly. Even my little scorpion looked ashamed of me, I felt disgusted in myself. I considered turning on the TV for something to watch, but the very thought gave me a headache, and I walked back across the room, gathering my tissues to put in the bin.
Once the silver device was sufficiently full, I walked back across the room to my suitcase, deciding to at least shave if nothing else. It might give me some hope I’m trying to get on here. I knelt down and flicked the two silver tabs, my thumbs calloused and tough like the rest of my fingers. The case opened with a tiny creak, all my clothes folded neatly inside along with a black stretchy armband, the letters ‘MCR’ printed on it in white. I reached in and picked it up slowly, sighing. I used to wear this all the time at concerts, I didn’t care the circle of guns around it was originally from our ‘Revenge’ era, it meant something to me and now it... It just doesn’t. I whimpered softly as I clutched the black fabric in my hand, squeezing my eyes shut and taking a moment just to compose myself. When I was sure I wouldn’t start sobbing again, I continued looking through the case for my razor, coming across another item that made my eyes widen and my heart pound. I’d completely forgotten I’d packed it, and the realisation became a little too much for me as I pulled the book out and touched the cover. It was big, and full to the brim with things I’d tried to push back a long time ago. Things, in all honesty, I’d never be able to escape. A large photo was glued on the cover of the four of us grinning away at the camera, our arms round each other and our eyes sparkling in utter delight. I remember that day so well, I remember each day captured in this book like it was yesterday. As hard as I try, this photo album holds memories and occasions that I’ll never be able to forget. I looked at the cover again and sighed, smiling a little at Ray who was about to lift me up and throw me over his shoulder. Mikey was laughing at what he was doing, his grin a little warped and stretched in surprise. Then there was... him. As my eyes fell onto the page and met his gaze, my smile slowly fell.
It was an old photo, his hair was black and swept to the side, and he was the only one of us wearing his black parade jacket. His red neckerchief was tied around my head like a bandana and he was grinning, looking just... So happy. I reached a finger out and sunk against the foot of the bed, touching his face gently and closing my eyes. I still missed him, I couldn’t help it. I missed that smile, those sparkling eyes, everything about him had changed from the moment he said ‘I do.’ To her. Every day it just seemed impossible to get hold of the old Gerard, he had become this fame obsessed ‘me and the band’ type singer, and had forgotten everything he and I both held dear to us. Before I could plague myself with thoughts and start crying again, I shook my head and told myself I couldn’t put this off any longer. Part of me knew I would look through the album whilst I was staying here, and now I’d dug it out, it would just tear me apart to try and forget about it again. I opened the book and closed my eyes, looking at my smiling face plastered on most of the photos inside. They weren’t stuck in any particular order, it was just a matter of when and where I could develop, print off or generally be bothered to do it. I flicked through the album at first, a few things standing out for me to look at and I sighed, wanting those days back more than ever. I didn’t want to be curled up in some shitty hotel room; I wanted to be there, back in high school, on Gerard’s lap. I wanted to be asleep on the tour bus in his bunk. I wanted to be in that interview, wearing his hoodie that nearly every fan girl commented on. I slid on the arm band gently and closed my eyes, pinpointing a photo to look at and just imagine I was there again. Back when we were happy, when we used to laugh at the stupidest things, when he... When he used to put me first. Over everyone else.